My Walter Mitty fantasy/fetish would be to see my pretty 40-something wife clash with her almost "doppelganger" in a catfight at a formal office party. Both women are wearing long, flowing, evening dresses, with matching lacy bras, garters, and panties underneath, and full-fashioned stockings and pumps. Their long, golden-brown hair is done up in an elegant French twist.
After a few glasses of wine, they start to express their true feelings toward one another. Words are exchanged, the wine glasses are put down, and they simultaneously launch their hands into their rival's updo. Within seconds, the hair pins are torn loose and their beautiful, silky smooth, golden-brown locks come tumbling down. Instantly, they are tearing furiously at their anatgonist's crowning glory. In the process of grabbing each other's long hair, evening dresses are ripped and after some minutes they are down to their lingerie. By this time, they are not only grabbing hair, but also their orbs, as well as slapping, scratching, and kicking with their pumps. They end up in a heap on the floor surrounded by their torn clothing and hair, exhausted, and in a stalemate.