[sinclairfan]

My name is Kelly.  I grew up in New Jersey in the 1980s, and am in my late 50s now.  Lstely I've been thinking a lot about my first catfight, when I was 18.

Not that I was in.  But that I watched.  Between 2 older, pretty neighbors of mine, Tricia and Colleen.  I couldn't believe they were fighting, but I was happy they were.  Their fight made such impression on me that I never talked about it with anyone.  Until today.  Life is short, I'm realizing, and this story is too important to take to my grave.

Now, how had I never seen a catfight yet, you may be wondering.  Well, first, our neighborhood was mostly boys--very few girls lived within walking or biking distance, and the few of there were didn't venture out much--we mostly talked on the phone.  And as for school:  this was the suburbs at the peak of shopping mall--commuter 1980s.  If there were fights during or after school, it was strictly boys, and there was no easy way to walk to a fight anyways.  Now, on Saturdays or summers, the local shopping mall carried a whiff of catfight risk--packs of girls walking around in slutty-ish Madonna-inspired clothes, giving each other the eye.  But mall security was omni-present, and more importantly, it was completely professional, staffed with off-duty and retired actual cops.  Nothing like the Mall Cops of later years.  They knew which packs of girls needed to be kept separated, and acted quick if anything got remotely catty.

So, 18 years of a catfight being something that happened on the nightclubbish Jersey Shore or the inner cities of Newark or Passaic, both worlds away from where I ever set foot.  I put my head down, and planned on going to Rutgers next September to study pre-business and eventually get my MBA.

Growing up, I looked up to both Tricia and Colleen and different ways.  Both had sandy brown hair, thick and not at all frizzy, that they were in different ways as 1970s and 1980s hairstyles changed.  Colleen had the nicer bust, Tricia the nicer legs.  I started comparing them, deciding who I wanted to emulate more, going back and forth as the years past and they grew.  Both were 'nice girls'--non-smokers, but not goody-2-shoes.  They went in cars with boys, and I think one time I saw Tricia kissing a boy pretty aggressively--she was initiating, not him, which caused me to get turned on.

A lot about Colleen and Tricia turned me on.  I went to dances with boys and learned to kiss them.  But I was way more interested in Tricia and Colleen.

I started wondering if they were interested in me, and tried talking to each.  With there being so few nearby girls, I actually succeeded in finding conversation topics, asking where they had gotten certain outfits, asking for rides places when they got their cars, building up to just hanging out for 30 minutes at a time, first with one, then the other.

One day Colleen asked if I was 'friends ' with Tricia. 

> I wouldn't say friends.  Why, did you hear something.

> No, it's just .... I saw you and her driving on the interstate.

> Oh .... why, are YOU friends with her?

> Hot and cold.  Sometimes I feel like she's blowkng off, like I said something wrong.

> Oh ..... is she hot or cold with you right now?

> Cold.  Ice cold.

> Is it over a boy?

> No, we're pretty careful not to have run-in's over boys?

> Why careful.

> Because if we're not, we might have to fight.

I spent all that night madturbating to the thought of Tricia and Colleen in a catfight over a boy.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

After they graduated high school, I just assumed Tricia and Colleen would be 'college-track' like I was planning on being--that they would go to a 4-year collge and get a high-paying job in an office, either in an office park or in New York City, just like most of the parents in our neighborhood.  (Even the stay at home Moms had met their husbands while working an office job.)

And both indeed started at New Jersey state colleges:  Montclair State for Tricia, Richard Stockton College for Colleen.

But, to my surprise, they each dropped out quickly.

Tricia got in her head that she wanted to be a flight attendant for Continental Airlines.  She DID have the perfect body for it--long sexy legs that would look perfect in a flight attendant skirt.  But she ddcided she needed to save money to go thru the long training program.  So she dropped out and got a typing job in a local office park.  I thought she was making a mistake--that she should get her degree first.

Colleen dropped out to follow another pipe dream:  taking care of horses, with vague plans of becoming a veteranarian assistant down the road.  She started riding and doing farmhand work at a place out in the woods, driving ridiculous hours to do, in effect, manual labor.  I loved looking at her in her riding boots and work clothes and work gloves.  But I felt like she was throwing away her future for no good reason. 

Then it was tume for me to graduate.  Colleen drove me on my campus visit to Rutgers, but I could tell she realized she had made a mistake by dropping out from Stockton.  She was quiet on our whole ride home.

"Tricia dropped out, too, you heard, right?", I said half mischieviously, half consolingly.

"Oh.  You still talk to her."

"Yes.  Don't you?"

"No.  We had a falling out."

"Oh.  Over a boy?"

"Why?  Did you hear something?  Did SHE say something???"  [Colleen almost hisses the 'SHE' in anger.  I get turned on.]

"Not that I remember.  Unless she DID, and I didn't read between the lines."

"If she DOES say something, please tell me."

Oh, I will, Colleen, I think to myself.  Especially if it might make you two fight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As my high school career wound down and Graduation Day approached, I began to hang around Tricia and Colleen (separately, not together--their mysterious falling out meant they were rarely if ever together anymore) much more than my own classmates.  So, when Yearbook signing time came, I wanted Tricia and Colleen to sign, since they had been such a big part of my high school social life.

One night I was over Tricia's to get her to sign my Yearbook, which she did enthusiastically.  We started drinking vodka, and she surprised me and pulled out HER high school Yearbook from three years ago, Class of 1980.  She looked so pretty in her high school portrait with her Farrah Fawcett-inspired feathered hair.

Tricia started leafing through all the potraits in her 1980 book.
> This girl was one of my best friends [....then she got pregnant.]
> This girl was my biology lab partner.
> This girl was a bitch .... I wanted to fight her.
> This girl I almost got into a fight with at Homecoming Dance.
> This girl I got a detention for catfighting in gym.

"Uhhhh .... Tricia, wait ..... time out.  You actually got into a catfight AT SCHOOL?"

Yeah, I know, .... sophomore year ..... stupid, huh?

Were your parents .... mad??

My Dad was tuned out.  My Mom?  She was madder at the bitch I fought .... and the bitch's mom .... than me.  This was 1977 .... Summer of Sam ..... things were different then.  It wasn't the uptight '80s.
You've probably never been in a fight.

<Blushing> ....ummm .... no, I haven't.  Why?  How many fights have you been in?

Six, seven maybe.  Two at school, two at the mall, two at my grandmother's summer vacation home ..... against a bitch who used to live there.

<I'm now blushing and hoping that Tricia doesn't notice the wet spot between my legs.  She's been in at least 6 fights?  I'm even more in awe of her now than I was before tonight.>  I don't think it's stupid at all.  I think it was better ..... easier .... to be a girl when you grew up.    <We're only 3 years apart in age, but when you're 18, it seems like half a lifetime.

Ya, in some ways it probably was.  I think my fighting days might be over.

<I sure hope not.  I want to watch Tricia fight.>

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

The next night, I was alone with Colleen in her bedroom, both of drinking.  She was wearing her horsebarn clothes and still smelled sweaty from her day of hard work.  She leafed thru my Yearbook and she asked me if I was going to Prom.  I told her, truthfully, the no boy in my class had asked me, but I lied and said that I knew a boy in the neighboring town who had asked me to HIS school's prom, and that I had said yes.

I needed to tread carefully here.  I had already confessed to Tricia that I had never been in a catfight, so I couldn't lie now to Colleen about THAT, get caught in a lie, and have both older girls who had befriended me discover me to be a fraud.  (I wanted to keep hanging with them until their falling out erupted into a physical contrnatation.)

> Oh, will the girls in HIS town be ok with you taking a prom seat?

> [Lying thru my teeth.]  Oh, I expect there'll be some hurt feelings .... some tension.   Any suggestions?

> Well .... you'll probably be ok at the prom venue itself .... but watch out at the after-parties ....  don't let a pack of them corner you alone.

> Well .... if they want to beat me up .... why doesn't one just challenge me to fight?

> Oh, if there's a girl that has a crush on your date ..... she very well might?

> Well if that happens, I'm saying yes .... it's better than getting jumped by a pack.

> Oh, hell yes ..... plus think how excited you'll get HIM ....  you DO want to fuck him that night, right?

> Ummm, yes. ..... that's what PROM is, right??

> Oh, ya .... you'll be a legend .... a fight and a fuck on the same night.  Yoz'll have him wrapped around your finger.

> [Shit, I kinda wish now that I DID have a prom date in the next town.]  Did YOU, do that Colleen?  At your prom?

> One for two.  Not both.

> Which one?

> Guess.

> Ummm .... the sex?

> Wrong.  The catfight.

> You got in a catfight at your prom?

> Yup.  Not over a boy.  Just some girl drama ..... me and her seeing each other in dresses just made a year of bullshit ..... boil over.  Our friends watched the bathroom door, and we started swinging.

> And?  Any winner?

> Not that night.  But we finished over the weekend.  I made her cry.  I loved it.  Fighting's cool.

> [I accidentally rub my crotch.  I hope Colleen didn't notice.]  I wish I had seen it.

> I wish I could see YOUR fight this weekend.  [Colleen hugs me.  I hold her and force her to maintain the hug.  We feel each others' breasts through our clothes during the extended hug.  She pulls her head back and holds my face.  Colleeen kisses me on the mouth, no tongue.]  Good luck in your fight, Kelly.  I'm really gross now, tho.  I need to take a shower.

> Can I stay?

> Sure.
 
Colleen undresses in front of me for her shower.  While she's in the bathroom, I masturbate on her bed.

She comes out of the shower in pajamas, hugs me good night (shit, no kiss), and I go home.

I masturbate all night to our conversation.

I realize I forgot my Yearbook in her bedroom.

Good.  I hope she notices Tricia's long note to me on the inside cover.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I woke up, pre-dawn, in my bed, in cum-soaked pajama bottoms, replaying in my mind last night's conversation with Colleen.

Was it really possible it had all happened??
> Had she actually kissed me on the mouth?
> Had she actually told me she liked girlfighting?
> Had she actually been in a bathroom catfight with a girl at her prom?
>  ....and then followed up with that same girl to 'finish'??
> Had I lied to her that I was going to my own prom in a few days .......
SHIT
 SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

You dumbass, Kelly.

What a dumbass I am.   I don't have a fucking prom dress.

WHAT IF KELLY ASKS TO SEE MY PROM DRESS??

She'll find out I fucking lied to her.... and she and Tricia will stop talking to me.  Fuck, I fucked up....I always do....

[My phone rings.  Fuck, is it Colleen realizing I lied??]

> Hello?

> Hey, it's Tricia.  [Tricia??  Why is SHE calling?]

> Hey, Trish.  Everthing ok?  It's early.

> I know.  Sorry if I woke you, but I need a favor.  A big one.  Kinda.

> Sure, what?  [I'd do anything Tricia and/or Colleen ask me.  Don't they know that?]

> I hafta drive into Newark to buy flight attendant clothes.  Wanna come?  ..... You try stuff on right there and bring them home, same day, no wait.  [Thinking--can I get an emergency prom dress out of this deal.]  I need you to come to tell me how they look on me--I trust your style.  You always look nice.

> [Holy shit--did Tricia just say she trusts my style??  I wanna cry.]  Hell yes, count me in .... except .... I'll bring my own money .... but, can I pick up something ...  one piece .... a, like, dancing dress ..... if I see one I like??

> Sure ..... but don't bring money, it'll be on me .... on one condition .....

> Anything.

> Yiu try it on for me .... back at my place.

> Done.  What time should I be ready?

> As soon as you can.  I'm hopping in the shower.  I wanna beat tonight's traffic.  You're a peach, Kelly.

*****************************
Tricia and listen to music in the car.  Someone I've never heard of.

Prince.

I heard Prince for the first time ever, alone in a car on the New Jersey Turnpike with Tricia, a pretty girl I was having catfight fantasies over.  An older girl.  Who I was crushing on.

Top that, Ladies.  Betchya ya can't.
**************************
Newark is a blurr.  We puck the perfect style of flight atrendant skirt for Tricia.  Her legs look sexy as fuck in them.  She knows it.  I know it.  She knows I know it.

We find the perfect emergency prom dress for me.  I look sexy as fuck.

I ask the fitting lady, tongue in cheek,
> What if I get in a catfight at prom in this?
> [Without hesitating, she answers] It'll get torn to shreds, so make sure you tear hers first.

Tricia and I look at each other, and smile mischieviously.

We drive back home, listening to Prince.

We both want to be in her bed room.  It takes .... FUCKING FOREVER.
*****************************
We get in her bedtlroom.  She throws on the flight attendant skirt.  I throw on my new prom dress.

We're tongue kissing desperately in seconds flat.

She wants to see me fight at prom.

I want to see her fight Colleen.

We both cum together, my first time ever cumming with a girl.  I act like I've done it before.  She tells my truth.

>  That wasmy first time with a girl, Kelly.  Not my first time.  But my first with a girl.

> I'm .... flattered.  That was my BEST ..... ever.  Boy OR girl.  My fucking BEST.

> Good.  I'm ok with the boys you've been with.  But jealous of the girls.

> Jealous? .... as in .... you would fight them?

> That's basically what jealous is, right?

That's right.
****************************
I walk home in a daze.

I'm falling for two women.  At once.

And I think they're falling for me.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

The next morning, I was home alone, daydreaming about my fantasy-like clothes shopping spree with Tricia.  Seeing her try on flight attendant skirts.  Lokking at her beautiful legs. 

I realize only now that her legs were fresh-shaved.  I wonder if she shaved them knowing she was trying on skirts.

Or knowing she was going to make a move on me.  To try and make love to her first girl.  Me.

I can't believe I was her first.  I wonder if she minded that MY legs weren't clean shaved.

I wonder if she's daydreaming about it now like I am.  I wonder when we'll do it again.

I wish she wasn't going away soon to flight atrendant school.

I wish I wasn't going away to Rutgers in the fall.

My doorbell rings.

Shit.  It's Colleen.  She's dressed in jean shorts and tank top.  She looks fucking hot.  She always does.  Her long hair brown is always perfect.

> Hey, Colleen.

> Hey.  You forgot your yearbook the other night at my place.  I signed it.  [She hands me the yearbook.  Shit--did she read Tricia's signature?]  Can I come in?

> Sure.  [Maybe Tricia will come over, too, and they'll fight.]  Let's go in my bedroom--I'm alone.

> [We sit on my bed.  She smells so good.  Does she mind that I smell like cum?]  Thanks for not pulling away when we kissed the other night.  Other girls pull away when I kiss them.

> I would never do that.  I like kissing you.  [I want to kiss her sssooo bad.]  We can kiss now if you want.

> I want that.  It's why I'm here.

> Not because of the yearbook?

> I'd be here anyways.  Kiss me, Kelly.

> You didn't use your tongue last time.

> I will this time.  Come get it.

Colleen and I aggressively tongue kiss on my bed.  We're louder than Tricia and I were yesterday--Tricia was exciting, but her quietness was intimidating to me.  It made me want to be quiet to.  I'm free to be loud now with Colleen.  I'm glad we're alone in my house.

I mount Colleen.  I want to be on top today.  I pull down my shorts and her jean shorts.

> Too fast, Kelly.  Just kiss.  [Is Colleen testing me?  I kiss her... but I grind against her too.  Colleen returns my grinding.  We wrap our legs.  Her legs aren't clean-shaven--Did she not think we'd be getting half-naked.  Was she just here for a make-out session?  Will she think I'm s slut?]

> Am I going too fast?  [Shit.  Didn't she just say I am?]

> Here, Kelly.  Keep doing that [the grinding?  the kissing?  both?] .... but .... read what I wrote in the yearbook to you.

> [I awkwardly arrange the yearbook to read it while I grind Colleen]  Dear Kelly--I'm glad we became friends this year.  I've had a secret crush on you for years.  I get jealous when I see you in Tricia's car.  If she ever hurst you, I'll fucking pull her hair out and scratch her eyeballs and tits.

I barely get the word 'tits' out before screaming in orgasm. 

I collapse into Colleen arms.

> Don't stop kissing me now, Kelly.  [We resume tongue kissing.]  Not now.  Not ever.

I'm officially in love with two women.

Who hate each other.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Tricia or Colleen, for the next few weeks, would sometimes initiate sex with me.  And then other times, I would initate sex with Tricia or Colleen.

When it was me initiating the sexual encounters, my preference would be to contact Tricia first.  Tricia and I had each learned sex from boys, and the pace of our progression from foreplay to climax matched the pace of sexually-novice males.  When I was with Colleen and tried to accelerate to orgasm, she would admonish me, annoyingly, with a "Kelly!  Too fast!," which I felt spoiled the mood.  I knew she was right--that the pay-off would be more satisfying if I could cool my engines and enjoy Colleen's intimacy and body and kisses.

But, at the same time .... I really enjoyed the rough-and-tumble of entangling my body with Tricia's and slapping our pussies together as if every second not climaxing (and re-climaxing) were squandered moments.

And, by not kissing, we could voice our deepest darkest desires to each other.

> You have the nicest fucking legs of any flight attendant I've ever seen.

> I'm stll straight, but you're the only female I'll ever fuck.

> I'm glad we starting fucking ghis summer, but I wish we had started sooner.

> I wanted to start sooner, I was just afraid to ask.

> I love the sound of you screaming when you cum.

> I love what you wrote in my Yearbook.

> Wait.  Did Colleen sign it.

> Ummmm, ya.

> Why didn't you show me?

> It was about you.

> What did the bitch say?

> That if you ever hurt me, tell her and she'll scratch your eyes out.

> Does she know you and I are fucking?

> No.  She thinks you're straight.  She thinks we hang out as friends.

> Who does she think you're fucking.

> The guy I'm going to prom with, remember?  [I felt bad I had started the lie of a boy a town over.  It was a childish lie girls would tell each other before they were sexually active.  I felt like Tricia could tell when I was lying to her.  It sucked the sexual energy out of the room.]

> Oh, yeah.  How could I forget--you're gonna catfight after the prom, right?  [Ok, great .... how am I gonna get out of THAT part of the lie??]

> Can you teach me how to catfight?

> Wanna play fight with me right now?

> Is it like catfighting?

> No ..... NOTHING is like two girls catfighting ..... never forget that .... but it'll teach you how to hurt a girl if she gets on top of you.  You can still use your legs and knees to kick her.  As long as you don't give her your back.  Never give the other girl your back.

> Sort of like when you and I fuck, and I get on top of you.

> Oh [blushing],  I don't hurt you with my legs when I do that, do you?

> You do .... sometimes .... a little bit.  But [I whisper into Tricia's ear] I kinda like it.

> In that case ..... wanna try rougher?  Have really rough sex?

> If you like it.

> I do.

> Then let's do it.  Let's fuck rough.

> Let's do it, Kelly.  Fuck me hard.  Pretend you're catfighting at prom.

> And YOU pretend you're catfighting Colleen.

Tricia and I spend the next 30 minutes tearing up her bedsheets ..... and each other .... as we fuck.

I plan on showing the bruises she's giving me to Colleen.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

When I had slept with boys, the first time was always .... thrilling ..... rewarding .... naughty:
> seeing how big he was (or wasn't)
> seeing how he used it ('the motion of the ocean')
> seeing if he fixated on my tits, my pussy, or my ass (never ceased to amaze me that guys were into my ass)
> feeling his cum in me [I was on the pill] or on me--so warm......

......BUT...........

.....but each subsequent time with a guy was always a let down.  Routine.  Like were were already a 37-years-married couple.

So dull. 

But each new lovemaking session with Tricia .... and with Colleen.... was more exciting than the last.

With Tricia:  new ways to entwine our legs.  New ways to 'scissor', as we called it.  Did she learn that word at flight attendant school?, I kept meaning to ask her, but never did.  Never ways to have rough sex with each others' boobs.  (There was a famous 'Preppy Murder' trial in the news in the 1980s--prep studeng killed his gitl, and his defense at trial was that it was accidental, a result of rough sex.  I thought of that everytime Tricia and I had rough sex.)

With Colleen:  her patiently trying to teach me to slow down.  To let the kissing, the foreplay, suffuse my whole body.  To feel my arousal spreading from my nipples to my chest; from my clit to my thighs to my knees.  To NOT seek to satisfy it right away.  To let it beg me for release.  But then to slow down even more.  To listen to the noises of our kissing; to feel our skin rubbing together.   To cum together.

One night, Colleen and I were going so slow that she noticed my bruises from my rough sex with Tricia.

> I see you had prom, Kelly.

> Excuse me?

> Your bruises.  Looks like your prom catfight happened, just like you predicted.

> [Shit.  That lie again.]  Oh, yeah.  I forgot to tell you.

> Tell me .... all about it.  I wish I coulda seen it. 

> I wish you had been there too.

> So?  Was it fair? 

> Fair?

> Bitch on bitch?  Or did they jump you?

> In the 70s, that's what you girls called it? 'Bitch on bitch'?

> Oh, is that out of style now?

> Out of style.  But it shouldn't be.  I like it.  It's sexy.

> Nothing sexier than a 'bitch on bitch' fight.  Were you in one last Friday.

> [No turning back no, Kelly.]  Yeah, it was bitch on bitch.  Sexy blonde, Studrnt Council President type.  Ex of his, wanted him back.  Told me to meet her in the rest room alone, her friends would guard the door.  From the chaperones, ya know?  I went in, she was there.  We threw our fists into each others' hair, pulling and yanking like it was World War Three.  [Colleen is fingering herself.]  Banging into the sinks, the stalls, our prom dresses rolling down our shoulders and up our hips.  Calling each other Slut and Whore.  [Colleen is moaning.]  Down onto the filthy floor we fall--smell of beer, puke, sweat.  Trying to rub each other's flesh and faces into the grossness.  Pure hatred, Colleen.  Just 2 bitches trying to beat shit out of each other.  [Colleen cums.]  Hey, Hey!!!  What's up, hun?  Aren't xou always telling me to slow down?

> I tried.  I couldn't.  The thought of you catfighting .... it was so sexy.

I know what she means.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

To the extent I had remaining qualms about baiting Tricia and Colleen into a catfight, they went out the window when Colleen got herself off to the thoughts and narrative of my (fictional) prom bathroom catfight.  Colleen was getting herself into my doghouse.

If It wasn't for Tricia, I realized my doubt that I would even be sleeping with Colleen.  Colleen was clearly a full-on lesbian, not bi (or bi-curious) like Tricia.  And Colleen was on the 'butch' (a 1980s term--apologies to you youngsters) side.  Her horse stable workclothes looked sexy on her, but I think they just allowed her to live out a fantasy of dressing like a man.  And her 'slow down' commads to me felt bossy and controlling.  She was grating on my nerves.

Tricia, meanwhile--I could be myself with her.  I could mount her, grind on her, pull her her, be rough with her--and never fear being blocked or turned away or it being mentioned afterwards.  We just did it, with no drama.  No strings sex.

I was starting to hope Tricia would win any fight which happened with Colleen.

I was working up my courage to just straight out ask her to kick Colleen's ass.  For me, for herself, for the hell of it.  Just do it--fight her already.

I thought back to a Powder Puff football game a bunch of older girls were playing in the late 1970s, before women's sports took off.  I looked at the womem competing, and the llok of fear at being a loser if the other team won. 

Did Tricia fear losing me to Colleen?
Did Colleen fear losing me to Tricia?

Because, if they fought, there was no way in hell I was staying with the loser.

No matter how good she was in bed.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The next night, I was in bed with Tricia, out legs wrapped around each other like I enjoyed doing with her.  She had my Rutgers orientation manual, with headshots and short bio's of the incoming freshman class, the Class of 1987.  I had her Contintental Airlines flight attendant training magazine, with full body shots of all the incoming flight attendants in training.

She was pointing out all the Rutgers freshman coeds she'd like to watch me catfight.

And I was pointing out all the Continental flight attendants I'd like to watch her catfight.

All we ever talked about was fighting.

I told her about my summers growing up, hanging out with my cousin two years old than me who I had norhing in common with.  Summer days in her backyard, where she'd she me the spot where her neighbors would have after-school 'chickfights'.  The word 'chickfight' got me so aroused from the first time I heard it.

Then, other summer afternoons when my cousin would come to my place.  I could remember a day in 1977, it must have been, when her and Tricia gave each other attitude.  Maybe that was the genesis of my fantasies of Tricia fighting.

Then, a third summer story with my older cousin--a neutral site, a rural campground in the woods in the middle of no where--her parents had a camper.  My cousin and I going to take a shower,..... well, really to look for boys .... , and having a run-in with two other girls, staring them down, each wondering if a 2on2 catfight was going to break out.

And masturbating to it later that night in bed.

> Tricia, I've still never seen a catfight.... a real one, between two girls.

> Most one's are stupid, Kelly .... don't worry, you ain't missing much.

> But what about the other one's??

> Which one's?

> The catfights ..... that AREN'T stupid?

> Yeah.  Those are pretty hot.

> Tell me how hot.

> Hotter than this.  [Tricia pulls me close, kisses me, and finger fucks me.  I cum all over her hand.]

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Tricia and I are doing our (now increasingly) typical post-sex makeout session, where we lose track of whether we're cuddling over the fuck session we just had or having foreplay for our next fuck session.

....when Prince's 'Raspberry Berry' comes on Tricia's stereo.

Prince is still flying so low under the radar that I haven't heard him on the radio yet, nor seen him on MTV.  Tricia is ahead of the curve, having discovered him before 99% of America has.

> Tricia....

> Ya, babe?

> [I love when she calls me that.]  You said this 'Prince'?

> Yup.  Prince.

> Is that the band?  Or ... him?  The guy?

> It's the guy, silly.  Wanna see his pic?

> Yes, show me.

> [While she fishes for the casette cover...] Why.  U like?

> It makes me want to fuck.

> I know.  Me too.  Here's his picture.

> [In 2022, we all know what Prince looks/(ed) like.  But it's 1983, and seeing it for the first time makes my 18-year old suburban heart melt.  The hair.  The dark skin.  The .... slinky thrusting under the silk clothes.]  Goodness.

> I know, huh?

> It's, like, .... ,  pure sexuality.

> It is.  But you are, too.

> Stop it.

> You are.  That's why those prom bitches wanna fight you.

> [Blushing uncontrollably.]

> When a girl wants to fight you ... is it because she thinks you're sexy.

> Sometimes.  But sometimes it's just because she's a bitch.

> Like Colleen?  [Shit.  Where did that come from.]

> Colleen IS a bitch .... if that's what you're asking me.

> Are you gonna fight her?  Before you leave to be a flight attendant?

> We'll see.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Quick interlude.  Fast forward to 2007.  24 years after my Summer Of Love with Tricia and Colleen.  I really need to mention this.  It's one of those things that makes you understand that life has a larger purpose.

I was 42 years old in 2007, weighed down by the weight of the world.  Kids of my own.  Disappointing husband.  Was he disappointed by me?  Possibly.  Justifiably so?  Certainly.  I was one of those nagging wives.  I don't know why.  Hormones, I guess.

I was living in Chicagoland.  The Bears were playing in the Super Bowl.  For only the second time ever.  Rex Grossman was their quarterback.  I followed him when he played at the University of Florida. 

The game was in Miami.
It was raining at halftime.
Prince was the halftime show.

He's why I watched.  It reminded me of when Tricia 'found' his music.  In 1983--before anyone else found it.

And she shared it with me.  We drove to Newark to it.  We made love to it.

Prince wasn't lip-syncing in 2007.  He was actually singing.  And playing, live, like only Prince can do.

It was pouring, like only Miami rainstorms do.  Biblical quantities of rain.

The Finale came.
He played Purple Rain.  In the rain.
The rain came down even harder. 

The music didn't miss a beat. 

I started crying.

> Why are you crying, Kelly.

[My husband waited for an answer.  Patiently, as ever.]

> I'm .... not .... straight.  It's not you.  You know that right?

> Which part?  That you're .... gay?  Or .... that it's not me?

> The gay ....... part.

> Ummm  ..... ya .... I knew.

[My soon to be ex-husband hugs me.]

> I'm sorry.

> Don't be.  Thank you for telling me.

> Isn't this music ..... incredible?

> Yes.  You are, too.    [I don't answer.]  But, yes. ..... Good halftime show.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Years later: I don't know, 2015 or so, when I was in my 40s, George Harrison of the Beatles passed away.  So creepy--2 Beatles alive (Paul and Ringo), 2 Beatles passed (John and George).

There was a tribute concert for George--a bunch a guitarists playing the haunting "While My Guitar Gently Weeps".  Haunting because it was George's song.  But also because of the doleful tone and riffs.

I'm watcing on my TV.  Tom Petty is doing vocals--he passed away himself soon thereafter, which only added to the creepiness.

Prince is playing supporting guitarl, stage right.

Gentlemanly at first.  Off to the side.  Deferring to Petty.

But finally, Prince can't take it anymore.  He launches into this riff, which builds to this solo.  Which goes on .... and on.... and on.

The other guitarists are mesmerized. 

I think back to 1984, in Tricia's bedroom.  And her car.  She and I discovered Prince.  Before he was famous.

His guitar was a sonic aphrodisiac.  It made us cum just by its sound.

I wonder if he knew that.

When Prince died, prematurely, in 2020, from an opioid overdose, I remember the obit saying that he was the opposite of what people assumed about him.

People assumed he was from New York or LA.  He was from Minnesota.

People assumed he was gay or bi.  He was straight--he dated supermodels.

Shit, he could play guitar.

Tricia and I loved listening to it.

Making love to it.

To be continued....