DARLENE AND I FINALLY FIGHT
Almost exactly 3. I knock on the door of the fight condo. I'm less nervous than I was an hour ago--the pre-fight meet up was a good idea.
Darlene lets me in. She 's wearing jeans and a tank top, just like me. Her shoes are already off. I bring my duffle bag to a corner, put it down, and remove my shoes. I take out a clean towel and a water bottle, and put them on the kitchen island, where Darlene has already put hers, as well as the check for $4,000.00. My jewelry and rings are in a plastic baggie--I ostentatiously place them on the island. Whoever gives will be forgoing eight thousand dollars. Darlene locks and latches the front door. It won't be opened again until Darlene and I have resolved our 33-year old feud.
Darlene and I go to the center living room. The floor plan is open, and there is no furniture in the unit. Darlene and I face off, 10 feet away, hands on hips.
Darlene: "So, three things. Two to stir the pot some more. First, this unit is going to be gutted next week--including carpeting and walls. So blood on the floor and slamming into walls is permitted. That ok by you."
Me: "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Her: "I figured as much. Second, I spoke to the two girls in the sales office after you left. They had noticed our little tension convention. I told them I thought you and I might being going toe-to-toe someday, and asked them who they thought the victor would be. The brunette picked you, but the blonde picked me. I expect to gloat to the brunette on the way out tomorrow if this goes my way right now, and wanted to give you the opportunity to do the same to the blonde."
Me: < heart races again> "Thank you for informing me of that. I expect to follow up." <That will be sweet, making the blonde eat crow.> "And how fascinating that they think the matchup is even."
Her: "I agree. So, finally. Let's bare knuckle box, rounds end with knockdowns, if any, for, what do you say, 20 minutes? Then if neither has had enough yet, we'll not rules catfight till a decisive finish. If you're agreeable, the set the microwave timer for 20 minutes, and come out swinging. I'll wait right here."
I walk over to the microwave. Goodness, the not rules catfight sounds delicious. I'm tempting to just start that part now. But, no, having that prospect lingering in the room will make the preliminary fistfight even more primal. If that's possible. I set the timer for 20 minutes. I return to the living room. Darlene's hands are already up.
Darlene and I jab with lefts, measuring each others speed and strength. Shit, she's clearly fought before. Not quite biker chick style though--her elbows are higher, like she's done cardio kickboxing at a gym. We now use our feet, kicking each other in the shins. We punch each others tits, each scoring audible grunts. The hatred is raw between us. Good.
Darlene comes at my midsection with a running knee. I grab and hold, awkwardly trip her. Darlene lands on her butt. I back off. Was that a knockdown?
Her: "No grabbing, bitch. This is bare knuckle boxing." She goes for her water bottle. I do too.
Me: "I was blocking your knee, slut. I thought we said no high kicks." I'm thirsty as hell already. This break was well-timed.
Her: "A knee isn't a kick, bitch."
Me: "Ok, smart ass, let me come at you with my knee, and show me what you do."
We slam our water bottles down, and return to the center of the room. We resume jabbing, and I start lining her up. After 2 fakes, I aim a knee direct at her belly. She blocks me by crossing her hands, and then before I can regain my balance, I lean forward, and her hands tangle in my tank top shoulder strap. I break free, my tank top loose, my right tit out.
I continue bare knuckle boxing, pretending to not be flustered. Darlene's eyes clearly are attracted to the new target presented to her, and she starts swinging harder and faster at my tit, connecting with half the swings. But she's becoming careless, and I continue swinging to, connecting to her face. But a particularly direct jab from my enemy scores a direct hit. I'm stunned, Darlene notices, and she put me on my butt with a right cross to my jaw. I'm up right away, but she's retreated to the island for water. I do the same, starting to repair my tank top.
Her: "No repairing clothing damage between rounds, bitch."
Me: "Excuse me?"
Her: "That would be like putting on a new shirt. No way."
Me: "Then you leave me no choice. Let's go. The fistfight part is almost over."
We return to "center ring." The jabbing is fast and furious now. But mine has a purpose. I get under Darlene's tank top strap with a left hook. I grab it, and tear down hard. Both her tits pop out. I push her against the wall, half jabbing, but half leaning. I step back, plant a left in her gut, and upper cut her with a right. She drops. The microwave timer rings. I walk over for water.
Darlene slowly stands, glaring at me. I glare back. "Well. Do something about it bitch."
We are both thinking the same thing. A rules fight between us won't work. The only way to fight is all out. Even the microwave timer seemed to know.
We both know something else. Our clothes, at this point, are a distraction from the fight. We stare and begin to strip ourselves, the shredded remains of our tank tops first, then our tight jeans. We inspect each others naked bodies, probing for sensitive targets. Our hatred is palpable. We sarcastically toss the jeans to the side, and strut to center ring.
Her: "You and me at last, no rules."
Me: "Long time coming. Hurt me."
We go for each others head hair with our left hand, and our pussy hair with our right hand, pulling as hard as possible. Pain racks my body, and we drop to the ground in a catball. Both of us refuse to release out grips.
We begin rolling on the carpet, sweat pouring out in proportion to the many quarts of water we have been drinking. Our scent has turned from penthouse to outhouse. Darlene grabs my head with 2 hands, slams it into the wall, and mounts me. She grabs both my breasts, I grab both of hers.
It no longer matters what our life fight experience is. This has no become the type of fight two women have once, ever. It should have occured in 1983. But it's happening now.
I realize now why we both spent a lifetime trying to avoid this fight.
We realize this will be a breast squeezing contest until one of us gives or passes out. And neither woman is going to give.
We squeeze with all our might.
Minutes pass.
I realize both of us are trickling blood from our noses and mouths from the fistfight. Good.
My nails dig into Darlene's flesh. I feel my strength subsiding, but her subsiding faster. I log roll her and now I mount her. I slap her face mercilessly. I ignore the pain from her clawing me. More minutes pass. I'm winning.
Darlene is defeated, and she releases her grip. I roll off, unable to get up on my first attempt. I want to get out of here. I gather myself. I take the jewelry and cash. I get dressed, and go back to my condo to shower. I'm scratched everywhere. I shower and go the sleep.
I wake up the next morning. Did that fight just happen yesterday?
I pack to drive back home.
I stop in the sales office.
I see the blonde. She recognizes me.
"You were wrong, blondie. I won."
