Florida Women, Part IX

By Kim

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 two fights with a woman named Wendy, one in which I was drunk and hitting on her fiancée and lost, and the other in which I went to her house and kicked her ass. I had also met with Claudia, a woman who organized matches between aggressive women for the audiences who could appreciate and support such events. In a moment of vulnerability and stupidity, I opened up and told her something about my childhood and my father that I shouldn’t have. And being the duplicitous bitch I have learned her to be, she shared my secret with Gemma, a beautiful, busty woman with whom I have had a longstanding competitive relationship. We had fought twice before, and she won both of them. Claudia, I suspected now, wanted Gemma to start participating in her arranged bouts for her society friends, and she had used our relationship and my secret to entice Gemma. Claudia had played me to get the prize that she really wanted, Gemma. I wanted to get my nails into both of them.

During this time I had been seeing Debleena, another woman who had been involved with Claudia and her arranged fights. Debleena and I had gone with Claudia on a trip to the Bahamas, where we both had grueling catfights for the entertainment of others. I had won mine in front of the wealthy sponsor of it all, but Debleena had lost hers against his secretary in her bid to replace her. After her loss, Debleena had been dejected for some time. Her spirits returned when she found a new job, but even after that I could tell that she had lost her spirit for fighting in front of an audience. She felt that she had given up something of herself, lost her agency. She told me that this was a change that she had felt coming for a long time. We continued to see each other, and she welcomed me with an open bed when I showed up on her doorstep after my fight with Wendy. She understood my need to strike back at both women. But as we lay together in the early morning, she said that was tired of all the drama and the bruises, and while she could support me she no longer wanted to be a part of it. She even said that she had moved past her desire for revenge on Claudia after Claudia’s failure to support her properly after Debleena’s loss in the Caribbean. I swept her hair from her forehead and kissed her and said that we would do whatever she wanted.

Some time ago, while I had been seeing a college student named Anna, she and I went to a bar called Bad Sports at the insistence of one of the girls there, Leila. She was also in college, and she was sharp and wealthy as well as a fierce Brazilian fighter. Anna had an intense match in the ring that they had there at the insistence of one of the girls, Leila, and then Anna and I returned for a doubles match with Leila and another girl that turned into a rumble. It was Anna whom Leila had shown her real interest in, but it was Leila and I who had finished the second match going at it. I was no longer with Anna, and Debleena was feeling down and lonely and in some ways was at that moment not the woman I had come to know so well. I felt this deep sense of my having run through one woman after another. I wasn’t going to offer Leila a chance at Debleena. What I needed was to reconnect with a woman with whom I had made this competitive connection but had no burning hatred or desire. On my lunch break one day, I drove over to the sports bar and asked if Leila was still working there. A little smiling and leaning over, and I had Leila’s phone number. The bartender I spoke to said that she hadn’t worked there in months, but when I explained that I had competed with her last year and that I wanted to get in contact with her again, he was easy to convince.

I sent Leila a series of texts, explaining who I was and that I wanted to meet with her on friendly terms. She agreed to see me at a bar near her apartment that night. I put on a nice blouse, makeup, and my fiercest smile and went to meet her. It was a nice part of town, full of boutiques and high rise apartment buildings. She was waiting for me at a booth with a glass of wine in front of her. Extremely pretty, she had her black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that hung down her back. Her features and her eyes were both sharp and intelligent, and I could see that she was taking in everything about me, clothes and body and attitude. A young woman who could take whatever she wanted, she instead focused on what she was and what she was changing into. She invited me to order whatever I liked because I would be the one paying for it.

“I have to admit that I’m disappointed that your girlfriend isn’t here with you. She was a lot of fun and a handful in the ring. Two handfuls, in fact,” she added mischievously.

“We aren’t together any more. I think that she just decided that this lifestyle wasn’t for her. I would have to agree that she was a handful.” We shared a laugh. “But she was also good, and she supported me when I needed it.”

“And when did you need it?” Leila asked. She was staring at me intently, and I felt that we had transitioned beyond polite re-introductions and the feeling out process. I wasn’t sure what new stage that we had entered; I didn’t want to sleep with her, and while I was interested in competing with her I didn’t hate her. I had enough hateful women in my life as it was. Being honest with Claudia had been a mistake, but Leila wasn’t Claudia. She also wasn’t a woman that I knew.

“I lost a fight with a woman that I have a history with. Anna was there to see it, and she took care of me afterward.”

“And why do you think that she did that?”

“Because she cared about me.”

“And not because she cared about fighting. That’s why she isn’t next to you. You made her choose, and she did,” Leila said.

“You’re pretty good,” I told her, and she agreed. We finished our wine and ordered another round. At last I asked her, “So what’s your story? They said that you aren’t competing at Bad Sports anymore.”

“I wouldn’t call it competing,” she answered. “That night with you and Anna was great, but there was a reason that I approached you at the mall. What we had been doing with the regular girls was so staged, so fake. I wanted to feel something more real.”

“And you knew that we were competitive women when you saw us in that changing area, didn’t you? That’s exactly the sort of connection I felt a year ago,” I said, touching her hand across the table just for an instant. “When Anna and I went to Bad Sports I was still fresh and looking for new experiences. I felt dead inside.”

“And have you made yourself feel alive by fighting?”

I had. Despite the losses I had taken and the embarrassment I had suffered at the hands of Gemma and the war that I knew I was going to have with her, catfighting was the greatest thing that had happened to me. And then I thought of Debleena, sitting at home at that moment, doubting herself and looking into that emptiness of the life that I had had with Joel, before I had started on this journey that was my real life. “The pain that you give that other woman and the pain that she gives you, it all goes into what makes you, you. I guess that doesn’t make a lot of sense until you do it. I feel this deep need to fight other women. And there’s a world of difference between wrestling and catfighting. Although I guess that our match that night got pretty intense,” I added, and we both laughed. She finished her glass of wine, and I pressed. “Have you done things other than wrestle in that ring?”

“Sort of,” Leila answered, and as she started talking now she took her hair out of her ponytail and ran her fingers through it nervously. “There was a girl at Bad Sports, a blonde with big implants. We had a match in front of the crowd that got too personal—it’s possible that I gave her boobs a generous pinch or three—and we got into it in the back. The other girls let use roll back and forth, but once I got on top of her and started slapping her, they pulled me off of her. And then there was a woman who didn’t like the amount of time that her husband had been spending at the bar, and looking at our pics on the website. She showed up at the end of our night and started talking shit at me. So we met up in the parking lot after my shift and had it out. It was close, but when I was done with her she was crying and not as pretty-looking as when we started.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Absolutely. And I want to feel that again. I want to catfight with you. You’re a sexy, bountiful woman, and I owe you for a set of bruises.”

With that her eyes flared wide and she sat up straight, her chest out, and I thought that she was going to slap me right there at the table. I put my hands out over the table and said, “I would be interested in that. But not here.”

“Tonight, though?”

“I know a place that we can go,” I said.

She got her car and followed me to Debleena’s. Dee lived in a two bedroom house in an up-and-coming professional neighborhood. On the way, I called her and explained that I was on my way over. She tried to dissuade me, but I said that I was bringing a woman with me and that if she would trust me, I might be able to rouse her from the fugue she had been in. I said a silent prayer, and then she said that we could let ourselves in the back door. Leila followed me into her driveway, and before we went inside I explained the situation between me and Dee. As I spoke I could hear Leila’s harsh breath in the thick night air, and I doubted that she caught much of what I said. The security light from the neighbor’s garage was on her face, and she was striking, with high cheekbones and a jawline that I wanted at that moment to run my finger along. And that desire to trace my fingertips over the angles of her face was mixed with the knowledge that in a few minutes I would be slapping and scratching at those selfsame features, that exotic face.

Debleena was waiting for us at her kitchen table. She was wearing a black robe and no makeup, her gorgeous black hair loose over her shoulders and in her eyes. I took hold of her hand as she rose and kissed her once, brushing my nose against hers. I could feel her smile, at last, as I did, and as she exhaled slowly I knew that she was glad inside that I had brought this woman over tonight and that the events of the late night would play out as they would. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was modern, and Leila traced still room. Leila’s eyes lingered over Debleena, who was elegant and stiff and aware that she was being appraised, and then back on me.

the clean stark lines of the granite island and the wooden table and the back of the metal chair Dee had been sitting in. The red skirt she was wearing clung to her hips and thighs and her black blouse was crisp and tight on her upper back, her hair nearly as black and straight as Dee’s swishing over the fabric nearly audible in the “So this is your girlfriend?” Leila asked.

“What’s it to you?” I replied.

“No, no, don’t misunderstand me. She’s exactly as you said. Pretty face, obviously smart, sexy body. And she looks like she has a lot of fire in her stomach. I’m not into girls, but if I were, I’d be into yours. I’m just wondering what she’s doing with a whiney vaca like you.”

I screamed and lunged at her. We grabbed each other by the hair and stumbled around the room. She was just as strong as I remembered. She shoved me into the table and as I stumbled she wrenched my head to the side by the hair and rode me down onto the floor. The heel of one shoe broke and I quickly kicked off the other. I could feel my skirt either splitting or riding up my legs. Leila was on top of me, slapping my head and yanking my hair. I pulled her hair with all my might, and for a reward I got a deep throaty groan from her and a series of hard slaps on my side. She was trying to climb on top of me, but sliding my hips out from under her and shoving her head to the far side, to the floor, I scrambled out and got to my feet. As quickly as I could I turned and brought my hands up to protect myself, but Leila was shockingly agile and she crashed into me before I was ready. We two went tumbling and spinning through the doorway and into the living room. I hit her in the stomach and the side and she yanked my hair and hit me in the back and side of the head. I got both of my arms under her armpits and clenched her tightly and then pivoted my hips, trying to throw her. But she was like a panther in my grip, all muscle and speed, and she kneed me in the thigh and then smacked me over both ears at once. The blow made me dizzy, and as I stumbled she threw me to the floor.

Leila stood over me as I lay on my back looking up at her. Her hair, blouse, skirt were in disarray and she was breathing hard. She paused and swept her hair out of her face, letting out a long sigh. She kicked me in the side, and then she asked, “Do you want to keep doing this? Or have you had enough?”

She threw another kick and I grabbed her foot and yanked it out from under her. I leapt upon her, clawing and tearing. I slapped her face, yanked her hair, tore open her blouse. She covered her face with her arms and thrashed beneath me. I took hold of her breasts, firm and larger than I had thought. I dug my fingers in and twisted, and she howled in pain. But rather than pull my hands off, she hit my across the face. The slap was hard and the room swam. I released her breasts and gasped for air, resting my weight on her. She took advantage of my state and ripped open my blouse and grabbed my boobs. I looked down and her brown fingers were digging into my flesh, proving as deep and hard as any woman I had fought in the past year. I returned her favor and slapped her across the face, rocking her. The blow stunned her and I pried her fingers off of me and rolled free of her. We both stood. Our skirts up around our hips, blouses hanging open, chests heaving, hair as chaotic and frenetic as our catfight had been to this point.

“Had enough, bitch?” I hissed.

“This is the most fun that I’ve had in months.”

We came together again. Slapping and pulling hair and squeezing breasts. And throughout the brawl, so full of the aggression and rage and competition that defined us, Debleena was watching me, the woman I loved returning to the living world. I threw Leila over the recliner and kicked and hit her as she scrambled to get away from me. She bounced my head off of the wall and slapped me so hard I spun all the way around. Both of us were exhausted, gasping for air and drenched in sweat and dressed in rags. Arms clenched tight around each other we fell to the carpet. I was on top of her. I put my forearm across her throat and kneed her in the thigh and then again between the legs. I had expected that to finish her off, but with a mighty push she rolled me off. Now she was atop me, and I suddenly felt like my arms and legs were full of lead. But I still hit her on the back and on the side of the head weakly. I stared into her eyes, and simultaneously we stopped fighting and lay panting and dead. She put her head on my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, and Debleena was standing over us.

Leila slept in the spare bedroom and Debleena helped me into ours. She eased off what remained of my clothing, revealing the deep bruises and swelling already forming on my legs, arms, sides, stomach, breasts, shoulders, back, neck, face. She even sent an email that I would be out of town for a family emergency on Monday. In the dark, with her hand gently placed over mine, she whispered in my ear how proud she was of me and how much it had meant to her that I would do this for her and that she would wait on me hand and foot while my bruises healed. It had been so difficult for her to watch and not interfere tonight but that would have been unthinkable for either of us. She apologized repeatedly for her despair and her having driven me to seek out Leila as I had. I touched her face and reassured her, saying that this was who we were and she should never apologize for that. My fight with Leila was a part of our relationship, not a mistake for us to bemoan.

The next morning we said our goodbyes to Leila, but afterward Dee and I agreed that we would find a way to bring her into our world. She and I had shared a gingerly hug and agreed that there were no hard feelings and that the fight had been in the spirit of competition. I could still see the fire in her as she left, though—and Debleena agreed that Leila was a woman with a lot of heart—and we both thought that she had the right mix of spirit and discipline, the metal, to be a part of what we were doing. “She is smart and so, so pretty,” Debleena added. “And she moves like a dancer.” I replied that she was a dancer with the grip of a python, and Debleena kissed me on the cheek and said that I was every bit the fighter that Leila or any other woman was.

Debleena and I went out for dinner the next weekend. We were both feeling spunky, and we dressed like it. I was wearing a blue cocktail dress, with my hair in loose curls, and Debleena was wearing a black skirt and a dark red bustier blouse that was stunning on her. She was showing a lot of flesh, and I traced my finger along the V of her cleavage and told her that I wasn’t sure if we would get out of the house with her dressed like that. She smacked my hand away and said that I would have to be a good girl and wait my turn. For dinner, we went to a Cuban restaurant in Dee’s neighborhood. While we were drinking our wine and waiting for our food, a fortysomething blonde woman entered with her husband. She was wearing a designer low cut blouse (possibly Prabal Gurung) that put acres of her impressive rack on display. She was a stacked woman, with an ass to match, and she shot Debleena a particularly disdainful smirk as she and her man went by. They were sitting where I could slide looks at her, and after a few glances I had decided that the blonde’s boobs were fake. They were too firm and came too far off her chest with too much heft for her age to be natural. I tipped my head in the blonde’s direction and mouthed “fake” to Debleena, and she laughed into her glass. I think that the blonde caught our little show, though, as she gave us another withering look.

Our food arrived; the pork and rice was excellent. About halfway through, the blonde’s husband looked at his phone and left after some loud discussion between the two of them about the amount of time he spent at work and why the rest of the firm couldn’t figure things out for themselves. After he had left, she ordered a drink and skimmed angrily through her phone. Before I had finished my dinner, she had finished her drink and was working on another. It was still early for Miami and the restaurant was quiet, and I tried to avoid more looks toward the lonely blonde and her titanic boobage. Debleena finished her soup and excused herself. I watched transfixed, her ass swaying back and forth under her skirt as she strode proudly across the room. And then as she returned a minute later, I got to watch her own natural cleavage bouncing and moving inside her top. She passed the blonde’s table on her return, and the blonde said something as she went by.

“Excuse me?” Debleena responded.

“I asked if you and your little friend enjoyed the show.”

“I don’t care for your referring to her in that tone of voice.”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter one fucking bit what you care for.”

By then I was across the room and holding Debleena by one arm. “Let her sit and drink by herself, Dee,” I said.

“I think that the lady and I would very much like to continue speaking,” Dee answered. This was why I loved her, but I put my hand on her other arm. A police report for a brawl in a restaurant was not what either of us needed now.

“Listen to your little friend. I’m too much woman for you to handle. Now get out of her with your Kmart blouse.”

I was tugging Debleena away even before the blonde finished talking. I left money at our table and told the waitress that we had to leave suddenly and that she could keep the tip. Out in the parking lot and in the car, she was ranting about the blonde, her gall and condescension and clothing and body and hair and smirk. I tried to kiss her before pulling the car out, but she pulled away from me and said that she no longer wanted to go to the movies. I told her that there was no reason for one dumb bitch to ruin our night. We sat silent in the car until she said that she wanted to pick up a new bottle of wine from the upscale liquor store down the street and to return home and get good and drunk and, she added, finally smiling, some sloppy sex. She let me kiss her and I drove to the store. Tammy, the older Asian woman who owned it, was the only person there, and we had gotten to know her well recently. We said our hellos and then browsed the aisles, settling on a Riesling.

The blonde came in as we were paying. She froze for a second when she saw us, and then smiled. “If it isn’t tweedles dee and dumb,” she said.

“I guess that would make you tweedle slut,” Debleena answered.

She stepped forward to the blonde so that they were nearly nose to nose. The other woman was two inches taller and looked to be fifteen to twenty pounds heavier. Both women were heavy up front, and their breasts were touching with their heavy breathing. “You have a big mouth on you, bitch. Ready to back it up?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Tammy said. “You two aren’t busting up my store. You want to fight like alley cats, you go do it in the alley.” She was making ‘shooing’ motions with her hands while she spoke, and part of me wanted to hug her.

“Sounds good to me,” Debleena said.

“How about your storage room?” the blonde asked.

“I’m not having you two destroy my stores, no no.”

The blonde handed her a platinum card and said, “I’m good for my half.” Debleena sniffed at her, but at last she did the same.

Tammy led them to the steel door in the back. Inside it was a stark contrast with the store: flickering lighting, bare wood floors, crates and cardboard boxes on the floor, steel shelving, an old wooden desk with a laptop and coffee maker on it. The two fighters left jewelry, shoes, and purses on the floor outside the door and went inside. I started to follow them, but Tammy stopped me. “No, no, no. One against one. I won’t have any funny business like that. Letting the two of them do this here is funny business enough.”

“It’s okay, honey, I’m going to take good care of her,” the blonde said. With that, Tammy closed the door.

Following a lot of screaming and crashing, Debleena opened the door. Her eye was swollen, her nose and lips were both bloody, and her skirt was split open and her bustier was ruined. As I learned that night, her breasts, back, stomach, and legs were completely bruised over. The blonde was lying on the floor behind her. She was wearing no more than Debleena was, and blood was smeared over the lower half of her face. Her body was shiny, and later I would learn that Debleena had poured beer over when the fight was done. I supported Debleena and guided her toward the door. Tammy was staring at us with an open mouth. “You need to call a cab for that bitch,” Debleena told her. “Take it out of my half.” With that, I took my woman home for a hot bath.