[sinclairfan]

My name is Carly.  This fall, I was supposed to be going away to college for the first time.  And not just any college.  Although Harvard, Yale, and Princeton were probably a "bridge too far" for me, seeing as I neither learned Mandarin Chinese nor volunteered in Guatemala, the lesser Ivies (Brown, Penn--heck, Donald Trump got into Penn) were not out of the question.  But if not the lesser Ivies, then certainly Williams /Amherst /Wesleyan /Ithaca /Swarthmore  /etc were on my agenda for Fall 2017, as i turned 19 years old.  Somewhere in the northeast.  Somewhere girls go to meet suitably connected boys, to make a suitable social match for the daughter of my Atlanta, Georgia cosmetic dentist father.

So, imagine my father's disappointment around 2013 or so, when I entered high school.  My grades slipped when puberty hit, my thick, shiny brown hair came in, my chest ballooned to a 38C, and I got boy-crazy.  And by boys, I mean girls.  I Snapchatted and Instagrammed with girls constantly.  I partied with and had sex with them, too.  But that's not what hurt my grades.  It was the late nights on my cellphone.  I lost all interest in academics, and had no energy for volunteering or extra-cirriculars.  I'm over it now, but for three years there, I was literally addicted to my cellphone.  It was the older, and younger, sibling I never had growing up.

So imagine my dad's disappointment when the college applications came back in spring of senior year in high school.  Reject.  Wait list.  Sorry.  0 for 8 on "acceptable" schools.  I got in to Georgia State and Valdosta State.  But when push came to shove, neither of us could face a future of my resume showing those schools on my resume, of hanging those school's diplomas in my den.  Sorry I'm a snob, but that's how we both felt.

So, Dad started asking his cosmetic dentist friends for a backup plan.  He found a private prep school in New Hampshire that lets you do a "5th year" of high school.  Polish up on any academics that you missed out on.  Round out your volunteer experiences.  But, mostly, apply one more time to your target schools, and maybe add a few others for whom this prep school has become a feeder school.  The price is steep--$42,000 of tuition and room and board for my dad, and the humiliation of one more year of high school for me.  But we were both willing to pay it.

When I came for orientation in June, I began to have some reservations.  All the other girl's had a story similar to me--high school had come and gone too fast, and they weren't in the college and state of mind they and their patents had expected to be in.  But their excuses were far, far more harrowing than mine.  Opioid or even one case of Crystal meth addiction (fuck, Crystal meth?  Even the hardest core kids I knew in Atlanta knew to avoid that crap), alcohol addiction, cutting, gambling.  These girls were a virtual all-star team of 21st century upper middle class dysfunction.  Nice girls, don't get me wrong.  But every conversation started with a "What are you in for?" intro, and mine seemed so innocent that I was often tempted to embellish.  I think one day I may even have diagnosed myself has having had a sex addiction, and the girl I was telling my story to didn't even flinch.

Enough about that, tho.  Here's my real story. 

In the June orientation, we were put on notice that there was a strict Code of Conduct, with zero tolerance for breaking it.  No surprise there--this was clearly a "Last Chance for Gas" Station for all of us--i would fully expect us all to be on our bestg behavior.  One less temptation for us to fall for and permanently ruin our already tenuous futures.  Sounds fair.

So imagine my surprise when I arrive back for classes in August 2017, and am told by my new classmates that there's a girl named Kelly who wants to fight me after school.  During the June orientation, several of the girls who gotten each other's Instagram id's, and had started networking.  Because of my unfortunate history on Instagram, I had decided to steer clear.  I had a couple girl's texts for emergencies and coordinating essentials, but I didn't trust myself to budget my cellphone time appropritely--i probably never will.  Also, to tell you the truth, I don't expect to make any permanent friends in this prep-school-slash-psych-ward.  I hope to re-integrate into normal society as quickly as possible once May 2018 arrives.

So, my roommate Andi had to fill me in on what had occurred in cyberspace during the 10 weeks since orientation.  Apparently this was this small circle of girls who decide they're going to be the Queen Bees of our motley crew.  And they're going to invite me because I'm so attractive.  They'll use me, and a couple other particularly attractive classmates, to get into clubs, college frat parties, whatever. 

Well, this whack job Kelly senses that she's being left out of the Queen Bee circle, and makes it known to them to she feels she's a more worthy member than "that Georgia basic bitch Carly".  Now, I've neither sought membersip in nor known of the existence of the circle forming--how could I?  I was "off the grid" all summer.  But Krazy Kelly feels her make up year slipping away from her before it's even started, and comes to campus in August looking for a fight.

Now, Kelly and I do make a good matchup.  We both have long thick brown hair, both about 5-9, both with big chests.  And we've both been in fights.  We were both sure to get that tidbit "out there".  As in--I don't have a problem with her, not lookin for trouble, but just puttin it out there, I know how to handle my business, know what I'm sayin?

In other words, there was no face saving way for us to avoid a fight.

Now, you ask, what about the school's zero tolerance policy.

Well, this school has been hosting crazy chicks for falls since the 1930s.  There's a school tradition for everything, including school chickfights.

It's this pit, in the woods, off property.  About a 25 minutes walk, after school.  Just enough time to leave class, walk, watch a girlfight, and walk back in time for dinner.

This afternoon's main event would be Carly vs Kelly.

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

THE FIGHT

I spent the entire morning before the fight waiting for the intercom to call me to the office.  All the girls in school were buzzing about the planned fight--surely someone had posted it on Twitter by now, and surely the school monitored out social media accounts.

But gradually it dawned on me:  knowing about a likely catfight, and not notifying a teacher or a councillor, was in and of itself a violation of the Code of Conduct.  So, no one was posting for fear of getting caught not reporting an imminent catfight.  So the zero tolerance Code made fights more likely, not less.  In a normal school, a planned fight almost never occurs; here, I quickly realized, they ALWAYS occur.

Which would explain the "fight pit" out in the woods.  It apparently had originally been a bonfire pit, back when this school was coed and had a competitive football team.  The pit was a round circle, 8 feet or so under the ground.  Two girls could climb down and fight uninterrupted, with a crowd of up to 80 or so having an unobstructed view.  I wonder how many fights must occur there every school year.

I wonder how many more I'll have.

Reality started to set in as the afternoon progressed towards the 3:30 dismissal bell.  Shit, I better win this fight, I thought.  Otherwise, not a single girl here will want to befriend me. 

I search my mind for what I know about Kelly.  She's from Pennsylvania.  That doesn't give me much to go on--PA had the most hardcore factory town and the most exclusive suburbs, and everything in between.  She's very pretty; very pretty, in fact.  She's bipolar.  In the counselling I went thru for my sex addiction, about half of the patients in the room were bipolar, although usually men.  Bipolar girls are invariably pretty, smart, have several talents, and would give you the shirt off their back when they're in the depressive stage of their manic/depressive cycles.  When they go manic, they're physically "grabby"--they're uninhibited about pulling hair, pinching, scratching.  Not someone you want to catfight, in other words.

Had manic Kelly or depressive Kelly talked this fight into being?  Which one would I fight this afternoon?  Was she off her meds from being away from home?

If it was homesick, medically unbalanced Kelly I was about to fight, I felt horrible about beating her up.

Unless.....maybe she knew that, and planned to use my hesitation against me to beat ME up. 

I decided to try and ask her on the walk out to the fight.  Afterwards it would be too late to piece together if our fight was necessary.  I'm not shy about fighting, but it should be a last resort.

After a torturous afternoon of waiting, the dismissal bell rang.  Kelly, about 45 girls, and I started our hike into the woods.  I tried to get within talking distance to Kelly, the jostling and encouragement of the excited spectators not helping.  It occurred to me, listening to the small talk, why so many girls wanted to see a fight.  We were all a little sad about the state of our lives--our friends (and enemies) partying it up at the college of their choice, while we wasted an unrecoverable year of our lives at this hellhole.

Fuck it, I decided.  These girls want to see a proper girlfight?  I'll give them one.

Kelly and I wasted no time hopping into the pit, wearing our miniskirt and polo school uniforms.  We left our sneakers on.  We both stretched our fingers and arms, maintaining eye contact.  Shit, this girl has fight before.  And a lot.

We approach, noting each other's long thick brown hair down to our waists.  I use my left hand, grabbing Kelly's mane for leverage, and starting hitting her face with sharp, choppy rights.  Kelly opts for a headlock on me with her left, but matches me punch for punch with her right.  The crowd is already into it unreservedly.  No one is regretting the walk.

I also notice that no one is filiming with their cellphones.  This fight will survive by word of mouth only.  Thed winner will write it's history.  So I better win.

To be continued......

[Astrakhan]

Great start! Can't wait to see where it goes

[sinclairfan]

THE OUTCOME

Kelly had originally been trying to use her headlock to throw me.  But she eventually realized I was too strong to allow that, and also may have realized that fighting in a skirt limits moved which require flexibility in your knees.  I had been in a couple of fights in skirt at parties, and had learned that the front of the skirt has a tendency to act as a gigantic sail, and to catch your knees anytime the distance between your feet widens, or when your knees been down or forward.

I may have known this already, but Kelly was learning fast as our fight progressed.  And she was also teaching me a new trick.  A headlock can serve as a hold.  But it can also serve to cut off the airflow in your throat.  Especially when your enemy is simultaneously shoving your nose into her tits.

I remember noticing how firm Kelly's breasts were.  I assumed it because she was aroused by our fighting.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I was, especially as our punching subsided.  Feeling Kelly's thick brown hair in my hands and smelling her heavy breathing as our faces pressed closer was unmistakably intimate.  We were both starting to sweat heavily, so combined with the fact we were trying to hurt each other, our situation had all the elements of rough sex, just without the "safe word".

It was awkward to have faces so close to each other and not be talking, so I broke the ice.  I called Kelly a "Pennsylvania bitch".  Why bring up her home state?  Who knows?  Maybe I was trying to demonstrate I had asked around about her.  She asked me "Had enough, slut?".  I answered "No, bitch.  Give me more."

We were now struggling against the wall of the pit, trying to squeeze the other into the surprisingly solid dirt wall.  I was finding it necessary to consciously find breathing space, literally.  Kelly had an ability to use holds and space and squeezes to cut off at least one place along the path from my nose to my lungs.  I wanted to find relief, and her diamond-hard books were calling out to me.

I used my nails to slash at her heaving cleavage.  The elements of sex grew in number as Kelly started moaning and grunting.  She retaliated with nails to my face and neck.  My mouth had a metallic taste, so I was bleeding from somewhere, but I couldn't even tell if the origin was the inside or outside of my mouth.

The screaming of the audience was distinctly closer, as we remained pinned to the pit wall.  Kelly decided that the cost of allowing me to dig into her tits was unsustainable, and for the first time in the now 10 minute long fight released her headlock.

But I had less than even 5 seconds to recover my breath before she was throwing haymakers at my head.  My natural counterpunching did not fail me, and i was landing 2 punches for every 1 Kelly was landing.  For the first time, I was getting a look at Kelly's face.  Her nose was bleeding liberally, and I wondered if it was her blood I had tasted.

To be continued...

[sinclairfan]

THE STRIPDOWN

Kelly and I had been fighting now for over 15 minutes without taking a break.  There had been minimal girly drama between us before the fight, but we were now "all in" in our determination to continue until there was a winner.  We were fighting in front of 45 women who we would be living with 24/7 for the next 10 months.  The winner would enjoy instant social status, and the loser would have a difficult time shaking the "loser" label.

Besides us being a close matchup from a fight skills perspective, part of the reason our fight was becoming a marathon was the restriction on our movement, throws, and kicks from our very tight uniforms.  I was prepared to adjust my tactics accordingly, having learned how to do so at house party and club fight.  But Kelly was less patient than me.  She also realized her head lock had come close to choking me out early on in our fight, and she was eager to place another one on me, put this time one she could finish.

Without letting me out of the corner of the pit, Kelly loosened her skirt waist and let it fall to to the ground.  She kicked the skirt aside, and also dropped her panties, revealing a thick auburn bush which was soaked in sweat, cum, or both.  I suspect it was both, since I know mine had cum from my waves of arousal during the fight.  Kelly's sultry voice was a hot button for me, especially every time she called me "slut".  Going through sex addiction therapy had removed all shame associated that word, and I embraced when another woman tried to use it as a putdown.

Kelly was giving me just enough space and time to remove my skirt, which was actually a gross tactical blunder.  If I had been in a skirt while she was free to move, I would have been at her mercy to just about any hip throw she wanted to put on me.  She could have then proceeded to pin me, and then finish me off either with a wrestling-style strangle or an MMA-variety ground and pound.  The fight would have been over in 2 minutes.

I eagerly threw aside the skirt, and Kelly and I were now comparing our privates.  She had the superior bush, but I had the fuller pussy lips.  I think we both considered ourselves the victor of this mini-fashion show, as I think she thought of it as a bush contest, whereas I judge a woman by the fullness of her lips.  We called each other "bitch"es in triumph, and now moved on to a topless contest, ostentatiously removing our polos and bras.  I was impressed that Kelly avoided the temptation to rub her white polo on her bloody nose and inspect the severity of the wound.  Never check how much you're bleeding mid-fight.  Worry about that afterwards.

Kelly's nipples were wider than silver dollars, but did not protrude.  Mine were the opposite--small as a dime, but pointing out like a mini-erection, especially every time I heard Kelly's sexy voice.  Again, since we were measuring by different criteria, we both considered ourselves the winner.  Our audience was clapping enthusiastically, but whether it was for the strip show just ended or the nude catfight about to commence, I will never know.

Gaining freedom of movement to our knees for the first time all afternoon, Kelly and I grabbed fistfuls of hair, entered a standup catball, and began viciously kneeling each other in the crotch.  The pain was excruciating due to my aroused state, which only elevated more as Kelly's mouth ended up adjacent to my left ear and I could hear her every breath, her every moan, and her every "slut" insult hurled my way.  We rolled in our vertical catball along the pit walls, the sweat on our backs mixing with the dirt wall to form mud on our flesh in our increasingly uncontrolled manes of long thick hair.  Afraid the release our grip, we were landing blows exclusively with our knees, hitting each other in the crotch, the sides, the belly.  We experimemented with holding each other's faces down and smashing knees into each others faces, but in the time it took to line up one such blow, 5 would be landed into the aggressor's midsection, making that tactic a loser strategically.

Our cheeks rubbing together, Kelly started breathily hissing into my ear, "I'll make you admit I'm the better fighter"  "Admit it, slut.  Admit I'm the better fighter."  Nothing about her being prettier, more popular.  We both wanted badly to be the better fighter.  After today's marathon, each of us would be leery about tangling again.  This would likely be our only fight.  Our only chance to find out who was better.  The loser would live with that loss forever.

The intensity of the fight, and our fatigue, now became so escalated the we forgot we were no longer in our skirts.  Our legs became tangled, we fell to the ground in a heap, and began a desperate barrellroll to get on top.  We both knew whoever ended up on the bottom would receive a merciless beating.  We barrellrolled at least 5 full summersaults to the center of the pit, and ended up in what self-defense courses call the north-south position, and what dirty minds, like mine call the 69 position.

In our desperation, we attacked each other's biggest vulnerability-- began tearing at Kelly's massive bush, she began tearing at my engorged lips.  I'm pretty sure within 15 seconds we were both sobbing like babies.  But we continued scratching.

Without being able to see, I attempted to kick Kelly with the balls of my feet.  She was trying to squeeze the breath out of me with her legs.  The endgame was on; we were both committed.  Neither of us could change tactics without getting KO'd by the hold we were in.

Through pure luck, one of my kicks hit paydirt, landing a direct hit on Kelly's jaw.  I mounted and, and started raining punches on her face, telling her to give, telling her to admit "Carly is the better fighter".  She didn't right away, but my ground and pound game is just as elite as the rest of my fight game, and after 5 minutes I extracted to prized concession, for all 45 girls in our audience to hear.  Kelly's ass was mine, and we both knew it.  We also knew the fight could have easily gone either way.  That fact that it went my way just made it all the sweeter.

I limped home to the dorm.  Andi cleaned me up.  Then we got each other messy again.

But that's a different story.

THE END

[underdweller]

Love the setting.

THE FIGHT
Which would explain the "fight pit" out in the woods.  It apparently had originally been a bonfire pit, back when this school was coed and had a competitive football team.  The pit was a round circle, 8 feet or so under the ground.  Two girls could climb down and fight uninterrupted, with a crowd of up to 80 or so having an unobstructed view.  I wonder how many fights must occur there every school year.