I read something online recently which triggered the following story. I can’t remember who’s it was. I apologize if I borrowed a phrase or situation. I humbly submit the following daydream of my perverted mind for your enjoyment.
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She was athletic and carefree, just like me. We lived on opposite ends of our little residential community in East Central Kansas. We played together since kindergarten. The community was rural but economically upscale. It was the prettiest part of the state - not pancake flat like the Western part. There were lakes and rolling hills, schools full of kids, team and individual sports, small-town festivals, church & theater productions, science fairs, and even more things to stimulate healthy young girls to grow into healthy young women.
She and I competed early and often. The science fair, the school play, the youth soccer league, the young homemaker’s baking contest, and the 4-H rallies all provided us opportunities for friendly competition. We both were very keen on winning. But the competition was friendly. We loved to match our skills against each other, laughing all the time but also trying desperately to be the first/best. No clear pattern emerged. She would win. I would win. After a little while, we stopped keeping an actual count. Every opportunity that came by for us to compete was enthusiastically embraced. We raced each other to the bus stop. We struggled earnestly to sell the most cookies for school fundraising. We competed to see who could turn in their term paper first. But through it all, we remained fast friends.
Finishing up high school gave us the opportunity for track and field competition. She was a good sprinter. I was a very good distance runner. But we both had natural athletic skills. Our bodies had developed in a way that pleased us both. She had strong, smooth legs, a tiny waist. So did I. She was developing a generous pair of breasts, even though it was later than some of our friends. This was also happening to me. She had beautiful blonde, wavy shoulder-length hair. Mine was shoulder-length black, straight, and smooth as silk. She had very noticeable, round, curvy hips. And so did I.
We could have been sisters, I guess. Our competition with each other on everything certainly fit that circumstance. We had sleep-overs. We went camping together. We were inseparable. Every time I won I beamed with joy. Every time I lost I smiled and hugged her. But secretly I cursed my luck and vowed to beat her the next time. When our senior year of high school came to a finish we were set to go different directions to college. It felt strange to both of us to contemplate being apart.
Then one warm August day I took a break from organizing my things to move and went out for a run. I set out on my familiar path through our neighborhood, across the local park, looping back through town, and finishing at the old ball field. I know this loop was approximately 3 miles. I just started out as I saw her coming around the schoolhouse in her jogging gear. She was out running the same route in the opposite direction. We stopped as we met and caught our breath. We relaxed our muscles and cooled down as talked.
“Fancy meeting you here”, I laughed.
“Yeah. I’m going to miss this next month”, she replied.
“Remember how we ran this route over and over getting ready for the regional meet last fall?”
“Yeah. I remember you were always coming in last in all our trial runs”, she grinned.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I seem to remember you finishing on my tail more than half the time”, I smirked at her.
“We can race right now and see for sure”, she taunted me.
“Careful. I’ll embarrass you on your last week here”, I scoffed.
“Well. I’ll tell you what. Let’s go over there behind the maintenance shed and you can see if you can best me in a fight. Perhaps you can win at something” she winked at me.
I was shocked at her words.
I tried to maintain my friendly face as I battled the nervous feeling rolling through my stomach. But owing to our lifelong competition, I answered quickly.
“Ha, ha. You had better watch what you ask for”.
“Come on chicken. It’s just you and me”, she replied with a glint in her eye.
“Alright, you’re on”, I said as we turned to walk the short distance behind the shed.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. On the one hand, this felt so wrong. On the other, it seemed pretty normal from two girls who competed at everything for years. When we arrived, she turned to face me and looked around.
“We should get started before someone sees us and pulls us apart”, she offered.
I blushed and felt the rush of adrenaline running through me. I tried to imagine how we would look to someone who felt they needed to pull us apart. And with no further fanfare, we came together, still sweating in our jogging clothes and put up our hands. Quickly we grabbed handfuls of hair and slapped our bodies together. We pulled each other closer with our free arm and began to shuffle our feet as we pushed for advantage.
I was amazed at the swift progression of these events. Barely 3 minutes ago we were having a friendly conversation on the jogging path. Now we were fighting behind the school’s athletic maintenance shed.
As we turned and pushed and struggled for balance, we exchanged body punches. The sensations going through my body were electrifying. My best friend and I were fighting. We had competed in everything our whole lives. And now we were competing with physical violence. This was probably the only competitive human activity that we hadn’t already done. It took only a few seconds before it started to feel like another normal way for us to compete. We settled into a rhythm of punching and jerking our hair which became faster and more savage. It was as if my body was catching fire. I began to enjoy the satisfying sensations of body contact and knowing I was punishing her.
Presently our legs tangled and we fell to the ground. Instantly we rolled over and over for top position. Our legs re-tangled and we stopped on our sides when neither of us could gain the advantage. We jerked our hair painfully and swung our fists into soft rib cages and also at each other’s head. And then in a flash, I heard shouting and felt strong hands pulling at my waist and arms. I was dragged by my feet. And in a minute we were cruelly dragged from each other by some burly school maintenance workers.
“Girls! Stop this. You can’t do this here. Don’t make us report this”, they admonished.
Our breathing slowly calmed down as we looked at each other while the two older men chastised us. We noticed our tangled hair and scratches on our arms and neck. But overall, the damage was minor and easily concealed. I remember mumbling something like, “I’m sorry. We’re going home”, as I shuffled off toward home. When I got to the street I had smoothed my hair and adjusted my clothes. But the maintenance worker’s words kept playing in my head.
“You can’t do this here”.
As if to say, “It’s normal and allowed for you girls to fight but don’t you know there are approved places for that?”
And the rush in my stomach began to return as I thought about she and I finishing what we started, . . . in an approved place,. . . to see who would win. The reason no longer mattered. And truthfully there was no reason for the fight in the first place. Now it was just competition. She and I loved to compete. It’s all we ever did. It seemed we’d found a new way to do it.
I got home and went straight up to my room. And as I entered, my phone was ringing. It was her.
“I told you I was afraid we’d be seen”, she said
“And we were just going good too. Well, -- not so good for you maybe”, I taunted.
“Fuck you. I was winning. But if you really want to settle this, get over here. No one will be home for a few hours. We can see who’s better at fighting. Are you afraid?”, she teased.
“Fuck you”. You know I am not afraid. We were just fighting 10 minutes ago. Let’s continue”, I said
“Yes, let’s. I’m ready. Hurry up”, she urged.
“I’m already out my front door”, I replied.
“Good”, she answered as the line went dead.
As I walked, I thought of the one fight I had back in junior high school. It was a quick and wild battle of fists in the girls’ bathroom which probably lasted all of 30 seconds. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her fight more than maybe once as well. Neither of us was experienced in this. But it was a competition now. We knew how to compete. (More later?)
