FreeCatFights
General Category => Catfight , Boxing & Wrestling Stories => Catfighting => Topic started by: sinclairfan on February 07, 2018, 12:40:43 PM
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FRINGE FIGHTING
My name is Debbie, and later this year I will be turning 49 years old. I've lived a pretty conventional twenty-first century American lifestyle--I grew up in Framingham, Massachusetts, went to a Catholic High School, attended college but never finished my degree, married young, had two girls, got divorced, and then drifted, partially happy but partially lost, into an uncertain middle age.
And through it all, I carried on a secret friendship with another woman my age, a more educationally successful mom of two who stayed with her marriage. We would meet up every year ot two after we first met in 1987, and we wouldn't tell anyone, not even our husbands, that we were meeting. We didn't tell them, because we didn't think they'd understand why we were meeting.
We were meeting to fight each other.
We met each other in 1987. In a fight. A fringe fight.
Maybe that's where I should start--before even telling you about Dawn and me--by telling you what a fringe fight is. Have you ever seen a sports brawl, in say ice hockey, or an even better in baseball? There's two people in the center who are legitimately angry with each other. They're hot, trying to get at each other, and maybe even momentarily doing so. Then, there's an inner circle of peacemakers, trying to separate two combatants. Finally, there's an outer circle, the fringe, of reluctant bystanders. They have no beef with the opposing bystanders on the fringe, and they're even a little aggravated at their teammate that they've been forced into this situation. But dammit, they're a loyal teammate, and heck someday the tables might be turned and they might be having it out with some rival and will need someone to have their back, so they stand there and do what they need to do, even fringe fighting if necessary, to support their teammate.
Dawn and I met in a fringe fight in the summer of 1987. I'll tell you about us, about our two friends, Rita and Laurie, who were having the actual center-of-the-action fight that night, and about our fight, in a minute. But first let me tell you about fringe fighting, especially when it involves girls.
Girls approach fringe fighting much differently than boys do, and this was especially true in 1987. Growing up in a large, mostly-but-not-quite-entirely white American suburb at that time, the first rumblings of Los Angeles gang culture was making seeping into our lives. A group of young, pretty black women were singing on our MTV "Pump It Real Good". OMG, is that song about....sex? OMG.... it is!!! The first boom boxes could be seen at house parties. The first rap music could be heard on the radio. Through the news we learned that in LA, people wore blue and red colors depending on whether they were Crips or Bloods. Girls had gangs, where you were intiated by getting kicked and punched ("jumped in") for 60 seconds. Girls from opposing gangs would pair off and fight.
To a relatively innocent, sheltered 18 year old it was all so foreign and scary and.....forbidden. Which, of course, made it irresistable. I was raised Catholic, and believe me the story about the serpent in the Garden of Eden with Eve was always in the forefront of my mind. The Lord said you can have anything you want in the Garden; just not the apples of the tree. So, of course, the apple is the only thing Eve wants. Well, it was the same way with us girls. We could listen to any music we wanted to, just not that LA rap music. So, of course, it was all we listened to. And learned about how the girls in the LA gangs fight. That you stand up for side.
Now, I don't want to paint too exciting of a picture. Girl fights in 1987 Framingham were still rare. But they did happen, usually over boys. And when they did, the friends of the "Main Event" fighters would pair off. Picking an opponent to pair off with was every bit as important as picking your clothes or picking your friends. If you picked a girl smaller (and less "tough" than you, whatever that meant) you'd look like a bully. But if you picked a girl bigger than you, she'd look like a bully. So, when we'd pair off, we'd be subtly sorting ourselves into a "toughness" hierarchy, every bit as open to public humiliation as, say, a kickball teams draft. It was a complex, high-stakes social dance.
But then, once the sorting and pairing off had taken place, thd real high drama began. You and the girl you had paired off with would grab each other by the shoulders and separate off to a place outside the main fight area. You'd look each other in the eye, and search your memories. Do we know each other? Have we squared off before in a fringe fight? Who won? Have I heard rumors of you talking shit about me? Have I ever talked shit about you? Hsve ee ever kissed the same boy?
How rough is the fight we're about to have about to be? If we do have a serious fight, who will win?
When you were an 18 year old white girl in a place like Framingham, pretty much nothing you could do made you feel more alive than fringe fighting. And, in one such fight in 1987, I fought Dawn.
Let me tell you about that fight.
To be continued......
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Love the beginning :)
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Great start! Looking forward to reading more. Thanks for posting.
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RITA VS LAURIE
In late May and early June 1987, all of us who were high school seniors in Framingham, MA graduated from the town's three schools. The two public schools were Framingham North and Framingham South, and the Catholic school was Marian. I attended Marian, but hung out with girls from both North and South. One of my friends--not my best friend, but a vrry close one--from North was named Rita. Rita had big Coke-bottle classes in middle school, but in 11th grade got contacts and a hip blonde hairstyle, and she disvovered boys. Or, the boys discovered her.
One of the boys who discovered Rita was a jock, multi-sport athlete who also went to North. He discovered Rita, and neglected to inform his girlfriend from South, named Laurie. Taking advantage of the "cover" offered to them by being in the same school as each other, Rita and Laurie's boyfriend were able to sneak behind Laurie's back for all of junior year and half of senior year before they got caught. Laurie responded by breaking up with her jock boyfriend for about a week, but then, just as dramatically, won him back, leaving Rita with 2 tickets to North's senior prom, but no date. Her girlfriends, including me, rallied to her side during that humiliating spring. Laurie's girlfriends did the same for Laurie. To those of us who were Rita's friends, Laurie was a jilted ex who couldn't "let it go". And, I'm sure to Laurie's friends, Rita was the side chick who had her fun for 18 months but couldn't accept that Laurie was the "main squeeze". It was quite a soap opera, and the only soap opera trope missing was a girlfriend-versus-sidechick catfight. That catfight came the week after senior graduations.
Massachsetts schools in the 1980s had a quirky schedule structure under which grades K thru 11 didn't get out for the summer until late June, a full four weeks after seniors graduated. In theory, this allowed seniors to get a jump on summer jobs and to attend June college orientations. In practice, we were bored out of our minds most of the four months and drank and had sex and hung out at the mall, which in Framingham was a place called Shoppers World, a hybrid indoor/outdoor mall which was starting to show its age. We would roam around in packs of 4, and as was likely inevitable, one day a pack which included Rita, and me, "ran into" a pack which included Laurie and her friends.
We all knew right away that Rita and Laurie wanted to fight It was just a matter of whether they would do it in public, where security would break it up, or if we would retire to somewhere private, where they could finish. They obviously meant business, because they immediately invited each other, and each others' friends, to an isolated area of the parking garage known as a fight venue.
We were exactly 4 on 4, so the two opposing groups of three friends immediately went into fringe fighting matchup mode. I matched up with Dawn, and friend of Laurie's from south.
I knew about Dawn, but had never really talked to her. She was the same height, weight, and build as me--5'7", 120 pounds, 36c boobs. Her blonde hair was wavier than mine and to her shoulders. We were both wearing tight jeans, and she had a fuzzy red sweater--it hadn't gotten hot enough yet for summer clothes.
Rita and Laurie were punching each other right away. The six of us paused for 30 seconds to see if a first round KO would get us off the hook, but when it was clear that both of the love triangle rivals were both motivated and evenly-matched, we spread out with our fringe fighting partners and prepared to make our stand for our friend--this wasn't the first rodeo for any of us. My heart started racing, in a good way. Break up the boredom, you know?
Plus, I wasn't much worried about getting hurt. Dawn had a reputation of being a bit of a goody-two-shoes. If anything, I was keeping one eye on Rita and Laurie and preparing to be the one to break them up once there was a winner who then started to "go too far" in hurting her rival. We were all 18 now, and the cops would treat us as adults if they got involved.
So, imagine my surprise when I felt a claw in my scalp and my head getting pulled down. Dawn was trying to knee my in the face, but either she wasn't very good at it, or my reflexes wete too fast for her, because I tightened my grip on her fuzzy sweater and yanked it over her shoulder, her left bra popping out. I threw my left arm around Dawn's neck, and wrestled her to the ground. Her resistance was compromised by her modesty of underwear being visible to observers (which, fortunately, there weren't any yet). Still stung my the sensation of nails in hair and skin, I quickly mounted Dawn. I allowed her to re-tuck in her bra and boob, for which I think she was grateful, but then grabbed her wrists and looked in her eyes with a "don't make me hurt you" unspoken threat.
She was considering her options, me ready for whatever she decided, when at our side fell the entangled bodies of Rita and Laurie, tearing into each other like hellcats. Dawn and I were so close to them that we could smell every drop of their profuse sweating and hear every grunt. The slapped, scratched, and pulled hair by the roots.
And things were just getting started.
To be continued....
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ROLLING WITH DAWN
There were three things that could happen next in the Rita vs Laurie fight, and two of them were fine by me.
The first possible outcome was that my friend Rita could start to dominate Dawn's friend Laurie. At some point, Laurie would have enough and would give, Rita would climb off her enemy, and she would be eternally grateful to the three friends who had her back at Shoppers World in June 1987. This outcome was good for me.
Possibility number two was a draw. About half of the Framingham girlfights I had witnessed growing up had ended this way, either because neither girl could really inflict any serious damage in a fight, and/or both girls hzd just fought to save face--their heart really wasn't committed to an actual physical fight. As one of the six fringe fighters, such an outcome would have been fine by me. But there was little chance of being one of those fights--both Rita and Laurie had both means and motive to fight.
So, just my luck (more on that later), I was stuck with Door Number Three. The tide of the fight was turning in Laurie's favor. She mounted Rita, and was propped on top of her enemy in near perfect symmetry, and just feet away, from me, propped on top of Dawn. The visual was terrible for me, and it was already being noticed by Dawn and the four other fringe fighters. I was in apparent control of my opponent, and was inertly watching as my supposed friend was on the verge of getting her ass beat.
My option were terrible. If I remained a spectator and let Rita get destroyed, Rita and her friends would never forgive me for not having her back the day Rita had it out with Laurie. I would be scapegoated for Rita's insufficient fighting skills. But if I interfered, all sorts of other terrible fallout would land on me. Laurie and Laurie's friends would forever hate me for being third-girl-in in a fair fight. And Rita and Rita's friends would never acknowledge that Rita was on the verge of losing the fight--no, they would say that I had interfered. And finally, a 1on1 fight with 6 fringe fighters would instantly morph into a 4on4 free-for-all--I could already see the other fringe fighters awaiting my next move.
It's hard to think straight during a fight, and so I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt. I looked under me, at Dawn, laying on the grass beneath me, grabbed her curly blonde hair, leaned forward, and started rolling in the grass with her. I didn't sant it to look like I aas losing to her, but I wanted it to look like I had lost my pin on her, and that our fight was still in progress. This would excuse me from deciding whether to interfere, or not interfere, in the beating Laurie was about to lay on Rita.
I tried to "sell" the resumption of the active phase of my battle with Dawn, but I needed her help. If she was too passive, it would be obvious I had gotten off of her on purpose. Too active, and my pin on hrr would be reversed--she would be on top of me, and, excited by her friend Laurie's example, might begin to punish me as severely as Laurie was starting to punish Rita.
But the bond I had established with Dawn minutes ago, when I had generously allowed Dawn to restore her popped boob back into her tight red fuzzy sweater, did the trick. She rolled in the grass with me, "fighting back" with just the right level of energy. Just the right level to get the four other fringe fighters' eyes off of me. And just the right level to do something else.
Between the tactile arousal provided by the head-to-toe body contact between Dawn and me, the sonic arousal of Laurie and Rita grunting and moaning like animals in heat, the visual arousal of Dawn's blonde hair in my eyes, and the aromatic arousal of Dawn's cologne and natural body scent directly in my nose, I came in my pants within 60 seconds. I think I mentioned that during the 4 week June break after graduation, we seniors all had a lot of sex; so between my expectation of being prepared at any time for sex, and the cocktail of sensations presented by the fight, I came like......well, like an 18 year old boy. (I had plenty of disappointing experiences of how quickly they came.)
And, it was a good thing I came so quickly, because one of Laurie's and Dawn's friends had decided that Laufie had proved her point to Rita, and that they better scram before the cops came. She grabbed Laurie off of the now-helpless Rita, and the four of them ran, leaving the four of us on Team Rita to lick our wounds.
And to think about what had just happened.
To be continued.....
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FOUR SUCKY YEARS
The next four years, summer of 1987 to summer of 1991, pretty much sucked for me and for Dawn. I didn't find out until the end of the period in question that they had sucked for Dawn, but I knew almost immediately that they would suck for me.
Rita, and the three of us on Team Rita, had picked pretty much the worst time of year to lose a girlfight. We seniors were done with school, so we had no way to give our side of the story--this was 1987, remember: no Facebook, no Snapchat. No texting, for crying out loud. News and gossip, true/false/exagerrated, rumors especially, grew and evolved and were spread face to face. And since the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors were still in school for a couple weeks, those rumors spread like wildfire.
The dominant strain of the rumor going around town was that Rita and her posse had tried to jump Laurie at Shoppers World, and that we had gotten our asses handed to us. This was a lie--Rita and Laurie had fought willingly, and if not that day would have eventually. And I would hardly characterize the outcome as an asskicking--Laurie won, or was winning, but Rita had nothing to be ashamed of, and most importantly never gave--Laurie and her three friends had run off.
But Rita, me, and our two friends were irreparably etched into Framingham Class of 1987 lore as (a) sneak-attack thugs and (b) incapable fighters. We had all the bad properties of girl gangstas and none of the good ones. We were disinvited from every summer house party, every trip to Cape Cod or Boston or Newport, everything. We were social pariahs, the worst thing you can be at 18.
After an endlessly dull summer, I went away to college at North Adams State in Western Massachusetts. (It changed its name in the 1990s to Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts--MCLA.) I had chosen it in April for the dumbest possible reason--it had a pretty campus. You'll notice that I've made the most important decisions in my life impulsively and somewhat self-destructively. (Getting married, then divorced, were two others.) Within my first seven days on campus, my heart sank. The girls were nothing like me, and the boys weren't husband material. I cried to my parents, begging them to let me transfer. After 2 months of drama, they let me start the process of transferring to Fitchburg State, a bit closer to home, in September 1988. The Admissions Office said my credits would transfer; hardly any of them actually did. The Massachusetts Legislature massively cut funding to Massachusetts state college in 1990. In spring 1991, I had no degree in sight, and my parents gagged at the tuition bill. Fitchburg State boys were using me for sex--I had a reputation (probably deserved--see the next paragraph) for being easy. I was drifting--academically, socially, financially. My dad, mom, and I decided to cut our losses. I dropped out of school in April 1991.
The sex thing. Where to start. I pretty much masturbated all the time. When I was driving in a car, I would masturbate at every red light. EVERY damn one. In bed with boys, I learned they like when I licked their cock I masturbated. I liked it to, so I did it. And word got around. I didn't know what was causing this behavior and me, and yet I did. Everytime I came, I would flash back to cumming in my pants in my fringe fight with Dawn. I could remember every part of it--her curly blonde hair, her fuzzy red sweater, her fighting-back-but-not-too-hard when we rolled in the grass next to the much-more-serious Laurie and Rita.
Her boob popping out of her sweater at the start of the fight.
Just as I moved back home in April 1991, a new neighbor was moving one across the street, one door to the left. Dawn had attended, was still attending, Keene State College in New Hampshire. They were paying out of state tuition, which became a huge problem the preceding October, when Dawn's dad got laid off from his job at Prime Computer. Dawn's family had been forced to sell their house, and were now renting in my neighborhood.
Dawn was back from school in May. She was home alone all day, I was home alone all day. We had, by now, heard about each others' respective misfortunes.
One day, I decided to take a break from my compulsive masturbating, break the ice, and ring on her doorbell. To say "welcome to the neighborhood" to Dawn. To ask if she remembered between her and me in 1987. To see if we could be of help to each other.
To see if she was as sad and lonrly as I was.
To be continued.....
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A TALK WITH DAWN
I approach Dawn's front door, wearing white tennis shorts and a tank top. My hair and makeup are done far more than I've been doing them lately, although honestly taking a break from makeup has cleared my complexion. Or maybe turning 22 is clearing my face; either way, that's one of the few aspects of my life that's actually improving lately. I notice that up close the lawn of Dawn's family's rental looks terrible--they must have bigger fish to fry than doing yardwork. Sad.
As I go up the the front door to knock, Dawn sees me thru the picture window and waves enthusiastically, motioning that she'll come to the front door and let me in. Wow--it's been awhile since anyone was this happy to see me. Dawn and I don't quite know whether to shake hands or hug, so we do a semi-awkward air-kiss greeting as Dawn speaks first:
> Debbie, hi.....your hair looks pretty.....Debbie, I've been meaning to say hi....
> Yes, me too....thsnks on the hair, yours looks good to....it's so straight now.....I saw you the other day....
> I know....and I wanted to say thank you to your mom....she's been ssssooo nice to my mom....this has been really hard for her.....here, come in, we can shut the door......<<<<Wow; apparently no hard feelings from 1987. I guess Dawn hasn't been one of the girls freezing me out of Framingham parties for four years.>>>>
We sit next to each other on a couch. The furniture in the house is pretty minimal--I wonder if they sold any in the process of moving. Dawn continues:
> I don't know if you heard......Prime Computer is pretty much going to go under....my dad lost his job, all his stock options.....
> Dawn, that's horrible, can he get another job?
> He has a couple of leads at DEC and a couple of other places on 495....some former friends of his at Prime....the computer jobs are all moving out to 495 now instead of 128.....he'll be ok.....luckily I'm done at Keene....
> Yes, congratulations, I heard, you're going to be a teacher?
> Yes, my boyfriend and I are going to a Masters program at UConn that has the student teaching built in as a part of it. We're going to save my parents a few bucks by renting together. I'm glad you stopped by today--I leave for the summer session the day after tomorrow. I won't be back home here until Thanksgiving.
> Wow, living together, must be serious.
> Yeah, pretty serious. Well, serious enough to be living together, and both wanting to be teachers. Maybe even in the same school--we'll see. <<<<I'm actually happy to hear Dawn has a serious boyfriend; it emboldens me to bring up the topic weighing on me.>>>>
> Oh, wow, no summer vacation for you, huh? Dawn, since you're leaving in a couple days.....I've been meaning to ask you.....do you remember that....fight......you and I had after graduation....I didn't hurt you, did I?.....
> Yes, Debbie. No.....hard....feelings...about any of that.....ok? I know we just got forced into.... it....because of the whole Laurie/Rita thing. I meant to apologize.....well, not apologize....to sort of make up with you or whatever.....but then I was like.....will she think I'm not really being sincere....or whatever.....and then I had heard you transferred colleges.....plus, I was just kinda embarrassed about the whole thing....
> Oh, I know.....tell me about it....to this day I'm still a little bit angry at Rita for putting me in that position....her and Laurie, fighting over a boy like that?.....
> Well, I WILL say this, Debbie.....I thought that too for awhile....about Rita and Laurie and girls that fight over boys.....but now that I'm actually with a man, Doug is his name by the way, I would actually fight, not fight over him, but.....well he has an ex who I'm watching out for....and Debbie I swear if she tried to come back and make a play fof him....it would be totally on between me and her....
> <<<<<The insides of my thighs start tingling to hear Dawn talk about fighting another girl, an ex of her current serious boyfriend. i had been confused since my Shoppers World fight with Dawn about whether I was attracted to her, but now I can perceive that it's the idea of Dawn fighting which is the turnon.>>>>
> Wow,... so Dawn....does she know about you....and about you and Doug moving in together at UConn???.....
> We've had words on the phone. .....more than once.....she's fine now.....with him and me moving in.....she's with someone right now, pretty serious, or at least serious enough to keep her occupied....but I don't trust her...I think she and I are going to have it out somewhere down the line.....I've been meaning to ask....when you.....threw me to the ground, the day we fought.....can you show me what you did? .....was that some....move? <<<Dawn stands up. I'm too shy, too unconfident, in myself, to tell Dawn there's nothing I'd more rather do than wrestle with her in her living room. I can already feel pre-cum in my panties. I stand and face her.>>>>
> Oh.....let me think.....well, here, you had my hair....here like this.....by the way....if you're ever fighting her, grad her hair just like that, except pull her head down....so she can't see.....but here.....you see how I'm lining my hip against yours?....<<<<Dawn's body feels so firm against mine....does she work out? I should start working out, maybe then I won't feel so crappy all the time.>>>>>....see, you just....almost.....throw the other girl with your hip...see....<<<<I throw Dawn gently to the floor and mount her....we pause and stare into each others' eyes.....I feel friskier than I've felt since high school>>>>>
> Oh I see. I think I get it. Can I try it on you? <<<<<We stand up, breathing harder.>>>> So...pull my hair.....so wimpy, Debbie! pull it harder! ....ok, let me get mg hip....here, our legs are tangled.....ok there....<<<<Dawn throws me to the ground>>>....take that bitch! <<<<<Dawn and I begin grinding our crotches thru our thin clothes>>>>....stay away from my man, slut! <<<<<We rhythmically grind and rock. Our hands lock together. Dawn makes pretend fighting noises and pretend trash talk. We release hands and begin rolling on the floor, wrestling gently like the day we did at Shoppers World. I shutter in orgasm. She must know I've just cum, but she doesn't acknowledge it. We continue wrestling and rolling, our legs wrapped together. I'm happier than I've been in years. Knowing Dawn is going away in a couple days releases my inhibitions with her. I love fighting with Dawn. I could fo this for hours. Should we talk about this. Or will that just creep her out? Will she think she's cheating on Doug? Should I just let this all happen like it's happening?>>>>
For 15 glorious minutes, Dawn and I aggressively wrestle on her living room floor, with me cumming several times. If Dawn came, she kept it hidden. My cumming was pretty evident, although Dawn and I don't talk about it.
We pause to catch our breaths.
Once we've paused, Dawn seems hesitant about what we're doing. I want more of the same, but am afraid to ask.
She says she needs to go--there's some stuff she needs to buy at ....Shoppers World.....before leaving for Connecticut. I ask if she needs help. She says. No thank you.
I should probably insist and go help her.
Instead, we hug, widh each other well, and I go home.
I lock my bedroom door and masturbate for three hours.
To be continued.....
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Wow - really, really good! Thank you!
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EIGHT HAPPY YEARS
The conversation with Dawn, the reflections of what our 1987 fight had meant, and our 1991 "fight" in her living room, knocked me out of my self-destructive loose-woman funk. I started recognizing when a boy was using my body for sex, versus when a man was courting me. Or at least when a man was trying to get to know me. If I was in a using situation, I ran, and fast.
And so on October 2, 1993, I got married in a Catholic Church to a man, David, who had been a year ahead of me at Marian. He had had a crush on me our whole time at Marian, and had been too shy to tell me. He went away to college at Dayton University in Ohio to study engineering, and came back to Massachusetts to work at EMC in Westborough. He didn't mind my checkered academic record since leaving Marian, even though I was open and honest with him about my sleeping-around phase at Fitchburg. He claimed he didn't mind at all, and we quickly had a pair of baby girls in July 1994 and Septrmber 1995. We're pretty sure the older girl was conceived on our wedding night. Or, ahem, well, maybe a couple nights before our wedding night. My parents, as well as his, were a great help in raising the girls. We bought a house in Natick, right next door to Framingham. More on that in a minute.
The story up above has one lie, one omission. It implies I told David EVERYTHING about my past. It's close to true, but not quite. I didn't tell David about Dawn. About my 1987 fight with her, where I came; or about my 1991 fight with her, where I came. Or about a 1995 conversation I had with Dawn's mom, where Dawn's told me that Dawn and Doug had finished their Masters at UConn, and were both teaching in New London, Connecticut. And had gotten married. Dawn and Doug; Debbie and David. The 4-D club. The two men in it, David and Doug, would have gotten a chuckle out of that.
If they knew about it. Which they didn't. Dawn didn't tell Doug about me. And I didn't tell David about Dawn. Not then. Not ever. Not even today, here in 2018. Why? Or, why not?
Speaking for myself, I never told David about Dawn because I didn't have a label for it. I didn't want to go to bed with Dawn, lf any woman. I just wanted to fight Dawn. Or, if I couldn't, to fantasize about it. Pretty much every time I masturbated, it, my thoughts, included a fight with Dawn.
Dawn had her own reasons for not telling her own husband our secret, which her mother confided to me when I was back in the old Framingham neighborhood in 1995, recharging at a babysitting session at my mom's. Dawn's mom told me that until 1987, that she and Dawn's dad were at their wit's end with Dawn, imploring her to stop being a wallflower. But that Dawn's Shoppers World fight with me had finally injected some backbone in Dawn. She made decisions. And she stood up to girls, like Doug's crazy ex. Dawn's mom said I was the best influence of Dawn's childhood. Wow.
I called Dawn to thank her. And to check in on her. And to fill her in on my life.
And to schedule a secret overnight rendezvous with her in Old Saybrook, Connecticut on the school holiday, Veterans Day, November 11, 1995.
We took 24 hours away from our husbands, and, in my case, my two infant girls. We, somwhat sheepishly, checked into a hotel, and then went to Old Saybrook's Main Street, and shopped for intimate apparel. Bras. Psnties. Hose. Three pairs of each. We bought for each other--I chose Dawn's, Dawn chose mine.
We raced back to the hotel, still essentially wordlessly. We showed each other which pair of underwear to change into first.
And we tore into each other, nails shedding underwear and hair and, to a lesser extent, even skin. When one set of underwear was shedded, we ordered each other into the second pair. And then the third. Shit, we dhould have bought more underwear. Then again, maybe not--we're both young brides with obligations at home.
But, for tonight, we're semi-naked hellcats wrestling on the floor. I cum generously, and this time, I know for a fact, Dawn does too.
1987. 1991. 1995. We met again, of course, in 1999. The year I got divorced.
To be continued......
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CATHOLIC GUILT REDUX
After my Veterans Day 1995 hotel fight session with Dawn, I went thru one final bout of Catholic guilt over the feelings and urges I had when fighting Dawn.
Part of the guilt was completely justified and appropriate. I had dumped my two infant girls on my husband Dave, without his consent, for an entire overnight. I had risked serious and even minor injury, without Dave's consent, either of which would have compromised by ability to carry out my domestic duties for an uncertain period of time. And I had used Dawn's body for my sexual pleasure, without her full explicit consent. Although I think we were both in that hotel for the same, mutual reasons, we didn't discuss the meetup and its ramifications, like adults should, either before, during, or after the event. Not that either of us had the words yet to describe our feelings--but, we should have at least made the attempt. Anything short of that was using each others' bodies. I still fantasized about the pleasure I received from fighting Dawn. And I still kept up with Dawn's life and teaching career and, in 1997 and 1998, motherhood, also to two healthy baby girls. But I assumed she and I would never be fighting again. Real life had a way of intruding on the pleasure of adolescence and young adulthood. These are the sacrifices we make to be grown up.
In 1999, I guess these sacrifices were too much for me. My divorce from Dave sort of happened. Make no mistake, I initiated it. But it still sort of happened. I withdrew from him in the bedroom. His performance was waning, but Viagra existed by now, and me making a big deal about it probsbly just made it worse. And ghen I started throwing around the "D" word, daring him to disprove the rightness of my argument. In August, our two girls were both in full time pre-school, and one of our arguments escalated to us getting lawyers. And then neither of us wanted to be the first to reconcile, and it was too late--the divorce gears were fully turning. It was the height of the tech bubble, Dave's EMC stock options were worth an absolute fortune ($850,000), and my divorce attorney's eyes got dollar signs in them. There was no turning back. In November 1999, we were divorced.
It swas one of those impulsive, self-destructive things which have dogged me my whole life. Or, at periodic intervals during it.
My sadness and loneliness hung over me like a dark cloud. We sold our house in Natick. Dave's family took custody so our daughters could finish their academic preschool year there. I moved back in with my parents in Framingham. I vaguely planned on buying my own place in the spring with my EMC stock options windfall. (Spoiler alert: that never happened--the tech bubble burst in the spring.)
Dawn visited her parents in Framingham for Thanksgiving 1999. Doug took their girls back to Connecticut on Friday. I know, because I was eavesdropping thru my bedroom window in my parents' place. On Friday night, I called Dawn's parents' house. Dawn's mom answered.
> Hello?
> Hey, Mrs A____r. It's Debbie. Across the street. Is Dawn there?
> One minute, Deb.
Dawn picks up.
> Hey, stranger.
> I need to see you. Now.
> Are you alone?
> No. My dad is home. But he'll leave us alone in our bedroom.
> Be right there.
The resemblance to a Marian High School or Fitchburg State College booty csll with a boy was almost word-for-word. So was the anticipatory moistness in my pussy.
But I promised myself we would discuss "this" first. I needed to assuage my guilt.
I'm in sweats and no underwear, as I have been since my separation and divorce. I run downstairs and open yhe front foor. Good, Dawn is casual too. Shit, she's getting prettier every year.
I let her in. She says hi to be semi-napping dad, and we run up go my bedroom. I lock the door behind me.
> Debbie, I don't understand. You got fucking divorced?
> I know.....part of me is saying that to myself, too.
> Not go be rude....or judgmental....but are you coming out of the closet? Did you already.
> No. It's not that. I'm straight. Not lesbian, not even bi. [Dawn looks at me skeptically.] You're the only woman I cum with. And even with you, Dawn, I don't even want go kiss you. I just want to....fight.....you.
[Dawn thinks.]
> Then, let's fight.
In seconds, we're entangled in my bed covers.
And cumming.
To be continued.....
-
COMMUNICATING WITH DAWN
Although it had taken Dawn and I a dozen years to verbalize with each other the bond and connection we had with each other, once we did, the floodgates completely broke open. Although we remained physically separated by a geographical distance of 100 miles, we began to stay in communication with each other in intervals of ever-increasing frequency.
My two steps forward, I should point out, was first preceded by one step backwards. During the vourse of 2000, 2001, and 2002, the tech stock bubble deflated, and the EMC stock options I had won from David in the divorce settlement became worthless. Not worth less; worthless. Stock options have this funny concept called "out of the money". If the option has a "strike price" of $17, and EMC stock is trading at $13, the stock option is worth $0. If it makes it to its expiration date like that, it expires worthless. Quarter after quarter, I went to my mailbox and watched as dozens, then hundreds, of EMC stock options expired worthless. It was quite painful, and it meant I would be living at home with my parents for awhile.
All I had left to show from thr divorce, financially, was the alimony payments, which David tried valiantly to have reconsidered and reduced, given the downturn in EMC's fortunes. He failed, for two reasons. My divorce attorney, who had originally talked me into separating from David, saw my living conditions and refused to go along with any reduction.
And, David started dating another Marian girl, Karen. Karen was full-on observant Catholic, and was infertile. She wanted a Catholic marriage to David, meaning his marriage to me would need to be annulled. And Karen wanted to be a hands-on stepmom to David and my two daughters, since she could never have her own children. Karen and David needed my active cooperation for both the annulment and the child-rearing, and so the alimony checks kept coming. On my attorney's advice, I did not look for a job--that might weaken my legal case for alimony. So I dropped out of the job market, possibly for good, since the emerging gap in my resume would be difficult to explain to prospective employers.
Besides my permanently unemployed state, other circumstances were facilitating ever-growing regularity in communication between Dawn and me. Dawn's two daughters reached the same childhood milestone mine had: full-time pre-school enrollment. Then, when Dawn's husband Doug made the switch from teaching to school administration (he became a Vice Principal, then later a Principal), Dawn dropped out of teaching, and was home all day like me. And, finally, technology was working to help our communication. Texting on a cellphone was a godsend; then came Skype and unlimited long distance and email and MySpace. So, while actual physical meetup would remain, for now, a rarity (we had young children; and the nature of our relationship was still a secret from Dawn's husband), we just sort of "fell into" being in near constant contact.
And there was pretty much only one topic we conversed about. Fighting.
We talked a bit about how much we enjoyed fighting each other, and what kind of fights we should have when Dawn was up in Framingham visiting her mom for the holidays. And what clothes we should wear-- lots of talk about that, which I'll get into later.
But as 2002 and 2003, as David and Karen started to get more serious about getting married, and as the Catholic annulment process between David and me progressed, and as the relationship between Karen and me deteriorated, the fighting conversations between Dawn and me took a darker turn. Let me explain.
The annulment process, for those of you who have never been through it, is horribly intrusive. The Church Inquisitors ask you, first in writing and then by phone and then in person, horribly personal questions about when and how often you and your husband had sex, before, during, and after your marriage. And what kinds of sex. Making matters worse, this was in 2002 and 2003. The Archdiocese of Boston scandals didn't make the news until 2005, so the people questioning me, all men, were still riding high in their arrogance. It was quite humiliating for me. I blamed Karen, and vented to Dawn.
Dawn started asking me if Karen and I might fight. At first, we used the topic of a Karen/Debbie fight just as masturbation fodder. But, as time went on, Dawn started digging deeper. If Karen and I did fight, would it be at catfight, or a fistfight? Would it be like the Dawn/Debbie fight in 1987 at Shoppers World, or like the Rita/Laurie fight?
We both knew the answer. Since Karen and I had both slept with David, we would fight with fists like Rita and Laurie had done.
Dawn asked me if I wanted to "prepare" for a fistfight like that. By fistfighting her.
She was serious. We talked about how to fistfight each other without losing our friendship. It had taken so long to build up our relationship and the trust between us, for it to become yet another casualty of the breakup of my marriage was unacceptable.
And yet....
We couldn't let it go. Wondering what it would be like to fistfight each other. And so, I started playing a dirty trick on Dawn.
I started making her wonder what would happen if I did fight Karen. Would my love of fighting switch from fighting Dawn to fighting Karen? Would Dawn lose me as a fight partner?
Dawn and I decided to fistfight at Dawn's mom's house in August 2003.
To prevent things getting out of hand, we would both have a safe word. Mine would be "David". Dawn's would be "Doug".
Thru the long, hot summer of 2003, we masturbated, together and alone, to the thought of our upcoming fistfight. We texted each other selfies in our agreed-upon clothes for the fight--cutoff jeans and topless and boots. The boots were to kick with, if the other one of us fell to the grass.
The day of the fight finally came. Hot. Humid. Our boobs were already giving off droplets of sweat.
Dawn said, "I don't plan on using my safe word."
I retorted, "Neither do I."
The atmosphere was completely different from our 1999 bedroom fight, from our 1995 hotel fight, fome our 1991 living room fight, from our 1987 parking lot fight.
I was "training" for what I truly believed was an inevitable fight for status with David's bride-to-be Karen. A bitter wife versus ex-wife brawl.
Dawn was trying to "audition" with me to retain her role as my lifelong fight partner, to pre-empt Karen taking that role.
The stakes were dead serious for each of us. As was the fistfight.
We stood toe to toe in the hot sun for 15 minutes, beating the shit out of each others faces. True to our promise, neither of us used our safe word. The flesh-on-bone-and-flesh "thwack"-ing sound was exactly like what we recalled hearing Rita and Laurie inflicting on each other. We wanted to stop hurting and each other, and yet we wanted to hear more of that sound. So we kept fighting. We watched each others' soaked boobs bounce up and down as we bobbed and weaved.
A right cross of mine caught Dawn on the jaw. She went down on her back, and I moved on top on her with my boots, my bloodlust "practicing" for how badly I would hurt Karen if we ever were the two women fighting. Dawn, from her back, kicked upwardly back at me, just as desperately and just as fiercely. With me standing and Dawn lying on her back, we each landed vicious boot kicks to the others' shins, knees, and crotches. In discussing the fight later, we decided we had each inflicted, and sustained, more damage in this portion of the fight then in the standing part.
The kicking continued for five to seven more minutes, when a kick by Dawn to my knee sent me falling on top of her. We lined up our boobs and crotches, entering our now-familiar rolling position. We came in explosive orgasms, and looked each other in the eye.
"That bitch Karen better think twice about ever fighting you. You'll put her in a fucking hospital."
"And you'll put her in a fucking morgue?"
"How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess."
To be continued.....
-
PLANNING FOR FIGHT NUMBER SIX
In 1987, Dawn and I had fought in a parking lot.
In 1991, we fought in her living room.
In 1995, we fought in a hotel room.
In 1999, we fought in my bedroom.
In 2003, we fought in her backyard.
You didn't have to be a genius to see that our next fight would be in 2007. Every four years, just like the Olympics. We would be 38 years old. One of the last fights we would be able to really let it all hang out physically. Even the 2003 fistfight had been risky. The next day, the next week, the next month, I discovered new injuries in parts of my body which I didn't realize existed.
But it was worth it. I would masturbate four hours at a time to that hot sunny day in Dawn's parents' backyard. I remembered our sweaty topless upperbodies colliding together, our arms lashing out and not even attempting to block each others' punches. Dawn going to the ground, and me trying to kick her with my boots. Dawn skillfully retaliating, even from flat on her back, connecting with my crotch.
I wondered what would have happened had that fight continued. If any of our fights had continued. They hsd all stopped, all five, before either of us "lost" the fight, either by submission or by being unable to continue.
What if one of ouf fights had a winner, and a loser. Would our friendship continue? Would we still find the thought of fighting each other to be erotic? Or would the magic be over?
And, who would win the fight, anyways? In our early fights, I had been the aggressor. But, I had never gotten a surrender from Dawn, and anyways, she was constantly improving as a fighter. Heck, Dawn wanted to fight my ex-husband's new wife Karen more than I did.
What if Dawn was slowly catching up to me in fighting ability? What if someday she passed me, and I couldn't "keep up" with her in our fights anymore? What if she got bored with me and found a new fight friend? I basically had nothing else going on in my life. I was a single mom, and not a very good one. I was divorced, and unlikely to remarry. I was dependent on alimony payments for my income. I was living at home, apparently permanently. Dawn was the best thing I had going on in my life. I needed to keep my fighting skills sharp to keep her coming back for more.
I needed to get into a fight with someone before my 2007 fight with Dawn.
Dawn and I talked thru on the phone my options. We decided I had three.
Door Number One. Fight David's new wife Karen. Pro's--she and I know each other and hate each other; the fight would have genuine animosity. Con's--she and I are jointly raising two pre-teen girls: will being around each other be too awkward after a fight, especially if I lose? How mortifying.
Door Number Two. Fight another mom at my daughters' school. Pro--Both of my daughters are in cheer, and the moms are notoriously catty. Con--Why involve my daughters in my crap, especially at such a young age?
Door Number Three. Fight a stranger at a bar. Pro--same pro as meeting a one-night stand at a bar: you never have to see that person again. Con--dangerous. Then again, maybe that's a second Pro.
Barfight it is, Dawn and I decide.
Dawn asks around and finds out there's a biker bar in Stonington, Connecticut. She and I buy leather gear one day. We model black leather coats for each other, getting maximally turned on. We buy those gloves with the missing fingers. We decide the leather pants aren't really a turnon--jeans will do, thank you. But the boots ard heaven to us. Light fur, dark fur, ankle high, knee high, thigh high. Brown, black, purple. The shopping experiences alone generate phone sex, sexting, and masturbation material galore.
But then it's time to put up or shut up. Dawn and I need to sit at the bar and find a fight. Dawn will fight, too, if necessary, but since she has more domestic obligations than me, we'll try to avoid that outcome if possible.
Our improvised plan works, just not in the way we expect. The actual bikers can tell at first glance that Dawn and I are..."hayseeds", I think one bearded Harley dude called us. We're not actual bikers, and we're not here as biker groupies looking to get laid, so no actual bikers take any interest in us. The only way we'll find a fight is if some other, non-biker chick has the same idea as us.
Who would have thought, but one actually does. A vaguely down-on-her-luck looking bleach blonde locks eyes with Dawn across the bar. After a 20-minute staredown, she gets up and comes over, and asks Dawn, "Which one of you bitches wants to throw down." Dawn and I tell her the troublemaker is me, to which Blondie says, "I'm disappointed."
"Oh, that's it sweetie, it is so on. Care to step outside."
Blondie thinks about it.
"Let's go. Tough girl."
To be continued.....
-
MY BARFIGHT
Barfly Blondie and I step onto the gravel parking lot, grab each others' hair, and pull each others' heads down, throwing occassional uppercuts. The gravel churns under our feet, giving audio confirmation to the violence of our struggle. Even though I don't even know Blondie's real name, nor anything else about her, this fight is personal anyways because Blondie wishes she was fighting Dawn right now. My Dawn. The girl I fight every 4 years. The girl I discuss fighting with all the time between those fights. I don't want anyone else to know what it's like to fight Dawn. That's my thing.
Dawn is standing on the gravel watching us fight. I don't need to ask her to know she's totally turned on watching this fight. Just as I would be totally turned on watching her fight. In one of our conversations, Dawn had described a school dispute with another mom over a bullying incident between their two daughters. Dawn had described a tense meeting with the other mom in the principal's office. I asked Dawn to describe every detail of the other mom's looks and clothes. I then fantasized about Dawn and the other mom taking the discussion "offline", away from the principal. I had imagined them agreeing to meet at Shoppers World, where Dawn and I first fought. They thrill at the challenge of meeting alone. Their hormones race at the idea of protecting their daughters from a threat. They retreat to a quiet corner of the parking lot and tear into each other, just as Barfly Blondie and I are doing right now.
Blondi can definitely fight--the few punches of mine which directly land to her face cause her no apparent discomfit. Meanwhile, her hands hitting my face hurt as much as if she had picked up a rock from the gravel pit and thrown it at me. I refuse to acknowledge the pain, tho--I want Blondi and Dawn to know that, if Blondi was looking for a fight, her choice of me was the right one.
I begin to actually pity Blondi. When she gets the urge to fight, she needs to look for trouble with strangers. I have a fight friend. I have Dawn. I'll be fighting her again in 2007. Then in 2011. Then in 2015 and 2019. By then, our daughters will be grown. Maybe it will be easier for us to get together. Maybe we'll be able to fight more often. But until then, maybe the spectre of the solo Barfly Blondie, no partner to watch her fights, will remind Dawn and me of the special bond we have.
Barfly Blondie abandons her uppercut face punches on me. This is a stupid tactic by her, unless her hands are hurting her from her bonecrunching strikes. Freed from the pain her fists were inflicting on my face and mouth, I am free to concentrate on our hairpulling as we toss each other around the gravel lot. Our heads and faces are pressed together, our bodies stuck in their awkward standing jackknife positions. People knock hairpulling in a catfight, but it's the best tactic I know to control an opponent's body position.
Blondi and I are hot and in pain, and we're waiting for our "second wind" to kick in. This began as a test of abilities, but now we both want to hurt each other. I realize this fight is going to end differently than my fights with Dawn. We whisper insults.
Bitch.
Fuck you blonde slut I'll kill you.
I'll fucking mess up that pretty face of yours.
I blush in pride at Blondie's attempted insult. I've wondered for years now if Dawn thinks I'm pretty. I think she is--prettier even than she was at 18. Her dntire body is perfectly proportioned in a way that screams out "sex!". But I'm afraid to say it. I don't want her to think my turnon with her is about getting laid by her. It's about fighting her, that's it.
If Barfly Blondie thinks I'm pretty, maybe Dawn thinks I am too.
My second wind kicks in. I pull Blondie down onto the ground. I'm trying to mount her, but she fights with her feet and legs, desperately trying to stay on her side. I see red, having and all-consuming desire to mount her and rain downward punches onto her face. I her writhing, her left breast and bra pop out of her coat, just like Dawn's did in 1987. I grab on with my right hand, my left hand still in Blondie's hair and controlling Blondie's head. I twist Blondie's breast in vicious torques, like I'm opening a jar. Neither of us allowed our shrieks of pain to be audible when we were face punching, but Blondie is in full throated moaning mode now. I lock my legs around her hips so she can't withdraw. I twist. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Clockwise. My nails break skin. I twist ever more viciously.
My torturing of Blondie must have lasted two minutes tops, but that was long enough to learn two things.
One, Blondie begged me to stop, and I did.
Two. I want my next fight with Dawn to be a breast mauling catfight.
To be continued.....
-
2007 BREAST MAULING FIGHT WITH DAWN
In 2006 and 2007, cellphones began having the functionality to text pictures. Dawn and I became addicted right away to texting each others pictures of our own breasts. We would then sit alone for hours staring at the images, and then, when time and circumstances allowed, talking on the phone about what we wanted to do to them, to each other, the next time we fought.
Dawn and I spoke a lot about breast size, and about how she and I both wore 36c bras, even though the images of our breasts did not look the same, about how they hung from our naked chests in distinctly different ways. Wd wondered if our comparable breast sizes helped to explain the enduring jntensity of our fight rivalry. Dawn explained a disturbing experience of going to an outdoor birthday party of one of her daughters, and seeing one of her daughter's friend's mom in a tank top, her breasts bursting out of the tank top, five sizes bigger than the last time Dawn had seen her. Dawn remembered how angry she was that the woman had had such exaggerated enhancement performed, and yet hurt that she had not informed Dawn about her procedure/s. Dawn knew, standing in the lawn that day, that she could no longer be friends with that woman, as surely as if one married a husband of which the other did not approve.
I asked Dawn, I pried, into what her husband like doing to her breasts in bed. She described him massaging them from behind when the two of them would spoon in bed, and then Dawn turning around and inviting him to kiss them. I felt competitive with Dawn in these situations, triumphant at having tricked her into sharing the most intimate details of her married life. I was relieved I had never met Dawn's husband, that he would not propsition me and force me to choose between having an affair with him or having Dawn as a fight friend. I was using my fight conversations with Dawn as a substitute for actual dating and sex. Just like my withdrawal from the workforce, as a divorce strategy, in 1999 now made it impossible for me to land a new job after an 8 year gap, so my lack of regular sex for so long clung to me like s stench--men could sense it, like dogs sensing fear. It made it difficult for me to approach men around home in Framingham. Even the ones who could look past my having two daughters.
I was thinking about my ex, David, a lot. Everytime he and I would do a drop off with the girls, I wanted to proposition him. The sex with him, and hurting his new wife Karen when they inevitably found out, both prospects exhilarated me. David and Karen were such devout Catholics, I wallowed in the Schadenfraude when the Boston pedophile priests scandal hit in 2005/2006. I found out from my daughters that David and Karen actually stopped going to Sunday Mass for awhile. They were such devout Catholics, missing Mass used to be inconceivable to them.
I was jealous at Karen's infertility. It allowed David and her to have unlimited unprotected sex. Best of both worlds for the hypocritical bitch--not violating the Catholic Church "no condoms/no birth control" rule, but at the same time no fear of an unplanned pregnancy. All sanctimonious and holier than though about it, when all Mother Nature had done was handed her a big ass loophole.
Dawn and I talked sometimes and me confronting Karen with her hypocrisy, and whether it would lead to a fight between her and me. The thought of Karen and me fighting was a huge turnon to Dawn--shd thought if we ever did fight, one or both of us would get seriously hurt. She told me she heard through remarried couples she knew that until the divorced wife was securely remarried, the new wife was always expecting a fight with the ex to happen.
Was Karen always expecting a fight with me? Was that why I wasn't remarried? Was that why I didn't speak up when David and Karen starting building a big-ass home, way more expensive than they could afford, at the peak of the mortgage bubble? More on that later.
2007 came. Dawn and I couldn't take the anticipation anymore--it was time to maul each others' breasts. She decided, we decided, that Dawn should roleplay as Karen. The fight would be Karen and me finally havinv our long-overdue new wife vs ex-wife catfight for supremacy.
We met in my bedroom a Saturday night in midwinter in February. We climbed into my bed, and took our tops and bras off. Our breasts were familiar to each other by now from texting, but it was nevertheless exhilarting to finally touch them.
To slap them.
To pinch them.
I don't know what I was expecting in the pain department, but what I felt was worse than anything I had felt before. Dawn and I held nothing back, confident in privacy from my ever less lucid dad. We called each other nasty bitches, Dawn playing the role of Karen, me playing myself.
Our nails dug into each others' breasts--side boob, under boob. We squeezed and mauled and twisted, pushing each other through the pain like two partners running a triathlon together. The pain was telling us to relent, but we didn't want to disappoint our partner, who was clearly wondering how far this would go.
We also knew that if we kept to our custom, we wouldn't bd fighting again for four years.
Four long, lonely years.
So we had to take advsntage of every available minute here, tonight, in my bed. Torturing each others' breasts like a pair of sadistic prison wardens.
By now, we were laying on our sides on my bed, surprisingly exhausted not from fatigue but from pain. I told Dawn/"Karen" to admit I was better in bed with David than she was. Dawn/"Karen" said that if that was true, why was Dawn/"Karen" married but I was single.
Was Dawn taunting me in her Karen role? Or was Dawn taunting me as herself? We had forgotten to start tonight with a safe word, we both now realized. I was genuinely angry with Dawn at this moment. I was genuinely trying to hurt her breasts. The dynamic between her and me was tense.
We had achieved what we were both looking for--a fight more personal than all our others.
How far would we take it tonight?
And in future fights?
"In 2011, when we fight, I want to scratch your pussy raw."
Game on.
To be continued.....
-
An awsumm fight...set up is too much exciting...please engage their daughters...and make the fight little long..i have just become your huge fann...did u write any other story!!?
-
2007-2011 INTRA-FIGHT WITH DAWN
For two whole years after our 2007 fight, Dawn and I actually did not text or talk much. There were two reasons for this.
The first reason was that the housing market, both in the U.S. and in Eastern Massachusetts, crashed. My ex-husband David and his new wife Karen got caught up in the carnage. They were never clear with me if it was due to outright foreclosure or if they "mailed in their keys to the bank" voluntarily, but they abandoned their dream home while it was still under construction. They were in a terrible fix financially and domestically, and I ended up seeing much more of my pre-teen daughters. To show you how dire their straits were, David and Karen actually withdrew my two girls from the K thru 8 Catholic school they had been attending to save the $8,400 per year tuition cost. I became a much more hands-on mom, helping with clothes and homework and tween-age drama. Let me tell you, Middle School math and science are way more difficult than they were in my day. My hands were less idle than they had been, and I had less time for trouble.
But there was also a second factor at play in my withdrawal from Dawn. I found her roleplaying comment about my not being married during our last fight to be terribly inappropriate. If she made the comment speaking as herself, it was arrogant and tone-deaf--after all, I could end her marriage with a snap of my fingers by revealing to Dawn's husband the 20 year "relationship" she had with me behind his back. Alternatively, if Dawn was speaking as Karen, the comment terribly misunderstood both Karen's Catholic "wholesomeness", but also the bond Karen and I shared in raising our daughters. We had gritted our teeth for a nearly and decade and worked our way thru the ex-/new-wife awkwardness, because we had two innocent girls who needed us to do that. Dawn was a mother to two pre-teen daughters herself; why could she not see that? Or maybe she could, and yet chose to sow discord anyways.
As 2009 turned into 2010, I assumed that Dawn and I were no longer speaking; that our friendship had run its course. We were 41 years old now. What was that I had heard St Paul say at Marian about putting away childish things? Maybe it was time for Dawn and I to "put away" our every-four-year fights.
But then the internet happened.
In September 2009, my older daughter began 9th grade, and my parents' house got a long overdue technology upgrade, getting high speed wifi and a network of PCs and printers to support Framingham South High School requirements. David installed it all, his EMC job partially making up for all the stock option financial losses it had inflicted on us all those years ago during our divorce.
One sleepless midwinter night a few months later, I was surfing the web, and "discovered" YouTube. What a revelation: Girls would get into fights at parking lots or parks or driveways or even school bathrooms, just like my friends and Dawn's friends had two decades ago. But with a new modern twist: their friends would video record the fights on their cellphones, and then post the fights on YouTube for people, like me, apparently, to watch. Over and over.
I was hooked. I pretty much gave up sleeping at night. I would count the hours until 9:30pm when my girls would go to sleep for the night and I could start searching for fights to watch. YouTube was in its infancy af the time and it could be clunky to navigate. But I found all sorts of girlfights to soak my pajama bottoms clear thru to the surface of whatever chair or couch I was sitting on. Fight after fight after fight.
One night, I learned how to "share" the link to a fight via email or text.
I sent a particular favorite of mine, Courtney vs Brittany, two Southern women in tank tops and jeans catfighting beside a pickup truck, to Dawn. And waited.
To next night, she texted a link back, with the greeting "I like yours--check out this one I found".
Pretty soon, we were swapping back and forth a new fight almost every night. But while YouTube had lots of "content", it wasn't limitless. After about 6 weeks, we had run dry--literally and figuratively. I made the first move: "I miss your voice." "I know, me too," Dawn responded. The next day, we were on the phone, talking about fighting and listening to each other masturbate, like there had nevef been a three year gap. Our bond was that strong.
One day not long thereafter, I brought up that 2011 was approaching quickly.
> Are we going to fight?
> How could we not?
> Scratching each others' pussies?
> How could we not?
> You're not.....afraid?
> A little bit. Are you?
> Not of the fight. I'm afraid of....afterwards.....will we still be friends?
> <<<<Thinking>>> I hope so. But I don't know.
> Me too.
> You, too...to which? You hope we'll still be friends ....afterwards? Or you don't know if we will be?
> Both. I hope our friendship ..... survives....that. But I don't know if it will.
> But you still want to do it?
> More than anything.
> I know. Me too.
> Good. Bitch.
> Bitch.
To be continued....
-
2011 FIGHT WITH DAWN
Dawn and I didn't talk or text much leading up to our 2011 fight. I thought we might text each other selfies of each others' pussies and bushes, much like we had texted each other pictures of our breasts leading up to our 2007 fight. But for reasons I couldn't put my finger on, I would hesitate everytime I tried to hit "Send" on any of my texts. I send one picture on my own, thin, trimmed bush, and received one from Dawn--hers was also thin with hair and with just regular-sized lips. Neither of us had had C-sections in delivering our daughters, I noticed. Was that a weird thing to notice, I wondered. In breasts, I knew how I wanted mine to compare with Dawn's: I wanted bigger nipples, and more definition in the borders versus the skin of my chest. On our pussies and bush, I guess I wanted a thicker, fuller bush than Dawn, but both of us were surprising.....not.....very hairy...down there. Was I disappointed in myself? in her? Is that why we stopped after one selfie?
One secret, which we never discussed with each other, in Dawn and I being able to continue to fight each other, was that none of our fights ever ended with a decisive "winner" or "loser". Even in our backyard fistfight, where I had knocked Dawn to the ground, Dawn had continued to fight from her back, kicking my hard in the legs and crotch with her boots. So none of us ever entered the next fight seeking revenge or trying to even the score--it was just about the thrill of the fight. What if someday the thrill itself wasn't enough? What if someday it was just Dawn and me.....fighting.....until one of us won and one of us lost. Would the winner want to fight in 2015? Would the loser? What if we stopped talking, like after our 2007 fight, except this time neither of us reached out?
I began contemplating my life without Dawn in it. After a seemingly endless childhood, my daughters were growing up fast, my oldest finishing her freshman year at Framingham South and already taller than me. I remember noticing that my girls seemed to both be prettier than Dawn's two girls, but that also feeling like a taboo topic to discuss. Dawn and I trusted each other that I wouldn't ruin her marriage, and were open about our YouTube girlfight addiction, and with each others' physical safety, but still had "no-go" zones we instinctively avoided. It was like knowing each others' vulnerabilities and weaknesses was enough; we had no desire to exploit them. Dawn's was her wallflower daughters; mine was my ex-husband's marriage to Karen.
Karen had lost face with me when David and her had had to abandon their dream home in 2008-2009. They tried to keep up appearances for as long as they could, but when their car leases rolled over in 2010 and they couldn't qualify for a new loan and turned in their new Infiniti SUV (Karen--oh, how she loved looking down, literally, on everyone from high up in her SUV seat) and Acura (David) for used (oh, excuse me, certified pre-owned) Volvo's, the financial strain on their lives became harder to hide. I remember delighting in watching the sanctimonious Karen lecturing me, when I had first met her, on all the virtues of leasing cars versus buying. I threw that one in her face in 2011 when she and I had our first genuinely bitter argument over groundrules for my, our, oldest daughter dating. I remember being alone in the kitchen of my parents' house with Karen, our argument gradually escalating, the realization gradually dawning (pun not intended, but apt) on me that if things got physical right now between us, there would be no one to break us up. We eventually cooled it, but for the first time I started wondering: was it true? if I stayed single, would Karen and I eventually fight? Was I subconsciously staying single to bait Karen, to have that source of tension in my life? Did that irritate Karen? Did it irritate the still-happily-married Dawn?
If I lost Dawn as an "outlet", as an escape, which way would my life go. Would I needle, needle, needle Karen until we fought over David? Or would I finally date a man and remarry? Which did I want? Either? Neither? Did I just want to keep fighting Dawn?
In July 2011, my daughters were away at different sports camps, and Dawn drove up from Connecticut and stayed at her mom's. We met in Dawn's bedroom one night and met in 2-piece lingerie we had agreed on, but with disappointly less pre-planning than our prior fights. We immediately removed the bottoms, but left the tops on. Our 2007 breast mauling fight had also been in bed, and we had spent most of that one laying side-by-side facing each other. We attempted the same position for this fight, but quickly realized it was difficult to "get at" each other. (And, believe me, we were both frisky and ready to begin the serious scratching.)
By trial and error, we knelt on the bed, faced each other, and found the optimal spacing and leaning position, and the optimal separation of our knees, and the optimal hair-grabbing position of our left hands, to give our right hands optimal unfettered access to scratch each others' pussies. It was awkward as hell, my 42 year old body not as flexible as it used to be. But we looked at each other, realizing we had found the best position for the style of fight we were both craving.
There followed a surprisingly tense few minutes of....nothing....well, not nothing. We were both ready, our hands....our fingers....our nails....flush on each others' moist-but-not soaked pussies. We were each waiting for the other to make the first move. Well, not the first move....we were both already probing the other for the most vulnerable spot to strike. We were, I think, daring the other to lob an insult, to bait the other. My mind kept flashing back to my heated verbal argument in the kitchen that day with Karen. Should Dawn and I start arguing before we fight? While we fight? Will that enhance the excitement of the fight? Or would a fake argument break the mood? Why not just fight?
Our foreheads, already closed, touched. Our right arms were pointed downwards, leaving our right shoulders bare to each others' faces, and I could smell Dawn's freshly-showered neck, as I assume she could smell mine. With our right hands still aggressively pressed against each others' pussies, we began aggressively kissing each others' right shoulder, neck, and collarbone.
I had never kissed Dawn before, and we had never talked about it. I had kissed other women maybe three or four times during my Fitchburg State sleeping-around-slut phase, but more just "going along" in the moment, and never really enjoying it. Is that what I was doing now? just going with the flow because Dawn had started it? Or did I want this, did I enjoy this?
I kept waiting for our kissing to become mouth on mouth, for Dawn to back her head up and move her mouth to mine. I didn't want that enough to make the first move myself, but wouldn't have resisted if she had done it to me.
But she didn't. Why wasn't she kissing me on the mouth? Was she wondering why I wasn't kissing her on the mouth?
Who the fuck has a first kiss after 24 years and doesn't do it on the mouth?
I thought back to my verbal fight with Karen, when I lashed out at her over her broken finances and downsizing her car, knowing it would hurt her. I paused in kissing Dawn's shoulders and I came up with the only thing I could think to say to hurt her.
> My older daughter is prettier than yours.
Dawn replied instantly.
> She's not, and mine can kick the shit out of yours in a fight.
Our pussies were no longer just moderately wet; they were actually dripping down in inner thighs, and in so doing were echoing the menacing words our mouths had just exchanged.
Just as, for 3 years from 2007 to 2010, Dawn and I had rarely spoken, but reconnected only to find that we were both pursuing a YouTube girlfight addiction, so, now, we broke an extended silence only to find our minds were again on the same wavelength.
We had both noticed our daughters were growing up.
And, in our minds, we were pairing them off.
The juvenile shoulder-and-neck kissing we had been engaged in suddenly seemed insufficient for the moment.
We resumed our separated crouch. We looked in each others' eyes in anger.
And out hands went from tentative pressing to full-on, vicious digging. The curiosity of what it would feel like to have a pussy scratched and clawed by a determined adversary disappeared in an instant; spoiler alert--it hurts. And it makes you angry. Angry enough to scratch and claw back five times harder.
Dawn and I continued on the bed, in the same crouching position, digging harder with our right hand, while holding each other close with our left, knowing retreat was useless as it would not be allowed. We experimented with different tactics, seeing if pinching or pulling or scratching was more effective, more painful. Seeing which was worse--working a single spot for a prolonged period, or spreading the pain. They were all painful to receive, just in different ways, I decided.
I also decided I was glad I hadn't kissed Dawn on the lips. We had bared everything to each other over the years--I was glad we would always have at least that one layer of separation between us. That was something to prize and to keep as much as our friendship was.
I'd love to be able to tell you that we were adrenaline-fueled superwomen that night, that our competitive juices pushed us into a four hour scratching marathon that left us shredded and satiated.
And maybe two women with a genuine grudge, like Rita and Laurie, or even Karen and me, can keep going like that until one or both are maimed.
Make no mistake, what Dawn and I did to each other that night took all summer to heal.
But like all our fights, it ended in a sensible draw. We had checked off an item on our fight bucket list, but hsd stopped before we ruined the good thing we had going.
And, like all our fights, we had already mentally and emotionally "moved on" to the next one.
Which, we both knew, woildn't be between us.
It would be between our daughters.
To be continued......
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2012 DEBBIE VERSUS KAREN
At the start of 2012, my older daughter Kylie was a senior at Framingham South. She started clashing a lot more with her stepmom Karen, who was also clashing a lot more with me. I think Karen and my ex-husband David had hit a rough patch at home, in the bedroom and out, and my continued persistance in staying single was being scapegoated by Karen as a provocation to her and her marriage. Honestly, I think Karen assumed I was bi or a lesbian, but that I was too afraid to come out of the closet with a regular partner. In a way, her women's instincts were close--I was in a long term "relationship" with Dawn, but it was not romantic; it was strictly for the every-four-years fights. Either involving us, or, starting in 2015, our daughters.
We were already laying the foundation for 2015 by "introducing" our older daughters to each other by showing them each others' pictures. Kylie (mine), meet Sydney (Dawn's). Sydney, meet Kylie. Don't like each other? Good. Hold that thought till 2015, Kylie, when Sydney will be 18.
Kylie would always be welcome to drop by my parents' place for a few hours. That particular winter, my parents had discovered Arizona, and decided they liked winter there more than in Massachusetts. So I was alone more often, David and Karen were arguing more frequently, so Kylie started coming to stay with me more, even bringing toiletries and changes of clothes. Plus, I needed help keeping my place shovelled. Win/win/win, right?
Not in Karen's opinion. The spark that caused a major clash between us, one I was not seeking but from which I wasn't retreating either, was over Kylie informing us where she was staying each night, especially weekend nights. Karen wanted to enforce a rule thst Kylie had to inform Karen where she was sleeping every night. I wanted my place to have a permanent exception for Kylie from Karen's informed consent rule. Karen refused. It was an open sore we weren't resolving.
And while I wasn't going to be an insubordinate ex and tell Kylie to defy her stepmom, I wasn't going to be bossed around by Karen either. Given the housing market debacle David and Karen had suffered, they now appeared to be stuck in the Framingham area for the long term, so the three of us would be seeing a lot of each other as we eased into middle age. It was important for me to not establish a precedent of being bossed by Karen, even on issues where her position was possibly right in part, since she would no doubt extend it to other aspects of our interactions.
The toxic atmosphere between Karen and me finally erupted, like a volcano, one Saturday night in February 2012. Kylie and I were having a movie night, and Karen came over, loaded for bear, with red wine on her breath, which she insisted was from Communion at Saturday evening Mass. Karen demanded to know if Kylie was planning on staying the night with me. Kylie sarcastically (and, I admit, disrespectfully) responded, "If you're going to be a drunken hag like this, yes."
I stifled a chuckle, and I think Karen (erroneously) assumed Kylie and I had been talking trash about Karen.
It was on, now, between Karen and me. Karen started removing her jewelry.
> You know, what, Debbie. I've put up with your shit for 10 years now, with David, with Kylie, with me. You and I are going to have it out, right now. Kylie, can you leave you mom and I alone for a few minutes? Please?
> Mom? Do you want me to stay? Go in the other room?
The tension between Karen and me had escalated out of no where, but I had no inclination to defuse it. I was positive I had been in way, way more fights than Karen. But I had another, hidden agenda.
I was starting to feel qualms about asking Kylie to fight Dawn's daughter Sydney, for my (and Dawn's) viewing pleasure, three years hence. But here, presented practically on a silver platter, was my "in". Kylie would watch me fight in 2012. And I would watch Kylie fight in 2015.
> Stick around, Kylie. Watch and learn.
> You can't be serious, Debbie, letting your child watch a catfight.
> She's not a child, Karen. She's 18. Time she learned how women deal with bitches like you.
> [Karen continues to strip off jewelry and clothing. I do the same, and play back her words in my mind. Did she just say we were going to catfight? Is this real? My blood rushes with excitement.] Fine. Let's do this, bitch. Kylie, be ready to call an ambulance.
Karen approached me, and I motioned for her to take the first hit, as I was genuinely curious if her bravado was real or an act. Big mistake.
Karen slapped me, viciously hard, square in the mouth. She followed immediately with combinations of slaps, and blocked my inadequate responses. She grabbed my hair and rained slaps and face rakes of me, while blocking of dodging every increasingly angry swing of mine.
Shit, this bitch could actually fight, after all. Eithrr she was some kind of catfighting prodigy, or she had actually been in fights. I should have known. Growing up in mid-1980s Framingham, even if she had never been a combatant herself, our girl gangsta-wannabe custom of moving in packs of 4 and confronting each other made it difficult, even for a "good girl" like Karen, to escape early adulthood with at least a few fight notches under your belt.
But now it was Karen's turn to get cocky. The opening flurry she had laid on me would have broken the typical 43 year old divorced Massachusetts housewife. But Karen had no way of knowing that, in one way at least, I was quite atypical. MY catfights had continued deep into adulthood. And I had built up quite a toolbox.
Firstly, endurance. Taking 10 slaps to the face was nothing to me. Hit me 50, maybe 60 times, unanswered, and we can talk. But 10 slaps? Pfffft!
Secondly, hairpulling. Karen knew how to grab mine. I knew how to yank hers out by the fucking roots. And I proceeded to do so.
And, finally, breasts and crotch. Young woman catfights, even between two motivated fighters like Rita and Laurie, rarely "went there". Middle aged catfights went there, and I hit first. And Karen wasn't ready for THAT.
When you twist a woman's nipples and claw her pussy, you can tell right away if she's ever been in that kind of catfight before. Karen hadn't.
I actually stretched out the ending. To give Kylie her money's worth.
But not so long that she needed to obey Karen's command to be ready to call an ambulance. In fact, I stuck my face in Karen's face and taunted her with that one. "Oh, Kylie, quick! Karen is hurting me sssooo bbbaaaaddd. Tell that ambulance to get here right away."
Karen wouldn't be bugging me or Kylie anytime soon.
Later, I texted Dawn that Kylie had witnessed her first real catfight, and perhaps Dawn should consider letting Sydney see one.
To be continued......
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PARTYING WITH KYLIE
My thrashing of Karen in front of Kylie, in combination with Kylie approaching her high school graduation, unleashed a spring-and-summer long partying bender amongst Kylie, her friends, and me. With my parents essentially moving to Arizona, Kylie moved in with me, and out of David and Karen's house, initially to keep me company.
But as Kylie gradually began inviting her circle of girlfriends and boyfriends over, and I became known as "Kylie's Fun Mom", my Fitchburg State slut persona came back. I introduced Kylie's underage girlfriends to red wine. And I introduced Kylie's boyfriends to MILF sex. I started having sex, and a lot of it, nearly everyday. And it was never enough for me, as I would build up a list of cellphone contacts to Snapchat with during school hours, or from 1am to 6am weekdays, when it would be courting trouble with Kylie's friends' parents to have the 18 year olds over, especially the one's who were barely holding down D's in senior Zoology and jeopardizing their high school diploma. It wasn't unusual on certain weeknights for me to have 5 Snapchat sexting conversations going at once. Some of Kylie's boyfriends seemed to prefer sexting to actual sex. But I accomodated both.
Most of the sex was admittedly terrible, but what it lacked in quality I was making up for in quantity.
With the Framingham South boys, or at least the one's Kylie hung out with, getting all they could handle (and, in some cases, even more) from me, Kylie and her girlfriends were free to indulge in drinking games and gossiping in my parents' finished basement. I rationalized the permissible environment I was cultivating with the observation, which was mostly true, that Kylie's girlfriends seemed to not indulge in pot, or worse, painkillers and other pills that I had read about taking such a toll on teenagers in neighboring towns, when they knew the red wine would be flowing freely. In fact, as time progressed and they learned their limits, most would voluntarily cut themselves off at a certain point in the evening.
Now, my moral compass wasn't so broken that I didn't realize my behavior to have an element of irresponsibility to it. But I couldn't deny the girls, and myself, because I was bonding with Kylie like never before in my life.
And because the girls, Kylie, and I started talking about catfighting.
The conversations started going in that direction gradually. The girls would mention fights that had happened at Framingham South, on or off campus. Shoppers World was now an open air outlet-type mall rather than the enclosed mall of my youth, but girls who wanted to badly enough still figured out ways to get into fights there, often against girls from the neighboring town of Natick.
One night, Kylie and I confided to the girls my catfight with Karen, while Kylie watched. The girls listened with rapt attention as I described our escalating feud, our argument, Karen's challenge to me, and our fight. The girls squealed in delight as I described the "no holds barred", "below the belt" blows which were exchanged, something none of them had ever witnessed, or indulged in, in any of their fights to date.
As uninhibited as my recent behavior had become, I drew the line at mentioning Dawn or Sydney by name. I didn't want our conversation to spin out of control and for Kylie vs Sydney to come to fruition prematurely. I was saving that one for Dawn and me, and not until 2015. That treat was for us alone. I knew that spilling too much detail about Sydney would cause the girls to look her her on Facebook and for Kylie to then start baiting her.
When conversation wasn't enough, we'd watch fights on YouTube. I had had empty feeling, though, as the better brawls from the "early days" started getting pulled. Apparently YouTube was now so popular that the "stsrs" of YouTube fights were finding it interfered with important day to day stuff like, oh, you know, getting into college and getting a job. I lamented the loss of the way things used to be in the Wild West days of YouTube, but took solace in apparently not being the only person who had found it.
When Kylie's graduation came and went, so did the sex and drinking and catfight rap sessions. Kylie's friends, and Kylie, went to college. But Kylie came home with me during breaks, cutting herself off almost completely from David and Karen.
2015 was coming.
I asked Dawn if Sydney was ready.
She asked me if Kylie was ready.
We would soon find out.
To be continued.....
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Heyy why not give the next part....its a great storyyy waiting for next part...
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BONDING WITH KYLIE
As Kylie's 2015 fight with Sydney got closer and closer, I thought of a devious scheme to up the estrogen flowing thru Kylie's veins. I started sleeping with my ex-husband David.
Kylie never was much of a scholar in college, and by the spring of 2014 she had stopped attending and was living with me pretty much full time--she realized she could read Shakespeare and Dickinson and Edith Wharton on her own at home without writing $18,000 tuition checks for the privilege. Her dad, my ex-husband David, took a buyout at EMC when they were taken over by Dell. David needed a new purpose in life after a long career at EMC. His new purpose was discovering Viagra and fucking me.
I enjoyed becoming reacquainted with David. But I enjoyed even more the effect it had on Kylie. Kylie had seen me kick Karen's ass a couple of years ago, and saw how Karen had to shut up and take it when David decided he missed me, Karen's rival. Kylie saw me taking Karen's money and fucking her man, all because I was a better fighter than Karen.
Kylie started seeing the possibilities open to her if she could become a capable fighter. She had no particular rival at the moment, but no doubt would in the future. She wants to hone her fight skills now in anticipation of fights in the future. She wants to get experience under her belt against Sydney.
Sydney would be 18 in 2015, while Kylie would be 21. The three-year offset in age was perfect--Kylie would be motivated to win the fight, not just have a draw. There was no way to honorably draw against a teenager when you were 21. Dawn and I wouldn't want to watch a draw.
Dawn.
Dawn and I hadn't chatted much since she kissed me in 2011....on the neck. What was that all about. Did Dawn want to kiss me or not? WTF?? Did she think a kiss on the lips was cheating on her husband. I think we're way past that point, dontchya hun? You and I have had a secret relationship since 1987. If you haven't told him about us yet, I'm pretty sure you never will. How does kissing me on the neck instead of the lips preserve your chasteness?
But Dawn does let me know one thing. She's going to have Sydney ready for a fight in 2015. Kylie need not go easy on Sydney, and Sydney damn well won't go easy on Kylie. Dawn and I can't wait to watch them fight.
I spend lots of time wondering: as Dawn and I watch Kylie and Sydney fight, will we watch separately from opposite corners of the room? Or will we be touching? Will Dawn be kissing my neck this time? Or will she finally kiss me on the mouth?
Or....should I take the initiative and kiss Dawn on the mouth? Did she want me to do that in 2011? Why is this so hard for Dawn and I to discuss? If I remarried David, and wasn't a threat to break up her marriage, would she and I be able to talk more freely? Or would she be upset with me for remarrying?
Kylie loves it when David comes over. She loves that David doesn't give a shit what Karen thinks about him fucking me. Kylie isn't even embarrassed by her divorced parents fucking in the same house she's living in. Kylie wants to someday do to some rival what I'm doing to Karen--to fuck her man and take his money.
She wants to kick the shit out of Sydney when they fight.
To be continued.....
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WHAT TO WEAR, WHAT TO WEAR
For the final four months leading up to the fight, Kylie and I spend virtually all of our time preparing Kylie's fight appearance--her hair and her clothes for fight day, which will be New Years Day, 2015. Although the relationship between Dawn and I is strained and our communications remain awkward, one thing we are in perfect agreement on is that we can't bear to wait one day longer than necessary to watch Kylie and Sydney have at each other.
On hair, Kylie lets her sandy blonde hair grow out. When she was in high school and her hair started approaching her waist, it would start to thin out and take on a stringy appearance. But one adulthood has done wonders for for the body and fullness of her hair, and she now has a thick, shiny, straight, full mane that takes almost a full half hour of hair dryer time every morning. Kylie notices how the boys and girls that stop by our house can't take their eyes off her hair. I notice what an inviting target it will be for Sydney in their fight. Via texts with Dawn, I make sure that Sydney is growing out her auburn/burgundy hair; she is.
Clothes: Kylie and I spend hours on Google, mostly Pinterest, looking for a sexy fight top. We start off looking for a silky shirt or one-piece top of some sort, picturing Kylie and Sydney pressed up against the wall, their shiny tops sliding against each other, then the better fighter gradually tearing the other's top to shreds. We get horny looking at the models in the clothes, and Kylie shows me the internet hookup site Tinder. Tinder today is riddled with fake accounts and people who just post their pics for affirmation that they're fuckable, but in late 2014 it was a genuine, highly effective way to find hookup sex with just about any "type" of guy within, say, 3 to 6 hours.
And, if I was so horny from clothes shopping with Kylie that I couldn't wait that long, there was always David. If I called his place and Karen answered, so much the better. Sure, the conversation would start with her giving me attitude and asking why I was calling. But then after 2 or 3 minutes of her and I bickering, I'd tell her I was in the mood for some alone time with David, and since I had his cell, the only thing that was going to stop it would be if Karen came over herself and she and I had a rematch of our 2012 fight. Kylie would thrill to the possibility of witnessing another real mom-versus-stepmom bitchfight....and Karen would fail to deliver. She didn't take me up on my challenge. She would come up with some excuse every time, some event where a scratched up face wouldn't be acceptable. I had to admit she was partially right--if Karen and I fought again, I would undoubtedly shred her face with my nails. But after Karen would hang up, Kylie and I would be at 10 out of 10 on the horniness scale. She would get relief from Tinder sex or hookup sex from one of her fuck buddies, I would get relief from Tinder sex or David sex, and then Kylie and I would resume our internet catalog search for fight clothes.
We avoided choosing it for a long time because it's so cliche, but we were inevitably drawn to leather for the fight. Not leather pants--they looked great, but didn't seem practical for a long, sweaty fight. No, we were drawn to leather biker jackets over a plain white top, with a short leather mini skirt and leather boots. The jacket, because it looked damn sexy. The white top, to serve as a background for smeared blood. The mini skirt, to allow facesitting for the fight coup-de-grace. The boots for kicking during the ground action.
We found what we wanted on the net, and drove to a biker shop in Mendon to buy the right size. We told the salesgirl wd were purchasing them for a catfight. She looked at us to see if we were pulling her leg, then found a set that was sturdy but flexible on Kylie, then gave us her number and made us promise to tell her the outcome of the fight. We told her we'd text her pics of Sydney after Kylie was thru with her.
Kylie put the outfit on at home, and I texted her pic to Dawn. Dawn and Sydney went out shopping 3 days later, buying a similar outfit, just with slightly different colors so that when Kylie and Sydney tangled on the floor, Dawn and I would be able to tell who was who. We forbade Kylie and Sydney from contacting each other before the scheduled fight day. I disallowed Kylie from bringing her cellphone into her bedroom. She protested, but knew I was right. Kylie and Sydney wanted to fight NOW.
But Dawn and I successfully held them back until January 1, 2015.
We met at a hotel halfway between us in Providence. Kylie and I rented a suite and cleared a large living room space. Kylie and I put on her leather gear. She looked sexier than I'd ever seen her. I told her I was proud of her.
And that Dawn and I were very competitive.
"Competitive like with Karen?," she asked.
"I used to think no. But things change. I haven't seen her for four years. I'll only know when I see her."
"Do what you need to do. But let Sydney and me finish first."
"I promise."
To be continued.....
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Fantastic and awesome story series. One of the best I have ever read. Can't wait to read the rest.
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Just fantasticcc...cantt waitttt...and plzz make it largerrr largerr...
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KYLIE VERSUS SYDNEY
Kylie and I waited in our hotel suite for Sydney and Dawn to arrive. We had decided on a 8:30pm fight time--late enough that hotel staff would have completed their final bed checks for the night, but not so late that any noises coming from the fight would attract attention.
Except that it was now 8:50, and Sydney and Dawn hadn't arrived yet. For all of 1987 to 2011 fights between Dawn and me, Dawn was always punctual, to the minute. Part of me hoped the fashionably late arrival idea was Sydney's: it would signal that she had a little edge in her, and that Kylie would need to step up her game in tonight's fight.
Kylie knew that I had grown up with Dawn in Framingham, but didn't ask me further questions about our relationship. As best I could tell, she didn't know about our 1987 to 2011 fights. The only fight of mine that Kylie knew about for sure was my 2012 fight against her stepmom Karen. But Kylie must have been able to tell that that wasn't my first fight. Where, and when, did she think I had learned to fight like that?
I told Kylie that Sydney was playing games by being late. To keep her focus. To concentrate on Sydney during the fight. To ignore whatever Dawn and I might be doing.
Dawn and I might ignore each other.
Dawn and I might fight.
Dawn and I might kiss. Moms do unpredictable things when their daughters are fighting. Kylie's job was to take care of business with Sydney.
If Dawn and I kiss, it doesn't mean I'm coming out of the closet. I love your father David. I like being with the boys your age who you bring to our house. You bring spectacularly beautiful girls your age to our house, but I've never brought one to my bedroom--not once, not a single time. I'm straight. If I kiss Dawn tonight, it's our realeasing ourselves from the sight of you and Sydney fighting. Try and not worry about Dawn and me. Worry sbout you and Sydney. Does that make sense, Kylie honey?, I ask her.
She says it does. She describes watching my fight with her stepmom Karen. She says she enjoyed every second of it. But that the only thing that could have made it better would have been watching it with another woman. Touching and caressing that woman as Karen and I fought. And then kissing her. Kylie tells me her only girl kisses have been at sleepovers, and even those weren't motivated by bi-curiosity, but as part of "practicing" for the right and wrong ways to kiss boys. But, for the first time, when I was fighting Karen, Kylie wished there was a girl there to kiss. Not for practice; a real girl-kiss.
I tell Kylie I'm happy for the bonding time with her, but that I'm pissed at the stunt those two bitches Dawn and Sydney are pulling by being an hour late. I tell them I'm pulling one back.
I strip.
When those 2 bitches arrive in the room, let them get a look at my naked body. Then let Dawn decide will happen between me and her during the Kylie-Sydney fight.
It's 9:30pm. There's a knock at the door. I say, "It's open, cxnts."
Sydney, in full biker gear, walks in first.
> 9:30. Just like we agreed, right, bitches?
Kylie gets right in her face.
> You know we agreed on 8:30, you lying chickenshit slut.
Dawn, in white tank top and blue jeans, locks the door and scooches next to me on the couch.
> Stripped like the slut you are, huh, Deb honey? Good. Easier for me to get at you.
Dawn and I start catfighting on the couch.
I see, and hear, Kylie and Sydney in a slapping, hairpulling catball on the floor.
Dawn and I stop fighting. We are transfixed by the violence of our daughters kicking and slapping on the carpet. Is this energy coming from Dawn and I baiting them? Or would they be doing this anyways, even without our prompting?
I'm hyper-aware of my nakedness. I guide Dawn's hand into my pussy.
> "Finger fuck me, Dawn."
> "I've always wanted to Debbie"
> "Then why didn't you?"
> "Will this distract your daughter from fighting Sydney??"
> "No, I told her to ignore us."
> "But I don't want go miss their fight."
> "Then don't. Watch their fight. But finger fuck me, too."
> "I am. Can you feel it? Do you like it??"
> " Yes. But harder, Dawn. Do it harder."
> "Can I kiss you, too??"
> "Stop asking. Just do it"
Dawn and I are kissing, on the mouth, and finger fucking.
Sydney and Kylie are fighting, their noses busted open, red stains on their white shirts.
Heaven.
To be continued.....
-
So fucking hot. Don?t stop now hon
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KYLIE/SYDNEY AFTERMATH
Dawn and I hadn't planned to orgasm as quickly as we did during Kylie and Sydney's first fight, but it was a good thing we did, because that fight ended up being like Thomas Hobbes' description of human life, pre-Enlightenment: nasty, brutish, and short.
Almost immediately after Dawn and I climaxed from our deep tongue kissing and our mutual finger penetration, we noticed widening blots of burgundy on the white shirts of both of our daughters, underneath their leather jackets. We leaned forward on our couch trying to determine if one or both of the fighters was the source if the blood, and from which part(s) of their bodies were wounded. Blood began to appear under each of their noses, with their waist-length hair flying in every direction, it was not immediately evident if their faces were getting blood-stained by their shirts, or their shirts by their faces.
The ill-considered selection of a hotel suite as the fight venue soon revealed itself as well. Blood droplets were beginning to splash and smear on the light grey hotel carpet. Hotels would be lenient about stains on New Year's weekend, but more than an incidental amount of human blood would invite unwanted questions, and Dawn and I had already allowed the fight to continue beyond that point. I was officially worried about whst was transpiring before our eyes, and the ramifications for myself as the suite payor.
> Dawn, do you think we should stop them? Ya know, like wipe them down and then have round two??
> Awww, c'mon, Debbie Downer. You just said you told Kylie to let me and you alone. Plus, they're big girls now. Or at least I know mine is.
> Ok, Dawn, it's not about that. Kylie is givin' all she's gettin' plus more and you know it. But don't ya think this will be...even better...if we let them cool down.
> Debbie, they'll know when they're done. You and I always know when is when.
> That's the thing, Dawn. I don't think they'll know. They haven't built up the...trust...with each other that you and I have.
> But, Deb.....
> [Blood is now smeared and caked in half of Kylie's hair, and panic is setting in.] Shit, Dawn, enough. Help me break them up or I'm calling this.
I spring up and throw my still-naked between the two ferociously entangled fighters, getting a face and chestful of nails and boot heels, and realizing for the first time how difficult it is to get a grip on a struggling girl in a leather coat. Shit, no wonder they went for each others' faces the whole fight--it was the only vulnerable spot on their upper bodies. Is this why biker chicks wear leather coats?
Separated finally, Kylie and Sydney hiss angry threats and counterclaims.
> You're lucky your mama ran and helped you baby girl.
> Oh fuck you I was winning.
> Fuck that look in the mirror dumbass.
> Cuz what cuz you bled all over me whore?
I got Kylie to stop talking by holding a hotel towel to her nose and mouth. It took 5 or 6 wipss for me to get down to skin to see what the heck was up with her face, and her claim appeared correct. Little if any blood was coming from her nose or mouth. I looked over at Dawn and Sydney, and hissed, more accusingly than I meant for it to sound,
> Kylie is right, Dawn. You count the teeth in Sydney's mouth.
Dawn must not have appreciated my tone, because the woman with whom I had just made love not 3 minutes ago snapped back:
> Oh, fuck you, Deb. Stop thinking Kylie's so bad ass before I let Sydney at her again.
> Dawn, I'm genuinely concerned for Sydney. If you are too you need to find out if she bleeding from her mouth or her nose and get it stopped.
Dawn handed the towel she was holding to Sydney, and turned and strutted to confront me nose-to-nose.
> It's her nose, ok, Debbie Dumbass? And fuck you for implying I'm not concerned about my daughter. If you and your daughter are so tough, show me in thst round 2 you promised me.
> Dawn, if Sydney can't stop her nose from bleeding, there's no round two. I'll at least get billed for the damages in the room, and worse for allowing it to happen. Syd, do you remember what happened to your nose?
> Hell ya your pussy daughter kicked me with her boot.
Several parts of my body were sporting boot heel marks from just 5 to 10 seconds between the girls, so I knew what Sydney was claiming was likely true.
I also knew in my heart that there would be no round 2 tonight. I was disappointed, but even more disappointed in Dawn's....immaturity. I was tonight's host, and as had the privilege of exercising my adult judgment in my stewardship over the fight venue, and I couldn't allow blood to draw outside attention to us. To myself. And for Dawn not to trust my judgment was another disappointment.
I was as curious as her to see where the Kylie-Sydney battle would have gone. But the choices in the timing for that were: another time, or not at all. And Dawn, by her behavior, was voting for "not at all".
Kylie and Sydney's adrenaline rush had turned to an adrenaline crash. Both realized how their entire bodies were aching.
Dawn hissed at me:
> Hope you're proud bitch. Thanks for ruining a perfectly fine evening.
> Fuck you Dawn. The evening would have been ruined if I hadn't stepped up.
> Fuck you. I should have never kissed you.
Dawn and Sydney left the room.
I tended to Kylie.
> You won that fight in my book, babe.
> Thanks. But I have a question.
> What's that Kylie?
> I'm already thinking of fighting them again. Is that....weird?
> Not weird. But let me handle it. Promise?
> [thinking]
> Kylie, promise me. Let me handle contacting them. Promise??
> I'll try.
> That wasn't what I asked.
> I know.
To be continued.....
-
EX-SEX WITH DAVID
The 2015 New Years' Day Kylie-Sydney fight had gone horribly wrong, and even a small amount of deliberation and introspection told me why. I had fallen into a habit of having less and less verbal communication with Dawn about my needs and desires from our fringe fighting relationship, and that lack of communication had carried over into my relationship with my own older daughter. I had never spoken directly to Kylie about fighting Sydney; never asked if she wanted to fight her, never asked about what rules she wanted for the fight. My fear of the two girls contacting each other and arranging to fight without my getting to watch had resulted in a chaotic draw-by-accidental-cut, with neither girl satisfied in their having established a pecking order, and with Dawn and I sniping at each others' parenting.
Three things were needed for redress, in reverse order:
<3> A heart-to-heart with Dawn,
<2> A heart-to-heart with Kylie, and
<1> Ex-sex with my ex-husband David.
The timing was ideal for <1>. David's wife Karen's birthday was January 5, so I seduced him with an offer of no-strings nooner sex on January 4. David's frequent sex romps with me had gotten him to "ask his doctor" about Viagra, and the doctor's answer was yes. On January 4, I invited David to fuck every fold on the exterior of my body, and he came frequently on my face, on my tits, and in my hair. I wouldn't get my hair completely clean, I knew, for 2 or 3 days, but rubbing my scent all over his body for Karen's birthday was totally worth it. If the bitch wasn't woman enough to challenge me to a rematch 3 years after I beat her, I could hardly be blamed for any consequences she bore.
David's cock was such a turnon to me. I loved the feeling of it touching my skin, throbbing inside my grip, his hot cum shooting on me. I set a goal for myself to have more sex with David after our divorce than before it. Ex-sex was guilt free in that we didn't feel an obligation to be balanced in who wss pleasuring who--whoever was more horny could satisfy themselves as needed. Neither of us was "keeping score". Just fucking and getting off.
I let myself sweat on David so that Karen would smell it tomorrow when she was getting her birthday fuck from David. I knew she was getting it because I used to gdt it from him on my birthday.
The next day, I told Kylie we needed to talk.
> I don't like how Dawn tried to drive a wedge between you and me during your fight with Sydney.
> I don't like how you tried and protect Sydney.
> She was bleeding like a stuck pig. It was getting all over the carpet.
> It was getting on me, not the carpet.
> That turned you on?
> Little bit.
> Why do you hate her so much?
> Why do you like her so much?
> I don't, and how's that an answer?
> Her mom wanted to let the fight keep going.
> Her mom isn't always right.
> Her mom isn't always wrong.
To be continued....
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How you write so hottt..awsumm...plzzzz make the rematch urgent...and give them a long fight
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CHATTING WITH SYDNEY
In January 2015, all of my close personal relationships were in a shambles.
My friendship with Dawn was very strained. A catfight we had arranged between our daughters had ended awkwardly and inconclusively. Dawn and I had kissed and had sex with each other for the first time, but we hsd no discussion of what it meant.
My relationship with my daughter Kylie was strained. She felt I had put my finger on the scales for Sydney during the Kylie-Sydney fight, and was giving me the cold shoulder. She was spending more time with her stepmom Karen, knowing that Karen and I loathed each other.
I tried to forget my troubles by allowing my ex-husband David to have his way with me. But this had made our sex turn from exciting and fulfilling to empty and tawdry. Or, empty and tawdry to me. The respect David formally seemed to show me had disappeared like dust in the wind, and I was uncertain if we could recapture it. I was clearly, at best, David's sidechick. His new wife Karen was his main squeeze. I had stayed single for almost 20 years and wasted my best chance to find a quality second husband.
Out of ideas of how to proceed, fortune intervened one day when I received a Snapchat message from Dawn's daughter Sydney. I reacted cautiously, expected I was being set up by Dawn and/or Kylie as proof that I had favored Sydney over Kylie in New Year's Night. But I gave into temptation, partially out of loneliness, and partially to check that Sydney was ok after the fight.
Sydney and I began chatting. At first the exchanges were seemingly friendly, but they quickly turned hostile, as Sydney accused me of purposely embarrassing her by ending a fight which wasn't over with. I defended myself by explaining that she was bleeding, but we then bickered over who got to decide on a truce during such circumstances--the spectators, or the participants.
Snapchat messages delete themselves after being sent, so I was never able to establish who our relationship deteriorated so rapidly and completely, but before I knew it, Sydney was challenging me to a fight some weekend--she offered to drive to her grandmother's in Framingham and stay there.
I know I should have been the adult and deflected the impulsive offer from a high school senior. But I had already been partying with and sleeping with Kylie's friends for the past three years. I didn't think of myself as being of a whole different generation.
Plus, I thought the threat was idle chatter.
Until a cold, dark New England weekend the Saturday before the Super Bowl. My doorbell rang. I saw Sydney thru the peephole. I opened the door.
> Wanna fight, bitch?
> Try me.
To be continued......
-
Nice twist...but want to see 2 vs 2 rematch
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DEBBIE VS SYDNEY
Any residual sympathy I had felt for Sydney from the night her nose was bloodied by my daughter Kylie went out the window at the thought of the pretentiousness of the high school senior driving to my town, knocking on my door, and challenging me to a fight in my own house.
Sydney's sandy blonde hair was longer and thicker than ever, having apparently still not cut it since the night she fought Kylie. She appeared prepared physically for a girlfight, and was about to reveal she was psychologically as well, as she layed out groundrules for our imminent battle.
> So, no premature stoppages this time, ok, bitch? Tomorrow's the Super Bowl, and it got me to thinking. They get three time outs per half. How about we each get three time outs, any time in our fight, for any reason. But once your time outs are used, you have to keep fighting, no matter what? And we go to the finish. Agree?
Not wanting to be dictated to by a high schooler in my own house, and wanting to give the appearance of "upping the ante", I stepped up to Sydney, nose to nose, and hissed:
> Fine, honey, except just two time outs each. And you can't call two in a row. If you call the first time out, you can't call your second until I've used one. Which I won't.
> Cocky slut.
> Arrogant whore.
There was no need to dwell on technicalities or legalities. Sydney and I were on the same page. A lucky errant kick or elbow, such as Kylie had landed on Sydney 5 weeks ago, would be granted a brief reprieve to clean and repair, but only as a brief mid-fight pause. We would hastily resume fighting until one of us had clearly established superiority.
We also were eager to begin, with a minimum of preliminaries. Unlike the virtual body armor which Kylie and Sydney's New Year's biker wear unintentionally provided, Sydney and I were currently in soft blouses and sweatpants--vulnerable from head to toe. The target-rich environment was irresistable in the tense atmosphere of my living room, and are hands simultaneously invaded each others' personal space and began clawing and tearing at flesh and hair.
Our bodies locked together, my hands locked onto Sydney's shoulder blades in her back through her thin blouse. My last three fight opponents (Dawn, Karen, and the random barfly) had all been my age. My fingers immediately detected an important difference in Sydney's younger body--it had a firmness to it that was inviting yet intimidating. Our upper bodies were rubbing together as we stumbled across the room, but mine seemed to yield to hers at every pressure point. I felt the need to exert and push back twice as hard at every advance she made towards me. I searched her eyes, trying to detect if she noticed the relative strength advantage in her younger body. Or how much softer my body felt against hers than Kylie's had.
No matter how hard I pulled on Sydney's thick, long hair, I was unsuccessful, so far, in removing any from her scalp. When her mom and I would catfight, handfuls of Dawn's hair would coat my palms and nails. Thus far, despite trying, I could claim none of Sydney's locks as a prize.
Sydney and I slammed into my living room wall, forcing an involuntary, unfeminine grunt from my lungs. Sydney asked if I wanted to use my time out now. I ignored her, but immediately realized that neither of us would be using our first or second time out tonight--the embarrassment would be unbearable.
This fight was to the finish. Unlike any of my fights with Dawn, we would keep going.
Good.
To be continued.....
-
DEBBIE/SYDNEY II
As I continued fighting Sydney, both of us pressing each other into the wall of my living room, I clawed and scratched at her hard body. I tried to remember the last time I had hugged my daughter Kylie's body--was it as firm and strong as Sydney's.
When was the last time mine was this hard? Dawn and I had been wrestling each other in our fights less and less and fist fighting more and more. Was it because we noticed each others' bodies getting softer....well, not softer.....just, less.....muscular, less firm. Did Sydney notice me feeling her body, her sides, her back, her shoulders? Was she feeling mine?
I continue grunting as we fight, and not in a womanly way. Sydney clutches repeatedly at my solar-plexus, forcing breathy grunting noises out of my throat and lungs. Is she doing that because she thinks it hurts me? It doesn't. Because my sounds turn her on?
Sydney's soft, thin linen top tears and shreds as we fight. Every rip turns me on, my claws getting more and more direct contact with her flesh. Sydney's skin is tan and contrasts with my pale mid-winter flesh tone--does she spray tan? go to a tanning salon? Do I know if Kylie does either? How does her skin keep color all winter?
I want to make Sydney grunt like I am. I drive my knee into Syndney's crotch, but she blocks me with her knees. Our kneecaps slam together with a sickening crunching sound. I want to cry from the scratches on my flesh, the wall banging against my skull, Sydney's kneecaps ln mine.
> You damn fucking bitch.
> You sick pathetic slut.
> I'll fucking put you thru this wall.
> Try it, weak old hag.
Old. Hag. I see red. Pure fucking rage. I claw and rip at Sydney's now almost fully-exposed chest. I throw upper cuts at her jaw. Throat punches. I remember Kylie's girlfriends saying "I'll throat punch the bitch....". Now I'm actually doing it, admittedly by accident. Now Sydney is the one grunting.
And seeing red. Now Sydney is clutching at me, twisting my exposed breasts. I clutch at her wrists, desperately trying to get her to let go of me. I headlock her throat, but am unable to get a firm grip, both of our skin now coated with slick sweat. I elbow the crown of her skull, injuring my funny bone worse than her head.
Sydney's nails draw blood from my torso. I recall asking Kylie if having Sydney's blood on her was a turnon, and her affirming that it was. I wonder if Sydney notices that I'm bleeding, and if her response is the same as Kylie's. I resent Sydney having enjoyment at my expense.
> Fucking cocky prissy spoiled bitch.
> Fucking dried up has been.
> You really shouldn't have said that.
To be continued....
-
DEBBIE-SYDNEY III
As I continue in my futility in inflicting any apparent harm or injury on Sydney, all while sustaining gouges and scratches on my entire upper body and face and tufts of torn hair from my scalp, I try to drag my opponent onto the ground. But Sydney notices my tactic, and manages to stay standing on her two feet. I step back and line up kicks on Sydney's knees and shins, but again too slow to escape Sydney's notice and defenses.
I understand, suddenly, why Kylie is upset with me for interrupting her fight with Sydney 5 weeks ago. Kylie had paid a steep price in punches and pulled hair from her younger rival, and just at the moment of achieving an opening, albeit with a lucky, errant, backheel kick to Sydney's nose, I had prevented Kylie from the satisfaction of follow thru, which no doubt would have been severe and satisfying. I sense already that if either Sydney or I achieve even the slightest temporary advantage on each other, the price extracted will be merciless.
Sydney notices my desire to find alternate tactics, and raises her guard. With both my daughter and now with me, Sydney has fought at a relentless pace, staying busy on offense with her hands, nails, and elbows. Now, for the first time, she squares up, fist clutched and ready. Sydney and I jab deliberately at each others' faces, every swing having injurious intent. We stare each other in the eye, hate dripping from our expressions.
My fights with Dawn were about the thrill of the fight, a loss not being acceptable, but a win not being necessary.
This fight is different. We're in it to win.
Although her top is torn, she's ahead of me--mine is down to two shreds. Her hair is straight; mine is a Brillo pad. Have I really managed to barely touch her this entire fight?
Or does she just love fighting so much that it energizes her.
> Come and get some, dried up hag.
> I'm right here.
> Come closer.
To be continued....
-
DEBBIE-SYDNEY IV
I succeed in wrestling Sydney down to the floor. Whether it is because I've actually scored a judo-style throw, or because Sydney is open to testing her skills with me on the ground, I do not know for certain. Our fight slows, our topless bodies tangled in a heap on my living room carpet.
Sydney is a natural fighter, and I regain respect for my daughter Kylie being unable to put Sydney away in the allotted minutes of their New Year's Day fight. Sydney has inherited strong fight genes from her mother Dawn, and has also had actual fight experiences. The latter I already knew, based on Sydney knocking on my door and challenging me to fight, apparently without Dawn's knowledge. I can't picture my 1987 18-year old self doing that to a grown woman in her 40s.
As our fight of the floor progresses, Sydney is wounding me more than I'm wounding her, and her youthful endurance advantage is manifesting itself via breathing which is less labored than mine.
I take a calculated gamble. Sydney is experienced in fighting. But is she experienced in fucking? How will she respond to sexual advances by me? The 1987 version of me would have been at best distracted, at worst frightened. But Sydney is a different generation. Does anything faze her generation? I decide to find out.
Sydney's face is close to mine, our heads locked in each others' arms. Sydney's neck is in reach of my mouth. I cover her neck and left shoulder with passionate kisses, first without tongue, then with. Our legs entwine, our inner thighs lining up and finding each other, rubbing rhymically.
Sydney has had ample opportunity to protest, but hasn't. She hasn't reciprocated either. Is she seeing where my advances go? Is she toying with me?
If Sydney is mocking me, I'll be even angrier at her than I am already. We twist into a north-south position, my mouth on her firm breasts, hers on mine, now mutually kissing.
I attempt to be the aggressor, to have the more passionate kisses. Me coming on to Sydney is one thing, us making love to one another as equals is quite another. I'm willing to resort to the former as a tactic to win a fight, I'm unwilling to do the latter, not with Sydney, under any circumstances. I'm not Sydney's equal. I will not accept that.
> I'm better than you, you arrogant cocky jackass.
> I don't see it, has-been bitch.
We stare and hesitate. Will we resume fighting, or fucking?
I realize I'm horny as fuck.
I resume sucking on Syndey's breasts.
After 3 minutes in that position, we mutually rise to our knees. We face each other, rub our breasts together, and kiss on the mouth. I'm leading, Sydney is following. We are both breathing like lovers in bed.
We tongue kiss for 5 minutes, our arousal elevating.
> Ever make love to a woman, punk?
> Nope. And I won't today?
> Looks to me like you're doing it now.
> Just letting you embarrass yourself, old witch.
I realize Sydney is turned on, but by her controlling my actions, not by my foreplay.
> You're good. But not as good as you think you are.
> I take it our kissing interlude is over?
I answer Sydney's question with a right cross to her mouth.
She reciprocates in kind, the bones inside my faces crunching sickeningly. Sexual arousal flees my body, replaced by anger.
The final round of our fight has begun.
To be continued.....
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hey the story is hottt but same age fight is hottest...plz make two dauggters aggresive death fightttt and sex fight....and mothers alspo....plzzzzz
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Pay no attention to that. The younger woman and older woman fighting is very, very hot indeed.
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What you are exploring now is fantastic hon. No need to turn it into a “death fight”. That is bs and not what you do. Keep going as you have always done. It is amazing
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DEBBIE-SYDNEY FIN
My earlier attempt at kissing Sydney, in an attempt to scandalize her (and then to win the fight) had fallen flat--she had, without flinching, simply kissed me right back. But rather than admit defeat, I decide to gamble that a straightforward mouth kiss had been the right idea, just not bold enough. I decide to verbally warn my newfound enemy by hissing in her face, "Fine, bitch, you've kissed a girl and liked it. But have you ever 69'd a woman?". Sydney's non-response speaks volumes, as I remove my pants and reveal my naked lowerbody.
The sight of my own bush has an effect on both of us. Sydney fails to rise to my implied challenge. She keeps her own pants on, afraid to expose her privates to an attack by my hands or visual inspection by my eyes. But the effect on me is even stronger. Every part of my body, until now, has felt inferior to the high school senior's: Sydney's spectacular auburn mane of hair, her flawless face, her taut skin--impervious to my vicious scratching, her hard breasts, her slashing hands. But even Sydney concedes, through her silence and her body language, that my 46 year old pussy is still at its sexual peak, an object of attraction and desire. I remember Kylie's college-age guy friends climbing in my bed the past two years, hesitatingly and awkwardly tongue kissing me, holding back until our hookups got to 3rd base, but progressing urgently and hurriedly once they got a look or feel under my waistline. I remember, from the time of our married bedroom life right up to our recent post-divorce fucking, my ex-husband David stopping to contemplate the view of his Viagra'd-up cock sliding in and out of my bush. And finally, if randomly, I remember a "History of the Enlightenment" course at Fitchburg State, an assigned reading by Benjamin Franklin giving sex advice to young men of the 1780s, directed them to focus their amorous energies and advances to women of advanced years, if necessary putting a bag over their time- and gravity-ravaged faces as, below the waist, they will find delights beyond measure. I feel the truth of those words--the combination of skill confidence that come only with age and experience--flow thru my 2015 veins, as I proceed to pursue the inevitable endgame of my fight with Sydney.
Sydney and I tangle on the floor, her half-nakedness and my full-body nudity giving the battle its second wind. Our flesh resonates to the sound of fists connecting directly on vulnerable spots, only to counterpunch twice as hard in retaliation. But our hand-action is a sideshow to the actual decisive action, as it was in Sydney's war with Kylie a month ago, which is the desperate scrambling occuring with our legs. In that battle, let's call it World War One, a heel kick from my daughter had scored a direct hit on Dawn's daughter's nose and drawn a deluge of blood which ultimately interrupted the struggle. In today's feature, let's call it World War Two, we tangle ourselves, partly intentionally and partly inevitably, into a north-south 69 position.
An inevitability which I have been seeking and which, more importantly, Sydney has been dreading. My women's intuition is spot-on: Sydney has experience with catfighting, but none with pussy in her face. I grind my lower body hard into Sydney's mouth, her face retreating in disgust at the sensation of my hair on her lips and in her teeth. She attempts to reciprocate, but now understands her tactical error in not removing her pants earlier, as all she can present to my face is fabric. I compound the humiliation, and her fear, by raking her sensitive inner thighs with my nails. Deeply and repeatedly. Sydney begins crying.
Although not part of my original plan, a final feature of my 46 year old anatomy rises to the surface: my weak bladder. Droplets of pee evacuate my body and stream onto Sydney's horrified face. And with that, Sydney's ability to fight back abandons her.
*******************
Her mother, Dawn, must have heard about the pee. Less than 24 hours, she was on the phone with me.
"Bring that primadonna college dropout daughter of yours down here to Connecticut next Saturday--Sydney and I have the week off school for President's Day. You and her and Sydney and I are going to settle this once and for all."
I guess we'll call this one Wotld War Three.
I remember another Fitchburg State history reading: "I do not know what weapons World War Three will be fought with. But I do know what weapons World War Four will be fought with: sticks and stones."
To be continued.....
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A CONVERSATION WITH KYLIE
On the Tuesday after my fight with Sydney, and 5 days before the upcoming 2 vs 2 two war involving us and Kylie and Dawn, I knew I needed to break the news to Kylie that Sydney and I had fought. I knew Kylie would be upset, but I needed her to contain her anger until the upcoming weekend.
I asked Kylie to come to my place, but to promise not to flip out at what I had to tell her. Or at what she would see.
She knocked on my door shortly after. Her eyes widened immediately on seeing my countless bruises, welts, and scratches on my face, neck, shoulders and arms?
> Mom?!?!? What the fuck? Who did th....?
> No, no, Kylie. Don't be upset. I won the fight.
> Still. Who was it Mom? I know it wasn't Karen--I just saw her this morning, and she's chipper as ever.
> Ok, Kylie, promise me you won't flip out. You....we....will get our revenge Saturday.
> So....it was Dawn?!?
> Close. It was Sydney.
> Mom???? What. The Fuck. That bitch Sydney is mine. How could you????
> Kylie.....I know.....Kylie, she came looking for me. Kylie, I know now how you're so upset that I interfered in your first fight with her. I promise....no interference next time....on Saturday.....and Kylie, promise me, DO NOT contact Sydney before then....the four of us are going to fight Saturday....don't ruin this....
> That BITCH....Mom, you can't believe what I'm going to do to her....but, you and Dawn....hold Dawn off so I can have my way with her....
> I was going to ask the same of you....to hold off Sydney long enough for me to deal with Dawn.....
> Mom....a 2 on 2 fight....if one of us....if something happens to one of us.....it's not fair....I can see those 2 bitches ganging up on us, even though.....if something happens to one of them.....we would just watch, wouldn't we?
> I don't know.....I'm so upset with Sydney right now.....I might join in with you working her over.....that is, if you'd let me.....
> You said.....you said you won your fight with her.....how....how long did it take?
> Oh, Kylie.....it was long....the longest fight I've ever been in.....and....well....she was winning for most of the fight.....she probably underestimated me.....thinking I was old, or whatever.....Kylie, neither of them will underestimate us this next fight.....Kylie, I made such a horrible mistake interrupting your fight with Sydney.....I should have let you....establish your dominance over her....no matter how bad she was bleeding.....I'm so sorry.
> It's ok Mom. If Sydney's too dumb to see the favor you did her, she deserves everything that's about to happen. And I don't just mean the fight that's going to happen.
> What do you mean, hun?
> I mean....Mom.....do you know Dawn's husband? Sydney's dad?
> Dawn has never introduced him to me, no. Why?
> Because.....Mom....I want you.....and me.....to "claim" him from Sydney and Dawn. I want to offer him a threesome.....him.....you....and me.
> Kylie....I don't know.....that's a little provocative, don't you think?
> Mom. That's exactly the idea.
> I like it. Scratch that. I love it.
> Good. Today's Tuesday. Let's drive to Connecticut tomorrow, and....seduce him....Thursday.
> Good thinking, Kylie. Do you know....ahem....is your father free tonight?
> He's overseas for work.
> Shit.
> But my friend Doug....you're into him, right.
> <<<<<Blushing>>>> Lil bit.
> Let me text him. I'll tell him you were asking about him.
> Or....
> Or.....ok, I'll tell him it's a 9-1-1.
> It is, Kylie.
> Undrrstood.
Kylie came thru for me. Doug and I banged all Tuesday night. And Kylie joined us. My first threesome since Fitchburg State.
The perfect tuneup for the Threesome Thurday.
And the 2on2 war on Saturday.
To be continued.....
-
awsum story....awsum series...but why so late and so short:(...plzz plzz make it large and give early...this series is awsummmm more than awsum
-
CONFESSION TIME
Yes, it's true.
Your eyes have not deceived you.
On back to back nights in 2015, once with Kylie's friend Doug and then once with Dawn's husband, I was in a threesome. With Kylie.
The first night, with Doug, there wasn't much awkwardness. Kylie and I couldn't really see each other, and the few times we touched were accidental and quick. I could hear the sounds my daughter was making, but it occurred to me that in our past three years of "partying together" ever since Kylie started preferring my house to her dad's and Karen's, we had numerous times been in the same house when one or the both of us were in the throes of exstacy. We were used to the sound of each others' lovemaking.
But night two with Dawn's husband was another matter altogether. He was a surpringly poor.. ....ahem.. .performer.. ..for a man in his late 40s. He came very quickly after climbing into the no-tell motel bed with Kylie and me, but the still wanted more. So he insisted on watching me, which I was fine with; then watching Kylie, which I was fine with. But the he wanted to watch Kylie and me "do each other". Massaging at first, which Kylie dove right into, rubbing my shoulders and back and buttocks. Then Dawn's slimy husband told Kylie and me to kiss, which caused my heart to stop short, realizing that Kylie and I had failed to communicate how to deflect such a request. But, to my surprise, without missing a beat, Kylie closed her eyes and began enthusiastically kissing my shoulders and belly, gingerly avoiding my "bathing suit areas". I worried what would happen if Dawn's husband noticed Kylie's over-acting, but he was either too drunk to notice or too grateful for the show. Or maybe just clueless about women--was Dawn really that terrible in bed? Is that why her first kisses with me in 2011 weren't on the mouth?
So I exchanged chaste kisses with my own daughter. Kylie was acting.
But after thr first 10 minutes or so, I wasn't. Despite myself, I loved the feel of Kylie's lips and tongue on my skin. I bent my torso towards her face to get maximum contact with her mouth. I ran my fingers through her long, straight hair. I wasn't acting anymore, and I was hoping Kylie would enjoy it as much as I was.
Don't get my wrong--I'm happy now Kylie didn't get aroused.
But I got aroused, and I came.
And Kylie and I have never discussed it. I doubt we ever will.
Instead, we discussed our upcoming war with Dawn and Sydney. And Kylie's plan to taunt Sydney that she had slept with Sydney's dad.
To be continued...
-
2 ON 2 FIGHT NIGHT
I don't know if it was to avoid discussing what had happened between us during our two threesomes, but Kylie and I spent all day Thursday, all day Friday, and the morning of our scheduled Saturday fight with Dawn and Sydney planning our strategy for our 2 versus 2 war. By Friday, we could not contsin our gloating, and had already let our rivals know thst we had seduced their husband and dad into bed. I baited Dawn by letting her know how lame her husband was in the sack, with Dawn responding in kind with pent-up taunts of my divorce and decades-plus failure to remarry--she hsd clearly been saving up those insults for years, and I admit that they hurt me. A divorce is a scab that never fully heals. I warned her I would hurt her Saturday for bringing up my divorce.
Kylie and Sydney were texting taunts and threats to each other about Sydney's dad. Sydney vowed to destroy Kylie's womanhood for using them to seduce Sydney's dad and likely breaking up her home and jeopardizing her college education. Sydney taunted Kylie and me for dropping out of college before finishing, while Dawn had both a bachelors and masters in Education and was using them in a career. I know Sydney's insults stung and hurt Kylie, who still had no clear pland of what to do with her life. I was glad I had beaten Sydney when she came to my house to hurt me, and wanted Kylie to experience the same satisfaction.
Kylie and I were staying at an Inn in Essex, Connecticut, waiting to hear from Dawn the exact location of our Satuday night fight. I was alert for dirty tricks being played by Dawn and Sydney--there was a fire alarm at the Inn Friday night just before midnight which I suspect Dawn of being responsible for, even though I had not told Dawn we were staying there.
When we got the all-clear to return to our rooms, I couldn't fall asleep, and wanted to masturbate. But Kylie was in the twin bed next to me. I was afraid of what would happen if I aroused myself with Kylie in the room--if I would go over into her bed, or if she would join me in mine. Being in a threesome with my daughter was one thing, but being alone in a bed with her was another thing quite entirely. It was a line I couldn't allow myself to cross, no matter how much my hormones and my loneliness wanted to.
Loneliness. Lying in bed that night, I felt more lonely than I ever had. Or, maybe I had always felt lonely....at Fitchburg State, maybe I had meaningless sex to cover it up. ....at my house, maybe I let Kylie and her college friends party, and then joined in with them to cover it up. .....when I hooked up with my ex-husband David, and let him have his way with me without any commitment in return from him, maybe I was trying to block out my loneliness. .....when I taunted and fought his new bride Karen, maybe I was taking out my loneliness on her. ....when I had every-four-year fringe fights with Dawn, when she kissed me but not on the mouth, even though I wanted her to kiss me there, maybe I was lonely and she wasn't. What if I needed our fringe fights more than she did? What if I was escalating our fights, involving our daughters, baiting them, as a way to keep going a relationship with her that had otherwise run its course? And that I had nothing to fall back on? And I knew that she did?
What if my horrible mothering had caused, or even enabled, Kylie dropping out of college? Was Sydney right? Was Kylie a deadbeat and a loser?
I woke up Saturday at noon in beast mode. I was horny and needed sex, but had none available. I was confronting middle age, loneliness, no real friendships.
I had been a terrible wife, and David had no respect for me as an ex-wife, using me for sex. I was failing at motherhood. I was a terrible co-mother with Karen. I was a terrible friend to Dawn, the only real friend I had ever had.
Dawn called to give me the address for our fight. It was a summer house on Long Island Sound with no heat--it was winterized every fall with antifreeze in the pipes. She said she and Sydney were going to beat up Kylie and me so badly that it would take until Monday at the earliest for us to come to and be able to leave. I sensed the hate in her voice, and the desire to protect her daughter.
Would I end up regretting what I had started?
I didn't want Kylie to turn 46 and become what I was becoming, a down-and-out has-been facing bleak, uncertain golden years. I wanted to have all things I missed out on. An enduring marriage. A strong education and career.
And I wanted Sydney to miss out on all of them. I wanted Kylie to take them from her. And for Dawn to watch Sydney lose them.
I wanted that to happen tonight.
To be continued.....
-
GETTING DRESSED FOR A CATFIGHT
Kylie and I are in the Essex house Dawn has arranged for us to have a 2vs2 catfight. There is electricity but no heat, since the small summer house has a seasonal hot water heater but no furnace. Because it's 35 degrees outside, the inside of the house is chilly and drafty. The ceilings are low, 6-and-a-half feet tops, the floorplan of the house left over from the 1810s, when people were shorter than they are now.
Kylie and I take refuge and shut the door behind us inside the steamy bathroom were Kylie has just showered with barely any water pressure and iron-laced New England "hard water", which barely rinses off your hair and skin. She asks for my help in drying her long, thick hair, which hasn't been cut in months. For my whole life, if I let my hair grow out like hers is, it would get stringy and fine. But Kylie's hair is getting thicker and more full-bodied the longer she grows it. I'm happy she has inherited her hair gene from her father David, whose thick dark hair is still going strong at age 46.
I think of her hair our 2 nights in bed together earlier this week during our threesomes, how she instinctively tossed it when she gave head to her friend from school and then Dawn's husband. I think back to 1987 when Dawn and I were Kylie's age, how replused we were when we had to give oral. We would grit our teeth and pretend to like it, but we hated every second of it, and the boys we were with could usually tell. Even when I went to Fitchburg State and had my slut phase, it was straight intercourse I was indulging in, almost never oral. By contrast, Kylie is a natural at it, and has no inhibitions. And all of her girlfriends, when telling sex stories, just casually allude to endless episodes of "sucking off" guys, and not just as foreplay. I always want to ssk them how they learned so young.
Drying Kylie's hair in our improvised sauna, I get horny in anticipation of watching Kylie and Sydney fight. I want to hold Dawn's hair in my claws and be body-to-body with my best friend. I hope sleeping with her husband wasn't too much of a provocation. I hope she and I can fringe fight and get a good view of the main event--Kylie and Sydney tearing into each other. The college dropout versus the soon-to-be freshman coed.
Kylie is slipping into her fight outfit, a one-piece, low-cut, long-legged spandex outfit the highlights her long legs and tight ass. When Kylie tried it on at the store earlier last week, she saw the 2 female store clerks ogling her butt, and she knew she had to buy it and wear it to a fight with Sydney. I can't wait for later tonight, Sydney and Kylie staring each other down, their aroused asses bulging against their tight clothes, like wild animals about to fight over territory, their grudge more real than ever now that Kylie has wrecked Sydney's home. And Sydney having no recourse, since Kylie's dad is already divorced, but to fight Kylie.
And Dawn and I awaiting anxiously on the sidelines, on the fringe, dreading the outcome, knowing that whichever mom's daughter loses the Kylie-Sydney fight will be at the mercy, 1 versus 2, of the victorious daughter and her mother. If Kylie loses, Sydney and Dawn will tear into me. I can handle either, barely, 1 on 1--what possible chance do I have against them together. But if Kylie beats Sydney, she and I will be free to finally take Dawn down from her perch.
So Dawn and I will be rolling around on the ground on the sideline, saving our strength for the 2on1 "airing of grievances", to borrow a 1990s phrase. We'll be fringe fighting, for the first time since our 1987 run-in at the Rita-Laurie donnybrook.
Unless--what if Kylie right now is thinking the same thing I'm thinking? What if she and Sydney are here too see a Debbie-Dawn MILF fight. There's nothing better, after all, than when two lifelong MILF friends have a falling out, and then fight. A quarter century of pent-up slights, jealousy, rivalry, sexual rejection. Dawn's awkward, clumsy advances on me hurt me more even than watching David get happily remarried to, and financially support, Karen. The only recourse to that hurt was a vicious catfight between Karen and me. Dawn and I still haven't "settled" our confusing, chaste kissing episode. Are Kylie and Sydney aware of our building grudge, and are they here to fringe fight at our MILF brawl? Is that why Kylie has chosen an outfit whuch allows her to preen her ass, but sppears to be totally impractical to fight in?
Is Kylie setting me up, or am I setting her up? Or both?
Kylie and I don't speak as I prepare her hair and outfit in the steamy bathroom. If she and I don't trust each other, we'll receive the beating of a lifetime at the hands of the Dawn-Sydney team.
In 1987, Dawn was on the winning team in the 4on4 Rita-Laurie fight. Does she think that win reflects on her? That it makes her better than me? I could have pushed Laurie off of Rita at any time, but I let the 2 of them finish. Is that why I never finished college and never had a career? Is that why I got divorced? Is that why my daughter is repeating the pattern?
I wish I could share these feelings with Dawn, but there's no cellphone bars.
So Kylie and I get ready in silence.
I'm so horny, I feel like I could cum just standing here.
To be continued....
-
TWO VERSUS TWO
When Sydney and Dawn arrived at the unheated summer house in Essex, there was no taliking. Sydney went straight for Kylie's throat, and Dawn held Kylie from behind while Sydney slapped Kylie in the face. In an attempt to defend my daughter, I grabbed Dawn from behind, expecting my rival to turn and face me. Instead, she fell to the ground in my grasp, and directed my hands to her rock-hard breasts, encouraging me to massage and carress them. I fell onto my butt, and spooned her, enjoying the feel of her breasts in my hands, the feel of her butt on my pussy. I kissed her back and her shoulders, wanting her to return my kisses on my lips, but being denied. So I instead whispered in her ears, as we watched a vicious Sydney-Kylie fistfight unfold before our unbelieving eyes.
> Who does this fight remind you of, bitch?
> You already know, slut.
> Say it, cxnt.
> Rita and Laurie. 28 years ago.
> Isn't is devine?
> They look like they'll kill each other.
> Is that a bad thing?
> Not if I can watch.
> Your left breast is the same as it was that day.
> When it popped out?
> Thank you for not letting the other girld see it.
> Thank you for letting me see it.
> I didn't 'let' you, bitch.
> Just let you're not letting me kiss you now?
> I'm not attracted to you, bitch.
> Fuck you, you're hard as two coconuts.
> It's from watching the fight, honey.
> Fuck you, I don't believe it. Admit you want me.
> I don't.
My pussy grinds into Dawn's butt. I'm more hurt and rejected than I've ever been, but the sounds and sights of the college girl bitchfight in progress win out. I tighten my grip on Dawn and masturbate myself into her to climax.
I maintain my needful grip on her.
Kylie and Sydney fall in front on Dawn in a heap, Kylie on top.
Kylie faces Dawn. They tongue kiss like deranged animals, Kylie sucking on Dawn's tongue as she--Kylie--rides Sydney's face.
I see red.
Dawn won't tongue kiss me after all these years.
My daughter won't kiss my mouth or even my face in threesomes.
Sydney fights me after I interrupt a fight she was about to lose. She hasn't acknowledged my existence tonight.
I'm hurt.
I'm 46. I'm divorced. I have no career. My dsughter is a college drop out.
My "best friend" is making out with my daughter.
I think back to the Laurie-Rita fight in 1987. I was on Rita's "team". Rita lost the fight. I paid the price. Dis-invited from summer at the Cape. Misfit at college in North Adams. College slut at Fitchburg. A good marriage, with EMC stock options, falls into my lap, which I then throw away. Borderline abusive rebound sex with my ex. Slut mom sex with my daughter's classsmates. Noncommunicative relationship with my daughter.
And Dawn. Pillar of the community, my ass. If her School Board knew the things she does with me. Using me for sex all these years, but never offering me anything.
Claiming she's not attracted to me.
What if she's lying?
What if she's telling the truth.
My daughter alternates between punching Sydney in face and kissing Dawn.
What is it with Dawn and Sydney? Why does Dawn not ever want to protect her daughter?
David uses me.
Dawn uses me.
Kylie uses me.
> Kylie? Sydney?
> Yes, Mom?
> How'd you two like to watch a MILF fight?
> Now or never.
Dawn and I square up.
To be continued.....
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THREE VERSUS ONE
"Kick her ass, Mom. It's easy," Sydney tells Dawn.
"Fuck you, Sydney," I retort, hurt quivering in my voice. "I beat you, remember?" I leave unsaid that she hasn't spoken to me all night until now.
I had come to the house tonight fearful of what would happen when the first fighter became incapacitated, and the first mom/daughter team had a two-to-one advantage on their enemy. But now something even worse is happening--the vibe in the room is sliding to a three-versus-one dynamic.
Sydney, to whose rescue I came weeks ago when Kylie clipped her nose and got it bleeding profusely, is encouraging Dawn to beat me up. I feel the sting of rejection from her.
Dawn, who shunned me moments ago as we fringe fought, refusing to reciprocate my kisses. I feel the sting of rejection from her.
My own daughter Kylie, in bed with me three nights ago with Dawn's husband and Sydney's dad, asked to kiss me, and instead putting on theatrics. I feel the sting of rejection from her.
I think back to Fitchburg State, when I started letting men hook up with me without buying dinner for me before or calling me afterwards. I know "hookup culture" became common in colleges shortly thereafter, but when I was at Fitchburg around 1990, it actually wasn't common at all, especially outside of fraternity row. Girls still made boys work for it to get into our pants--and the one's who didn't, like me eventually, stood out as the exception and got a reputation which was a part-exotic/part-CosmoGirl/part-sophisticated-mature, but not entirely flattering.
I think back to the "History of the Enlightenment" course, the one with Ben Franklin in full-on Dirty Old Man mode giving sex advice. I remember a pretty, blonde freshman girl on the same floor in my dorm who happened to be in the same course. I remember her bringing the text into my dorm room, sitting at the edge of my bed, asking if I wanted to study. Bringing study material into someone's dorm room snd sitting at the edge of their bed was how you initiated a backrub/make-out session in 1990 College America. Interesting, I thought, a "that time in college" girl-on-girl episode is about to happen. But instead, when I touched her shoulders to start the backrub, she told me that her hometown boyfriend from Quincy would be in town this coming weekend, and did I want to have a threesome with them.
I felt so dirty. Is that how my dormmates saw me? As the resident slut you ask for a threesome? Had my reputation slid so low that girls weren't threatened by bringing me to bed with their boyfriends? That the boyfriends would so thoroughly disrespect me that the chemistry of their relationship would be impervious to my presence? Was I not to be taken seriously as a candidate for being someone's actual girlfriend?
I felt so hurt and so low that night in Fitchburg.
I feel so low and so hurt tonight in Essex.
Does Dawn disrespect me as a fighter from our many years of fringe fighting?
Is that why Sydney felt comfortable knocking on my door and challenging me a couple weeks ago?
Has my partying and fighting with my daughter led to this? Has Dawn handled it better, not helping Sydney when Sydney was in jeopardy against Kylie in that first fight between them? Has that distance between them been sufficient to establish who's the mom and who's the daughter?
When I fought Kylie's stepmom Karen in front of Kylie, was that a mistake? Should I have asked Kylie to leave Karen and I alone, then leave it to her imagination what had happened between us when I kicked Karen's ass?
I get inspiration what I need to do right now.
"Sydney, Kylie. Could you please leave Dawn and I alone for a minute? We need to settle something that's been brewing for 28 years."
"Awwww, but I wanna watch," Sydney faux-whines.
"Don't worry, babes," says Dawn. "I'll let you be the first to see this bitch after I finish with her."
Sydney and Kylie leave the room.
"Just you and me now, Debbie. What's up?"
To be continued......
-
CATCHING UP
My sixth sense--or, actually, maybe it was my woman's intuition--....well, whichever it was....told me that Dawn and I weren't about to start brawling as soon as she closed the door behind us. I was ready and willing to do so, but that's not where Dawn's head was at just then. Just as I was feeling hurt and offended at not being kissed on the mouth by anyone, Dawn too had something she needed to get off her (bare) chest. She spoke first, the two of us standing feet apart, hushing our voices so they cannot be heard by our daughters just outside the room.
> Deb, so....here's what I don't...GET....about you. When you and Sydney had your... ..ALONE.. ..time last weekend, did you not.....were you not the least bit curious what she's doing after graduation?? Deb, she's a high school senior.
> <<<<My face flushes. Is it with guilt? Is this what guilt feels like?>>>> Dawn, I.......I guess I didn't feel like it was my place.....I also feel defensive. I've been feeling down in the dumps lately that you surpassed me in educational achievement, and that Sydney is about to surpass Kylie. She is, right? She's about to attend college in the fall, right? Except, one that's right for her? <<<<Unlike the poor choices I made, and then Kylie made.>>>>>
> Deb, Sydney got into Boston College last fall. Early Action, they call it--you apply early to avoid the rush.....but also the anxiety of the acceptance letters in April. Did you know, you can apparently tell if your letter is an acceptance letter or a rejection letter just by its weight? Anyways.....she got accepted last fall. We thought we were all set.
> Then what happened?
> Then Boston College rescinded the offer. They were searching her social media accounts. Even her private ones--they can do that. We signed a consent form--she did, her dad did, I did. It was in the fine print.
> Those assholes.
> No shit. And now it's too late to apply to any other school. Well, any school worth going to. We missed the deadlines. Early Action, my ass.
> Dawn, I feel so bad......sleeping with your husband when the three of you had that hanging over your heads......I had no idea.....
> Deb, you had no idea because you never asked. You didn't ask me, you didn't ask Sydney.....
> <<<<Speaking rapidly in run-on sentences>>>> Dawn, I admit I obviously didn't ask but you and I hadn't been speaking lately and you made me feel guilty about prying when I interfered in Sydney and Kylie's first fight and it seemed like you didn't care about her....and I told you I've been feeling so upset lately about Kylie dropping out of school and not doing anyyhing with her life and wondering if it's because I've been partying too much with her <<<<shit, I suddenly remember that Kylie and Sydney are still in the house....can they hear us? are they listening to us? what the fuck ARE they doing??......I step closer to Dawn and drop my voice.....her hair and skin smell so good>>>>... Dawn, I'm so sorry.... ...I'm doing it again ... so wrapped up in myself and my problems.... Dawn, what did they find on Sydney's social media? that made them rescind the offer?
> <<<<<Dawn is suppressing tears.>>> Deb..... They saw her ... like... having Twitter fights and Instagram fights with other girls.....
> Like.... virtual? real?
> Both..... arguing.... namecalling .... threats ... setting up real life meetings .... talking about real life meetings that had already happened . like, not many, a lot of these girls were in states Sydney's never been in .... but there were enough details .... like actual dates and places ... about a couple actual fights that had happened .... that we .... that Sydney .... couldn't shrug it off as, I don't know .... as acting. You know, she wasn't just in-character when she was online. She was actually acting out and looking for actual fights.
> So, Dawn, what are you.... and her .... going to do now?
> Deb, you can't believe what bullshit the whole system is. And I probably made it worse. I was just yelling at the Admissions officer... or whoever it was they had me talk to ... and I was like .... even if she scrubs all her accounts, this is going to follow her, isn't it? You're going to blackbsll her everywhere she goes, aren't you? What's she supposed to do? Commit sui......?
That word is such a horrible word, I can't let Dawn say it out loud. I've already let my friend down enough, been oblivious to the drama her family has been going thru.
I lift my finger and cover Dawn's lips before she can speak aloud her darkest fears for her daughter's future. I comfort her with a hug, our naked torsos pressing together. Dawn sucks on my finger--I revel in the sensation, her tongue licking my sensitive fingertip. I still crave a kiss on the mouth, and she finally offers me one. My whole body is aroused, turned on by the emotional connection finally made with my best friend in the world. My friend for 28 years.
Things in the house are quiet. Too quiet.
> What are Sydney and Kylie doing?
Our women's intuition tells us the answer before we see it with our own eyes.
We open the door to the room we're in, and walk....then run.... to the upstairs attic-slash-bedroom.
Sydney and Kylie are on the floor, wrapped in a catball, shredded hair laying on the floor in clumps, blood smearing the white crown molding they are pressed against. They are breathing heavily, having been clearly fighting for several minutes.
> Do we break them up?
> No, let them finish.
> I agree.
To be continued.......
-
SYDNEY VS KYLIE
Sydney fighting Kylie is a mesmerizing sight to behold. Kylie's punches are aimed directly as the center of Sydney's face, and every third punch lands directly on her enemy's nose. This causes Sydney to relexively turn away, and when it does, it appears the rout is on. But then, as if by magic, Sydney conjures the determination to retaliate, staring down her oppenent with an imposing cocktail of hate, dtermination, revenge, and cunning. Sydney's fists lash out at lighting speed, landing mercilessly on Kylie's face and chest. Kylie stares back in frustration at the determination and sheer stubborness of her opponent, and the two steel their nerves for another round, or eight, of bareknuckled action.
Without warning, Dawn cums all over my probing hand, drenching it in sticky fluid. I crave thr feel of her underboob, and massage and kiss her enthusiastically. The 6-foot ceilings in the 250-year old house give a claustrophobic sensation of violence, and I clutch my best friend, never wanting to lose her companionship.
My pussy craves escape from the void it is experiencing, and I guide Dawn's hand, and thumb, deep inside of it, reveling in the friction of her knuckles on my flesh, outside and in. I furiously masturbate myself with her hand, encouraging and almost begging her for a violent finger fuck. Dawn is now, finally, responding to my pleas for reciprocation.
Kylie and Sydney belt each other flush in the face on the floor in front of us, Dawn's daughter's eyelids noticably blackening before our eyes, my own daughter's vaguely swelling shut. What instigated this latest brawl between them? Did they think Dawn and I were fighting in the room next to them?
Will they fight harder now if they think Dawn and I are fighting now?
> Fucking. Bitch!
I slap Dawn as hard as I can.
She hesitates. I nod at our daughters. She looks, and gets what I'm saying. She wants to escalate the coed fight, too.
Or. Maybe she just want to fringe fight. Like she and I did in 1987, while Laurie and Rita attempted to maim each other permanently.
Dawn and I start calling each other names.
Bitch.
Slut.
cxnt.
Whore.
Kylie and Sydney appear to hear us. Their hairpulling echoes with tearing sounds reverberating thru the attic-bedroom.
Dawn and I begin rolling.
Dawn's left breast is inches from my mouth.
I think of our 1987 fight.
I bite it.
Dawn bites back at mine.
Like we wanted to do to each other 28 years ago.
And every year since.
To be continued.....
-
Getting hot now. Don’t stop
-
Really hot fight. Waiting for next round
-
Maybe it's because our daughters are now the ages Dawn and I were during our first two fights in 1987 and 1991, but we're now communicating better and more openly than we have since those long-lost days. We're able to connect non-verbally, with eye contact and with touch.
As we fight on the attic-bedroom bed in Essex, my mind, and Dawn's, is in 1987 at the Shoppers' World parking lot, when Dawn and I were fringe fighting feet away from the Rita-Laurie fight, and Dawn's left breast popped out of her tight sweater. We looked at each other apprehensively right away, neither of us knowing what to do next. Neither of us hated the other, we were just standing uop for a friend. Dawn was fearful for the pain and humiliation she was now at my mercy to inflict, but also fearful that she would need to retaliate in kind if I chose to press my advantage. Our fringe fight would then escalate to a full-on catfight, one for which neither of us had prepared. We were 18 years old, and had no idea if we were "woman enough" to test ourselves in a vicious battle. The situation resolved itself when I hesitated and sllowed my opponent to "tuck herself back in". But our connection that day formed a lasting bond which has survived a lifetime of tests.
Similarly, in 1991, I walked over to Dawn's parents' house in Framingham uncertain of what might happen when, for the first time since 1987, we were alone together. Real life had already intruded into our idyllic childhoods, with me in the process of dropping out of college for a second time, and unemployment forcing Dawn's dad to lose his I.T. career and downsize the family house. We were both in a foul mood and needed to blow off steam in the worst way. We ended up doing so with some friendly wrestling, hair pulling, and judo throws.
But the 1991 fight could have gone down differently. We were alone in the house. We could have started actually fighting.
The 1987 fight could have gone down differently. It could have escalated into a clothes-stripping catfight.
We knew by looks and by touch that neither of us wanted that. Check that--we wanted it, we just weren't ready.
But it's 2015 now. We're divorced and about-to-be divorced 40-something women now. With daughters with wrecked academic careers. Major steam to blow off.
We look at each other. We feel each others' claws in our flesh.
We're on the same page.
We want the same thing.
Time to finally fight, no holds barred, no rules.
Right here, right now.
To be continued.....
-
NO HOLDS BARRED
Dawn and I have now discontinued our eye contact. I can't stand to look at the bitch's face after feeling her teeth sink deep into my sideboob. My first bites at her were probing nibbles at the top, not unlike Kylie's boy classmates had directed my way during our house-party hookups. But Dawn's had a clesr malicious attempt, and the sting they gave me reverberates up my spine. I see red, and sink my claws into her thick blonde hair. Her curls are as full as they were in 1987 and 1991, and her torso nearly as hard-bodied. How has Dawn stayed in such good shape all these years? And where did she learn to bite like that into sideboob?
I try to straddle and pin Dawn, but she double fists my tits and tugs them hard, down, towards herself. She rams her knees into my back, further driving my chest towards her reach, and towards her mouth. She bites hard into my left breast, breaking skin and drawing blood. In desperation I drive my claws into her scalp, hoping against hope that the pain I'm causing her is at least one third of the agony I'm feeling. I've never seen someone at the bottom of a fight clinch inflicting as much damage as Dawn is laying on me. I screech at her in anger, in frustration, in hurt.
> Like it on the bottom, fucking bitch?
> Thinking of sex as usual, gutter slut?
> Jealous I get more dick than you, frigid witch?
> Keep it up and you'll never fuck again, Divorced Debbie.
As viciously as I'm wrestling with my determined opponent, my conflicted psyche is wrestling even more with the cognitive dissonance of the urge to hurt my lifetime rival while juggling the pent-up insults being hurled my way. I'm under no illusion that Dawn is contemporaneously inventing her insults at me--she's harbored them for an extended period, and letting them loose now. Alcohol and anger, the ultimate truth serums.
But if Dawn can live and learns, so can I (despite her loftier educational achievement). She's taught me that sideboob bites sting, and I decide the give the teacher a sample of her own lesson. I lean down, claws still firmly embedded in skull, and nuzzle my nose and mouth into Dawn's right sideboob. I gnaw like a puppy getting ahold of a shoe, uncaring as to the damage which may result. Dawn finally regrets being the fighter on her back, as her bucking and wriyhing is unable to release my grip. Dawn's flesh is salty in my mouth, and her screeches are music to my ears.
And now I feel another sensation wash thru my body. Abject fear. I've been feeling it a lot lately. Fear that David will notice that he can fuck me without leaving his second wife. Fear about my daughter's future. Fear of getting old, of not being fuckable, at least not to twenty-somethings. Fear of running out of money. Fear of Kylie marrying. Fear of Kylie never marrying.
Fear of losing a fight to Dawn. I can accept having a draw with her. I could never face her if I lost a fight to her. Losing to Sydney I could excuse on the basis of an age disadvantage. But not to Dawn. Or regular fights come with a presumption on my part that I'm the superior fighter. I was the one eho allowed Dawn to tuck her boob back in in 1987. I'm the one who taught her how to hip-throw in 1991. She's book smart, but I'm street smart.
Kylie and Sydney have paused to watch Dawn and I fight. Now they're the ones fringe fighting. Dawn and I are the Main Event.
Fear.
Fear is what made Rita and Laurie fight so hard in 1987--in their case, fear that they had invested their entire high school years in a boy they were about to lose to the other.
Dawn's knee into my back in like a car-wreck, whiplashing my neck and spinal chord. The pain is jarring and foreign. I instinctively slam her skull onto the ground, then belatedly realize we're fighting on a bed.
Fear. That I'm out of fight tactics.
So I resume biting her chest, and she resumes screeching.
Sydney dashes to rescue her mom. Kylie tackles her. They resume fighting. Dawn and I resume watching.
I cum, hard and in waves. Fringe fighting.
I crave the salty taste on Dawn. I lick her face. She licks mine bsck, flicking my eyelids with her tongue. I reciprocate.
Sydney and Kylie are fistfighting on the ground. Another generational divide. Dawn's generation, Rita's generation, Laurie's generation, my generations, except for the initial square-up, girls didn't throw fists. Sydney and Kylie throw fists.
I love watching it.
It makes me cum.
To be continued.....
-
2 ON 2 FIGHT CONCLUSION
Sydney and Kylie continue exchanging haymakers. Their blows have less force behind them than the start of the evening, as both girls are showing signs of fatigue. But offsetting this is their similarly slowing reflexes, which is hindering their ability to either keep their hands high enough to block incoming punches or to even move their heads backwards or to the side in advance of a punch landing. Consequently, their faces are continuing to progressively bruise and swell nearly beyond recgnition. Only their flowing manes of brunette hair, one light and the other dark, remind me that these indeed are my and Dawn's grown daughters.
In other words, I stare, transfixed, not even wanting to pause and miss a thing for the .001 seconds it would take me to blink.
It's close, but Sydney is starting to win the fight. Her endurance is stronger than Kylie's and her right cross technique slightly more agressive. After a half hour of fighting, the incremental extra ummpphh behind each punch is starting to have an effect. She's been applying herself more than my daughter, spending her time on the web looking for fights, while my daughter has been looking for sex. And her long fight with me a few weeks ago no longer helped her to apply herself. Applying herself--that's always been Kylie's problem. Her dad, my ex, always complained to me about that. Kylie under-applying herself at school, under-applying herself in sports. Was he implying this was partly my fault? Was he using our child aginst me in our divorce, something the mediator told us to never do? Kylie was a total wash out at college, just like I was?
I get pissed for Kylie. I need to stand up for her now.
I stand up to interfere in Sydney and Kylie's fight.
"Oh, no you dont!" I hear Dawn's voice behind me. He claws sink into my breasts, and her teeth into my right shoulder. Her feet trip me, and we fall onto the floor in a catball.
I see red. I'm jealous of Dawn for staying married for 20 years, for keeping her home together until her daughter was grown, for sparing Sydney the humiliation and trauma of needing to get to know a stepmon, for hearing a woman who's not her mom in her dad's bed.
I elbow Dawn, backwards, in the breasts and stomach and side. I Boston Crab myself on top of her, and kick backwards with my ankles. Dawn's arms roll up my front to my mouth, and I sink me teeth into her wrists, instinctively seeking the most sensitive area available. I remember reading about pressure points sitting in a doctor's office waiting room--I remember thinking the knowledge might be useful someday if I ever fought Kylie's stepmom again, but the charts and pictures in the article flow back to me now. I elbow and kick amd fight and resist like you're supposed to do if mugged from behind. Applying myself--see, I tell myself, Kylie and I aren't complete failures, we can do it if and when we need to.
And Kylie needs me now. Sydney is destroying my daughter's face. A face she'll need to attract a marry the right man. I don't have much time. I need to.... ...neutralize ... ... Dawn; and then take down Sydney.
Dawn's bites and grip slowly weaken. Coming at me from behind was a bad move tactically--she was already at less than full strength from our long fight earlier, a I knew how to finish her off from the fortuitous self-defense article from years ago.
I stomp on Dawn's stomach to finish her off.
Then I move over to Sydney. She sees it's 2on1 now, the best, or worst, part of a 2on2 fight, depending on which side you're on.
Kylie and I are on the right side. Sydney is on the wrong side.
"You can take a punch, Syd. But can you take a bite?"
I say this out of imtimidation as much as actual threat, but it works. Sydney hesitates, and Kylie throws grabs her by the hair. I backhand her breasts over and over, loud slaps echoing thru the tiny attic. But more effective than any of my strikes is something intangible--despair. Sydney sees her situation is hopeless. To get out of the bind she's in, Sydney must hurt both Kylie and me, and she can't even hit or kick one of us. Her mom has let her down, leaving her alone against two enemies.
I never do bite her. But Kylie does, frustrated at the two long, inconclusive duels she had with her rival. She releases that frustration now, leaving scars on Sydney which only Sydney's future sex partners will ever see.
Dawn is similarly at my mercy. But I spare her tonight. Introducing our daughters into our fights in 2015 gave it a unique flavor. And it reminded me why I love fringe fighting. But it's gone far enough, too far really. Anything in the future between Dawn and me needs to be just between Dawn and me.
In 2019, we'll be 50 years old. In 2018, we'll be in our forties for the last time. 49 years old.
One last chance to fight all out, while our bodies and bones can sustain it.
Kylie and I get uneasy being in the house with Dawn's and Kylie's bodies in the shape they're in.
We wash up, pack our stuff, and go out to our car.
We drive back to Framingham. Kylie thanks me for letting her do to Sydney what she did.
I don't hear from Dawn or Sydney.
Wonder if Dawn's head is at the same place mine is. A 2018 fight.
To be continued......
-
Hope to see the final fight. Debbie and Dawn going all out in a naked biting clawing anything goes catball
-
2016
The rest of 2015 came and went. I didn't try to contact Dawn, and she didn't try to contact me. I read on the internet that her divorce was finalized, and that her family home in Connecticut was put on the market and then was sold for above its asking price. Lucky bitch. My divorce happened in a shit housing market, hers happened in a boom. She always had the upper hand on me financially.
She also probably was gaining on me sexually. I took solace that her ex-husband turned out to be mediocre in bed, and almost now wished she had stayed married to him. I read somewhere that women who exit multi-decade marriages in middle age go on a post-divorce sex bender with men who are jacked up on Viagra. No wonder she didn't contact me in 2015 and 2016--too busy fucking.
I was fucking too, just with my old stand-by's. Kylie's 20-something high school classmates continued to swing by, even after they noticed Kylie was hanging out at my house less and less. There were two or three boys--men, now, really--who I was flattered still thought of me "that way", stopping by for sex and pay-per-view movies.
But my "go to" sex was still my ex-husband David. He was more selfish in bed than Kylie's ex-classmates, but also more excited when he got me naked. He used me horribly in bed, but he knew exactly what parts of my body that he wanted and needed, and the familiarity was comforting and soothing to both of us. We were losing track of how much time we were spending with each other. But his wife Karen wasn't.
In early June 2016, Karen's elderly and frail dad entered hospice care. Not to get all spiritual and metaphysical, but I'm pretty sure his soul had exited his body and was "checking up on David" to make sure David would "be there" to take care of Karen. If so, Karen's dad was no doubt appalled by what he saw--David engaged in full-blown ex-sex with me, constantly and vigorously. He rallied from hospice care, and was released back to assisted living. And Karen grew a backbone.
In late June 2016, Karen grew a backbone and showed up at my housr unannounced one morning. She was all bad-ass in biker gear and big hair, but her tone was all business. She forced her way into my house, and declared that while I may have won the first and, until now, only catfight she and I had engaged in, my continuing relationship with David was "bullshit", and she and were going to "have it out, girl", right here, right now, no witnesses, no rules.
Karen had an open invitation, as far as I was concerned, anytime anywhere, to test her womanhood against me, and so I motioned her to "come at me", if that's what she wanted. Karen removed her jewelry and emptied her pockets, stretched her hamstrings like she was about to start a morning jog, and we were tearing into each other tooth-and-claw.
My experience in biting, and being bitten by, Dawn and Sydney came in handy that morning, since I was unflustered and unflappable in the face on Dawn's attack. In fact, I paid her back triple for how hard she came at me, breaking skin and drawing blood from her shoulders and biceps. Dawn and I were never going to be friends, and with Kylie grown, all need and pretence for even a bare level of civility had disappeared. I hated her, she hated me. Our sex time with David was a zero sum game, and we each wanted every minute we could get going forward. Finally, we each thought the other was an insufferable bitch. We were out to hurt each other.
Our claws sank into the other's scalp, and we sought to slam the other's skull into furniture and floor. Our legs snaked around each other, our knees grinding each others' crotch. We tore at each others' hair, wanting David to see by evidence and not testimony what we had done to the other for his sake.
> I hate you, you prissy bitch. I never would have divorced David if I knew he would marry you.
> David would have never married you if he had met me first.
> Fuck you I would have killed you if you had talked to David before I married him.
> Fuck you Debbie kill me now if you think you can.
> Fuck you Karen don't tempt me or I fucking will.
I'm astounded by how strong Karen is during our fight, like a completely different opponent than she was during our first fight. Am I bringing this out in her.
We scratch and claw at each others' faces, fingers ending up in mouths and getting bitten unforgivingly. I'm angered by the damage Karen is doing to my skin and flesh, and desire to do triple in return to her. I want her out of my life, out of David's life.
> I'll make David divorce you and kick uou out, Karen.
> Over my dead body, Debbie, you'll never ever have him.
> That his decision, not yours bitch.
> It's my decision too, stupid, since you let him go.
Karen and I are on our feet now, slapping and kicking uncontrollably. In all my fights with Dawn and Sydney, I fought methodically and in control. This fight is different. It's desperate. And aminalistic.
I want my continued sex with David. It's something I've come to count on.
Karen and I sink our teeth into each others' necks. We're instinctively searching for each others' jugulars.
But the pain of teeth in our neck makes us release our grip.
Our claws find our hair, and we fall onto the floor again in a catball.
We're frustrated that every tactic we apply is met in kind.
> You have some fucking, nerve, bitch, coming to my house.
> What do you call FUCKING MY HUSBAND?!?!?!?
> HE WAS MY FUCKING HUSBAND FIRST!!!!
> I WANT HIM THED FUCK BACK!!!!
> You can't, SWEETIE!!!!
> Prove it!!!!!
Karen forms a fist and starts swatting at my nose, mouth, and eyes.
I respond, but not as effectively.
Karen can't be doing this to me.
This is Karen we're talking about.
Sad sack Karen.
Holy roller Karen.
****************
At noon that day, I come to, and call Kylie.
> Can you come over? Karen just beat the shit out of me. I think I lost a couple teeth.
To be continued......
-
30TH CLASS REUNION AT MARIAN, 2017
After I lost my fight with Karen, my ex-husband David stopped sleeping with me and stopped taking my calls or texts. I itched for revenge agsinst Karen, but then decided David wasn't good enough, or at least considerate enough, in bed to make it worth it--it being the further bite and scratch scars Karen would inflict on me even if I managed to win a rematch. I kinda moved on, over a decade after our divorce.
You know how when you're getting sex you get more and when you stop getting it you get even less. Well, I was on the wrong end of that equation during 2016 and 2017. As soon as David stopped sleeping with me, so did Kylie's 20-something friends. There's a thin line between the fun sexy MILF and the washed-up slut, and in the eyes of Kylie's friends I was suddenly the latter. I missed sex, and I missed the companionship, no matter how flawed, that came with it.
I was lonely.
Lonely enough to accept an invitation go the 30th class reunion that fall at Marian. I had never attended a Marian reunion before--I guess I didn't feel like I was a very good Catholic. I got one of Kylie's friends to take me in return for a dozen blow jobs over the summer. It felt good the be the woman there with the youngest date.
I felt guilty, until I saw women there was same sex Plus-one's. Guess the Catholic Church has changed since I left it. And Marian.
I freeze when I see one of the women dates. Holy shit. Is that Rita? Will she want to talk to me? Will she remember me?
> Rita?
> Holy crap. Debbie???
We hug, our breasts rubbing together.
> Rita, I miss you. You're in Framingham????
> Ashland. Down the road. I've tried looking you up on Facebook a couple times. You're either not on Facebook or got married. <<<She notices I have no ring. I notice she has none either.>>>
> Not on Facebook. Got married. Then got divorced.
> Ya, been there.
> And? now? I mean....your date is a woman, right?
> Yea, trying the other team for awhile. We'll see. How about you. Like, wow, what's he? 23?
> Well, yea. Just a date tho, if you know what I mean. Rita, I didn't know if you'd want to talk to me....after what happened in 1987.
> Debbie, are you kidding me. You're my sista. You tore Laurie's friend's tit nearly off for me. What was her name? Dawn? I've ... umm.... thought about that since then.
<<<<Eyes in the crowd turn towards us.>>>>>
> Rita, ummm, you and I need to talk. I'll ditch my 23 year old if you ditch your .... um .... bitch.
> Deal.
Rita and I meet in the parking lot and head straight for my car. I drive 60 in a 35 back to my place, our hands already touching each other through and under clothing.
We head for my couch and begin kissing, coming up for air to ask the questions we're dying to hear the answers to.
> Did you ever fight Laurie again?
> I thought we had something arranged twice. 1997 and 2002. But she backed out both times. Chicken shit. And you? Did you fight Dawn again?
<<<The kissing transitions to finger fucking. Rita's pussy feels like she never had kids.>>>>>
> Um, .... 7 times ..... including 2 years ago.
> Is that where these scars are from.
> The ones on my breast, yes. Those are from Dawn. The bite marks mostly from my ex's new wife. Last year.
> Debbie. Where have you been all my life?
> I've been right here.
> My loss. When can I watch you fight Dawn again?
> Let's email her right now and find out.
> Or.... we can fuck first. Then email.
> Lady's choice.
> Fuck ladies. Teach me to be a bitch like you.
To be continued.......
-
Even better. Don’t make us wait for the next chapter
-
RITA'S STORY, AS OF 2017
I manage to shut up long enough to let Rita tell her story of what happened after the Shoppers World 4on4 fight in 1987.
**************************
The summer after Laurie beat me up at Shoppers World was a disaster. I was fine with her doing whatever to me, as long as Chris would pick me over her, but the 4on4 fight that happened was public enough... well, him picking me didn't happen. Just the opposite. Somehow the story got around Framingham that I had tried to 4on1 Laurie. Everyone knew that girls walked around Shoppers World in Framingham and Natick Mall in Natick in posses of 4, but when my posse collided with Laurie's that day in June, somehow I was the bully.
I was supposed to attend orientation at Wheaton College in Norton, MA the next month. Ours was going to be a historic class--the first coed class in what was previously an all-female college. I was looking forward to meeting the first Wheaton College male students, hooking up with them, even though that term wasn't even invented yet. Laurie or whoever could have Chris then--I wouldn't need him.
But after Laurie beat me up at Shoppers World, I couldn't do it--I couldn't show my face at Wheaton. How would I explain my two black eyes, my bite scars, my missing tuffts of hair? That I got into a high school catfight over a boy? Great introduction to an institution of higher learning, right? Thanks, Laurie. Thanks, Chris.
Needless to say, I blew off Wheaton. They mailed me back my $4,500 deposit. I worked for the next three years as a restaurant server. I told myself that I was working for a living instead of studying Keats and Coleridge.
I got married in 1991. I was divorced in 1994.
I was living in Ashland, MA. Ashland. Trashland. Same difference.
I put out word that I would kick the shit out of Laurie if she ever set foot in Ashland.
She didn't.
That was the wrong threat. I should have said I eould beat the shit out of her. Anytime. Anywhere.
In 1997, I thought we were going to fight at the Medway High School Thanksgiving Day football game. She didn't show.
In 2002, I thought we were going to fight in the parking lot of a Bugaboo Creek restauarant in Milford, MA. Laurie didn't show.
I masturbated both times instead of fighting her.
Before the fight.
After the fight got cancelled.
What's she afraid of?
Why won't she fight me?
To be continued.....
-
LIVING WITH RITA, 2017-2018
I spent all of 2011 to 2017 craving to be kissed; craving to be kissed by my ex-husband David, craving to be kissed by Kylie's boyfriends, craving to be kissed by Dawn, craving to be kissed by Kylie herself. On the mouth. With tongue.
Six long years of unfulfilled cravings.
A few months with Rita after the Marian 30th reunion more than made up for that.
When Rita would kiss me, she would press her face straight into mine, completely invading my privacy. She didn't care if my face was washed up or clean; or hers. She didn't care if my pits were were deoderized or anti-persperized; or hers. She didn't care if my hair was combed; or hers. She would just kiss, and kiss, and kiss me. Our lips would make that loud smacking sound, sucking and licking each other desperately. I remember one of the repressed Catholic girls at Marian in the 1980s getting caught by the nuns passing notes, and the nun reading it in front of the entire class. The note started, "Can you find a boyfriend for me? I am D-E-S-P-E-R-A-D-O." The nun asked the whole class what "desperado" meant, and the whole class blushed and laughed.
Rita and I spend 2017 and 2018 kissing like that. Desperado.
Desperate for kisses.
And desperate to fight. Her desperate to fight Laurie. Me desperate to fight Dawn.
A clawing, biting fight. Leaving scratches and bite marks, like my fight with Karen left all over my body.
The whole time we kiss, thst's all we can think about.
Is it 2018 yet?
Is it time to challenge Laurie?
to challenge Dawn?
Should we just jump them at work? At home? I tell Rita that's what Sydney did to me in 2015. She asks to see Sydney's picture, and can't believe how hot she is.
You fought Sydney? YOU almost fought LAURIE? In a rematch?
To be continued......
-
1987 YEARBOOKS
In my house, I have 1987 yearbooks from all three Framingham schools--Marian, Framingham North, Framingham South. Rita and I look at the headshots of three 1987 high school seniors--me, Rita, Laurie.
Shit, all three of us were hot.
With our big 1980s hair. Fuck, how much hairspray did it take for us to get our hair like that. Why did we even bother dating boys. Why did it take take our 40s for Rita and me to discover women.
Rita looks at Dawn's headshot. She's jealous as fuck that I've known Dawn continuously since high school. That I touched Dawn's bare breast at the 1987 Shoppers World 4on4 fight.
I'm jealous as fuck that Rita was sleeping with Laurie's boyfriend behind Laurie's back their entire senior year of high school. That sex must have been hot as fuck.
We go into the bathroom and get out brushes and hairspray and see how big we can get our hair. We're surprised how close we're able to replicate our 1987 look. Shit, we should wear our hair like this more often.
Especially when we're making out with each other. Which we start doing right now.
And finger fucking. Did Chris used to finger fuck Rita when the two of them were cheating on Laurie? Is that why David used to like fucking me--because he was cheating on Karen? Is that why I liked it, even though David totally used me?
Rita and I make loud smacking sounds when we kiss, which turns me on even more. Rita and I always cum together. David and I never did, either during marriage or post-marriage. Him cumming was a turnoff to me, I needed to wait till he was done and quiet to cum. Is that why I divorced him so abruptly?
Rita and I were never a possibility in 1987 ... in 1997 .... even in 2007. It's amazing what a different world we're in in 2017. My daughter can date girls without raising anyone's eyebrows. When we party in my house with her classmates, I know I've heard her cumming with other girls. Why have none of them ever cum into my room, like the boys willingly do? Do they know how different girl-on-girl was when Rita and I were coming of age? Do they assume I'd be terrible at it?
Because Rita and are are pretty darn good at it, right about now.
To be continued......
-
LOUDEN, NEW HAMPSHIRE SUMMER 2017
As the summer of 2017 progresses, Rita and I are stll going strong. Both as a couple, and in our respective quests to track down our enemies, Dawn and Laurie, for a rematch brawl.
Now, it's hard enough for a 40-something woman to arrange a fight with a single woman. Rita and I had something else working against us. By June we had learned, by internet and by strategically placed phone calls, that Dawn and Laurie had (coincidentally) each gotten re-married. Which meant a couple things. First, and most importantly in 2017, they had (coincidentally, simultaneously) scrubbed their Social Media footprint. They had taken down their Facebook and Instagram pages, and had even gone through the work to have old posts on Google, and even ancillary sites like Yelp and Pinterest deleted. Rita and I witnessed this happening before our eyes, as one day we would specifically see one of Dawn's posts on Pinterest or one of Laurie's on Yelp, and three days later it would be gone. Dawn and Laurie were each trying to move on with their new lives and leave their old lives, and everything and everyone, like Rita and me, behind.
Equally inconvenient, Laurie and Dawn were now surrounded by new step families. New husbands, to protect them if we jumped them at home, and new step-children and step-nieces and step-nephews. Rita and I didn't want pain-in-the-butt innocent bystander kids around when Rita crossed paths with Laurie or I did with Dawn.
So, circumstances, and the passage of time, were working against Rita and me. But we had each other, and so we held on to the dream of some sort of 1987 Shoppers World reunion.
In the meantime, we both realized we needed to keep our fight skills sharp. I was still feeling the sting, literally and figuratively, of losing my biting-clawing donnybrook against David's 2nd wife Karen. Losing that fight to her was humiliating, and I could never allow a loss like that to happen again. Rita, too, wanted to step up her game.
We went out on nights and weekends looking for streetfights against other women.
We came close one summer 2017 weekend against a crowd of cougars in Hyannis, MA. Downtown Hyannis has a grundgy rock and roll scene going on, with lots of drinking. I ran into a rocker blonde my age and size who told me I had Brillo pad hair, so she obviously wasn't hitting on me. We sized each other up, to the excitement of her friends and of Rita, but we got broken up by the large crowd, and there was no where private to go finish--all the hotel rooms in the area were sold out and the beaches were packed. We considered swapping cell phone numbers, but I didn't want her hacking or id-theft'ing me, nor did I want her friends to be able to devise a plan for jumping me, so the incident fizzled out without a fight. But Rita and I were encouaged that we "still had it"--that other women our age could see Rita and I were DTF-Down To Fight.
Later that summer, we went to the NASCAR race at Louden, New Hampshire, and wore Kurt Busch and Kyle Busch tshirts and gear. Kurt and Kyle are the two of the most unpopular drivers with regular NASCAR groupies. It worked like a charm one practice day in the track bleachers. Two blonde women in their 30s, both a litlle bit taller than Rita and me, with Southern accents, started giving Rita and me looks, and then lip. We gave it right back, and the women were inviting us to their camper later that night to discuss our differences. We both asked if we were there with men and/or other hangers-on, and both "teams" claimed no.
Rita and I were on.
We had a date for a 2on2 chick fight.
Just like high school.
To be continued.......
-
"HOW DO Y'ALL WANT TO DO THIS, BITCHES?"
As Rita and I got dressed for our brawl with the two NASCAR blondes, the anticipation of the imminent fight was only part of our excitement. There was also the excitement of other fights to come, as the younger women's acceptance of our challenge made Rita and me that it was possible, and not horribly difficult, to find catfights with strangers.
Sort of like when you have a hot date with a guy. It's not just that that particular guy wants you. It's the realization that other guys would want you, if you would just put yourself out there.
Like the feeling I would get before my booty call dates with my ex-husband. Damn, I miss David. It totally peeves me that Karen put an end to my affair with him. My biting fight with her is all just a foggy haze now--I wouldn't believe it actually happened if I couldn't see and feel the teeth scars all over my upperbody with my own eyes and hands. Fuck, that was an intense fight. Primal. Personal. It must be exhilarating, life-transforming, to win a fight like that. Their sex together since that day must be ... transcendent.
I burn to get back at Karen someday for that. To have a fight with her that's even more intense. Totally take the gloves off with her--total war. Have I been wasting my time with Dawn these past 30 years? Is my real rival right before my eyes? Is it Karen? Is that who I should be fighting?
Rita can tell my thoughts are a million miles away. "You're not wiggin' out on me babe, are ya? I need you to hold your own with the older one while I take down the younger one. Then we'll gang up on the older one."
I'm a little bit stung and offended that Rita assumes she's the tough girl in our 2-woman gang and I'm just the reinforcements. She basing our hierarchy on the 1987 Shoppers World incident, when I played a backup role. But I have 3 decades of fight experience under my belt since then, while Rita has been futilely pursuing an opponent who has little apparent interest in getting down with her. But rather than take the bait and bicker, I decide to show my stuff tonight by hurting my blonde worse than Rita hurts hers.
The blondes have already picked out a fight "ring" in the campground woods next to their vehicle. "How do you want to do this, bitches?" the hosts graciously offer? "Fight one right after the other, or all at once?".
Since Rita's and my spat while getting dressed has left neither of us in the mood to fight, we answer by stepping forward and engaging with our enemies immediately.
I want nothing more right now than for this fight tonight to be a prelude, and practice, for a showdown rematch with Karen, so I want my Southern blonde opponent to know she's free to bite me, and anywhere. But I'm afraid that if I bite first, she'll call out to her partner in protest, and the 2on2 fight in progress will be cancelled prematurely. So I attempt to incite violence in her by getting under her skin.
As the tall blonde and I yank hair and pull our faces together, I start muttering challenging intentionally provocative Jerry Springer-ish trashtalk into her ear.
> I 'dun heard y'all Southern folk don't 'preciate gays. Well that there partner of mine and me, we's full on lesbians, y'all gotta problem with that, albino?
> You betchya, makes me wanna fuck you up.
> Well, let's go Barbie, let's do it, let's fuck each other up real bad.
Thr blonde must have her own issues going on (in denial about being a lesbian herself, if you ask me, but that's not my concern), because she wants this fight to include teeth just as bad as I do. At least, she does now. With our sneakers kicking up dust from the dirt below us, we pull each other close and each find a spot where cleavage and ligaments merge together and tilt our heads to the side and bite hard with our cuspids, both breaking flesh. Both of us are in white tank tops, which now serve as towels and begin absorbing our bleeding wounds from the inside. Astounding at the damage we've inflicted so readily, the visual satisfaction stokes our competitive juices, each of us now wanting to up the ante. I form a fist, and take aim at the blonde's nose, throwing roundhouse rights at the target a good three inches above my eye-level. As the blonde and I circle, I for the first time see Rita's progress with her opponent. The younger blonde has thrown Rita to the ground and is pinning her, but the two are distracted by the blood-stained tank tops of the two adversaries fighting 15 feet away from them. I guess from the looks on their faces that they're trying to figure out how we drew so much blood. Did we each bring a knife to this fistfight?
Rita is going to need my help soon, just like I was hoping, so I can't blow this chance to earn street cred with her. I need to finish off my blonde opponent. Rita's opponent gives me the idea I need.
I can't help but notice how the blonde mounting Rita is pausing to fix her hair. These two blondes are narcississtically conscious of their looks. I decide that my opponent won't at all appreciate a bit scar on her face.
So I resume our jack-knifed heads-down hairpull, trying to get my mouth as close to her face as possible. When her protruding right cheekbone actually enters my open mouth, I clamp down hard.
The bite has the effect I was hoping for, as the blonde explodes in a tornado of kicks and angry recriminations and threats, vowing to literally kill me. She throws fists and upper cuts that cause my mouth to taste of iron from either her blood or mine, and our fight for the first time goes to the ground, me on top, being more in control of my anger.
The two mounted combinations are laying side by side, the spent Rita and my wounded laying flat on their backs, the younger blonde and me sitting side by side on their chests. We turn and look at each other challengingly. We're the two alphas here.
Still mounting our defeated opponents, we bearhug each other, and hump the women under us.
We open our mouths and flick our tongues angrily at each other, me trying to smear blood down the younger blonde's throat.
The bleeding wound from my chest makes me lightheaded an enhances my arousal.
As if such arousal was necessary.
After all, I'm mouth-fighting one blonde as I ride another.
All four of us are cumming uncontrollably and loudly in the dense woods.
I think I'm ready to take on Karen.
To be continued......
-
RECONNECTING WITH KYLIE
I decide not to dick around in fighting Karen. No cat and mouse texting. No phone threats. I'll just get her alone somewhere, just cut loose, and "see what happens". I have way more fight experience than her--I like my chances.
I'm blocked on David's social media. But Rita isn't, so she starts monitoring his business travel. A week comes up where he has a business trip to Texas, and I decide to drive over to his house and catch Karen alone on a Tuesday afternoon. The line at the ER at the hospital if one or both of us needs to go. Since we'll be biting each other during the fight.
I drive over to David and Karen's place on a stormy Tuesday afternoon. The thought of brawling with Karen in the middle of a thunderstorm gets me so horny that I take the long way and masturbate at every red light and stop sign. I'm not nervous at all about the fight. I can take this bitch.
I knock on the door. Kylie answers.
It's been months since I've seen or even talked to my daughter. The longest dry spell since right after my divorce from David when Kylie was.... what was she? .... eight? .... nine? .... How do I not know? Why did I withdraw for that stint? Was I that bad of a mom? .... that bad of a wife?
Kylie breaks the ice my hugging me. I hug her back, squeezing tight. I ask if I can come in. I hope she doesn't notice that my hand smells like cum. She lets me in. We sit to talk. She goes first.
I suppose you're hear to see ... Karen
Sort of. But I'm happy you're here. Are you ok?
Actually, yes. I'm working at EMC. Well, Dell. It's called Dell now, did you know that? Dad got me the job. I'm learning to code.
Wow, little Miss Tech-ie. Good, I'm glad.
How about you, Mom. Seeing anyone?
Kinda. It's ... umm .... did Karen tell you? I'm dating a woman. Rita.
That girl from the high school yearbooks, right?
That's the one. I .... umm.... met her at the Marian 30th reunion.
I know .... word got around you ditched your date, Doug. So, no, it wasn't Karen who told me.
Oh. I'm sort of sorry to hear that.
So you could have another reason to kick her ass? Is that why you're here?
Ummm.... yes. And ... yes. Does that ... excite ... you?
...... Yes. A lot.
Which part? Me fighting? Or her?
.......Both. Is that bad? Wrong answer?
If you're not lying to me .... it's not wrong, Kylie. Or ... I don't think it is. Did you want to tell me something? This seems like the time.
Karen and I ... sort of .... kiss. And hug. Like for long ... sessions ... at a time. We're still figuring out what we like.
Does David know?
No, no, no. No.
Is that why you haven't talked to me?
Probably.
Did you ... like the two threesomes we had? Before our fight with Dawn and Sydney.
One was ok. For the variety. I didn't like the second...NOT because of you tho. Nothing like that. It's just... threesomes are confusing ... emotionally. Too much work. Like peeling shrimp, ya know?
Is talking to me and to Karen at the same time confusing that same way? 'Too much work?'.
Pretty much.
I should have never divorced your father.
Are you going to get back with him?
I doubt he'd take me back. But I do want to get old with him. And with you.
I know. Me too.
What about Karen?
You tell me. What are you going to do with her.
Make her wish she never met us.
I'm ... so .... fucking ... hot.
I know. Me too. Show me how you and Karen spoon.
How'd you know we spoon? I never mentioned that.
Lucky guess. Show me, Kylie.
I get on the inside.
***************
For the next two hours, I spoon my daughter, her hair in my face the whole time.
Kylie tells me she'll arrange for Karen yo be home this time tomorrow--Wednesday. Karen and I can have our fight then.
To be continued.....
-
PRE-FIGHT
Rita and I make love in my bed the night before my brawl with David's new wife Karen. Well, his 2nd wife. She's not new anymore. She's now been married to him longer than I was, which burns me up.
A lot of things are burning me up tonight.
My lovemaking with Rita has been less intense since she lost in the 2on2 fight she and I had at the Louden, New Hampshire NASCAR race. Losing a fight is not the way to impress my sexually, or to turn me on. It burns me that she lost the Shoppers World fight to Laurie in 1987. Maybe my life would have turned out better.
It burns me that Karen is messing around sexually with my daughter Kylie. Kylie is vulnerable. Karen is supposed to protect her, not prey on her.
It burns me that Rita's body is 48 years old, and not 20 like Kylie's. The ravages of age. I want to be in bed with a young body right now.
Rita had bloodwork done yesterday--she shows me the pinprick in her right arm. The hole still visible, the bruise. I want to put 25 holes like that in Karen's skin tomorrow. With my teeth. Our fight is going to be no holds barred, no rules. It turns me on that we are fighting to be Kylie's protector, and David's lover.
We should have had this fight before David married Karen. We tried tolerating each other for years, but that never worked. For any of us. Not for Karen. Not for me. Certainly not for Kylie. A woman her age can only have one mother. Certainly not for David. When a man has two lovers, he disrespects both of them. That's one of the lessons of #MeToo. A gentleman, a true one, only has one lover.
Tomorrow, Karen and I will settle which one of us it will be.
I hope they get divorced after that, David and Karen. I want her gone. I hope she eats serious crow and gets a divorce, and has to explain that to her Catholic family.
And explan the scars on her body. That she lost a catfight to her husband's first wife. Has to explain that her husband had a first wife. That by itself will be sweet.
It will be worth all the scars she gives me.
Kylie will feel so safe that I fought for her like that.
Do your worst, Karen.
I'll pay you back ten-fold.
To be continued......
-
why so small...such a great great story but why you are torturing us by posting very little...we want more..plzzzz
-
DRESSING FOR A BITE FIGHT
Rita helps shower and dress me as I get ready to fight Karen. Making love to Rita this morning was anti-cimactic--the thrill is almost gone between us. Back in high school I thought Rita was twice as sexy as me, but I think time is being kinder to me than to her. Maybe losing her high school love to her rival Laurie took its toll. And likewise, maybe me taking my ex-husband back from Karen will rejuvenate me even more than sleeping with him for a decade already has.
For a normal catfight, earrings and necklaces and bracelets would be a no-no. But this isn't a normal catfight. Karen and I want to cut and scar each other. I put on a sexy, powder blue short dress with my arms, shoulders, back, and sides copiously exposed. Karen can get at me if she wants to. If she can. And I can get at her.
So I put on diamand earrings.
I wear a pearl necklace.
And I put on four ruby bracelets with sharp edges to use as weapons to slash Karen's face and body.
I fluff out my hair in full 80s big hair mode. I put on as much perfume as I can without Rita gagging. Rita rubs lotion on all my dry spots, and a bit of baby powder of my exposed skin.
I fell horny as hell, and want to fuck Rita again, but it will take too long to clean back up and get ready all over again.
I look in the mirror. I look totally bad ass.
My scars from my fights with Karen, with Dawn, and with the NASCAR blondes are visible.
I'll have even more of them later tonight.
But I'll have David, too.
And Kylie. She and I will spoon to the memory of the day I beat up Karen and re-united our family.
To be continued....
-
EX-WIFE VS WIFE BITE FIGHT
Rita drops me at at Karen and David's house for my fight with Karen. Shit, this place is small. Karen and David really took a bath when they got foreclosed on in 2009. It will be even sweeter for me, making David and Karen get divorced, knowing that Karen won't get much of a financial settlement. When I divorced David, he was rich, swimming in EMC stock options. When Karen divorces him, he'll just be ok.
Karen opens the door for me. She got the message from Kylie about how to dress--she has a lime green tight one piece elegant dress, with bracelets and a necklace and earrings. I think my dress is cuter, but I admit to myself that Karen's dress enhances her bust more than my dress does to mine. Karen's breasts are firm and defined--that and her hair have always been her best features. Her hair is done up and colored a blonde-ish silver-ish color which probably has a name but which I'm not familiar with. I've never had to learn hair dye colors--st 48 I still have my original brunette color with no grey hairs.
I'm studying Karen's body more than I expected to, but she's silently sizing me up as well, watching as I stumble on my heels up her unlevel weathered concrete sidewalk. We lock eyes, making it difficult for me to watch my step to walk gracefully. I break our awkward silence as I reach the door.
> Houses in this rundown neighborhood are kinda close, aren't they hun? We gonna get the privacy we ... need ... and want?
> We'll fight in the shower. No matter how loud we .... scream .... the noises will stay inside.
Blood rushes thru by veins as I consider the possibilities. Are we going to fight with the shower running? Off? Little bit of both? Which do I want? Which does Karen want?
The ceilings in this house are claustrophobic--they must be 7-foot tops. The one's in my house are 9-foot. How does Kylie stand it here? Why does she prefer it here? Is it because of Karen? I can't hold back my jealousy any longer.
> Kylie told me you and her have been .... experimenting.
Karen and I are nose to nose in the living room. I'm relieved we've established the fight will take place in the shower, or we might already be fighting right now. Karen's skin has a thin coating of lotion and powder and makeup, just like mine. I can count her freckles, her pores, almost. The only two times we've been this physically close were out two previous fights.
> She and I aren't related and she's 21, what busness is it of yours?
> Because, darlin', you made your business my business when you married my ex-husband.
> This conversation is two decades overdue.
> I agree. Let's resolve it now.
> I agree.
> I believe you mentioned the shower. Did you mean .... clothed .. or naked?
> These dresses are a pain to take off. Let's start clothed.
> I agree again.
We walk in our heels to the tiny bathroom, with an even tinier standup shower. Karen and I, our heels still on, cram ourselves in like two people on a tiny elevator. Karen latches the door, and wrsps her arms around my head, digging her nails into my scalp. I follow her lead and grab her hair.
Our entire bodies are pressed together, both of our dresses having ample openings for flesh to press on flesh. Forehead touches forehead, hard breasts press hard breasts, crotch touches crotch, thighs touch thighs, knees touch knees. Our perfumes fill the shower, and I inhale Karen's scent.
I caress the back of Karen's neck, slitting her shoulders with my sharp bracelets. Karen does the same with her bracelets, but to my face. We are both bleeding. That's enough for me to open my mouth and bite Karen's face, right on her high cheekbone that I've always been insanely jealous of.
Karen and I squeeze even tighter, rattling together against the shower glass and tiles. We experiment if we can claw each others' skulls and slam them into the shower side, but there's no room to maneuver. Our bracelets, nails, and teeth are the only effective weapons in this fight.
We rake each others' backs and sides with our bracelets, scratching long cuts in each others' flesh. Karen's face burrows to my back and she hurts my shoulder blade with deep twisting bites. I desperately bite her right ear lobe to get her to release her grip.
We retract our heads and look each other in the eyes.
> I hate you, Karen.
> I hate you more, Deb.
> Show me.
> I intend to.
To be continued .....
-
FINISHING OFF KAREN
Once Karen and I saw how much damage we were inflicting on each others' bodies, our minds fast-forwarded to the end game of our fight. Our fight had crossed a line of viciousness to thr point where Kylie and David were going to want to hear every detail of what had happened and how we had let our fight go so far. The winner was going to be so damaged that she was going to have to invoke the "You see the other girl" line, and the loser would need to leave Framingham forever.
Framingham. The one thing, besides David and Kylie, that Karen and I had in common. The place neither of us had ever managed to escape. Neither of us ever found our niche, our calling, to enable us to gain the degree of independence necessary to build a life somewhere else. David was our niche-- marrying him, making a house for him, building a life with him. But we had both thrown it away--me by impulsively divorcing him when things were just fine, Karen by building a too-big, unnecessary McMansion with him and getting foreclosed on.
So this fight was for a second chance, and a final chance, to get things right with David, the only "right" thing in each of our lives. Except we could never do that with the other one lurking in the background.
So this fight was as personal as could be. It was thd opposite of a Fringe Fight. There was nothing personsl about a Fringd Fight--it was almost antiseptic.
My fight was Karen was the opposite. It was raw. It was competitive. Competing to hurt the other one more. Totally and completely, if possible.
So we bit each others' upper bodies as hard and deep as we could. The face and cheeks. The neck. The shoulders. The breasts. The sides. The biceps. The wrists. The fingers.
We were pulling hair, but only to steady our enemy's body long enough to bite. My body was stinging in agony, but I remained focussed on maiming Karen. Any cut or wound she inflicted on me only raised the bar for what I was willing and able and determined to do to her.
It was a true competition.
Our minds raced to tell the other what each was better at. Karen whispered in my ear that since I had delivered a child, and Karen never had, that her pussy was tighter than mine and would always be more pleasing to David.
With my left hand in Karen's hair, I reached down to her pussy with my right and and felt. She did the same to me. I taunted her that the pussy-stretching of motherhood was a myth, and to feel how tight I was.
Our fingers were inside each other and began scratching and tearing and digging. Our gem-encrusted rings were still on our fingers, digging and scratching soft flesh. More competition.
I kept biting Karen's upper body. Whoever could chew gum and walk at the same time better would win the fight.
I felt the strngth in Karen's body waning. I didn't let up on either my scratching or my biting.
Multi-tasking never was Karen's strong suit. And it cost her that day. And forever. She went limp in my arms.
I turned the shower on. Blood was everywhere on our bodies. I washed as much off of both of us as I could.
I disconnected the shower head.
I pointed it at my pussy.
I came for at least 15 minutes next to Karen's exhausted body.
I told her I hate her.
I called Kylie.
"Can you help me pack Karen's things? Actually ... check that .... can you pack her things? I need to lay down."
To be continued.....
-
2018, BACK WITH DAVID AND KYLIE
During the second half of 2017, Karen moved away to New Hampshire and started divorce proceedings with David, but there was very little left for them to fight about: some Dell Computer deferred comp of David's, the proceeds from the house David and Karen shared which David sold after he and Kylie moved into my Framingham place, and Kylie's 529 college savings which we all knew would never get used for their originally intended purpose but which don't need to be cashed out until Kylie turns 30.
David and I got sexually reacquainted, which was absolutely divine once he dropped his pride and started taking his Viagra regularly. But what I enjoyed even more than that was spooning with Kylie, the two of us naked in bed, my chest facing her back, my arms wrapped around feeling her 20-something breasts, my nose in her long, straight, thick blonde hair, which was getting 2 or 3 shades lighter every year.
One warmer-than-usual January night in 2018 (New England's winter weather was odd in 2017-18: January and February were quite mild, but then we had 5 Nor'easters in March and April), Kylie and I were spooning in her bed, talking about my fight with Karen that won me back my family.
K: What was it like getting bit that many times by Karen?
D: Hey, wait a minute?!? I bit her way more than she bit me! Why don't you ask about that, baby?
K: Oh, I .... I know, you totally won the fight .... all's I meant was ... who .... escalated the fight that far? Did you hurt her so bad because she bit you?
D: Well, to be fair ... our fight had .... our entire relationship had ... been escalating .... or at least brewing .... for 10 years .... we kind of put our differences aside ... ignored them, squashed them, whatever .... but we never accepted each others' roles ... she thought the ex-wife gets married, turns lesbian, whatever it takes to go away .... and I wasn't sticking around to be a pain in her ass, trust me, I'm not that insecure or contrary ... I was living my own life ... butbif part of living thst life involves you and David .... like, if that just ORGANICALLY happens .... then she needs to deal with it .... and couldn't ... and, what's so funny?!?
K: Mmmmmm ... Mom .... did you say ORGANICALLY or ORGASMICALLY ???
D: Ok, well, given that I didn't even know ORGASMICALLY is a word, I couldn't have meant that .... snd are we having a silly conversation or a serious one??
K: Mmmmmm ... that's what I loved about the... hate .... between you and Karen at the end .... it was so raw, I just loved .... watching it .... feeling it .... the tension ... just waiting for things between you and her to .... explode, I guess...
D: Who did you think would win?
K: I thought ... knew ... you would win Mom .... but you scared me ... the middle fight you and her had ... the second one ... when she won ...
D: How DID she learn to fight like that?? Was she practicing??
K: With my friends ... when we'd be with her, drinkin', smokin', whatever ... She'd pick out a girl and asked if they wanted to go a round with her ....
D: Any other ways? Or just your friends?
K: Just my friends .... that's all I know of, at least .....
D: Dif you watch the fights? How were they?
K: Well, if the girl she picked had just been smokin' weed .... pretty bad .... But if the girl she picked had just been DRINKIN' .... the, Pretty. Damn. Awesome.
D: Like, ... what? Punchin' Hairpullin'
K: Punchin'. Blood. Kickin' . More blood. Scratchin'. More blood. Vicious.
D: Did you get turned on watching?
K: If I liked the other girl? Hell yeah.
D: What did you like better? Karen winnin' or losin'.
K: As she get better at it? Winnin'. Then, when she got cocky at it? Well, then I just wanted a long fight.
D: Let me guess ... long enough to cum.
K: Basically. Just like fuckin', right??
D: Right. Or ... spooning?
K: Maybe.
D: Show me.
K: Show you what?
D: How long is .... enough.
K: Keep rubbin' like that for two more minutes.
D: Here??
K: Higher ...and faster .... and harder.
D: Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......
K: Yesyesyes yes yes yes....
D: aasDCcfgdaaahg.jg.j?!$#?&@!
To be continued.....
-
STRIKING IT RICH
From February to June 2018, David spent most of his time in Austin, Texas working on a financial deal which would have a profound impact on the financial life of Kylie, himself, and myself. Way back several years ago, when Dell took over EMC and then went private, David's deferred comp was illiquid to the point to being almost play money--it was a big number on a piece of paper, but we never expected to be able to cash it in for more than a fraction of its nominal value. Consequently, when Karen finalized her divorce settlement with David in April 2018, she asked just for the proceeds from the house and Kylie's 529, and surrendered all rights to the Dell/EMC deferred comp.
What a dumbass bitch.
The deferred comp all became liquid in June 2018 when Dell announced a complicated deal to be tradable in the form of a publicly-traded company call VMWare. David's many years of vested paper alone was worth over $2.5 million, and the unvested portion put our net worth over $4 million--all he needed to do for the unvested to vest was to keep working at Dell. So we made plans to move to Austin, Texas.
Kylie's and my ship, after 26 and 49 years, had finally come in. We had finally caught a break, and we had finally escaped Framingham.
When Karen and I had fought that day in the shower, we were fighting over $4 million. It always pays to get rid of the rival to the man you love.
Kylie and I spent hours, then days, spooning in bed, recounting my three fights with Karen. Especially the final one.
We also talked about our final loose end in Framingham--would we be seeing any more of Dawn and Sydney? What had Dawn been up to since her divorce?
Kylie and I agreed to keep a low profile about our new-found wealth. But we reached out to Dawn, hinting ever-so-subtly at the prospect of financial inducements in exchange for a final reunion.
Dawn didn't hesitate at what would get her, and Sydney, in the same place at the same time with me and Kylie: fringe fighting me, while Rita and Laurie fought for real, in the background, in a 31-years-later rematch of their first catfight.
Rita was in. Now Kylie and I needed to recruit Laurie.
To be continued.....
-
INVITATION TO A CATFIGHT
Since Rita had already agreed, both in principle and to at least two previously-arranged specific dates and times, to fight her high school rival Laurie in a rematch, I had mistakenly it turns out, assumed that Rita had done her part and the onus was on Laurie/Dawn to get Laurie to actually show at a fight that Dawn and I could fringe fight to.
Silly me.
One lazy, hot spring 2018 afternoon, spooning in bed with my daughter Kylie, she showed me the light of the roadblock to the 31-year overdue rematch.
K: Mom?
D: Yes, baby doll?
K: When Rita has been challenging Laurie to fight, she's been specific, right??
D: Specific that they'll fight? Well, obviously, Ky. I mean, the two have never exchanged a civil word with each other.
K: Well, I know that!!
D: Well, then ... how exactly to you mean ... by ... 'specific' ... ?
K: Well, what I mean is ... does Rita specify that she wants to ... to ... CATfight Laurie .. when they fight?? ... in the rematch?
D: And when you say a catfight ... as opposed to a streetfihht, I assume, .... you mean because .... because they're 49 now? ... not 18?
K: Well, that .... Miss 49 year old ... but more because ... because, Mom, don't you see? ...
D: Don't I see what? ... my little catfight prodigy?
K: Well, Mom, put yourself in Laurie's shoes ... she had one ... epic, it sounds like....
D: Oh, it was.
K: ... one epic... STREETfight with Rita .... her mortal rival ... and WON .... well, if you're her .... what's in it for you to STREETfight Rita again ... whereas ....
D: ... yes ... whereas ...
K: ... whereas if you CATfight Rita again....
D: ... or ... or ... are CHALLENGED to CATfight her .... I see your point ... the SECOND challenge is more ... enticing ... then the first .... isn't it??
K: Yes, isn't it??
D: Let me text Dawn.
***********************
My daughter is smarter than anyone I know when it comes to catfighting.
Laurie agreed to fight .... ahem, to CATfight ... Rita on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend 2018 at 6pm behind Framingham South high school.
Sydney agreed to fringe fight Kylie.
I agreed to fringe fight Dawn.
Then, Kylie and I would move to Austin, Texas with David. Probably never to see Dawn, Sydney, Rita, or Laurie again.
Better make this fringe fight count.
To be continued.....
-
"IT'S ON!"
On Friday June 29, 2018, Rita wakes me from a nap on my couch by calling my cellphone.
R: It's on.
D: What's on?!?
R: Laurie and me. Our catfight.
D: What?? When?? How???
R: Umm, well ..... your daughter is how.
D: My daughter?? Kylie?? What?
R: No ... how. Not what.
D: Ok ... can we, like, drop the Abbott/Costello routine? Start from the top, Rita.
R: Ok, ... I admit ... I'm excited ... by the way, you're free July 4th, right?
D: Umm, ya ... July 4th ... why, what's July 4th??
R: Major catfight. Me. Laurie. Biting-pinching-scratching. 31-year rematch. My place. You in? I know it's short notice, but Dawn's invited if she can make the drive from Connecticut. And Kylie, too .. that is ... if Dawn brings Sydney.
D: Rita ... I admit I may be slow waking up from my nap... but ... when does the explanation phase start?
R: Ok .... ok .... umm... so, Laurie and I have been texting .....
D: She, like, .... texts with you .... like you two are buds or something?
R: Well, no, Deb .... not buds at all .... did I say something implying her and I are 'buds' ?! ...
D: Well, no ... but, well, what are you and her, anyways?? Like, is she just gonna 'ghost' YOU .... US ... on the 4th? ..... isn't that basically her M.O.?!? ....
R: Well ... ok ... I admit .. she has no no-shows to fights ... but this time is different ... bitch, will you, like, listen without interrupting?? ... I assumed you'd be excited by this ... I'm trying to compliment your daughter here ... Deb? ... Deb?? ... you there??
D: Yes, Rita, I'm here listening ... I beg you ... please finish your story ...
R: Ok .... this is awkward ... I'm excited ... confused ... turned on .. Ok, Debbie .... I had a breakthrough with Laurie ... by text .... COMMUNICATING WITH Laurie ... by text ... We still call each other bitches and shit ... but ... well, you know how Kylie said that when I challenge Rita .... that I should challenge her to a CATfight, not a STREETfight ... well, ... long story short... I described to her the fight you had with Karen ... the biting, the scratching, the jewelry, the bleeding ... she's in ... her ... me .... catfighting ... she has a 5-day weekend from work ... me too. ..
July 4th ....
R: You in???.....
R: You?? ... Dawn? ... Kylie??? ... Sydney??
D: Let me get this straight .... A fight like Karen snd I had?? .... except you and Laurie ?? ... sfter 31 years??....
R: Finally. Yes, you have is straight.
D: I need to call Dawn. ... like .. ASAP.
R: I'll take that as a yes.
To be continued.....
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TEXTING WITH DAWN
On Sunday night, July 1st, 2018, three days before the long-anticipated Rita-Laurie rematch, I see a text from a number I haven't had a text conversation with in months. A Connecticut number. Dawn's. My fringe fighting (former?) friend, Dawn.
Her: Hey.
Me: Hey. How are you?
Her: Not bad. You still talking to me?
Me: No worries. Still talking. I miss you.
Her: I miss you too. I hear there's a fight Wednesday.
Me: There is. Who told you? Laurie.
Her: Ya. She's looking foward to it. She's not backing out this time.
Me: She said that. Did she say why?
Her: She said because this time it's a catfight. She said no woman would no-show for a catfight.
Me: Not that I'm not happy to hear that, and not that I even disagree. But why didn't she and Rita just agree to catfight the other two times.
Her: Didn't come up.
Me: Simple as that, huh? Dawn, do you kinda wish their first fight, the 1987 Shoppers World one, had been a catfight?
Her: Totally ... but ... how do I ask this .... did you really understand ... not understand .... PERCEIVE catfighting when you were 18?
Me: Well .... I had never SEEN one .... or BEEN IN one ... but I understood the concept, yeah.
Her: Oh?? Explain.
Me: Well .... at Rita's and Laurie's and fight ... when you and I paired off ... when your breast popped out ... and I let you tuck it back in? ... Dawn, I swear I just wanted to destroy it ... to destroy you ... like, to smack you down in a catfight.
Dawn: That's sorta hot. Why didn't you?
Me: I actually don't know. But if I hadda guess ... I knew if I escalated, even if I ended up beating you, you would do a catfight move ... or moves ... to me. And I might regret it.
Dawn: I would have ;-)
Me: I don't doubt it. Do you think that's why Rita and Laurie didn't catfight that day?
Dawn: Maybe. Plus we were only 18. And it was only 1987. We were still innocent.
Me: True. So .. I take it you're coming to the Rita/Laurie rematch?
Dawn: I wouldn't miss it. Nor Sydney.
Me: Nor Kylie.
Dawn: Good. I'm not 18 anymore. And it's not 1987. A lot of water under the bridge, Deb.
Me: Such as?
Dawn: Such as you and your daughter fucking my ex-husband. Bitch.
Me: Bitch.
Dawn: Where are your fingers?
Me: Same place as yours, I suspect.
Dawn: I think we've said all we need to say.
Me: I suspect so.
To be continued......
-
On Monday night, July 2, 2018, 2 days before Rita/Laurie Fight Day, I'm spooning with Kylie in bed.
D: Has Sydney tried contacting you?
K: Nada.
D: What do you suppose that means?
K: That her mom told her not to.
D: Sydney would do what her mom tells her?
K: After her solo trip up here to fight YOU? ... Yes.
D: Why 'YOU'?? Are you giving me attitude?
K: Chill out, Mom. You uptight about Dawn?
D: Well.... not that alone ... but if she's controlling Sydney, to, then, ... well, wouldn't that be weird.
K: You spend a lot of time thinking Sydney, Mom.
D: Excuse me?!? <<<I subtly pinch Kylie's nipples.>>>>
K: Well, it's like ... you're fighting Dawn on Wednesday. Shouldn't you be focussed on that?
D: I'm fighting Dawn. But it a fringe fight. The other fights matter, too.
K: True. But isn't Rita-Laurie the ... "other" .... fight??
D: Ahem ... but what if I like watching YOU fight??
K: Ahem ... but what if you like watching .... SYDNEY ... fight??
<<<<Kylie, not so subtly, pinches my thigh.>>>>>
D: You sound jealous. <<<<harder pinching>>>>
K: You sound like you're trying to make me jealous. <<<<<harder pinching>>>>
D: That pinching hurts.
K: Is that a bad thing??
D: No. But do it like this....
K: Ouch!!!!!?!!! Fuck, mom!!! Were those nails or teeth?!
D: Both.
K: Touche.
To be continued.....
-
JULY 4, 2018
Today is it. The fight to end all fight, the fringe fight to end all fringe fights.
Rita is fighting Laurie. The high school bitchfight rematch from 31 years ago.
Kylie is fighting Sydney. The two 20-something's whose educations and careers got sidetracked when they were introduced to catfighting by their moms.
I'm fighting Dawn. The two fringe fighters at the original Shoppers World brawl who have been fighting at least twice a decade since then.
With me married, and Dawn divorced. Gaaawwd, how I love repeating that to myself. After so many years of her being married and me being divorced. Finally, the worm has turned. I'm the honest woman, Dawn is the woman of ill repute.
She probably spoons her daughter Sydney all night long, the filthy slut. Sluts. The two of them, in their sick icestuous embrace. Sydney would pick me everytime if she had the chance, I know it. Sydney drove to Framingham last winter to fight me. She wanted to fuck me the whole drive on I-84 and the Mass Pike, I know it. Maybe during the fight this afternoon she'll fuck me. Maybe she'll punch her mom Dawn in the mouth.
Sick. Fucking. Slut. Dawn. I hate her.
Maybe Kylie will tongue kiss me. She always turns away when we're spooning. Why would should let me spoon and grope, then turn away when I try to kiss? I just want to kiss her. On thr mouth. I'd take that over the spooning most nights.
But not all nights.
Shit, when Kylie and I spoon, when it's good, it's divine; and when it sucks, it still fucking rocks. The feel of her breasts--so firm. How mine wete in 1987. How Dawn's were. At the Shoppers World fight, when they popped out of her shirt.
She's damn lucky I didn't know what a sick fuck she'd be with her own daughter Sydney someday. Her own fucking daughter.
Disgusting.
Kylie and I ard high as fucking kites right now. We took white round pills Kylie got--are those opioids. I don't even fucking now, but I've never been so high. Ever. Even in my Fitchburg State days. Kylie is fucking high, too--I can see the faraway look in her eyes.
I bet I could kiss her on the mouth now.
I swoop in.
Ffffffuck.
She pulled away from me. Again. Why the fuck does she do that?
Is she into Dawn? Or Sydney??
Those fucking two bitches. I'm gonns end it with them. Forever. This afternoon.
To be continued.....
-
HIGH AS A KITE
In 31 years of fighting Dawn, and others, but especially Dawn, I thought I had tried every combination, every flavor, every scenario.
I was wrong.
When Kylie and I showed up for the Rita-Laurie rematch, I was high as a kite. I had never really gotten high before, not like this; not in my Fitchburg State slut phase, not in my pot party phase.
This was something different. Something new. Ecclisiastes was wrong; there is something new under the sun. Even at forty-nine, I've found something new. Life is good.
Dawn and I have our nails in each others' scalps in seconds flat. Rita and Laurie are doing even worse, tearing at each others' faces. I'm not even able to process what Kylie is doing to Sydney; two fights are enough.
Rita and Laurie try to hurt each other with their nails and their feet.
Dawn and I try to hurt each, with our nails and our words.
> How do you like divorce, you dried up bitch?
> You tell me, you tried it first, slut.
> I won him back, sweetie. Marked her up with my teeth, ya know.
> Try that on me, and you won't be able to eat corn anymore, hun.
> I doubt it, Don-nie.
> I don't see you tryin' it ...... crickets.
> I don't see you tryin' it on me ..... at least I've done it to another woman.
> Do it to me.
> Make me.
> How much hair of your needs to be on the floor?
> More than that.
> I'm gonna pass out soon.
> I know. Please kiss me.
Dawn has known me for 31 years and knows when it's time to stop talking.
She doesn't necessarily know about my hang-up of no one ever kissing me. But she can tell something is up. And that I don't want to ask twice.
Her mouth comes up to mine.
To be continued......
-
FRUSTRATION
Within 30 seconds of Laurie and Rita beginning their rematch catfight after 31 years, and of Dawn's daughter and mine renewing their rivalry, and of Dawn and I kissing with our mouths more intimately than we ever had, and of my most intense drug high coursing through my brain;----in short, a grand slam of images and sensations blending my most desired fantasies-----I craved immediately sexual release via vaginal penetration, something which until now was never a requirement for full ecstatic release, either in my youth or my middle age.
Penetration.
The one need which I deduced immediately would be unavailable this afternoon.
I couldn't strip my pants off at this event, much as I wanted and needed to. Out of respect, if you will, for Rita and Laurie. It was totally on between them. I kid you not-It. Was. On.
The two 49 year old women were in full-on streetfight mode, and they were going to fight until one or both of them was very, very injured. Dawn and I knew we had arranged for this occassion, this showdown
and it wouldn't do, in the aftermath, to be mutually pleasuring ourselves on each others' bodies.
Pre-emptive Catholic guilt, I guess you could call it. The one part of your upbringing which you can never shed, which even Father Time can't erode.
And I wanted cock. And there wasn't one in this room.
So Dawn and I kissed, my groin getting more and more frustrated. Our daughters tore each others' hair. Rita and Laurie drew rivulets of blood from each others' mouth. Dawn's tongue explored my mouth. Which was turning me on the most, I couldn't have proceelssed if you had paid me.
And somehow all I could think of was David.
Maybe all along it was David.
Maybe that's why David's ex-wife and I had torn into each other in the shower that day at their house. Maybe that's why she and I had hated each other more than I ever hated Dawn, even when I intentionally provoked the divorce between Dawn and her husband.
I was higher than ever, and yet was thinking more clearly than ever. David. I had everything I wanted, everything I needed, when I was married to him. And I had divorced him impulsively, for no good reason, not even for a bad reason; just for no reason at all.
Laurie slams Rita's head on the ground, Rits desperately trying to protect herself. Was their high school boyfriend each of THEIR David's? Or was he just Laurie's? Is that why Laurie won their 1987 fight? And why she's winning today?
Was Dawn's long-time husband HER David? Was my meddling the cause of their divorce.
"I'm glad I made you divorce your husband," I hiss at Dawn.
"I wish you were still separated from yours," she hisses back.
"Try and separate us then, bitch," I challenge her.
It's my sexual frustration talking, I realize.
I hope she doesn't actually try to separate me from David.
I'm not sure I'd be able to restrain myself.
Hopefully the beating Laurie just laid on Rita today, and the one she laid on her in 1987, is warning enough.
I sure hope so.
THE END