[sidekick]

I do have one question though.  Why does it have to end?  Why not see them continue their sweaty, passion and hate filled encounter on and on, oblivious of anything but each other?

[sinclairfan]

INTERLUDE #2--THANKSGIVING DINNER IN DOBBS FERRY, 1987

Cheryl and I stand facing each other, gently kissing, and using each other's hands to masturbate each other's pursues.  I recall Cheryl bringing up finger fucking earlier in the night--she must be into that.  I insert two fingers into her to keep her aroused.  I don't want to restart our fight just yet.  The next round is going to be close fisted.  Reality is starting to intrude.  One or both of us are going to have some serious bruises, or worse, to explain to our families after this is over.  The mention of cops in our previous faceoff was unsettling--is that what this is actually building to?

Cheryl is cumming from by finger fucking.  I feel left out, and want to cum, too.  The thought of Cheryl disgusts me, so I need to close my eyes and summon up a thought which will turn me on.

I return to 1987 in Dobbs Ferry, N.Y..  The Yale junior who agreed to fight me in the gym, Jo, is spending Thanksgiving weekend with her Yale boyfriend and his family--his mom, his sister who is a freshman at Dartmouth (I know--successful family), and 3 college age girl classmates of his sister's, 1 from overseas, one from Montana, and one from Arizona, who can't get back home for the 4-day weekend.

The 4 Dartmouth girls, Jo, Jo's boyfriend, and the mom of the house sit around the Thanksgiving table, friendly at first.  But then the conversation becomes a bit strained and awkward.  There's an elephant in the room:  the cuts and bruises on Jo's face, neck, arms, hands, and legs from last night's 2 barfights with Gloria, the Dobbs Ferry hometown rival Jo met for the first time last time.

All 5 women at the table want to ask Jo the source of the wounds.  They look like catfight scars, but this is 1987 and There's no internet and no social media.  News like this travels slow, and only in face to face settings like this.  All 5 women are afraid to break the ice and ask, especially with the mom in the room.  Great first impression meeting your boyfriend's mom for the first time--getting into a barfight the night before.

The mom leaves the room to get something in the kitchen.  Montana girl get brave.

Montana girl:  Jo , i gotta ask.  Are those scratches from a catfight?

Jo:  Umm........Yes, last night.

Sister:  O.  MY.   GAAAWWDDD. One of my brother's ex's???  Which one?

Jo:  Gloria.

Sister:   i.....fucking.....knew it.   <<<<excited chatter among the gorls>>>>  No, that is fucking awesome.  Who won??

Jo:  Bouncers broke up round 1.  Gloria's friends broke up round 2.  So no one.  Yet.

Arizona girl:  You 2 gonna finish this weekend??

Jo:  Maybe.  There's a party tomorrow, and another Saturday.

Mom:  Or you two could just meet in the park.

Dartmouth girls:  MOM!!!

Mom:  I mean it.  Don't let me stop you, Jo.  That Gloria's a bitch.  Always has been.  Has it coming in my book. 

The girls continue to talk about Gloria, about fighting.  My Yale "tune-up fight" on the mats with Jo comes up.

I cum into Cheryl's hand.

Play time is over.  Time for Cheryl and me to finish this.
 

[sinclairfan]

INTERLUDE #3--1987 THANGSGIVING FRIDAY CATFIGHT CHALLENGE

Cheryl and I, somewhat reluctantly, close our fists and begin jabbing each other in the tits.  Resorting to fists has always rubbed me the wrong way.  Men should fight like men, and women should fight like women.  I'm old fashioned that way.

But 45 minutes of all out catfighting hasn't produced a winner between Cheryl and me.  Not for lack of trying by either of us; Cheryl had me in a reverse naked chokehold, and I kicked Cheryl direct in the sides and lined up her head a couple times.

Kicking.  That's an old school girly tactic, which fell out of use for some reason in the 1990s.  I remember in the high school girl fights in the 1980s, girls would kick.  Boys in a fistfight would never do that.

As my fistfight with Cheryl continues, the two of us still just sizing each other up, I think back to Jo, the girl at Yale one year behind me.  It's my senior year, her junior year, November 1987.  She's in her boyfriend's hometown, Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., meeting his family for Thanksgiving.

His family, and his high school classmates.  Including a girl, Gloria, who hasn't moved on from high school.  She and Jo have already fought the Wednesday night before the holiday.  Like Cheryl and me, their fight didn't (yet) come to a proper conclusion.

Jo has a couple more chances to settle up with Gloria before the end of the weekend.  There are parties both Friday and Saturday night.  But Gloria's posse will be at those parties.  The fight won't be fair--unless Jo is getting her ass kicked.

Jo's boyfriend's family--his mom and sister--tip her off to the Dobbs Ferry Memorial Park.  Cops are all over it during the summer and fall, looking out for trouble.  But during Black Friday, the AM of the day after Thanksgiving, all the cops will be at the mall.  Winter comes early in Dobbs Feery--no one will be at the park.  There's private spots there where 2 girls can fight, if they're fast about it.  Jo's boyfriend's sister has seen fights there--has even been in 2 herself.

Now, Jo just needs to get Gloria there.  It's Thursday night.  Jo's boyfriend's sister, her 3 Dartmouth classmates, and Jo, huddle in the guest bedroom Jo is staying in.

It's 1987.  You can't post of Facebook that you want to fight a girl.  You can't Snapchat to her.  You can't even text her.  It might as well be One Million Fucking BC.

Your best shot is to call her.  (On a landline, for you youngsters.  We didn't call it that back then--we called it a phone.)

Gloria:  Hello?

Jo:  This is Jo.  From Yale.  Is this Gloria?

Gloria:  Do you refer yourself as Jo from Yale to everyone?

J:  Are you a bitch to everyone?  Cuz I heard you are.

G:  Don't believe eveeything you hear.

J:  Ok.  Did I heard this right?  I heard There's a place to fight in the Memorial Park.

G:  There's lots of places to fight.

J:  Ok.  But to fight to a finish.

G:  You sure you wanna do That?

J:   With you?  Why wouldn't I be?  You think you showed me anything last night?  Other than that you have friends that jump in?

G:  They wanted to keep me from hurting you.

J:  Then let's lose them.

G:  Done.  Why am I such a threat to you?

J:  You're not.  This is for me.  For fun.

G:  Why me, tho?

J:  You still fucking want him.  Don't deny it.  I see how you look at him.

G:  When did you hear me deny it?

J:  Well, good, then.  You know it'll never happen, right?  You and him?  With me around?

G:  ........

J:  Cat got your tongue, but mouth?

G:  Fuck.  YOU.

J:  Tell me that to my face.

G:  Don't bring anyone.

J:  You Don't either.

G:  9am.

J:  Fine.

Cheryl and I exchange catty glares.  We're still not winding up fully on our swings, but We're connecting harder.  Our lungs suck in badly needed air.  We're at the limits of our endurance.  One of us will drop soon.

For us, our 9am on a frosty late November morning has arrived.

[ralbright2010]

Very creative, two confrontations superimposed! I hope Michelle survives long enough to give us the details of Gloria and Jo's showdown. Dying to see Gloria in action!

[sinclairfan]

INTERLUDE #4--1987 CATFIGHT FINAL PREPARATIONS

Ahhhhhh, the lost art of the "wanna fight?" cold call.  Today's girls have no need to learn that skill anymore, with texting and Snapchat.  Let me tell you, it takes balls of steel th call a girl you might be about to fight with, and remain cool enough to arrange a neutral location, but firm enough so she doesn't sense your fear.  Part of the reason I went all the way to my senior year at Yale without fighting is that a couple confrontations I had with girls, over high school dance dates or whatever, had made it to the "wanna fight?" phone call stage, but then one or both of us lost our poise on the call itself and muffed it up, so the actual fight never got set up.

Not so Jo and Gloria.  Their call was perfect, a classic, and now they're going to fight tomorrow morning, in the park.  Jo and her boyfriend's sister and Dartmouth classmates sit and plan strategy and clothing.  Jo didn't bring many clothes--luckily she's the same size as her boyfriend's sister.  They plan on layers of jogging clothes.  It's going to be cold, but sunny, tomorrow morning.

Montana girl shows Jo how to make a fist for a fistfight.  She grew up on a ranch, and the ranchhands taught her.  Arizona girl teaches Jo how to kick.  And the overseas girl gives Jo a headband to keep the sides of her permed hair from flying into her eyes.  Gloria's friends are no doubt huddle around her, providing the same advice and support.

This fight is going to be a fistfight.  Both of the Wednesday night catfights were brief, but both girls sustained nearly a dozen noticeable scratches.  An uninterrupted catfight will cause even the winner to be marked up permanently.  Instead, Montana girl cuts Jo's nails so she can ball up her hand into a full fist.  The cold ground tomorrow morning will make rolling around even more painful than the fight on the gravel parking lot of the bar was.  Both girls are going to stand and throw fists and feet until one goes down and can't get up.  It won't go to the ground until the decisive ground and pound.

That's the stage of the fight Cheryl and I are at, the only difference being that she and I are naked, so our tits are tempting targets.  I'm a harder puncher than Cheryl, but Shit, It's hard to protect your face and tits at the same time.

We've both hit the floor a couple times.  But have both gotten up.

Jo and Gloria go to bed Thursday night wondering which one won't get up Friday.

[sinclairfan]

A CLIMACTIC CONCLUSION

When 2 women are fistfighting, alone, with no one to break it up, and it goes past the 5 minute mark, it becomes a straight endurance contest.  And, I Don't mean a psychological endurance contest--I mean a literal test of who has the better cardio.  Because, any lift from the "2nd wind", the "jogger's high", has long since burned itself out.  Your arms turn to jelly.  Getting up from a knockdown is like climbing a mountain.  And, if You're winning, even though you talk tough with "Get up, bitch; I'm not finished with you," you're actually praying for her to stay down.  Because any possibility of knocking her out with a right to the chin is ancient history.  You're gassed, and your getting more exhausted by the minute.

Cheryl and I are at that stage of our fistfight.  She's knocked me down three time, but I've knocked her down six times.  Each one was sweet.  But It's not my fistfighting skills that are going to end this.  It's the precious 12 months of youth I have on her (you know the saying--"Father Time is undefeated").  And It's my superior cardio.  I spin more than her.  More days per week, more  minutes per workout.  All that sweat pays off right now.

Cheryl's grunts are animalistic.  She's on her last legs.  Her punches are like slow motion.  Her knees are shaking.  Her eyes have pure fear in them.  She knows She's going down.  And then the real fun will begin.  I'll exact my revenge on her.

The next knockdown will be the last.  The anticipation turns me on.  I savor the final round of a female bareknuckles boxing match.

That's what Jo and Gloria had that sunny, frigid fall morning.  Jo arrived just on time, Gloria was 10 minutes late, playing head games with Jo, much like Cheryl played head games with me earlier tonight.  They called each other a bitch, and started swinging.  They meant to pace themselves, and compared to most college age fighting girls, sort of did.  But the adrenaline, the jealousy, and the hormones still made for a frenetic intense pace.  The ground was slick.  Knockdown wee fast and frequent, at one point 5 consecutive punches resulting in knockdown.

The pace slows, but only because the girls knuckles are in extreme pain.  Hitting the other girl in the skull hurts the puncher more than the punchee.    Each girl becomes more economical, more efficient with their hits.  Now, one one lands directly, the flesh on flesh noise is like a firecracker, the pain is bonecrunching.  Each girl know she is in a war.  Jo wishes she hadn't put on that "college 15" weight around her waist.  Gloria wishes she didn't have a smoking habit.  Each is sucking in cold air, their breaths visible.  They taunt each other when they exhale.  At each knockdown, they say, "Get up, whore."  They actually mean "Stay down.  Please, stay down."

In front of me, Cheryl flops down, pathetically.  My sexual desire is off the charts.  I flatten her onto her back, point her chin up, and mount her face.  I writhe my body, riding her face.  To get myself over the top, I picture in my mind the last 30 seconds of the Jo/Gloria fight.

It was Gloria who won that fight.  The same way i defeated Cheryl.  Jo finally couldn't get to her feet after a knockdown.  And neither could Cheryl. 

Later that night, Gloria claimed her prize--a cowgirl fucking of Jo's boyfriend, with countless orgasms.

And right now, in Cheryl's living room, I claim mine.  I fuck Cheryl's face.  Until I can't cum anymore.

Jo never went back to Dobbs Ferry.

And Cheryl never came back to PTO.

I'm the Chair. 

Got a problem with that?


THE END

[dfoulup]

Long, involved, detailed, well written - there aren't enough good things to say about this story.  Thanks for sharing it!

[martyg1955]

Great story.   Obviously a lot of time and effort went into writing it.  Thanks for,posting it. 

[sinclairfan]

Feast of Saint John's announcement:

The Board of Trustees are pleased to announce that with or without progress in the battle against Covid-19, the Feast of St John's Fundraiser will proceed as scheduled on Sunday, December 27, 2020.  Two women who are well-known to almost all of us, due to their prominence of school alumna (Class of 1986 and 1989), school parents, and PTA Chairs (2012-2017) and (2017-2019), Michelle and Cheryl, will renew their rivalry in a no-rules battle to be broadcast on closed-circuit TV for all paying donors.
More details to come, but mark your calendars for December 27.

[sinclairfan]

Tonight, we are proud to report that despite the very trying circumstances of 2020, our school alumni, parents, benefactors, and 2 of our most prominent PTA volunteers (Cheryl and Michelle) came together to carry on the Feast of St John tradition of a fundraising catfight.  The showing of the fight was on closed circuit TV, rather than being in person; but the funds raised matched what is given in a "normal" year, allowing our school to see its way thru to the other side of this terrible pandemic.
In the run up to this event, many of you no doubt heard the story of the falling out Cheryl and Michelle had on their transition of the PTA presidency.  Time had no headed the wounds remaining between them, and they agreed to put their rivalry to the test in the ring tonight.  The result lived up to the hype.

Both ladies looked as stunning upon entering our improvised fight room as they did in their Thanksgiving taped interviews.  Both are sporting lovely straight blonde hair down past their shoulders, have an agreement to not cut it since Halloween in order to present each other with potential targets in their no-rules brawl.  As each woman removed her tank top, it was clear that they've been hitting the gym extensively (and eating healthy!), as their shoulders and forearms were carved to perfection.  Both of the women have the breasts which women 20 years younger than them would envy, and neither gladiatrix showed a hint of shyness at putting it on display for our worldwide audience of paying viewers--or for each other.  Each stared at the other icily as they removed their heels, and then their school uniform skirts, displaying flawless female targets to her eager enemy.  We'll just observe that both women appear to have recently found bikini waxing salons who have figured out how to stay open during a pandemic, and leave it at that.

Both women came to the center of the small, enclosed room for the pre-fight staredown, with the mentor (Cheryl) bringing noticeably more intensity than the protégé (Michelle).  For a brief instant, we wonder if Cheryl is intimidating her former understudy, until Michelle flashes a knowing eye-roll at one of the three fight cameras, and gives a too-cool-for-school shrug at Cheryl's attempt at bravado.

Cheryl is frustrated at cookiness of her younger challenger, and buries her claws into Michelle's thick blonde mane. Michelle responds at first with body punches to Cheyl's side and chest, but is forced to reciprocate the hard hairpulling when Cheryl begins to drag Michelle towards one of the three walls of the veritable fight pit, and begins banging Michelle's head and face into the padded-but-hard side.  Michelle quickly restores balance and evenness to the fight.  Both women are in a standing full hairpull clinch, now freeing one hand each and exchanging belly punches, alternating with uppercuts to the face.  Hissing insults can be heard between the blows.
> I'll fucking kill you, bitch.
> Try it, you washed up cxnt.
> I fucking hate you, shut.
> Because you know I'm better than you, jealous bitch.
> I should have knocked you out years ago.
> You think you're hurting me, bitch?
> I'll fucking hurt you now.

Both women use their free hand to lock on a grip on one of their enemy's breasts, bending at the waist to maintain a grip in the hair with the other hand.  Twisting turns to raking and clawing, as each begins to rake visible red scratches into the others' chest.

The action now goes down onto the floor, with Michelle scrambling to the top and mounting Cheryl's back.  Cheryl corrects her error quickly, and Michelle briefly succeeds in wrapping both her arms around Cheryl's chest and grabbing a double handful of Cheryl and pinching mercilessly.  Cheryl decides the best defense is a good offense, and throws her elbows backwards into Michelle's face, connecting with her enemy's nose and mouth.  Michelle bravely maintains her composure (and her grip on Cheryl's torso), but we can see her counting teeth with her tongue, and we are reminded of Kawhi Leonard's bloody mouth injury in the Christmas Day L.A.Clippers game. 

Are the ladies weighing a catfight endgame via submission or via striking?

Both women's backs are now notably covered with layers of sweat, as the intensity of the fight builds in energy and duration.  Cheryl's elbows jab mercilessly backwards at Michelle's face and chest, while Michelle's claws dig relelentlessly into Cheryl's breasts, raking rows of scratches into her enemy.

>I'll fuck you up bitch.
> I'll wreck you, shut.

Michelle rolls onto her back, using her back heels now to kick Cheryl's groin area.  Cheryl desperately tries to bends backwards to break Michelle's grip, her body language for the first time betraying hints of panic.  Michelle is now using all for limbs to both leverage control onto her prone opponent, and to strike at vulnerable able of her enemy's body.

If Cheryl cannot break Michelle's grip soon, she will be at her rival's mercy.

The pace of the fight subsides for the first time all evening, Cheryl needing to gather herself to consider her dwindling options, Michelle to further lock her hold.

Drop of blood start to trail down Cheryl's chest.  At first they appear to be from the rake marks on her own chest.  But as the trails get longer, it's evident that the source is Michelle's own nose and mouth, from the reverse elbow Cheryl landed minutes ago

> Go toe to toe with me, Michelle.  You don't want to beat me this way.
> I'll beat you any way I want, bitch.
> Then let me up and go toe to toe with me.  Let everyone in TV land see that fucked up face of yours.
> <Michelle thinks>
> Go toe to toe with me, hun.  We'll always wonder who woulda won.
> <Michelle thinks more>
> And so would our husband's.
> The let's show them, bitch.

Michelle releases her hold on Cheryl, and both bloodied women rise to their feet and square up.  Michelle's face is unrecognizable from the blood streaming from her wounded mouth and nose.  Cherl's blonde hair is stained from the matted blood from Michelle's face and her own chest.

Both women are seeing red, literally and figuratively.  They are visibly angry with each other.

Both step in with boxers stances, aiming left jabs and right hooks square at each others' jaws.  Cheryl is aiming for Michelle's open wounds, trying to worsen the damage to Michelle's face.  Michelle is alternating with hi-lo combinations to her enemy's breasts and face, before similarly electing for exclusively head shots.

Both women's heads snap back with alternating right hands hitting square in the face at full strength.

Cheryl is the first to score a knockdown, Michelle falling backwards on her butt.

> Had enough, slut?

[sinclairfan]

ST JOHN'S 2020 FIGHT, CONCLUSION
Michelle vs Cheryl

Long time Feast of St John's aficionados will at this point recall the unwritten rule of longstanding that a bleeding St John's gladiatrix may, without penalty or sanction, call a medical time out to towel off and even seek neutral medical attention.  St John's combatants are freely volunteering their time, sweat, safety, and potentially their dignity on behalf of the school and its Treasury.  We have no interest in requiring them to sacrifice, unnecessarily, their current safety and future beauty.

At the same time, those historically-oriented multi-generational attendees of St John's fights will also note that rarely do bleeding combatants avail themselves of the timeout privileges afforded them.  Michelle, last night, built upon that long tradition of a cut catfighter "powering thru" a gruesome cut. 

And one final footnote that even last night's remote viewers were unaware of as they watched live:  Cheryl and Michelle, partly as a gesture of social distancing to any doctor or nurse or EMT who would have been serving in the role of ringside Florence Nightingale, and partly as an expression of the enmity and disdain they bear towards each other, waived the presence of ringside medical assistance.  So Michelle's only available relief, anyways, would have been a towel.

Back to the recap of the fight action.

Cheryl's commitment to a toe to toe showdown with her erstwhile protégé was demonstrated when she failed to immediately pounce on and mount her fallen and prone opponent.  Michelle was clearly dizziness and stunned by Cheyl's barrage of fists, and likely would have succumbed to any of a series of moves now presenting themselves to her enemy as options:  a classic ground-and-pound, a flying kick or a series of same, or a wrestling-style flying elbow.  Whether Cheryl is this morning regretting her noncapitalization of her temporary advantage is between her and her maker (or, at least, St John the Evangelist, patron Saint of the day); but Michelle must certainly be counting her Christmas blessings.

For, as she regained her bearings, then her balance, then her footing, the former pupil proved herself as the good student and rapid learner Cheryl one complimented her as, and squared up with her enemy in a right-cross-leading inverted stand (though boxing right-handed, leading with her right fist and right hip).  This achieved two goals, one intangible and the other tangible.  In the former department, Cheryl was caught flat-footed, confused by the stance and intentions of her foe, and losing momentum in the frequency and power of her strikes.  In the latter category, Michelle's counterpunching game became ferocious, and she leaned backwards away from each of Cheryl's swings, and pivoted in a single motion to jabbing at Cheryl's jaw and nose.

Within minutes, Cheryl's face resembled Michelle in coverage of facial skin by crimson fluid.  Michelle's hands were drawn to the red targets like an angry bull to a cape, and she began dropping her enemy gradually but rhythmically.

Down goes Cheryl.
Down goes Cheryl.
Down goes Cheryl.

> Get up, bitch, I'm not done with you.

But she's done with you,,Michelle.  On the third knockdown, Cheryl tapped out.  Michelle was disappointed at first, but no doubt remembered the closed circuit witnesses to her epic victory.

She mugged for the camera.

Soak it in, Michelle.  We pray that 2021 bring similar returns to the traditions and excitement of our school.

St John, pray for us.

And God Bless Michelle, one of the greatest fighters the Feast of St John has ever seen.