At this point, the reader may be expecting a round-by-round, blow-by-blow account of what transpired. I am sorry to disappoint. A quarter of a century has passed since Rachel and Laura went up against each other, and it would be disingenuous to pretend that I have an accurate memory of the match as it happened. There is neither video nor photographic record. Shards of memory, some incredibly vivid, form a collage in my mind to create an overall mental souvenir of the fight, but there are details I cannot recall. That evening provided such sensory overload that its intensity is engraved on my mind far more deeply than its precise chronology. I remember the fight’s overall trajectory; the pivotal moments; the colour and texture; even some of the dialogue. But I could not honestly tell you the order of submissions or even how many there were. I have considered using poetic license to present the unfolding of the match in traditional ‘catfight fiction’ fashion but decided against. This is not fiction and to portray it as such would be an injustice to the truth, indeed an affront to the memory I have of two quite remarkable women. I may have referred to Rachel and Laura as ‘girls’ thus far (just as Kev and I referred to them as ‘the girls’ when we were planning this escapade). What unfolded on that night, however, turned out to be a rite of passage – certainly for Rachel. In some sense, she entered that fight as a girl and emerged from it as a woman. I suspect the same was true for her opponent.
The early part of the match gave no indication of how it would play out. Broad grins broke out on the faces of both girls as they circled each other for the first time, pawing the air, throwing feints. They may not even have touched each other for the first minute. Only the exhalations accompanying their air-slaps broke the silence. We four spectators perched together atop the bed looked on, mesmerised. No cheering now. It was fun, but it was a contest nonetheless, and we all felt the weight of it. I noted the solidity of Laura’s thighs. Kev had told me that she played hockey, rode and swam. It showed. Her sports were beefier than Rachel’s, and I wondered if we might be about to see a battle of power versus agility. I could see what Kev found attractive about Laura. She was not beautiful, but she was statuesque and her stupendous figure was accentuated by the tightness of her black leotard. What’s more, though she looked totally feminine, her face conveyed a tomboyish attitude. Kev had told me that Laura was extremely competitive whenever she played sport, and that he had no doubt that she would be going all out to win. She certainly bore the determined demeanour of someone who would ‘leave it all in the ring’, so to speak.
After finally coming to grips with each other, Rachel and Laura landed in a rolling maul on the floor, both wrestling for dominance with degrees of success for both. Laura may have been slightly more powerful, but Rachel was nimble and slipped away without too much difficulty when those thighs tried to close her in their grip.
The three-minute opener was over before we could draw breath and the geek whistled to signal the first five-minute rest. Laura held out her hand to pull Rachel up from the floor, and they exchanged smiles on the way to their corners. The round may have been little more than horseplay, but Rachel was breathing as if she had just come back from one of her three-mile runs. I checked back over my shoulder – Laura was too. It had taken something out of both, even if it had seemed tame from our viewing point. As she rested on the beanbag and reached for some gulps of water, I gave Rachel some words of encouragement before realising that everyone in the room could hear. Tactical discussions, if required later, would need to be given sotto voce. Little was said in either corner during the first few intervals of the fight. Both girls rested, Laura confident and self-assured, Rachel more pensive. Between rounds, Kev and I congratulated each other on the way the match was going. This was fun. We shared a whispered vision of turning this into a monthly fight-night, and we were openly complimentary about each other’s partners. Laura turned and gave me a broad grin from her beanbag when she overheard me talking about her impressive physique.
Rounds two, three and maybe four continued in similar fashion. Wrestling more than catfighting, both girls enjoying feeling their strength exerted upon and resisted by the other. My memory is of seeing more black leotard than blue, suggesting that Laura was mostly on top and got slightly the better of it, but Rachel was well in it and I knew that she would grow into the match. My girl had never had a fight in her life before and she was holding her own against an opponent whose demeanour and body-language was formidable.
At this point, I sensed Kev becoming more impatient. Maybe he thought Laura was getting on top and it was time to press home the advantage. We had remarked to each other that the trouble with the format we had settled upon was that it made subs hard to achieve because positions of dominance were nullified when the whistle sounded.
“Thirty seconds left in this one, Laur. Make it a catfight!”, he implored.
It was the first time that any of us had volubly offered support since that rumble of encouragement which preceded the beginning of round one. Laura was on top in the middle of the room, gradually moving her meaty thighs up to straddle Rachel’s breasts, continuing a brief period of dominance for her. I wondered if her apparent lack of technique might make submissions hard for Laura to achieve, though. She was pinning Rachel sure enough, but pins don’t win catfights. I couldn’t see how Laura was going to extract the four submissions required. On the other hand, Rachel had been trying to technically exploit some of the openings she was being presented with. No success to this point, but I thought it would come eventually.
Kev’s shout electrified Laura. Instinctively her left hand grabbed a chunk of Rachel’s hair, yanking her neck towards the crotch of her black leotard. Rachel yelped, in a mixture of shock and pain. Maybe it was the first time in two decades that anyone had pulled her hair – we certainly hadn’t practiced it in training. At the same time, Laura’s open right palm crashed into Rachel’s bare thigh.
“Twenty seconds!” yelled Kev. The geek-couple on the bed winced then roared their approval as another slap reddened Rachel’s thigh and she was visibly hurt.
“Make it to the end of the round, Rach!” I urged.
The slaps did not come in quick succession, but they were heavy. Two more caused Rachel’s leg to twitch. I was transfixed by the sudden fiery determination on Laura’s face. Gone were the smiling eyes, replaced by the ruthless cruelty of a natural born winner. Rachel grimaced determinedly, taking her pain.
“Ten seconds!” counted Kev, at the same time as Laura yelled “You might wanna give at this point!”.
To my shame, I was torn. Of course, I wanted Rachel to make it to the end of the round, but a part of me did not want Laura’s shocking display of dominance go unrewarded. I felt myself going hard.
Whack. “Huh? You wanna give?”
God. Laura looked magnificent but she was beating up my girlfriend!
Four, five, six unanswered slaps in total hit home. Every one must have hurt, but after that first yelp, Rachel did not give Laura the pleasure of hearing another one.
I noticed that the countdown timer on the geek’s wrist had reached zero, so I told him in no uncertain terms to blow the bloody whistle.
Irritated that she hadn’t got the sub, Laura got in one more slap and gently tossed Rachel’s head back to the duvet like a piece of litter. Then she rose to her two feet, shook her head in disgust, caught Kev’s eyes and smiled broadly. Kev was off the bed, fist-pumping the air, but saying nothing as he joined her in her corner.
“Fuck”, exclaimed Rachel. She had crawled to her beanbag, which made her injury look worse than it was, where I joined her. “Fuck! Sorry. Don’t say anything yet. Give me a minute”. She was breathless and her hand shook as she reached for the water-bottle.
I turned around to hear Kev congratulating Laura on what he called a ’10-8’ round.
“You really sent a message at the end there.”
Laura was too excited to sit. She prowled from wall to wall like a lioness, gulping her water and occasionally looking over to Rachel who was staring back. I could see that there was still plenty of fight left in Rachel, and she was quickly getting over the shock of Laura’s onslaught. The mood in the room and the vibe between the two had changed, though. It was not exactly hostile, but any illusion of a friendly rough-and-tumble had evaporated.
