Incidentally, after what I did to Helen (ref Carl's Tales 1 -
http://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php/topic,51054.0.html) I've had an e-mail from Mike. He says that he wants Joanne to go round to theirs alone. Of course I can imagine what he wants (and that from his point of view it seems only fair), but I'm in a bit of a quandary. I could:
(a) Apologise and say it all got a bit out of hand and tell him it's probably best if we didn't do this any more, or
(b) Agree but ask if I can come too with a promise that whatever happens I won't intervene, or
(c) Just send her round like he says..
What do you think?
Either way, in Carl's Tales 2 (
http://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php/topic,51486.0.html) and 3 (
http://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php/topic,51694.0.html) I was giving you a bit of background as to how I got these two fighting in the first place. I know you guys like want action, not background, but don't worry about it, we'll get onto it soon enough, and it will be all the more fun for knowing the girls a little better.
So, having secured Mike's co-operation, and an assurance that Helen would be up for fighting Joanne, my next problem was persuading Joanne that she wanted to do more than cyber fight. I ached to see that lovely curvy body of hers struggling for supremacy against Helen – or any other female come to that. I'm not fussy.
Anyway, I came up with the idea of a dinner for the four of us. Normally, I don't do those. Part of the reason previous relationships have broken down is that I hate the domestic self-satisfaction that exudes from multiple couples together, though I love the idea that the women might fall out over something and start ripping into each other... but then you know that. The trouble is that although I've seen the arguments brewing, they always get headed off: “We've all had a bit too much to drink” or “It'll seem different in the morning” followed by: “It's about time we left anyway.” and “Carl's a complete dick.”
Joanne loved all that sanctimonious stuff though. She spent ages getting ready and asking me if she looked all right. She'd done the make-up and was wearing a figure hugging red and black pattern dress. She always looked good in red and I got a hard-on just looking at her, let alone imagining those legs clamped round another woman's body, the dress all rucked up.
We arrived, fashionably late of course, and I saw that Helen was wearing tight black leather pants (they were too shiny for leather, maybe. PVC perhaps) and one of those tops with a droopy collar that moved in a complicated way, suggesting that she wasn't wearing a bra.
“Bitch!” said Joanne before anyone had had a chance to take her coat. I stared at her in confusion “You were that bitch at the supermarket!” Then I twigged (ref Carl's Tales 3). What were the chances of that?
“Hey!” I said turning to face her. “Calm down. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Oh really?” She focussed her anger on me now. “She attacked me. Physically attacked me.” Then she scowled. “You'd have loved it,” she sneered.
I glanced back at Mike and Helen who were looking anxious.
“Listen, honey, she's not a monster.”
“Really? What makes you think that?”
“Because monsters don't exist.”
“I... I'm sorry,” said Helen hesitantly. “It's true, I did attack her, Carl. Its just that sometimes I get this red mist when things happened. I really am sorry.”
Some of Joanne's outrage had dissipated, but she still wasn't going to take her coat off.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” I said.
At this point she even looked slightly guilty. “I was trying to get into the fish queue and I hit her trolley,” she said. “Maybe I was trying too hard, but I did apologise. The second time was a true accident. A coincidence. One of those things. And the third time I thought I'd nudge her trolley as a kind of greeting, a sort of joke.” She bit her lip with embarrassment, then her face hardened. “But there was no reason to attack me like that... in front of everyone!”
“Shhhh,” I said. “I know she shouldn't have done that, but sometimes people get that way. It's like road rage. Don't tell me you've never had that. You think you're being reasonable but they see things differently.”
She nodded. “I guess we'd better go, then. I'm sorry.”
“No, stay,” said Helen, who was looking even guiltier, as well she might. “I don't want to have to throw all this food away!” She laughed weakly.
“We should stay,” I said. “Heal the wound.”
Now you might be wondering why I did the Nobel Peace Prize act, rather than try to stir things up even more. The fact is that if two people hate each other enough they won't even share the same space, let alone get close enough to fight, not willingly at least.
Of course you could lock them in a dungeon together, but even then they'd probably sit in opposite corners scowling at each other. The best you could do would be to chain them together, or lock them in a cupboard so that they had no choice but to be in each other's faces. Then of course, it would be vicious. Helen would get one of her red mists and Joanne would have no choice. Sooner or later she too would have to go for the kill.
Even now I imagine them snarling and biting like animals, preferably naked, sinking teeth into each others tits, clawing at bellies and crotch, screaming alternately in anger and pain, until one of them breaks, leaving herself at the mercy of her adversary.
Trouble is, all that involves breaking the law and quite probably serious injury. I may be an arse, but I have my limits. So since Joanne was on the point of leaving, that would have been that – except strictly in my imagination.
As it was, they ended up best mates, almost embarrassingly so. I remember them flopped down on Mike's sofa, giggling, drinking straight from the wine bottle, Joanne maybe showing a bit more leg than she should have.
“You know what I think,” Joanne slurred. “I think Carl set this up just so he could get us to fight.”
“Oh yeah?” said Helen, her eyes widening. “He should have been there in that supermarket. You were flashing your legs – everything. Any guy would have loved what you had on display girl. Shame.” She looked at me and stuck her tongue out.
They both thought that was raucously funny. All I could do was turn away and cross my legs. “So what do you think our chances are against Spurs next week, Mike?”
We left while we still had some command of our legs. The beauty of living in London is that you can get pretty much anywhere at any time of day by public transport so drink-drive restrictions don't apply.
As Helen did the kissy kissy thing that couples do, I'd swear she squeezed my arse, but by then I'd lost sensation in pretty much every part of my body.
