MY FIGHT WITH WENDY
As my fight appointment with Wendy approaches and it gets dark outside, I hear the wind pick up, large gusts racing thru the trees. Wendy and I aren't going to be able to fight outside--and postponing the fight isn't an option.
I start walking thru my house to find suitable fight locations. My senses, including my sexual ones, thrill to the anticipation of Wendy and I locked in an embrace, throwing each other into walls, onto couches and leather chairs and TV tables. I think of my recent tongue fight with Robin--do I want to fight Wendy like that? Will Wendy want to fight me like that? Is Wendy as sexually frustrated as Robin? Does Wendy find it hard to date because of her young child? Is that why she's still living at the home of her child's grandmother, four years later? Was that her plan? Does she have a plan?
Do I have a plan? It's been 6 months since I graduated Northeastern, and I still don't have a real job. Interest in my resume, already low, is plummeting quickly. A couple of classmates in my position are going back to school in the spring, to prevent a big gap in their resume. Robin and I missed the deadline to apply, distracted by our respective affairs with Scott. Should I be worried about my future?
My parents leave to go shopping. I look out the window, anticipating Wendy's arrival. Shit, I still don't know what room to fight her in, I was so busy thinking about my (non-)career, about my wasted time with Scott, kissing my roomate. I want to do that again with her, I realize, but we agreed to never talk about it again--how do I bring it up?
Wendy knocks on my back door. Why is she using that door instead of the front one? Because it leads to the backyard, where she's expecting to fight? She has no coat on, despite the cold. Her face is as pretty as I remember it, but her hair is all brunette now and, well, thinner, stringier. Does she not spend as much on her hair as she used to? Is the Great Recession destroying her finances like it's destroying mine? She still has expensive-looking boots, at least.
I let her in. We maintain eye contact but are both afraid to talk, not knowing the perfect thing to say. I latch the door behind us--just you and me, now, Wendy. I break the ice.
"I've wanted to fight you again since thst day on the path outside."
"You're such a good fighter.....I couldn't believe.....when I lost to you.....I had never lost a fight before that day....." <<<at least I'm good at something.....>>>>
"Are you worried you'll lose now?"
"Yes....but I need to fight you again anyways."
<<<<we come together and grab fistfulls of hair>>>> "After you win fights, do you kick.....bitches....with your boots?"
<<<<<the hairpulling becomes painful, and our voices begin to strain and moan>>>> "Yes. What do you do to....bitches....to hurt them....after a fight?"
<<<<The hairpulling becomes rougher.>>>> "I haven't been in....enough fights.....the last one was in an..... alley.....in Boston.....I just wanted to run away fast....after...."
<<<<the hairpulling crosses the line to violent>>>>> "You need to....hurt the other girl......otherwise....she'll just want to fight you agsin...."
<<<<<we fall to the floor in a painful catball>>>> ".....like you're fighting me again?".......
<<<<Our faces press together>>>>> "Hurt me, Bella. Hurt me bad."
"You hurt me, Wendy. Like everyone else you fight. Show me how."
Wendy and I are wrapped together in a stalemated ball on the hard foyer floor. She is loosening her legs, attempting to line up my shins with annoying but ineffective heel kicks. We've both come primed for an action-packed fight, but instead are locked in a boring catball.
I think back to my tongue fight last week with Robin. She must have learned that some time, some where, from someone. If Wendy's been in fights, maybe she's done it before.
I pull Wendy by the hair and position our mouths together. I violently insert my tongue into her mouth. Wendy responds once she realizes what I'm doing, and her tongue finds mine and attacks. Our mouths escalate their, with more teeth being involved than was the case in my duel with Robin. Is Wendy just that terrible of a kisser? Or is she thinking about biting me?
Wendy and I maintain mutual grips on our hair, but noe our hands slide to each others' soft tops, and begin tearing. I thrill to the sound of ripping fabric, and fine the flesh of Wendy's warm back, raking them with my nails. Wendy opts for my front, gouging my movie star breasts, a satisfying admission of her jealousy of them.
Satisfying. That's the word. Altough my hair and breasts are in extreme pain from Wendy's hands and claws, my sexual arousal is being satiated by her hard, deep kisses and bites. Wendy's mouth and mine continue to invade and press together. Our moans betray a desperation to continue.
Our upper bodies begin to hydroplane in unison on the layer of salty sweat between them. Our nipples are now hard enough to become used as weapons, and we thrust hard into each other, rolling on the floor. Our mouths are unable to maintain contact, as Wendy and I struggle to suck in air.
"I'm....gonna....punch...you....in....the....face.....Yeah?.....Do it.....bitch...." we threaten.
"Fight me like you fought the bitch in the alley in Boston," Wendy plaintively begs me.
I reflect. My next fight with Robin won't be a kissing duel. It will be a fistfight. She'll find out about my phone sex and sexting with Scott.
Wendy and I rise, topless, to our knees. We throw right-handed haymakers at each others' faces, a sickening flesh-on-flesh sound echoing thru the foyer. Hatred emanates from our eyes.
"Teen mom." I attempt to hurt Wendy with words now, too.
"Unemployed waitress." Ouch. Is that what I am? Correction--can she that's what I am? Is it that obvious? When I'm in Boston, does she talk about me, my failures, with my mom.
"I'm better than you, slut."
"At what?"
"At fighting."
"Show me."
To be continued......
