So I had two problems. The first was finding Joanne an opponent, and the second was persuading her to fight someone in the first place. You might think I had it arse about face – persuade her to fight first, then find her someone to fight – but my thinking was that if I could find someone willing at least I could fantasise about Joanne fighting whoever, what they might do to each other, and... sorry, just getting carried away there.
Top of my list was Mike's wife Helen. I told you about Mike – he's my footie mate, the fellow Arsenal fan. Some while before I met Joanne, Mike and I had enjoyed a drunken evening, following an Arsenal win against Man U, in which us lads had got around to discussing the things that really turn us on.
My advice is that no matter how drunk you are, you should never be that intimate with your friends.
Anyway, one of the guys said he almost came in his pants when Walcott had got that third goal past three defenders. I thought he'd missed the point, but most of the guys seemed to agree with him, so we restricted the discussion to exclude football (soccer to those of you across the pond). Someone said he thought his bitch was pretty tasty. I thought it was a little odd to be still turned on by your wife – albeit disrespectful to call her that – until he clarified that he was talking about his Labrador, when it became really odd. Something about her soulful eyes, the way she wags her tail and... too much detail.
Another of the guys said that he loved high heels on a woman, bringing the conversation back to a more normal level, and another said that he loved that little gap at the top of a woman's legs that you see when she's wearing tight jeans (girls reading this, this is gold dust for you).
Of course my kink went down a storm. “Imagine,” I said by way of an explanation, “hot girl on girl lezzer action on speed. What's not to like?”
I just got a bunch of dull stares, and the guy with the dog fetish had the cheek to look mildly disgusted.
Chucking out time came and went but for me the night was still young. I invited everyone back to mine for some more beers and mucky videos. The lightweights peeled off leaving four of us, including Mike, to see what damage they could do to my beer fridge. Freddy got an attack of guilt halfway through the first jizz vid and went home to his wife (or was that his bitch? I can't remember). By the time we got to the end of it Ben had fallen asleep, the spilling of his beer all over his lap failing to wake him.
“You got DVDs of these girl fights of yours?” slurred Mike.
I had Double Trouble, DWW, Crystal, even a few super-heroine ones. I figured DWW would be best and put one of those on.
“You know what,” he said halfway through one of them, “I could get into this. Which do you fancy to win?”
“Dunno,” I said, remembering that Mike always liked a flutter, “but my money's on Vera.”
“Which one's Vera? I don't always get their names.” We both found that uproariously funny.
“The one with the dark hair. The blonde is Katya.”
“A fiver says Katya's going to win, then.”
“Done!” I should have gone to a tenner at least. It clearly never occurred to him that I might have seen it before., but I was beginning to feel the beer too.
Still, that made it much more fun. “Come on Kat!” he yelled. “Get on top of her!”
“Knee to the gut!” I yelled at Vera, who then delivered a vicious knee to Katya's stomach that blew the wind out of her.
“You lucky bugger!” said Mike as Katya rolled in pain and Vera got on top of her pinning her, wiggling that delightful arse of hers as she established her dominance.
Mike grunted as he handed over his cash, then belched.
“Another beer?” I said, popping a can.
He took it from me and I popped another for myself, slipping another DWW DVD on.
“You know what,” he said, pointing at the dirty blonde who took to the mats first, “that looks just like Helen.”
I'd met Mike's wife a couple of times, mainly when he needed pouring into her car after another late one, and I could see the similarity. The girl was his wife's height and build and had her hair colour, but she didn't have the vicious killer curl to her lip that Helen had.
“I think Helen would beat her though,” I blurted, then wondered if I'd said too much when Mike didn't respond.
“Yeah well,” he said enigmatically.
“'Yeah well' what?” I said, when he failed to follow through. “You're being emigrati.. egrimanti... fuck.”
“When we first went out together one of the first things she did was to get into a bundle at a disco we were at.”
Alcohol depresses the heart rate, but mine shot up at that moment. “No!” I had just taken a swig of my beer, and choked half of it back over the floor.
“You all right mate?” he said hammering my back with the back of his hand which knocked the rest of the beer out of my hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said weakly, splashing through spilled beer as I went to get myself another. “So.... what... happened?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “I turn my back for an instant and suddenly there's all this shouting and people are forming a circle on the dance floor. I push to the front, a little ahead of the bouncers, to see her rolling around with some other girl, kicking and screaming. It's odd you know...”
“What?”
“The effect those biological powders have on clothes. The main thing I remember was how bright her knickers were under the UV light.”
“Did she win?”
He gave me a philosophical look. “There are no winners in a situation like that,” he said gravely.
Bullshit!
“The bouncers were in there separating them before you could say 'Queensbury Rules', and I dragged her away. I didn't want my girl's face all scratched up after all.”
“Course not,” I said trying not to sound too disappointed. “So what was the other girl like?”
“Spiky hair, punk, goth type, black leather, dog collar...” I though fleetingly of the guy with the dog fetish... “fishnet tights, black boots.”
“So what was Helen wearing that night?” I wanted a full picture.
“Oh she was dressed to kill. Her red leather skirt was little more than a belt and she was wearing one of those vest things under which a bra would just look odd.”
“Odd,” I repeated a faraway look coming to my eyes. If Helen had been there with us right then and Mike had glanced the other way and of course she'd been willing, I'd have fucked her brains out. Too many 'ifs' though.
“Were her...”
“Nipples erect?”
“Umm well...” I reddened ever so slightly aware that Mike was looking directly at me. “Actually I was thinking...”
“Yes they were. Bloody lighthouses.” He was leering at me in a way that made me think that perhaps it would be best if neither of us remembered the conversation in the morning... or at least he didn't. For me I couldn't wait to see Helen again and superimpose that vest and skirt on her naked body in my mind's eye, in the same way that young girls used to do with cut out those paper dolls they used to get in their comics (please don't ask how I know about that!).
“Funny thing,” he continued. “Whenever she got into fights she'd always be dressed like a whore.”
If he'd said that a second later I'd have choked on my beer a second time. “So... so she's done this more than once?”
He gave me an odd look. “Yeah,” he said as if I'd questioned whether it always rained in Manchester. “It's like she gets this build up of tension and ends up spoiling for a fight. I never found out what the cause was. You'd think she'd go in trackies or something when she felt like that, but no, for her the less she wore the better.”
“She still do it?” A frog had appeared in my throat from somewhere, making my voice strangely high.
“Not for a while after she had Christine, at least not so much, but I think she's started getting that way again. She told me about a supermarket fracarse she was involved in only the other day. Said some bitch had shoved her trolley into hers, that she'd smiled and made a joke of it, but that the bitch had done it again, and then a third time and she clearly needed a lesson learning. The woman ended up in one of the freezer units, legs in the air, twat exposed.”
“It wasn't the fish freezer?” I said.
We both laughed until the guy upstairs lost it and started banging on the ceiling.
“Better go, I guess,” said Mike with a sigh, wiping the tears from his eyes.
So there it was, first problem solved. There was Joanne's opponent. All I had to do was get them to fight somewhere other than inside my head.
If you need to work out who the hell some of these people are, check out:
Carl's Tales 1
http://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php/topic,51054.0.htmland Carl's Tales 2
http://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php/topic,51486.0.htmlor not.
