[sinclairfan]

FRINGE FIGHTING

My name is Debbie, and later this year I will be turning 49 years old.  I've lived a pretty conventional twenty-first century American lifestyle--I grew up in Framingham, Massachusetts, went to a Catholic High School, attended college but never finished my degree, married young, had two girls, got divorced, and then drifted, partially happy but partially lost, into an uncertain middle age.

And through it all, I carried on a secret friendship with another woman my age, a more educationally successful mom of two who stayed with her marriage.  We would meet up every year ot two after we first met in 1987, and we wouldn't tell anyone, not even our husbands, that we were meeting.  We didn't tell them, because we didn't think they'd understand why we were meeting. 

We were meeting to fight each other.

We met each other in 1987.  In a fight.  A fringe fight.

Maybe that's where I should start--before even telling you about Dawn and me--by telling you what a fringe fight is.  Have you ever seen a sports brawl, in say ice hockey, or an even better in baseball?  There's two people in the center who are legitimately angry with each other.  They're hot, trying to get at each other, and maybe even momentarily doing so.  Then, there's an inner circle of peacemakers, trying to separate two combatants.  Finally, there's an outer circle, the fringe, of reluctant bystanders.  They have no beef with the opposing bystanders on the fringe, and they're even a little aggravated at their teammate that they've been forced into this situation.  But dammit, they're a loyal teammate, and heck someday the tables might be turned and they might be having it out with some rival and will need someone to have their back, so they stand there and do what they need to do, even fringe fighting if necessary, to support their teammate.

Dawn and I met in a fringe fight in the summer of 1987.  I'll tell you about us, about our two friends, Rita and Laurie, who were having the actual center-of-the-action fight that night, and about our fight, in a minute.  But first let me tell you about fringe fighting, especially when it involves girls.

Girls approach fringe fighting much differently than boys do, and this was especially true in 1987.  Growing up in a large, mostly-but-not-quite-entirely white American suburb at that time, the first rumblings of Los Angeles gang culture was making seeping into our lives.  A group of young, pretty black women were singing on our MTV "Pump It Real Good".  OMG, is that song about....sex?  OMG.... it is!!!  The first boom boxes could be seen at house parties.  The first rap music could be heard on the radio.  Through the news we learned that in LA, people wore blue and red colors depending on whether they were Crips or Bloods.  Girls had gangs, where you were intiated by getting kicked and punched ("jumped in") for 60 seconds.  Girls from opposing gangs would pair off and fight.

To a relatively innocent, sheltered 18 year old it was all so foreign and scary and.....forbidden.  Which, of course, made it irresistable.  I was raised Catholic, and believe me the story about the serpent in the Garden of Eden with Eve was always in the forefront of my mind.  The Lord said you can have anything you want in the Garden; just not the apples of the tree.  So, of course, the apple is the only thing Eve wants.  Well, it was the same way with us girls.  We could listen to any music we wanted to, just not that LA rap music.  So, of course, it was all we listened to.  And learned about how the girls in the LA gangs fight.  That you stand up for side.

Now, I don't want to paint too exciting of a picture.  Girl fights in 1987 Framingham were still rare.  But they did happen, usually over boys.  And when they did, the friends of the "Main Event" fighters would pair off.  Picking an opponent to pair off with was every bit as important as picking your clothes or picking your friends.  If you picked a girl smaller (and less "tough" than you, whatever that meant) you'd look like a bully.  But if you picked a girl bigger than you, she'd look like a bully.  So, when we'd pair off, we'd be subtly sorting ourselves into a "toughness" hierarchy, every bit as open to public humiliation as, say, a kickball teams draft.  It was a complex, high-stakes social dance.

But then, once the sorting and pairing off had taken place, thd real high drama began.  You and the girl you had paired off with would grab each other by the shoulders and separate off to a place outside the main fight area.  You'd look each other in the eye, and search your memories.  Do we know each other?  Have we squared off before in a fringe fight?  Who won?  Have I heard rumors of you talking shit about me?  Have I ever talked shit about you?  Hsve ee ever kissed the same boy?

How rough is the fight we're about to have about to be?  If we do have a serious fight, who will win?

When you were an 18 year old white girl in a place like Framingham, pretty much nothing you could do made you feel more alive than fringe fighting.  And, in one such fight in 1987, I fought Dawn.

Let me tell you about that fight.

To be continued......

[RPBella]

Love the beginning

[dfoulup]

Great start!  Looking forward to reading more.  Thanks for posting.

[sinclairfan]

RITA VS LAURIE

In late May and early June 1987, all of us who were high school seniors in Framingham, MA graduated from the town's three schools.  The two public schools were Framingham North and Framingham South, and the Catholic school was Marian.  I attended Marian, but hung out with girls from both North and South.  One of my friends--not my best friend, but a vrry close one--from North was named Rita.  Rita had big Coke-bottle classes in middle school, but in 11th grade got contacts and a hip blonde hairstyle, and she disvovered boys.  Or, the boys discovered her.

One of the boys who discovered Rita was a jock, multi-sport athlete who also went to North.  He discovered Rita, and neglected to inform his girlfriend from South, named Laurie.  Taking advantage of the "cover" offered to them by being in the same school as each other, Rita and Laurie's boyfriend were able to sneak behind Laurie's back for all of junior year and half of senior year before they got caught.  Laurie responded by breaking up with her jock boyfriend for about a week, but then, just as dramatically, won him back, leaving Rita with 2 tickets to North's senior prom, but no date.  Her girlfriends, including me, rallied to her side during that humiliating spring.  Laurie's girlfriends did the same for Laurie.  To those of us who were Rita's friends, Laurie was a jilted ex who couldn't "let it go".  And, I'm sure to Laurie's friends, Rita was the side chick who had her fun for 18 months but couldn't accept that Laurie was the "main squeeze".  It was quite a soap opera, and the only soap opera trope missing was a girlfriend-versus-sidechick catfight.  That catfight came the week after senior graduations.

Massachsetts schools in the 1980s had a quirky schedule structure under which grades K thru 11 didn't get out for the summer until late June, a full four weeks after seniors graduated.  In theory, this allowed seniors to get a jump on summer jobs and to attend June college orientations.  In practice, we were bored out of our minds most of the four months and drank and had sex and hung out at the mall, which in Framingham was a place called Shoppers World, a hybrid indoor/outdoor mall which was starting to show its age.  We would roam around in packs of 4, and as was likely inevitable, one day a pack which included Rita, and me, "ran into" a pack which included Laurie and her friends.

We all knew right away that Rita and Laurie wanted to fight  It was just a matter of whether they would do it in public, where security would break it up, or if we would retire to somewhere private, where they could finish.  They obviously meant business, because they immediately invited each other, and each others' friends, to an isolated area of the parking garage known as a fight venue.

We were exactly 4 on 4, so the two opposing groups of three friends immediately went into fringe fighting matchup mode.  I matched up with Dawn, and friend of Laurie's from south.

I knew about Dawn, but had never really talked to her.  She was the same height, weight, and build as me--5'7", 120 pounds, 36c boobs.  Her blonde hair was wavier than mine and to her shoulders.  We were both wearing tight jeans, and she had a fuzzy red sweater--it hadn't gotten hot enough yet for summer clothes.

Rita and Laurie were punching each other right away.  The six of us paused for 30 seconds to see if a first round KO would get us off the hook, but when it was clear that both of the love triangle rivals were both motivated and evenly-matched, we spread out with our fringe fighting partners and prepared to make our stand for our friend--this wasn't the first rodeo for any of us.  My heart started racing, in a good way.  Break up the boredom, you know?

Plus, I wasn't much worried about getting hurt.  Dawn had a reputation of being a bit of a goody-two-shoes.  If anything, I was keeping one eye on Rita and Laurie and preparing to be the one to break them up once there was a winner who then started to "go too far" in hurting her rival.  We were all 18 now, and the cops would treat us as adults if they got involved.

So, imagine my surprise when I felt a claw in my scalp and my head getting pulled down.  Dawn was trying to knee my in the face, but either she wasn't very good at it, or my reflexes wete too fast for her, because I tightened my grip on her fuzzy sweater and yanked it over her shoulder, her left bra popping out.  I threw my left arm around Dawn's neck, and wrestled her to the ground.  Her resistance was compromised by her modesty of underwear being visible to observers (which, fortunately, there weren't any yet).  Still stung my the sensation of nails in hair and skin, I quickly mounted Dawn.  I allowed her to re-tuck in her bra and boob, for which I think she was grateful, but then grabbed her wrists and looked in her eyes with a "don't make me hurt you" unspoken threat. 

She was considering her options, me ready for whatever she decided, when at our side fell the entangled bodies of Rita and Laurie, tearing into each other like hellcats.  Dawn and I were so close to them that we could smell every drop of their profuse sweating and hear every grunt.  The slapped, scratched, and pulled hair by the roots.

And things were just getting started.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

ROLLING WITH DAWN

There were three things that could happen next in the Rita vs Laurie fight, and two of them were fine by me.

The first possible outcome was that my friend Rita could start to dominate Dawn's friend Laurie.  At some point, Laurie would have enough and would give, Rita would climb off her enemy, and she would be eternally grateful to the three friends who had her back at Shoppers World in June 1987.  This outcome was good for me.

Possibility number two was a draw.  About half of the Framingham girlfights I had witnessed growing up had ended this way, either because neither girl could really inflict any serious damage in a fight, and/or both girls hzd just fought to save face--their heart really wasn't committed to an actual physical fight.  As one of the six fringe fighters, such an outcome would have been fine by me.  But there was little chance of being one of those fights--both Rita and Laurie had both means and motive to fight.

So, just my luck (more on that later), I was stuck with Door Number Three.  The tide of the fight was turning in Laurie's favor.  She mounted Rita, and was propped on top of her enemy in near perfect symmetry, and just feet away, from me, propped on top of Dawn.  The visual was terrible for me, and it was already being noticed by Dawn and the four other fringe fighters.  I was in apparent control of my opponent, and was inertly watching as my supposed friend was on the verge of getting her ass beat.

My option were terrible.  If I remained a spectator and let Rita get destroyed, Rita and her friends would never forgive me for not having her back the day Rita had it out with Laurie.  I would be scapegoated for Rita's insufficient fighting skills.  But if I interfered, all sorts of other terrible fallout would land on me.  Laurie and Laurie's friends would forever hate me for being third-girl-in in a fair fight.  And Rita and Rita's friends would never acknowledge that Rita was on the verge of losing the fight--no, they would say that I had interfered.  And finally, a 1on1 fight with 6 fringe fighters would instantly morph into a 4on4 free-for-all--I could already see the other fringe fighters awaiting my next move.

It's hard to think straight during a fight, and so I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt.  I looked under me, at Dawn, laying on the grass beneath me, grabbed her curly blonde hair, leaned forward, and started rolling in the grass with her.  I didn't sant it to look like I aas losing to her, but I wanted it to look like I had lost my pin on her, and that our fight was still in progress.  This would excuse me from deciding whether to interfere, or not interfere, in the beating Laurie was about to lay on Rita.

I tried to "sell" the resumption of the active phase of my battle with Dawn, but I needed her help.  If she was too passive, it would be obvious I had gotten off of her on purpose.  Too active, and my pin on hrr would be reversed--she would be on top of me, and, excited by her friend Laurie's example, might begin to punish me as severely as Laurie was starting to punish Rita.

But the bond I had established with Dawn minutes ago, when I had generously allowed Dawn to restore her popped boob back into her tight red fuzzy sweater, did the trick.  She rolled in the grass with me, "fighting back" with just the right level of energy.  Just the right level to get the four other fringe fighters' eyes off of me.  And just the right level to do something else.

Between the tactile arousal provided by the head-to-toe body contact between Dawn and me, the sonic arousal of Laurie and Rita grunting and moaning like animals in heat, the visual arousal of Dawn's blonde hair in my eyes, and the aromatic arousal of Dawn's cologne and natural body scent directly in my nose, I came in my pants within 60 seconds.  I think I mentioned that during the 4 week June break after graduation, we seniors all had a lot of sex; so between my expectation of being prepared at any time for sex, and the cocktail of sensations presented by the fight, I came like......well, like an 18 year old boy.  (I had plenty of disappointing experiences of how quickly they came.)

And, it was a good thing I came so quickly, because one of Laurie's and Dawn's friends had decided that Laufie had proved her point to Rita, and that they better scram before the cops came.  She grabbed Laurie off of the now-helpless Rita, and the four of them ran, leaving the four of us on Team Rita to lick our wounds.

And to think about what had just happened.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

FOUR SUCKY YEARS

The next four years, summer of 1987 to summer of 1991, pretty much sucked for me and for Dawn.  I didn't find out until the end of the period in question that they had sucked for Dawn, but I knew almost immediately that they would suck for me.

Rita, and the three of us on Team Rita, had picked pretty much the worst time of year to lose a girlfight.  We seniors were done with school, so we had no way to give our side of the story--this was 1987, remember:  no Facebook, no Snapchat.  No texting, for crying out loud.   News and gossip, true/false/exagerrated, rumors especially, grew and evolved and were spread face to face.  And since the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors were still in school for a couple weeks, those rumors spread like wildfire.

The dominant strain of the rumor going around town was that Rita and her posse had tried to jump Laurie at Shoppers World, and that we had gotten our asses handed to us.  This was a lie--Rita and Laurie had fought willingly, and if not that day would have eventually.  And I would hardly characterize the outcome as an asskicking--Laurie won, or was winning, but Rita had nothing to be ashamed of, and most importantly never gave--Laurie and her three friends had run off.

But Rita, me, and our two friends were irreparably etched into Framingham Class of 1987 lore as (a) sneak-attack thugs and (b) incapable fighters.  We had all the bad properties of girl gangstas and none of the good ones.  We were disinvited from every summer house party, every trip to Cape Cod or Boston or Newport, everything.  We were social pariahs, the worst thing you can be at 18.

After an endlessly dull summer, I went away to college at North Adams State in Western Massachusetts.  (It changed its name in the 1990s to Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts--MCLA.)  I had chosen it in April for the dumbest possible reason--it had a pretty campus.  You'll notice that I've made the most important decisions in my life impulsively and somewhat self-destructively.  (Getting married, then divorced, were two others.)  Within my first seven days on campus, my heart sank.  The girls were nothing like me, and the boys weren't husband material.  I cried to my parents, begging them to let me transfer.  After 2 months of drama, they let me start the process of transferring to Fitchburg State, a bit closer to home, in September 1988.  The Admissions Office said my credits would transfer; hardly any of them actually did.  The Massachusetts Legislature massively cut funding to Massachusetts state college in 1990.  In spring 1991, I had no degree in sight, and my parents gagged at the tuition bill.  Fitchburg State boys were using me for sex--I had a reputation (probably deserved--see the next paragraph) for being easy.  I was drifting--academically, socially, financially.  My dad, mom, and I decided to cut our losses.  I dropped out of school in April 1991.

The sex thing.  Where to start.  I pretty much masturbated all the time.  When I was driving in a car, I would masturbate at every red light.  EVERY damn one.  In bed with boys, I learned they like when I licked their cock I masturbated.  I liked it to, so I did it.  And word got around.  I didn't know what was causing this behavior and me, and yet I did.  Everytime I came, I would flash back to cumming in my pants in my fringe fight with Dawn.  I could remember every part of it--her curly blonde hair, her fuzzy red sweater, her fighting-back-but-not-too-hard when we rolled in the grass next to the much-more-serious Laurie and Rita.

Her boob popping out of her sweater at the start of the fight.

Just as I moved back home in April 1991, a new neighbor was moving one across the street, one door to the left.  Dawn had attended, was still attending, Keene State College in New Hampshire.  They were paying out of state tuition, which became a huge problem the preceding October, when Dawn's dad got laid off from his job at Prime Computer.  Dawn's family had been forced to sell their house, and were now renting in my neighborhood.

Dawn was back from school in May.  She was home alone all day, I was home alone all day.  We had, by now, heard about each others' respective misfortunes. 

One day, I decided to take a break from my compulsive masturbating, break the ice, and ring on her doorbell.  To say "welcome to the neighborhood" to Dawn.  To ask if she remembered between her and me in 1987.  To see if we could be of help to each other. 

To see if she was as sad and lonrly as I was.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

A TALK WITH DAWN

I approach Dawn's front door, wearing white tennis shorts and a tank top.  My hair and makeup are done far more than I've been doing them lately, although honestly taking a break from makeup has cleared my complexion.  Or maybe turning 22 is clearing my face; either way, that's one of the few aspects of my life that's actually improving lately.  I notice that up close the lawn of Dawn's family's rental looks terrible--they must have bigger fish to fry than doing yardwork.  Sad. 

As I go up the the front door to knock, Dawn sees me thru the picture window and waves enthusiastically, motioning that she'll come to the front door and let me in.  Wow--it's been awhile since anyone was this happy to see me.  Dawn and I don't quite know whether to shake hands or hug, so we do a semi-awkward air-kiss greeting as Dawn speaks first:

> Debbie, hi.....your hair looks pretty.....Debbie, I've been meaning to say hi....

> Yes, me too....thsnks on the hair, yours looks good to....it's so straight now.....I saw you the other day....

> I know....and I wanted to say thank you to your mom....she's been ssssooo nice to my mom....this has been really hard for her.....here, come in, we can shut the door......<<<<Wow; apparently no hard feelings from 1987.  I guess Dawn hasn't been one of the girls freezing me out of Framingham parties for four years.>>>>

We sit next to each other on a couch.  The furniture in the house is pretty minimal--I wonder if they sold any in the process of moving.  Dawn continues:

> I don't know if you heard......Prime Computer is pretty much going to go under....my dad lost his job, all his stock options.....

> Dawn, that's horrible, can he get another job?

> He has a couple of leads at DEC and a couple of other places on 495....some former friends of his at Prime....the computer jobs are all moving out to 495 now instead of 128.....he'll be ok.....luckily I'm done at Keene....

> Yes, congratulations, I heard, you're going to be a teacher?

> Yes, my boyfriend and I are going to a Masters program at UConn that has the student teaching built in as a part of it.  We're going to save my parents a few bucks by renting together.  I'm glad you stopped by today--I leave for the summer session the day after tomorrow.  I won't be back home here until Thanksgiving.

> Wow, living together, must be serious.

> Yeah, pretty serious.  Well, serious enough to be living together, and both wanting to be teachers.  Maybe even in the same school--we'll see.  <<<<I'm actually happy to hear Dawn has a serious boyfriend; it emboldens me to bring up the topic weighing on me.>>>>

> Oh, wow, no summer vacation for you, huh?  Dawn, since you're leaving in a couple days.....I've been meaning to ask you.....do you remember that....fight......you and I had after graduation....I didn't hurt you, did I?.....

> Yes, Debbie.  No.....hard....feelings...about any of that.....ok?  I know we just got forced into.... it....because of the whole Laurie/Rita thing.  I meant to apologize.....well, not apologize....to sort of make up with you or whatever.....but then I was like.....will she think I'm not really being sincere....or whatever.....and then I had heard you transferred colleges.....plus, I was just kinda embarrassed about the whole thing....

> Oh, I know.....tell me about it....to this day I'm still a little bit angry at Rita for putting me in that position....her and Laurie, fighting over a boy like that?.....

> Well, I WILL say this, Debbie.....I thought that too for awhile....about Rita and Laurie and girls that fight over boys.....but now that I'm actually with a man, Doug is his name by the way, I would actually fight, not fight over him, but.....well he has an ex who I'm watching out for....and Debbie I swear if she tried to come back and make a play fof him....it would be totally on between me and her....

> <<<<<The insides of my thighs start tingling to hear Dawn talk about fighting another girl, an ex of her current serious boyfriend.  i had been confused since my Shoppers World fight with Dawn about whether I was attracted to her, but now I can perceive that it's the idea of Dawn fighting which is the turnon.>>>>

> Wow,... so Dawn....does she know about you....and about you and Doug moving in together at UConn???.....

> We've had words on the phone.  .....more than once.....she's fine now.....with him and me moving in.....she's with someone right now, pretty serious, or at least serious enough to keep her occupied....but I don't trust her...I think she and I are going to have it out somewhere down the line.....I've been meaning to ask....when you.....threw me to the ground, the day we fought.....can you show me what you did? .....was that some....move?   <<<Dawn stands up.  I'm too shy, too unconfident, in myself, to tell Dawn there's nothing I'd more rather do than wrestle with her in her living room.  I can already feel pre-cum in my panties.  I stand and face her.>>>>

> Oh.....let me think.....well, here, you had my hair....here like this.....by the way....if you're ever fighting her, grad her hair just like that, except pull her head down....so she can't see.....but here.....you see how I'm lining my hip against yours?....<<<<Dawn's body feels so firm against mine....does she work out?  I should start working out, maybe then I won't feel so crappy all the time.>>>>>....see, you just....almost.....throw the other girl with your hip...see....<<<<I throw Dawn gently to the floor and mount her....we pause and stare into each others' eyes.....I feel friskier than I've felt since high school>>>>>

> Oh I see. I think I get it.  Can I try it on you?  <<<<<We stand up, breathing harder.>>>>  So...pull my hair.....so wimpy, Debbie!  pull it harder! ....ok, let me get mg hip....here, our legs are tangled.....ok there....<<<<Dawn throws me to the ground>>>....take that bitch!  <<<<<Dawn and I begin grinding our crotches thru our thin clothes>>>>....stay away from my man, slut!  <<<<<We rhythmically grind and rock.  Our hands lock together.  Dawn makes pretend fighting noises and pretend trash talk.  We release hands and begin rolling on the floor, wrestling gently like the day we did at Shoppers World.  I shutter in orgasm.  She must know I've just cum, but she doesn't acknowledge it.  We continue wrestling and rolling, our legs wrapped together.  I'm happier than I've been in years.  Knowing Dawn is going away in a couple days releases my inhibitions with her.  I love fighting with Dawn.  I could fo this for hours.  Should we talk about this.  Or will that just creep her out?  Will she think she's cheating on Doug?  Should I just let this all happen like it's happening?>>>>

For 15 glorious minutes, Dawn and I aggressively wrestle on her living room floor, with me cumming several times.  If Dawn came, she kept it hidden.  My cumming was pretty evident, although Dawn and I don't talk about it.

We pause to catch our breaths.

Once we've paused, Dawn seems hesitant about what we're doing.  I want more of the same, but am afraid to ask.

She says she needs to go--there's some stuff she needs to buy at ....Shoppers World.....before leaving for Connecticut.  I ask if she needs help.  She says. No thank you.

I should probably insist and go help her.

Instead, we hug, widh each other well, and I go home.

I lock my bedroom door and masturbate for three hours.

To be continued.....

[Dave2213]

Wow - really, really good! Thank you!

[sinclairfan]

EIGHT HAPPY YEARS

The conversation with Dawn, the reflections of what our 1987 fight had meant, and our 1991 "fight" in her living room, knocked me out of my self-destructive loose-woman funk.  I started recognizing when a boy was using my body for sex, versus when a man was courting me.  Or at least when a man was trying to get to know me.  If I was in a using situation, I ran, and fast. 

And so on October 2, 1993, I got married in a Catholic Church to a man, David, who had been a year ahead of me at Marian.  He had had a crush on me our whole time at Marian, and had been too shy to tell me.  He went away to college at Dayton University in Ohio to study engineering, and came back to Massachusetts to work at EMC in Westborough.  He didn't mind my checkered academic record since leaving Marian, even though I was open and honest with him about my sleeping-around phase at Fitchburg.  He claimed he didn't mind at all, and we quickly had a pair of baby girls in July 1994 and Septrmber 1995.  We're pretty sure the older girl was conceived on our wedding night.  Or, ahem, well, maybe a couple nights before our wedding night.  My parents, as well as his, were a great help in raising the girls.  We bought a house in Natick, right next door to Framingham.  More on that in a minute.

The story up above has one lie, one omission.  It implies I told David EVERYTHING  about my past.  It's close to true, but not quite.  I didn't tell David about Dawn.  About my 1987 fight with her, where I came; or about my 1991 fight with her, where I came.  Or about a 1995 conversation I had with Dawn's mom, where Dawn's told me that Dawn and Doug had finished their Masters at UConn, and were both teaching in New London, Connecticut.  And had gotten married.  Dawn and Doug; Debbie and David.  The 4-D club.  The two men in it, David and Doug, would have gotten a chuckle out of that. 

If they knew about it.  Which they didn't.  Dawn didn't tell Doug about me.  And I didn't tell David about Dawn.  Not then.  Not ever.  Not even today, here in 2018.  Why?  Or, why not?

Speaking for myself, I never told David about Dawn because I didn't have a label for it.  I didn't want to go to bed with Dawn, lf any woman.  I just wanted to fight Dawn.  Or, if I couldn't, to fantasize about it.  Pretty much every time I masturbated, it, my thoughts, included a fight with Dawn.

Dawn had her own reasons for not telling her own husband our secret, which her mother confided to me when I was back in the old Framingham neighborhood in 1995, recharging at a babysitting session at my mom's.  Dawn's mom told me that until 1987, that she and Dawn's dad were at their wit's end with Dawn, imploring her to stop being a wallflower.  But that Dawn's Shoppers World fight with me had finally injected some backbone in Dawn.  She made decisions.  And she stood up to girls, like Doug's crazy ex.  Dawn's mom said I was the best influence of Dawn's childhood.  Wow.

I called Dawn to thank her.  And to check in on her.  And to fill her in on my life.

And to schedule a secret overnight rendezvous with her in Old Saybrook, Connecticut on the school holiday, Veterans Day,  November 11, 1995.

We took 24 hours away from our husbands, and, in my case, my two infant girls.  We, somwhat sheepishly, checked into a hotel, and then went to Old Saybrook's Main Street, and shopped for intimate apparel.  Bras.  Psnties.  Hose.  Three pairs of each.  We bought for each other--I chose Dawn's, Dawn chose mine.

We raced back to the hotel, still essentially wordlessly.  We showed each other which pair of underwear to change into first.

And we tore into each other, nails shedding underwear and hair and, to a lesser extent, even skin.  When one set of underwear was shedded, we ordered each other into the second pair.  And then the third.  Shit, we dhould have bought more underwear.  Then again, maybe not--we're both young brides with obligations at home.

But, for tonight, we're semi-naked hellcats wrestling on the floor.  I cum generously, and this time, I know for a fact, Dawn does too.

1987.  1991.  1995.  We met again, of course, in 1999.  The year I got divorced.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

CATHOLIC GUILT REDUX

After my Veterans Day 1995 hotel fight session with Dawn, I went thru one final bout of Catholic guilt over the feelings and urges I had when fighting Dawn. 

Part of the guilt was completely justified and appropriate.  I had dumped my two infant girls on my husband Dave, without his consent, for an entire overnight.  I had risked serious and even minor injury, without Dave's consent, either of which would have compromised by ability to carry out my domestic duties for an uncertain period of time.  And I had used Dawn's body for my sexual pleasure, without her full explicit consent.  Although I think we were both in that hotel for the same, mutual reasons, we didn't discuss the meetup and its ramifications, like adults should, either before, during, or after the event.  Not that either of us had the words yet to describe our feelings--but, we should have at least made the attempt.  Anything short of that was using each others' bodies.  I still fantasized about the pleasure I received from fighting Dawn.  And I still kept up with Dawn's life and teaching career and, in 1997 and 1998, motherhood, also to two healthy baby girls.  But I assumed she and I would never be fighting again.  Real life had a way of intruding on the pleasure of adolescence and young adulthood.  These are the sacrifices we make to be grown up.

In 1999, I guess these sacrifices were too much for me.  My divorce from Dave sort of happened.  Make no mistake, I initiated it.  But it still sort of happened.  I withdrew from him in the bedroom.  His performance was waning, but Viagra existed by now, and me making a big deal about it probsbly just made it worse.  And ghen I started throwing around the "D" word, daring him to disprove the rightness of my argument.  In August, our two girls were both in full time pre-school, and one of our arguments escalated to us getting lawyers.  And then neither of us wanted to be the first to reconcile, and it was too late--the divorce gears were fully turning.  It was the height of the tech bubble, Dave's EMC stock options were worth an absolute fortune ($850,000), and my divorce attorney's eyes got dollar signs in them.  There was no turning back.  In November 1999, we were divorced.

It swas one of those impulsive, self-destructive things which have dogged me my whole life.  Or, at periodic intervals during it.

My sadness and loneliness hung over me like a dark cloud.  We sold our house in Natick.  Dave's family took custody so our daughters could finish their academic preschool year there.  I moved back in with my parents in Framingham.  I vaguely planned on buying my own place in the spring with my EMC stock options windfall.  (Spoiler alert:  that never happened--the tech bubble burst in the spring.)

Dawn visited her parents in Framingham for Thanksgiving 1999.  Doug took their girls back to Connecticut on Friday.  I know, because I was eavesdropping thru my bedroom window in my parents' place.  On Friday night, I called Dawn's parents' house.  Dawn's mom answered.

> Hello?

> Hey, Mrs A____r.  It's Debbie.  Across the street.  Is Dawn there?

> One minute, Deb.

Dawn picks up.

> Hey, stranger. 

> I need to see you.  Now. 

> Are you alone? 

> No.  My dad is home.  But he'll leave us alone in our bedroom.

> Be right there.

The resemblance to a Marian High School or Fitchburg State College booty csll with a boy was almost word-for-word.  So was the anticipatory moistness in my pussy.

But I promised myself we would discuss "this" first.  I needed to assuage my guilt.

I'm in sweats and no underwear, as I have been since my separation and divorce.  I run downstairs and open yhe front foor.  Good, Dawn is casual too.  Shit, she's getting prettier every year.

I let her in.  She says hi to be semi-napping  dad, and we run up go my bedroom.  I lock the door behind me.

> Debbie, I don't understand.  You got fucking divorced?

> I know.....part of me is saying that to myself, too.

> Not go be rude....or judgmental....but are you coming out of the closet?  Did you already.

> No.  It's not that.  I'm straight.  Not lesbian, not even bi.  [Dawn looks at me skeptically.]  You're the only woman I cum with.  And even with you, Dawn, I don't even want go kiss you.  I just want to....fight.....you.

[Dawn thinks.]

> Then, let's fight.

In seconds, we're entangled in my bed covers.

And cumming.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

COMMUNICATING WITH DAWN

Although it had taken Dawn and I a dozen years to verbalize with each other the bond and connection we had with each other, once we did, the floodgates completely broke open.  Although we remained physically separated by a geographical distance of 100 miles, we began to stay in communication with each other in intervals of ever-increasing frequency.

My two steps forward, I should point out, was first preceded by one step backwards.  During the vourse of 2000, 2001, and 2002, the tech stock bubble deflated, and the EMC stock options I had won from David in the divorce settlement became worthless.  Not worth less; worthless.  Stock options have this funny concept called "out of the money".  If the option has a "strike price" of $17, and EMC stock is trading at $13, the stock option is worth $0.  If it makes it to its expiration date like that, it expires worthless.  Quarter after quarter, I went to my mailbox and watched as dozens, then hundreds, of EMC stock options expired worthless.  It was quite painful, and it meant I would be living at home with my parents for awhile.

All I had left to show from thr divorce, financially, was the alimony payments, which David tried valiantly to have reconsidered and reduced, given the downturn in EMC's fortunes.  He failed, for two reasons.  My divorce attorney, who had originally talked me into separating from David, saw my living conditions and refused to go along with any reduction. 

And, David started dating another Marian girl, Karen.  Karen was full-on observant Catholic, and was infertile.  She wanted a Catholic marriage to David, meaning his marriage to me would need to be annulled.  And Karen wanted to be a hands-on stepmom to David and my two daughters, since she could never have her own children.  Karen and David needed my active cooperation for both the annulment and the child-rearing, and so the alimony checks kept coming.  On my attorney's advice, I did not look for a job--that might weaken my legal case for alimony.  So I dropped out of the job market, possibly for good, since the emerging gap in my resume would be difficult to explain to prospective employers.

Besides my permanently unemployed state, other circumstances were facilitating ever-growing regularity in communication between Dawn and me.  Dawn's two daughters reached the same childhood milestone mine had:  full-time pre-school enrollment.  Then, when Dawn's husband Doug made the switch from teaching to school administration (he became a Vice Principal, then later a Principal), Dawn dropped out of teaching, and was home all day like me.  And, finally, technology was working to help our communication.  Texting on a cellphone was a godsend; then came Skype and unlimited long distance and email and MySpace.  So, while actual physical meetup would remain, for now, a rarity (we had young children; and the nature of our relationship was still a secret from Dawn's husband), we just sort of "fell into" being in near constant contact. 

And there was pretty much only one topic we conversed about.  Fighting.

We talked a bit about how much we enjoyed fighting each other, and what kind of fights we should have when Dawn was up in Framingham visiting her mom for the holidays.  And what clothes we should wear-- lots of talk about that, which I'll get into later.

But as 2002 and 2003, as David and Karen started to get more serious about getting married, and as the Catholic annulment process between David and me progressed, and as the relationship between Karen and me deteriorated, the fighting conversations between Dawn and me took a darker turn.  Let me explain.

The annulment process, for those of you who have never been through it, is horribly intrusive.  The Church Inquisitors ask you, first in writing and then by phone and then in person, horribly personal questions about when and how often you and your husband had sex, before, during, and after your marriage.  And what kinds of sex.  Making matters worse, this was in 2002 and 2003.  The Archdiocese of Boston scandals didn't make the news until 2005, so the people questioning me, all men, were still riding high in their arrogance.  It was quite humiliating for me.  I blamed Karen, and vented to Dawn.

Dawn started asking me if Karen and I might fight.  At first, we used the topic of a Karen/Debbie fight just as masturbation fodder.  But, as time went on, Dawn started digging deeper.  If Karen and I did fight, would it be at catfight, or a fistfight?  Would it be like the Dawn/Debbie fight in 1987 at Shoppers World, or like the Rita/Laurie fight?

We both knew the answer.  Since Karen and I had both slept with David, we would fight with fists like Rita and Laurie had done. 

Dawn asked me if I wanted to "prepare" for a fistfight like that.  By fistfighting her.

She was serious.  We talked about how to fistfight each other without losing our friendship.  It had taken so long to build up our relationship and the trust between us, for it to become yet another casualty of the breakup of my marriage was unacceptable.

And yet....

We couldn't let it go.  Wondering what it would be like to fistfight each other.  And so, I started playing a dirty trick on Dawn.

I started making her wonder what would happen if I did fight Karen.  Would my love of fighting switch from fighting Dawn to fighting Karen?  Would Dawn lose me as a fight partner?

Dawn and I decided to fistfight at Dawn's mom's house in August 2003.

To prevent things getting out of hand, we would both have a safe word.  Mine would be "David".  Dawn's would be "Doug".

Thru the long, hot summer of 2003, we masturbated, together and alone, to the thought of our upcoming fistfight.  We texted each other selfies in our agreed-upon clothes for the fight--cutoff jeans and topless and boots.  The boots were to kick with, if the other one of us fell to the grass.

The day of the fight finally came.  Hot.  Humid.  Our boobs were already giving off droplets of sweat.

Dawn said, "I don't plan on using my safe word."

I retorted, "Neither do I."

The atmosphere was completely different from our 1999 bedroom fight, from our 1995 hotel fight, fome our 1991 living room fight, from our 1987 parking lot fight.

I was "training" for what I truly believed was an inevitable fight for status with David's bride-to-be Karen.  A bitter wife versus ex-wife brawl.

Dawn was trying to "audition" with me to retain her role as my lifelong fight partner, to pre-empt Karen taking that role.

The stakes were dead serious for each of us.  As was the fistfight.

We stood toe to toe in the hot sun for 15 minutes, beating the shit out of each others faces.  True to our promise, neither of us used our safe word.  The flesh-on-bone-and-flesh "thwack"-ing sound was exactly like what we recalled hearing Rita and Laurie inflicting on each other.  We wanted to stop hurting and each other, and yet we wanted to hear more of that sound.  So we kept fighting.  We watched each others' soaked boobs bounce up and down as we bobbed and weaved.

A right cross of mine caught Dawn on the jaw.  She went down on her back, and I moved on top on her with my boots, my bloodlust "practicing" for how badly I would hurt Karen if we ever were the two women fighting.  Dawn, from her back, kicked upwardly back at me, just as desperately and just as fiercely.  With me standing and Dawn lying on her back, we each landed vicious boot kicks to the others' shins, knees, and crotches.  In discussing the fight later, we decided we had each inflicted, and sustained, more damage in this portion of the fight then in the standing part.

The kicking continued for five to seven more minutes, when a kick by Dawn to my knee sent me falling on top of her.  We lined up our boobs and crotches, entering our now-familiar rolling position.  We came in explosive orgasms, and looked each other in the eye.

"That bitch Karen better think twice about ever fighting you.  You'll put her in a fucking hospital."

"And you'll put her in a fucking morgue?"

"How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

PLANNING FOR FIGHT NUMBER SIX

In 1987, Dawn and I had fought in a parking lot.
In 1991, we fought in her living room.
In 1995, we fought in a hotel room.
In 1999, we fought in my bedroom.
In 2003, we fought in her backyard.

You didn't have to be a genius to see that our next fight would be in 2007.  Every four years, just like the Olympics.  We would be 38 years old.  One of the last fights we would be able to really let it all hang out physically.  Even the 2003 fistfight had been risky.  The next day, the next week, the next month, I discovered new injuries in parts of my body which I didn't realize existed. 

But it was worth it.  I would masturbate four hours at a time to that hot sunny day in Dawn's parents' backyard.  I remembered our sweaty topless upperbodies colliding together, our arms lashing out and not even attempting to block each others' punches.  Dawn going to the ground, and me trying to kick her with my boots.  Dawn skillfully retaliating, even from flat on her back, connecting with my crotch.

I wondered what would have happened had that fight continued.  If any of our fights had continued.  They hsd all stopped, all five, before either of us "lost" the fight, either by submission or by being unable to continue.

What if one of ouf fights had a winner, and a loser.  Would our friendship continue?  Would we still find the thought of fighting each other to be erotic?  Or would the magic be over?

And, who would win the fight, anyways?  In our early fights, I had been the aggressor.  But, I had never gotten a surrender from Dawn, and anyways, she was constantly improving as a fighter.  Heck, Dawn wanted to fight my ex-husband's new wife Karen more than I did.

What if Dawn was slowly catching up to me in fighting ability?  What if someday she passed me, and I couldn't "keep up" with her in our fights anymore?  What if she got bored with me and found a new fight friend?  I basically had nothing else going on in my life.  I was a single mom, and not a very good one.  I was divorced, and unlikely to remarry.  I was dependent on alimony payments for my income.  I was living at home, apparently permanently.  Dawn was the best thing I had going on in my life.  I needed to keep my fighting skills sharp to keep her coming back for more.

I needed to get into a fight with someone before my 2007 fight with Dawn.

Dawn and I talked thru on the phone my options.  We decided I had three.

Door Number One.  Fight David's new wife Karen.  Pro's--she and I know each other and hate each other; the fight would have genuine animosity.  Con's--she and I are jointly raising two pre-teen girls:  will being around each other be too awkward after a fight, especially if I lose?  How mortifying.

Door Number Two.  Fight another mom at my daughters' school.  Pro--Both of my daughters are in cheer, and the moms are notoriously catty.  Con--Why involve my daughters in my crap, especially at such a young age?

Door Number Three.  Fight a stranger at a bar.  Pro--same pro as meeting a one-night stand at a bar:  you never have to see that person again.  Con--dangerous.  Then again, maybe that's a second Pro.

Barfight it is, Dawn and I decide.

Dawn asks around and finds out there's a biker bar in Stonington, Connecticut.  She and I buy leather gear one day.  We model black leather coats for each other, getting maximally turned on.  We buy those gloves with the missing fingers.  We decide the leather pants aren't really a turnon--jeans will do, thank you.  But the boots ard heaven to us.  Light fur, dark fur, ankle high, knee high, thigh high.  Brown, black, purple.  The shopping experiences alone generate phone sex, sexting, and masturbation material galore.

But then it's time to put up or shut up.  Dawn and I need to sit at the bar and find a fight.  Dawn will fight, too, if necessary, but since she has more domestic obligations than me, we'll try to avoid that outcome if possible.

Our improvised plan works, just not in the way we expect.  The actual bikers can tell at first glance that Dawn and I are..."hayseeds", I think one bearded Harley dude called us.  We're not actual bikers, and we're not here as biker groupies looking to get laid, so no actual bikers take any interest in us.  The only way we'll find a fight is if some other, non-biker chick has the same idea as us.

Who would have thought, but one actually does.  A vaguely down-on-her-luck looking bleach blonde locks eyes with Dawn across the bar.  After a 20-minute staredown, she gets up and comes over, and asks Dawn, "Which one of you bitches wants to throw down."  Dawn and I tell her the troublemaker is me, to which Blondie says, "I'm disappointed."

"Oh, that's it sweetie, it is so on.  Care to step outside."

Blondie thinks about it.

"Let's go.  Tough girl."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

MY BARFIGHT

Barfly Blondie and I step onto the gravel parking lot, grab each others' hair, and pull each others' heads down, throwing occassional uppercuts.  The gravel churns under our feet, giving audio confirmation to the violence of our struggle.  Even though I don't even know Blondie's real name, nor anything else about her, this fight is personal anyways because Blondie wishes she was fighting Dawn right now.  My Dawn.  The girl I fight every 4 years.  The girl I discuss fighting with all the time between those fights.  I don't want anyone else to know what it's like to fight Dawn.  That's my thing.

Dawn is standing on the gravel watching us fight.  I don't need to ask her to know she's totally turned on watching this fight.  Just as I would be totally turned on watching her fight.  In one of our conversations, Dawn had described a school dispute with another mom over a bullying incident between their two daughters.  Dawn had described a tense meeting with the other mom in the principal's office.  I asked Dawn to describe every detail of the other mom's looks and clothes.  I then fantasized about Dawn and the other mom taking the discussion "offline", away from the principal.  I had imagined them agreeing to meet at Shoppers World, where Dawn and I first fought.  They thrill at the challenge of meeting alone.  Their hormones race at the idea of protecting their daughters from a threat.  They retreat to a quiet corner of the parking lot and tear into each other, just as Barfly Blondie and I are doing right now.

Blondi can definitely fight--the few punches of mine which directly land to her face cause her no apparent discomfit.  Meanwhile, her hands hitting my face hurt as much as if she had picked up a rock from the gravel pit and thrown it at me.  I refuse to acknowledge the pain, tho--I want Blondi and Dawn to know that, if Blondi was looking for a fight, her choice of me was the right one.

I begin to actually pity Blondi.  When she gets the urge to fight, she needs to look for trouble with strangers.  I have a fight friend.  I have Dawn.  I'll be fighting her again in 2007.  Then in 2011.  Then in 2015 and 2019.  By then, our daughters will be grown.  Maybe it will be easier for us to get together.  Maybe we'll be able to fight more often.  But until then, maybe the spectre of the solo Barfly Blondie, no partner to watch her fights, will remind Dawn and me of the special bond we have.

Barfly Blondie abandons her uppercut face punches on me.  This is a stupid tactic by her, unless her hands are hurting her from her bonecrunching strikes.  Freed from the pain her fists were inflicting on my face and mouth, I am free to concentrate on our hairpulling as we toss each other around the gravel lot.  Our heads and faces are pressed together, our bodies stuck in their awkward standing jackknife positions.  People knock hairpulling in a catfight, but it's the best tactic I know to control an opponent's body position.

Blondi and I are hot and in pain, and we're waiting for our "second wind" to kick in.  This began as a test of abilities, but now we both want to hurt each other.  I realize this fight is going to end differently than my fights with Dawn. We whisper insults.

Bitch.

Fuck you blonde slut I'll kill you.

I'll fucking mess up that pretty face of yours.

I blush in pride at Blondie's attempted insult.  I've wondered for years now if Dawn thinks I'm pretty.  I think she is--prettier even than she was at 18.  Her dntire body is perfectly proportioned in a way that screams out "sex!".  But I'm afraid to say it.  I don't want her to think my turnon with her is about getting laid by her.  It's about fighting her, that's it.

If Barfly Blondie thinks I'm pretty, maybe Dawn thinks I am too. 

My second wind kicks in.  I pull Blondie down onto the ground.  I'm trying to mount her, but she fights with her feet and legs, desperately trying to stay on her side.  I see red, having and all-consuming desire to mount her and rain downward punches onto her face.  I  her writhing, her left breast and bra pop out of her coat, just like Dawn's did in 1987.  I grab on with my right hand, my left hand still in Blondie's hair and controlling Blondie's head.  I twist Blondie's breast in vicious torques, like I'm opening a jar.  Neither of us allowed our shrieks of pain to be audible when we were face punching, but Blondie is in full throated moaning mode now.  I lock my legs around her hips so she can't withdraw.  I twist.  Clockwise.  Counterclockwise.  Clockwise.  My nails break skin.  I twist ever more viciously.

My torturing of Blondie must have lasted two minutes tops, but that was long enough to learn two things.

One, Blondie begged me to stop, and I did.

Two.  I want my next fight with Dawn to be a breast mauling catfight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

2007 BREAST MAULING FIGHT WITH DAWN

In 2006 and 2007, cellphones began having the functionality to text pictures.  Dawn and I became addicted right away to texting each others pictures of our own breasts.  We would then sit alone for hours staring at the images, and then, when time and circumstances allowed, talking on the phone about what we wanted to do to them, to each other, the next time we fought.

Dawn and I spoke a lot about breast size, and about how she and I both wore 36c bras, even though the images of our breasts did not look the same, about how they hung from our naked chests in distinctly different ways.  Wd wondered if our comparable breast sizes helped to explain the enduring jntensity of our fight rivalry.    Dawn explained a disturbing experience of going to an outdoor birthday party of one of her daughters, and seeing one of her daughter's friend's mom in a tank top, her breasts bursting out of the tank top, five sizes bigger than the last time Dawn had seen her.  Dawn remembered how angry she was that the woman had had such exaggerated enhancement performed, and yet hurt that she had not informed Dawn about her procedure/s.  Dawn knew, standing in the lawn that day, that she could no longer be friends with that woman, as surely as if one married a husband of which the other did not approve.

I asked Dawn, I pried, into what her husband like doing to her breasts in bed.  She described him massaging them from behind when the two of them would spoon in bed, and then Dawn turning around and inviting him to kiss them.  I felt competitive with Dawn in these situations, triumphant at having tricked her into sharing the most intimate details of her married life.  I was relieved I had never met Dawn's husband, that he would not propsition me and force me to choose between having an affair with him or having Dawn as a fight friend.  I was using my fight conversations with Dawn as a substitute for actual dating and sex.  Just like my withdrawal from the workforce, as a divorce strategy, in 1999 now made it impossible for me to land a new job after an 8 year gap, so my lack of regular sex for so long clung to me like s stench--men could sense it, like dogs sensing fear.  It made it difficult for me to approach men around home in Framingham.  Even the ones who could look past my having two daughters.

I was thinking about my ex, David, a lot.  Everytime he and I would do a drop off with the girls, I wanted to proposition him.  The sex with him, and hurting his new wife Karen when they inevitably found out, both prospects exhilarated me.  David and Karen were such devout Catholics, I wallowed in the Schadenfraude when the Boston pedophile priests scandal hit in 2005/2006.  I found out from my daughters that David and Karen actually stopped going to Sunday Mass for awhile.  They were such devout Catholics, missing Mass used to be inconceivable to them.

I was jealous at Karen's infertility.  It allowed David and her to have unlimited unprotected sex.  Best of both worlds for the hypocritical bitch--not violating the Catholic Church "no condoms/no birth control" rule, but at the same time no fear of an unplanned pregnancy.  All sanctimonious and holier than though about it, when all Mother Nature had done was handed her a big ass loophole.

Dawn and I talked sometimes and me confronting Karen with her hypocrisy, and whether it would lead to a fight between her and me.  The thought of Karen and me fighting was a huge turnon to Dawn--shd thought if we ever did fight, one or both of us would get seriously hurt.  She told me she heard through remarried couples she knew that until the divorced wife was securely remarried, the new wife was always expecting a fight with the ex to happen.

Was Karen always expecting a fight with me?  Was that why I wasn't remarried?  Was that why I didn't speak up when David and Karen starting building a big-ass home, way more expensive than they could afford, at the peak of the mortgage bubble?  More on that later.

2007 came.  Dawn and I couldn't take the anticipation anymore--it was time to maul each others' breasts.  She decided, we decided, that Dawn should roleplay as Karen.  The fight would be Karen and me finally havinv our long-overdue new wife vs ex-wife catfight for supremacy.

We met in my bedroom a Saturday night in midwinter in February.  We climbed into my bed, and took our tops and bras off.  Our breasts were familiar to each other by now from texting, but it was nevertheless exhilarting to finally touch them.

To slap them.

To pinch them.

I don't know what I was expecting in the pain department, but what I felt was worse than anything I had felt before.  Dawn and I held nothing back, confident in privacy from my ever less lucid dad.  We called each other nasty bitches, Dawn playing the role of Karen, me playing myself.

Our nails dug into each others' breasts--side boob, under boob.  We squeezed and mauled and twisted, pushing each other through the pain like two partners running a triathlon together.  The pain was telling us to relent, but we didn't want to disappoint our partner, who was clearly wondering how far this would go.

We also knew that if we kept to our custom, we wouldn't bd fighting again for four years.

Four long, lonely years.

So we had to take advsntage of every available minute here, tonight, in my bed.  Torturing each others' breasts like a pair of sadistic prison wardens.

By now, we were laying on our sides on my bed, surprisingly exhausted not from fatigue but from pain.  I told Dawn/"Karen" to admit I was better in bed with David than she was.  Dawn/"Karen" said that if that was true, why was Dawn/"Karen" married but I was single.

Was Dawn taunting me in her Karen role?  Or was Dawn taunting me as herself?  We had forgotten to start tonight with a safe word, we both now realized.  I was genuinely angry with Dawn at this moment.  I was genuinely trying to hurt her breasts.  The dynamic between her and me was tense. 

We had achieved what we were both looking for--a fight more personal than all our others. 

How far would we take it tonight?

And in future fights?

"In 2011, when we fight, I want to scratch your pussy raw."

Game on.

To be continued.....

[catlover123456]

An awsumm fight...set up is too much exciting...please engage their daughters...and make the fight little long..i have just  become your huge fann...did u write any other story!!?