My apartment in Sydney has only two levels as befits this part of the city. From the balcony I saw Brenda swinging along the street, heels clicking , obviously looking for my number. "Some broad", I thought and momentarily had thoughts of sisterhood and how good it was to be a woman on this sunny Sydney day. Then the front doorbell rang and feminine trouble started immediately. As i opened the door she pushed it back and came in swinging slaps, one, two, three four. "There's your powder-room payback, honey", she said , "Now let's get into it like women".
In those first few minutes she was all over me, slapping, scratching, kicking. I tried to get at her hair but you don't realise how hard that can be when she holds up her arms to ward off yours or she grabs your wrists to avoid you making contact with her crowning glory. Not that a woman's carefully-set hair remains glorious very long in a catfight!. But she got hold of mine taking two handfuls, forcing my head back until all I could see was the ceiling - and stars caused by the burning sensation of the hair-tugging torture. Then i felt her hand grabbing hold of my left breast - not a lover's caress but a twisting grip designed to cause pain. And it did but not as bad as I thought it might be, my tits being firm, round and proud. But it was a different story when her fingers found the nipple and pinched it between her long nails.. (Cont'd.)
