Finally, you get to meet my future ex-husband. Pour yourself a beer to cry in.
Catpin Chronicles – Chapter 10
One For My Baby
By Dr. Thomas Raines as told to Jake Rose
You would never know it
But buddy, I’m kind of a poet
And I got a lot of things I’d like to say
And if I’m gloomy
Please listen to me
‘Till it’s talked away
Well, that’s how it goes
And Joe, I know you’re getting anxious to close
Anyway, thanks for the cheer
I hope you didn’t mind my bending your ear
But this torch that I’ve found
It’s gotta be drowned
Or it’s gonna explode
Make it one for my baby
And another for the road
-Johnny Mercer/Harold Arlen
-sung by Frank SinatraShe doesn’t take my calls. I’m blocked on her cell phone, email, texts, all of her social media. The only times we communicate is when I get Clarissa on weekends. Everything else is through our attorneys. It sucks. She has every right to be mad. I know it. I really hurt her. But, you know, I keep hoping. We haven’t gotten very far in the divorce settlements, so there’s still time. She keeps dragging her feet on her part, so I think maybe she doesn’t really want to go through with it. Perhaps at some subconscious level, she wants to come back. She just needs more time to get through the pain and give our marriage another chance.
Ma’am, can I have another gin and tonic…and another rye on the rocks for my friend.
It’s my fault. I take full responsibility for it. She never in a million years deserved what I did to her. You probably heard something about it. Maybe Kelli told you. You know, Jake, you’re the only one I can talk to about this. If I tried to explain catfighting to most people, they’d think I’m a fucking loon. It’s something only another catfighter’s husband would understand. I appreciate you meeting me here.
Oh Kiva! Jake, look at this. Her face is my cell phone wall paper. That’s her on our wedding day. God, that face. Those eyes. And here she is when she was pregnant. What an angel.
Did I ever tell you how Kiva and I met? I did my residency at a large teaching hospital. Kiva was an ICU nurse. I first saw her during my internship year. One thing about teaching hospitals is that you have a lot of residents and students in all different disciplines. Most of them are young and single, so, you know, stuff happens. There was a lot of dating going on, a lot of hookups, one nighters, engagements, breakups and marriages. When I was an intern, the ICU was the place to be if you were a single guy. It had the best-looking nurses, some of them were pretty wild. It was a real soap opera. They were great nurses, but there was always some crazy drama going on. Then there was Kiva.
I quickly learned two things about Kiva. One, she was a fantastic ICU nurse. Second, she was gorgeous. She had this long dark hair that she kept tied back and these killer blue eyes. But here’s the thing. She stayed away from all the drama. She was all business. She showed up, did a kick ass job, then went home. The guys all noticed her, but we didn’t know a whole lot about her. We knew she was single; she was rumored to be dating someone outside the hospital. I wouldn’t say she was standoffish. Kiva was personable and had a great sense of humor. She was great at professional communication, but in casual conversation, she more than held her own, but just didn’t give you a whole lot of info about herself. Kiva was the nurse you hoped got assigned to your patient. It meant your patient was in excellent hands. It also meant you had the perfect opportunity to talk with her. Occasionally, some resident would try to hit on her and end up falling flat on his face. We heard she had a self-imposed rule against dating anyone who worked at the hospital. Most of us didn’t bother to try. A lot of guys were too intimidated by her to ask her out.
One night, my life changed. I was on call in the ICU the same time Kiva was working an overnight shift. As fate would have it, we shared the same patient, an unfortunate man who suffered a massive heart attack and went into cardiogenic shock. He was rushed to the cardiac cath lab to open up his blocked coronary artery, but his heart pump was very weak and he couldn’t maintain a good blood pressure. He wound up on a ventilator and hooked up to an artificial device to assist his heart in contracting. He was sent to the ICU where Kiva and I were tasked with getting him through the night. It was scary. The room was a jungle of tubes, wires, monitors, artificial gadgets, pumps, IV poles and bags, and one barely alive human body. And there was Kiva in the middle of it all, calm as could be, adjusting doses, sticking in IV catheters, changing oxygen settings, running here, dashing there. I mean, she was a consummate pro. I don’t think she sat down once.
Morning came and our shifts ended. I was heading out of the ICU, when I caught a glimpse of Kiva inside the break room giving report to the next shift’s nurse. I stopped and waited. I needed to thank her. I waited outside the break room. And waited, trying not to look like a loitering fool. Finally, she came out with her coat and handbag, clearly exhausted. “Are you leaving?” I asked. What a dumb question.
“Yes, I’m going home to crash.”
“Well, I just want to say, thanks for all your hard work overnight. You did an amazing job.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I think I’ll go home and do the same.”
As she started to walk past me. I impulsively blurted out words I immediately wish I hadn’t. I think the sleep deprivation took away my filter, or at least my inhibitions and fear of rejection.
“Kiva, I’m going out for breakfast. Would you like to join me?” What am I doing? I thought. The poor woman can barely stand and why did I really think she’d waste her time with me? “Uh, I mean, after all your hard work overnight, the least I could do is treat you to breakfast.”
She paused for moment and looked at her watch. Oh shit, here comes the rejection. I can already hear it. I’d love to, but you see, I just don’t have time and I really need to get home and…
“Okay, where do you want to meet?”
WHAT! Did hear that right? Did Kiva Sheppard just agree to have breakfast with me? It was as if the gods smiled on me after a long brutal night in the ICU. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
Fifteen minutes later, we sat across from one another at a quaint café near the hospital. Her hair now flowed past her shoulders to her back. She wore very little makeup – a light foundation and a touch of mascara around slightly bleary eyes, no lipstick. I’m sure she didn’t think she looked beautiful at that moment. This woman just spent twelve hours on her feet, at a time when most people are asleep, doing everything humanly possible to keep a man alive. Yet, fatigue did nothing to diminish her beauty. I looked at Kiva and saw a frontline warrior who just returned from a battle. My lovely breakfast companion was smart, selfless, and very tired…and she was sexy. That was the moment I fell in love with her.
I still remember what we ate. Kiva ordered eggs benedict and I had a Spanish omelet. Out of the hospital, Kiva was different and seemed to make a deliberate effort to not talk about work. She was a good conversationalist. I got the sense she could talk about anything. I learned she graduated from Yale and she loved classic rock music and red wine. We talked about movies, our favorite forms of live music, wineries we had visited and even sports. She said very little about her personal life. Did she have a boyfriend? Why would she even reveal that? We were just two colleagues from work unwinding before returning to our homes.
We finished breakfast. Kiva wanted separate checks but finally relented to my insistence on picking up the tab. This was my golden opportunity. I may never get another chance like this. It was now or never. There was no turning back.
“Kiva?” I asked just before we rose from the table. “May I call you?”
She paused and stared at the table for a few seconds as if she was contemplating the final Jeopardy question.
“Um, yeah…okay,” she answered, as if it were an afterthought. She took a pen and sticky note out of her hand bag and scribbled her number on it before handing it to me. “Thanks for breakfast,” she smiled. “Now I got to get to sleep.” Not exactly an enthusiastic response to the idea of dating me.
We walked to our cars and said our goodbyes. Before we parted, I approached her with my arms out in a hug formation. She allowed me to wrap my arms around her back and gently pull her to my chest for a second before backing away. “You were really good yourself last night,” she murmured. Hearing those words from Kiva, I couldn’t help myself from imagining her voice saying that line in a different circumstance.
Ma’am, another refill. Yes, rye on the rocks and gin and tonic. Thank you.
It took about a week for me to get enough courage to call. Now fully rested and with hindsight, I analyzed and overanalyzed our breakfast conversation. Why did she have breakfast with me when she was obviously exhausted? She gave me her number. That must mean something, right? Did she really see me as a potential romantic partner or was she just too nice to turn me down right on the spot? Sometimes women give you their number, then when you ask them out, they give you a litany of excuses. Finally, I called. Our conversation was brief, but yes, Kiva accepted a dinner with me.
Our first real date was at an upscale Italian restaurant. I offered to pick her up, but Kiva wanted us to meet there. I arrived first. When Kiva walked in, she was stunning in her blue dress. She gave me a little hug and a peck on the cheek and we sat down at the table.
This encounter was much different than our breakfast. She was wide awake and animated. She carried the conversation, touching on an even larger array of topics. She was bright, funny and charming. I had to do very little. Again, she avoided talking about work but had a lot to say about healthcare in general. This woman was smart. The time seemed way too short. I would’ve talked to her all night. Did we sleep together that night? Nope. I received another peck on the cheek and Kiva headed home.
There would be a third date and a fourth. There were dinners, movies, and more conversations. Kiva was opening up more. I learned she had three brothers; she was half Irish and half Jewish but raised as a conservative Christian. She lived in several places in the northeast and was Phi Beta Kappa at Yale. She had an extensive music collection of different genres and knew a lot about science and history. I told her she should be a Jeopardy contestant. She read a lot, liked to write short stories and dabbled in guitar, oil painting, poetry and songwriting. She amazed me more and more each time I saw her. It was as if both sides of her brain were turbo charged – an intellectual powerhouse who was creative as hell. And…Kiva showed a growing interest in knowing more about me. There was one complication, though. I had a girlfriend back home who was in graduate school. The long distant relationship was difficult to maintain. I ended it. I could now pursue Kiva without feeling conflicted or that I was living a double life.
Our relationship progressed, albeit slowly. It was months before it got physical. Maybe it was Kiva’s conservative upbringing. I also heard she had a bad breakup. Perhaps she was being cautious. It seemed to me that Kiva was simply the type of woman who wants to know you well before hopping into bed. When we did become intimate, it was more than worth the wait. I thought of those bumper stickers and T shirts saying “Nurses Do It Better.” I know that’s sexist and insulting, but sometimes I wonder if nurses’ technical proficiency with human bodies helps make them naturally good lovers. Nurses are good at reading their patients’ silent cues to know when they’re in pain, stressed, fearful. Great sex is about communication and give and take, and reading your partner. Kiva and I had that. I just knew that Kiva was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
Finally, it happened. One night we were making out in Kiva’s apartment. I was so overwhelmed that I impulsively uttered the fateful line, “you know I love you.” She abruptly pulled away. She looked shocked.
“What? Really...Really?”
My heart sunk. We never reached the point where we discussed what each of us wanted from the relationship. Now I raised the stakes into the stratosphere. Kiva sat there expressionless looking at the floor. I said something she was not prepared to hear and for a horrifying moment, I had no idea where our relationship stood.
“Look, Tom,” she said. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
“I’m sorry. I- “
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she told me as she walked me to the door. Just like that. The woman I thought would be the love my life just sent me home.
After an agonizing sleepless night, Kiva kept to her word and called me at 7:00 am. “Hey, can we talk?” she asked. Fearing the worst, I could barely answer. She confirmed she was caught off guard by my awkward proclamation. “I needed to be alone last night to put together my thoughts and feelings for you,” she continued. Then came the magic words, “I want you to know that I’ve fallen in love with you and I want us to be a couple.”
Kiva and I have been together ever since. Well, until now. With our relationship solidified, we both struck a balance between our careers and time with each other. She taught me a lot about many different things like music and art and I taught her how to play golf. She turned out to be pretty good at it. It’s funny, it seemed that women now paid more attention to me, even flirting more. They say that a man becomes more attractive when he’s with a beautiful woman. I was the guy that hooked Kiva Sheppard, so I must have had something, right?
Life was good. The sheer complexity of this woman both fascinated and puzzled me. She was extraordinarily talented in several ways, but somewhat of an enigma. I often wondered why a Yale Phi Beta Kappa member chose nursing, when she could have been anything. I know that sounds condescending to the great field of nursing. Kiva, herself, resents being asked why she’s “just a nurse”. But when you see her in action, it’s almost hard to envision her doing anything else. Her dedication, her technical wizardry, her style of speaking to patients is pure poetry.
We tried to keep our relationship low profile in the hospital, only communicating in public professionally or at lunch. Kiva had always been reluctant to date someone at work, so she didn’t want our relationship to be a distraction. Sometimes, she had fun with it. Kiva was very skilled at making inexperienced interns look good in the ICU. Once, I was with my supervising attending professor at the bedside of a man going into respiratory failure. The gruff old doc grumbled, “Dr. Raines, what do you propose we do?” Kiva saw me floundering and swooped right in for the rescue. Right in front of the professor she says, “Dr. Raines, I have the BiPAP mask you ordered set to 10/5 pressure and 10 liters of oxygen.” The thing was, I didn’t order it. Kiva knew what to do and ran with it, then gave me totally undeserved credit. The funny part was when the professor looked at me and said, “that’s good clinical thinking Dr. Raines. Good job.” ….. Oh Kiva.
We dated for three years. I finished my residency, then went into training to become a cardiologist. That was the perfect time to get married. We had a wonderful honeymoon in Montego Bay. We rented an apartment for a while, then bought a house. Kiva gave birth to our little girl, Clarissa. Everything was great. I was offered a position at the teaching hospital where I trained. Then, one of my mentors took a department chair job at University Hospital here and brought me along. It was too good of an offer to pass up. So that’s why we came to Texas. At first, I was concerned how Kiva would adjust. She lived in the northeast all her life and was leaving her family and friends. But she did just fine and was enjoying life here.
Then, as you know, Jake, things took an unexpected turn. Kiva came home one day, looking bruised and banged up. She said she was hit by an agitated dementia patient. Oddly, she didn’t report it to occupational safety which keeps track of healthcare worker injuries. Then she asked me if I had ever seen two women catfighting.
I just about fainted. I always had this fantasy about women wrestling or fighting. I think it started in 6th grade when a little girl stood up to this girl bully on the playground. She took her down and pinned her to the ground while the rest of us formed a circle around them and counted to ten. It just stuck in my mind. During adolescence, the idea of female fights seemed sexy. I have no idea why. It’s just a fantasy. I would never want to see anyone hurt. It was so confusing sometimes. I mean, I’m a doctor for God’s sake. I never mentioned it to Kiva. I didn’t need to. Our sex life was good and this was something I kept buried inside of me. But, you see, I had a few clips of old catfight videos I had hidden. I just assumed Kiva found them when she asked me that question. But that wasn’t the case. Kiva insisted she saw two women fighting and was fascinated by it. Then she asked me how I would feel if she was in a fight. I told her I wouldn’t like it which was the truth. Sure, I fantasized about Kiva in a wrestling ring or an apartment style match but never in real life. In my fantasies, Kiva always won. She was too smart and calculating, analyzing her opponents and exploiting their weaknesses.
Next, she brought the fantasy to the bedroom, the two of us roleplaying with her as a fighter and me as her cornerman. Next, she started writing short stories about female fights. Incredible. She even asked if it would be okay if she searched for another woman to arrange a safe carefully regulated fight. Of course, I told her no. It was strange. I was so excited and horrified at the same time. On one level, her fight talk was incredibly sexy. On the other hand, it sounded like it could be headed into dangerous territory. I never really thought of Kiva as an athlete. She went to the gym a lot. In high school, she was accomplished in softball and distance running, but didn’t pursue sports in college. What made her want to fight? I suggested she take martial arts classes to learn about fighting.
Then the unimaginable occurred. You know General Ruckman? Yeah, that old fart that hangs around Billy’s? Well, his wife Kyong and Kiva arranged a wrestling match in a sand bunker on the golf course. Yeah, the coffin. Did you hear about that? And they did it topless in front of me and the General. Watching them role around in the sand, sweating, grunting, shrieking was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. It was so surreal. It was like I was in a trance. There was my bride, my love, covered in sand with her tits hanging out, getting all tied up and stretched by a little Asian woman one minute, then dominating the next. Kiva went home the winner. We took a shower together and…let’s just say I never looked at her the same way again. But in a good way. Kiva explained that fighting was really a personification of the competitiveness that most women feel, that it’s an honest expression and is more noble than the lying and gossiping that many women engage in to hurt each other.
So, I went online to research the current affairs of the catfight world. That’s how I found the catpin site. I searched for catfighters in our area. First, I saw Kelli’s profile, and then, there it was, my baby was officially a catfighter. Her so-called hospital accident was actually a fight with Freda, one of our interns who she knocked out. I was furious she didn’t tell me. What the hell was she thinking? If she wanted to fight, she shouldn’t have done it behind my back. At least I could have helped prevent her from getting injured. I learned about Kelli’s fight with Danielle MegaHurtz at Billy’s. I had a funny feeling, so I went there. And sure enough, there was Kiva. She lied to me. Well, you know the rest of the story. Kiva got into the cage and knocked out some redheaded skank. We had a big argument that night. Finally, we came to an agreement that we would be honest with each other from that point onward.
Kiva started working with a boxing trainer when she realized she had good punching power, then planned to study other disciplines. She won a few more fights. She beat a tough woman named Luanne in a dance studio. There was a boxing match with another skank at Billy’s. Then she started to get cocky. She fought this mousy social worker named Claire and agreed to stakes that, if she lost, she would take Claire’s nerdy brother’s virginity. I was pissed. Can you imagine? That scrawny geek boffing my wife? Kiva had a nightmare about it and had a panic attack before the match. As smart as she is, she can be incredibly off the wall sometimes.
But we were doing well. Catfighting added a whole new dimension to our relationship. It was exciting, it was sexy, and it was nerve wracking. We were closer than ever. We were happy. And then came the Cynthia fight.
You already know what happened, so I won’t go through it all. Cynthia was Clarissa’s cheerleading coach. She and Kiva arranged a fight in a ring at their house. In the days before the fight, they had a bitter exchange of words, the insults ran deep, and it turned into a kind of grudge match. Everything about that night was strange. There was college football stuff all over the house. Kiva joked that even their turds came out red with the number 18 imprinted on them. Cynthia was very cold to us; Josh tried to be hospitable and at least chatted with us.
Josh took us to their guest room for Kiva to change and assured us we’d have privacy. When he closed the door, Kiva and I were alone, and immediately the air seemed to change. We never had quiet moments to ourselves before her fights. I wasn’t even there for some of them. The fight with Claire the social worker was a farce. I was too much in shock for the Kyong wrestling match. She ran into the cage without me for the Ginger fight. She had her trainers at the boxing match at Billy’s. This time, she was in a fight with an accomplished athlete and I was really her cornerman. We both took a deep breath and looked at each other.
“Are you okay,” I asked
“Yeah.”
“You ready?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.”
She started to strip. First, she kicked off her sandals and removed her top, then the shorts, then the bra. Wearing only her white panties, she began to bounce on her feet, shaking her arms and legs. I couldn’t help but notice her tits bouncing up and down in rhythm with the rest of her body. She stopped only to nervously pace around the room. She was feeling anxious and so was I. Finally, the panties came off. She walked to the opposite side of the bed, looking at her reflection in a full-length mirror, her lovely ass in full view.
“Tom?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the mirror. “Can you hand me my hair brush, It’s in my gym bag. And my hair bungees.”
As I rummaged through her bag, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling of love for my wife. She was pulling her hair back with her hands, her waist slightly bent. All of a sudden, I was a mischievous fourteen-year-old kid again. Taking a towel from the bag, I stretched it back, moved into close range, and aimed for Kiva’s immaculate bare butt. Snap!
“Hey! What the…What are you DOING? Give me my brush.”
“Come get it.” I repeatedly tossed the brush in the air, catching, then releasing with alternate hands like a juggler, quickly snatching it out of the air as Kiva tried to lunge for it.
“I don’t have time for this crap,” she complained. “Give it to me.”
“Make me.”
“Okay then.” Kiva took one step toward me, cocked her right hand, then buried her fist into my belly. I doubled over, moaned, then fell backward onto the bed, releasing the brush. It was the first and only time I felt Kiva’s punch. I feigned being hurt, but it was a harder punch than I expected. Kiva stood over me, giggling.
“Thank you,” she said as she reached for the brush. As she bent over, I seized her arm and pulled her onto the bed with me. Her squeal turned to laughter as I rolled her over and positioned myself on top of my beautiful naked wife, supported by my elbows. We kissed. We meshed our lips, then my mouth worked its way to her ears, her neck, the upper part of her chest. I noticed her nipples begin to stiffen. That was one thing about Kiva. Whenever she got turned on, her nipples always gave it away. I worked my tongue toward the left one while gently caressing the right one.
“Stop!” she ordered, pushing me back. “We can’t. Not now.” Kiva was right. She was about to have a tough fight and needed to get into the proper mental zone. I rolled off of her and we sat and the edge of the bed. At least now, the tension had broken. She rose from the bed, gave me a peck on the cheek, reminiscent of our first breakfast together, then walked back to the mirror with her hair brush and bungee band. After tying her hair into a bun, she walked back toward where I was still seated. I stood, we faced each other, then embraced. I thought about how her bare breasts pressing against me was much different than our first polite quick hug. “I love you, Tom,” she whispered. And I thought about how I thought I ruined our relationship when I first said those words to her.
I sat back down on the bed and Kiva followed, settling on my lap. I just held her, rubbing her shoulders, massaging her back. Our eyes met. We said nothing, we didn’t kiss. Our eyes said everything. Hers are so beautiful and blue. I was never happier and felt so lucky that she was my wife. My wife, my lover, mother to our daughter, an extraordinary nurse, a friend to so many, a warrior. It was one of those rare indescribable moments, a moment that I never wanted to end.
“My panties,’ she said, “I need my blue panties.” She retrieved the blue underwear from her gym bag. “Here they are.”
“I think those panties are lonely,” I said. “We have a present for you, Miss Blue.” I spoke. “We are going adopt a sister for you. She’s red. You two are going to get along just great.” Kiva passed her feet through them, pulled them up to her waist, then returned to my lap. Of course, after that day, we would never see Kiva’s blue panties again.
Kiva regained her focus on the fight, resuming her warmup stretches. “These people are ridiculous, I never wanted to beat anyone as much as I want to beat Cynthia.”
Knock. Knock. “You guys ready?” Josh asked. Kiva rose, put on her white terry cloth robe, and stretched one last time before we headed to the ring.
The situation got even weirder with all of those cheerleaders. I held the ropes open for Kiva as she entered the ring. I must say, that experience gave me a rush. I was a second, a cornerman and a valet to my beautiful fighter, like a worker bee tending to its queen. Then, Cynthia arrived wearing Josh’s jersey. When both ladies disrobed to their panties, I could see what Kiva was talking about. Cynthia was certainly beautiful. Wearing her husband’s football number on the back side of her panties seemed to take devotion to another level. Cynthia looked daunting; athletic, tightly muscled but feminine. Her boobs looked lively and firm. She showed off her flexibility and athleticism by her warm up exercises. And one other thing – she looked angry.
Kiva, for her part, looked confident. As I massaged her neck, back, and shoulders, I felt twinges of uneasiness as I gave her words of encouragement. I was more intimidated by Cynthia than Kiva was. Kiva looked like she was taking in the moment and couldn’t wait to start. She never fought in a ring before and it was clear she was excited. Once again, the nipples were betraying her.
Well Jake, I won’t bore you with the blow-by-blow details of the fight. All I will say is that it was a great back and forth fight with both ladies going at it hard. I was proud of Kiva. She’s not the natural athlete Cynthia is, but she hit Cynthia with a lot of shots and took some herself. She’s a better striker than a wrestler, but she showed off some grappling ability in this fight.
Flash forward to the end. Kiva had Cynthia in big trouble, but didn’t move in quickly for the kill. She wasted time and actually spit on this silly school logo they have in the middle of the ring. Kiva insists it was unintentional, but I’m not sure about that. Anyway, all it did was infuriate Cynthia to get off the canvas and beat the stuffings out of Kiva. She drove my wife into a corner and hit her with a hurricane of blows. When Kiva fell, Cynthia choked her with her legs just inches away from me. I thought it was over then, but Cynthia released her hold and dragged Kiva on her belly to the center of the ring where Kiva spat.
The most indelible image I have of the fight is Kiva’s face as Cynthia dragged her off. You see, we made eye contact. Kiva was glassy eyed but I know she saw me. I’ve looked into those blue eyes many times. Like when we had that first breakfast, when I realized I was in love with her, when we were in the dressing room just before the fight. It’s a bond only lovers know. It’s how Kiva and I communicate and as I watched distance between us grow more and more as Kiva was hauled away by Cynthia, like a hunter lugging a deer carcass. I knew she was trying to tell me something. It felt like a goodbye. Like a prisoner saying goodbye to a lover before being taken to a place of execution. And in a way, it was an execution. Cynthia would finish her off. Kiva certainly didn’t lose her life, but part of her identity would be lost and replaced with something else. I’ll explain more in a minute.
But first, another round, Jake? Ma’am, over here.
Yeah, Cynthia laid it on thick. She smeared Kiva into the canvas, made her kiss the logo, forced her to say she was a nobody, did a victory pose, took her blue panties and spat on her. She even did a dance in ring with the cheerleaders. It’s weird and it feels helpless to not intervene. When your wife is on the wrong side of a victory pose, you just want to knock the winner on her ass and say “Get the fuck away from her?” You just want to pick up your woman, take her home, clean her up and love on her. I’m sure that’s how you felt with Kelli’s losses. Right? But, no, the women have this understanding. Victory poses, taking panties, bikini tops are the winner’s prerogative.
When Cynthia was finally done, Kiva was still getting harassed by this little shit cheerleader I had to chase off. I threw Kiva’s terry cloth robe over her and got her out of the ring by sliding her under the lower rope. I picked her up and carried her back to the guest room, gently placing her on the bed. She was stunned, dehydrated, and had several scratches and I could see bruises were appearing. I told her I loved her and she fought a hell of a fight but she said nothing. She took water and I went over her face and body with a wet towel, wiping away grime, sweat, and spit. The eyes started to brighten but she remained quiet. I remembered we had brought a bottle of her favorite Cabernet Sauvignon red wine to celebrate if she had won. That bottle would remain unopened. “Let’s go home, honey,” I whispered to her.
That’s when Josh and Cynthia shocked us by asking us to stay for pizza and beer. No way, I thought. Do they want to be friends? How do you repair a relationship after what just happened? We declined at first, but Kiva shocked us with a reversal and agreed to stay. “Are you kidding me?’ I asked.
“I have to do this,” was her answer. She repeated, “I HAVE to do this.” I wondered if she wasn’t delirious. The Garrisons let Kiva use the bathroom to shower and change while they gave me a seat at their kitchen table. As we waited for Kiva, they brought out boxes of old photos and set up scores of pic files on their computer. When Kiva reemerged from the bathroom, she was wearing one of Josh’s jerseys that the Garrisons had given her. I couldn’t believe it. She brought another set of clean clothes; why the fuck was she wearing that? It was also evident from her eyes that she had been crying.
Kiva sat down next to me as the Garrison’s offered her pizza and beer. We then spent several hours hearing their college stories, looking at their photos and watching videos of their sports competitions. There was no mention of the fight. No negative words were spoken. Kiva’s countenance had changed. Instead of looking like a devastated woman, she had this acquiescence about her. She frequently added her comments to the Garrison’s stories and even laughed at their bad jokes. I got the feeling that she was done crying and decided to accept her situation. Then I started to see it. Her decision to wear the jersey was a sign of submission to let the Garrison’s know that she was ready to be their subordinate. Her voice had the passivity of a polite little girl addressing a friend’s parents at a sleepover. I could now see that she was staying with the Garrisons due to a sense of obligation. Cynthia and Josh wanted an audience to hear their excruciating stories and Kiva was there to provide it, regardless of how much time it cost. Now I understood what her eyes were saying to me in the final moments of the fight. The Kiva that entered the house with me was indeed saying goodbye.
I was mesmerized. I had never seen Kiva like this. She left the crushed defeated woman in the shower and came out with a new identity. But, in embracing her inferior status, she had this grace about her. Sitting across the table from her conqueror, instead of being a broken bawling mess, Kiva managed to make subservience look dignified, beautiful…and sexy.
The Garrisons were remarkably gracious for the rest of the night. They treated Kiva and I well, with the exception of us enduring their boring stories. Sometime way after midnight, we parted.
We resumed our normal lives. Kiva was sore for weeks. She needed more time to heal mentally and emotionally, but she planned to eventually fight again. I did everything I could to build her back up. We still had to face Cynthia; we didn’t want to take Clarissa out of cheerleading because of her parents’ conflicts. In retrospect, fighting someone who works with your kids is not the best idea. Kiva and I didn’t talk too much about the fight or its aftermath. I repeatedly told her that she fought very well and defeating Cynthia was within her grasp.
I never told Kiva how beautiful she was in defeat and how I was impressed by her resignation of it. I wish I had. I was afraid that she would misinterpret it into thinking I enjoyed seeing her physically or emotionally hurt. She was just as sexy and desirable in her subjection to the Garrison’s as she was in victory. I didn’t expect to feel that way, but I did. I thought about it for weeks. One night, I dreamed that I was a young peasant farm boy married to a beautiful servant girl. I worked in the fields all day while she toiled in the overlord’s house under the direction of his wife. The harsh conditions, long days of labor and mistreatment, and orders for my wife to report to the noble’s bedchamber couldn’t extinguish our dignity and love for each other.
I thought of a time in the ICU when a young man went into cardiac arrest after a cocaine binge. We attempted to resuscitate him for over an hour. Kiva had a central role in the code blue, working her butt off. In spite of our efforts, he died. Afterward, Kiva was demoralized, exhausted and deeply stressed. All I wanted to do was hug her. Her efforts caused me to love her even more. She looked just as strangely beautiful after a crushing tragedy. The next day, she was back at work with a different patient in a new situation. Maybe that’s what love is; always being there for your partner and seeing the beauty in them no matter how adverse the conditions.
So, Jake, why did I do what I did? I wish I had a good answer for that. It’s inexcusable, really. I’ll try explain the best I can. I was on the catpin site looking at some of the local action. Then, with a little time to kill, I went to this fetish site and started watching catfight clips. I’m not a big fan of these sites. You know, there are a lot of guys pretending to be women, trying to fulfill some fantasy. I’m watching these clips that have humiliating endings for one of the women, complete with victory poses. And these guys act like it’s the greatest thing ever. I’m thinking, that’s nothing compared to what Kiva endured. She’s so much better than all the winners and losers in this clip. And so much sexier. I’ll show them a real woman. The funny thing was that I didn’t think I was betraying Kiva at the time. I thought she probably wouldn’t really mind, since she had moved on from the Cynthia fight. Man, was I wrong. It was a terrible betrayal. I’ve always been disgusted with how guys on these sites post bullshit stories and pics of their wives and girlfriends without their knowledge or permission. Well, guess what? I became one of them.
Oh Kiva. I’m so sorry. Just talk to me. It’ll be better next time. What do you want me to do? Do you like guys fighting? I’ll do it. I heard she was seen with one of our residents who fights and is a womanizer. I couldn’t believe it. She hated guys like that.
It’s getting late. Thanks for listening Jake. It’s last call. One more?
We had such a great life together. I fucked up. But it was wonderful. I know we can get it back again. I’m not saying it was perfect. We’re all human. I’m sure you and Kelli had some bumps on the road. I’m not perfect. No one is.
And Kiva is certainly not perfect. No Sir. Far from it. She was fast and efficient and incredible at work, but at home, she was kind of a slob. You could always tell when she was in the kitchen. There would be crumbs all over the counter. And she’d leave clothes in the dryer for days before putting them away. And what a procrastinator. She paid bills right at the due date. And she had this habit of singing or humming whenever she was working on something.
And you know what drove me nuts? As smart as she was, could be a real airhead sometimes. I think her head was in the clouds half the time. Sometimes she would tune out while I was talking to her. Probably thinking about some song in her head or a story she was making up. It drove me nuts. It was rude as hell. Well, you know what? I don’t need it. Fuck that! Fuck you, Kiva! You hear me, fuck you! Go ahead and run around with Frank or whoever. I don’t need you! FUCK YOU!
I…Oh, I, Oh my God, I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry, Kiva. I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t . I..I.
“Sir, are you okay. Here, we have tissues.”
I’m okay ma’am.
“Well, we’re going to be closing soon. That will be your last drink. I think you’ve had enough. Can your friend take you home or do you want us to get Uber?”
Yes, this is the last one. Jake, thanks for letting me bend your ear. When is our tee time tomorrow? You’re a good friend. Here’s to friendship. Here’s to health. Here’s to you and Kelli. Here’s to happiness....And here’s to my baby.
Yes, one for my baby. And one for the road.
Here are some pics of Kiva and I in happier times.
