[sinclairfan]

My name is Alyssa.  I'm a 25-year old blonde, long hair down to my butt, 5'7", fit--spinning is my favorite pasttime.  Mostly straight, but not exclusively.  I'm young and still exploring.  In many ways--intellectually, culturally, sexually.  I'm open life's possibilities.  I'll try just about anything once--if I don't like it, fine, at least I can say I tried it.

If you're anything like me, you're tired of this pandemic, and the disruption it's brought to your life.  The hand washing, the mask acne.  The added risks of casual sex, as if there weren't enough already.  The monkeypox.  The last 2 and a half years feel like a sick joke.  It's really old.

Pre-pandemic, I wrapped up my Data Analytics degree in my hometown at University of Iowa.  I had commuted there from home for the entire four years, so I had a fat bank account, and headed to downtown Chicago for a job at a big bank.  Walking to happy hour after work was awesome.  I sowed some sexual wild oats, learning what I enjoyed.  I really like kissing.  A girl I had met at Iowa, Gayle, was wrapping up some graduate research there and was going to join me in The Windy City in May 2020.

But Covid-19 ruined that plan.  First was the March/April/May lockdowns--lonely nights of eating microwave dinners by myself, all the bars closed, casual sex off the table because you had no way of knowing if your partner would give you Covid.

Then it got worse.

In June and July, the George Floyd riots started.  And the organized shoplifting.  Magnificent Mile stores were hit by gangs in the dozens and stripped clean.  And the carjacking.  Women like me getting our cars stolen away at gunpoint.  Or going out to our cars in the morning and finding them smashed and stripped.

And did I mention the no sex?  I really was missing sex.

Gayle backed out of her commitment to join me in our downtown condo.  And I couldn't afford our lease by myself.  So I had to give up our deposit and break the lease.  Tail between my legs, I went back home to Ames, Iowa.  With my dad, who divorced my mom when I went to Chicago in 2019.  He needed me to cook for him.  I enjoyed the companionship at first, but his noticable post-divorce decline made me sad.  I needed a break.

I called up Gayle one night in January 2021.  Vaccines were starting to come out.  We reconnected on FaceTime first, agreeing to see each other once we both had our first vaccine in us.  That would likely by May 2021.

One night at 2am on FaceTime, we confessed we were both super-horny and missing sex bad.  She watched me masturbate on FaceTime, then I watched her.  I was somewhat satisfying, but empty.  It wss sex with someone you didn't love or have feelings for, so it made me sad when we hung up.  It added another level of awkwardness between us.  We confessed we envied aspects of each others' looks.  She envied my long, thick, blonde hair.  I envied her jet black straight hair, her mixed ethnicity brown skin, her perfect 38c boobs that stood at attention when she masturbated, her rock-hard butt, her thick bush.  She envied that I rarely had to shave mine.  We would talk for hours about what we envied about each other.

We called each other "Bitch", first jokingly, then earnestly.  We really meant it.  We blamed each other for the financial setback on our Chicago lease.

We were becoming frenemies.  It made me horny as fuck.

We got vaccinated in May 2021.  We met at her place for drinks, dressed in jeans and tank tops.  Things were awkward and tense.  And I was horny.  We drank vodka to try and smooth over the tension.

We were occassionally rubbing ourselves through our jeans as we chatted.  Discreetly at first, then openly.

The conversation slipped into the Chicago carjackings, wondering what it would be like to have a gun pulled on us.

> So....Alyssa.  I was thinking.  Lots of times I bet the gun isn't even loaded.  If they're targetting a woman, they're probably a coward.

> That's an interesting take, Gayle.  Imagine calling their bluff and knocking the gun out of their hand?  [Contemplating .... and confronting ..... the unknown danger was getting me even hornier.  Gayle, too--her tits were poking thru her tank top, like when we madturbated on FaceTime and she got aroused.]

> But then what?  They can still hit you with their fist.

> I wonder what that's like.  Getting hit in the face.

> Has that ever happened to you?  Any middle school fistfights under the bleachers?

> No.  I mean .... I did some afterschool hairpulling in the city park.  But, no .... no fists ... or slaps.  Never.  How 'bout you?

> Nah .... came close at a high school dance .... over a boy.  But the chaperones broke us up.

> And you didn't try to find her later?

> No.  Wanted to.  But the boy wasn't worth it, I guess.

> Do you regret never doing it?  Never getting into a fistfight?

> Yes.  [Wow.  That was a direct answer.]  Yes, I regret never fighting.

> I have a confession.  So do I.  I regret never fighting.  Finding out what it's like getting hit.

> Wanna find out?  Tonight?

.....[Gayle and I look at each other in awkward silence.  We both put down our drinks and stand in unison.  We kick our shoes off.]....

> Let's do this.  Let's hit each other.

> Yes.  Let's.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

As my frenemy Gayle and I squared up, tensely waiting for the other to "make the first move", I reflected back on an unresolved episode from my recent past which had come up in Gayle and my trash talk.  An almost-High-School-Dance I had (almost) gotren into my senior year in 2015, when I was 18.  It had been simultaneously intense, scary, and exciting all at the same time, and the complex jumble of emotions it had awoken in me at the time had caused me to "stuff it away" deep into my psyche.  Until tonight.

Why scary?  Because I almost got into a fight on school grounds, which would have jeopardized my high school diploma, and my scholarship to University of Iowa.

Why intense? Because it was against a junior named Kirsten, who thought she was "all that", and who was the center of our high school's and town's, gossip and social media.  She had thousands of Instagram followers from out town and towns around us.  It was impossible to have a discreet fued with her.  If things spun out of control between her and me, all of eastern Iowa would know about it.  And the whole internet,  too.  And she would control the story.  Kirsten understood Social Media Public Relations pre-Tik Tok.  If she and I clashed, she's be Ali and I'd be Frazier.  She'd be the Victim and I'd be the Oppressor.  Already I could sense dagger-stares in the school hallway when tensions started to heat up between her and me.  E en if I won the battle (which was feeling imminent), she'd win the war.  And she knew it.  (And, yes ... it was war.  A girl-war.)

Why exciting?  My 18 year old self didn't understand why.  But I knew it was exciting.  I knew my panties were soaking thru my pants when I was around her.  I knew I had an urge to punch her.  In the face.  I'd walk around the house, fists clenched, practicing left jabs and right hooks and deking and ducking.  I'd shadow box in front of the mirror.  Because I pictured seeing Kirsten 20 feet in front on me in the school hallway, both of us locking stares and dropping our backpacks, and charging at each other and swinging, both going for the KO before the teachers swam their way thru the crowd of shouting students and pulling as apart from each other.

I'd open my Instagram account, waiting for a DM from Kirsten.  Then, disappointed, wondering why I just didn't send HER one.  The, looking at her Insta page, and immediately realizing why.  Her page was non-stop flaming of other girls in our school.  She was a natural at the intetnet insult.

And at another thing.  Taking selfies.  Her selfies were always so glamorous.  Her on vacation with her family in the Caribbean or Florida.  Her on spring break in San Padre Island, rocking out a tiny bikini.  Shit, her body was gorgeous.

It made me want to rip her tits off.

So I'd lie on my bed, her Instagram page on my phone, and finger myself to the thought of her punching each others' breasts.  Hard.  The even harder.  Making each other grunt.  The groan.  Then cry.

Finding out who was the tougher woman.

Leading up to the last dance of the high school year, a senior boy who had a thing for me, and who was going West to play NCAA baseball, was kissing me between classes.  Kirsten's minions (at her direction, I had no doubt), announced on Instagram that Kirsten was going to dance with him at the high school dance.  And any other girl who did so would be considered to be "messing with Kirsten's man" that night.

I wasn't even planning on going to that dance.  Until I read Kirsten's oblique challenge on Insta.

Is that what she wanted.  Did she want me to AVOID that dance?

Or to attend it?  To face her?

Didn't she know how reckless a fight on school property would be.  For her?  And, as a senior, even more so for me?

After all, we both had cars.  If the point was to fight each, there were plenty of back country roads or Kmart parking lots to do it in.

Was she goading me?  So as to get me into trouble?

Or did she actually want to fight me?

Gayle, here tonight:  did she jyst want to hit me?  Or did she want to fight?

> Hit me, bitch.

> You first, slut.

> You're afraid?

> Should I be?

> Yes, bitch.  You should be afraid of me.

> I'm not.

> Well, you should be.

> Show me, then.  Bitch.

To be continued.....

[william taft]

Why don't you finish up your other stories before starting another one?  You never deliver the goods.

[sinclairfan]

The night of the my last high school dance, the air was thick with Alyssa-Kirsten catfight rumors and speculation.

> Did you hear Kirsten wants to fight Alyssa tonight?

> I heard Kirsten's car got keyed last night and Alyssa probably did it.

> Kirsten and Alyssa have been DM fighting on Instagram all week, I saw the thread and it's 29 pages long hard copy.  They were cussing on it.  [Pretty scandalous for 2015 Christian Iowa.]

> Alyssa better put that long hair up in a bun or braid it or it's gonna get pulled from behind.....Yeah, but isn't showing up in braids pretty much asking for a fight?.....Oh, you're right.

Earlier in the week, the high school junior boys had been 'anointed' the new school leaders, and a frmew of the football team captains had taken it upon themselves to be high school dance 'escorts'.  They would jump in if anyone obviously needed a ridd home or were otherwise behaving rowdy.  Like, say ..... if two girls were about to catfight.

So pretty much all night, Kirsten and I hsd a wall of junior boys between as, and couldn't so much as make eye contact.  We both danced with the boy we were competing over .... and both kissed him .... which, yes, meant we were in effect swapping spit with each other.  I could literally taste Kirsten on the boy's mouth when I kissed him all night long .... which grossed me out .... excited me .... got my blood boiling .... got my blood running... and explosion and potpourri of female hormones all at once.

All very confusing.

I went home to bed, at midnight, collapsing in physical and emotiona exhaustion.  I woke up at 3am, somehow wide awake on just 3 hours' sleep.

I masturbated.  Hard.  Why hadn't Kirsten and I fought tonight?  Aren't high school boys into watching catfights?  Why were the boys keeping us from fighting?

Should I call Kirsten tomorrow and ask her to fight?  Or DM her?  I pull up her Instagram.

Shit.  I'm blocked.

SHE blocked ME?  Seriously, WTF???  A JUNIOR blocking a SENIOR?

Is she afraid to fight me?

Did her parents find out we might fight, and tell her to avoid me.

For the next week, I drive past Kirsten's house, trying to see what's up.

Her dad busts me one day driving by.  Or was it her brother??  I think she has an older brother--is that him??  Shit, he's cute.  I drive past slowly.  He's checking me out.  Maybe he'll come up to the car.

SHIT.  It's not her brother, .... It's Kirsten's dad.  Damn, how does he look so young??  He looks fucking 38 tops.  Is he checking me out??  Does he know it's the girl his daughter wants to fight??

I check out Kirsten's dad's LinkedIn profile.  Fuck.  Stanford AND Duke??  Fuck, he's fucking connected.

WAS he checking me out??

I obsess about driving by Kirsten's house.  I do a couple times.  Nobody's out.

I set up a LinkedIn profile on myself.  I look at Kirsten's dad's profile.  Someone is looking at my profile, but I can't tell who.  Is it Kirsten?  Is it Kirsten's dad?  Both?

Do they talk about me at home?  Does Kirsten's mom know?  I look at her profile.  She's beautiful.  Blonde, like me.  Is Kirsten's dad into blondes?

By now, I'm masturbating every morning from 3am to 6am.

I wish she and I could just fight.

To be continued.....

[sidekick]

Wonderful new story. As always, you capture the violence, eroticism, and forbidden excitement of fighting so well. I crave each update. Please keep them coming often.

[Vengeance]

Glad you’re back. Can’t wait for Alyssa and Gayle to find out what getting punched in the face is like. Nice set up.

[sinclairfan]

Graduation day arrives for the Class of 2015.  I get into my cap and gown, showing lots of leg underneath in hopes the baseball playing boy will kiss me before he heads West for college.  I'm glad Kirsten is in the Class of 2016, and won't be at the ceremony today.  I want to fight her--but not at my own graduation ceremony.  That would be .... awkward.  And not sexy.

We file in to Pomp and Circumstance.  The boy after me in line pinches my ass.  I would normally be offended at this, but today I like it.  It means the boys are noticing me rocking out my cap and gown.

Like how Kirsten rocks out her bikini on Instagram.

I wish I was better at posting sexy pics of myself on Instagram.

We sit thru the speeches.  Everyone seems to be getting the hell out of Iowa for college.  Am I making a mistake by staying in Ames for 2015-2019?

No.  No, I'm not making a mistake staying close to home for college.

Because by staying close to home, maybe I'll run into Kirsten.  And maybe she and I will finally fight.

Maybe more than once.

I feel myself soaking thru my gown.

We get our names called one by one to receive our diplomas.  We get a handshake from the Principal, the Superintendant, and the School Board Chairman.

Shit.  I recognize the Board Chair.  It's Kirsten's dad.

When my name is called, and I walk across the stage, he eyes me the whole way.  Does he recognize me as the girl whose been driving my his house?  Or does he like how my legs look?  Or both?

Does he know I plan on looking for fights with his daughter the next 4 years?  Or at least the next 12 months, while his daughter is still local?

He gives me a firm handshake.  He pulls me close and whispers to me.  "Are you able to join me at California Pizza Kitchen after the ceremony?  For just a quick word? I heard that's where seniors gather after the ceremony."

I was planning on going there, to CPK, to meet up, and flirt, with the baseball player after the ceremony.  So I meekly nod and barely get out a nervous, "Yes."

He smiles.  "Wonderful."

I go make to my chair, my hands shaking.  Shit.  Why does Kirsten's dad want to see me at CPK?  Is he going to slap a restraining order on me for driving around his house?  For looking at his LinkedIn page?? For wanting to fight his daughter?  Is that why I'm blocked on her Instagram??

Everyone goes to CPK laughing and jolly and carefree.  Everyone except me.  I'm apprehensive.  I don't know what to expect.

Kirsten's dad already has a table in a semi-private section.  He waves me over.  I sheepishly sit in the booth across from him.

> I probably should have prefaced this conversation better, Alyssa.  This conversation is to thank you.  To PROFOUNDLY .... and sincerely .... thank you.

> Oh.   [Shit.  I'm blushing intensely.]  For what?

> For standing up to my daughter.  Kirsten.  For not letting her steal your boyfried .... that baseball player .... from you.

> Oh.  He's not exactly my boyfriend.  [Fuck.  Why do I want Kirsten's dad to know I'm single??]

> Nevertheless.  Did you realize, Alyssa, may I call you Alyssa?, ... , that Kirsten had plans to follow him to Arizona once he leaves this summer?  To throw away her future over him?  You saved all of us a Summer of Drama.

> Oh.  She's .... not following him, then?

> She's been told No for the first time in her life.  My wife and I are at fault for that, of course .... we should have told her no.  Many times.  But we didn't.  And you did.  [Pulling his face close to me.]  Even if it meant .... a catfight.  My wife told me how .... brave ... it is for a young woman her age to risk a catfight over a boy.  She and I are both impressed with you.  VERY impressed.

> Oh.  So .... what happens now.  [Because .... I stll want to fight her.]

> Kirsten gives you any trouble ... you just call me or my wife.  [He hands me his business card.]  We'll tell her No.  Like you did.

> Oh.  [My dreams of of a summer catfight with Kirsten have just gone up in dust.  Or of an affair with Kirsten's dad.  His wife and him are rock solid.]

I go out to my car and cry.  I don't even kiss the baseball player goodbye.

I should have fought Kirsten when I had the chance.

I won't turn down the next chance I get.

Which is tonight.

May 2021.

With my frenemy Gayle.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

As memories from my 2015 encounter with Kirsten, and then her family, come flashing thru my mind, Gayle steps forward in the living room where she and I are facing off barefoot.  She is now close enough that I can smell all three of her perfume, her hairspray, and her antiperspirant.

Perfume:  why did she wear perfum for our meeting.  I wear perfume on dates.  And pre-pandemic, if I had a meeting with a manager or client in my office, for work.  But if I'm just having a drink with a friend, I never wear perfume for that.  Did Gayle think tonight was a date?  Was she confused by the FaceTime sex she and I were having during the pre-vaccine lockdowns of the pandemic?  (Does she think she and I have a future romantically?  Because we don't.)  Or is she just a girly-girl who always wears perfume? 

Hairspray:  Gayle's jet black straight hair has always made me jealous.  But if it's naturally straight, whu does she cake it with hairspray?  Or ... maybe I have the issue.  Maybe I don't use enough hairspray.  My hair-down-to-my-butt style has been feeling dated lately.  When this pandemic is over and we're back to offices, do I need an update?  A makeover?

Antiperspirant:  The long pandemic lockdowns made me forget the subtlety required in applying deoderant when in a tank top.  Too much, and your pits show flakes.  Not enough, and you start to smell.  Am I wearing enough?  Do I stink?  I forget how nice it was to be able to "let yourself go" in the grooming department during the lockdowns.  Am I out of practice.

Gayle stares at me.  I stare right back.  She speaks first.

> Well?

> Well, what, bitch?

> I thought we were gonna hit each other.

> Oh, don't worry, hun, I'm definitely....

> [SLAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]  [Gayle backhands me hard, right in the mouth.  I see stars.  Gayle smirks with pleasure.  I try and get my bearings.]  How does it feel, bitch??  To get hit.

> [I consider my reply, not wanting to betray fear and hurt.  Because it fucking hurts.] Get ready for triple what you just gave, Gayle.

> I'm waitin', Alyssa.

***************************
More memories flood back.  After my May 2015 graduation, I was staying around Ames for freshman year of college, and Kirsten still had one year of high school left.

Still 12 months of opportunity for her and me to fight.  If she wanted to.  Because I still wanted it.

Summer would be the best chance.

I drove around the summer teen hang out spots.  Hot dog stands and pizza parlors.  I looked for girls in her circle of friends, hoping she'd be there one night.  She never was.  Probably on vacation with her family.

I started thinking about Kirsten's mom a lot.  What she had told Kirsten's dad ..... how it took balls to be willing to risk a real actual catfight with another woman.  Was Kirsten's mom speaking from experience.  Had she taken that risk?

Had my own mom?

My own mom, vibtrant and social, was already drifting from my introverted, bookish, declining dad.  Living her own life, pursuing her own activities.

Sometimes with younger couples.  And, with one couple in particular, just the man.  Hiking.  Book clubs.  River rafting.  Texting.

The two of them were really close.

I started seeing their relationship in a new light.  They were having an emotional affair with each other.

One night, defeated by another failed stalking session of my enemy Kirsten, my mom and I shared red wine on the patio.  We were buzzed.

> Mom.  You and Mr Jaffe.  You two seem like you're having fun.

> How do you know about him?  [Not very smooth, Mom.  She's acting guilty AF.  I go in for the kill.]

> Mom, please, I'm not blind.  But not a prude either.  We can talk about this, right?

> [Pausing .... then committing.]  Fine.  We can talk.  But I won't betray confidences ......   even to you as my daughter, Alyssa.

> [So, there are confidences, huh?  Maybe it's a physical affair, too; not just emotional.]  No need.  That's not what my question is.

> Then..... what's your question, Alyssa?

> Mrs Jaffe ..... she seems fit .... and bitchy, too.  By hanging around Mr Jaffe ..... well....

> Yess??  What's your specific question?

> Aren't you risking a catfight with Mrs Jaffe?

> [Chuckles.]  What?  You don't think I can take her?

> [My mom's unflinching answer surprises me.  She and I have never remotely come close to discussing physical catfighting]  But .... well, I'm sure you could .... it's just .... when two women fight for a man ....  isn't it basically....

> Basically, what, Alyssa?  It's NO RULES, ok, sweetie.  When two women fight for a man,  .... there .... are .... no .... fucking .... rules.

> And ... you've thought about that?  You and Mrs Jaffe .... with no rules??

> Of course.  I'm not naive.  Does that surprise you?

> I don't know.  We've never .... talked about it.

> I don't want to put something like that on you, Alyssa.  You're 18.  Get your degree.

I never looked at my Mom the same again after that conversation.

But I was glad we had it.

******************
I close my fist and punch Gayle in the mouth.

She looks at my angrily.

> Well, well.  I guess it's on now, bitch.

> I guess it is.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Having finally exchanged blows with Gayle, I felt I had at long last crossed a threshold into true womanhood. 

The world of women like Kirsten's mom, who witnessed someone finally standing up to her bratty daughter Kirsten, even if it meant a Spring Dance catfight in the high school gym.

The world of women like my own mom, who had pursued an affair with Mr Jaffe, right under the watchful nose of the jealous Mrs Jaffe, willing to take the chance of an all-out wife-vs-mistress brawl.

Gayle's and my fight experiences had all been Minor League until now.  Gayle's after-school hairpulling scuffles.  My Instagram drama with Kirsten.

Minor league.
Bush league.
Junior Varsity.

Gayle and I were on the varsity now.  We had hit each other in the face.  There was no one here to break us up.

There was no way to back down without total humiliation.  Gayle and I needed to find out who the better woman was.

Or I would regret it for the rest of my life.  Backing down would be even worse than losing.

Losing.  Gayle couldn't actually beat me in a fight, could she?  I had picked her for a roomate thinking of her as a book-ish research type.  But what did I really know about her.

Even tho her middle school catfights were evidentally hairpulling-only, I was still somewhat surprised to hear they had happened.  Gayle??  Middle school catfights in the Ames city park?? Really?? Gayle??

Was she picked on because of her mixed race?  Was her hair not straight in middle school, and was that why she overdid it with hairspray in 2021??  Did she get picked on for frizzy hair?

Or....

Did she get boys' attention because of her exotic facial features?  Or her nice boobs?  Was she already fully-developed in middle school?

Or.....

Did she have minority friends.  The rumor growing up in Ames was not yo go to the park after dusk, bevause the minority girl gangs hung out there and had fights.  (That was an adult stereotype, tho.  We students all knew 'the real deal'--that it was the white cheerleaders using the park for girlfights, which ended up on YouTube for 12 hours before getting removed.  If teo black girls fought, it somehow stayed on YouTube for years.  But that's a different story.)

It's Gayle's turn to hit me.  If that's what we're doing--swapping slaps.

Or.....

Is this a fight?

I point at my face, inviting Gayle to hit me again.

She does.  [THWACK.]  A closed fist.  I guess the slapping is over.

A boy asked to hit me in the face once in college.  I said no, I had a class the next day.

I have no classes tomorrow.  Just Zoom calls.

I''ll just turn my camera off.  I'll lie and say I'm having a bad hair day.

I punch Gayle in the mouth again.

She punches me back.

Back and forth.

I lose count at 8 punches each.

Bruises are already showing under our eyes.  Both of our lips are fat and bleeding. 

Our hair is a jumbled rats' nest.  Gayle's normally straight hair is just a memory.  I've never seen her without straight hair.  Even on our 4am FaceTime phonesex calls.

I like seeing her face ..... not perfect.

> Had enough?

> We're not even getting started, bitch.

> Good.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

One of Gayle's swings (we're swinging wearly now, not punching with precision) catches me on the tip of my jaw, and as if a secret video game code or cheat has been unlocked, my knees buckle and I'm on the white carpet.  I see dotted red stains--are these from us?  I can taste iron in my mouth, so I must have cuts somewhere.  Gayly falls on me and mounts my back on the floor--her nose is bleeding and her breathing is labored. 

I remember watching a women's MMA fight at a pub happy hour one night in Ames--Iowa had a mid 2010s stiint as a wanna-be hub of women's combat sports.  One fighter broke skin on her opponent, and specifically focussed on it to inflict more damage. 

I start punching Gayle exclusively to the nose.  Any lingering friendship or fellow-feeling I had for Gayle is long shot.  Why did I ever like her?  Because she and I were in a class together in Ames.  That's not nearly enough reason to room with someone, I now realize.

I started hitting Gayle tonight to see what it's like to GET hit.

But I realize a new truth about myself.

I like hitting.  It's not not fighting Kirsten that I've regretted since 2015.

It's not hitting her.  I should have hit her at the dance.

to be continued....

[sinclairfan]

My freshman year at Iowa, commuting to classes in the morning and back home at night, I found myself sitting in the library a lot between classes.  The commuting students' curse--free time to kill and no where to kill it.  One day, on the long desk, there was an unshelved Compton Mckenzie book.  Mckenzie--a rare author I don't really know that well.  Maybe I should start reading.  I open to page 112 or something. 

The story is in the 1890s in London, and it's about a circle of "gentlemen of leisure"--wealthy men living off their savings--and pretty young women who make their living from them--not necessarily just sex, but dining out with them and giving them companionship.  A man's Number One woman was his "favorite".  The women never got jealous over sharing a man's bed with another woman.  But they would get very jealous over losing the status of "Favorite".

That's what Kirsten and I were battling about in high school.  We were both kissing the same boy in the hallways--and giving him handjobs in car backseats.  And we were fine with being non-exclusive.

But we both wanted to be his "Favorite".  And were willing to get violent with each other over it.

Sitting in the Ames library, I got horny AF thinking back to my confrontation with Kirsten.  If those football player escorts hadn't stood between as at the dance, we would have ripped into each other with teeth, claws, knees, elbows.

Fists.

Hitting Gayle with my fists now was relieving my regret of not hitting Kirsten in high school.

Gayle seemed to be enjoying this too.

I wonder if it would feel as good to claw her scalp.  I wonder if I'll regret it later if I don't do it.

I sink my claws into Gayle's mussed black hair and scratch her scalp.  She retaliates in kind.

We're both screaming for the first time in our fight.

> You bitch, we're really gonna do this???

> We really are, Gayle honey.

To be continued.....