[sinclairfan]

June 3, 1984
Dear Christine,
We've never formally been introduced to each other.  But we've seen each other a few times, usually in the stands at Xavier High School football games on Friday nights.  I was with the Mercy High School girls watching those games--I'm the one with the straight platinum blonde hair to my shoulders.  I saw you there in the group of Wilson High School girls. 

As soon as I saw you were the same height and build as me, and had the brunette hair with the tight curls, I knew you were the public girl I needed to worry about.  Not so much worry about, as much as keep my eye on.  So I did.

Not in the same way I kept my eye on Tom's girlfriends--that was easy to do thru his guy buddies.  They always knew who he was formally dating.

But you and I were always different.  When he messed around with me at Xavier-Mercy dances, or when you "gave him rides" around Middletown in your car, he would always keep us a secret from his buddies--both his Xavier buddies and his buddies who went to public school.  That's how I knew I needed to be worried about you--that you were my biggest rival for him.

I never introduced myself because I knew if we ever started talking that we'd fight.  And I figured you weren't worth the trouble--Mercy has a zero tolerance policy on fighting, even against someone not from the school.  My parents spent a lot on my 4 years here--I didn't want to jeopardize their investment in me.
But that all ends tomorrow.  I graduate tomorrow, and am starting at Providence College in September.

So, I can't help wondering:  what if you and I are at the same party this summer?  Or at Hammanasset Beach?  Or even just at West Farms or downtown Middletown?  What if one of us sees the other?  Will we introduce ourselves?  Now that high school is over, will we talk civilly to each other?

Or do we both know we're both still sleeping with Tom?  That his parents make him date "nice girls" who kiss him and give him blue balls, and that we're his outlet to going all the way?  That the three of us are learning about sex and positions and boundaries and limits from each other?  That you and I know he's comparing and ranking you compared to me, and me compared to you, every time he does it with one of us?

That you and I are dying to know which one of us is better?  Better at fucking.

And better at fighting.

Sincerely,
Lisa
xoxoxo

*************************
December 21, 1984
Dear Lisa,
I've never introduced myself to you, because I assumed after high school we'd never see each other again.  You'd go off to Providence College and meet a nice Catholic boy and get married and have 4 kids.  And be a good Catholic wife and put up with his sleeping around on business trips and never divorce him, no matter what sort of disrespect he threw at you.

Just like all thru high school, you kept hanging around Tom, no matter how serious he was getting with actual girlfriends.

And no matter how many car rides he took with me.  I know you always noticed that when he got in the car with me, it was always just the two of us.  I could see you spying from the safety of the pack of Mercy girls you'd always hang with.  I could see you gossiping with them--a few of them told me later you were telling them I was the Wilson High School Class Slut.  I came close a couple times to walking into the pack and coldcocking you right in the face so you could go to school some Monday morning with a black eye or broken nose--I know how to make a fist and I don't punch like a girl, so don't ever underestimate me.  And don't think the reason it never happened was because I was afraid of you--no, it was because you Mercy girls have a reputation for jumping in when another girl wants to have a fair fight with you.  I'll take my chances with any 2 or 3 of you, but not 12.  I might go to Wilson, but I'm not that dumb.

So I just sucked it up--and sucked off Tom in the car.  And asked him as he was cumming who was better at it, you or me.  He told me I was.  Every.  Damn.  Time.

I asked him who would win a fight between you and me.  He thought about.  Then said me.  Every time.

So imagine my disappointment when you didn't go away that summer.  When you and the same pack of Mercy girls walked around West Farms or sunned at Hammanasset in your bikinis.  Still staring evey time Tom got in my car for the long ride back to Middletown.

Alone.  Every time.  He would need to do it with me 2 or 3 times on the way back, ya know.  4 times, once.  Not lyin', bitch.  Would I lie to you, honey?

And then you came back home from PC Columbus Day weekend.  And Veterans Day weekend.  Couldn't wait to Thanksgiving, could you, slut?  No action at PC? 

Jealous of the prep school girls Tom is meeting at Amherst College?

Or are you jealous of lil' ole me?  The hometown girl who stayed home in Connecticut to go the secretary's school, and is getting a big paycheck in the nice office in Bloomfield?  Not to mention the sexy secretary clothes Tom likes to see me in?

And now first semester is over at PC.  Aren't you supposed to be getting in internship in your major?  Why'd you have to come back to Middletown??  When you hang out, where are you going to find a pack of Mercy girls to surround yourself with?

Just wonderin',
Christine

p.s.  I hate you.

*****************************
June 15, 1990
Dear Christine,

It's been 6 years since high school, and we somehow have still never spoken face-to-face.  I've avoided conversing with other women before, but never with the same person for this long.  It's actually sort of incredible.

I know you ask about me--us Mercy '84 girls stay in touch via a newsletter I know you know about (since you get your hands on it to keep tabs on me:  don't think I don't know all about that), plus we have a Class Reunion every Thanksgiving at the Lord Cromwell Inn.  I keeping waiting for some CG executive in Bloomfield to propose to you and for you to take the offer.  Tell me, have you at least come close to getting any offers?  Or thought about it?  Because I know you could be married now if you wanted to be.  And yet you're not.  Hmmmm.

Not that I should talk.  About a quarter of the girls in my PC Friars Class of 1988 are married or engaged.  Some already have a baby.   (Including some of the unmarried one's--have you had any pregnancy scares, slut that you are?
But I digress. Sorry--you bring the sarcasm out in me, bitch.)  I had a guy come at my hard--in a perfect gentleman type of way.  He called it "courting" me.  All very proper.  And tempting--being treated like a lady is a pleasure a tramp like you will never experience.

But I couldn't do it to him:  couldn't accept his ring, knowing that I was still fucking Tom.

So, now, look at us.  Two of Tom's side chicks.

As he gets married today.  To a Rich Bitch Wall Street girl.

To live in the Big Apple.

Where MetroNorth goes. 

I know I'll be going there.

And I know you will be, too.

This should be interesting.

Lovingly yours,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

February 13, 1991
Dear Lisa,

It's the night before Valentine's Day.  Tom is being the Good Husband and sharing it with his rich bitch new wife.  If there's one thing he learned from the last seven years of juggling you and me, it's how to feel multiple women feel wanted around Valentine's.  He sent me a dozen roses at work today.  Didn't sign his name, of course.  But I know it was him.  I'm sure he did something special for you as well.  Bitch.

Seven years.  Shit.  Can it really be that long that we've been sharing him?  And still not actually met?  Is that a good thing or a bad thing?  I used to think that if we delayed meeting until we were more mature, once we were done being teens, any fight that broke out between us would be less violent, less out of control. 

But now that we're both 25, I can see that my thinking was mistaken.  If we had gotten our catfight over with and out of our system when we were 18, we would have pulled hair and slapped each other and walked away feeling vindicated.

But if we fight now, it won't be that easy.  To start with, we will want to fight alone; with no witnesses, and with no one to interfere.  And getting a few slaps or punches won't be enough.  We'll want to hurt each other.  I need to hurt you.  To get you out of Tom's life forever, no matter how persistent he is about contacting you.

I think about fighting you a lot.  Sometimes when I'm with Tom, sometimes when I'm alone and missing him.  When I'm with him, and you cross my mind, I hesitate to bring you up.  I don't want him thinking about you when he cums. 

But I usually end up caving and ask him about you.  Or, I ask him about who's better between you and me.  Better in bed.  Or better in a fight. 

And it hit me the other day why I do that.  I do it because it amps up the fuck session he and I are in.  He gets harder.  But I get wetter.

Seems I'm sexually into the idea of fighting you.  I've been in girlfights--not for awhile now, but in actual fights--and I've been excited by some of them.  But not sexually; not to the point of actually getting wet.  Only you do that to me. 

Don't start thinking it's because I'm into women.  I'm not--only cock does it for me. 

But I realize now the idea of fighting you turns me on.

I doubt I'll send this to you.  You'll probably take it wrong.  Bitch.

Sincerely yours,
Christine
xoxoxo (you'd take these wrong, too)


August 11, 1991
Dear Christine,

Hey, bitch.  I heard CG finally laid off your sorry ass.  And that you got another job at Guardian and are double dipping.  What a coincidence...not.  There's no way someone can line up another job that fast.

There's no way someone with your pea brain came up with that scheme.  Did one of your secretary buddies think that up??

Or .... was it Tom?  Going to him for career advice?  Or just trying to squeeze cash out of him by making it look like you're hurting for money?

How long do you think you can keep that game going??  You realize that eventually you'll cycle thru every employer in Southern New England, and then they'll be onto your game?  Amiright, slut??

Gawd, you're pathetic.  You just try and come over to Connecticut Mutual and watch how fast I rat you out, skank.  I'll make sure you never get your foot in the door here.  Or, worse, I'll let you get comfortable here, after you burn your bridges everywhere else--and then get you fired from here with no severance.

And don't think you can go live near Tom in New York City.  No one can live there alone on a secretary's salary, honey.  You need to be on a path to management, like I am.

Gawd, you're a dumb ass.  Burns me up.  Enough to go ghetto on your slut body if we ever run into each other at Tom's side chick condo.

You better hope that never happens, bitch.

Fuck you,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

July 5, 1994
Dear Lisa,

I'm not sure why, but I attended Wilson's Class of 1984 10th Reunion tonight.  I'm a little bit disappointed you weren't there.  Obviously you didn't attend Wilson--you're a snob bitch and went to Mercy--but I know you're still single and coulda been the date of a Wilson boy, or the Plus-1 of a single or divorced Wilson girl.  I thought about if you had attended where we might fight.  Would we go into the Ladies' Room and lock the door?  Or would we take it offsite?  And if so, where?

One of my old classmates' dates and I, her name was Michelle, had a little bit too much to drink, and started talking about the subject of girlfighting.  She confessed to me that that was part of the reason she was there--to see if any of her boyfriend's old classmates was anyone she needs to be worried about.  You know, who might be a rival that she might need to have it out with someday.  Part of me is wondering if she subconsciously suspected me, and was probing to see if I would confess to having a thing for her man.  I thought about it--getting myself into a fight with her, just for practice for the inevitable day you and I catfight.

Because I'm starting to realize.....it IS inevitable that you and I are going to catfight someday, isn't it, Lisa?  Tom clearly isn't going to give either of us up.  He's on two kids and counting, and still fucks both of us on the side.  He's clearly leaving it up to us who's the main side chick.  He knows both of us live in Central Connecticut.  And that neither of us are getting married any time soon.
 I'm sure he's wondering why we haven't arranged to meet up.

Are YOU wondering why not, too?

Sincerely,
Christine


November 30, 1994

Dear Christine,

Mercy had its 10th Reunion for the Class of 1984 this past weekend.  Good turnout--lots of girls in town for Thanksgiving.  Bringing their infants and toddlers to see their families.  I thought of Tom's 2 babies--such a proud father that he can't resist showing their pictures to his mistress.  I'm sure he's shown them to you, too.  I use the opportunity to warn him what a Rat Bitch you are and to make sure you don't trick him into knocking you up.  I could totally see you doing that as a way to get money from him.  Evil Slut.

I tell him all the time to just give me the word, and I will sssooo kick your ass.  I'll totally do it, Christine, don't you doubt it for a minute.  Some Mercy girls and I were talking about fighting at the Reunion.  A couple of them have had, or barely got out of having, catfights in the last few years.  Sometimes over guys.  But more often over neighborhood disputes or gossip.  Some of them scoffed, "Oh, men aren't WORTH fighting over."  But I see it the opposite--if you meet the right man, he pretty much is the only thing worth fighting over.

And I've found the right man.  I'm not giving up Tom for anything or anyone.  And least of all to a trampy bitch like you. 

Not without a fight.

Love,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

March 2, 1997
To:  Lisa??@aol.com
From:  ChrisW31______@ aol. com

Hey, bitch.  Are you on AOL?  I'm spending way to many hours at night searching profiles of people who look like they might be you, only to end up DMing them and finding out it's not you. 

Which I admit is strange--I know you work at Connecticut Mutual in the Investment Department.  I could just call you during the work day.  Or call your number at night or on a weekend or holiday and leave you a voice mail.  Something like, "I think it's time--past time--that you and I meet and settle this sleeping-with-Tom situation.  Or at least find out who the Alpha Mistress is."

For some reason, I would have no problem doing that if I knew what your personal email address was.  I know companies read work emails, so I'm not going to do it there.  But inhibitions come off on AOL.  I've even heard people log onto here as different personas, or even the opposite gender.

So why do I keep doing it?  Why do I keep writing snail mail letters and not sending them?  Why am I starting to write email drafts to someone whose email address I don't know?

Part of it is, admittedly, sad.  I do it to fill in the emptiness of being a mistress to a New York investment banker who compartimentalizes to a degree that's borderline sociopathic.  How the hell does he hang out with his wife and four kids knowing he's been fucking you and me on the side since high school??  Maybe the question answers itself.  Maybe that's the only way to cope with four kids (and counting, from what I understand--his wife must have some sort of magic uterus).  Great for him--but what am I supposed to do when I get on MetroNorth and go back home to my empty apartment?  I can only masturbate to the memories of him and I doing it for so long.

So that's part of it.

But another part of it has nothing to do with him at all.  It has to do with you.  I know you're somehow still seeing him.  Even though you're 31 years old and have been in a couple of relationships.  Did those relationships end because of Tom?  Could the guys you were dating tell that you weren't committing to them?  Or were you the roadblock?
Were you disappointed that the sex with them wasn't as good as it was with Tom?  Were their cocks smaller than Tom's?

I guess what I'm saying is--WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO FUCK OFF SO I CAN HAVE TOM TO MYSELF??  Between his own family--understandable--and you--NOT UNDERSTANDABLE--there's not enough days in the year left available for Tom and me.  NOT COOL.  I keep waiting for you to FUCKING GO AWAY. 

So I write these letters telling you to do so.  And I end up deciding to NOT SEND THEM.  Reverse psychology, I think.  If she knows I want her to fade into the background, she'll stick around just to spite me.  So I don't end up sending them.

Is that true, btw?  Are you sticking around just to spite me?

Because, if you are .....  well, that's a pretty bitchy thing to do.

Bitch.

Toodles xoxo,
Chrstine


August 2, 1997
Tanglewood, MA

Dear Christine,

Hey, tramp.  I usually think of you when I'm sad or bored.  Especially bored.  Something about your dull, uncultured, secretary brain sets me off.  More on that later.

But today I'm HAPPY ..... and just had to tell you--rub it in your face.  Ooooooooo - a sexual allusion.  I must have just had break-the-doors-down sex for 2 days.  Oh, that's right!!!  I did!!!!  With Tom!!!!

He used his Merrill Lynch season pass to Tanglewood to invite me--me!!!  not you!!! hah!--to listen to the Boston Pops for 2 days.  (Tanglewood is the place in the Berkshires where they play every summer.  I doubt you knew that.  See above.)

And then to fuck each others' brains out at night!!!

So ...  eat your heart out bitch!!  I'm sure he'll be ditching your sorry, vapid, boring ass soon.

Get a dictionary if you don't know what vapid means, slut.

Love,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

December 31, 1999
Dear Lisa,

Welp, I never thought I'd be sitting alone in my apartment the night of Y2K.  Remember that Prince song, "party like it's 1999"?  Well, it's here, and there's no party.  Guess that's what I get for dating a married guy.

You know who I blame, though, right?  You, bitch.  If not for you, he would have at least had me into the city to fuck, at, say 8pm.  Pregame before the main event with his wife at midnight.  But he can't have both of us in the city.  So he has neither. 

Why aren't you married, yet, bitch?  You have relationships.  I know all about them.  Why do they end without marriage?  Do the guys not propose?  Or do they propose, but you say no?  They can probably tell your heart is elsewhere.

That's your problem, isn't it bitch?  That you love Tom, right?  I don't love him.  It's true.  I just love the satisfying fucking.  And I'm not giving it up, if that's what you're hoping for. 

So you keep right on staying single.  I'm not going fucking anywhere.

Bitch.

xoxoxo,
Christine



December 31, 1999
Dear Christine,

Thanks to you, I'm getting paid over time tonight.  I volunteered to be on CM's Y2K team.  In case the world ends tonight.  Except there'd be nothing I could do with the money, would there?  But whatever.

By the way:  why the fuck did you straighten your hair?  Old age making your hair too fine for the brunette curls to look nice?  What did Tom say?  Or was he the one that had you change the 'do.  You know that means he'll be ditching your ass soon, right?

I can't fucking wait.  That will make my day.

And my year.

And my millenium.

xoxo,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

September 12, 2001

Dear Lisa,

Well, the last 24 hours was pure hell.  Tom finally told me he was fine--he wasn't even in New York City.  He was on business in Minneapolis, thank God.  Although now he needs to figure out how to get a rental car to drive back home, since there's no flights for at least a few days, and even when they resume, they'll probably all be booked solid.

He also told me the little stunt you pulled a few years back.  Having him buy $250,000 life insurance on himself a few years ago, with you and me as beneficiaries.  You fucking whore.  And that word now applies to you literally, not just figuartively, you skank.

But even setting your whore-ness aside--Lisa, you had no fucking right to do that.  Now if Tom ever dies in mysterious circumstances, I become a suspect.  Even if I have an airtight alibi, I come under scrutiny from the cops.  They'll immediately realize I'm his mistress, even if I don't "confess" it right away.  They'll want to know my whole history with him. 

And with you.  Including why you and I haven't spoken for 17 years, even though you and I have him in common.

And p.s. getting the same amount of insurance for both of us was way inappropriate.

The sex he's had with me is three or four times better than the sex he's had with you.

Bitch.

Love,
Christine



September 12, 2001

Dear Christine,

If Tom had died yesterday, I would have gone to the wake.  And if you were there, I swear to God I don't care how much of a scene it would have causedvand how many people saw, but I would have kicked your ass.  In fact, the more people who saw, the better.

And, by the way, he let me know first this morning that he was ok.

His wife first.
Then me.
Then you.
Hmmmmmm.

xoxo,
Lisa



March 2, 2003
Dear Lisa,

You really are a fucking psycho, aren't you?  You're single, and you buy a fucking house in Colchester??  On your own??

Does this mean you're never fucking getting married??

I have total fantasies of driving to that house and kicking the shit out of you.  Once and for all.

Fuck you,
Christine

[sinclairfan]

August 23, 2003
Dear Christine,

Well, well, well.  The company you work for is buying Connecticut Mutual.  Did you have anything to do with that?  Just kidding; I know you're only at Administrative Assistant.  37 years old and still just a secretary??  Really?  I guess you're never going to grow into anything bigger, are you?  Career plateau, I think they call it?

Think it will be awkward working for the same company?  Maybe not; you're in the Springfield, MA office.  I'm going to be in Enfield, CT.  So still some distance between us.  Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Sometimes, when I walk around my yard in Colchester, I wonder what it would be like if you came here and we fought.  Would we fight inside or outside?  Colchester is far enough out in the boonies that if we fought outside, no one would interrupt us.  We could fight till we were finished.

But sometimes I think fighting inside would be even better.  I wouldn't want to bust your face wide open and have the scent of your blood attract foxes and coyotes or whatever.  You can hear the coyotes out here at night when they make a kill; they gather around and sing or howl or whatever it's called.

There's a biker bar out here.  I went there with my mom and stepdad when they came out to help me get some stuff set up in the house.  There were 2 biker chicks who got into it.  Just verbally, although you could tell they both wanted it to get physical.

I came home and masturbated my brains out.  It made me think of you and me fighting.  Finally.

Maybe soon.  Now that we have two things to fight over.  Who should leave the job.  And who should leave Tom.

I know it won't be me.  Bitch.

Love,
Lisa


September 8, 2003

Dearest Lisa,

Tom just dropped his oldest daughter off at a 5 thru 12 boarding school in the Berkshires.  "First Form" they call it.  Like in Jolly Old England two hundred years ago.  All very classy.  Unlike you and your pretentious Mercy, and the sluts who went there.  Tom's daughter will be going to Brown, I'm sure.  You went to Providence College.  'Nuff said there.

But that's not why I'm writing this.

I'm writing this because of what Tom did on the way back.

He dropped by at my place and fucked my brains out.  Like, harder than he ever has before.  No exaggerating. 

He told me I'd totally kick your ass in a fight, too.

And between the two--the fucking, and the girlfight talk--guess which one turned me on more.

It was actually no contest.

Him talking about you and me fighting turned me on more.  Way ... more.

It made me want to fight you so bad.

xoxo,
Christine

[WriteThisWay]

6 posts and literally zero fighting, just like every other "story" of yours.

At what point does it become spam?

[Trudy]

6 posts and literally zero fighting, just like every other "story" of yours.

At what point does it become spam?

This reminds me of people that complain about what’s on TV rather than change the channel
Don’t like it? Don’t read it.

[sidekick]

6 posts and literally zero fighting, just like every other "story" of yours.

At what point does it become spam?

Hey dickweed, if you don't enjoy the story please go away and don't annoy the rest of us.

[sinclairfan]

July 1, 2005 
Dear Christine,

I took a moment at lunch today and wandered over to the section of the Enfield building where you're going to be starting next Tuesday.  I'm pretty sure I found your workstation.  I was tempted to leave a little "Welcome, Bitch" note in it, but I can totally see you reporting it, .... and me ...., to HR.  That's the sort of spiteful thing you'd do to squeeze me out.  Out of the company, and out of Tom's life.

Plus, there's going to be ample opportunity to see each other face to face now.  This is going to be weird--being in the same building 5 days a week.  What if we bump into each other in the parking lot?  In the cafeteria?  In the women's room?  Are we going to be able to control ourselves from catfighting right on the spot??  I'll try and remind myself that I have more at stake than you--that I have a real actual career here while you're just a secretary.  What will YOU do to avoid fighting at work??

Ever since I found out your department was being transferred from Springfield to Enfield, I've been having this recurring dream .... let's call it a "dream fragment"--it doesn't proceed linearly, and when I wake up, I have difficulty fully recalling it.  Anyways, you and I are at work, wearing exaggerated work clothes--skirts, hose, blazers, sweaters, necklaces, earrings.  Lots of accessories, lots of makeup, lots of layers of clothes. 

We lock eyes in the hallway at work, and we motion each other into the nearest restroom.  Sometimes the supply room, but usually the restroom.  We go in, and lock the door behind us.  We grab hair with one hand, and use the other hand to start slowly stripping each other.  One item at a time.  The earrings come off.  The necklaces and bracelets.  The soft sweaters.  All very sensual, very ritualistic.  We step out of our skirts, and are wearing sexy lingerie--not the kind I usually wear to work, but the kind I wear for Tom on one of our fuck-dates.  And you're wearing the same.  And we pull each other close in a bearhug, half fighting, but half being grabby and hands-y with each other, both of us horny and turned on.

None of this has any ending our conclusion, so I don't know what it's all about.  Is it a prediction of an encounter you and I are going to have in the office soon?  Is it just 17 years--shit, this has been going on 17 years??-- of tension between you and me trying to resolve itself??

And why haven't you sent me an office email yet, even though I'm sitting right there on the system??  Not woman enough??

Love,
Lisa



July 1, 2005
Dearest Lisa,

Tom invited me out onto his boat on the Connecticut River to watch fireworks tomorrow night.  He drops his family off at Newport, Rhode Island--it sounds like basically for the entire summer--and then pops up the river to Middletown and will meet me there tomorrow morning to pick me up.  Then we'll go up the Hartford and watch the show.

Then I'm sure we'll fuck the rest of the night in his quarters.  I'm sure the bed is tiny, but that will be fine.  I don't mind squeezing in tight with him.

He has a three-man crew on the boat.  You know what that means, right?  They're going to see him and me watching the foreworks.  Holding hands.  Kissing.  Then retiring to the captains' bunk.  Probably hearing the grown-up noises coming out of there.

Lisa, he trusts his staff with seeing him and me together!!

What do you think this means??  I mean, I know he trusts his staff to be discreet.  But do you think maybe he's thinking of leaving his wife?  Or his wife is maybe thinking of leaving him, now that their kids teens and pre-teens?  Or maybe they'll just live separate lives, and have an open-marriage kinda thing?

If Tom is free to sleep around now, what will it mean for you and me?  Will he still want both of us?  Or will be pick just one?  Because yhis sharing thing is getting old.  Everytime Tom sticks his cock in me, I picture your cum all over him and getting in me.  Grosses me out--you're a disgusting pig.

I'm going to tell him you and I are working in the same office when I get back from vacation July 11.  My boxes are getting moved tonight and will be sitting unpacked on my new desk for a week--you better not get any ideas and touch anything.

If you do, I'll fucking kick your ass.

xoxo,
Christine

[sinclairfan]

July 18, 2005
Dear Christine,

You fucking coward bitch.  You resigned??  You couldn't even face one single day in the same office as me?? 

I'm starting to think YOU'RE the reason we've never spoken for twenty-one years.  In high school, you had a reputation as a scrapper, but I'm starting to think you cultivated that just to avoid having actual fights. 

Tom is being mum on his role in any of this, but I know he looks out for you financially, and wouldn't let you quit a job without having another one lined up.  But he won't tell me where your next job is.  WHAT'S THE FUCKING BIG SECRET?

You're not, like, Tom's full time mistress now, are you?  He's not putting you up in some condo that he pays for, is he??  You wouldn't actually whore yourself out to him like that, would you??

Something fucking stinks here, and I'm going to find out what it is.  Big mistake leaving your boxes behind here.  I'm going to go thru them and find out what's up.

I'm a damn good detective.

Watch your back,
Lisa


July 22, 2005
Dearest Lisa,

Well, goodbye to boring Central Connecticut!!!!  I'm in Fairfield County now!!!!  Merrill gave up some trading space and square footage in Stamford, and Tom gave me title on a condo here.

He gave me title, sucka!!!!!  Even gave me my own attorney at the closing, representing me, not him!!!  My dad told me that's the best way to tell this is all legit.

So goodbye MassMutual, and goodbye Lisa!!!!  You can have the crap I left behind in the two boxes--it's all yours!  I THINK I have all the letters I've been writing but not sending since 1984--high school graduation.  Thst's how long I've wanted to kick your ass.

I may have forgotten one or two--I feel like there's a couple from the 1990s I remember writing.  Vaguely.  Who knows.

I still want to, btw.  Kick your ass, that is.  I still might, you do anything to piss you.

But you're working, now.  And I'm not.  So I'm not going to do anything to ruin a good thing. 

Not just yet anyways.

Don't think you're in the clear, bitch.

Love,
Chrstine

[sinclairfan]

August 6, 2005
Dear Christine,

I had a catfight today.  Well, not so much a catfight--more like a streetfight.  Less hairpulling and scratching than there will be when you and I fight someday.  Not if, but WHEN.  I knew that you and I would eventually fight when I went thru your abandoned box of belongings at MassMutual and found your lovely letter to me from December 21, 1984. 

So, now I know that:
<> You've been drafting letters to me (as I have to you)
<> You've been saving them--at least some of them (as have I)
<> You think about confronting me, but haven't, out of concern for provoking a fight, or how Tom might react (as have I).

Who woulda thunk that you and I have so much in common???

Not me.  Because I still remember that day, 12/21/84, when you sent that note.  It was a Friday.  The last day of the first semester of my freshman year at Providence College.

I had a Microeconomics final that morning at 8am.  I was so proud of myself; expanding my horizons, challenging my mind, learning marketable skills.

While you were back home, practically walking distance from high school, working as a secretary.

How dare you think at the time you and I were equal??  But even worse:  how dare you be proud enough of that note to save it??  How is it not crumpled in the trash out of shame for what little growth you've challenged yourself to achieve, bitch??

How can someone like Tom find any fulfillment at all in you??  Is it pity?  Does he pity you??

Or do you just give a super-slutty blow job?  (And, no, I'm not projecting--he and I have intercourse most of that time.)

I've wanted to kick your ass since I read that 1984 note.  BUT I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE LIVING NOW.  And Tom won't tell me.

So.  That brings me to this afternoon.

There's a blonde woman our age named Kara who hangs out a lot a Harbor Park in the summer.  She goes boating on the River or the Sound even with whoever will invite her, men or women, out of hopes of getting in her pants later.

I bought her a drink and asked her if she wanted to fight.  I told her I'd be fine with a small crowd watching, betting money, that I'd give her my cut if she won.  I figured it was only 20/80 she'd say yes, but I figured wrong.  She was into it.  She told me to meet her in 2 hours at her place in Hebron.

Her backyard was nice and private.  She invited 10 people, half guys half women.  We were both wearing shorts and halter tops--we kicked off our flipflops.

We squared up and did bare knuckle boxing, but with more low blows and tit punching than real boxing.  The women were playing the whole thing for laughs until the "thwack"-ing started.  They yelled out idiotic question like, "Does that hurt?".  They decided to late that they wanted to film it, and we refused to stop.

After a couple minutes of that, halfway thru the fight, I realized 2 things.
<> I was going to beat Kara.  (I did.)
<> I want to fight you.  Soon.

We've waited much too long already.

Xoxo,
Lisa

[sinclairfan]

August 28, 2005
Dear Lisa,

Well, if making me do something impulsive was your goal:  Congratulations, Mission Accomplished.

I heard you took possession of my box at MassMutual.

You.  Fucking.  Bitch.

How dare you?  We're not friends; not even close.

You have no intention of returning anything of value to me from that box.  You're just snooping.  You have no right.

I drove to the Greater Hartford Open, to go to the hospitality tents, hoping to see you there.  To start a catfight.  Public, or otherwise--I was going to give you the option.

You weren't there.  The plan was for me to go to your house in Colchester.  I even had the directions printed out.

But then you got lucky.  At the GHO, I saw a bitch, Anne, from CG who I had an unresolved grudge with.  I should have walked away.  She talked shit about me there after I left.

But I didn't walk away.  I got in her face and asked if she wanted to say that shit to my face.

She said she gladly would, if I met her at Dinosaur State Park.

So, either I need to walk away from you, or walk away from her.

You're my priority, not her.  I was driving distance to your house.  But all I could picture was her talking shit about me at CG, saying she had been waiting for me at Dinosaur State Park and I didn't show.

So I met her there, off one of the walking paths.

It was a fast fight, but all-out.  We got into each others' hair and were in a catball on the ground in less than 20 seconds.  We were scratching each other in the face and tearing hair out--I could taste blood and feel hair in my mouth.  We were completely out in the sun and sweating like crazy.  I was so mad at myself for letting it be a catfight and not a fistfight--been too long between girlfights, apparently. 

So I overcompensated and started swinging with my fists.  Big mistake--my right thumb caught her skull and I knew right away it was either broken or dislocated.  (Spoiler alert:  it's the latter.)

So, the fight fizzled out about 2 minutes after that.  I was in agony, and I don't think she was into bleeding and sweating in the sun.  Prissy, girly type.

So now I'm in a cast and can't give Tom handjobs for 3 months.

Can't drive to Colchester and kick your ass, either.

But come December, watch out, bitch.

xoxo,
Christine

[JT Edson]

6 posts and literally zero fighting, just like every other "story" of yours.

At what point does it become spam?

We each have our own style of writing. Sinclairfan is good at building up and giving background. I feel, it adds to the story. It adds to the pay off. Give it a chance.