[sinclairfan]

FRIDAY MORNING

My disclosure to my stepmom of my escalating feud with Wendy relieved me of the burden of having to sneak around and avoid her for my impending rematch with my enemy.  And her advice and tips on forming fearsome points on my ten fingers was already yielding tangible results.

But there were downsides, too.  The most embarrassing and frustrating of which was an inability to rub one out despite my constant arousal from being in an actual love triangle with Craig and Wendy.  Love.  I was in love for the first time ever.  The nuns at Cardinal Spelman had warned us to save our virginity for our wedding night, because whoever we gave ourselves up to would be bonded to us through love forever.  We scoffed--what did nuns, of all people, know about sex?  But, dammit, they were right on this one.  Ever since I had asked Craig to take my virginity away, even though the sex itself was quite painful (again, another accurate prediction by the CSHS nuns), I would get wobbly knees everytime I saw Craig in the hallways; or heard his voice; or, even heard someone say his name.  Such as, when Wendy said his name during our phone argument.

I wanted, I needed, to masturbate myself off in bed at night, but couldn't, at least not in the manner I was used to, because of the sharp nails .... claws, really ..... the my mom had carved onto my hands. 

So, I was ready for some post-dance action with Craig.

But what if there was pre-post-dance trouble with Wendy?

My mom was thinking the same thing.

At breakfast, she said,

> Now, Lisa, don't you go jeopardizing your senior year at Brockton by fighting Wendy on school grounds, ya hear?  Either at school today, or at the dance tonight.

> Sure, Ma, you think of that now, after getting her all fired up.

> Now, don't you go blamin' me, Lisa.  You said yourself you already fought this bitch once.  And lost, I think I heard ya say.  Shit with her was already started; I'm just helpin' ya end it.

> I know, Mom.  I wanna end it to.  And, I know where NOT to fight her.  But where DO I fight her??

> Just....off school grounds, k?? Walk to a parking lot .... the woods .... someone's house .... here if ya hafta ....  I'll take that over gettin' dragged into the principal's office.

> Did you drag YOUR Mom into the principal's office when you were my age?

> Ok, don't ya hafta wrong along now to not be tardy??

> How convenient.

> Yes it is.  Now, not on school ground.

To be continued....

[chrisstevens]

Wow absolutely fantastic story, can't wait for the next part, i'm hooked

[sinclairfan]

HOMECOMING DANCE CATFIGHT

Heeding my stepmom's (completely valid) warning to not fight Wendy on school grounds, I kept my head low in the hallways all school day the Friday before the Homecoming Dance, and made a point not to walk by Wendy's locker.  I thought I was home free, until the final class period of the day was cancelled and replaced by a Pep Rally in the school gym.

The point of the rally was to celebrate the forty-two seniors on the Brockton High School football team, who tomorrow would be playing in the final Homecoming game of their careers.  The senior would be escorted across the gym, one-by-one, by a pretty Brockton High School cheerleader, given a corsage, and then get a handshake from the Coach, the Athetic Director, and the school Principal.  Even though Craig hadn't played all season because of his injury, he was in the back of the line of senior to be honored, wearing his number '37' jersey.  So I was paying close attention to the ceremony.  A couple things stood out.

The first was that, about one-third of the way through the names, the announcer for the event made an off-hand comment to the effect of, "Remember, Brockton High School students, the football players won't be there for tonight's Homecoming Dance, but we hope to see all the rest of you from 7 to 10."  I turned to one of the girls next to me asking if I had heard correctly, and she informed me that football players have curfews bed checks the night before games.

My head started spinning.  Why had Wendy called my house and told me not to dance with Craig at the dance if he wasn't even going to be there?  Was she trying to trick me into going to the dance?  And if so, in order to jump me there? 

Or had she just called to see if I liked Craig?  To see if my sleeping with him was a one-time thing, or if I intended on it continuing?  And my big mouth stepmom had given away my intentions?

I suddenly felt very vulnerable, both emotionally and physically.  Emotionally, because I was already at rookie at relationships and boyfriends and sex, and now some unstable "other woman" was inserting herself, someone I had already had a violent altercation with.  And physically, because I had to decide where to be tonight--at the dance?  at Craig's?  at Wendy's?  home?

Or ....  maybe ..... was I just imagining things?  Was Wendy "out of the loop" and oblivious that football players didn't attend Homecoming Dance.  Now that I thought about it, Wendy wasn't exactly Ms. Popularity at Brockton High School.  She wasn't on the Cheerleader Squad.  She didn't play sports.  She wasn't in advanced academic classes--not even close, I remembered one day seeing her in the Remedial Reading special ed classroom.  She didn't have a posse of pretty girls or admiring jock boys at her locker.  She didn't even quite fit in with the Goth Girls, a bunch of misfit girls who would cut themselves and do Ouija Board or whatever on weekends.

She didn't have any "clique" that I had been able to detect.

As the ceremony progressed, my thoughts turned downright cocky.  The best approach to "handle" Wendy was to just ignore her.  Let her boasts and threats reveal themselves for what they were:  clueless, empty talk from a BHS misfit, who had let her moment with Craig pass, and was being displaced by the new girl who had tranferred from Catholic school.

Her moment.  Wendy's moment.  That was it.  She had acted too indecisively with Craig.

Now it was my moment.  I wouldn't make the same mistake.  My stepmom had spoken impulsively on the phone, but that's what you needed to do in life.  Act when you had the chance.

I decided that's what I would do.

As the football player walks of honor started to get towards the conclusion, and the bleachers full of students got anxious for the ceremony to conclude and the weekend to begin, decorum started to erode and good-natured catcalls were shouted out, especially to the more popular boys.  I wanted introverted Craig to be spared awkward silence as he made his walk, so as his name was announced, halfway thru his walk when he reached, I yelled out, "Go Craig!!  You're the best!!".

What happened next was mortifying.

I had stood up and shouted my encouragement from the left bleachers, halfway up.  I don't even know if the gym understood what I had shouted.  But the whole gym did hear what was shouted next.  It came from the lower far-right hand side bleachers near the doors, in a scratchy, deep, loud voice which I immediately could tell was Wendy's.

"SSSSSSLLLLLUUUUUUUUTTTT."

Craig appeared unflustered, but the cheerleader escorting him umcovered her mouth to muffle her laughter at what Wendy had shouted.  I expected the crowd of students to simultaneous turn their heads towards me in a moment of eternal shame.  That's probably what Wendy was hoping.  But the more typical reaction was Craig's--nonchalance at an end-of-the-week insult thrown out to be juvenile and funny, not the malicious bullying direct threat which was intended:  Slut-shaming, as we would start calling it in 2018.  In 1981, thank God, the word hadn't been invented yet.  The concept had; there just wasn't a word for it yet.  Thank God.

The ceremony then concluded on that deflating note.  The girl sitting next to me in the bleachers who had spoken to me earler avoided me.

Wendy and I exited through separate doors.

Good thing for both of us.  I was ready and willing at that moment to literally scratch her eyes out.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

"CALL HER 'SLUT' TO HER FACE!!"

I walked home from the disastrous pep rally--half-jogging most of the way, truth be told--craving to curl up in a ball on my bed and cry out the built-up tension and emotional drama of changing school, having my first boyfriend, having my first catfight, watching my step-parents get divorced; in sum, having to do way too much growing up way too fast.

Instead, my heart sank when I saw my step-mom's car on our driveway.  I tried to quickly pull myself together, but my mom was waiting at the window and saw me running up to the house, then hesitating.  As if my day hadn't been mortifying enough, she proceeded to open the front door and yell out to me, loud enough for the neighbors to hear:

> Lisa, baby, what's wrong?!?!?  You didn't fight that bitch Wendy at school, did ya?!?!?

I knew that ignoring my mom was counterproductive and would only lead to more shouting across our driveway for all of Brockton to hear, so I closed the distance between us as rapidly as I could and run up to my mom, who thought I was going in for a hug and opened her arms to me.  I suddenly realized that it had been 2 to 3 years since my stepmom and I had actually hugged, further throwing my hormones into overdrive and opening the floodgates of tears and sobbing.  She quickly shut the door behind us as she told me to "let it all out" so that we could talk about what has occurred at school, and more importantly, what would happen next.

I repeated the story of the pep rally, and Wendy's public name-calling of me.  My stepmom was the most pissed I've ever seen her.  She was of half a mind to go out the door and walk to Wendy's house herself, but I think we both recalled Wendy's less-than-24-hours-ago taunt on the phone of "Running to your Mommy?", and both knew that I needed to handle the response to the pep rally insult, not my Mom.

Although she was more than willing to help..... to "watch my back" at the inevitable retaliation fight, as we would be calling it 8-10 years later when L.A./Compton gang culture lingo entered the Brockton vernacular.

> This ain't waitin' for the Dance tonight, Lisa.  Git upstairs, put on the dance mini-skirt, and then I'll drive ya ta Wendy's.  I'll knock on the door and see if she wanta ta call ya 'slut' to your face.

I went upstairs and felt comforted and somewhat more confident.  I wished my Spellman girlfriends could come with me to Wendy's instead of my mom, or that I knew someone at Brockton well enough to serve as my wingman.  But what was done was done--I needed to settle things with Wendy before she could go to the dance and tell her version of what had happened at the pep rally to the entire senior, junior, sophomore, and freshman classes of BHS.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom.  I looked nice, but something was off.  My hair.  It's hanging too far down, too easy a target for Wendy.

I pin it up into a tight bun.

Wendy will see it and know why I came over now.

Good.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

"TELL HER TO MEET ME OUT BACK"

My stepmom and I climbed into her car for the short drive over to Wendy's house.  I was less nervous than I expected to be, and my stepmom was still fired up, but focussed on the task at hand.   She was calmly giving me unexpectedly apt fight coaching tips, in a less bossy way than she had been speaking to me since her divorce.

> Now, remember, don't start swapping fists with this bitch--that's the kinda fight she wants ta have.

> You're bigger 'n Wendy, Lisa.  Don't let her git on 'toppovya.

> Don't be afraid to use her hair ta throw her 'round.  This is a catfight, no rules.

> Don't stop until she gives.  And don't even stop then.

> No matter how bad she hurts ya, keep goin'.  I'll drive ya home afterwards.

> Keep usin' yer claws until all 10 of 'em break.  Then use yer thumbs.

I remembered my first fight with Wendy six weeks ago--how I had let Wendy get on top of me and had tried to fight from my back.  That strategy had ended in defeat.  I needed to be the one on top for this fight.

We pulled up to Wendy's ramshackle house.  My stepmom told me to go to the door while she waited in the car--she said she'd barge in the house in 5 minutes if I didn't come out.  My first fight with Wendy had lasted way longer than 5 minutes, but we hadn't been as angry with each other when that fight had happened as we were now, so I decided my mother's plan was prudent.

I didn't know what the parenting arrangements were at Wendy's house, but everything about the property blared "broken home"--spare tires in the yards, scrap metal, unraked leaves, unnecessary hoses, an long-unused above-ground swimming pool.  I knocked on the door, and then rang the doorbell.  A shirtless 20-something man-boy csme to the door--an older brother, perhaps?  He checked out my legs and my mini-skirt, and without asking my identity, yelled behind him:

> Hey, Wendy.  That girl ya' said might come ta fight ya is here?

I heard Wendy yell back, from inside:

> I'm still gettin' changed.  Tell her ta meet me out back.

Now, this was a little disconcerting.  My element of surprise was kaputt, since Wendy was half-expecting me to come over.  And she now knew how to "push my buttons"--what actions would bsit me into fighting her.  Was I in control of her feud, or was she?

Was I walking into a trap?

For reassurance, I walked back to my stepmom's car.

> She wants me to meet her in the backyard.

> Well .... go on and git, then.   ..    why are ya standin' here??

> I'm goin' ..... it's, just .....  Mom, she knew I might be comin' over.  Is that .... weird??

> A 'lil bit, I guess.  You didn't tell anyone, did ya?

> Just you.

> Now what the hell is that supposed ta mean?

> No, no ... I didn't mean it like that ...  I just meant, I didn't tell anyone else.

> Well .... what's done is done.  Go kick her ass.  Same plan as before?  I'll come in 5 minutes?

> Ten.  Ten minutes.  Let me fuck her up real good.

> K.  10 minutes.  Good luck.

> Thanks.

> Kick her ass.

I was reassured.  But also perplexed.  Why were fights with Wendy happening so ..... often ...... so easily?  It's almost like ..... almost someone was WANTING us to fight.

But who?  And why?

Well, like my mom said .... too late to worry about that now.

Fight two was about to happen.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

CLAW FIGHT

Regardless and whether Wendy and I were getting played by some interfering / agitating instigator (more on that later), Wendy's "SLUT" catcall at the pre-Homecoming pep rally had been voluntary and malicious.  It was a challenge to fight, and I was more than willing to answer it.

I was also still pissed with Wendy for stealing my stepmom's cigarettes (whole cartons of them!  not just a few smokes) after Wendy had choked me out at my mom's house six weeks ago.  The cartons were probably long since sold or bartered by Wendy's hard-luck family, but as I walked to her backyard, I took note of all the semi-valuable junk that I could put in my stepmom's trunk after winning this next fight.

An odd thought hit me as I waited for Wendy to change into whatever fight clothes she was putting on.  Why WAS I so confident that I was going to win this next battle in our war?  Nothing had happened in our first fight to justify hopes for a better outcome.  Well, not quite nothing.  I had stood up to the school bully, and taken my beating like a woman. 

Hmmmm, a woman.  There was another difference right there.  I really was a woman now, wasn't I.  Six weeks ago, I was still a virgin.  But since then, I had called up a boy I liked on the phone, offered him my body, and he had gladly, yet gentlemanly, taken it.  He had kissed me before and spooned me afterwards, two things some of my Cardinal Spellman girlfriends had lamented missing out on their first times.  Was that what made me so confident now.  Was that why Wendy fought with such confidence?-because she had had sex?

Did Craig kiss her before sex?  Did he spoon her after sex?

Just then Wendy strutted out the backdoor.  That arrogant, cocky, bitch.  I wanted to stomp her like an insect and squash her into the leaves covering the backyard ground.

She did a double take at my pinned up hair.  I could tell--she was trying to decide what part of me to grab instead of my hair.  I had my guard up for that wicked right cross of hers.  She reached out and grabbed my shoulders, and I clawed at hers, my sharp nails getting entangled in the threads of the tight, light sweater she was wearing, which matched her mini-skirt, also short like mine.  Was this what she was planning on wearing to the Dance because my mom had talked about it during our phone fight last night?  Was she still planning on going to the Dance, even though Craig wasn't going?  Was she ever planning on going, or was that just a trap to get me to fight her, right here, right now, in her backyard, like we were doing?

Wendy and I were both grappling to get control of each others' upper bodies.  Our feet were kicking around at the ground, kicking up what seemed to be hundreds of leaves.  Shit Wendy, doesn't anyone ever rake your backyard? 

The rustling sound was a turnon to me.  The texture of Wendy's sweater was a turnon to me.  The thought of calling Craig afterwards and telling him that his ex and his new girl had fought an hour after his pep rally was a MASSIVE turnon to me.  The thought of my mom coming into the backyard in a few minutes and watching Wendy and I fight, having my back, was a turnon to me.  Wendy's almost-perfect auburn hair was a turnon to me.  The color was perfect; the only minor imperfection was its oiliness.  Is that why Wendy changed when she came home from school?, I wondered.  Becuse the shoulders of her school clothes were greasy from her shoulder-length hair rubbing against it all day?

Wendy's legs and mine were looser than our first fight due to our now being in mini-skirts.  I remembered Cardinal Spellman girls fighting Archbishop Williams girls behind Braintree Mall, and girls used to wearing Catholic schoolgirl skirts forgetting that they were now in slacks and falling down as they tried to kick each other duting fights.  Wendy and I were now in the opposite situation--finding ourselves in skirts which allowed total freedom of movement, and achieving punishing speed, height, aim, and force with our feet, connecting with sickening thuds into each others' shins, thighs, knees, hips, and midsections.

Of all the turnons in the fight so far, this one was the ultimate one.  Attempting to, and sometimes succeeding in, kicking Wendy in her womanhood.

I concluded that losing my virginity a week earlier was what was making me so confident.  It was the difference maker in the version of me who had fought Wendy after school six weeks ago, and the version of me who was fighting her now.

Wendy could sense it, too.  Perhaps even before this afternoon.  Maybe she knew that Craig and I would keep progressing in our relationship, having more and more intense types of sex.  Perhaps this was a "pre-emptive fight", to try and keep me in my place while Wendy was still the more skilled fighter of the two of us.

I had an uncontrollable urge to pin Wendy under me and to mount her.  I had let Wendy on top of me in our first fight, and I had let Craig on top of me in our first fuck.  Now I wanted to be on top.  I wanted to look down on Wendy, to see what it felt like.

To stun her, I disengaged my nails from Wendy's sweater, hair from her sweater stuck under them.  I went to scratch her face, but the tangled balls of material diminshed the effectiveness of my gouging.  And my releasing of Wendy's shoulders gave her all the opening she needed.

<THWACK>

<THWACK>

I immediately heard the primal bone-on-bone flesh-on-flesh sound which had signalled the opening salvo on the September catfight between Wendy and me.  She had gotten my jaw with a left-right combo which I never saw coming.  My knees crumbled and I was on my chest, in the leaves.  Wendy mounted me in seconds flat, and was scratching my face like bongo drums.  I futilely attempted to cover up, rather than fighting back.  I felt her tearing flesh from my cheeks.

I heard my mom.

GET OFF OF HER, BITCH!!!!!!!!

I felt my mom kicking Wendy in the sides. 

I felt Wendy dismount from me.

I felt my mom running me to the car.

I tasted blood.  My own.

I felt shame.

Lots of it.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

"YOU HUMILIATED ME!!!"

My mom and I drive home, me sobbing in the car the entire way.  My mom thinks I'm crying from being hurt in the fight, but it's actually because of my shame at her breaking up a fight which was still in progress.

We get home, and she leads me to the bathtub.  Together, we strip off my top and then my miniskirt.  A skirt which will never get worn to tonight's dance; a skirt which Craig will never see me in, no matter what happens between him and me in the future.  Mom mom wets a wash cloth and begins washing the cuts and scrapes on my face and shoulders, stinging me in thr process.  She washes the thread and skin caked under my damaged nails, hours of clipping destroyed in under 10 minutes.  I can't hold back with her any longer:

> Mom, how COULD you?

> How could I WHAT, Lisa?!?

> How could you bresk us up?  We were still fighting!!  It was humiliating!

> Lisa??  Earth to Lisa, you were getting your ass kicked.

> Mom??  You only saw five seconds of the fight.  I was ....  kicking her .... where it counts .... gor, like, five minutes before that.  Mom, look at under my nails ...  this is HER SKIN ..  under here.  From her face!!

> Lisa ....  get real .... you gave her your back ....  you weren't defending yourself ...   don't you realize what she could have done to you?

> So you break us up??  Mom, how am I supposed to show my face at school on Monday??

> Lisa ...   I saved you while you still HAD a face to show at school on Monday.

> Mom, I don't mean .... not showing my face because it's cut, or beat up .... I mean, showing my face because you came to a fight of mine .... the first fight Wendy and I had .... at least I stood up to her .... alone ..... it was even the first day of school .... like, she was testing me .... and I passed the test .... <<<<the queasy feeling I had earlier in the afternoon comes back to me ....  my mom is listening to me now because she has cleaned my cuts and scratches to her satisfaction .... the tub fills with hot water, and I start to feel safe again .... my stepmom can tell I'm thinking something, but not saying it>>>>>

> Lisa, baby ..... what is it?? ....  is there something I need to know?

> Well, it's ...  it's just ....

> Just say it, Lisa, ... . Mom's here for you.

> Well,  .... so this afternoon .... at the pep rally ..... in between being furious with Wendy, that is ....  I just got this sixth sense, that .... that someone is, like, instigating Wendy and me into fighting .....like, I'm not naive, I know things can get crazy between two girls when there's a boy involved .... and Craig is a nice boy ... I actually do have a crush on him .... but, Mom, it's weird .... his heart isn't in this at all ....  I mean, he never calls here .... like, to see if I'm going to the dance or walking to school .... and he never calls Wendy either .... I mean, the first day of school, 2 girls actually had a fight over him ....  he never ssked what happened ....  I mean, what GUY wouldn't be all over hearing about a fight two girls had over him?? ....  at first I thought he was embarrassed or whatever ..    and, then, Mom, get this .. .  <<<<my stepmom has been listening intently, thinking>>>> .... when I called up Craig and asked him to ....  sleep with me .... he just ....... went along, like .... like he knew I would ask him .... like he knew it was my first time ....  like it was a JOB ..... or something ....

> Lisa, I have a bad feeling about this.  I think I know .... whst might be going on.   <<<<<<I brace myself for a birds-and-bees conversation about details the Cardinal Spelman nuns may have left out about boys-behaving-badly-to-virgin-girls, but instead get a lesson on the dynamics of my step parents' divorce.>>>>>  Lisa, your stepdad .... my ex-husband ..... one of the reasons we got divorced .... is, he, well, I don't need to tell you that he's quite a devout Catholic .... as in, yo the point of making me uncomfortable ....  Lisa, for a couple years now, he wanted to become a Deacon ..... which obviously is quite a commitment .... it's almost like being a Priest .... it's such a commitment that the Church seeks the consent .... and participation .... of the wife .... well, Lisa, I refused my consent ..... for a lot of reasons, many of them selfish, I admit .... but also because I've genuinely lost my faith in God .... you probably already knew that ..... well, Lisa, it led to us getting divorced .. . there were other things, but that was the biggie .... well, Lisa, it led to Gilbert, ..  your stepdad ..... he's gone off the deep end, in my opinion, on the Catholic stuff ..... and he never accepted your being disenrolled from Cardinal Spelman ..... a mutual friend of ours warned me that he was going to try and get you expelled from Brockton .... so I would have no chouce but to re-enroll you at Spelman .. . or send you to Archbishop Williams, if for some reason Spelman wouldn't take you back ......

> So he'd rather have me get beat up than go  to public school??

> Well..   he obviously doesn't understand what happens when two girls fight.  But maybe we should show him the consequences tonight.  Let me make a phone call

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO HER!!!!"

I briefly fall asleep Friday evening, but around 9:30pm, things get busy again when two "visitors" arrive at almost the same time.

The first visitor is my stepdad, Gilbert.  My stepmom forces him to closely my bruised and scratched face and shoulders.  He at first seems reluctant to concede the seriousness of my wounds, but is finally persuaded by the story conveyed to us by our second guest, freshly arrived from the BHS Homecoming Dance.

Maureen, a tall brunette who was a classmate of mine at Spelman and was dating a BHS junior, carried tidings of what was transpiring at my new school with my new classmates.  "Lisa, <<<<but indirectly speaking to my step-parents as well>>>> it was the most bizarre thing.  Wendy was at the dance, .....  IN THE CLOTHES SHE HAD FOR THE FIGHT WITH YOU.  The sweater to, the shoulders, still had the holes you tore in them.  Her face, on the cheeks, still had scratches on them.....  like, right here, on the cheekbones.  And her hair, she had combed it, but you could see where a little bit had been torn out.  And she kept acting like ....  just wait till Lisa gets her and you see her .... which, of course, everyone started waiting for, hoping there would be a Round Two between you and her that everyone could watch.  Lisa ...  like, what's UP between you and her?  Like, I GET fighting over a boy ..... but .... is Wendy THAT psycho??  Like, what is seriously up her ass??"

My stepmon turns to my stepdad, "Gilbert, are you listening to this??  Look at Lisa!!  LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO HER!!!!!"

My stepdad turns to the three women in the room, visibly shaken, and says, "Maureen, thank you for coming over.  And, yes, you describe .... this situation ...  well.  Very well.  Wendy DOES have something ..  ahem, up her ass .. . and I'm afraid I played a role in putting it there.  When ...  Lisa's mom withdrew Lisa from Cardinal Spelman ...   especially with just one year to go ....  I felt ...  helpless, discouraged ....  I felt guilty ....  a lot of guilt .... as I am right now, I might add ..... I guess I was just thinking of myself ...  "

"Gilbert .... tell the girls what you did ...  get to the point," coaxes my stepmom, crossing her arms.

"The point is ....  I got this idea in my head ....  this stupid, stupid idea ...  one day in August, a few weeks before the first day of school, when I was over here dropping some stuff off for your mom ....  I saw a girl and a boy, who turned out to be Wendy and Craig .... well, they were just talking to each other, but there was somrthing about them, you could tell they were together, a couple ...  at least at that moment they were ... and Craig was wearing his Brockton High shirt ....  well, I got this dumb idea in my head that if Craig showed Lisa around school the first week, that Wendy wouldn't like it ..... and that, I don't know, there would be trouble between Wendy and Lisa ..... at school, not off-site fights like ended up happening .... and the BHS adminstration would encourage Lisa to return to Spelman ....   so I asked Craig to please show Lisa around ..   and then all this happened."

My stepmom knows my stepdad is in the doghouse for what he's done, and isn't going to let him off the hook just yet.  It's sort of like that moment in the Rudolph Christmas special where all the reindeer realize the danger Rudolph is in from the Abominable Snowmonster, and they realize the feel guilty for their role in making Rudolph run away.  "Ladies?  This might sound better coming from you, in your words.  Anything Gilbert ought to know about encouraging girls ..... women .... to fight?"

Maureen pipes right up:  "So, it's kinda like ..  you see, girls WANT to fight each other.  But, the only thing that makes us not is that, if we give in to our urges and fight .... we know that everyone in our lives ... our friends, our family, our teachers ... everyone we need approval from for anything ...  will come down heavy on us if we're fighting all the time .... or, at all, really .... so, you take that away ... remove that societal discouragement like you did ..   you don't even actually to encourage the fight, you just hsve to be NOT DIScouraging it ...  and all hell is gonna break loose .... as uou can see of Lisa's face.  .....  Get what I'm sayin'??"

My stepdad is visibly shaken, " Lisa, I'm sssssooo sorry.  I'm really really really sorry.  I'll make this up to you, I promise.  Is this over, between you and Wendy?"

"Ok, ok.  You've said and done enough Gilbert."  She has him hug me, and then leave.

She returns to the room Maureen and I are in.  "What he asked at the end there ...   I didn't want him to hear the answer ....  but we're all three on the same page, right."

Maureen and I look at each other, and respond together.

"Not over."

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

NO PARENTS

Although both Maureen and I knew on Saturday morning that Wendy wanted to finish what my mom had interrupted on Friday afternoon, by Wendy's provocative decision to show up at the Homecoming Dance still wearing her torn clothes from our fight and bragging openly that a rematch catfight had occurred, only Maureen recognized that Round 2 (or, Round 3, if you counted our September fight) could not wait seven days for Halloween Night.  Brockton High School was a big school, but even it was not big enough for Wendy and I to avoid each other for five whole school days.

Maureen also recognized that Wendy and I needed to fight the Spelman-Williams way: no parents, and only one wingman as backup for the main fighters.  Maureen volunteered to give up her weekend and be my wingman, a substantial sacrifice of time on her part, and also potentially of sweat and blood, so the two wingmen in these fights often came to blows themselves.

Maureen and a friend of Wendy's, named Shelly, made arrangements for Wendy and I to fight behind the loading dock of a Sears at the Braintree Mall at 6pm Sunday night.  We chose that time because in 1981, retail stores had limited holiday hours, with customers long gone and even employees clearing out.  Maureen knew the logistical details from many Spelman-Williams fights in which she had been a spectator or participant in the last couple of years. 

The choice of pavement on which to fight was also a savvy move by Maureen.  Wendy would have difficulty choking me out, as happened in the first fight, since she would skin her knees severely if she attempted to mount me.  She could protect her knees by wearing jeans, but then her flexibility would be compromised, and I could likely dislodge her from any mount.  Additionally, although I remained vulnerable to her wicked, lighting right crosses, I could buy precious  time recovering from any that landed by keeping my head down and "taking a knee" (but not by looking up helplessly at her--Catholic school girls behind the Mall had done both thru the years:  those doing the latter had suffered beatings, those doing the former had successfully pulled off a "rope-a-dope" style draw--and due to Wendy's foolish bragging at the dance, a draw was functionally equivalent to a victory for me).

Maureen and I drove to the fight in silence, both in jeans and easy-to-remove tops, in keeping with the aura and reputation of Catholic school-wear at these events.  We both tried to "storyboard" the fight in our heads.  I would need to swallow any pain from one of Wendy's bursts, but also squash my anger and not immediately retaliate.  My covering up would be my retaliation, and then allow Wendy to expend herself and her energy, something that was starting to happen at the fight at my house after the first day of school.  I would need to jab at Wendy's exposed midsection and save my fingers, while Wendy self-defeatingly punched at my head.

And most importantly:  I would need to ignore or disregard any Maureen-Shelly fighting which was occuring on the sidelines.  Wendy and I were the main event--Maureen and Shelly were just there to prevent the other from interfering.

Unless and until Wendy or I defeated the other, the whole evening, and the whole prior seven weeks, were for nought.

Maureen and I pull up.  Wendy and Shelly are already there, standing, both in jeans, but only Wendy topless.  I remove my top, and Maureen removes hers, just in solidarity now, although she looks ready to have a go at Shelly, an even height-weight matchup with her.

We park the car and both get out.

Just get a draw, Lisa.  Just get a draw.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

DISTRACTION

If Wendy's friend Shelly had shown up to the fight behind the Braintree Mall with her shirt on in the mistaken belief that her gesture would cause my friend Maureen to leave Shelly alone and that the two of them would stand aside and watch Wendy and I fight, her thinking was sadly mistaken.  We weren't in Brockton anymore, and we weren't fighting by Brockton rules.  Wendy had shown up and held up her part of the bargain, but Shelly had broken Williams-Spelman fight norms, and Maureen was going to enforce them, and on top of that make Shelly pay for her error.

As Wendy and I approached each other, Maureen charged decisively at her opponent--both were equally tall, about 5 inches taller than Wendy and me; both brunette; and both with straight-ish hair halfway down their backs.  Wendy hesitated for just a half-second in anticipation of the collision of the angry Amazons, a rare dropping of her guard in our fight trifecta, which I seized by placing my nemesis's neck in a headlock.  My thinking was to postpone Wendy's vicious right crosses from finding my jaw until later in this fight, when we were both exhausted or, at the very least, on less of an adrenaline rush from the nearby visual of the topless Maureen struggling to disrobe the surprisingly-modest Shelly.

Instead, the now-alert Wendy quickly realized her error in paying attention to the Maureen-Shelly undercard, and turned to face me and reciprocate my headlock with one of her own.  The end result was that that our limbs merged tangled in a pretzel-like structure, with my left elbow buried under Wendy's left arm pit, and my right arm knotted against her left arm and unsuccessfully struggling to prevent her left hand from scratching and pinching my bare back.  Wendy's right arm was pressed against the side of my neck, but not anywhere that restricted me from breathing.  Our legs snaked against each other trying to keep our own balance and throw the other, until we collapsed side by side on our butts on the hard pavement, sitting next to each other while not releasing our holds.  We used our arms to push each others' hand into our laps, Wendy possibly making at attempt to either smother me or simply make me unable to see her.  To strategy seemed effective, so I reciprocated and forced her face into her own lap.  We were now stalemated.  This was fine by me, as the only one of us capable of inflicting a first round knockout on the other was my more experienced and skilled enemy.

If we wre fighting at the venue of our second fight at the start of this eventful weekend, Wendy's leafy backyard, Wendy would have likely next attempted to roll me off of her.  But the prospect of back or chest flesh coming into direct contact with cold, hard, uneven pavement deterred either of us from giving up the security of comfortably sitting our jean-clad butts on the ground.

Cold.  Shit.  It was had become cold, and dark.  The late fall dusk had transformed rapidly into a chilly cold night, and if not for the parking lot floodlights in the distance, we'd be able to see little at all.  I noticed that for the first time in any of our three fights, Wendy's breasts were hard and her nipples were erect.  Was it because of the cold?  Because of our upper bodies rubbing together so close?

Or was it because Maureen and Shelly were viciously catfighting next to us?  What exactly was Wendy's and Shelly's relationshio?  Just friends, or more?  Is that why Wendy was so wishy-washy with Craig?  Because she wasn't 100% straight?

Coming out for a 18 year old was almost impossible in 1981 Brockton.  Maybe if you were an artist or a musician, or maybe if you were going to Johnson & Wales to study culinary arts or something, you could pull it off, but even then the social cost would be enormous.

I sense I have only the tiniest window of having Wendy at a disadvantage before she turns our clinch into some sort of hold or throw which pins me.  So I take a chance.

> My girlfriend is beating up your girlfriend.

Wendy turns her head to look, but I tighten my grip and prevent her from turning.

Wendy's response, tho, tells me all I need to know.  Even if they haven't acted on it, there's something going on between Wendy and Shelly.  Or, at least, Wendy wants there to be.

Wendy has done something worse than bringing a knife to a gunfight.

She's brought baggage to a catfight.

Shelly.  Shelly is Wendy's baggage.  It was probsbly Wendy who told Shelly to keep her top on.

Wendy is going to be distracted by wanting to protect Shelly.

And I'm going to make her pay.

"Go Maureen", I yell.  "Kick her ass!!!"

Wendy squirms helplessly under my hold.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

SWAPPING

As Wendy and I watch from our entangled sitting position in the dark, chilly parking lot, my friend Maureen is trying to pull Shelly's shirt off over her head.  At least four diiferent times, the waist is over Shelly's head by at least a few inches, but the collar gets caught in Shelly's think brunette mane of hair, and Shelly frees her arms to get her shirt waist pulled back down over her torso, starting the process all over again.

Maureen changes tactics and instead grabs two fistfuls of Maureen's hair and pulls Shelly's head down.  Then, rather than grabbing Shelly's shirt by the waist and attempting to remove it inside-out, she frees her right hand and grabs the shirt collar, and guides it past Shelly's hair and over her head.  She still has work to do, as the short sleeves of the shirt are now caught halfway down Shelly's arms.  But Shelly can now no longer see Maureen, or much as all for that matter, and Maureen beging raining hard punches down on Shelly's exposed back.

The sight of the defenseless Shelly becomes even more pathetic as Maureen begins to kick Shelly's shins and knees, causing her to lose her footing.  Shelly can neither defend herself nor fight back, and keeping her top on is now the least of her problems, as she is now absorbing unanswered punches by the dozen.

I hope that her friend's struggles will be the distraction I need to turn the tide of my defeats to Wendy; but Wendy's focus has already turned to the lopsided fight beside us, rather than the one between us.  Taking advantage of the layer of slippery sweat which us built up between our skin, Wendy writhes out of the headlock I have on her, and sprints to her defenseless friend's aid.  She uses her most effective weapon, her lighting fast right cross, and suckerpunches my friend Maureen in the right jaw at least four times.  Maureen reacts just about the same way I did earlier in the fall when my face felt the wrath of Wendy's wicked right hand:  her knees wobble, then buckle, and release their grip on Shelly.  Shelly takes advantage of her freedom and takles me by the hips, using her 5 inch size advantage and bringing me down.

Wendy and Shelly now have Maureen and I in unfamiliar territory:  a 2-on-2 free-for-all brawl.  Williams-Spelman girlfights, no matter how heated, always remained 1on1 battles between the intended opponents.  The chaotic struggle now under way is foreign to Maureen and me, but par for the course, evidently, for Wendy and Shelly, as they naturally and wordlessly alternate between pinning one of Maureen and me, then turning to punch the other in the face.  And if Maureen and I had Wendy pegged as the fighter and Shelly as just the sidekick, our perceptions are now shown to have been sadly mistaken.  Shelly's punches and pins are every bit as skilled and punishing as Wendy's.

Although Shelly has a size advantage on me, I attempt to pull on her hair and move her away from Wendy and Maureen, so that the fight can resume being a pair of 1x1 battles, rather than a coordinated attack on my friend and me.  Although not the outcome I originally had in mind for this evening, my plan is partially successful, as I wrestle Shelly a good ten fight away from the Maureen-Wendy catball, and my experienced friend can now focus on grappling with Wendy without getting coldcocked from behind every 15 seconds by Shelly.

In pulling Shelly away, however, I've forgetten that I'm topless, and fighting on cold, potholed blacktop.  I become aware of countless gouges, scrapes, and scratches raked onto my back and chest, many of them bleeding.  The uneven light makes it difficult for me to assess the damage I've sustained.

I look up and can see Maureen and Wendy, on their knees , facing each other, left hands buried in each others' hair, right hands measuring each other and throwing deliberate haymakers at each others' faces.  They glare at each other with pure hate, Wendy attempting to harm my friend in a more determined fashion than she ever unleashed on me in any of our three fights. 

Yep, there's definitely something romantic going on between Wendy and Shelly.  Wendy is fighting for her friend's honor, and is retaliating against Maureen in a way she nrver did against me for moving in on Craig.

Wendy likes Shelly much more than she likes Craig. And hates Maureen much more than she hates me.

Maureen is holding her own 1-on-1 with Wendy, giving as good as she's taking.  But Maureen is my friend, and she needs me in this fight.  I run over to the two slugging adversaries, and tackle Wendy.  Her back hits the hard pavement flush, and she's stunned and motionless.  Shelly instictively covers her suddenly now defenseless teammate, and Maureen and I become aware of the cold night air, as well as how far we've drifted from our cars.  I'm anxious to assess my many cuts, I make a motion back to Maureen's, and she follows.  We start the car and leave.  Wendy is still lying on the ground.

That's enough for tonight.  I just want to get home and lay in my bath.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

DRIVING HOME TO MY MOMMY

Maureen and I drive back home to my place from our disastrous 2-on-2 parking lot fight against Wendy and Shelly, taking great care not to break the speed limit, for fear of how we would explain our cuts, bruises, and black eyes to the Braintree or Brockton police.  One of Maureen's eyes is already swollen shut, and the other has a visible shiner.  My issue is an inability to recline comfortably in my seat due to a back replete with cuts and slashes.  I try to hold up a brave front, but right now I just want Maureen to get us home and to be cradled by my Mommy.

I'm also trying to emotionally process all that has just happened.  Why wasn't Wendy getting up after I tacked her onto the pavement and landed on her?--the sound of her back hitting the ground flush reverberates in my ears.  Why did Wendy flip out and start pounding on Maureen when I whispered my snarky comment about Maureen and Shelly being our girlfriends?  Why has Wendy agreed to fight me three times in 7 weeks?  Is it because she has some sort of particular attraction to me?  or just to fighting girls in general? 

Are she and I not competitors for Craig?

Did Maureen just sustain a face pounding for me?  Is she going to be mad at me for it?  How do I make it up to her?

Are either of us going to school tomorrow?  Everyone heard at the Homecoming Dance on Friday night that Wendy and I had fought after school on Friday--what will they think if I don't show for school on Monday?  I need to be at school Monday.

Maureen pulls into my driveway.  My stepmom is nervously waiting at the door.  She can see Maureen and I are exiting Maureen's car slowly and gingerly.

> Girls, what is it??  What happened??

> They jumped us, the bitches.   <<<<That's NOT EXACTLY what happened, I want to correct Maureen.  But I figure she has more experience at this than me, and in event the full truth doesn't exactly reflect well on my frirnd and me.>>>>>

> Those....  public .... school .... bitches.  <<<<My step mom spits on thr ground in contempt.>>>>  I knew they'd do that.  How many of 'em.

> Just two ..... but that's not the point ..... it was supposed to me the Wendy-Lisa show .... not a fucking free-for-all.   

>  <<<<I suddenly feel guilty for provoking Wendy into attacking Maureen.  Is it my fault the whole fight went bad??  Is that why I feel so bad?  I need to refocus the conversation to more urgent matters--getting my face presentable for school tomorrow morning.  Beteeen sobs, I beg....>>>>.... Mom, please.  I CAN'T miss school tomorrow, I can't, I can't, .... because of what Wendy said at the dance Friday night.  Mom, please ....  wash me up.

My stepmom's maternal instincts have been re-sparked .... and perhaps she recalls the shocking sight from 48 hours ago of Wendy straddling me and going to town on me in Wendy's backyard. 

The three of us go into the house. 

Seeing Maureen's swollen face in full light is a shocking sight--can an 18 year old female actually have done that with her bare fists?  For me to have escaped such a fight in three rounds--had Wendy been going easy on me all fall?

Or was Wendy more motivated against Maureen?  Motivated to defend Shelly?  Because Wendy and Shelly were more than friends?

Why are we not talking about that?  About what's up between Wendy and Shelly?  Why are we talking so freely about fights and fighting?  But not about Wendy and Shelly, about Wendy and Craig, about Craig and me. 

Why isn't Craig talking about Craig and me with me?  Is it because I propositioned him, and not the other way around?  The nuns at Spelman had always warned that if you give yourself to a man, he'll take you up on your offer and then discard you.  Is that what happened?  Did Craig discard me?  Did he discard Wendy?  Is that why Wendy moved on to girls?  Or does she prefer girls?

What caused what?

My stepmom rubs antiinfectant on my back and front, but implies my injuries are exaggerated and limited.  She's much more interested in Maureen's battered face.

She takes Maureen into the spare "rumpus room", the room where I first fought Wendy in September, and closes the door.  I try and eavesdrop on what they are doing.  I want my stopmom to hold me, to console me.  Why is she in there alone with Maureen?  Why is the door closed?

I hear the sound of bare flesh rubbing on bare flesh, the sound of groaning, of muffled ..... exhales .... whether of pain, or pleasure, I can't tell.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

PRE-HALLOWEEN

Even though I'm the cause of all the drama which has come to Brockton High since September--I'm the one who changed schools senior year, I'm the one who walked to school first day with another girl's boy, I'm the one who couldn't attend the Homecoming Dance because of a pre-Dance catfight, I'm the one who got her Mom and former Spelman classmate involved because I couldn't handle my business--I spend the week before Halloween as a clueless spectator to the events unfolding around me.

The first event is that my Spelman friend Maureen is sleeping in the guest room of my house, rehabbing from two black eyes which Wendy gave her at the Braintree Mall fight.  And at night, my stepmom joins her in bed.  Neither of them talk to me about what happens when they're in bed together.

My stepmom is only 38 years old and has a killer body, which she somehow maintains without ant formal workout.  She also hasn't had any regular sex that i know of since divorcing my stepdad, the well-intentioned Catholic who 'stirred the pot" between Wendy and me in late summer by setting up Craig and me.  So I'm not surprised that Maureen, if she swings that way, would fool around with her.  What surprises and hurts me is that neither talk to me about what's going on between them, and where it's headed.  Next spring we graduate high school (assuming we don't get expelled before then).  Are my stepmom and Maureen going to allow me to stay in the house?

And why aren't they teaching me how to fight?  Maureen has obviously been in more than her fair share of Spelman-Williams battles--her round with Wendy at the Braintree Mall was exhilarating to watch.  Am I so much of a lost cause that they're "moving on" from helping me?

Wendy also has not returned to school since the fight.  Is she injured?  Is someone helping her?  Maureen, at least, is keeping up with her school work.  Wendy is not, I find out.  And the timing for not doing so is terrible--the first academic quarter is coming to a close.  There's no way to finesse an F senior year of high school. 

And Craig is cold with me at school.  Polite, but cold.  Is it because he's hearing distorted rumors of the girl drama between Wendy and me?  Or is it because that's what boys do when you go all the way with them too soon?  Because if it's that, nothing I do can put that genie back in the bottle.

Halloween is coming Saturdsy night.  I know that Craig is a sucker for girls in hooker outfits--nylon, heavy lip stick and eye shadow, feathered hair, heels, mini-skirt--I busted him staring at some Brockton streetwalkers on some of our strolls to school.  I go the a thrift shop to supplement a few things I already have at home.  I try out some combinations in my mom's full-length mirror at home while she canoodles with Maureen at home--they're so busy with each other that they don't even notice me.

My original plan is to surprise Craig at his home at dusk on Saturday night and offer him my hooker body.  If we're not going to have a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, at least we can bang, right?  But on Thursday evening, I decide that plan is too risky--there are all sorts of Halloween parties going on around Brockton all day Saturday.  What if Craig is attending one of them?

Damn, I really really want to have sex with him.  The second time is when it starts to feel good, right?

So, Thursday, after school, I put on my hooker outfit and walk to Craig's house.  I withstand a gauntlet of catcalls, whistles, and actual solicitations for as much as $80.  Sigh, I guess if my stepmom and Maureen kick me out next May, I know how I csn make a few bucks if I need to.

I get to Craig's house.  His parents aren't home from work yet.  Perfect.  The side door is open.  Perfect.  I walk in.  I smell pot.  I hear voices in the living room.  Shit, what if Craig has friends over and they see me dressed ridiculously.  Oh well, I'll just tell them I'm practicing for Saturday night.  Too late to turn around now.

I walk into the living room.

Craig doesn't have friends over.  He has a girl over.  A topless girl.

Wendy.

She looks at my hooker outfit and starts laughing.

> Does your lover Shelly know you're alone with Craig, bitch?

Pot or no pot, Wendy's not laughing now.  I've struck a chord, and I have Craig's attention, too.

> We end this.  Right hear, right now, Spelman slut.

> Fine by me, Brockton bitch.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

"DON'T LET THAT STOP YA"

For you youngsters, an accusation of bisexuality carried much more of a whiff of scandal in 1981 than it does in 2018.  If anything, bisexuals were lower on the foid chain than lesbians, since bisexuality wasn't even looked on as a genuine identity, just as a lesbian-in-denial.

So I've gotten Craig's attention by making a genuine accusation of Wendy in front of him, even going so far as to i.d. Wendy's same-sex lover by name.  Craig, knowing Wendy as long and as well as he has, is no doubt replaying all the Wendy-Shelly interactions he has witnessed over the years, and face-palming his forehead with a "Oh! Now it all makes sense!" exclamation.

Both Wendy and I can read this in his body language, and Wendy cannot allow my put-down of her to go unanswered.  She stares at me with genuine hatred, and spits out to Craig, while looking at me, "This bitch only wants to fight me in front of you so that you'll interfere.  That's why she brought another Spelman slut to the fight this weekend--to jump me 2on1."

"You and I were fighting 1on1 Sunday, bitch.  YOU were the one that jumped in on someone else's fight."

"Then why aren't we fighting yet, slut?  What's stopping you?".

"Maybe Scott doesn't want his place trashed, dumb ass."

Scott must value watching an epic catfight more than the interior of his house, as he chimes in without hesitation, "Don't let that stop ya!", and ostentatiously flops on the couch, undoing his zipper.

Wendy seems to get closest to Scott by getting him to feel sorry for her, and I don't want her to have been nursed by him back to health all week from an injury sustained by me "jumping her", only to have me reinjure her again, restarting the cycle.

More importantly, I suddenly realize that Wendy has never thrown the first punch in any of our three previous fights.  The first day of school, I went to HER locker and challenged her.  The post-Pep Rally fight, I went to HER house and knocked on her door.  The Sunday night Braintree Mall fight, MY friend Maureen went to HER girlfriend Shelly and made the arrangements.

This is bullshit.

If I win the fight, and injure her like I did at the Braintree Mall, I want her to be the one that started the fight.

You wanna fight me, tough girl?  You're all talk--YOU're gonna hafta hit ME first.

And I know just the way to provoke the bitch.  That is, if she actually wants to fight me.  Which, I suppose, is what I'm actually trying to discover.

Is Wendy my rival for Craig or not?  If not, no need to fight her.  But if so, we need to fight.  Until there's a winner.  Until someone is hurt.  Otherwise, it's not a fight, is it?

You decide, Wendy.  Do we need to fight, or not?  Are you into Craig?  Or into Shelly?

Craig is on the couch, stroking his cock thru his underwear.  I'm wearing my Halloween hooker "costume". 

I pull up my hooker skirt.  I start lapdancing Craig, just teasing him first, but then actually let my thighs brush his cock ever so slightly.  He can't take the arousal anymore, and pulls his underwear elastic over his erect cock and takes it completely out.  His hands find my hips, and he guides my lapdancing closer and closer to my dark hooker nylons.  I allow only a feather touch between his skin and my clothes, forcing him to patiently wait.  I twist my hips in s lapdancing motion.

Wendy is watching, deciding if I have the balls to follow thru with my plan.  But still not acting one way or another.  I need to provoke her more.

I lock eyes with her.  "I'm gonna do it, bitch.  I'm gonna fuck your boyfriend.  Right here, right now, in front of you, bitch.  You gonna do anything??"

"Don't make me laugh, Spelman slut.  You Catholic girls just tease.  You don't know how to actually do it."

"I swear, Wendy.  I'm gonna ride his cock raw.  Unless .... you don't want me to."

"You couldn't ride a cock if your life depended on it, Lisa."

Craig's cock is soaked with pre-cum.  He's going to ruin everything and prematurely explode if I don't hop on it soon.

So I do.

<<<<SLAP!!!!!!!!!!>>>>>>>>

Wendy's claws are in my hair.

"Well, well, well, whore, you do care, don't you?"

My dismount from Craig is made easier by him shooting his load onto my nylons.

Wendy and I square up.

Words are unnecessary.  Our posture says it all.

So now we know.

We both like him. 

We both want him.

Let's fight, bitch.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

POT-HEAD

Wendy was right to detect that I wanted this, our last fight, to be in front of Craig.  But not for the reason she thought.  I didn't want him to interfere or break us up--nor did I think he would, no matter how rowdy our fight got.  I wanted him to sit back and enjoy.

Instead, I wanted Craig to be bearing witness, because I had a hunch that it would affect Wendy.  That she would want him to see her fight like a girl, not like a boy.  That the closed-fist haymakers she and Maureen were unloading on each other at the Braintree Mall would be back-burnered for more feminine tactics, such as hairpulling and gouging and kicking.  Wendy would voluntarily forego her biggest advantage--her blinding, punishing right-cross, which had evidently been taught to her by her older brother, who still lived at home, in childhood tussles, and would rely on catfighting tactics.

In other words, my kind of fight.

With one final x-factor in my favor.

Wendy was stoned out of her mind.  I could see it in her eyes.  I could smell it on her breath, in her oily hair, on her skin.  Someone who's stoned is a half-step slow.

That was all the advantage I needed.

Wendy grabbed my hair by her claws, still strong as a horse.  But I already could tell today's outcome was going to be different than our first three fights.  Rather than grabbing her hair back, as she was anticipating, I went straight for her bare chest.  With both hands, twisting and gouging mercilessly and without regret.  My hair was voluntarily defenseless against Wendy's shredding, and she succeeded in removing partial portions and sending them to the floor.  But she was slow to perceive my lack of fear of her approach, and the threat to herself of mine.

Craig sat transfixed on the couch, resuming his stroking motion as his two girlfriends proceeded to destroy each other.  I could tell he was drawn to the stronger, the winner.  And that that would shortly be me.

My nylon-based hooker outfit would normally be slight protection to the vulnerable parts of my female anatomy.  But in these unusual circumstances, with Wendy fully topless and my grip on her breasts secured, it was enough.  Too late, Wendy's arms released their grip on my hair, and flailed to my sides and underbelly, seeking targets.  But her sweaty hands continually slid off my sheer nylon top and stockings, returning to their owner without inflicting pain on me.  Wendy's strange oiliness, previously most noticable on her hair and the acne-marred chin of her combination-skin face, was now spreading to her entire upper body.

Perhaps fear brought it out in her.  Fear of losing a catfight in front of her boyfriend.

At Brockton High School that afternoon, in Western Civ, we were taught about the Spanish Infantry at the Battle of Rocroi in 1643, who had never been defeated since the 1470s.  When they finally met a bigger bully, Cardinal Richeleau's Duc d'Enghien, Marechal de France, and realized they were going to lose that afternoon, rather than fleeing the field, they charged ahead and met their fate, heads held high.

With my claws sunk irremovably into her breasts, and me now mounting her, Wendy saw the end, but nevertheless charged ahead fearlessly.  She bucked at me desperately, driving her knees painfully into my kidneys, causing me to choke in pain.  But I refused to release my grip, twisting ever more mercilessly on the Brockton bitch.  I must have straddled her in that position for over 10 minutes, Craig masturbating throughout to the view.  He and I exvhsnged longing stares, knowing what we eould be doing to each other all weekend long.

Wendy never did give.  She just passed out in agony.

Fortunately, before I did likewise in exstasy.

Exstasy at beating my enemy.  Exstasy that Craig watched it.  Exstasy that no one interrupted us.

Exstasy at besting Brockton's baddest bitch in a fair fight.

Exstasy at winning a girlfight.  I knew it wouldn't be my last, even if it was my last against Wendy.

Wendy never went back to Brockton High School.  She was pregnant by Christmas, and not by Craig.

I was only getting started getting into fights.  I won't tell you about all of them--I can't type that much.

But I'll tell you about one.  The following summer.  About a girl from Archbishop Williams.

To be continued......