[sinclairfan]

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......

[sinclairfan]

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.......

[sinclairfan]

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.....

[Vanessa]

Getting hot now. Don’t stop

[Tigressel]

Really hot fight. Waiting for next round

[sinclairfan]

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.....

[sinclairfan]

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.....

[sinclairfan]

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......

[Vanessa]

Hope to see the final fight. Debbie and Dawn going all out in a naked biting clawing anything goes catball

[sinclairfan]

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......

[sinclairfan]

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.......

[Vanessa]

Even better. Don’t make us wait for the next chapter

[sinclairfan]

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.....

[sinclairfan]

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......

[sinclairfan]

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......