[sinclairfan]

My name is Olivia.  I'm wrapping up my senior year next spring at the University of Iowa.  It wasn't my first choice--my very Catholic parents would have loved to see me go to a Jesuit school--but I got an irresistable scholar offer, and didn't want to graduate with tons of debt--so I've found a home here, studying econometrics.  I already have a full time job lined up for June 2024, so I figured I could "kick back" for Thankgiving 2023 and go back home to Chicagoland with my extended family, in my old neighborhood.

Because of my extensive activities, studies, and sorority life at Ames, I had been back home surprisingly little since heading west in summer 2020.

Ahhh.... Summer 2020.  Peak Covid pandemic.  Not in infections or deaths--but in disruption to daily life.  No inperson school.  No prom.  No graduation.  No parties.

No anything that I had been looking forward to for 18 years.

The pandemic fucked up the last semester of my last year of high school.  Senior year.  You never get that back.

Our very healthcare-conscious family (my 2 parents, and my younger sister Linda--who I was very protective of [that's called foreshadowing]) set up "pods"--my sister and I could hang out with kids in families "in our pod", meaning we had mutually agreed to have non-social distanced interactions with each other.  You need to remember--we still didn't know a lot about Covid, including how dangerous or safe it was to catch it--so a pod was a mutual-safety pact with the families you were in it with [sorry for the dangling preposition].

Towards the end of the summer, a bunch of us in our pod were having an end-of-summer-goodbye-departing-college-students cookout, the parents were getting buzzed and boisterous, and the boys and girls were pairing off into make out couples.  I had lost my virginity the summer before at my restaurant job,  and spent pre-pandemic upping my confidence in fucking and blow jobs, so I had pretty much outgrown making out.

But the Covid lockdowns had made me go 5 months without sex, and I was horny, and beggars can't be choosers.  So I was making out with a neighborhood boy way way below my standards in normal times, and making the best of it.  I could tell he was still a virgin, so I settled in for some "no pressure" kissing and fondling.

All of a sudden, a girl in my neighborhood, and a classmate, who I had a mutual no-speaking-to-each-other feud going with, Bev, decided she wanted to join in our fun.  Bev was NOT in our pod.

Bev had an ok face, decent long straight sandy blonde hair .... and PERFECT boobs.  She must have gotten her well-endowed mother's genes, because BEV easily had the Best Chest in our school, because every boy .... and half the girls .... wanted to touch them, if for no other reason, too feel if they were real (they were).  They were rumored to be 42D.

Bev must have been missing all the pre-pandemic one-on-one she used to get, because she came to our backyard gate, and my little sister Linda ran over to break the news that only Pod Members were invited.

Bev shoved Linda.  I saw red.

For some reason, my normally-mild-mannered constitution had always snapped when ANYONE .... girl, boy, woman, man .... lay a finger on my lityle sister Linda.

I charged up from my make out partner'slap, and sprinted in a bee line at Bev.  I sank both my hands into her long hair and began shaking her head.  Bev's adrenaline was already up from shoving my sister, because she immediately reciprocated.  We were catballing on the grass instantly.

Catfight!  Catffight!.
Olivia!  Bev!  Stop fighting!
Somebody break up those two girls!
Awww, man, you mean we can't let them finish?
Disgusting pigs!  Break them up immediately?
Aren't you worried she'll give us all Covid?
Olivia!!! Go up stairs and shower immediately!!!!

Before I could make heads or tails out of what happened, my parents were upstairs with me, helping me out of the shower, disinfecting every crevice--natural, and finger nail induced--in my body.

My mother asdured me she saw Bev had started everything, and would speak to her parents the next day.

We didn't get Covid from Bev.

We never spoke of it again.  Like the pandemic lockdowns, the whole episode was best forgotten.

Until I came home for Thanksgiving.

The night of dinner, and my great-aunt's house, I felt my cellphone buzz.

> Hey, bitch.  It's Bev.  Heard you're back home.  So am I.  Wanna finish our catfight?  No parents, just you and me?

I felt my panties soak with cum.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

My first option in responding to Bev's rando text--my default option, really--would have been to "rise above it all"....and her....and just ignore it.  Go back to Ames next week and my corporate job far away and never look back at my childhood.

Let Bev feel bad that I had ghosted her.

But, before solidifying that option, I decided to get a second, expert opinion.  From my slightly older Irish cousin Mary Ann.  Mary Ann was't really the college type; she had grown up in rougher, more ethnic surroundings closer to downtown Chicago, and was still living at home with her aunt.  At family holiday and birthday parties over the years, she had taken me aside and we had chatted about sex and drinking and fighting, all of which she was much more experienced in than me.  Yep, she was my "fun cousin".

We ran upstairs after dinner, and I broke the news to her about my mid-turkey text.

> Mary Ann, there's a bitch from my neighborhood .... she challenged me to a catfight.  What should I do?

> Ooooo, did she use the word "catfight".

> Yes.  She wants to catfight me.

> Wow .... do you have a pic of her?  Is she on Insta?

> [Good point....I should have thought to show that to Mary Ann] Here she is.  These are pretty recent pics.

> Holy shit, Olivia, look at that rack.  Her tits are huge.  What's the fight over?  A guy?

> Not at all ..... ew, she dates losers .... she pushed my sister a few years ago and she and I almost got into it .... well we did get into it, but it got broken up.

> And who was winning?  when it got broken up?

> Way too early, Mary Ann.  It got broken up too fast.

> Well ..... if it was ME .... I'd be wondering who would have won.  And, Olivia, .... it sounds like she's wondering that, too.

> So .... you'd fight her. 

> Heck, yeah.  In fact .... want ME to come over and fight her for you?

> No, no .... I'm not THAT pathetic .... I got this.

> Lemme know how it goes .... sexy.

> [Did Mary Ann just call ME 'sexy'?.  Or the catfight?  Or both.  Either way, my pussy is dripping.]

Welp.....I guess I'm catfighting this weekend.

I text Bev back.

> Fine, bitch.  Let's catfight.  Not tonight, tho.  My parents are shopping Friday.  Come over then.  10am.

> Ok.  Bitch.  10:00 Friday I kick ur ass.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

At 3am before my Friday morning catfight, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.  I was kinda hoping for a good night's sleep--it seemed like the sort of thing which would give you an edge in a catfight.  But I guess that wasn't in the cards.  Maybe my crabbiness would make me extra bitchy.

3am was always a terrible hour for me to be awake, since the dark and quiet always made me question all my life choices.  Now I was questioning, was it really a good idea to invite Bev over my place to fight?  It was way too cold outside to fight there.  We would end up fighting indoors, probably in our finished basement.  I hope that was enough room to catfight.  Except:

<> What if she hurt me so bad that she had free berth to wander around our house, smashing and grabbing as much jewelry from me, my sister, and my Mom that she could?

> What if I hurt her so bad that she couldn't get back up the stairs to get home.  How would I explain her being there to my parents?

Where else to fight, though?  I didn't want to be anywhere in her small home.  Something would definitely get broken if we fought there.

I found it empowering to be called out for a catfight.  Back in 2022, at my restaurant job, if I slept with a guy as his side chick, I had fantasies of getting busted by his girlfriend or wife and challenged to fight.  Especiialy if she was hot.

That seemed like it would be a hot fight to be in.

Like my short pandemic fight with Bev.  It made me horny that there were Mom's there who were into the idea of watching Bev and me finish our fight.  When I'm older and a Mom, will I still enjoy watching chickfights?  Or will motherhood change me and make me 'nurturing' and 'responsible'.

All the things my Mom has always been to me.

Is this catfight my way of rebelling from her?

My way of cutting the cord and declaring my independence from her?

My way of showing I'm a grown woman now?

I could never talk about fucking with her.  Telling her I've been experimenting with fucking.

And that I really like it.

I like getting fucked.

And I like catfighting.

Shit I'm wet.  I stick three fingers in my pussy.

I wish it was a cock.

I wish I was getting fucked.

I cum in my hand till 6am.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Friday morning, I found out that my senior year of high school wasn't the only annual routine which the 2020 pandemic had fucked up.

My parents' Black Friday traditions had also been disrupted.

Back in the Good Old Days, they had gotten up at 6am and rushed to the Mall to buy gifts and then to have lunch with each other.  I was surprised to get out of the shower at 8:30am and find them still lounging around in the kitchen.

> Mom?  Aren't you and Dad going Black Friday shopping soon?  [Shit. I'm being too obvious.  And acting too guilty.]

> Why, Olivia?  Have you arranged for a boy to come over to have a petting session with?

> Ok, Mom.  NOBODY pets or necks anymore.  And I'm 22.  When I'm with a boy I like .... alone .... we go way further than [air quotes] 'first base'.  And, no, no boy is coming over.  Although if I went shopping with you, I would have no trouble meeting one quickly.  Mind if I come?

> [My Mom blushes.  She really is a Richie Cunningham Catholic.  Now I've got HER on HER backfeet.]  Olivia, even if you choose not to save yourself for marriage, at least be like the French and do so with discretion and decorum.  And, no, if you're coming for the shock value it will provide to your father and I, then no he and I will enjoy our date tradition alone .... as a couple.  You're not the only one who enjoys opposite sex companionship alone.  And to answer your question:  Black Friday sales start later in the morning rhan they did pre-Covid.  To give the workers more family time.  There's nothing more important than Family.  If you had gone to a Jesuit school like Loyola, you would have learned that by senior year.  Sweetie.

I'm actualluly pleasantly surprised by the bitchiness of my Mom's response.

Hopefully she passed down her Bitch Gene to me, and it will kick in when I fight Bev.

I decide to text Bev aboyt my parents' later departure.

> U up, bitch?  It's Olivia.

> I know it's up, dumb bitch.  Lemme guess.  Ur wussing out.

> In ur dreams, Bev. My parents got a late start.  It might take till 10:30.  But don't ring my doorbell till their car is gone.  Then we can fight.

> Tell them to move along, Olivia.  So I can rip ur fucking tits off.

> [How does she know I like her tits?  Or sas that just coincidence?]  My top will be off.  To make it easier for you to get them.  Bitch.

> So will mine.  Whore.

My clean panties are no longer clean.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Almost immediately after my parents left to go Black Friday shopping, my side doorbell rang.  It was Bev.  I wasn't sure why she was using the side door instead of the front door--but then remembered my parents had put Ring on our front door, and was glad she was going in the side way.

Does Bev she have Ring on her house?  When she had boyfriends over to see her 42D tits, did she let them in the side way.  Chicagoland suburban houses are all basically cookie-cutter--that's one reason I'm leaving after college.  That, and the carjackings.

I'm also wishing she didn't show up mere seconds after my parents left.  They're getting old and forgetful in their late middle age (they had me early--they're Catholic--so they're still pretty young for me being 22....but their memory is already slipping a bit), and frequently return home after 5 minutes out to get coupons or something they forgot.

My original plan was to get the catfight with Bev started .... and over with .... as soon as she set foot in the house.

But I don't want Bev and I to be clawing each others' tits and have my Mom walk in on us.  That would be mortifying.

So I decide to buy time and delay getting into it with Bev for about 10 minutes after letting her in.  Then we'll fight.  That shpuld be enough time, right?  Right?

I calmly open the side door.  This will be harder than I thought, going 10 minutes without punching the bitch I hate.

Bev is wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a Loyola sweatshirt.

Wait a minute.  Loyola?  Loyola came up in my argument with my mom at breakfast.  It's where she wishes I had gone instead of Iowa.  Does Bev go to Loyola?  Does my Mom know that?  Is they why she brought it up?

> Hey, bitch.  Long time.  Can I come in?

> Of course.  [I back away from the door, leaving Bev to close it herself.  The tension is so thick between Bev and me that I fear the tiniest bit of body contact will spark our fight before my 10-minute delay happens.]

> [Bev closes the door and we retreat into the kitchen.  Her hair is thicker than it was in high school, and fuller.  She has light perfume.  I put some on too, hoping to delay my body odor once the fight starts.  The silence is awkward, like it is before any fight is about to start.]  I was serious about fighting topless.  There's nothing under my sweatshirt.  Not even a bra.

> Show me yours, and I'll show you mine, bitch.  [I open my casual blouse, no bra underneath either.  Bev takes off her Loyola sweatshirt, and shows me the biggest naked boobs I've ever seen.  Some girls in my sorority are well endowed, but nothing like Bev.]

> Where do I put the sweatshirt?

> [She thought we're fighting in the kitchen?]  We're fighting downstairs, in the basement.  [I turn to walk downstairs.  Big mistake.  Never turn your back on a girl you're about to catfight.]

> [Bev reaches aroynd the front of me and sinks her claws into my tits, scratching them deeply.]  I waited three years for this fight, Olivia.  We're fighting here .... now.  Bitch.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

My freshman year at my sorority in Iowa, there was a story about two sisters who had Zoom job interviews coming up, and couldn't show up with scratches or cuts on their faces, so they settled a dispute over a frat brother by wrestling and scratching each other below the neck.  So I knew sometimes women my age would fight that way, and didn't think thru why Bev might be challenging me to a topless fight.

Attacking, grabbing, and now holding me from behind, Bev had 2 or 3 minutes of free access to my bare boobs, with me wasting energy and effort trying to throw her over my shoulder, a move they had taught us in Iowa in the event we were ever jumped late at night on campus walking back from the library.

I fortunately remembered the throw, and executed it under pressure, getting Bev onto her back in the tile kitchen floor, and grabbing ahold of her tits.  They made big targets .... but my hand and fingers didn't know where to start.  Looking down at ... at feeling my own 'girls', they already seemed scratched and raked on their entire surface area.  I felt like I would need 8 octopus hands to even get a start on evening the score on Bev.

We struggle side by side on our shoulders on the kitchen floor, our faces finally finding each other.

> Why did you fucking jump me, Bev?

> Fuck you, bitch.  When you jumped me in high school, I had fucking GLASSES on, Olivia.

> [She did?  I don't remember.  I remember Bev sometimes had glasses growing up, sometimes didn't.  Her face looked a little plain with glasses, much prettier without them.  I often wondered if she showed her face without glasses only to boys she was attracted to.  That the glasses kept away the loser boys just after her huge tits.]  If you were wearing glasses, why'd you PUSH MY SISTER, bitch???

> Fuck you, SHE pushed ME first.

> You were ON OUR FUCKING PROPERTY, Bev.

> So you and her fucking FIGHT me?  You and her were always bitches to me.

> You were always a bitch, bitch.  I was always POLITE to you anyways, bitch.  Big mistake.

> You coulda fought me anytime.  You were to pussy to face me.

> Then face me now, bitch.  Here I fucking am.

> Whaddup?  Here I fucking am. ..... [Bev pulls down her pajama bottoms.  There are no panties.] And here's my pussy.  Wanna fight like women? 

>  [I stare at her blonde bush.  I want to pull each hair out one by one.]

> Take you skirt off, slut.

> [I don't want her to think later that I hesitated when she challenged me.  I step out of my skirt.]  Let's fight like women.

Bev and I face each other on our knees.

Our right hands start clawing each others' pussies hard.

> [This would really hurt, I bet.  If my adrenaline wasn't flowing like Niagara Falls.]  I'm gonna fuck you up, bitch.

> I'll fuck you up worse.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

One of the things I had learned about catty fighting (arguing, bickering, and yes, sometimes things turning physical) between girls growing up ...... and which coalesced for me belonging to a sorority at Iowa ..... was that 2 girls or women who had a conflict over a man or over money, well:

> If they were strangers, they might get into it verbally and even fight .... but it would be a straightup fight, with each just trying to stand up for herself, doing what was necessary to not be bullied,

as contrasted to:

> The closer they were pre-conflict, be it neighbors, acquaintances, or, God forbid, former best friends--well, in these scenarios, once the gloves were off, they were TOTALLY OFF.  The climactic war--social, verbal, or physical--was NO RULES, total war.

Does this make any sense?

Because Bev and I were definitely in this second category.  Best friends?--no, not really, not ever.  But we had grown up 'together'--same neighborhood, same schools, same class, same vales, same upbringing.  Had she ever reached out to me, and perhaps I was cold to her?  It was certainly possible--I had a tight circle, was a bit on the introverted side.... and my little sister came first.

Was jumping Bev while she had glasses on a bitch move?  If I had indeed done that?

Probably.  If you're gonna fight a girl with glasses, uou give her a chance to take them off first.

Is that how things had escalated so fast between us? 

What did Bev WANT to happen instead?  For me to calmly walk up to her, say "Hands of my sister," and we catfight?

Is that why she had pushed my sister?  Knowing it would make me challenge her to fight?

Did it matter now?

I decide I don't particularly want to discuss it.

I just want to finish this vicious catfight.

Because it's so fucking sexy.

I wonder if Bev is enjoying it too.  I feel her pussy.

It's soaked.

Just like mine.

I sink my face in her hair.  It smells so good.

I'm completely aroused.

> Fucking slut.

> Whore.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

My blind rage over my little sister getting pushed three years ago .... as an excuse to instigate a fight with me, no less .... must have trumped Bev's rage at supposedly getting tackled with her glasses on [which, to this day, I don't 100% believe actually happened], because....

Because, as we dug our right hands, and knuckles, and nails into each others' pussies, I was more aggressive, and mean, and bitchy [I guess I DID inherit my mom's bitch gene] and caused Bev to flop forward
in pain
in exhaustion
in humiliation
in pain--oh yeah, I mentioned that one already.

I "rubbed it in" to make sure the bitch was defeated and couldn't rebound me and retaliate.

> Fuck you, Bev.  Tell me I'm the better woman.

> You bitch, Olivia.

I slap Bev's face over and over.

I don't want her completely out, tho.  There's still one more thing I want to do to .... with .... to/with her.

My tits still have by far the worse scratches on the two of us.  From the "head start" she got at the start of our fight when I turned my back on her.  I lean down and put my face into hers.

> You fucking bitch, Bev.  I'm gonna ride each tit on yours and cum on each one.  One .... by .....one.

> You whore, Olivia.

> You know it, Bev.

I mount Bev's belly.  I hand-job Bev's huge 42D tit until it's hard and erect.

> You nipple says you're turned on, Bev.  I think you're the whore.

I mount Bev's right tit, the tip of it penetrating my sore, swollen, aroused pussy lips.  I grind myself into her.

I feel the waves of orgasm building .... building .... building.....

Until they release, like waters thru a broken levy in an Iowa flood.

aaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggggghhhhhhhhhhh
aaaaiiiiggggghhzzzzzzxxxxxxxx
ffffffffuuuucckkkkkkkkkkkk

I shriek like I've never yelped before.

My shrieking makes me self-conscious.  But .... wait ..... I'm self-conscious for another reason.

I'm being watched.  I know it.

Shit.  Is my mom home?

I turn around.  Sitting on the kitched chair.  A woman is masturbating, watching me fuck Bev.

> SSSHHHHIIIIT.  MARY ANN?  [I't's my cousin from last night.]  Ffffuuuuucckkkk.  How long were you watching us??  What did you see?

> I saw ...... EVERYTHING. 
Best
fucking
bitchfight
ever, Olivia.  Holy fuck.  Your mom told me you were acting guilty this morning and was sure you had invited a boy over.  I knew you had probably arranged a fight with ... [motioning at Bev] .... THAT bitch.  When she came in, she left the door open.  You two were fighting so hard, you didn't see me here.  Holy shit, Olivia, what were you two fighting over?

> You know ..... stupid stuff.  Why?

> Because .... can you do it again?  And .... can I watch?

THE END