[sinclairfan]

Around 7am, I wake up in my bed, and don't want to disturb Elena, who is in a deep sleep.  Her blonde hair is beautiful draped over her flawless chest--big chests run in her family, as hers is as impressive as Karen's.  I walk out into the living room and put the TV on ESPN.  There is a long special on about U.S. women's tennis, and the travails of Tracy Austin and her back troubles.

I don't know how to work the volume, and I leave it on too loud for about 10 seconds.  It must have woken up Elena, because she comes into the living room with a t-shirt on and nothing else.  She asks me, didn't you play tennis?  How did she know that?, I wonder.  Karen and her must have talked about me at some point.  Elena asks me if I like Tracy Austin.

I explain to Elena how the food chain worked in women's tennis in the 1970s and 1980s.  That the alpha from around 1973 to 1979 was Chrissy Evert, who became Chris Evert Lloyd after she married a British bombshell tennis player named John Lloyd.  Chrissy dominated the other women on the court and in the bedroom, stealing all the men from them.  I remembered Dick Enberg, the NBC announcer saying on TV once that with Chrissy, "The line was long, but it moved quickly."  I remembered how hot it made me in 1979 hearing that.  He had a smile on his face indicating he had been in that line.

Around 1979, at Wimbledon, Martina Navratilova, who had a vicious serve-and volley game and had defected from Czechoslovakia in 1976 as a glasses-wearing chubby power hitter, hired Nancy Lieberman, the redheaded Louisiana Tech basketball player as a Life Coach, got a pretty haircut, trimmed down, started wearing contacts, and actually beat Chrissy for the Wimbledon championship.  And then kept beating her--she was in Chrissy's head now.

Around the same time, Tracy Austin burst onto the scene from Southern California (Chrissy was from Florida) and, unlike Martina, played Chrissy's baseline style.  Tracy, too, beat Chrissy, this time in an indoor match in New York City.  Chrissy, rather than change her game to match Martina's serve-and-volley, declared that "Tracy is my real rival.  She's from the U.S.  She plays backcourt.  Martina is my friend," and developed a dropshot to torture Tracy by making her run back and forth from the baseline to the net everytime she played Chrissy.

As 1979 became 1980 to 1985, Chrissy kept right on losing to Martina.  And beating Tracy.  Tracy's career fizzled out.

Chrissy's strategy was total b.s.  She avoided the Goliath Martina, and picked on, to the point of bullying, the diminutive and timid Tracy.

Elema corrected me.  Tracy should have stood up the Chrissy.  Chrissy sensed she wouldn't, and so good for Chrissy.  That's why Chrissy's career lasted longer than Tracy's, and why Chrissy made more money and fucked more men.

I ask Elena how I've done standing up to Lorraine.

"So far so good.  I've known Lorraine for three years, and never let her to this to me."

Elena slides onto her back on the couch, and lets me mount and straddle her face.  I rock back and forth while she licks me.

I come in a screaming climax.

What time is the fight?

[sinclairfan]

Saturday morning, Elena dressed me for my fight with Lorraine.  She wanted me to look like a P&G executive, and dressed me in office clothes from our Black Friday shopping spree at Pogue's.

Red silk blouse.
White slacks.  Long white slacks, and the way to my ankles.
Panty hose. 
Black heels.  Not quite stilettos.  Practical enough for work.

P&G wealth was how Elena was able to live above her means.  Not quite a life of leisure, but close.

Quarterly dividends from P&G.  Every February 15, May 15, August 15, and November 15.  Income which grew 3% to 5% every year, like clickwork.

I wanted that P&G income stream for myself so bad that I could taste it.  A bi-monthly paycheck, sure.  But equity awards.  And inherited stock from Karen's patents and aunts and uncles and great-aunts and grest-uncles.  Decades of inherited wealth--that was true money, true status, true F-U wealth, as my Dad had described it to me growing up.

Why was he settling for Autumn, a younger woman with no wealth?  Why was he choosing sex over status, over class?  Was the sex THAT good with her?  The dad from my younger years, in the 1970's, would have never chosen to marry a bitch like Autumn.

My Dad got in on Raytheon stock in Boston in the 1970s.  Soldi wealth.  But nothing like P&G.  Raytheon cut their dividend in the recession in 1981 and 1982.  P&G just kept growing theirs.  Everyone needs Tide, no matter how bad the economy is.  I told Elena that.  She thought it was cute.

Almost as cute as me in Pogue's white slacks.  Elena likes how it compliments my beach blonde hair.  She masturbates her brains out as I get changed.

> Will you bed sad if Lorraine bleeds on these slacks?

> I'll be sad if she DOESN'T?

P&G wealth.  F-U money.  The money that can afford to buy clothes on Black Friday, and throw them away on Small Business Saturday.  Because they got bled on in a catfight.

Get ready to bleed, Lorraine.

To be continued.....

[Thommy1982]

This is so Hot. I can not wait to read more.

[sinclairfan]

Elena pulls up to a half-brick kalf-glass building with a large empty parking lot and the P&G logo on the front-door.  The signage indicates it's some sort of training facility, and the mid-1980s version of a fitness center, meaning there are some scattered Nautilius machines and 1970's-style free weights.  The facility is clearly emory because of the long holiday weekend.

My heels awkwardly clank on the solid floor.  I'm not much of a high heels girl.  If I want to work in an office, I'll have to get used to them.

Elena brings me into an empty part of the free weight room, which has a ballroom-style carpeted flloor.  Even I can figure out that this is where I'm going to fight Lorraine.

> Nervous?

> Nervous that I'll maim her permanently.  But not for me.

> Good attitude.

And .... I can hear Lorraine's heels coming down the hallway now.  And she's wearing office clothes, too, I can now see.  White blouse, red skirt.  We're dressed similar.  Did Elena and Karen puposely arrange this?  Have they done this before with girls?  Or had it done to them?

Will the winner have to fight a new girl someday? 

Because if the answer is yes, then ..... I'm totally into it.

Being in this family is worth fighting for.  More than once if necessary.

Lorraine and I square up.

"Time to start your job interview, bitches," says Karen.

> I'm game.

> So am I.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Lorriane bends down to unstrap her heels, and I mentally prepare to melodramtically "kick mine off" in anger as a means to intimidate Lorraine--and impress Elena and Karen (Elena mostly--more on that in a minute)--when Karen tut-tutts Lorraine and scolds her, "Remember the rules, Lorraine.  Heels and clothes need to remain on the whole fight.  This is a job interview.  Heels stay on in an interview.  That goes for both of you bitches."

Elena never explained 'the rules' of the fight to me--I guess she forgot.  Did she think I wouldn't agree to show up if I knew we were going to be forced to fight in heels, for Elena and Karen's amusement?

If so, she shouldn't have been afraid.  Because I would do anything for Elena right now--and I mean ANYTHING.  Because even though I just her 48 hours ago, I've fallen in love with her.  In actual love.  Everything.  How good she is in bed.  Her confident sophistication.  Shopping with her in downtown Cincinnati.  Lunching with her in the Cincinnati Tea Rooms--it's 1985, and the last one of them is a mere 7 years from closing, but we had no way of knowing that in 1985.  L.G.Ayres from Indianapolis had just merged with Pogue's, and seemed to be giving downtown the breath of fresh air it needed.  A Queen City Renaissance seemed imminent.

And I wanted to spend it with Elena.

So strange.

My divorced Dad was in love with a 25-year old blonde woman, Autumn.
And I was in love love with a 25-year old woman, Elena.

After this fight, I'm going to tell Karen I never loved her.  That it's her aunt Elena I love.  But I still want Lorraine out of the picture.  I'm going to beat in Lorraine's face so bad that Karen loses respect for her and ditches her, for good.

Lorraine and I get within arms length.  We're going to bare-knuckle fist fight, in office clothes and heels, to see which one gets to keep coming to Cincinnati.  We look each other in the eye, hatefully.  When I fought Maureen in the high school restroom, we avoided eye contact.  That fight wasn't personal--this one is.

> Get ready to go down, bitch.

> You first.

> What does then even fucking mean, bitch?  Go down first?? Hit you first??

Elena has been rubbing herself, and is impatient.  "HIT EACH OTHER, BITCHES!!!!"

Lorraine and I swing, sumultaneously, but starting with jabs and combinations, not balance-tipping haymakers.  I learned to fine points of the sweet science--boxing--from Autumn, when my Dad had her 'train' me.  Where did Lorraine learn?  She punching, feinting, and parrying like she's done this before.  I can see a girl knowing how to catfight, like we did in June, by pure instinct.  But not boxing--that's either taught or learned.  Who taught her?  Where did she learn?  Especially the footwork.  In heels.

Our knuckles make sickening thwack-ing sounds on each others' faces.  It reminds me of the afternoon at my Dad's when Autumn let me hit her--and then hit me back.  She explained to me that our bones were colliding at full force--flesh in our hands and cheeks are paper-thin, and there's no cartiledge or ligaments there to intercept the direct collision of bones, or to mitigate the force.  Two women can't keep at that for long with the skin breaking.

Autumn knew it, and taught it to me.
Elena and Karen and I knew it, and dressed Lorraine and I in white (Lorraine's shirt is plain white; my slacks are as well; the 'winner' of the interview will be whoever can turn the others' white clothing article red.)
And Lorraine knows it.  Either she learned to fight from someone in her family.  Or at her and Karen's sorority at Wheaton.  Maybe that's what they use that courtyard for--sorority boxing.

Once playing tennis, I got hit direct in the face my a tennis ball, pretty hard too.  It was stunning--literally. That's my sensation in this fistfight.....times 100.  I find it hard to focus, but need to, because I realize my aim on my punches is getting inaccurate.  Every punch I throw at Lorraine that misses is wasted energy, with no compensating damage to her.

One of us is going to start bleeding any minute.  I need it to be her.

Neither of us is playing and defense at all.  The reason is simple.  You can't back up in heels.  You can only move forward.  Lorraine is so close to me that I can smell per perfume, her sweat, and her breath.

And I can hear her suppressed under her clenched mouth.  My punches are hurting her.  I sense the one's to her mouth hurt the most.  Her lower right-side mouth is in pain.  I go hard and repeatedly after her there.  She's biting her lip--literally and figuratively.  But finally, when she opens it, and small trickle comes out.  Which only gets my adrenaline running more--she's shown a weakness, and I go in for the kill.  I go after her mouth with right crosses, and left uppercuts.  She's stopped hitting me, because she's afraid of getting hit.

The best defense is a good offense.  And I'm the only one on offense.

Lorraine's blood is getting on my knuckles.

I 'transfer' it to Lorraine's white top.

Elena can see it.  I can hear her distinct pre-cum moaning start.

Is she aroused because first blood has been drawn in the fight?

Or because I'm winning the fight?

I move in close to Lorraine with impunity, as she can no longer even keep her arms up, now measuring my blows, landing them directly, and following thru, having long lost the need to defend myself.

The rest is a blur.

Lorraine's face opens up.

She drops to the floor, crumpled in pain.

Elena rushes to me and kisses me. 

We cum together.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The next 36 hours are a blur, partly because my ears are ringing from punches Lorraine landed on the side of my head, no doubt intentionally.  Elena drives tme to the house of my clean-cut Wednesday afternoon bar pick-up to get my clothes (which I'll never wear again, now that I have no clothes that Elena and I bought on the magical Black Friday in Downtown Cincinnati).  Then she gets in her car and follows me back to Oxford, to my dorm at Miami of Ohio.  We attend Saturday evening Christmas Mass together, and go out to dinner at one of my favorite Miami pubs.  People are staring at me because my face is puffy, but I smile at them with a "You should see the other girl" grin.  They quickly look away.

I ask Elena why Karen so readily took care of Lorraine after the fight.

> They didn't have much choice, did they?  They both hsd to head back to Massachusetts.  Does that upset you, Lisa.

> No.  I'll never forgive Karen for laughing at me after Lorraine dunked my head in the bathroom.  And high fiving Lorraine.  Why'd she do that?

> I think she was scared.  Of what was happening between you and Lorraine.  Karen laughs sometimes when she's scared.  Lots of girls do.

> Have you talked to her?  Since the fight?

> A little bit.  On the phone?

> And?  Did she ask about me?

> She asked about us.  You and me.

> What did she want to know?  [My heart races.  My ears ring even more.]

> If we're ..... fucking.

> I hope we are.  ['I love you, Elena,' I think to myself.]

> I hope we are, too.  I really like you.

> Wanna see my dorm?

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Sitting in 2022 as a 54-year old woman, a 25-year old, which Elena was in 1985, seems like a plausible fit in a college dorm.  But my dorm that year at Miami was a freshman dorm, and Elena's presence seemed exotic and raised attention ('She's sleeping in Lisa's bed?  Again?').  Besides all that, I had to get going with my grades.  I had a real chance, now, for a P&G internship, to join Elena in the P&G family.  And Elena had bills to pay back at her Cincinnati home (with her mystery roomate, who I hadn't asked about yet), so the Tuesday after Thanksgiving she kissed me and drove back home, leaving me alone for the final weeks of classes until finals and Christmas Break.  Elena talked about coming with me to Rhode Island, so we could spend time together.

I went to Immaculate Conception Mass on campus.  I prayed that Elena and I could stay together, that Elena would continue to want to be with me.  I had never prayed to be close to anyone.  Until I met Elena.

I got back go my dorm suite.  Someone had taken a message for me from someone.

Lorraine.

Should I call Lorraine back?  Why did SHE want to talk to me?  Had she broken up with Karen?  (I didn't want Karen--but I still wanted Karen to dump Lorraine.)  Should I tell Elena that Lorraine called me?

Did Lorraine want a rematch?  I had beaten her fair-and-square in a fistfight.  She couldn't possibly want to go thru that again, could she?

I call her number.  617 area code--must be at Wheaton.

> Hello?

> It's Lisa.  Why'd you call?

> Why'd YOU call?  Because you know we have unfinished business?

> I won, I thought, bitch.

> That fight was bullshit.  Fight me alone.

> They [Elena and Karen] didn't interfere.  How was it bullshit?

> Heels??  Who fucking fights in heels?

> Excuses.  Pfft.

> Fight me alone.  No Elena.  No Karen.

> Is this a trick?  Do they know you're calling?

> No.

> Why should I trust you?

> You shouldn't.  That's what will make it so primal.

> [I'm thinking.  Do I want sex with Elena?  Or a fight-to-the-finish with Lorraine?]

> You know you want it.  A fight with me.  Alone.  In Rhode Island.  At your Mom's.  Christmas Break.

> [Elena will be with me.  I'll sneak out on her for an hour.  To fight Lorraine.]  Deal.  Don't change your mind.

> Don't change YOUR mind.

I'm already starting to climax as I hang up the phone.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Lorraine's tense phone call with me reminds me of 3 things from my upbringing.
1) The Chrissy Evert-Tracy Austin rivalry
When Chrissy started losing just about every tennis match to Martina Navratilova, and with it her Number 1 in the World tennis rating, Tracy Austin probably assumed Chrissy would cede to Tracey the informal title of U.S. women's champ.  But Chrissy didn't do that.  Instead, she went after Tracey three times as hard, calling her out publicly as her chief rival.  This rejuvenated Chrissy's career, and broke Tracy, first mentally and then physically, when her back gave out.  Similarly, Lorraine lost a catfight, and a girlfriend, to me.  But now was challenging me to a real fight.  Alone.  I needed to make sure I was Chrissy, not Tracy.  Because becoming Tracy would break me.

2) The Susan-Becky match for last spot on the travel team.
Susan and Becky had been so sluggish about setting up their showdown tennis match because they knew everyone was watching.  Lorraine knew that she and I could only have a showdown catfight in private, with no spectators.  And now, so did I.

3) Lying to Elena
I was in love for the first time in my life, and I was already doing things behind Elena's back.  Elena wouldn't have let me fight Lorraine alone, and I knew it.  So I was going to bring Elena home to Rhode Island Christmas Break, and sneak out some day or night and fight Lorraine, and come home bruised, with Elena knowing I had lied to her.  And hoping she would forgive me.

What if I lost the fight to Lorraine ....  AND lost Elena?  I would lose everything.

What if I won the fight?

I would win:
Elena
P&G
Pogue's
Shillito's
McAlpin's
The Cincinnati downtown tea rooms

I needed to win.

I pick up the phone and call my Dad.  As I was hoping, Autumn answers.

> Hello?

> Hey, Autumn.  It's Lisa.

> Hey, bitch.

> I love you, too.  But I need you.

> For real?

> For totally real.  Don't make me beg.

> Fine.  What's up.

> I have a fight in Rhode Island.  Christmas break.  And not a girlfight.
A war.   I .... CANNOT .... lose it.  Can you train me.

> You'll owe me big time.

> Not a problem.

> Ok.  Deal.

> Deal.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

As finals week arrives at Miami of Ohio and students start returning home for Christmas Break, I reflect at my torn allegiances between Rhode Island and Cincinnati.  Especially since my Rhode Island home is now two broken homes between my Mom, and my Dad and Autumn.

I think about all the times growing up in Rhode Island that my Dad and I would bond over Cincinnati sporting events on television.

> The 1970 Major League Baseball All Star Game in the brand new Riverfront Stadium in Cincinnati.  My Dad's hero, Carl Yastrzemski of the Boston Red Sox, got 4 hits, and won the game MVP Award.  The National League won when Pete Rose of the hometown Cincinnati Reds bowled over Ray Fosse at home plate in the 10th inning on a single by Jim Hickman of the Chicago Cubs.

> In 1972, the Reds came from a 2-1 deficit in the 9th inning to beat the Pittsburgh Pirates and advance to the Wotld Series.  Johnny Bench, the Reds' great catcher, hit a home run; and then George Foster scored on a wild pitch.

> In 1973, the Reds beat the New York Mets in Game 1 of the National League Championship Series, but lost the Series 3 games to 2 to the Mets.  Pete Rose from the Reds got into a fight with Buddy Harrelson of the Mets.  I was confused why that fight made me want to fight girls at school.

> In 1975, the Reds beat my father's beloved Red Sox in the World Series 4 games to 3.  In Game 7, Joe Morgan hit a bloop single to center field off of Jim Willowby.  Pete Rose (him, again) dived into 3rd ahead of Rico Petrocelli's tag.  It didn't affect the final 4 to 3 score, but the next morning it was all they played on the news.

> Later that fall, my Dad and I watched the Cincinnati Bengals lose a 7-0 football game to the Pittsburgh Steelers in a blizzard at Riverfront Stadium at Cincinnati.  Ken Anderson, nuber 14, was the Bengals' quarterback.  I was in love with him.  I don't know why.

> In 1976, the Reds came from behind in the 9th inning to sweep the Philadephia Phillies in the playoffs.  Bobby Tolan on the Phillies, who had been on the Reds in 1972, made an error in the 9th that let Davey Concepcion from the Reds score.  I watched with my Dad, and it made me happy.

> In 1981, Ken Anderson and the Bengals were on TV again, in Super Bowl XVI against Joe Montana and the San Francisco 49ers.  I rooted for the Bengals because of Ken Anderson, who I was still in love with.  My Dad rooted for the 49ers, because Joe Montana was from Notre Dame, where my Dad assumed I would be enrolled in just 4 years.  The 49ers won the game, 26-21.  My Dad was happy; I was sad.

Now, I was about to be a resident of Cincinnati.

If I could beat Lisa in a fight.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

I finish my finals in mid-December, and Elena helps move me out of my dorm, and we head East to Rhode Island.  We stop overnight in the middle of Pennsylvania, coincidentally in the middle of Penn State Nittany Lion country.  In a few weeks they'll be playing the Oklahoma Sooners in the Orange Bowl, so the restaurant-bar we eat dinner at, and the hotel we're staying overnight in, is all decked out in 'Beat OU' banners.  I think back to watching OU football with my Dad in 1974-1975 when they had Lee Roy and Dewey Selmon on defense, and then in 1977 and 1978 when the had Elvis Peacock and Thomas Lott and Billy Sims on offense.  Billy Sims won the Heisman Trophy that year, but had a clutch fumble in their rivalry game with Nebraska, as my Dad and I watched it live on TV.

Elena smiles patiently as I recount all my boring sports stories from my childhood with my dad.

> Lisa, did you Dad want a boy?

> Believe it ir not Elena, he wanted a girl.  Because if he'd had a boy, he would have had to get off the couch and play catch with him and repair his mini-bike and be all active and involved with him.  With a girl, he could leave all that stuff--all the hands-on parenting stuff--to my Mom.  I think that's why my Mom left him.

> Does that make you sad?

> What part?  Them splitting?  Or how I was raised?

> I'm not sure, Lisa.  You tell me.  I feel like there's something you're trying to get off your chest.

> Well .... so ever since we met on Thanksgiving .... I've known for 100% sure I'm a lesbian.  This isn't a phase.  I'm not bi--I didn't even look at boys, even the cute ones, at Miami.  [I can't believe I'm spilling my guts to Elena.  Istill don't even know her deal yet--bi?  lesbian?  straight but curious?]

> And .... being a lesbian makes you sad?

> Not .... that.  It's .... do you think growing up, watching sports with my Dad .... made me a lesbian?

> You don't actually think that, do you?  I don't just mean for you.... what I mean is, you don't think any Father-Daughter relationship changes the Daughter's .... who she's attracted to, do you?

> I'm starting to wonder is all.  And it makes me sad.  My Dad marrying Autumn .... so young, she looks a bit like me .... does he see ME .... at leasr parts of ME .... in HER?

> Well, .... and I don't know either of them yet .... but in all fairness ..... divorced guys DO have a thing for 20something girls .... the whole not wanting to admit, they're getting old, ya know?  ..... at least he's sticking to one .... just Autumn .... and not seeing a revolving door of them, ya know?

> [I sit and think about what Elena is saying.  I love listening to her thoughts.]

> So?  I mean, besides the blonde hair.... what do you and Autumn have in common?  Because, I don't see it.

> We both ..... like to fight.

> Oh?  Something I need to know about her?

> [Shit.  Me and my big mouth.  I don't want Elena to know that Autumn training me for, and then me fighting, a showdown battle with Lorraine is on the Holiday Agenda.]
Well, ...., and don't tell her or my Dad we talked about this, .... I'd be mortified ..... but when she showed me how to throw a punch .... and then take a punch .... it was like she was .... getting turned on by it.  And not a little.

> Lisa .... I hate to break it to you .... but LOTS of women would be turned on by .... that.  By exchanging punches wirh another girl.  Straight or not.

> Really?

> Really.  Including me.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Elena and I arrive at my Mom's, and Mom sets us up in separate beds and separate bedrooms.  Coming out to my mom is a bridge way too far right now, never mind telling her that I actually love Elena.  (I haven't even told Elena that I love Elena.)  And anyways, all of this is moot if I lose my fight to Lorraine.

Which my Mom doesn't know about.
And which Elena doesn't know about.

Autumn knows I'm going to fight.  But she doesn't know it's Lorraine.

After our first night at my Mom's, I tell Elena and my Mom that I have errand to run.  They don't mind--neither of them are morning people (it takes Elena forever to get going in the morning)--so I meet Autumn at a bike shop, which has a carpeted lounge in the back.  She's dressed to fight--tank top, leather biker pants--I guess we're going to learn by doing.

Autumn starts talking:  "Sooo.... most important thing about catfighting:  you need a good ground game.  All girlfights end up on the ground.  And the most important thing about a ground game--use all for limbs.  Both arms, both legs.  And feet.  Kick the bitch with your feet.  In the face if you can, just like you'd punch her in the face with your hands if you could.  Soooo ..... get me on the ground, and use your legs and feet."

Autumn is doing this--spar fighting with me--at my request.  But she needed no coaxing.  She's been wanting to fight me since she started dating my dad.  Might as well get this over with.

Autumn and I lock up, our arms and hands trying to grab clothes and flesh to get a grip.  I'm trying to make sure not to end up under Autumn when we hit the ground.

"You're strong.  And you smell good."  Is Autumn trying to trick me?  Distract me?  Or .... is she just turned on by fighting?

Is she turned on by me?

Autumn breaks our standing stalemate by pulling me backwards on top of her.  Her legs are then immediately around my deck, Autumn somehow has me in a 69-type position, and just like she described, her booted feet are aiming direct at my face and jaw, sometimes missing, but causing me anguishing pain when they connect.

I better learn fast.  Or Autumn will kick the shit out of me.  And then Lorraine will.

I lock my arms around Autumn's legs.  And then start concentrating of lining up MY feet with Autumn's face.  In tennis, when you're at the net and a ball gets topsin-lobbed over your head, you learn to turn and chase it, all while keeping your sense of direction.

My feet start connecting with Autumn's face.  The fight comes out of her, as her legs lose their power.

We're both breathing heavily, and pause in our tight 69.

"You're a fast learner."

"Thanks.  You're a good teacher."

Autumn releases her grip on my.  She pulls down her leather pants, and starts touching herself.

"Tell me how your fight goes."

"I will."

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

When I hadn't fought Lorraine yet for the first time, but knew I was about to, and was getting catfight advice from my mom hairdresser and my Dad's fiancee, they had told warned me that if I approached my showdown with Lorraine as just a fight, instead of as a catfight, then I wouldn't completely defeat her, and she would continue to bully and torment me.

Now, I had intitiated all the drama between Lorraine and me.  But my friends didn't know that.

But their warning to me was exactly happening.  Two witnesses had seen me K.O. Lorraine in a standup boxing match.

And Lorraine wanted a rematch.  In private.

I was more than willing to dish out more punishment to her if she wanted it.  But she was dominating all of my mental and emotional bandwidth. 

Was I doing the same to her?  Had she been thinking about me all the time since spring? 

In a good way or a bad way?

Did I want her to or not?

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Lorraine and I were going to wait until after Christmas Day to fight, so that we could enjoy the holiday with our families.

But once we chose a venue, the urge to fight, to get this thing over with, the gravitational pull of our bodies towards each other, was too irresistable.

My dad's girlfriend gave me a key to an old semi-abandoned motorcyle shop/showroom in North Attleboro.  A place no one would interrupt Lorraine and me, no matter how long our fight took.

Was this the type of place Susan and Becky had met in 1981, when Susan knocked Becky off of spot Number Four on the tennis ladder.

Lorraine scouted it out one day, and said she was agreeable to the location.  "But I don't want to wait until the 27th.  Let's fight there tomorrow morning, bitch."

"Fine.  Bitch."

I lied to Elena that I needed to get to bed early.  That I needed to get up and get her something for Christmas.

> I have everything I need, honey.  I just want you.

> I know.  I live you too.  But I already ordered it.

Elena would inevitably known I had lied to her when I came back battered from my fight with Lorraine.  Even if I beat Lorraine, which I was confident of doing, I knew I would be scratched and bruised.

The impetuousness of youth.

I arrived first at the North Attleboro bike shop.  It was a freezing New England December morning.

A perfect day for a bitchfight.

Lorraine in and threw done her coat and came at me.  We didn't speak a word.

There was nothing left to say to each other.

Just settle how was the better woman.

We were on the ground in seconds, fighting with all four limbs like my Dad's girlfriend had taught me.  Both arms, both legs, kicking each other in the face.

Shit.  Lorraine knew how to fight like that, too.

This was going to be a hard fucking fight.

Good.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Lorraine and I roll around on the floor kicking each other in the face, I think back to watching ABC Wide World of Sports with my Dad, and watching 2 women on grainet footage having a kickboxing match in a ring.  I remember watching both women sustain direct kicks to the face, and feeling vicserally what a humiliating, disrespectful thing that was to do to another woman.

I remember my Dad looking at me between rounds of the fight on the TV in our living room.  I remember him picturing me in a kickboxing match.  Not that I wasn't thinking of it myself.

He started fishing about a girl, Maria, in our neighborhood who I had been best friends with growing up, but who I rarely spoke to anymore.  We had gone to Catholic grade school together, but she then went to public high school, so she and I just grew apart.

My Dad asked if she and I had had a falling out.  If we had had a catfight after school one afternoon.  I asked him what he had heard, but that just got him more suspicious.

He was picturing Maria and I catfighting.  I didn't mind.  I was curious myself who would win between us.  She was spunky, a lityle bit tough.  She was pretty, too.

Lorraine's feet are so smooth, the nails all painted.  She must spend a fortune on pedicures.  My feet are all calloused from tennis.  I feel self-conscious about them.

My dad would enjoy watching this fight.

He'll know two days from now, on Christmas, that I was in a fight.

Maybe I'll lie and tell him I fought Maria next door.

There I go, lying again.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As was frequently the case between my Dad and me, his instincts were right about Maria's and my friendship having run its course and there being underlying tension between her and me.  But he had the causality backwards.

Girls didn't fall out as they grew up and came of age because of a catfight.  It was the exact opposite.  Girls fell out, or grew apart, and THEN wanted to catfight each other; or were at risk of doing so, if the physical circumstances came together--if they were ever alone with each other.

What I mean about that is:  as I talked to girls at the Catholic high school lunch table who were going thru drama with another girl, it almost invariably turned out that the other girl was an ex-friend, sometimes even an ex-BEST-friend.

Just like for grownups, an amicable divorce is the hardest trick to pull off, almost to the point of being mythical, like a unicorn--pulling off an amicable breakup of a girlhood friendship was basically impossible.

It was impossible because both girls struggled daily to show that it was HERSELF who out outgrown the friend, and not the other way around.  In my case and Maria's, it was a psychological drama between me and her of me showing that I had "what it took"--intellectually and extracirricular-ly--to progress with my Catholic education all the way thru high school.

And Maria demonstrating that she was ready to move on, to blend into secular high school life, with public school girlfriends and boys, with after school jobs (she was a server in a family restaurant, earning tip money), and living a grownup life.

Was there drama with me and her?  Why did she and I go from daily phone calls to avoiding each other?  Why was I so interested in how her hair looked, what she was wearing?  That she got a car before me?

One hot summer afternoon I went to the town watering hole, and saw Maria wearing a two-piece bikini.  I pictured asking her for a ride home in her car, and us stopping in the woods (I guess because it was out of view and no one would see us) and us catfighting in our bathing suits, each trying to humiliate the other by getting the others' suit off.

I was sunning on my towel on the beach, turning my head and trying to eyeball Maria's breasts.  Growing up, at sleepovers, when we were in the same school, we openly discussed with each other, comparing notes, of whether our mom's had made us start wearing bra's yet, what the most comfortable one was to wear.  But now it was like a movie I had stopped watching halfway thru--how big were Maria's breasts now?  How did they compare to mine?

For a second, I think Maria catches me staring at her.  I consider looking away; but then I stop.  I don't want her to think I'm afraid of her.

"I'm not afraid to catfight you, Maria," I try to convey with just the right mixture of casualness and defiance.

I'm free this afternoon.  Wanna fight?

C'mon.  Fight me.

We obtusely stare back and forth at each other on the beach for 20 minutes.  Neither of us makes the first move. 

We end up not catfighting.  Not that afternoon.  Not ever.

I have no Lisa-Maria catfight story to tell my dad.

But tomorrow, Christmas Eve, I'll have a Lisa-Lorraine catfight story to tell him.

Good.

To be continued....