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Members Catfight Polls! / Re: Penthouse Pounding : Broken Promise Nicole vs Chelsea
« Last post by Nicole on Yesterday at 10:02:35 PM »I take my first step forward…
The floor is cool beneath my bare feet, smooth and unyielding. I draw a slow breath in and let it settle, then release it just as slowly. Not to calm myself, I’m already calm, but to narrow everything down.
The room adjusts. Chairs angle closer. It feels like a hundred eyes find me at once.
Standing here in a bikini, there’s no armor, no disguise. Just skin, posture, and breath. I feel the air move steadily in and out of my chest, anchoring me.
Chelsea stands across from me. She’s athletic, long lines, coiled energy. She holds herself like someone used to moving first, to covering distance quickly.
Her body is set, but not settled. Muscles held tight. I see her fingers flex once at her side, then still, like she’s reminding herself not to move too soon. I know her type. She wears confidence like momentum, something meant to carry her through before doubt has time to catch up. It works until it doesn’t. I can already see where the tension lives, where she’ll spend energy too fast if she doesn’t slow herself down.
Our eyes meet. Good. We’re both present in this moment. The two us now and no one else. But there’s heat there too, memory, grievance, something unfinished. She’s still fighting the last version of me as much as the one standing here now.
I breathe again. Slow. Measured. I notice her chest rise and fall. For a fleeting second, another life presses in, quiet dinners, school schedules, my husband and kids. I let the thought rise with the inhale and force it to leave with the exhale. I’ve learned how to do that. How to keep certain truths contained because if they weren’t, this never could be.
I move toward her, stop a few feet away. Close enough now to feel the tension between us. The room is full of anticipation.
“You’re already telling yourself a story,” I say evenly, quietly, my voice steady because my breath is. “I’m just here to see how it ends.”
I don’t rush. It’s so hard. But I’ve learned that in these moments that’s the best way.
My hands stay loose at my sides. My weight settles evenly as I look in her eyes.
Confident yet slightly scared but never showing it. This is the part I crave…the clarity, the narrowing between us, the moment right before, the satisfaction of choosing this moment.
I think Chelsea will move next. She always does…
The floor is cool beneath my bare feet, smooth and unyielding. I draw a slow breath in and let it settle, then release it just as slowly. Not to calm myself, I’m already calm, but to narrow everything down.
The room adjusts. Chairs angle closer. It feels like a hundred eyes find me at once.
Standing here in a bikini, there’s no armor, no disguise. Just skin, posture, and breath. I feel the air move steadily in and out of my chest, anchoring me.
Chelsea stands across from me. She’s athletic, long lines, coiled energy. She holds herself like someone used to moving first, to covering distance quickly.
Her body is set, but not settled. Muscles held tight. I see her fingers flex once at her side, then still, like she’s reminding herself not to move too soon. I know her type. She wears confidence like momentum, something meant to carry her through before doubt has time to catch up. It works until it doesn’t. I can already see where the tension lives, where she’ll spend energy too fast if she doesn’t slow herself down.
Our eyes meet. Good. We’re both present in this moment. The two us now and no one else. But there’s heat there too, memory, grievance, something unfinished. She’s still fighting the last version of me as much as the one standing here now.
I breathe again. Slow. Measured. I notice her chest rise and fall. For a fleeting second, another life presses in, quiet dinners, school schedules, my husband and kids. I let the thought rise with the inhale and force it to leave with the exhale. I’ve learned how to do that. How to keep certain truths contained because if they weren’t, this never could be.
I move toward her, stop a few feet away. Close enough now to feel the tension between us. The room is full of anticipation.
“You’re already telling yourself a story,” I say evenly, quietly, my voice steady because my breath is. “I’m just here to see how it ends.”
I don’t rush. It’s so hard. But I’ve learned that in these moments that’s the best way.
My hands stay loose at my sides. My weight settles evenly as I look in her eyes.
Confident yet slightly scared but never showing it. This is the part I crave…the clarity, the narrowing between us, the moment right before, the satisfaction of choosing this moment.
I think Chelsea will move next. She always does…
