I had to squint, but was actually kind of grateful, as the first glimmer of the sun's rays crept over the horizon—-the swirls of purplish-red slowly rising from the ocean, and within minutes, its warmth begin to settle on my sin, and then slowly penetrate it. It was to be a scorcher today—-mid-90’s (for all you Celsius-lovers, that’s about 34 degrees).
But that would be a couple of hours away. Right now, it was comfy—-even a bit nippy. Well, what do you expect at 6 AM? I try to stifle a yawn as I spy the short blonde emerge from the path cut into the tall reeds of sea grass. Our eyes lock, and I see a smirk play on her pretty face. But she says nothing, simply eyeing me as she saunters past, small puffs of sand kicking up from her bare feet as she finally stops about 10 feet away. I smirk internally—-it’s rare that I can refer to someone as “short”, and even as such, Gabriella is maybe, maybe 1/2 an inch shorter than me, about 5’ 1”-ish. I watch in silence as she slips off her shirt and shimmies out of her cut-offs, letting them slide down those silky…
Our attention is immediately drawn back to the tall sea grass, as the second blonde emerges. Taller, maybe 5’6” or so, she pauses at the edge of the sand, a small smile and nod toward me, and then a slight scowl as she locks her gaze on Gabby. I can tell by the look on her face that Erin means business—-striding to my other side, tearing off her t-shirt and peeling off her shorts. Both girls well-endowed—-their bikini tops working overtime to keep those breasts in check for the moment.
This meeting had been a long time coming. The two Brits met at the hottest female fight club in town—Kombat Kittens—- and while one would normally think that the two UK girls would share some commonalities, like, um, tea, fish n’ chips, and the Great British Bake-Off (and thus ends my knowledge of contemporary British culture), they simply, and fervently, HATED each other. They had come to blows twice in the Klub—-each one walking away with a hard-fought victory. But the sniping continued, threats thrown, insults injected, until finally Erin threw down the challenge. They were to meet in private, save for someone to arrange it (that would be me), and fight until only one was able to leave under her own power. There would be few, if any, rules, even less clothing, no interventions, and definitely no mercy.
I was here to memorialize the brawl, and to tend to whomever ended up as the beaten, bruised heap of sexy flesh left on the beach when it was all over. As they face each other, the sun now a glowing orange ball slowly warming the air and sand, I gather up their discarded clothes and pile them at edge of the clearing, ready to announce “Fight!” as soon as both give me the signal...
