News:

PRODUCERS & OTHER FORUMS SITES: Please note - you MUST HAVE A RECIPROCAL LINK back to this site is you wish to ADVERTISE your site on this forum. If you do not have a link back to us, we will remove your posts with immiediate effect - 25th April 2010

Kiva’s Fight Journal

  • 263 Replies
  • 87529 Views
*

Offline The speech prof

  • Senior Member
  • ****
  • 75
  • Just a normal fictional catfight fan
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #240 on: April 01, 2025, 07:53:41 PM »
I did like this story,  but I thought if anything was going to drive Kiva to hammer Cynthia, it would be something involving her family.  Maybe picking up her daughter from cheerleading and Cynthia saying something, 'your dad moved on after your mom got all crabby.' Bringing out the crazy in Kiva

That would have worked. We are all momma bears when it comes to our kids.

Fighting over a rose bush might have seemed weak, but I hope readers recognized it went deeper than that. Kiva interpreted Cynthia’s attempt to get her to hand over the roses as an assertion of dominance and bullying and she decided to stand up to her. At least I hope that’s how it came across. The next chapter is in the works with a few new characters.

Looking forward to the next chapter

*

Offline Kiva

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 634
  • Critical Care RN
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #241 on: June 05, 2025, 06:23:26 AM »
Chapter 17: Just Sayin’ (Part 1 of 2)

I wrote this in honor of my LGBQT+ friends for Pride month

But how come when you ask her
"What's wrong, baby tell me
You been acting cold lately"
She turns around, says she's fine
And you leave her there
What's wrong with you man?
Can't you see that
She's hurting?
Boy, she needs you now
I'm just sayin'
-Patch Quiwa



It’s midnight and Clarissa is in bed. I’ve been up since 5:00 AM this morning. I can’t sleep, but at least I can take advantage of the quiet time and try to collect my thoughts.

The fight with Cynthia was totally unexpected, but I’m glad it happened. I know my victory involved some luck, but I feel great about it. I’m considering looking for an arranged fight again. My training sessions with Austin have been going well. I’m improving and feeling confident. I just have this urge to test myself and see where I really am at right now.

Last week, I perused the catpin website for the first time in quite a while, searching for potential opponents. There were several inquiries and challenges in my inbox. Most of them were easily dismissible. Some of the inquiries came from women who were massively overweight. Others were from men contacting me on behalf of their wives. No thanks. If I don’t speak with the woman directly, we don’t fight. Others were just plain bizarre.

I find that I’m craving the private fights with husbands or significant others as the only spectators. Competing in combat with another woman in front of your loved one is a thrill like no other. The physical toll, the emotional intensity, and yes, the sexiness is simply indescribable. The winner can feel a euphoric high like she’s on top of the world. The loser might experience crushing humiliation. The victress feels like she’s the most beautiful, powerful, sexy woman on the planet. She’s happy and proud to show off her body. The loser just feels naked and exposed. The husband of the winner pours his love and desire on her as they passionately kiss and later have a night of great sex. The spouse of the loser picks up her broken body and spirit, dries her tears and begins the task of building her up again. At this time, I’d prefer to find a suitable opponent online rather than using the catpin in public and bumping into a random fighter.

A few of my contacts have potential to be my next opponent. I’ve been exchanging messages with a woman named Pritha and her husband Sanjay for the past several days. They’ve been searching for an opponent for Pritha and I think she and I match up well. She checks all my boxes. She’s an inch shorter than me but we’re the same weight. We have similar experience and skill level. She has a winning record. They live a four-hour drive from my house. We vetted each other and were satisfied with what we learned. They own a popular Indian restaurant and live in an affluent neighborhood. They are well-respected in their community.

Pritha and Sanjay offered to host me in their home next Saturday. In exchange for my driving time and costs, they invited me to stay for dinner and sleep overnight in their guest room, then return home Sunday morning. However, there is one problem. They insist I bring my husband. No compromises. I invented the excuse that my husband is working this weekend. Their reply was a rather dismissive, “OK, maybe some other time.” Crap!

The truth is most couples seeking private home fights require the opponent to bring her husband. I don’t blame them. I’d do the same. Bringing a single woman into the house to fight a married woman can be awkward to say the least. First, the fights are usually sexually charged. The women are competitive and the husbands just love it. The physical punishment, cattiness, competitiveness, high adrenaline levels, extreme emotion, and sexual tension create a very intense intimate experience for the couple. A single woman seems out of place.

The wife might be concerned about her husband being turned on by her single opponent. Of course, that’s usually the case. We’re not naïve. Nearly all men commit thought crimes. But having both husbands present tempers how all parties might react to sexual arousal. And who tends to the single opponent after she wins or is defeated? She has no one to celebrate with or hold her when she cries. And having the single woman stay in the house overnight after fighting the wife is very awkward to say the least. Also, a woman venturing alone into a stranger’s house for a fight might have safety concerns. So, yes, I understand. I should have thought of this earlier. So, now I no longer have plans this weekend. Perhaps it’s time to shine up the catpin.

---------

“Well, Mrs. Martinez, I have good news,” I say to the morbidly obese middle-aged patient in bed 12 in the ICU. “Your heart failure is improved. We’ve removed twenty-five pounds of fluid from your body. All the water is out of your lungs. Your oxygen requirement is down to just 2 liters. Your doctors put in the order to transfer you out of the ICU and to a floor bed. Congratulations ma’am, you’ve graduated!”

“Oh, that’s good,” the Mexican woman smiles. At 350 lb., and a Body Mass Index of 50, Mrs. Martinez has all of the health problems that you might expect from her situation: heart disease, diabetes, arthritis, obstructive sleep apnea, all of which could be reversed or modified if she were to lose 200 lb. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem realistic.

In order to transfer Mrs. Martinez out of the ICU, we need to move her from the bed to a litter, which is a stretcher on wheels. The first step is to fold a sheet, known as a draw sheet, and place it under the patient with both edges hanging over the side of the bed. Next, the bed and litter are positioned side-by-side. At least one person stands on the side of the bed and another next to the litter. Each lifter grasps the edge of the draw sheet and pulls upward, using the draw sheet as a sling to elevate the patient. The patient is positioned over the litter, then gently placed downward on it.

Due to Mrs. Martinez’ weight, this job will require an army of nurses. I manage to recruit five others, with me as the sixth, all of us female. We position the litter, with three nurses on each side doing the lifting. Each of us take hold of the draw sheet.

“On the count of three, we lift,” I instruct. “Ready, one, two, three.” The six of us grunt and groan as we pull upward. So far, so good. Mrs. Martinez lifts up about an inch. That might be enough. “Let’s transfer.”

Sarah, the youngest nurse loses her grip and screams. Mrs. Martinez drops on the junction between the bed and the litter. The litter brake is apparently broken and rolls away from the bed. The bed and the litter separate, leaving Mrs. Martinez now wedged between the gap and about to fall on the floor. Instinctively, I reach out to grab her and take hold of the draw sheet as the large woman sinks further. Our obese patient is suspended between the bed and the litter, held up only by a sheet supported by a few nurses. We can barely hang on as her weight is too great. We are bent at awkward angles. Time is our enemy. Our muscles are quivering. Our faces are sweating. It’s unthinkable, but this lady is about to crash onto the hard floor.

“Call Calvin,” I scream. “Get him in here, NOW!”

“Calvin, we need you!” another nurse shouts with terror in her voice.

Mrs. Martinez slips further. I can barely breathe as I try to hold her upward. I don’t think I can withstand this another second.

Several seconds go by, although it seems much longer. Help arrives in the room in the form of a 6’5” 285 lb. muscular African-American male nurse in blue scrubs. Despite his large size, he moves with grace and agility as he bends over the bed. His biceps bulge as he reaches down gripping Mrs. Martinez under her arms with a firm gentle strength. “I got you, Mrs. Martinez,” he says in his soothing deep sonorous voice. “Grab onto my shoulders.” I step aside as the other nurses hold their breath.  Slowly but surely, Mrs. Martinez begins to rise, inch by inch as Calvin’s muscles contract and strain beneath his scrubs. I step closer trying to assist in any way I can, but Calvin is a one-man rescue operation. With gritted teeth, he manages to pull Mrs. Martinez free from the gap and lifts her onto the bed with a grunt. We collectively exhale as the tension dissipates and another crisis is past – thanks to Calvin.

As for me, this near miss caps off an already stressful morning. I take a deep breath and feel my legs wobble as I head to the break room for another coffee. I sit alone and quiet, upset with myself for letting this incident happen.

The door swings open and I see Calvin’s imposing but magnificent silhouette in my peripheral vision. “You okay, Baby Girl?” he asks in his distinct voice.

 “I’ve had better days,” I answer. “Thanks for bailing us out again.”

“Anytime, Baby Girl. That’s why I’m here.”

“I think I need to find another line of work,” I reply.

“It’s not your fault. The brake went out,” Calvin reassures me. “We’ll need to file a report. There’s nothing you could have done… Just sayin’”

Most ICUs have at least one strong male nurse who serves as the staff’s muscle when needed. Sometimes we need a man to help move heavy equipment, lift heavy patients, contend with agitated violent patients, or open a jar of pickles in the break room. For us, that guy is Calvin.

But Calvin is more than just a strong pair of arms. Much more. He is an excellent nurse and one of my closest friends. He is one of the most kind, gentle, compassionate, wise persons I know. He’d do anything for anybody. He’s always happy to share his advice, his experiences, or just simply listen. And now, pushing forty years of age, Calvin has so much to share. He grew up in a rough neighborhood in Houston, surrounded by drugs, gangs and violence. He overcame that, served in the Army, became a registered nurse, and is now working on his MBA. Calvin dealt with racism throughout his life, and when he came out as a gay black man, he faced the added burden of homophobia.

There’s a joke that behind every great woman is a gay male friend. I know that is a stereotype, but as a woman, I think there is truth to it. I’ve always noticed that my friendships with gay men are different than with straight guys. When romance and sexuality are completely off the table, we’re less guarded, we can take off our pretensions, we’re more likely to show our vulnerability, and we make deeper connections. A gay male friend is more likely to have a girl’s best interests at heart.

Nurses wear many hats. In our work as healthcare providers, we often take on the roles of healers, psychologists, counselors, ministers, teachers, or just someone to cry on. But who do nurses go to when they need help? For many of the nurses in our ICU, including me, that go-to person is Calvin. Is there a relationship problem? Go see Calvin. Need help making a career decision? Calvin can help. Do you just need to ventilate with someone? Calvin will listen. Calvin has a way of making you feel comfortable and open up. He’s honest, nonjudgmental, confidential. He encourages you to be yourself and to be true to who you are. As one of my co-workers said, “I feel like I can fart in Calvin’s presence and not be embarrassed.” I’m not sure if that sounds more like a compliment or an insult, but I know what she means. He has a way about him that makes you willing to dismantle your filters.

Calvin’s nickname for me is “Baby Girl.” That is not a sexualized or demeaning connotation. He gives pet names to his closest female friends, like “Lil’ Sis,” “Sweet Pea,” or “Pumpkin.” The joke is that he is our big brother and Calvin’s nicknames are his acceptance of us as his little sisters. Calvin is aware of my catpin adventures, although I’m not sure of how much of it he really understands. He knows about my separation and pending divorce with Tom. His advice is usually spot on. I wish I had followed his recommendations with the Robin situation. It would have saved a whole lot of trouble.

“Look, Baby Girl,” he says, “I know you’ve been working hard and you’re stressed out. You’re off this weekend. You should try to get away and relax. Take your mind off of work.”

“Yeah,” I respond, my tone downbeat. “My plans for the weekend got cancelled. Tom has Clarissa this weekend. I’m alone.”

“You know what?” Calvin asks as he strokes his goatee. “My husband, Marcus, he’s out of town for a conference this weekend. I don’t have anything planned either.” He pauses for a moment, then makes eye contact with me, his voice sounding lower and more personal. “How about we do something together?”

The idea of spending time with Calvin outside the hospital is appealing. “What do you have in mind?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you want, Baby Girl. We could go to dinner. See a movie, a play or a concert. Or we could take my truck and get out of the city. You know Marcus and I own a lake house. It’s beautiful this time of year. We could go swimming, hiking, or just sit on the balcony, look at the lake and do nothing.”

“Sounds great,” I say. “I’d love that. We have a date!”

We decide to have lunch while we are in the break room and continue our conversation. I find the change of events amusing. I got rejected by Pritha and Sanjay for not having a husband. But because of that, I’ll spend a weekend at a lake house with a gay male friend. It’s kind of funny.

During lunch, my thoughts drift to a crazy idea I had last night before I went to sleep. Perhaps I  could find a man who would pose as my husband and come with me to my fight with Pritha. We’d have our fight and the Indian couple would never find out. But where would I find such a man? Hire an escort service? No, not worth the cost and hassle. Where would I find a man that I could trust in such an intense and potentially sexual environment?  Where can I find a man who wouldn’t try to take advantage of me? What man would understand the drive that makes women want to pull each other’s hair out? What man would watch my back? What man would I allow to see the most vulnerable side of me? Or see me cry? What man would I allow to see me topless or naked, if it came to that?

“Hey Calvin,” I said as he looks up from his avocado salad. “I have another idea. How would you like to make a four hour trip this weekend and be my husband?”

The perplexed look on his face is one that I will never forget as I explain the situation to him. “Am I hearing all of this correctly?” he asks with a puzzled look.

“It’s easy Calvin,” I explain. “Let’s review it again. We drive four hours to the Gupta’s house. I checked them out and they seem very nice and reasonably sane. Their restaurant gets great reviews. We pose as a married couple. They don’t need to know. You and I will be Calvin and  Kiva Robinson. They let us in their home. We relax for a few hours. They’ll serve us food, although Pritha and I will be eating light. Next, Pritha and I will fight each other in bikinis. The fight ends when one of us taps out or verbally submits. It can end if one of the husbands throws in the towel or if one of us gets…knocked out.”

I see Calvin wince. “Hold on, Baby Girl,” he interrupts. About that last part. What are the rules to this fight?”

“Not much,” I answer. The main thing is no punches, kicks or scratches to the head, biting, or eye gauging. Pretty much anything else goes.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe to me.”

“Don’t worry, Calvin. I’ve never heard of anyone in the catpin world getting seriously hurt.”

He gives me a look of incredulity. “So let me get this straight,” he starts. We’re going to drive four hours to the house of complete strangers. They’re making us dinner. Afterward, you and the wife are stripping down to bikinis and will beat the hell out of each other. And we stay overnight?”

“Yeah, Calvin. That’s the gist of it.”

He groans. “You know, Baby Girl, I’ve had my share of fights growing up in the streets of Houston. It was about survival. I never thought of fights as cute or sexy. I’m just sayin’. Is this what white people do for a hobby?”

“No Calvin,” I explain. It’s a female thing. We have women from all races and ethnicities in the catpin world. Look, you work around a lot of women. You know how competitive and catty we can get. The catpin girls just take it one step further and are honest about it. We meet. We fight. We determine who the better woman is and we move on.”

“And why do you need me there?” he asks.

“Because this couple only invites married couples. Of course, we’re not married, but there is no other man I trust more than I trust you. Your job is to pretend you’re my husband and be my cornerman, so to speak. You watch the fight. When I win, you give me a hug, we’ll have a few drinks, then we’ll go to bed and go home in the morning.”

“And if you lose?” he asks.

“Then you hold onto me and let me cry on your shoulder all night.”

Calvin takes a deep breath. “I don’t know about this, Baby Girl. This doesn’t seem like the healthiest thing for you to be doing right now. Not with all you’ve been through. It sounds like there’s a lot of physicality and emotion to this. There’s a lot of potential to be hurt either way. And if you need a man to be with you, shouldn’t it be someone with whom you’re in a long-term romantic relationship? I mean, like a life partner?” He pauses. “I just don’t think I’d be a good substitute for that….I’m just sayin’.”

I’ve learned to take notice whenever Calvin uses the phrase, “just sayin’.” It’s his way of warning  that he sees something that the rest of us don’t, but in time, we will make the same realization he has. I found that he is always right when he ends a statement with “just sayin’.” He said it when he warned me about Frank. He said it when he saw the issues with Robin spiraling out of control. But this time, I think his concerns are unwarranted.

“Calvin, I understand and deeply appreciate your worries. But I’ll be fine no matter what. I really want to do this. I just feel like there are big changes coming to my life and now would be a good time to go out and test myself. There is no man in my life right now and I would be so honored if you’d come and watch me fight. It would mean a lot to me.”

“After your fight, are we sharing a bed together?” he inquires.

“Of course,” I tell him. “Remember, we’re supposed to be married.”

“And you’re okay with that?” he asks as he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, absolutely,” I plead. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re my big brother. Are you okay sleeping in the same bed with me?”

“Oh, I’m fine with that,” he assures me. “But you know…I’m just sayin’.”

Now what does he mean by that, I wonder. I get it. He’s being overly protective.

“Alright, listen Baby Girl,” he resumes. “You have been nothing but respectful and supportive of my lifestyle. I love you to death. I have shared some of my deepest personal secrets with you. The least I can do is return the favor. So, yes, I will come to your fight. I will pretend to be your husband and cornerman, or whatever else you need me to be. I’ll watch your back and try to keep you out of trouble the best I can.”

“Thank you, Calvin,” I whisper as we stand and hug. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

-------------

It’s the day of the fight. Working with Calvin the final two work days before the weekend has been interesting. I noticed I started practicing for the role of us being a married couple in preparation for our visit to the Guptas. I joked with him a little more than I normally do. I brought him coffee and heated up his lunch. At one point, I put my arm around him and even flirted. And…I kept thinking about how hot his body made me feel. My eyes gazed on him longer than usual. I looked at his handsome face, muscles bulging right out of his scrubs. His broad chest narrowed into a waist that I would bet is a six-pack. He is a beautiful soul inside a majestic physical specimen. And he is a man I can never have.

Saturday morning arrives. For the first two hours, I barely have time to think about the fight. I make breakfast and pack Clarissa’s backpack for the weekend with her father. I know he has plans for her including a trip to an amusement park and a boat outing.

Tom’s car pulls up to the curb. I take Clarissa outside, hold her hand, and walk her halfway down the driveway. Tom is not alone. The passenger car door opens and a strawberry blonde woman steps out. Her name is Jeanne, a physical therapist I heard he has been dating. I now see the rumor is true. Jeanne approaches Clarissa and me as her long legs saunter up the driveway until the two of us are face to face. We say nothing.

“Bye Mommy, I love you,” Clarissa says as I give her a parting hug and kiss on her cheek. I reluctantly and painfully let go of her little hand, and watch it claimed by Jeanne.

“Hello Clarissa, are you ready for a fun weekend,” Jeanne warbles as she turns my little girl away from me and walks her to the car.

I don’t know much about this woman. I met her once briefly. The sight of another woman replacing me in my baby’s life is utterly jarring. Jeanne helps Clarissa buckle her back seatbelt and reopens the passenger door as I stand motionless and speechless. “Oh Kiva,” she turns to me as if I’m an afterthought. We’ll have her back tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”

I remain silent and motionless. Tom doesn’t even have the nerve to look at me. I stand and stare as the car drives off out of sight.

Well, this throws a wrench into my mental preparation for the fight, I tell myself as I walk back into the house. It’s amazing how quickly a mood can change. I woke up excited about this fight trip, but now I’m somber and melancholy. I need to snap out of it. Calvin will be here to pick me up in two hours. I pour another cup of coffee and watch some mindless television programs. I don’t move for the next hour. I waste another thirty minutes playing silly games on my iphone. Time is running out. I need to get ready.

I pack the cheetah print bikini I bought for such an occasion and haven’t yet worn. I dress in jeans, a blouse and light sweater and sneakers and sunglasses. I add toiletry supplies, first-aid kit, bottles of water, my makeup, nightgown and an extra set of bra, panties and socks to the overnight bag and I am ready.

Calvin arrives in his pickup truck and my mood starts to pick up.

“Hey Baby Girl,” he says as he stands at the doorway. “You ready for this?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, unable to conceal my downtrodden voice and body language.

“Alright, sweetheart,” He responds. “What’s wrong?” I should have known. Calvin can read my face like no one else can.

“It’s nothing,” I try to explain. “It’s just that I had to say goodbye to Clarissa. Tom came with his girlfriend.”

 “Oh, Baby Girl,” he says as he hugs me against his massive chest. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I don’t think you should be fighting someone. Call it off. You’ve been through too much. You’re risking making things worse for yourself… Just sayin’.”

I hate it sometimes when Calvin makes sense. But I can’t call off the fight. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Perhaps I need to destroy someone to feel better. Let’s go.”

Once we’re in the truck, my mood lightens. Before long, Calvin has me laughing and joking. We have a fun conversation about a variety of topics. We avoid talking about nursing. Instead, we discuss music, film, politics, restaurants. We learn that we both studied theater in college. We tell each other funny stories.

As we get closer to our destination, we discuss our fake backstory of our marriage. We decide on how we’ve met, places we’ve been, where we spent our honeymoon, our future plans. The four hours go quickly, until I realize the GPS directed us into the Gupta’s neighborhood.

The development looks affluent and peaceful as we pass an array of beautiful homes and immaculately manicured lawns. “You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS tells us as Calvin turns into the driveway of an elegant large two-story brick home. So, we’re here. I’m about to fight with a woman I’ve never met. My nerves are a mess. I take one last look at myself in the mirror I kept in my bag. I start fidgeting with my hair. Calvin places his comforting hand on my knee and gives me a reassuring look.

“Are you ready for this, Baby Girl?” he asks me.

I  nod and can barely get out the word, “Yeah.”

He let’s himself out of the car and walks around to the passenger side where he opens the door for me. I lift myself up, leave the car and fling my bag over my shoulder, and place my sunglasses back on my face. Calvin shuts the door and I follow him up the pavement to the house.

“Calvin, wait,” I tell him. I remembered what my trainer Austin said. Never look passive or timid before a fight. Always put out an assertive take-charge persona. “Let me walk in front of you to be the first one to the door.” Feeling a surge of bravado, I ring the doorbell. Calvin’s eyes scan the property as if he’s expecting trouble to come crashing in any minute.

The door opens and Sanjay, a medium-sized thin man with dark skin and black hair and light goatee greets us. His eyes light up when he looks at us; perhaps he is surprised to see an interracial couple. He gives us a warm smile. “Greetings,” he says in a moderate accent. “I am Sanjay. We are so pleased you could make it.”

“We are happy to be here,” I answer. “I’m Kiva Robinson and this is my husband, Calvin. Thank you for hosting us.”

Sanjay looks puzzled. “Kiva Robinson?” he asks. “I thought your name is Kiva Sheppard.”

Oh shit! I think to myself. I haven’t even entered the house yet and I’ve already blown our charade. “Oh,” I stammer. “I need to update my profile on the catpin site. You see, I was married before.”

“I see,” Sanjay responds. “Well, please come in.”

We enter the foyer of a lovely spacious home filled with the aroma of exotic spices from the kitchen. On one side of the foyer is a beautifully ornate living room. On the other side is a capacious kitchen where they prepare their professional level home meals. It is from the kitchen that Pritha emerges. She is a gorgeous woman with long dark hair and brown piercing eyes. She is dressed in traditional garb, wiping her hands on an apron fastened around her trunk.

“I am Pritha,” she says in a polite but businesslike manner as she holds out her hand toward me. I shakily accept her handshake.

“I am Kiva,” I return. Pritha’s eyes look me over up and down.

“You are even more stunning in person,” she purrs with a hint of challenge in her voice. I return the eye walk over her body.

“Okay,” Sanjay says. “Pritha will finish with the dinner. I will get you some drinks and we can wait and talk in the living room until the food is ready.

Our male host leads us through the house to the library; a grand room filled with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretch to the high ceiling. Next, we enter the large living room. The walls are adorned with a blend of traditional Indian tapestries and sleek, contemporary art. Dim lights cast a warm glowing ambience. Candles flicker on the mantle, casting shadows dancing across the floor.  In the center of the room,  a makeshift arena has been set up. A plush, velvet rug lies on the hardwood floor, surrounded by a circle of comfortable armchairs. “This is where Kiva and Pritha will have their tussle,” he tells us with a smile.

Sanjay , Calvin and I sit and make small talk. Our preparation paid off as we were able to regurgitate our bullshit story of our married life together without a hitch. The politeness of the moment just before two women try to beat the hell out of either feels odd. I’m okay with it. The only other time I fought a woman in her home was the fight with Cynthia. This feels different. There is no animosity. I don’t hate Pritha. I just want to force her to submit to me in her own home in front of her husband. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be friends later, but right now, she’s a warrior who must be conquered and made to bow before me.

Before long, Pritha calls us to the sumptuous dining room. I can see why their restaurant is successful. The table is laden with steaming dishes of baranyi, curry and naan flatbread. The aroma of cardamom, cumin, and coriander, and the sweet scent of mango chutney, is out of this world. Sanjay directs us to our seats while Pritha puts the finishing touches on her culinary creation. We sit and continue light conversation but beneath the politeness, there is growing tension. We all know why I’m here. Pritha and I eat very little. Neither of us say much as we pick at our food and allow the men to carry the conversation.  Calvin, ever the observant one, senses the uneasiness and tries to lighten up the atmosphere with stories from his time in the Army and his quit wit. Sanjay laughs, but Pritha watches me like a coiled snake, gazing at me with a predatory stare.

We finish dinner. Sanjay leads the four us through a tour of the house. Calvin and I hold hands like the couple we are pretending to be. The library is a grand room filled with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretch to the high ceiling. The living room walls are adorned with a blend of traditional Indian tapestries and sleek, contemporary art. Dim lights cast a warm glowing ambience, and candles flicker on the mantle, casting shadows that dance across the floor. As we stand next to the velvet rug that will serve as our battle ground, Sanjay reviews the rules. “Remember, no punches, kicks, or scratches to the face. Calvin and I will be sitting in armchairs on opposite sides of the mat. The match will end when one woman submits by tapping or by voice. The husbands can surrender on their wives’ behalf by tossing a white towel into the arena. Are their any questions?” We each nod “no.”

Pritha breaks her silence. “You know, Kiva, I’ve fought a lot of women, but none as desperate as you,” The twinkling candlelight reflects off her eyes and white teeth as she smiles, giving her an eerie demonic look. “I wonder what your ex-husband would have to say about your escapade.”

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. My ex-husband? What does she know about him? Does she know Calvin and I aren't really married? “Desperation?” I reply. “I think that’s your department. And when I beat your ass, I don’t care if Tom finds out or not.” I try not to look rattled.

“You’re going down, Kiva. I’m going to rip you to shreds right here on this spot and leave you begging for more. And I’m going to enjoy it,” Pritha snarls.”

“Bring it on, bitch,” I snap back. “I’ve been waiting for this. You’ve never fought anyone like me before.”

“May I propose a wager?” Pritha asks. “I suggest the loser must hand wash the dishes all by herself.”

“Kiva, do you accept that bet?” Sanjay asks. It seems like an unfair bet. As the hostess, wouldn’t Pritha wash the dishes anyway. Yes, I usually offer to help clean up when I’m a dinner guest, but this feels like Pritha has nothing to lose. Still, it seems like an innocuous bet and it’s be fun to watch her beaten ass work a little longer in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m good with it,” I answer,

“Well, this should be interesting,” Sanjay chuckles, clearly enjoying the catty exchange. “Come this way, I’ll show you to your guest room.” The four of us climb up the stairs where we are taken to a cozy bedroom with and attached bathroom and shower. “You will be staying here tonight.”

“You will be using the bathroom to wash the blood off your broken body,” Pritha says.  “And we’re letting you use the bedroom so you can have a place to cry all night.”

“Is that so,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ve picked the wrong person.”

“We’ll close the door and give you some privacy,” Sanjay says as he and Pritha turn away. “Meet us at the arena downstairs in your bikini in fifteen minutes.”

“Damn, Baby Girl,” Calvin exclaims as the door closes. “Are you sure this is okay? That woman looks like she wants to take your head off. This is freaky…I’m just sayin’.”

“It’ll be fine Calvin,” I urge. “I will ask something of you and please hear me out. Do not throw in the towel under any circumstances. I can submit on my own. I don’t want you to get nervous and stop the fight prematurely. You have to trust me on this one. Please never throw in the towel. Promise me?

He appears uncomfortable with this request. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Good. I’m going to change now.”

I strip off my clothes and take a moment to inspect my nude body in the mirror. I take the cheetah print bikini out of my bag and pull off the tags. From the mirror’s reflection, I see  Calvin walking past, not realizing I left the bathroom door open. He gets a full back view of my bare ass and a mirror shot of my exposed tits.

“Oh Geez,” he says as he covers his eyes and quickly jumps away from the bathroom door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“It’s fine, Calvin,” I assure him. “It’s just me. I’m your sister.”

“Yeah, I know,” he responds, clearly embarrassed by my nudity. “But still… I’m just sayin’.”

I adjust my ponytail. The bikini feels a little tight on my body since it’s the first time I’ve worn it. I show it to Calvin who nods in approval. “Okay, cornerman, I tell him. Lead the way.”

Calvin takes me by the hand as we leave the guest room, walk down the hallway, and descend the stairs. In the living room, Pritha and Sanjay are there watching us. We make our way to the living room. The lights have been turned up. The velvet rug feels soft and smooth beneath my bare feet as we stand to face our adversaries. “Kiva, you look lovely” Sanjay says. “Please come this way.” I jump up to grab Calvin’s head and pull it down so I can plant my lips on his for a final pre-fight kiss before Sanjay leads me to the center of the rug. 

Pritha gets into my space as we stare nose to nose. She is a little shorter than me but a little curvier and bustier. Her arms look strong. Her bikini is a brightly colored floral print pattern of mostly red, green and yellow colors that complements her dark skin. Her silky hair is tied into a large tight bun. Austin taught me the art of the stare down. We scowl, we don’t blink, even when the flash of Sanjay’s camera goes off.

Sanjay directs Calvin to one of the armchairs and hands my faux husband a white towel. Sanjay seats himself holding a towel of his own. Pritha and I stare at each other like two statues. Sanjay orders us to take a few steps back.

“Are you ready, ladies?” he asks. “One, two, three, FIGHT!”

To be continued.
Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend thirty seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.

*

Offline sinclairfan

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 5070
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #242 on: June 05, 2025, 01:03:21 PM »
Great stuff. 
> Just enough mystery about Pritha.  > Nice touch throwing in the non-sexy mini-drama with Mrs Martinez.
> Can't wait to find out how Jeanne and Kiva will get along .... or not.

*

Offline Tiberius J.C.

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 291
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #243 on: June 05, 2025, 01:52:02 PM »
You both just ate? Before fighting? You'd better not throw up on the carpet. That would really gross me out!

*

Offline Kiva

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 634
  • Critical Care RN
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #244 on: June 05, 2025, 02:37:18 PM »
You both just ate? Before fighting? You'd better not throw up on the carpet. That would really gross me out!
Lol! We just picked and nibbled and waited a little while. I thought of that plot problem and had Pritha and I eating after the fight, but that made the story too convoluted. I can assure you there will be no vomit in Part 2…and someone will be washing the dishes alone.
Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend thirty seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.

*

Offline Tiberius J.C.

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 291
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #245 on: June 05, 2025, 06:07:48 PM »
You both just ate? Before fighting? You'd better not throw up on the carpet. That would really gross me out!
Lol! We just picked and nibbled and waited a little while. I thought of that plot problem and had Pritha and I eating after the fight, but that made the story too convoluted. I can assure you there will be no vomit in Part 2…and someone will be washing the dishes alone.
She can come and do mine when she's finished. No need to change first.

*

Offline Silent Watcher

  • Junior Member
  • **
  • 22
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #246 on: June 06, 2025, 08:43:11 PM »
I have a bad feeling about this one...

*

Offline The speech prof

  • Senior Member
  • ****
  • 75
  • Just a normal fictional catfight fan
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #247 on: June 06, 2025, 11:53:02 PM »
You both just ate? Before fighting? You'd better not throw up on the carpet. That would really gross me out!
Lol! We just picked and nibbled and waited a little while. I thought of that plot problem and had Pritha and I eating after the fight, but that made the story too convoluted. I can assure you there will be no vomit in Part 2…and someone will be washing the dishes alone.


Arrrhhh, talk about cliff hanger. Torture

*

Offline Kiva

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 634
  • Critical Care RN
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #248 on: June 07, 2025, 09:55:57 PM »
I have a bad feeling about this one...
Ye of little faith?
Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend thirty seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.

*

Offline tommyfighter

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 254
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #249 on: June 08, 2025, 12:13:39 AM »
Hoping Kiva avoids dish-pan hands.

*

Offline Rocko23

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 370
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #250 on: June 08, 2025, 02:17:38 AM »
Really excellent set up and eager with anticipation to see the fight!

*

Offline The speech prof

  • Senior Member
  • ****
  • 75
  • Just a normal fictional catfight fan
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #251 on: June 10, 2025, 11:33:29 AM »
You both just ate? Before fighting? You'd better not throw up on the carpet. That would really gross me out!
Lol! We just picked and nibbled and waited a little while. I thought of that plot problem and had Pritha and I eating after the fight, but that made the story too convoluted. I can assure you there will be no vomit in Part 2…and someone will be washing the dishes alone.


Arrrhhh, talk about cliff hanger. Torture


This cliffhanger is killing me

*

Offline Tiberius J.C.

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 291
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #252 on: June 10, 2025, 12:05:30 PM »
I hope you girls realise that the longer you leave this, the harder those pans are going to be to clean.

*

Offline The speech prof

  • Senior Member
  • ****
  • 75
  • Just a normal fictional catfight fan
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #253 on: June 17, 2025, 09:12:29 AM »
After the wait. If Kiva doesn't win, we riot

*

Offline Kiva

  • God Member
  • *****
  • 634
  • Critical Care RN
Re: Kiva’s Fight Journal
« Reply #254 on: June 22, 2025, 09:33:01 PM »
Chapter 17: Just Sayin' (part 2 of 2)

Pritha bares her teeth and flies right at me with her arms out. I try to sidestep her charge, but her forearm catches me in the chest, causing me to spin around off balance. From behind me, her arm wraps around my neck. Instinctively, I tuck in my chin to avoid a choke hold. I grab her arm as try to pry it away as we struggle for control. I manage to separate from her, but a hard slap to the face sends me stumbling again.

She takes advantage of my instability and tackles me to the rug. Fortunately, I break the fall with my arms and roll away. I knew Pritha is a brawler, but I didn’t expect her to be this fast and aggressive. She’s also stronger than I thought.

I know I’m vulnerable so I rise as quickly as possible and catch my opponent with a right fist to the ribs that stops her in her tracks. Although I’ve been training in wrestling and grappling, my strongest suit has always been striking and I decide this is good time to bring it out. I regret agreeing to rules of no fists to the face; but slaps to the face are fine. I dance around Pritha, throwing quick open hand slaps to the face. She blocks most of them, but she leaves her body open. I land several good shots too her ribs and abdomen. However, she keeps moving forward at me.

As I throw a flickering jab at Pritha’s head, the restaurant owner drops low and tackles me again at the waist. I hit the floor with a grunt and Pritha lands on top of me. Austin taught me how to protect myself in the guard. Lying on my back, I wrap my legs around her torso and squeeze, controlling her body, preventing her from going on the offensive. I’m able to use my legs to throw off to the side and I quickly lunge at her to take the advantage.

Now I have Pritha on her back as I straddle her body and throw a flurry of slaps and punches. She throws up her arms to protect her face and wildly tries to claw at me. She repeatedly reaches for my bikini top and I knock her hands away each time. Finally, she manages to grab onto my shoulder, digs in her nails and rakes her nails down my arm leaving trails of scratch marks.

“Fuck!” I scream out. I hear Sanjay cheering for his wife but I hear nothing from Calvin. I glance over at him and see his face with his eyes wide open and an expression of shock. Oh no, I thought, he wasn’t prepared for this. I now have a fear that he will not be able to stomach what he is seeing and stop the match by throwing in the towel.

The scratches distract me enough to allow Pritha to knock me off balance, allowing her to get out from under me and swing her legs, catching me in a head scissors hold. Her thighs squeeze around my neck; my hearing is muffled. She contracts her legs, trying to increase the tension. I try to stay calm. I punch at her thighs and attempt to pry them apart. That won’t work. I decide to return the favor and begin scratching and clawing away, throwing in some punches as well. She loosens somewhat. It gives me enough space to shift my body and fire elbows into her legs. I land one elbow after another slamming it into her thighs and knees until she releases the hold enough for me to pop my head out.

As we both rise to our feet, I waste no time sending a right-hand punch to her midsection. Pritha stumbles back but does not fall. Instead, she backs up, lowers her shoulder and charges forward. I don’t have time to sidestep her. I drop lower and brace myself. Our shoulders collide. Her momentum sends me staggering but I manage to stay on my feet. She rushes at me again and wraps her arm around me in a bearhug. Her tight grip has my arms pinned to my sides. Our bodies are pressed together, grunting and gasping. I can feel her hot breath panting on my shoulder.

I am able to wrap my legs around one of hers, which is something Austin taught me. This gives me some leverage, making it difficult for her to lift me higher or throw me down. I kick and squeeze her leg, finally causing her to lose her balance and loosen the hold, allowing me to free one arm. Pritha doubles down and contacts her arm muscles, trying to wear me down. I shove the palm of my free hand into her nose and push into her face until she releases the hold and drops me on my feet.

I immediately take a few steps back and deliver a kick to the ribs, causing her to wince. I fire a second kick which misses. Pritha has enough savvy to catch my leg. I’m forced to hop on one foot as Pritha tries to send me to the floor. She resorts to digging her nails into my thigh and rakes. I yelp in pain. “Bitch!” I scream.

She finally gets me off balance on one leg and takes the opportunity to catch me in a side headlock. I reach up to try to get a handful of hair, but Pritha swings me around by the neck and releases the hold, sending me reeling across the room. I have no time to recover. Pritha charges in; her shoulder drives into my midsection like a battering ram, knocking the wind out of me. I double over, instinctively holding my arms over my stomach. I am defenseless as she wraps her arms around my thighs and lifts me high in the air. The room seems to spin as Pritha turns, looking for the perfect landing spot. I feel myself being thrown down, landing hard on my back with a thud.

I’m left vulnerable on the floor gasping and wheezing. My opponent stands over me like a predator; a vicious smile on her face. She takes hold of my ankles and lifts them high into a vertical position. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t resist. My eyes see Sanjay excitedly jumping up on his feet. “You got her now,” he shouts to Pritha. “Put her away. She’s done.” Calvin shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking very concerned.

Pritha pushes my legs toward my head and folds me like a jackknife. Her nails dig into the flesh of my ankles. I know I’m in big trouble. My fingers claw at the rug in desperation. Pritha, on her feet, wraps both of my legs at the ankles with one arm, holding them firm. I feel her nails on my lower spine. Her fingers work the elastic band of my bikini bottom. Now I know what she is up to. The band shifts and begins to slide. Pritha works the fabric until I feel it slipping down my thighs. I scream and buck my hips and kick my legs. Pritha maintains a tight grip and continues her mission. I can see her biceps bulge as she pulls, spurred on by her husband.

Pritha brings my bikini bottom to my knees: I know my bare ass is exposed. I’m overwhelmed with anger and embarrassment. The garment slips over my ankles and feet, leaving me naked from the waist down. I can feel the cool thin air on my exposed skin. Pritha triumphantly holds up the cheetah print bottom, then tosses it to Sanjay, who seems thrilled to possess it. This is so degrading and humiliating. Calvin is now on his feet looking disturbed, holding the towel in his hand. I immediately panic, fearing he will stop the fight.

“No Calvin,” I scream; my voice hoarse. “Don’t throw it.”

Pritha pushes my feet forward and plants them to the carpet over my head, giving the men the clearest view possible. Sanjay switched his position to give himself the best vantage point. She brings her head lower, closer to mine. “You’re mine,” she whispers, her voice laced with triumph and dominance. “You will submit to me.”

I’m trapped with my crotch placed on display. Pritha uses her weight effectively to keep me pinned down. I can’t escape. It occurs to me that the fight is over. As in my loss to Robin, I’m not in enough pain to submit, but I’m thoroughly trapped. This is different. With Robin, I lost the battle if wills. This is submission by humiliation. I can’t stay like this. I see Calvin looking at the towel again. I again beg him not to do it. I’ll submit on my own.

Sanjay’s voice is low and sinister. “Pritha, show her who’s in charge. Make her feel it.”

What the fuck does that mean? Make her feel what? I panic and try to kick but to no avail. Pritha nods at her husband and they both share a malevolent smile. Pritha lifts up her body while holding on to my legs. She positions herself over my chest and drops down, slamming her ass into my sternum. Pain radiates throughout my ribcage as I struggle to breathe. She tucks each leg under her armpits at the level of my knees and rocks back. I feel my thighs spread apart as Sanjay squeals in delight, “Oh yeah, baby, make her beg.”

Pritha tries using her elbows to hold my legs in place as she reaches forward. Her fingers begin tracing a path along my inner thigh. They slide along my upper leg, then dance along the most sensitive skin of my thoroughly exposed and vulnerable parts.

“That’s it,” Sanjay continues, holding my cheetah bikini bottom in his hand. “Go inside her. Make her submit to you completely.”

Fuck! I did not agree to this. I didn’t expect Pritha to be this dirty and vicious. We all know that getting stripped is a possibility in a fight, especially a bikini fight. I realize we didn’t specifically prohibit scratching. But we didn’t discuss sex attacks either. Did she just assume it was okay?

“Almost there, baby,” Sanjay croons. “She’ll be begging and screaming for you.

I pound away at Pritha’s back, but there’s not much power when you punch upward while lying flat. I resort to scratching her back. My nails are short, a nursing requirement, but I do the best I can.

Pritha’s fingers are on my folds. “There it is, honey. Now open up that pussy and she’s yours. She’ll be –“ WHACK!

I see Sanjay, go reeling across the room and falling to the floor. Oh my God, Calvin decked him.

Pritha saw it. Perhaps she was distracted, but for whatever reason, she raised her head enough for me to grab a fistful of hair. I yank her head back and no longer feel the touch of intruding fingers on my peach.

“Kiva, let’s end it now,” Calvin demands.

“No, I can get out of this. Please Calvin, don’t stop it,” I beg.

I get one leg free and squirm and turn while pulling Pritha by the hair. She rolls off of me and we grapple on the floor. I wrap my arms around her neck in a chokehold, trying to knock her out like I did with Cynthia. She struggles and gasps and claws at my arms. I’m not in a proper position, so I abandon the hold. I’m not breathing well myself and my chest feels like it will explode. I use my new wrestling skills to position myself on top of Pritha. I lift up and plunge my knee deep into her belly. She lets out a loud “Oooomph”. I know I hurt her. I’m not going to let up now.

Pritha curls up in a fetal position as I stand up. I reach down and grab her hair with one hand and her bikini top by the front clasp with the other hand and pull. “Get up!’ I growl. She shakily rises to her feet and I swing her around by the hair and let the bikini top snap. Her breasts spill out as she reels across the room, then falls again. This is no longer a so-called friendly contest arranged by couples. It’s now a down and dirty catfight. One woman is almost topless and the other is bottomless.

I yank the woman who tried to violate me by the hair, bringing her back to her feet. Immediately, I claw my fingers and dig deep into her tit flesh, using my nails as much as possible. Pritha screams. Sanjay is back watching us from his original position. Calvin still has his “Am I really experiencing this?” expression, as if he wonders if he walked into another dimension.

Pritha drops to her knees as I squeeze her breasts. Her own fingers frantically claw my arms, but I know she’s in worse pain. I pull her up again by the boobs and swing her around. Her face is pure anguish. I offer her a chance to submit but she refuses.

I finally let go and see the puncture marks I left on her tits. She’s weak, in pain, and very vulnerable. I rear back and fire the hardest slap to the face I could summon, the impact making a loud cracking sound. Pritha’s head nearly turns around as she stumbles and falls again. Now it’s a game of cat and mouse. I let her stumble to her feet again and smack her just as hard on the other side of the face, sending her to the floor again. I look at Sanjay to see if he’s ready to throw in the towel. It appears he has no intention of doing so.

I let her rise one more time. I fake another slap. She raises her hands to her face in protection. I deliver a hard kick to her midsection, where I earlier buried my knee. Pritha crumbles to the floor.

“I think this is enough,” Calvin calls out.

I agree, but I need to hear it from at least one part of this couple. Pritha lies on her side. I position her face down and plant my foot on the middle of her upper back. I seize both arms by the wrists and pull back stretching the elbows to their limits compressing both shoulder blades. Her cries go louder as I crank back on the surfboard hold.

“Submit,” I demand.

She manages a “No,” as she shakes her head.”

After maintaining the surfboard hold for several minutes, I lighten the pressure of my foot on her back and pull back on her arms, elevating her head and chest in the air. I reapply my weight on her back and relax the pull on her arms, letting her chest and face crash into the carpet.

She won’t submit. I glare angrily at Sanjay for letting his wife suffer this much. I repeat the same maneuver of lifting her up and crushing her bare tits and face into the floor. I pull back again, holding her arms close together to cause maximal tension on her shoulders. I’m worried this hold could cause a dislocated shoulder, but I’m not about to let her go. I repeat the move one more time of pulling the surfboard up then crash it down. I know Pritha doesn’t have a free hand to tap out, so I ask her again for her verbal submission.

“I give,” she sobs. I look at Sanjay again and keep the hold for several more seconds.

“She gave up, Kiva. Let her go,” He implores.

“The towel, Sanjay,” I growled. “I want the towel. Throw in the towel! Now! And I want my bikini bottom back!”

“She gave up, Kiva. Let her go!” he yells back.

“I want a submission from both of you,” I snap back.

I pull up on Pritha’s arms one more time as she lets out a final scream. Sanjay tosses the towel upward, sending it tumbling through the air, then landing in a heap in front of Pritha’s face.

“And my bikini bottom?”

He throws my cheetah print swimsuit bottom at me where it lands on Pritha’s back at my feet.I release my victim’s arms while keeping my foot on her back, letting her face crash into the carpet. I remain standing one-footed on her limp body. I rectify my bottomless state by quickly slipping into my previously departed bottom. I place my hands on my hips in a proud victory pose, looking to the distance like a military general standing on a defeated enemy while gazing over the new land he has conquered.

I’m not quite finished. I drop down and straddle Pritha’s prone body. I grab the remnants of her bun and yank her head up so she is facing Sanjay. I provide the defeated wife and husband the tender moment of sharing the anguish together before letting her go free and rising off of her.

I turn to see Calvin standing behind me. It is clear he is not sure how to feel. I hug him tightly and he tentatively puts his arm around me. “Come on, Calvin,” I whisper. “We’re married. We can do better than this.” I jumped up to reach the top of his 6’5” frame, grabbed his head, pulling it down just above mine. With his face now in range, I planted my lips on his and gave him a long, deep passionate kiss. He gives me a bottle of water, wipes me with a towel and looks over my scratches and newly forming bruises.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Let me get the Bacitracin.”

“I feel great,” I tell him. “So, what did you think?”

“That was…different. I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me this way,” I say softly. I know this was awkward and shocking for him. I do appreciate him doing this for me. On the other side of the room, I see Sanjay is holding Pritha as she cries on his shoulder. He covered up her breasts and massages the shoulder blades I ravaged.

“Kiva, Calvin,” Sanjay calls out. “Hey guys, no hard feelings, okay. We’re all adults. We all consented to this. You’re are guests. Let’s put the fight behind us. We’ll give the ladies a chance to clean up, then let’s meet back here in thirty minutes for dessert and some drinks. Sound good?”

“Is he serious?” Sanjay asks me.

“Sounds great,” I answer Sanjay. “Come on, Calvin,” I whisper under my beath as I lead my silent pretend partner by the hand back upstairs to the guest room. The thrill of the victory, of defeating a woman in her own house, in front of her husband is growing on me by the second.

“You know, Kiva,” Calvin says, “perhaps we should leave now. I’m not sure how the rest of this night is going to go…just sayin’.”

‘No Calvin,” I insisted. “We’re staying. I’m done fighting tonight. I won. You don’t understand. You see, I own this place now. I defeated the queen of the house. This place is mine. I’m the new empress. It’s only by my grace that Pritha and Sanjay are even permitted to stay here.”

Of course, this is a fantasy, but it’s a fantasy I earned. I’m entitled to it. It’s the best part of this entire venture. I have all night to enjoy it.

“Okay, fine,” Calvin responds. He probably thinks I’m nuts.

I take a brief shower, wash my hair, dress in fresh underwear, gym shorts and a T-shirt. Downstairs, Pritha, wearing a white terry cloth robe is waiting with Sanjay. “Ah, there you are,” he says, “come this way, please.”

Our host leads us back to the dining room, where we are treated with an array of Indian pastries: gulab jamun, jalebi, and sheera served with coffee. Our conversation starts out as awkward. Sanjay seems to be in good spirts. He and I carry the conversation as I feel very alive and animated after my win. My voice is lively; my laughter is loud. Pritha seems withdrawn, trying to process her crushing defeat. Calvin joins in the conversation but I can tell he’s still wondering what the fuck he just witnessed tonight. As our lighthearted banter continues, the fantasy plays out in my mind again, this time even stronger. I’m starting to get turned on by it.

Pritha acts in complete deference to me. I take advantage of it and order her to bring me a mango kulfi, a creamy North Indian desert like a block of ice cream on a stick but more condensed and made with mango pulp. I hold the stick with my hand and couldn’t help but notice the phallic shape of the solid mango pulp at the top. I turn toward Calvin and suggestively lick the head of the stick in a circular motion with my tongue. He kicks me under the table and whispers. “You’re bad, Baby Girl.”

I feel like I’m on a high now. It’s intoxicating and it’s arousing.

Sanjay suggests we move to the living room for drinks. “I think I have dishes to wash,” Pritha mutters. Oh yes, I nearly forgot about the bet. Pritha heads for kitchen alone as Sanjay hands me a glass of Sula Chenin Blanc wine and leads me to a large comfortable recliner chair fit for a queen.

The three of us resume our conversation which is now more relaxed and free flowing. We talk, laugh, and joke like nothing happened. Calvin seems to have loosened up and is enjoying himself. From the kitchen, I hear the clunking and clinking of dishes and utensils being washed. After several minutes, those sounds cease and replaced by mournful sobbing.

“Excuse me,” Sanjay says as he rises and walks to the kitchen. Calvin and I sit in silence. A few minutes later, Sanjay returns. “She’s okay,” he tells us.

“Would you prefer that we leave?” Calvin asks.

“No, please stay,” Sanjay implores us as I breathe a sigh of relief. “My wife doesn’t lose very many fights, but when she dies, this is how she gets. It’s emotional. She’ll get through it.”

Sanjay brings me another wine, then another. Before long, Pritha emerges from the kitchen in her terry cloth robe and bare feet. She positions herself on the sofa snuggling against her husband. Calvin tries to include her in the conversation. She manages a few short answers and weak smiles. I remain immersed in my internal fantasy of the conquering victress who has taken over a castle. I’ve not been in this situation before and I find it …hot! I know it’s getting late. In my fantasy, I will retire to the queen’s chamber with my lover where the joy of victory will shift to a night of unbridled passion and lust.

After my fourth glass of wine, the conversation begins to die down. Finally, Calvin lets out a big yawn. “Well. sweetie,” he says turning toward me. “I think we need to call it a night. Both of you ladies must be exhausted.” He stands and takes me by the arm and lifts me from the couch. It’s disappointing. I don’t want this moment to end but I know he’s right. Sanjay looks tired and for Pritha, this night can’t end soon enough.

“Okay, honey,” I answer as we say goodnight to our hosts and ascend up the stairs, hand in hand. We enter the bedroom and close the door, leaving the two of us…alone.

Calvin flops on the bed and I enter the bathroom. I look in the mirror and smile. Except for the scratches and bruises, I like what I see. The thrill of defeating Pritha combined with the joyful effects of alcohol puts me in a place I don’t want to leave. I pulled it off. Calvin and I did it. We passed ourselves off as a married inter-racial couple. Now it’s time for bed and a breakfast and our trip home tomorrow. I put on my nightgown. Time for bed...with Calvin! Time to go to sleep. I know I won’t be able to sleep. I’m too excited, I’m too wound up. I’m too…sexually aroused!

My skin tingles with heat, my nipples scream to stretch out further, moisture is beginning to build between my legs. If I had an actual husband here, this is the time when we would engage in intense post-victory sex. We would have just gone through a powerful experience together and now would be the time to release all the built-up sexual tension. Except, the tension is all one sided - my side. I can’t go on like this. I’m just going to have to distract myself out of it.

I brush my teeth, put on my nightgown and step back into the bedroom. The sight of Calvin stops me in my tracks. He is stripped down to his bikini briefs as he changes into his pajamas. What a body! It’s perfect! His muscles are well developed everywhere. His brown eyes are gorgeous; his ebony skin is beautiful. What a majestic human being. He’s like a Greek god!

Without thinking, I unbutton my nightgown and let it drop to the floor, exposing myself completely to Calvin, removing one of my last filters.

“Oh my, look at you,” I gasp.

“Kiva, what are you doing?” he asks as his eyes widen. I noticed he referred to me by name, not Baby Girl. Calvin only calls me Kiva when he has something serious to say. He looks at me in shock and quickly scrambles to cover up. He fumbles with his pajama bottoms, and folds his arms over his chest as if he just encountered something forbidden.

“It’s OK Calvin, you don’t need to cover up. You are amazing. Please look at me. We are friends.”

“Whoa, Baby Girl, we need to talk. It looks like you’re burning with a six-alarm wildfire.”

Of course, he’s right. I didn’t expect this. I imagined I’d feel sexy after a win, but this? This is overwhelming. All I want right now is for Calvin to take me. I want to devour him. I want to love him.

“Is it wrong?” I ask him.

My hands forage over my breasts; I softly gasp, letting my fingers gently caress my nipples. My right hand explores the contours of my abdomen before my fingers find the doorway to my womanhood. I moan softly.

“Kiva, what are you doing,” Calvin asks. He sounds like my father catching me with my fingers in a cookie jar. Except, now I’m grown up and my fingers are in something else.

“I’m…uh…touching myself,” I confess, sounding a little sheepish.

“Perhaps I should go sleep somewhere else.”

“No Calvin, please don’t leave,” I plead with him. “I just want you to stay with me tonight.” Oh God, I made him uncomfortable.

“Well then,” he replies. “Maybe there’s a sex shop somewhere around here. I’ll see if I can find you a dildo.”

His words hit me hard like a cold wet slap in the face. How callous. This hurts. It’s especially deep coming from Calvin.

“No Calvin, that won’t be necessary. I don’t need a dildo,” I sigh. Why did he have to say that? “I wouldn’t mind having the real thing,” I mutter. I immediately regret saying that.

“So, what are you saying, Kiva? Do you want to do it with me? Do you want me to be your lover tonight?” I can’t tell if he’s serious by his tone.

“Would you? I mean…could you?”

He takes a deep breath and folds his arms over his chest. “You know I’m married,” he says curtly.

“Yeah, but you’re married to a man,” I argue. “Is it cheating if you do it with a woman?” I know it sounded dumb, but that arrangement works for Robin and her husband.

“How would you feel if you were married to a man who was having sex with other men behind your back?” he asks. “Would you please cover up? Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to see your hoo-ha…just sayin’.”

Ouch! Another slap in the face. This one hurts even worse. He’s right though. I feel like the biggest fool ever. And I fear like I just lost one of my closest friends. “I’m sorry, Calvin,” I tell him as I fight unsuccessfully to hold back tears. “I never should have brought you here and drag you into this. I know you were being a friend, but you didn’t need to be involved in this. I promise I’ll never ask you to do anything like this again…and I’ll never ask you to lie for me again”

“Look, Baby Girl,” he says in his low voice as his arms embrace me. “I’m sorry I sounded harsh. You know how much I care about you. You will always be as a sister to me. I’m just trying to say that even brothers and sisters need to have boundaries. Just sayin’.”

“I understand,” I whisper. With the heat of passion dead and gone and the effects of alcohol waning, the events of the night become clearer. I won a tough fight in a stranger’s home. Then I begged a gay friend for sex and got rejected. How could I have been such an idiot?

“What do you say we turn the lights out and go to sleep?” he asks.

“That’s fine,” I answer. I place my nightgown back on and slip under the covers of the double bed, next to one of the most amazing male bodies most women can only dream about. “Goodnight Calvin,” I whisper as he turns out the light on the night table.

“Goodnight, Baby Girl,” he returns. I know I won’t be falling asleep for a while. I stare at the ceiling and start contemplating my life.

Suddenly, the quietness is interrupted by loud wailing and sobbing coming from down the hall.

“It’s Pritha,” I tell Calvin.

“Do you think she’s alright?” he asks. Should we check on her?”

“No,” I reply. “She’ll be fine. Like Sanjay said, it’s all emotional. She got beat and humiliated in front of her husband. She’s been struggling to hold it in since the fight ended. Now that they’re alone, she’s letting it out.”

For several minutes, we lie in bed listening to Pritha’s bawling in the night and Sanjay’s soft voice trying to calm her down. I don’t take satisfaction in it. I like to think I have a great amount of empathy as a nurse and as a human in general. I can’t stand seeing suffering and sorrow. But I don’t feel guilty about it either. Every fighter knows the risks and fallout that comes with losing. I’ve been there.

Gradually, the tearful howling diminishes to sniffles and whimpers. Finally, silence.

Calvin is asleep next to me. His deep even breaths provide a comforting white noise to the room. I still can’t sleep. The mattress creaks beneath me as I shift my weight. My mind is racing again. I think of work, Tom, Clarissa, and…Jeanne. I think it can be damaging for a divorced parent to expose a child to dating prospects too soon. It can be confusing and even more traumatic if the child becomes attached to the boyfriends or girlfriends who are only temporarily in the picture. I will discuss this with Tom when I return home. Finally, my mind slows down and my eyelids become heavy as sleep approaches.

Before I lapse into a slumber, I’m jolted awake by more noises. I hear moaning. It’s a woman moaning. But these are not the moans of anguish I heard a few minutes ago. These moans are soft, and rhythmic...and passionate. Now, the gruff, groans of a man’s voice join in. No doubt about it. Pritha and Sanjay are making love.

It doesn’t seem fair, I tell myself. I won the fight, but Pritha is the only one of us enjoying her man. The sounds of their tryst progress to the slapping of flesh on flesh. Their moans become louder and filled with excitement.

Their sounds of passion make my heart ache. Why couldn’t I have someone right now? I try not to internalize their experience like it is my own. But it is so difficult.  My heart begins to race and blood rushes to my cheeks. The moisture between my legs has returned. I turn toward Calvin and stroke his powerful arm, my fingers gently grazing the coarse hairs on his warm skin. No, I have to stop.

I turn away from my sleeping bed partner as Pritha and Sanjay continue in their connubial bliss. I can  picture the entire scene playing out. Calvin and I had retired to our room, leaving Pritha and Sanjay alone downstairs. Pritha was despondent over her loss, until Sanjay suggested they go to bed. In the comforting confines of their bedroom, Pritha unleashed what she had been holding back since the fight ended. She began bawling and weeping, opening a floodgate of tears. Sanjay held her. First, he told her he was proud of her, that she’s a great fighter and the fight could have gone either way. Then he told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world and he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. Eventually, the crying waned. He kissed her on the top of her head, he kissed her tear drenched eyes, then her mouth. At this point, Pritha responded.  She wrapped herself in his embrace and kissed him back. For the moment, she forgot about her demoralizing defeat. She felt desired. He caressed her and stroked her. Her body shuddered; she felt the desire inside her. Her nipples tingled and hardened as his tongue circled them. The woman I defeated took her husband’s stiff cock in her hands as he led her to the bed. Yes, I am certain this is how it happened.

I wonder what it would be like to be desired. My hands slip down to my own body. I lift up my nightgown and trace the surface of my stomach, and then lower. At first, I’m tentative. I imagine Pritha’s legs wrapped around Sanjay’s waist, her back arching off the bed, her mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure. My breathing is faster. As my fingertips find their way to my clit, I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning. I must be careful not to wake Calvin. What will he think?

My other hand finds my breast, teasing and squeezing the nipple into a hard peak. Through the walls, Pritha’s moans grow louder, more desperate. My own movements become more urgent in response. I slide a finger inside myself and feel the wetness that has gathered there. I begin to pump in time with the rhythmic thuds I hear in the other bedroom. The sound of slapping skin grows faster; Sanjay’s grunts are now the bellowing of a man who is barreling down the path toward climax. I move my own hand faster, my hips rising to meet their touch. I feel the familiar waves of pleasure through my body; the tension is becoming tighter. I know my climax is building. Pritha is close too. Her cries have become more frequent and frantic. Sanjay’s voice has turned to low guttural growls indicating a man who is will soon explode.

Calvin stirs in his sleep. He reaches out his arm toward me as if he is searching for a lover. I shift to avoid his touch. He can’t wake up to this. I don’t want him to know, although he’ll probably find evidence of it in the morning. My hand is buried between my legs as I know my orgasm is just seconds away. I keep pumping; I bite the pillow to a keep from making a sound. My eyes squeeze shut; just a few more seconds. It’s building, it’s here. I…am…about…to…

“Baby Girl?”

Oh God, it can’t be. Calvin’s awake. Did I wake him? Does he know? Suddenly, I feel numb.

 “Baby Girl, I know what you’re doing,” he says in his soothing comforting voice.

I immediately feel embarrassed, ashamed and mortified. How did it get to this? The influence of the adrenaline, endorphins and alcohol are gone. Pritha and Sanjay are still going full throttle, but my self-indulgent lustful passion just evaporated like mist in the desert sun. I’m clear-headed now. I’ll never be able to look at Calvin again.

“I know what you’re doing,” he repeats. “And it’s okay.”

I can’t move. I can’t speak. I wouldn’t know what words to say anyway.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Calvin continues as he rubs my shoulder. “You’re stressed. You’re tired. You’re lonely. It’s only natural and normal. I’ve been there myself many times. We all have. What you’ve shown me tonight is that you’re human. In fact, you’re the most human person I know.”

I give him a nod in acknowledgment of his words. I appreciate his grace in the situation, but I still can’t find my voice.

“I guess I didn’t fully realize what you were going through. I’m sorry I sounded insensitive. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone. Please know that I’m with you and I’ll help you in any way. I’ll let you have this room to yourself if you prefer. You asked me for physical intimacy and if that is what you want for tonight, I will take you there. To answer your earlier question, yes, I can do it with women, but it’s been a long time. I’ll explain it to Marcus; he’ll understand.”

“Thanks, Calvin,” I tell him as my eyes become watery. “I appreciate that. But you were right the first time. Sex changes relationships and I don’t want anything to change with us. I crossed a line and you brought me back. And please don’t leave this room tonight.”

He kisses me on the top of the head and pulls me toward his body. I place my head on his massive chest and hold on to him. We quietly lie there. No lust or passion. No eroticism. Just two people who both happen to be nurses and care about each other: a straight white woman and an African-American gay man being true to themselves and each other.

From another bedroom, Pritha and Sanjay scream out their orgasms. I had forgotten about them. After Calvin caught me masturbating, I had tuned them out. An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat, then turns to all out laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Calvin asks.

I struggle to regain my composure. “Come on, Calvin. Think about it. Everything about tonight is funny. You and me pretending we’re a couple. We go to a house of people we never met; we have Indian food, you watch two women in bikinis beat the hell out of each other, you see me without my bikini bottom, then you see me naked and I try to turn you straight for one night, you catch me…you know, then we listen to our hosts shagging each other. It’s hilarious. A fiction writer would never have come up with this.”

Calvin breaks out into his infectious hearty laughter. “You’re right Baby Girl. I don’t think I’m going to forget this night anytime soon. Just sayin’.  Should we try to get some sleep now?”

“Wait a minute,” I reply. “I just got a devilish idea. I know I promised I would never ask you to lie for me again, but could you do something for me one last time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” I explain “I don’t want Pritha and Sanjay thinking they got the better of us in one area. Remember how we talked about us both doing improvisational acting in college? I say we return the favor to our hosts and show them what we’ve got.”

“How?”

“I’ll start us off. Ready? One…two…three…Ooooh…oooh…oooh baby, uuuh, uuuh, ooh.”

“You’re bad, Baby Girl, Calvin laughs”

“Oh Calvin, aaaah, aaaah, Oh YES! That’s it, baby...Oh I feel you.”

“Okay Calvin, you’re turn,” I whisper.

“Ooooh yes, baby, oooh yeah, you know what I like honey,” he starts.

“Louder, Calvin,” I instruct in a low voice.

“Oh Baby, you feel so good, aaah….aaah,,,aaah!”

We raise our voices louder as we vocalize our duet of phony  sex for our audience of two. We continue this charade for a good fifteen minutes before I scream out the loudest fake orgasm in my life. Calvin supplies the base to my mezzo-soprano voice as our acting reaches a climax.

“You really are bad, Baby Girl,” he grins as we fall back in bed. We share one more good laugh before turning out the lights. We enjoy a few more minutes of light conversation, before sleep overtakes us.”

“Kiva?” Calvin’s voice snaps me back from the borderline of dreamland.

“Yes?” I answer, wondering why he referred to me by my adult name.

“Have you considered getting back together with Tom?”

Oh, Good Lord. Why is he asking me this? And in the middle of the night? “No, why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t think it’s really over with the two of you.”

Ugh! Is this what he woke me up for? “You can’t be serious,” I groaned.

“Just sayin’.”
Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend thirty seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.