[sinclairfan]

2007-2011 INTRA-FIGHT WITH DAWN

For two whole years after our 2007 fight, Dawn and I actually did not text or talk much.  There were two reasons for this.

The first reason was that the housing market, both in the U.S. and in Eastern Massachusetts, crashed.  My ex-husband David and his new wife Karen got caught up in the carnage.  They were never clear with me if it was due to outright foreclosure or if they "mailed in their keys to the bank" voluntarily, but they abandoned their dream home while it was still under construction.  They were in a terrible fix financially and domestically, and I ended up seeing much more of my pre-teen daughters.  To show you how dire their straits were, David and Karen actually withdrew my two girls from the K thru 8 Catholic school they had been attending to save the $8,400 per year tuition cost.  I became a much more hands-on mom, helping with clothes and homework and tween-age drama.  Let me tell you, Middle School math and science are way more difficult than they were in my day.  My hands were less idle than they had been, and I had less time for trouble.

But there was also a second factor at play in my withdrawal from Dawn.  I found her roleplaying comment about my not being married during our last fight to be terribly inappropriate.  If she made the comment speaking as herself, it was arrogant and tone-deaf--after all, I could end her marriage with a snap of my fingers by revealing to Dawn's husband the 20 year "relationship" she had with me behind his back.  Alternatively, if Dawn was speaking as Karen, the comment terribly misunderstood both Karen's Catholic "wholesomeness", but also the bond Karen and I shared in raising our daughters.  We had gritted our teeth for a nearly and decade and worked our way thru the ex-/new-wife awkwardness, because we had two innocent girls who needed us to do that.  Dawn was a mother to two pre-teen daughters herself; why could she not see that?  Or maybe she could, and yet chose to sow discord anyways.

As 2009 turned into 2010, I assumed that Dawn and I were no longer speaking; that our friendship had run its course.  We were 41 years old now.  What was that I had heard St Paul say at Marian about putting away childish things?  Maybe it was time for Dawn and I to "put away" our every-four-year fights.

But then the internet happened.

In September 2009, my older daughter began 9th grade, and my parents' house got a long overdue technology upgrade, getting high speed wifi and a network of PCs and printers to support Framingham South High School requirements.  David installed it all, his EMC job partially making up for all the stock option financial losses it had inflicted on us all those years ago during our divorce.

One sleepless midwinter night a few months later, I was surfing the web, and "discovered" YouTube.  What a revelation:  Girls would get into fights at parking lots or parks or driveways or even school bathrooms, just like my friends and Dawn's friends had two decades ago.  But with a new modern twist: their friends would video record the fights on their cellphones, and then post the fights on YouTube for people, like me, apparently, to watch.  Over and over. 

I was hooked.  I pretty much gave up sleeping at night.  I would count the hours until 9:30pm when my girls would go to sleep for the night and I could start searching for fights to watch.  YouTube was in its infancy af the time and it could be clunky to navigate.  But I found all sorts of girlfights to soak my pajama bottoms clear thru to the surface of whatever chair or couch I was sitting on.  Fight after fight after fight.

One night, I learned how to "share" the link to a fight via email or text.

I sent a particular favorite of mine, Courtney vs Brittany, two Southern women in tank tops and jeans catfighting beside a pickup truck, to Dawn.  And waited.

To next night, she texted a link back, with the greeting "I like yours--check out this one I found".

Pretty soon, we were swapping back and forth a new fight almost every night.  But while YouTube had lots of "content", it wasn't limitless.  After about 6 weeks, we had run dry--literally and figuratively.  I made the first move:  "I miss your voice."  "I know, me too," Dawn responded.  The next day, we were on the phone, talking about fighting and listening to each other masturbate, like there had nevef been a three year gap.  Our bond was that strong.

One day not long thereafter, I brought up that 2011 was approaching quickly.

> Are we going to fight?

> How could we not?

> Scratching each others' pussies?

> How could we not?

> You're not.....afraid?

> A little bit.  Are you?

> Not of the fight.  I'm afraid of....afterwards.....will we still be friends?

>  <<<<Thinking>>> I hope so.  But I don't know.

>  Me too.

>  You, too...to which?  You hope we'll still be friends ....afterwards?  Or you don't know if we will be?

> Both.  I hope our friendship ..... survives....that.  But I don't know if it will.

> But you still want to do it?

>  More than anything.

>  I know.  Me too.

> Good.  Bitch.

> Bitch.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

2011 FIGHT WITH DAWN

Dawn and I didn't talk or text much leading up to our 2011 fight.  I thought we might text each other selfies of each others' pussies and bushes, much like we had texted each other pictures of our breasts leading up to our 2007 fight.  But for reasons I couldn't put my finger on, I would hesitate everytime I tried to hit "Send" on any of my texts.  I send one picture on my own, thin, trimmed bush, and received one from Dawn--hers was also thin with hair and with just regular-sized lips.  Neither of us had had C-sections in delivering our daughters, I noticed.  Was that a weird thing to notice, I wondered.  In breasts, I knew how I wanted mine to compare with Dawn's:  I wanted bigger nipples, and more definition in the borders versus the skin of my chest.  On our pussies and bush, I guess I wanted a thicker, fuller bush than Dawn, but both of us were surprising.....not.....very hairy...down there.  Was I disappointed in myself?  in her?  Is that why we stopped after one selfie? 

One secret, which we never discussed with each other, in Dawn and I being able to continue to fight each other, was that none of our fights ever ended with a decisive "winner" or "loser".  Even in our backyard fistfight, where I had knocked Dawn to the ground, Dawn had continued to fight from her back, kicking my hard in the legs and crotch with her boots.  So none of us ever entered the next fight seeking revenge or trying to even the score--it was just about the thrill of the fight.  What if someday the thrill itself wasn't enough?  What if someday it was just Dawn and me.....fighting.....until one of us won and one of us lost.  Would the winner want to fight in 2015?  Would the loser?  What if we stopped talking, like after our 2007 fight, except this time neither of us reached out? 

I began contemplating my life without Dawn in it.  After a seemingly endless childhood, my daughters were growing up fast, my oldest finishing her freshman year at Framingham South and already taller than me.  I remember noticing that my girls seemed to both be prettier than Dawn's two girls, but that also feeling like a taboo topic to discuss.  Dawn and I trusted each other that I wouldn't ruin her marriage, and were open about our YouTube girlfight addiction, and with each others' physical safety, but still had "no-go" zones we instinctively avoided.  It was like knowing each others' vulnerabilities and weaknesses was enough; we had no desire to exploit them.  Dawn's was her wallflower daughters; mine was my ex-husband's marriage to Karen.

Karen had lost face with me when David and her had had to abandon their dream home in 2008-2009.  They tried to keep up appearances for as long as they could, but when their car leases rolled over in 2010 and they couldn't qualify for a new loan and turned in their new Infiniti SUV (Karen--oh, how she loved looking down, literally, on everyone from high up in her SUV seat) and Acura (David) for used (oh, excuse me, certified pre-owned) Volvo's, the financial strain on their lives became harder to hide.  I remember delighting in watching the sanctimonious Karen lecturing me, when I had first met her, on all the virtues of leasing cars versus buying.  I threw that one in her face in 2011 when she and I had our first genuinely bitter argument over groundrules for my, our, oldest daughter dating.  I remember being alone in the kitchen of my parents' house with Karen, our argument gradually escalating, the realization gradually dawning (pun not intended, but apt) on me that if things got physical right now between us, there would be no one to break us up.  We eventually cooled it, but for the first time I started wondering:  was it true?  if I stayed single, would Karen and I eventually fight?  Was I subconsciously staying single to bait Karen, to have that source of tension in my life?  Did that irritate Karen?  Did it irritate the still-happily-married Dawn?

If I lost Dawn as an "outlet", as an escape, which way would my life go.  Would I needle, needle, needle Karen until we fought over David?  Or would I finally date a man and remarry?  Which did I want?  Either?  Neither?  Did I just want to keep fighting Dawn?

In July 2011, my daughters were away at different sports camps, and Dawn drove up from Connecticut and stayed at her mom's.  We met in Dawn's bedroom one night and met in 2-piece lingerie we had agreed on, but with disappointly less pre-planning than our prior fights.  We immediately removed the bottoms, but left the tops on. Our 2007 breast mauling fight had also been in bed, and we had spent most of that one laying side-by-side facing each other.  We attempted the same position for this fight, but quickly realized it was difficult to "get at" each other.  (And, believe me, we were both frisky and ready to begin the serious scratching.)

By trial and error, we knelt on the bed, faced each other, and found the optimal spacing and leaning position, and the optimal separation of our knees, and the optimal hair-grabbing position of our left hands, to give our right hands optimal unfettered access to scratch each others' pussies.  It was awkward as hell, my 42 year old body not as flexible as it used to be.  But we looked at each other, realizing we had found the best position for the style of fight we were both craving.

There followed a surprisingly tense few minutes of....nothing....well, not nothing.  We were both ready, our hands....our fingers....our nails....flush on each others' moist-but-not soaked pussies.  We were each waiting for the other to make the first move.  Well, not the first move....we were both already probing the other for the most vulnerable spot to strike.  We were, I think, daring the other to lob an insult, to bait the other.  My mind kept flashing back to my heated verbal argument in the kitchen that day with Karen.  Should Dawn and I start arguing before we fight?  While we fight?  Will that enhance the excitement of the fight?  Or would a fake argument break the mood?  Why not just fight?

Our foreheads, already closed, touched.  Our right arms were pointed downwards, leaving our right shoulders bare to each others' faces, and I could smell Dawn's freshly-showered neck, as I assume she could smell mine.  With our right hands still aggressively pressed against each others' pussies, we began aggressively kissing each others' right shoulder, neck, and collarbone.

I had never kissed Dawn before, and we had never talked about it.  I had kissed other women maybe three or four times during my Fitchburg State sleeping-around-slut phase, but more just "going along" in the moment, and never really enjoying it.  Is that what I was doing now?  just going with the flow because Dawn had started it?  Or did I want this, did I enjoy this?

I kept waiting for our kissing to become mouth on mouth, for Dawn to back her head up and move her mouth to mine.  I didn't want that enough to make the first move myself, but wouldn't have resisted if she had done it to me.

But she didn't.  Why wasn't she kissing me on the mouth?  Was she wondering why I wasn't kissing her on the mouth?

Who the fuck has a first kiss after 24 years and doesn't do it on the mouth?

I thought back to my verbal fight with Karen, when I lashed out at her over her broken finances and downsizing her car, knowing it would hurt her.  I paused in kissing Dawn's shoulders and I came up with the only thing I could think to say to hurt her.

> My older daughter is prettier than yours.

Dawn replied instantly.

> She's not, and mine can kick the shit out of yours in a fight.

Our pussies were no longer just moderately wet; they were actually dripping down in inner thighs, and in so doing were echoing the menacing words our mouths had just exchanged.

Just as, for 3 years from 2007 to 2010, Dawn and I had rarely spoken, but reconnected only to find that we were both pursuing a YouTube girlfight addiction, so, now, we broke an extended silence only to find our minds were again on the same wavelength.

We had both noticed our daughters were growing up.

And, in our minds, we were pairing them off.

The juvenile shoulder-and-neck kissing we had been engaged in suddenly seemed insufficient for the moment.

We resumed our separated crouch.  We looked in each others' eyes in anger.

And out hands went from tentative pressing to full-on, vicious digging.  The curiosity of what it would feel like to have a pussy scratched and clawed by a determined adversary disappeared in an instant; spoiler alert--it hurts.  And it makes you angry.  Angry enough to scratch and claw back five times harder.

Dawn and I continued on the bed, in the same crouching position, digging harder with our right hand, while holding each other close with our left, knowing retreat was useless as it would not be allowed.  We experimented with different tactics, seeing if pinching  or pulling or scratching was more effective, more painful.  Seeing which was worse--working a single spot for a prolonged period, or spreading the pain.  They were all painful to receive, just in different ways, I decided.

I also decided I was glad I hadn't kissed Dawn on the lips.  We had bared everything to each other over the years--I was glad we would always have at least that one layer of separation between us.  That was something to prize and to keep as much as our friendship was.

I'd love to be able to tell you that we were adrenaline-fueled superwomen that night, that our competitive juices pushed us into a four hour scratching marathon that left us shredded and satiated.

And maybe two women with a genuine grudge, like Rita and Laurie, or even Karen and me, can keep going like that until one or both are maimed.

Make no mistake, what Dawn and I did to each other that night took all summer to heal.

But like all our fights, it ended in a sensible draw.  We had checked off an item on our fight bucket list, but hsd stopped before we ruined the good thing we had going.

And, like all our fights, we had already mentally and emotionally "moved on" to the next one.

Which, we both knew, woildn't be between us.

It would be between our daughters.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

2012  DEBBIE VERSUS KAREN

At the start of 2012, my older daughter Kylie was a senior at Framingham South.  She started clashing a lot more with her stepmom Karen, who was also clashing a lot more with me.  I think Karen and my ex-husband David had hit a rough patch at home, in the bedroom and out, and my continued persistance in staying single was being scapegoated by Karen as a provocation to her and her marriage.  Honestly, I think Karen assumed I was bi or a lesbian, but that I was too afraid to come out of the closet with a regular partner.  In a way, her women's instincts were close--I was in a long term "relationship" with Dawn, but it was not romantic; it was strictly for the every-four-years fights.  Either involving us, or, starting in 2015, our daughters. 

We were already laying the foundation for 2015 by "introducing" our older daughters to each other by showing them each others' pictures.  Kylie (mine), meet Sydney (Dawn's).  Sydney, meet Kylie.  Don't like each other?  Good.  Hold that thought till 2015, Kylie, when Sydney will be 18.

Kylie would always be welcome to drop by my parents' place for a few hours.  That particular winter, my parents had discovered Arizona, and decided they liked winter there more than in Massachusetts.  So I was alone more often, David and Karen were arguing more frequently, so Kylie started coming to stay with me more, even bringing toiletries and changes of clothes.  Plus, I needed help keeping my place shovelled.  Win/win/win, right?

Not in Karen's opinion.  The spark that caused a major clash between us, one I was not seeking but from which I wasn't retreating either, was over Kylie informing us where she was staying each night, especially weekend nights.  Karen wanted to enforce a rule thst Kylie had to inform Karen where she was sleeping every night.  I wanted my place to have a permanent exception for Kylie from Karen's informed consent rule.  Karen refused.  It was an open sore we weren't resolving.

And while I wasn't going to be an insubordinate ex and tell Kylie to defy her stepmom, I wasn't going to be bossed around by Karen either.  Given the housing market debacle David and Karen had suffered, they now appeared to be stuck in the Framingham area for the long term, so the three of us would be seeing a lot of each other as we eased into middle age.  It was important for me to not establish a precedent of being bossed by Karen, even on issues where her position was possibly right in part, since she would no doubt extend it to other aspects of our interactions.

The toxic atmosphere between Karen and me finally erupted, like a volcano, one Saturday night in February 2012.  Kylie and I were having a movie night, and Karen came over, loaded for bear, with red wine on her breath, which she insisted was from Communion at Saturday evening Mass.  Karen demanded to know if Kylie was planning on staying the night with me.  Kylie sarcastically (and, I admit, disrespectfully) responded, "If you're going to be a drunken hag like this, yes."

I stifled a chuckle, and I think Karen (erroneously) assumed Kylie and I had been talking trash about Karen.

It was on, now, between Karen and me.  Karen started removing her jewelry.

> You know, what, Debbie.  I've put up with your shit for 10 years now, with David, with Kylie, with me.  You and I are going to have it out, right now.  Kylie, can you leave you mom and I alone for a few minutes?  Please?

> Mom?  Do you want me to stay?  Go in the other room?

The tension between Karen and me had escalated out of no where, but I had no inclination to defuse it.  I was positive I had been in way, way more fights than Karen.  But I had another, hidden agenda.

I was starting to feel qualms about asking Kylie to fight Dawn's daughter Sydney, for my (and Dawn's) viewing pleasure, three years hence.  But here, presented practically on a silver platter, was my "in".  Kylie would watch me fight in 2012.  And I would watch Kylie fight in 2015.

> Stick around, Kylie.  Watch and learn.

> You can't be serious, Debbie, letting your child watch a catfight.

> She's not a child, Karen.  She's 18.  Time she learned how women deal with bitches like you.

> [Karen continues to strip off jewelry and clothing.  I do the same, and play back her words in my mind.  Did she just say we were going to catfight?  Is this real?  My blood rushes with excitement.]  Fine.  Let's do this, bitch.  Kylie, be ready to call an ambulance.

Karen approached me, and I motioned for her to take the first hit, as I was genuinely curious if her bravado was real or an act.  Big mistake. 

Karen slapped me, viciously hard, square in the mouth.  She followed immediately with combinations of slaps, and blocked my inadequate responses.  She grabbed my hair and rained slaps and face rakes of me, while blocking of dodging every increasingly angry swing of mine.

Shit, this bitch could actually fight, after all.  Eithrr she was some kind of catfighting prodigy, or she had actually been in fights.  I should have known.   Growing up in mid-1980s Framingham, even if she had never been a combatant herself, our girl gangsta-wannabe custom of moving in packs of 4 and confronting each other made it difficult, even for a "good girl" like Karen, to escape early adulthood with at least a few fight notches under your belt.

But now it was Karen's turn to get cocky.  The opening flurry she had laid on me would have broken the typical 43 year old divorced Massachusetts housewife.  But Karen had no way of knowing that, in one way at least, I was quite atypical.  MY catfights had continued deep into adulthood.  And I had built up quite a toolbox.

Firstly, endurance.  Taking 10 slaps to the face was nothing to me.  Hit me 50, maybe 60 times, unanswered, and we can talk.  But 10 slaps?  Pfffft!

Secondly, hairpulling.  Karen knew how to grab mine.  I knew how to yank hers out by the fucking roots.  And I proceeded to do so.

And, finally, breasts and crotch.  Young woman catfights, even between two motivated fighters like Rita and Laurie, rarely "went there".  Middle aged catfights went there, and I hit first.  And Karen wasn't ready for THAT.

When you twist a woman's nipples and claw her pussy, you can tell right away if she's ever been in that kind of catfight before.  Karen hadn't.

I actually stretched out the ending.  To give Kylie her money's worth.

But not so long that she needed to obey Karen's command to be ready to call an ambulance.  In fact, I stuck my face in Karen's face and taunted her with that one.  "Oh, Kylie, quick!  Karen is hurting me sssooo bbbaaaaddd.  Tell that ambulance to get here right away."

Karen wouldn't be bugging me or Kylie anytime soon.

Later, I texted Dawn that Kylie had witnessed her first real catfight, and perhaps Dawn should consider letting Sydney see one.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

PARTYING WITH KYLIE

My thrashing of Karen in front of Kylie, in combination with Kylie approaching her high school graduation, unleashed a spring-and-summer long partying bender amongst Kylie, her friends, and me.  With my parents essentially moving to Arizona, Kylie moved in with me, and out of David and Karen's house, initially to keep me company.

But as Kylie gradually began inviting her circle of girlfriends and boyfriends over, and I became known as "Kylie's Fun Mom", my Fitchburg State slut persona came back.  I introduced Kylie's underage girlfriends to red wine.  And I introduced Kylie's boyfriends to MILF sex.  I started having sex, and a lot of it, nearly everyday.  And it was never enough for me, as I would build up a list of cellphone contacts to Snapchat with during school hours, or from 1am to 6am weekdays, when it would be courting trouble with Kylie's friends' parents to have the 18 year olds over, especially the one's who were barely holding down D's in senior Zoology and jeopardizing their high school diploma.  It wasn't unusual on certain weeknights for me to have 5 Snapchat sexting conversations going at once.  Some of Kylie's boyfriends seemed to prefer sexting to actual sex.  But I accomodated both.

Most of the sex was admittedly terrible, but what it lacked in quality I was making up for in quantity.

With the Framingham South boys, or at least the one's Kylie hung out with, getting all they could handle (and, in some cases, even more) from me, Kylie and her girlfriends were free to indulge in drinking games and gossiping in my parents' finished basement.  I rationalized the permissible environment I was cultivating with the observation, which was mostly true, that Kylie's girlfriends seemed to not indulge in pot, or worse, painkillers and other pills that I had read about taking such a toll on teenagers in neighboring towns, when they knew the red wine would be flowing freely.  In fact, as time progressed and they learned their limits, most would voluntarily cut themselves off at a certain point in the evening.

Now, my moral compass wasn't so broken that I didn't realize my behavior to have an element of irresponsibility to it.  But I couldn't deny the girls, and myself, because I was bonding with Kylie like never before in my life.

And because the girls, Kylie, and I started talking about catfighting.

The conversations started going in that direction gradually.  The girls would mention fights that had happened at Framingham South, on or off campus.  Shoppers World was now an open air outlet-type mall rather than the enclosed mall of my youth, but girls who wanted to badly enough still figured out ways to get into fights there, often against girls from the neighboring town of Natick.

One night, Kylie and I confided to the girls my catfight with Karen, while Kylie watched.  The girls listened with rapt attention as I described our escalating feud, our argument, Karen's challenge to me, and our fight.  The girls squealed in delight as I described the "no holds barred", "below the belt" blows which were exchanged, something none of them had ever witnessed, or indulged in, in any of their fights to date.

As uninhibited as my recent behavior had become, I drew the line at mentioning Dawn or Sydney by name.  I didn't want our conversation to spin out of control and for Kylie vs Sydney to come to fruition prematurely.  I was saving that one for Dawn and me, and not until 2015.  That treat was for us alone.  I knew that spilling too much detail about Sydney would cause the girls to look her her on Facebook and for Kylie to then start baiting her. 

When conversation wasn't enough, we'd watch fights on YouTube.  I had had empty feeling, though, as the better brawls from the "early days" started getting pulled.  Apparently YouTube was now so popular that the "stsrs" of YouTube fights were finding it interfered with important day to day stuff like, oh, you know, getting into college and getting a job.  I lamented the loss of the way things used to be in the Wild West days of YouTube, but took solace in apparently not being the only person who had found it.

When Kylie's graduation came and went, so did the sex and drinking and catfight rap sessions.  Kylie's friends, and Kylie, went to college.  But Kylie came home with me during breaks, cutting herself off almost completely from David and Karen.

2015 was coming.

I asked Dawn if Sydney was ready.

She asked me if Kylie was ready.

We would soon find out.

To be continued.....

[catlover123456]

Heyy why not give the next part....its a great storyyy waiting for next part...

[sinclairfan]

BONDING WITH KYLIE

As Kylie's 2015 fight with Sydney got closer and closer, I thought of a devious scheme to up the estrogen flowing thru Kylie's veins.  I started sleeping with my ex-husband David.

Kylie never was much of a scholar in college, and by the spring of 2014 she had stopped attending and was living with me pretty much full time--she realized she could read Shakespeare and Dickinson and Edith Wharton on her own at home without writing $18,000 tuition checks for the privilege.  Her dad, my ex-husband David, took a buyout at EMC when they were taken over by Dell.  David needed a new purpose in life after a long career at EMC.  His new purpose was discovering Viagra and fucking me. 

I enjoyed becoming reacquainted with David.  But I enjoyed even more the effect it had on Kylie.  Kylie had seen me kick Karen's ass a couple of years ago, and saw how Karen had to shut up and take it when David decided he missed me, Karen's rival.   Kylie saw me taking Karen's money and fucking her man, all because I was a better fighter than Karen.

Kylie started seeing the possibilities open to her if she could become a capable fighter.  She had no particular rival at the moment, but no doubt would in the future.  She wants to hone her fight skills now in anticipation of fights in the future.  She wants to get experience under her belt against Sydney.

Sydney would be 18 in 2015, while Kylie would be 21.  The three-year offset in age was perfect--Kylie would be motivated to win the fight, not just have a draw.  There was no way to honorably draw against a teenager when you were 21.  Dawn and I wouldn't want to watch a draw.

Dawn.

Dawn and I hadn't chatted much since she kissed me in 2011....on the neck.  What was that all about.  Did Dawn want to kiss me or not?  WTF??  Did she think a kiss on the lips was cheating on her husband.  I think we're way past that point, dontchya hun?  You and I have had a secret relationship since 1987.  If you haven't told him about us yet, I'm pretty sure you never will.  How does kissing me on the neck instead of the lips preserve your chasteness?

But Dawn does let me know one thing.  She's going to have Sydney ready for a fight in 2015.  Kylie need not go easy on Sydney, and Sydney damn well won't go easy on Kylie.  Dawn and I can't wait to watch them fight.

I spend lots of time wondering:  as Dawn and I watch Kylie and Sydney fight, will we watch separately from opposite corners of the room?  Or will we be touching?  Will Dawn be kissing my neck this time?  Or will she finally kiss me on the mouth? 

Or....should I take the initiative and kiss Dawn on the mouth?  Did she want me to do that in 2011?  Why is this so hard for Dawn and I to discuss?  If I remarried David, and wasn't a threat to break up her marriage, would she and I be able to talk more freely?  Or would she be upset with me for remarrying?

Kylie loves it when David comes over.  She loves that David doesn't give a shit what Karen thinks about him fucking me.  Kylie isn't even embarrassed by her divorced parents fucking in the same house she's living in.  Kylie wants to someday do to some rival what I'm doing to Karen--to fuck her man and take his money.

She wants to kick the shit out of Sydney when they fight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

WHAT TO WEAR, WHAT TO WEAR

For the final four months leading up to the fight, Kylie and I spend virtually all of our time preparing Kylie's fight appearance--her hair and her clothes for fight day, which will be New Years Day, 2015.  Although the relationship between Dawn and I is strained and our communications remain awkward, one thing we are in perfect agreement on is that we can't bear to wait one day longer than necessary to watch Kylie and Sydney have at each other.

On hair, Kylie lets her sandy blonde hair grow out.  When she was in high school and her hair started approaching her waist, it would start to thin out and take on a stringy appearance.  But one adulthood has done wonders for for the body and fullness of her hair, and she now has a thick, shiny, straight, full mane that takes almost a full half hour of hair dryer time every morning.  Kylie notices how the boys and girls that stop by our house can't take their eyes off her hair.  I notice what an inviting target it will be for Sydney in their fight.  Via texts with Dawn, I make sure that Sydney is growing out her auburn/burgundy hair; she is.

Clothes:  Kylie and I spend hours on Google, mostly Pinterest, looking for a sexy fight top.  We start off looking for a silky shirt or one-piece top of some sort, picturing Kylie and Sydney pressed up against the wall, their shiny tops sliding against each other, then the better fighter gradually tearing the other's top to shreds.  We get horny looking at the models in the clothes, and Kylie shows me the internet hookup site Tinder.  Tinder today is riddled with fake accounts and people who just post their pics for affirmation that they're fuckable, but in late 2014 it was a genuine, highly effective way to find hookup sex with just about any "type" of guy within, say, 3 to 6 hours.

And, if I was so horny from clothes shopping with Kylie that I couldn't wait that long, there was always David.  If I called his place and Karen answered, so much the better.  Sure, the conversation would start with her giving me attitude and asking why I was calling.  But then after 2 or 3 minutes of her and I bickering, I'd tell her I was in the mood for some alone time with David, and since I had his cell, the only thing that was going to stop it would be if Karen came over herself and she and I had a rematch of our 2012 fight.  Kylie would thrill to the possibility of witnessing another real mom-versus-stepmom bitchfight....and Karen would fail to deliver.  She didn't take me up on my challenge.  She would come up with some excuse every time, some event where a scratched up face wouldn't be acceptable.  I had to admit she was partially right--if Karen and I fought again, I would undoubtedly shred her face with my nails.  But after Karen would hang up, Kylie and I would be at 10 out of 10 on the horniness scale.  She would get relief from Tinder sex or hookup sex from one of her fuck buddies, I would get relief from Tinder sex or David sex, and then Kylie and I would resume our internet catalog search for fight clothes.

We avoided choosing it for a long time because it's so cliche, but we were inevitably drawn to leather for the fight.  Not leather pants--they looked great, but didn't seem practical for a long, sweaty fight.  No, we were drawn to leather biker jackets over a plain white top, with a short leather mini skirt and leather boots.  The jacket, because it looked damn sexy.  The white top, to serve as a background for smeared blood.  The mini skirt, to allow facesitting for the fight coup-de-grace.  The boots for kicking during the ground action.

We found what we wanted on the net, and drove to a biker shop in Mendon to buy the right size.  We told the salesgirl wd were purchasing them for a catfight.  She looked at us to see if we were pulling her leg, then found a set that was sturdy but flexible on Kylie, then gave us her number and made us promise to tell her the outcome of the fight.  We told her we'd text her pics of Sydney after Kylie was thru with her.

Kylie put the outfit on at home, and I texted her pic to Dawn.  Dawn and Sydney went out shopping 3 days later, buying a similar outfit, just with slightly different colors so that when Kylie and Sydney tangled on the floor, Dawn and I would be able to tell who was who.  We forbade Kylie and Sydney from contacting each other before the scheduled fight day.  I disallowed Kylie from bringing her cellphone into her bedroom.  She protested, but knew I was right.  Kylie and Sydney wanted to fight NOW.

But Dawn and I successfully held them back until January 1, 2015.

We met at a hotel halfway between us in Providence.  Kylie and I rented a suite and cleared a large living room space.  Kylie and I put on her leather gear.  She looked sexier than I'd ever seen her.  I told her I was proud of her. 

And that Dawn and I were very competitive.

"Competitive like with Karen?," she asked.

"I used to think no.  But things change.  I haven't seen her for four years.  I'll only know when I see her."

"Do what you need to do.  But let Sydney and me finish first."

"I promise."

To be continued.....

[Tigressel]

Fantastic and awesome story series. One of the best I have ever read. Can't wait to read the rest.

[catlover123456]

Just fantasticcc...cantt waitttt...and plzz make it largerrr largerr...

[sinclairfan]

KYLIE VERSUS SYDNEY

Kylie and I waited in our hotel suite for Sydney and Dawn to arrive.  We had decided on a 8:30pm fight time--late enough that hotel staff would have completed their final bed checks for the night, but not so late that any noises coming from the fight would attract attention.

Except that it was now 8:50, and Sydney and Dawn hadn't arrived yet.  For all of 1987 to 2011 fights between Dawn and me, Dawn was always punctual, to the minute.  Part of me hoped the fashionably late arrival idea was Sydney's:  it would signal that she had a little edge in her, and that Kylie would need to step up her game in tonight's fight.

Kylie knew that I had grown up with Dawn in Framingham, but didn't ask me further questions about our relationship.  As best I could tell, she didn't know about our 1987 to 2011 fights.  The only fight of mine that Kylie knew about for sure was my 2012 fight against her stepmom Karen.  But Kylie must have been able to tell that that wasn't my first fight.  Where, and when, did she think I had learned to fight like that?

I told Kylie that Sydney was playing games by being late.  To keep her focus.  To concentrate on Sydney during the fight.  To ignore whatever Dawn and I might be doing.

Dawn and I might ignore each other.

Dawn and I might fight.

Dawn and I might kiss.  Moms do unpredictable things when their daughters are fighting.  Kylie's job was to take care of business with Sydney.

If Dawn and I kiss, it doesn't mean I'm coming out of the closet.  I love your father David.  I like being with the boys your age who you bring to our house.  You bring spectacularly beautiful girls your age to our house, but I've never brought one to my bedroom--not once, not a single time.  I'm straight.  If I kiss Dawn tonight, it's our realeasing ourselves from the sight of you and Sydney fighting.  Try and not worry about Dawn and me.  Worry sbout you and Sydney.  Does that make sense, Kylie honey?, I ask her.

She says it does.  She describes watching my fight with her stepmom Karen.  She says she enjoyed every second of it.  But that the only thing that could have made it better would have been watching it with another woman.  Touching and caressing that woman as Karen and I fought.  And then kissing her.  Kylie tells me her only girl kisses have been at sleepovers, and even those weren't motivated by bi-curiosity, but as part of "practicing" for the right and wrong ways to kiss boys.  But, for the first time, when I was fighting Karen, Kylie wished there was a girl there to kiss.  Not for practice;  a real girl-kiss.

I tell Kylie I'm happy for the bonding time with her, but that I'm pissed at the stunt those two bitches Dawn and Sydney are pulling by being an hour late.  I tell them I'm pulling one back. 

I strip.

When those 2 bitches arrive in the room, let them get a look at my naked body.  Then let Dawn decide will happen between me and her during the Kylie-Sydney fight.

It's 9:30pm.  There's a knock at the door.  I say, "It's open, cxnts."

Sydney, in full biker gear, walks in first. 

> 9:30.  Just like we agreed, right, bitches?

Kylie gets right in her face.

> You know we agreed on 8:30, you lying chickenshit slut.

Dawn, in white tank top and blue jeans, locks the door and scooches next to me on the couch.

> Stripped like the slut you are, huh, Deb honey?  Good.  Easier for me to get at you.

Dawn and I start catfighting on the couch.

I see, and hear, Kylie and Sydney in a slapping, hairpulling catball on the floor.

Dawn and I stop fighting.  We are transfixed by the violence of our daughters kicking and slapping on the carpet.  Is this energy coming from Dawn and I baiting them?  Or would they be doing this anyways, even without our prompting?

I'm hyper-aware of my nakedness.  I guide Dawn's hand into my pussy.

> "Finger fuck me, Dawn."

> "I've always wanted to Debbie"

> "Then why didn't you?"

> "Will this distract your daughter from fighting Sydney??"

> "No, I told her to ignore us."

> "But I don't want go miss their fight."

> "Then don't.  Watch their fight.  But finger fuck me, too."

> "I am.  Can you feel it?  Do you like it??"

> " Yes.  But harder, Dawn.  Do it harder."

> "Can I kiss you, too??"

> "Stop asking.  Just do it"

Dawn and I are kissing, on the mouth, and finger fucking.

Sydney and Kylie are fighting, their noses busted open, red stains on their white shirts.

Heaven.

To be continued.....

[Vanessa]

So fucking hot. Don?t stop now hon

[sinclairfan]

KYLIE/SYDNEY AFTERMATH

Dawn and I hadn't planned to orgasm as quickly as we did during Kylie and Sydney's first fight, but it was a good thing we did, because that fight ended up being like Thomas Hobbes' description of human life, pre-Enlightenment:  nasty, brutish, and short.

Almost immediately after Dawn and I climaxed from our deep tongue kissing and our mutual finger penetration, we noticed widening blots of burgundy on the white shirts of both of our daughters, underneath their leather jackets.  We leaned forward on our couch trying to determine if one or both of the fighters was the source if the blood, and from which part(s) of their bodies were wounded.  Blood began to appear under each of their noses, with their waist-length hair flying in every direction, it was not immediately evident if their faces were getting blood-stained by their shirts, or their shirts by their faces.

The ill-considered selection of a hotel suite as the fight venue soon revealed itself as well.  Blood droplets were beginning to splash and smear on the light grey hotel carpet.  Hotels would be lenient about stains on New Year's weekend, but more than an incidental amount of human blood would invite unwanted questions, and Dawn and I had already allowed the fight to continue beyond that point.  I was officially worried about whst was transpiring before our eyes, and the ramifications for myself as the suite payor.

> Dawn, do you think we should stop them? Ya know, like wipe them down and then have round two??

> Awww, c'mon, Debbie Downer.  You just said you told Kylie to let me and you alone.  Plus, they're big girls now.  Or at least I know mine is.

> Ok, Dawn, it's not about that.  Kylie is givin' all she's gettin' plus more and you know it.  But don't ya think this will be...even better...if we let them cool down.

> Debbie, they'll know when they're done.  You and I always know when is when.

> That's the thing, Dawn.  I don't think they'll know.  They haven't built up the...trust...with each other that you and I have.

> But, Deb.....

> [Blood is now smeared and caked in half of Kylie's hair, and panic is setting in.]  Shit, Dawn, enough.  Help me break them up or I'm calling this.

I spring up and throw my still-naked between the two ferociously entangled fighters, getting a face and chestful of nails and boot heels, and realizing for the first time how difficult it is to get a grip on a struggling girl in a leather coat.  Shit, no wonder they went for each others' faces the whole fight--it was the only vulnerable spot on their upper bodies.  Is this why biker chicks wear leather coats?

Separated finally, Kylie and Sydney hiss angry threats and counterclaims.

> You're lucky your mama ran and helped you baby girl.

> Oh fuck you I was winning.

> Fuck that look in the mirror dumbass.

> Cuz what cuz you bled all over me whore?

I got Kylie to stop talking by holding a hotel towel to her nose and mouth.  It took 5 or 6 wipss for me to get down to skin to see what the heck was up with her face, and her claim appeared correct.  Little if any blood was coming from her nose or mouth.  I looked over at Dawn and Sydney, and hissed, more accusingly than I meant for it to sound,

> Kylie is right, Dawn.  You count the teeth in Sydney's mouth.

Dawn must not have appreciated my tone, because the woman with whom I had just made love not 3 minutes ago snapped back:

> Oh, fuck you, Deb.  Stop thinking Kylie's so bad ass before I let Sydney at her again.

> Dawn, I'm genuinely concerned for Sydney.  If you are too you need to find out if she bleeding from her mouth or her nose and get it stopped.

Dawn handed the towel she was holding to Sydney, and turned and strutted to confront me nose-to-nose.

> It's her nose, ok, Debbie Dumbass?  And fuck you for implying I'm not concerned about my daughter.  If you and your daughter are so tough, show me in thst round 2 you promised me.

> Dawn, if Sydney can't stop her nose from bleeding, there's no round two.  I'll at least get billed for the damages in the room, and worse for allowing it to happen.  Syd, do you remember what happened to your nose?

> Hell ya your pussy daughter kicked me with her boot.

Several parts of my body were sporting boot heel marks from just 5 to 10 seconds between the girls, so I knew what Sydney was claiming was likely true.

I also knew in my heart that there would be no round 2 tonight.  I was disappointed, but even more disappointed in Dawn's....immaturity.  I was tonight's host, and as had the privilege of exercising my adult judgment in my stewardship over the fight venue, and I couldn't allow blood to draw outside attention to us.  To myself.  And for Dawn not to trust my judgment was another disappointment.

I was as curious as her to see where the Kylie-Sydney battle would have gone.  But the choices in the timing for that were:  another time, or not at all.  And Dawn, by her behavior, was voting for "not at all".

Kylie and Sydney's adrenaline rush had turned to an adrenaline crash.  Both realized how their entire bodies were aching.

Dawn hissed at me:

> Hope you're proud bitch.  Thanks for ruining a perfectly fine evening.

> Fuck you Dawn.  The evening would have been ruined if I hadn't stepped up.

> Fuck you.  I should have never kissed you.

Dawn and Sydney left the room.

I tended to Kylie.

> You won that fight in my book, babe.

> Thanks.  But I have a question.

> What's that Kylie?

> I'm already thinking of fighting them again.  Is that....weird?

> Not weird.  But let me handle it.  Promise?

> [thinking]

> Kylie, promise me.  Let me handle contacting them.  Promise??

> I'll try.

> That wasn't what I asked.

> I know.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

EX-SEX WITH DAVID

The 2015 New Years' Day Kylie-Sydney fight had gone horribly wrong, and even a small amount of deliberation and introspection told me why.  I had fallen into a habit of having less and less verbal communication with Dawn about my needs and desires from our fringe fighting relationship, and that lack of communication had carried over into my relationship with my own older daughter.  I had never spoken directly to Kylie about fighting Sydney; never asked if she wanted to fight her, never asked about what rules she wanted for the fight.  My fear of the two girls contacting each other and arranging to fight without my getting to watch had resulted in a chaotic draw-by-accidental-cut, with neither girl satisfied in their having established a pecking order, and with Dawn and I sniping at each others' parenting.

Three things were needed for redress, in reverse order:
<3> A heart-to-heart with Dawn,
<2> A heart-to-heart with Kylie, and
<1> Ex-sex with my ex-husband David.

The timing was ideal for <1>.  David's wife Karen's birthday was January 5, so I seduced him with an offer of no-strings nooner sex on January 4.  David's frequent sex romps with me had gotten him to "ask his doctor" about Viagra, and the doctor's answer was yes.  On January 4, I invited David to fuck every fold on the exterior of my body, and he came frequently on my face, on my tits, and in my hair.  I wouldn't get my hair completely clean, I knew, for 2 or 3 days, but rubbing my scent all over his body for Karen's birthday was totally worth it.  If the bitch wasn't woman enough to challenge me to a rematch 3 years after I beat her, I could hardly be blamed for any consequences she bore.

David's cock was such a turnon to me.  I loved the feeling of it touching my skin, throbbing inside my grip, his hot cum shooting on me.  I set a goal for myself to have more sex with David after our divorce than before it.  Ex-sex was guilt free in that we didn't feel an obligation to be balanced in who wss pleasuring who--whoever was more horny could satisfy themselves as needed.  Neither of us was "keeping score".  Just fucking and getting off.

I let myself sweat on David so that Karen would smell it tomorrow when she was getting her birthday fuck from David.  I knew she was getting it because I used to gdt it from him on my birthday.

The next day, I told Kylie we needed to talk.

> I don't like how Dawn tried to drive a wedge between you and me during your fight with Sydney.

> I don't like how you tried and protect Sydney.

> She was bleeding like a stuck pig.  It was getting all over the carpet.

> It was getting on me, not the carpet.

> That turned you on?

> Little bit.

> Why do you hate her so much?

> Why do you like her so much?

> I don't, and how's that an answer?

> Her mom wanted to let the fight keep going.

> Her mom isn't always right.

> Her mom isn't always wrong.

To be continued....

[catlover123456]

How you write so hottt..awsumm...plzzzz make the rematch urgent...and give them a long fight

[sinclairfan]

CHATTING WITH SYDNEY

In January 2015, all of my close personal relationships were in a shambles.

My friendship with Dawn was very strained.  A catfight we had arranged between our daughters had ended awkwardly and inconclusively.  Dawn and I had kissed and had sex with each other for the first time, but we hsd no discussion of what it meant.

My relationship with my daughter Kylie was strained.  She felt I had put my finger on the scales for Sydney during the Kylie-Sydney fight, and was giving me the cold shoulder.  She was spending more time with her stepmom Karen, knowing that Karen and I loathed each other.

I tried to forget my troubles by allowing my ex-husband David to have his way with me.  But this had made our sex turn from exciting and fulfilling to empty and tawdry.  Or, empty and tawdry to me.  The respect David formally seemed to show me had disappeared like dust in the wind, and I was uncertain if we could recapture it.  I was clearly, at best, David's sidechick.  His new wife Karen was his main squeeze.  I had stayed single for almost 20 years and wasted my best chance to find a quality second husband.

Out of ideas of how to proceed, fortune intervened one day when I received a Snapchat message from Dawn's daughter Sydney.  I reacted cautiously, expected I was being set up by Dawn and/or Kylie as proof that I had favored Sydney over Kylie in New Year's Night.  But I gave into temptation, partially out of loneliness, and partially to check that Sydney was ok after the fight.

Sydney and I began chatting.  At first the exchanges were seemingly friendly, but they quickly turned hostile, as Sydney accused me of purposely embarrassing her by ending a fight which wasn't over with.  I defended myself by explaining that she was bleeding, but we then bickered over who got to decide on a truce during such circumstances--the spectators, or the participants.

Snapchat messages delete themselves after being sent, so I was never able to establish who our relationship deteriorated so rapidly and completely, but before I knew it, Sydney was challenging me to a fight some weekend--she offered to drive to her grandmother's in Framingham and stay there.

I know I should have been the adult and deflected the impulsive offer from a high school senior.  But I had already been partying with and sleeping with Kylie's friends for the past three years.  I didn't think of myself as being of a whole different generation.

Plus, I thought the threat was idle chatter.

Until a cold, dark New England weekend the Saturday before the Super Bowl.  My doorbell rang.  I saw Sydney thru the peephole.  I opened the door.

> Wanna fight, bitch?

> Try me.

To be continued......