My name is Kim, and I work in housing administration at a liberal arts college in South Florida. In my last story, I described my eventful day and evening with Anna, a college student who worked at a coffee shop and was also deeply interested in fighting other women. My own interest in that area was developing when we met, so we hit it off immediately. She and I went to the mall, where I bought her some things, including a nice blue bikini that fit very well on her voluptuous body. And while we were shopping, we met a pretty Brazilian girl named Leila. Turned out that she worked at a place called Bad Sports that had a ring, and Anna had an oil wrestling match with her that turned into a raucous catfight. During the match, we also kissed for the first time. When I returned home that night, I found my boyfriend Joel eating a late dinner with Dana, the college student and lacrosse player who worked at his record store.
Joel explained that Dana had lost her apartment when she found out that her roommate had been spending their rent money on jewelry and plane tickets back to Seattle rather than rent. So he told her that she could live with us until she got back on her feet. That, I wasn’t so crazy about. Having a hot athletic college girl with a good rack and an amazing ass living with us, whatever issues Joel and I had been having. And we had been having issues; I had finally developed an issue with his being a lazy dumb ass who thought owning a record store made him cool. The next morning, Joel and I had some words after she had left to open the store. I didn’t press him on his not going in to open his own store, but I did ask him what the fuck he was thinking. Rather than stand up for himself, he just went in circles about how Dana was “a good kid” who just needed a little help. I would have preferred he just say that she was really hot and he wanted her to owe him. And I would have preferred that she have the courage to just tell me that she wanted to take Joel from me so that he would pay her bills because he was soft brained. At least she was insightful, as whores went.
Over the next week, our domestic life settled into an awful little routine. Dana was in the back bedroom at the far end of the house from ours, with her own bathroom, but she was in the living room in the evening, sitting on the couch next to Joel watching him play his games. She and Joel smiled and laughed a lot, and she started making lunches for him. Friday morning, when I came out, she was in the kitchen making eggs and pancakes. She was going through the cabinets for a skillet for bacon. She had on short shorts and a t-shirt that was too low in the chest and too tight all over for her to wear to work. As she searched the cabinets, the muscles of her legs twitched and her cleavage flashed. “Hi!” she said in a far too perky voice.
“Big breakfast this morning, huh? Feeling hungry?”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for you two. For letting me stay here until I can find a new place and just putting up with me in general.”
“We’re not putting up with you,” I assured her. “We’re glad to have a spare room to offer while you need it.”
“Are you sure? Because I know that it can’t be easy for you.”
“Not easy, how?”
“You know. A lot of women have a hard time having me around.” And she added as she turned back to the stove, “Especially older women.”
“Have you lost your apartment a lot?”
“No, no,” she said, laughing. “I’m sure that you had the same problem with other women when you were my age.”
“Those days are long gone, I guess,” I answered her.
I spent the day at work slamming papers and sniping at the women who worked in my office. The hours crawled by, and it didn’t help that I had gotten dressed after speaking with Dana. My v-neck sweater and miniskirt—both of which hung too close on my fit, womanly shape—weren’t winning me any more friends than my attitude was. I nearly clocked a 40 year old woman who had entered someone’s social security number incorrectly. I ate lunch at my desk while reading fashion sites, and after lunch was over I kept reading the sites. Looking at new shoes: sandals, flats, heels, huge wedges, which were coming back into style for some awful reason. I ordered a pair of sandals and a pair of heels that I knew that I would look great in, and that helped for a few minutes. But then the urge returned and I was searching again, and eventually I ended up on a political/cultural commentary site. They had a long list of articles on women’s issues and feminism. They were full of typical platitudes about the need to reject social ideals about beauty, competition, consumerism, workplace roles. I ordered a new bikini online, one that was too small and too black and yellow, and then I took out my phone and sent a text to Claudia that we were going out drinking that night.
Claudia was the woman who introduced me to Anna and an entirely new world. She had friends who set up fights between women. These were women who chose to participate in catfights, wrestling matches, boxing out of a basic need to compete with other women. I went home to change before our drinking festival, and Dana and Joel were in the living room watching television. I gave them both a terse hello and explained that, if it was okay with them, I would be going out for drinks with a few friends from the office. I invited Dana to come with us, but it was obvious from the invite that I didn’t want her to come, and she smiled and shook her head. I put on jeans, sandals, and a polo shirt that was too tight and showed off my cleavage well. And with fresh makeup, I was out the door and headed over to Claudia’s.
I had never been to her house before, and it was very nice. She was a real estate agent, and she had a McMansion out in what had been swampland a few years previous. We hugged at the door, and she welcomed me inside. Hardwood floors, plush leather couch and chairs around a granite slab table in the living room and a large black dining room table in a large open space between that and the kitchen. Stellar taste all around, and I told her so. She was wearing jeans, too, and a teal shirt with matching necklace, and I complimented her on her outfit as well. She poured wine for both of us and we sat on the couch. I told her about Dana, and how much I wanted to kick her ass. I felt like Joel had undermined my authority in my own household, taken power away from me. And I wanted to get it back, and that meant putting that little college chick in her place, one hair pull and face slap and breast squeeze at a time. What I really wanted to do was to mess up her pretty face and her hotty clothes in front of everyone else. While I was talking Claudia was watching me intently and sipping at her wine. When I was done, she put down her class and tossed her hair back and asked me about Anna.
“We went out shopping, and then we went to this bar.”
“And did you have fun?” she asked me, in a way that let me know that she already knew all the juicy details.
I took in a sharp breath and looked at her and then around her house and I knew that I had come to a decision. At home were Joel and his little tease with her red hair and a future of chain restaurants and coffee and dragging him to Saturday bazaars (after I had dragged his little tease out by the hair, naturally, because that shit was happening regardless) and 30 years of going to work and coming home. And here with Claudia were competition and vitality and stimulation and a new kind of femininity that would allow me to develop into this new woman. And I was the woman who had gotten the right degree, job, and guy, and who had bought the right couch, dress, and haircut. And I could take that woman and articulate her with this new world, a world of Claudia, and Anna, and the two women I had watched catfight that first night, and Gemma. Oh, Christ, I wanted to run into Gemma again.
I poured myself a new glass of wine and drank half of it and I told her, “Hell yeah, I had fun.”
“Are you ready to have more fun?”
“I really am,” I answered.
“All right, then, we’re good,” she said, and she came over and hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. The doorbell rang, and she added, “And now for your surprise.”
It was Dee, the Indian woman I had watched fight the first night with Claudia. She had had a catfight with one of the regular women, starting in lingerie and ending topless. She was a stunning beauty with a great body, and even though Claudia and I both offered some stiff competition, she was the most attractive woman in the room. She was wearing khaki shorts and a red short-sleeved blouse that was unbuttoned low enough that you could see the impressive swell of her buxom breasts and the lace bra holding them. We all hugged, and Claudia introduced the two of us, and we had the compliment session that we all knew was expected of us. We were standing in the entry way, each of us sizing the others up and thinking about where we all fit into this new hierarchy, and then when we turned to head back into the living room the doorbell rang again. It was Anna, Claudia’s second surprise. She looked great, younger and fresher, and we gave each other a prolonged hug. I liked the feel of her body against mine, the ways that our curves and lines fit together. Dee gave her a long hug, too, although it seemed more tense. I suspected that Dee was the kind of woman who was always sizing up the competition, and she saw Anna as competition.
We all sat on the floor around the coffee table with our drinks. Anna and I were sitting closest to each other, and we stole a few shy glances that I knew that the other two women saw. Most surprising to me was that I didn’t care at all about something that, prior to tonight, would have really bothered me. Claudia filled us in: After seeing Dee fight Kristen, she had known that this was a woman she needed to know better. They had been trading emails, and now Dee was down here from Orlando for a long weekend. It didn’t take much prodding for Dee to share one of her stories. She had a very proper English accent, and she spoke with a forceful presence.
“I’m a district manager for a big box store. My supervisor, Michael, is an idiot who has somehow become a fast riser. He is a Texan with a blonde wife Shannon who is just as superficial and empty-headed as he is, and both of them look down their noses at the people who work under him and everyone at his level. The wife comes from an oil family in Dallas, and she makes sure that everyone knows it. She’s rude to everyone, but especially the women like me. He carries himself as if he is on his way to being at the national office, but everyone else knows that he has already been promoted two levels beyond his competency. He is terrible at speaking in front of an audience, and when you try to talk to him about anything complicated, he just stares at you until you stop and then he basically tells you to do whatever keeps people happy. And the worst part is that he plays favorites. He will do favors for anyone he wants to like him, and he never thinks about the problems that will play out down the line. It’s made the office toxic.
“No surprise that he has given his daughter Brenda a job, and the girl is just as bad as the parents. The cobra doesn’t slither too far from the den, I suppose. Too bad for me, the daughter is in my division. Last year, the girl turns in her quarterly with all of these mistakes and typos, and I have to write her up for it. Which is a big deal, it goes into her file as an official black mark. Michael calls me into his office and throws a shit fit. Says that I’m to make the report go away and that he can’t have his little girl’s career hurt because she didn’t turn a proper report in. We argue for a while, and then I go back to my office. At the end of the day, he calls me back in, and when I’m inside he hands me his cell and leaves the office. Well, it’s his wife, the queen bee. She starts shouting at me, calling me a dumb bitch and saying that I’m trying to wreck her daughter because I’m jealous of her. And when I ask her how I can be jealous of a twenty year old who can’t even write a report, she says that I’m jealous of her, Shannon, because I’m not as smart or as pretty as she is and that I always dress like a slut.
“At that point, I suggested that we meet and discuss the matter in person. She agreed immediately and said that she was half an hour away from the office, but then she paused and asked if I would rather meet somewhere out of the public eye. And I accepted immediately and said that she should come over to my condo. She hesitated, and then she asked if anyone else would be there and if she should bring someone along with her. I told her no, I lived alone and had no pets. And then I added that I would be coming straight home, still dressed for work, and that it would be only appropriate that she do the same. And when she said okay, I could hear the smile creep into her voice, and I knew that if she wasn’t like us, then at least she had the same mentality and that it would be for stakes for her, too.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What I do with a situation like the prepared fight with Kristen that you saw, and yes, I remember seeing you there, you minx,” Dee threw in, “is serious, and it matters. But it is about the competition. This would not be. This would be about hurting the other woman and demonstrating your contempt for her. When she agreed to dress for work—or at least how she would dress if she worked for a living and didn’t just spend her time shopping and jogging—I was going to make her feel physically the way that she had made me feel emotionally with her phone call and her insults, and she would be trying to do the same to me for the pain that I had caused her family. That was what it was for her, an insult to her family. And I am from India, so I have seen my share of conflict over meaningless smirches to imaginary family honor. I would be fighting to redeem my reputation that she would attack in gossip about me after this incident, which is what she was implying by calling me a slut for the fact that I have a good rack and a pretty face. And believe me, those are the two things that will bring women’s tempers to a boil faster than anything, as evidenced by the brawl we had in my condo and then outside in the parking lot.”
Hearing Dee’s description of her own perspective on the catfight and the other woman’s, I slid over next to Anna and put my hand against her curly red hair. She looked at me and smiled and, the two of us sliding up against the couch together, put her head on my shoulder.
Dee continued her tale. “When I got home, her Mercedes SUV was waiting in my lot and she was standing next to it. She had done as promised, and she was wearing a white blouse with red stripes and a red miniskirt to match. No jewelry, I saw; I had taken mine off and put it all in my bag. I parked next to her car and walked right up to her. For an instant we stared at each other, both of us breathing hard, and I thought maybe she would take a swing at me right there. She was a few years older than I, and she had a wrinkle or two going around the eyes, but even at that moment, I had to admit that she looked very good. She had straight blonde hair that stopped just above her shoulders, and she was maybe two inches taller than me. She had small pert breasts, and her shirt was buttoned about two-thirds of the way up. I judged her maybe a B cup, and her nipples were prominent through her shirt. I was wearing a white blouse and black miniskirt, and on the drive home I had undone a few buttons to show off some cleavage, just because I could. With just the hint of a Texan drawl, Shannon asked if I was ready to go inside and discuss the situation, and I answered that I was very much looking forward to it.
“I was on the first floor. My condo is two bedrooms, a master bedroom and an office, and although it isn’t that large I do think that I have kept it in very nice taste. Better than Texas oil money would. I went in first, and I set my things on the kitchen table and slid off my shoes. When I turned around, I found that Shannon had already gotten her shoes off and was coming at me. I got my arms up in time, and I pivoted and shoved her into the refrigerator. She was stunned, and I yanked her by the hair and tossed her out into the hallway by the front door. But as I came for her, she shot out her foot and kicked me in the stomach. That was the point when I knew that this was a woman who had been in some fights, and that oil money or no, Texas had a reputation for a reason. She was going to be a tough bitch.
“I fell back into the kitchen, and she was on me right away. I got my head covered and she kicked me in the leg and then again in the side. The second one took the wind out of me, and she bent and pulled me up by the hair. I hit her in the side, but it didn’t have much power behind it, and she slapped me across the face and then threw me into the hallway. I hit the wall and slid down, and to get myself a breath I stumbled into the living room. I turned on her just as she crashed into me. We fell back into the couch, arms around each other, and she was on top of me. Our faces were pressed against each other; I could smell her perfume and the shampoo on her hair and hear the two of us breathing in sharp jagged gasps. She rabbit punched me in the side and I pounded on her back with hammer fists. I could feel her sliding up into a mount, and I yanked her hair and bucked my hips and we fell to the floor and rolled apart.
“We came up to our feet and looked a mess. Hair and makeup falling apart, sweat beads dripping off our faces and, for me at least, running down my cleavage. Chests heaving and thighs and calves and forearms tense. Both of us had our hands out like claws. I made the first move, a slap that caught her flush on the cheek, but she came back with a punch that caught me in the sternum and took my breath away. I fell to my knees, and she yanked my head up by the hair and smacked me forehand and back. ‘Stupid bitch,’ she hissed, and then she tossed me to the side. I flopped to the floor, and the blonde woman rolled me onto my back and ripped open my blouse. Buttons popped and flew. I was wearing a white lace demi-cup, and the dark firm flesh stood out from the material. The two of us locked eyes as she was bent over me, she on her knees and me on my back, and I saw the gleam in her eyes. She smacked my breasts, a sharp chopping motion she brought down onto my chest, and the pain shot through me. I tried to roll away, but she grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back, and she shoved me up against the couch. Then put her forearm across my face and started thudding knees into my chest, stomach, thighs. ‘I’m going to make you hurt, slut,’ she said, giving my hair another yank for good measure. ‘You make me look bad, now I make you look bad.’
“She squeezed my breast, clamping down hard. I am sure that she switched because she wanted to humiliate me, but those knees had been killing me. As bad as my breast hurt, it gave me a chance to gather myself. Her blouse was dangling open in front of my face, and I reached up and clamped onto her breast through her shirt. Give her a taste of it, and although hers were small I dug in my fingers and gave her a twist. She jumped and pulled at my hand, and I was able to get some space between us and start getting up. She smacked my face as I was getting up, but I took it for the chance to slug her across the cheek. She staggered, and I punched her in the stomach. That took some of the fight out of her. She was bent over, one hand on her knee, and I gave her a good wrench by the hair and got her in a headlock. Her face was pressed up against the side of my lace-enclosed breast. The spirit had not drained out of her completely, though, and she got hold of my other breast. I grimaced and with a good ‘bitch’ under my breath, I hip-tossed her into an end table. The table broke under her, and she thudded to the floor. Her shirt had ripped open, too. ‘Now you’ve broken my table, you blonde hick.’
“That brought her to life. She got to her feet slowly, shrugging off her ruined shirt to reveal her small conical breasts, to my surprise in a red cupless bra. Her nipples were small and hard as diamonds. Both of our miniskirts were ripped up the sides, our hose torn. She slapped my face, and I slapped her back. Then I rushed her and shoved her up against the wall, but she turned me around and got me against the wall, and she pushed in hard. Then she grabbed hold of my breasts, squeezing hard through the bra. I groaned from the pain and yanked at her hair. She let go of my breasts and slugged me in the stomach and then slapped my face. I was dazed, and then she pulled me off the wall and spun me around. Before I knew it, she had me in a full nelson and then she rammed me face first into the wall. My breasts slammed into the wall first and were crushed, ballooning out to the sides.”
At that point I could hardly stand myself. Anna leaned harder and harder into me, and I was stroking her hair. I slid my hand between us and started rubbing the side of her breast. She signed and pecked me on the cheek and then we both turned our attention back to Dee, who was watching us with a pleased expression on her face.
“I was in serious trouble. Shannon pressed me hard into the wall, and then she started dragging me back and forth, grinding my breasts and face into the plaster. The condo’s walls have that rough finish to the paint job. My breasts swayed back and forth as she punished me, and it was like I could feel the individual grains from the plaster grinding into my breasts. She put her face against mine and said, ‘I am going to wreck that pretty face of yours.’ And then she pulled me back, still in the full nelson, and slammed me into the wall again. The pain was agony, but I was enraged by her attempts to humiliate me and ruin my looks. She leaned in again, her cheek pressed against mine. ‘When I get through with you, you’ll look like a whore from the favela, just like you are.’
“She started grinding me into the wall. But I managed to time it just so, and when she was directly behind me, I thrust back first with my hips and then with my head. She grunted and let go, and I managed to slide out from her and away from the wall. I’d stunned her for an instant, but I was hurting. She had a trickle of blood on her chin from a split lip. She wiped it away and took a wild swing at me. I ducked under it, though, and slapped her in the face and then punched her in the stomach. Then I grabbed her by the hair and bent over backwards on the breakfast bar and then I held her in place by the hair and chopped my hand down on her bare breasts, vicious slaps that were sharp and hard in the small room. Again and again I smacked her small breasts, still pert despite her age. The skin of her entire upper chest was bright red. ‘I’m Indian, you stupid Texan,’ I said, leaning over her. ‘Favelas are in Brazil.’
“I’d gotten too cocky, though, and she punched me in the side of the head. It had no strength behind it, but it got me off of her, and then she kicked me in the pit of my stomach and I fell back onto the couch. We were both gasping for air and half out of our minds. She pushed herself off the bar, with great difficulty, and I tried to get off the couch myself but I fell back down. Rather than come at me, though, Shannon turned and took her purse off the floor and went out the door. I hurt all over and I could barely move, but I would have died before I let that blonde bitch leave under her own power. I crawled forward, and then I was up on my feet and out the door after her.
“The parking lot was dark, and I lived in the last building in a dead end so no one else was about. She had reached her car, and she was fumbling in her purse for her keys. I ran down the sidewalk at her, breasts swaying back and forth and by the time I reached her bouncing freely out of the remains of my bra. She heard me coming and squared up to face me. We both had our fists up. I jabbed her in the face and she jabbed back and we circled slowly. Both of us were nearly done. My breasts were hanging out of my bra and she punched me there, two quick crosses. It hurt, and while I was stunned she hit me across the face. I grabbed onto her, and we struggled against her car. She grabbed hold of my breast and squeezed and twisted as best she could. I could feel each finger digging into my flesh. I got her up against her SUV and ignoring her hold on my breast I started punching her in the side and then in the side of the head. I alternated back and forth, and soon enough she had to let go of my chest. She pushed my head back, but I cracked her across the jaw and she slid down the door to her knees. I held her head in place by the hair and kneed her in the chest over and over. Then I held her face up and stared into it. At last she said, ‘You win. Please stop.’ She was bleeding from her eyebrow and nose. I spit on her and then I let go of her and stumbled back into my condo.”
We drank the rest of the wine and said our goodbyes. With some long hugs at the door, we all promised that we would all see each other again soon. No mentioned was made of the next match-up with Claudia’s friends. And to be honest, my attention was more on Anna and the way that the light caught in her hair and the curves of her body. It was late, and I would have to return home to Joel and his new friend, but I knew what I wanted. As we walked down the driveway, I pulled her by the arm and she leaned heavily against me. We had both had several glasses of wine, and we stood together giggling like we were in high school. To be fair, she was only a few years past that. I kissed her, and then I pulled her into the back seat of my car. I started by pulling her shirt up over her head and kissing the tops of her breasts that were exposed by her low-cut bra. Just like high school, and it was still just as fun.