[sinclairfan]

My name is Carol.  I was born in 1967, and grew up in the Northeastern United States.  I pursued a mostly successful, and lucrative, career in financial services, raising a son I'm so, so proud of.
 And I can't believe I'm telling you this story.

Not because I'm ashamed of abything I'm about to tell you.  Just the opposite--as I reflect upon what happened between myself and Kelli from early 2019 until December 2021, I believe at all times I acted true to myself and my principles and my upbringing.

And yet..... a catfight.  An actual all out physical catfight. With another woman.

Over a man that neither of us were married to.

Now, I doubt any of this would have happened if not for the Covid pandemic.  Probably Kelli and I would have continued in our love triangle, mostly oblivious enough to each other to avoid a direct collision.  Maybe finding out that each other existed--but not feeling compelled to pry into each others' affairs (affairs--why does my mind conjure that word, I wonder), and certainly never finding it necessary (nor advisable) to be in each others' space. 

But the pandemic changed everything.

I remember going to New Years' Eve dinner with neighbors on Dec 31, 2019.  Even though I was a third wheel that night, the Roaring Twenties were about to start--both for society, and for me.

I was hitting my sexual peak, you see.

I got married young--yes, too young--in 1990, and had a son who was, and still is, a musical prodigy, about whom I regret nothing.  He's 31 now, and is all over YouTube with guitar instruction and original works.  I could write a whole story about him, and maybe I will someday.  But I know you'd rather hear about my catfight.

I got divorced in 2005, and swore to do things right the second time around.  I got married to the man I thought was Mr Right in 2010.

And he WAS Mr Right, in every way.  Wealty, hardworking, funny, sexy.
Perfect.  Except in the bedroom.  We tried Viagra--well, he tried it obviously.  And he said it made him hard, but not horny. 

So, since neither of us were going to get divorced again--we had each spent our lifetime allotment of divorce attorney fees the first divorce each--we started living an open marriage. 

He started sexting with women in his lives.  And I started fucking a man in my life.  A married former coworker named Bob.

Bob and I had a lot of sex.  In persob, when we were travelling in the same city.  And on FaceTime when we weren't.

And we didn't ask about who else each other were seeing.

So I was fine with the blonde bitch Kelli he was also seeing. 

Until 2019, when he accidentally told me her last name.

And I started researching her on the internet.

And the more I found out about her, the more I hated her.

I was in Pennsylvania, Bob was in Atlanta, Kelli was in Dallas.

Then....

In March 2020 the pandemic hit.  Business travel and conventions stopped.

And sex moved from hotels to Zoom.

And I couldn't stand that Kelli was in his life.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Now, it occurs to me that I may have already given you a misimpression about myself, so let me try to clarify.  I'm not a prude about girlfights.  Women do, and sometimes need to, fight other women.  First off, women are always in slow-burn verbal and mental and alliance-based skirmishes and battles with each other over status, or even just membership in friend circles and communities.  We view our own status inextricably linked with who were perceived to associate with, so we're always trying to graduate up to a new group with more status than us, and to shun someone trying to inappropiately ride on our wave.

It's kinda like houses in a suburban cul de sac.  If one house stops taking care of their lawn or parks broken down cars in their driveway all the time, it drags everyone down.  But if that person then sells to someone who does a tear-down and build a mega-mansion, it lifts everyone else up.  And also causes them to raise their own game, residentially speaking, and improve their own house.

Women are tuned in to these social power struggles.

So, sometimes, if another woman is making alliances that undermine everything you've worked for, it's necessary to confront her.  And a confrontation is only effective, it only packs a punch, if .... well, if it's backed by an actual punch.

Capish?

Girlfights happen.  It's just part of living in a society.  Unless you want to be a doormat.

And who wants that.

Also ...... I'm damn good at it.  I got dem hands, as the young people say today.  I can handle myself in a fight.

Because, you see, I learned from the best.  Learned by doing, on the streets of 1980s Waterbury, Connecticut.  Waterbury is an old rundown factory town, with diverse ethnicities.  I spent my early twenties in a boarding school in Litchfield County, and on weekends we'd head to Waterbury to buy beer.

And to streetfight the Waterbury bitches.  They taught me how to fight.  Well, they forced me to teach myself how to fight.  And I've always been a good student.

So, I can and do fight.

But, I also think that men are seldom worth it.  Especially once you're over 40.

That's all I mean about being perplexed by my battle with Kelli.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

So, by now I hope I've established that despite knowing myself and where I wanted to be headed, I got myself into a position in 2021 that was somewhat in opposition to that. 

How did that happen?

Well, those Litchfield County boarding school days are a good place to start.  I mentioned that my now-grown son is a musician.  Music, and being a musical prodigy, is a genetic trait that pops up from time to time in my family, thru my father's side.  Not all of us "have it", but the one's that do, including my son, and including me, feel the pull to immerse ourselves in music--to listen to it, to play it (usually on multiple instruments), to compose it, and to study it.

So around the middle of high school, my parents and I realized I had the music bug (I started with piano, but branched out to cello and flute and traditional Persian string instruments played on the pentatonic scale), and found a music academy in the Litchfield hills.  The dream was to study and learn and play and compose, and then to go to New York City and become world famous and, maybe not rich, but at least self-sufficient.

But two things went wrong.  The first was that my musical gift was in such overdrive that I was too scattershot (you may have already noticed this about me in other ways)
in my approach to music--too many instruments, too many musical traditions--that I never specialized in anything.  And in music, to be the best in the world in anything, you need to be disciplined and specialize in it.  That wasn't me.

The second thing that went wrong was that the music academy my parents and I found was .... well, it was a kinda bullshit scam.  I mean, they taught music there.  But it wasn't world-class classical music--it was amateur dilettantism better suited to a junior college adult continuing ed cirriculum (and, a not-very-good junior college at that).  I think most of us caught on after awhile, but were unwilling to admit to the sunk cost of wasted money.  So we just went along semester after semester, and numbed the pain with Saturday night beer runs to Waterbury (and alternating catfights with the Italian, then Lithuanian, then Albanian girl gangs there). 

Drinking.  And fighting.

And sex.  After a late-bloomer start, I found out that I was really good at, and really enjoyed, fucking.  I was really uninhibited behind closed doors, and guys in the late 1980s were really into that.  (And, hell, guys who play guitar are really good in bed.)  And they like that I was on The Pill.

Until one day in 1990, I forgot The Pill with a Waterbury Lithuanian cook.  I couldn't have an abortion--I knew I was having the baby.  And preferably wanted the Lithuanian cook to marry me, which he did.  (His aunts were Catholic and forced him to "do the right thing.")

The first ten years after the wedding were great.  Hell, ladies, don't tell me you wouldn't want a chef living in the house.  His extended family helped with our son, and I went back to school, got my MBA (music is very mathematical--I was a natural at it), and started working in banking at Advest, a boutique Connecticut bank.

It was the 1990s.  The internet bubble was building.  And I made a shit-load of money.

And I got too high a mighty.  I started thinking I "deserved better" than a Lithuanian chef and a Waterbury ethnic immigrant family.  In hindsight, I wish someone had smacked me in the mouth, because I had a damn good stable life.

Instead, I started cheating on my husband, sleeping around with men.  Mostly married men I met thru work.  I found single men were too clingy, and started falling in love with me.  I wanted No Strings Attached.

I got divorced in 2001, exactly as the internet bubble was bursting, and my Advest paycheck shrunk.

I had a lot more free time.  And I missed 3 prepared meals a day at home.  And free housecleaning from my Lithuanian aunts.  Single life wasn't all it was cracked up to be.  I started drinking beer again.

And realized that when I drink, I get feisty.  I'm a mean drunk.

I get the urge to catfight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

From my 2001 legal separation to the 2005 finalization of my divorce, the work environment at Advest was pretty damn dysfunctional.  The generous yearend bonuses were pretty much a thing of the past, but as we downsized (eventually all the way to zero--the company finally ceasing to exist) terminated employees were getting huge pink slip/layoff "packages" (multiple years, in some cases, of severance pay).  So even if you had no actual work to do when you came in everyday, no one wanted to quit prematurely, because they were holding out for a severance package.

The male executives seemed to get all their packages first, so with each passing month, we had an office filled with bored, cranky, edgy women.

Who had disputes with female coworkers which had built up over the years.  Like lost business, missed promotions.  Or sex rivalries--imagined or actual office romances which had been sidetracked or interrupted by an office rival.

And we knew we were all in the slow-motion process of getting fired.  And would probably never see each other again.  So all office pleasentries and niceties were soon out the window.

My worst catfight was against another banker named Loredona, a scrappy bitchy Italian girl from Meriden who had risen thru the ranks of Advest when times were good, but didn't have her MBA and was having difficulties even getting interviews for a new job.  I also had fucked a married executive who was known to be her "sponsor"--he had gotten her promotion in return for sex, and when she found out, the relationship between her and me got catty.

One Friday at work, it came up that I was going to be down in the Meriden area, and she dropped a remark of where I could find her if I finally wanted to "have it out" with her on Saturday.

I knew I was going to take her up on her offer when I get drunk that Friday night at home, climbed into bed, and masturbated for 2 hours straight.

I got up Saturday morning, teased my blonde hair like it was the 1980s all over, and put on streetfight clothes--jeans, halter top, leather coat.  I drove to her place--masturbating at the many, slow-timed Meriden street lights--knocked on her door, exchanged face slaps and bitchy insults with her, and we fought like tennage schoolgirls all over the inside of her house for almost an hour.

Hairpulling, breast mauling, and face scratching each other to shreds.  It was a good thing showing up to work on Mondays had turned into an optional thing at Advest, because I was unpresentable until the following Wednesday.

But I was hooked.  Starting that day, antyone at Advest who had crossed me received a challenge to catfight.

And I was surprised at how many accepted my challenges.

Some couldn't fight for shit.  And some surprised me how tough they were.  Finding out which women were in which category was as exciting as the fight themselves.

I started sizing up other women customers at StopNShop, wondering how skilled they were at fighting.

And then would masturbate to the thought of a long, nasty fight with them.

I finally got my package in 2005.  And a divorce settlement.  My husband's bitch Lithuanian lawyer had deliberately dragged out the process under I had my severance.

I told her I knew the bullshit she had pulled, and asked her if she wanted to step outside and discuss it.

> I would, you bitch.  But I'd lose my license.

> And?  Still not worth it?

> This is the closest I've ever come to saying yes to an offer like that.  You should be proud.

I was.  And masturbated to the thought of the vicious fight she and I would have had.

To be continued.....

[chrisstevens]

You are such an excellent writer, i can't wait for the next part

[sinclairfan]

The Lithuanian bitch divorce lawyer who had intentionally dragged out my divorce settlement until I had my lump sum package from Advest sitting in my bank account in 2005 had unknowingly done me a huge favor.  Because, you see, when the housing market crashed in 2007 and 2008, I was renting.  A lot of my old Advest friends (and enemies, like Loredona) lost their houses to foreclosure.  But my lump sum (or, the piece of it that the bitch attorney had allowed me to keep) sat in the bank collecting interest and dividends, and I had was sitting pretty with lots of options open to me.  I could fuck who I wanted to guilt-free, and could now, at my leisure, shop for my dream house at bargain prices.

One night when I was bored because a married man I was looking forward to fucking had to cancel at the last minute because of a sick child at home, I started drinking beer, and felt my catfight friskiness setting in.  I found the phone number of the Lithuanian divorce lawyer, and on an impulsive whim, called her to gloat about my good fortune.  Not surprisingly, I got her voice mail.  I left her a bitchy message about how well I was doing financially, all because of her.  I expected that would be the end of the matter, and pulled down my pants to start madturbating.

But then I got a pleasant surprise.  Caller id showed a "Camilla" calling me.  She was calling me back on her personal line.

I picked up and answered.

> Hello?

> Hello, bitch.  If you're doing so well in the bank, why don't you pay some of that to your ex and your son.  [Bringing up my son crossed a line.  I was pissed now.]

> Don't you dare question how I am as a mother you stupid cxnt.  I sucked as a wife, but I always was, and still am, a damn good mother.  What kind of woman does what you do for a living, tearing apart families.

> The families that come to me are already torn apart.  I just make sure they get their due from the bitches who fucked them up.  You would never speak to my face like that, you coward bitch.

> [I have three fingers inside of me by now, and am dripping into my hand.  I struggle to speak without my voice shaking.]  I'll face you anytime, anywhere bitch.  I already told you that, and you turned down the chance.

> I would fuck you up if we fought, slut. 

> [I open my mouth to respond, but an orgasmic scream escapes my throat.  I yank the phone away from my face, hoping Camilla didn't hear me.] 

> You're lucky I have a professional licence to protect, or I'd come over right now and strangle you in that fucking bed you're lying in.

> When did I say I'm lying in bed?

> I hear you masturbating in bed, dumb slut. 

> Don't lie--admit you're masturbating to this too.

> I'm not, slut.  I don't need to.  I'm going to hang up, and fuck an actual man.  Someone you know.  Your ex-husband.

> Lying slut.

> Then don't take my word for it.  Let me put him on the line.  [Camilla hands the phone to the man next to her in bed--my heart sink when his voice confirms that it's my ex.]

> That was cold, slut.

> Couldn't happen to a nicer woman.  Good night, slut.  [Camilla hangs up on me.]

That was pretty dumb of her to give me her home number.  Unless .... maybe she's hoping I'll start calling and leaving stalker messages.

Well played, bitch.

I decide to move on.  Living well is the best revenge.

The next week I turned 40.  Time to settle down, Carol.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

When I had married my Lithuanian husband in 1990, in order to have a wedding inside the Catholic Church ("Church" meaning both the physical building, but also meaning having our marriage recognized by the institution of the Church), his immigrant aunts had insisted that I become Catholic by attending RCIA-the Rite of Catholic Initiation for Adults. 

My practice of my Catholic faith, other than following the Lenten practice of abstaining from meat on Fridays, had taken a backseat to my busy banking career.  Until my 40th birthday in 2007.  I started attending Mass, first on Sundays, but then almost daily.  I found the sparsely-attended weekday morning Masses peaceful, solemn, and reverent.  I started praying after Mass, and became remorseful of my sleeping-around lifestyle. 

I decided I wanted to remarry.  A marriage with mutual respect and love.  With an intellectual equal of mine.  I logged onto eHarmony, an internet dating site that has you complete a questionnaire, and thoughtfully matches you with compatible men.  And I started going out on dates with them, something I now realized I had never done with my husband in fifteen years of marriage from 1990 to 2005.  I considered my wifely duties to be complete when I allowed my husband to fuck me; through prayerful contemplation, I now realized a mutually loving relationship requires intimacy, something I had resisted and avoided for 40 years of life.

During my eHarmony dates, I would restrict my sexual activity with the men I was "matched" with to kissing on the couch, fully clothed (although their hands somehow always found their way under my top and to my tits).  If the men asked for more of me, I told them I was a devout Catholic, and that intercourse was reserved for married couples.  They told me they understood, although I confess I probably would have "caved in" and let them fuck me if they had gotten persistent about it.  Kissing really, really turned me on.

But eHarmony always paired me with perfect gentlemen, and so the dates always ended with chaste good night kisses.

And both of us sexually frustrated.

So I would climb in my bed, and begin to masturbate.  The images in my mind would start with the man I had just dated that night, and how the evening would have proceeded if we had given in to temptation and advanced to second base, third base and then tried to score.

But I was never able to sustain the fantasy to orgasm.  Because the erotic area of my brain always insisted going someplace else.

It always recalled my house catfight with the Advest banker Loredona.  My getting dressed that morning, knowing I was going to confront her.  Our slapping each other in the face.  And then us viciously tearing at each others' chests and faces, throwing each other from room to room in her house (the house she would lose to foreclosure--fuck, THAT was a turnon) by our hair.

The names we called each other the entire fight.

Bitch.  Slut.  Whore.  cxnt.  Honey.  Sweetie.  Bitch.  Bitch.  (God, what a perfect word.)

The memories of that fight always made me cum.

What a catfight that was.

Would I ever be able to move on from that sexually?

Would I have a normal sex life with a man?

Did I really want to?

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The man I finally decided I could see myself settling down with was named William.  He was a couple years younger than me, was an economist, had a dry sense of humor that made me laugh, and was a wonderfully passionate kisser.  He was divorced like me, with no baggage (no kids), and he was a lapsed Catholic willing to attend Mass with me, and go thru the annulment process so we could be married in the Church.

He proposed to me on Christmas Eve 2009, we got married Memorial Day weekend 2010, and we got naked in bed together for the first time thst night, and started kissing.  Tender kissing at first, then passionate.

And then, nothing.  His cock got stiff but not erect.  He tried to put it in me, but it wasn't erect.

I assumed he was tired, and asked him to go down on me, which he did.  And the next morning, he was hard enough to get in me, and sort of came inside of me.  Sort of.  We honeymooned in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina for 5 days, and probably fucked 4 times, always first thing in the morning, never at night, and never initiated by him.

As the months went by, I told William I needed sex.  His going down on me was appreciated but not enough.  I needed to get fucked.  He went to a doctor and got a bunch of tests.  His testosterone was low, and the doctor gave him Viagra.

The Viagra made his erections satisfactorily hard and made our sex more physically satisfying for me, but as emotionally empty as ever.  By 2013, the banking industry was bkuncing back, and William allowed me apply for, interview for, and accept a banking job outside Philadelphia.  William arranged forca job trasfer there, but travelled back to Connecticut suspiciously often.  I knew he was texting women in New England.  And travelling there to fuck them with the Viagra I bought him.

I couldn't bear going thru a divorce again.  The banking job I had landed in Philly was because they wanted a stable married woman to mentor their young women bankers.

And I was making more than William.  There was no fucking way I was settling with him.

I had fucked up.  I should have slept with William before getting engaged to him.  To see how lackluster he was in bed.

I started texting too.  And having raunchy text conversations with clients at work.

William used our Connecticut house as his home base; I used our Philadelphia house as mine.

We were married; and living separate lives.  Not separated--we still had passionless fuck sessions when in the same town.

But I was ready to start up affairs all over again.

I needed better fucking.

I made it known to my old banker friends at Advest that I was open to some No Strings Attached fucking. 

One now working in Atlanta at SunTrust told me he was interested.  We started sexting and sending nude pictures.  He couldn't afford to get divorced, after losing everything as Advest fell apart in 2001-05.

We consoled each other about how much our lives sucked.

And we fucked everytime I travelled to Atlanta, or he was in Philly.

I lived for those every couple of month assignations.  They were everything I wanted, physically and emotionally.

I saw other men, too.  He didn't ask about my men, I didn't ask about his women.

Except for one.  A woman from Texas named Kelli, whose first name I saw on his cell phone history.

I started recognizing his scent on his luggage.

It meant he had been in her house.

I learned to hate that scent.

And to hate her.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

As 2016 turned into 2017 turned into 2018 turned into 2019, and Bob continued his affair with both Kelli and me (and, I concluded, no other women--Kelli and I were the last 2 mistresses standing), my feelings about my rival oscillated with the time of day.

During the daylight hours, my practical side kick in.  Stirring up drama over or at Kelli would blow up in my face.  Bob, after all, was married, still putting his kids thru high school and college.  If either Kelli or I caused any trouble, or gave him the feeling we were going to cause trouble, he would drop us like a hot potato.  After all, he still had the other one to fall back on.  So, I would conclude, I should just be happy with what I had--the sex was damn good.  After all, I wasn't at all jealous of his wife.  And, being a mother myself, I respected the right of his kids to not have their home wrecked.

But at night, as soon as the sun would set ...... my whole mind, body, and soul burned with jealousy of Kelli.  I needed to be better than her at everything.

I needed to be better looking than her.
I needed to make more money than her.
I needed to be funnier than her.
I needed to fuck better than her.
I needed to live in a better house than her.

I needed to be able to beat her in a fight.

One night when Bob and I were in bed, when I still knew about Kelli just by her first name, Bob had noticed one of the catfight scars on my breasts leftover from my catfight with Loredona when I was at Advest.  I asked him if it bothered him; he said no, that it was a turnon, and that Kelli had three of them on her tits, from three different sets of nails.

Three?

So ..... Kelli had been in catfights.

I needed to know how the better catfighter was between Kelli and me.  I needed to know everything about her.

I needed to give her three more scars on her boobs.  And some on her face, too.

But, then .... how would Kelli and I ever be in the same place?  Maybe we'd be in Atlanta at the same time someday.

Or maybe I'd find out who she was, and go to Dallas to confront her.

Was she just as curious about, and jealous of me?  Would she confront me in Philly someday?

I'd masturbate to scenarios of Kelli and I finding each other.
Me find her in Dallas.
Her finding me in Philly.
Us both being in Atlanta.
Us coming across each other at a conference in a neutral location.
Each one made me cum in different ways.

And it probably all would have stayed in the realm of fantasy.

Until March 2020, when Covid came.  And business travel stopped.  And we all started working from home on Zoom.

And our affairs moved online--video sex.

And one day, Bob accidentally had four devices on at once.  And I saw a live video of Kelli (blonde, my age--maybe a couple years younger, my size and dimensions, sexy--she was a Texas version of me) on in the background, her last name, and the name of her company--Pulte Homes.

I spent 24/7 searching everything I could find about her on the internet.

She was married, divorced, married again, no kids as best I could tell.

I couldn't find her home address--what if I had, I wondered?

Lots of her posted pics were of her in bars.  Was that her, or just a Texas thing?

What did SHE know about ME?

Did she even care?

She seemed like she'd be a hellcat in a catfight.

Good.  There will be no reason for me to hold back.

When she and I fight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Just when I decided I was over-obsessing about Kelli and that I was wasting my time stalking her online, I had a in-person, socially distanced meeting in August 2020 in Connecticut with my husband and our tax attorney to sign our 2019 tax return.  One of the pains in the butt of staying married to someone you were physically and emotionally separated from was that you still had to file a tax return with him.  We usually had a Signing Day for our joint return every April 15, but during the first year of the pandemic, the IRS granted everyone in the U.S. and automatic extension to August 15.

Great, I thought.  I'll probably catch Covid from my impotent husband and die.  (In August 2020, there was still no approved vaccine.)

While our tax preparer collated everything to review with the two of us for us to sign, my husband and I exchanged awkward small talk. 

> I saw a business associate of yours around 4th of July.  She stopped by [our Connecticut house] and wanted to say hello.  'Girltalk' [air quotes], she said.

> Oh?  Who?

> Kelli, I think she said her name was.

> From Texas?!?!?  [louder than I wanted to say it--good thing we're in masks and my husband can't read my expression]

> Yes, you know her?  She said you'd be excited to meet her.  I told her you were out of state, and asked her if I could take a message.

> WHAT DID SHE SAY?!?!?  [I pretend I'm trying to speak loud enough to get thru the muffle of the mask, but I'm actually livid.  I was stalking the bitch ONLINE--but she was stalking me IN PERSON ..... during a pandemic!!!!]

> She said she'd already given your son the message. 

> She had is number??

> She saw him in person.  She found his videos on YouTube.

[Shit.  She found my 29-year old son?!?!?]

I text my son.

> Text me right away.  I need to know if you met a bitch named Kelli from Texas right before July.

> If she says she's pregnant, it wssn't me.  I'm infertile.

> [She slept with him?!?!?!?]  YOU SLEPT WITH HER ?!?!?!?

> Ummmm..... kinda thought me being infertile would be the headline there.

> [Shit.  My son is infertile???  I'm so obsessed with Kelli, I skipped right over that.]  You're right.  I'm sorry.  This conversation isn't appropriate by text.  We'll talk later.

My son and I will talk later.

And then that bitch Kelli and I will talk.

With our claws.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

In the last 10 months of 2020, having sex with someone not in your household was taking your life in your own hands.  Covid was circulating, and there was no vaccine yet--that didn't start until December, and healthcare workers were at the front of the line.  Besides the usual laundry list of sexually transmitted diseases you could swap with a partner, killing each other with Covid got added to the menu.  Bob and I had switched exclusively to Zoom sex not just because air travel had halted, but because we didn't want to end up on a ventilator--nothing sexy about that.

And yet, Kelli had the unmitigated gall to jeopardize my son by flying from Dallas to Hartford to fuck my son, just as a way of sending a message to me.

I was furious at her. 

My son told me that their pillow talk consisted of her craving for a female rival who was her equal.  And that she thought she had finally found one in me.

Her equal in looks.  Check.
Her equal in income.  Check.
Her equal in size and build.  Check.
Her equal in sex drive.  Check.
Her equal in fighting ability.  Check.
Her equal in loving to fight.  Check.

I was a little uncomfortable Kelli was disclosing my fight life to my son.  I don't know if he suspected all that about me, or if he was just going along with anything Kelli told him.

But Kelli and I were definitely going to fight.

Once I got vaccinated.

In the spring.

The wait seemed endless.

To be continued...

[sinclairfan]

Given that I decided that Kelli and I needed to fight, but also given that I needed to defer the fight until my second Covid dose was in me and effective. I needed to buy time in January 2021.  I also wanted Kelli to cease and desist of her wreckless visits to different people in my life.

I figured if I Zoom'd with her and made arrangements for a time and place to fight her, she and I might achieve a temporary equilibrium and not escalate the cyber- (and, her case, IRL-) stalking taking place between us.

Shit, this pandemic sucked.

I emailed a Zoom invite with a simple introduction.  "I know you.  You know me.  I'm not much into Cat-N-Mouse games.  Face me on Zoom and we can decide how to end this.  xoxo Carol."  After an exchange and counter-exchange of Proposed New Meeting Times notes, we finally found a Friday night time slot which was mutually agreeable.

I took a shower and got dressed before the video call, hoping to look my very best.

When Kelli's image came up on my Zoom screen, I could tell she had done the same.  Every pixel on the screen exuded sexiness.  I wanted to reach thru my monitor and start choking her.  But I reminded myself I needed to stay cool and to not set up a fight until after vaccination.

Kelli surprised me and came out (verbally) swinging.

> Well, well, if it isn't Carol the cxnt.  Doesn't like playing cat-n-mouse, but fucks a married man for 8 years.  Hypocritical bitch.

> If you were a mother, you would know that's done for respect of the dependent children involved.

> Ha!  Respects others' children but not her own.  Tend to your own garden before worrying about others', honey.  [Again, as with my dispute with my ex's Lithuanian lawyer, I saw red and snapped at the slightest suggestion of parental deficiencies on my part.]

>  You leave MY SON out of this, SLUT!!!!

> Oh, he's IN this.  Just like he was IN HERE, sweetheart!!!!!   [Kelli lifts her legs to the camera and plits her legs and shows her exposed pussy.  Shit, I walked right into that one.]

> You listen to me, Kelli.  MY ..... FUCKING ..... CLAWS are going to be in there, and you won't be smiling then.  Have a place in Dallas ready in May, and I'll be there to have it out with you, whore.

> May?  What the actual fuck?

> There's a pandemic in progress, asshole.  I don't want to catch a virus from you.  I'll be vaccinated then.

> I'll have a place by then.  But no guarantees I don't find you before then, Honey.  [Kelli abruptly disconnects.]

The call ends, and not a moment too soon.  My hands are already down my pants, masturbating like the world is ending.

I cum harder than I ever have before.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I spend all winter waiting patiently for all the elderly and all the healthcare workers vaccinated, and to get my turn for a jab (we didn't know yet we were going to all need boosters--we thought our vaccine made us permanently immune).

In February, most of Texas was hit by a long ice storm and power outage.  I hoped her house had frozen pipes and water damage issues.  Then I hoped it didn't as that might cause our fight to get cancelled.

In April I signed up for the J&J shot, since that was only one dose, not two.

Two days before it was scheduled, the appointment was cancelled because of safety issues with that vaccine.

I was rescheduled for a first dose of a two-dose vaccine the following month.  May.  My second dose wouldn't be until June.  This was taking forever.

I Zoomed Kelli to make sure we were still on for our fight.  She accepted.  That was a good sign.

<> Did you have water damage in February, bitch?

<> Yes, and it's no fun, asshole.

<> Good, I'm glad.

<> Jerk.  I knew I should have run the water when I was in your house last fall.

<> You've never been in this house, liar.  You're just trying to creep me out.

<> Go in the kitchen, upper left cabinet.  Tell me what's under the blender.

I hang up from the Zoom and follow her instructions.

It's an envelope with a note inside.

Hello, bitch--I can get in your house anytime I want.  Kelli

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

In June 2021, the Alpha wave of the pandemic was winding down.  We all naively thought that Covid was over, at least until seasonal mini-outbreaks every winter or so, and I impulsively bought a plane ticket to Dallas to see if I could find Kelli (and, if I could find her, to kick her ass). 

What threw me "over the hump" and actually to decide to do something so impulsive was two things.  The first was that I was pissed that Kelli had been in my house and left a note.  What if I had been home when she was in there?  Didn't she realize how ballistic I would have gone on her?  How any weapon I could get my hand on would be possibly used?  Even the Waterbury Lithuanian divorce lawyer had limits in how far she would take things with me.  Was she THAT MUCH of a risk taker??  Secondly, tho, was that airline miles of mine were expiring from quarters and quarters of deferred air travel.  My competitiveness with Kelli was not just sexual and it was not just athletic--it was financial too.  I couldn't stand the thought of my miles expiring and her even get a few hundred bucks edge on my financially.  I was THAT acutely AWARE of being better than her in any way I could that airline miles actually were on my radar.

I found out Kelli's Pulte address from Bob's secretary.  I told her I was in Dallas on business, and wanted to show Kelli her competition (me) up close.  She gave me Kelli's contact address in return for a promise of an update on how the meet-up/confrontation went.

Kelli's address was a Model Homes address in a development under construction.  I didn't expect Kelli to actually be there--I assumed I had more detective work in front of me, so I dressed like an interested home buyer so as to attract minimal attention to myself and not tip off Kelli or allow her coworkers to tip her off.

But I had guessrd wrong.

Kelli was right there in the small Sales Office as soon as I stepped in.  I recgnized her from Zoom, and she recognized me.  There were 5 sets of customers and/or agents milling around.  Kelli and I wanted to sink our claws into each other at that moment, but were unable to due to the innocent bystanders.  I considered going for her hair anyways, on the theory that she was at work (and I wasn't) and she would get fired for fighting on the job.  But I got scared that I was on her territory, and her company and the cops would not take kindly to a stranger from up north assaulting her without warning in broad daylight.

But we couldn't zip our lips, even at the risk of being overheard.

We sneered at each other under our breath, standing mere feet away from each other.  I wished I was in fight clothes now, but was grateful my enemy wasn't either.

She spoke first.

> You reckless idiot.  You come HERE??  Like THIS??

> I didn't realize you'd be here.  But who are you to talk??  You were in MY HOUSE!!  And my son's!!

> So??  Yiu fell like a big woman, now, Carol?  What now???  MAKE your move.  I'm fucking busy.

> Where can we go and settle this???  I saw a golf cart out front.

> You sure about this, sweetie??  If we start, I'm sending you home in a stretcher.

> Bring it, honey.

Kelli tells her coworker, "Gina!  I need 15 minutes.  I'm showing this woman the empty lot by the lake.  We'll take the golf cart,"

> Follow me, you impulsive slut.

Kelli and I are on the golf cart, Kelli flooring it, clearly agitated.  I hope this is like my Waterbury street fight days--the girl who can't keep her cool loses the fight.

> I'm gonna ....  KICK ..... YOUR ..... FUCKING .... ASS.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli had driven the golf cart to a rugged, semi-cleared section of the development which was completely exposed to the scorching mid-day Texas sun and heat.  The ground was flat but dry and rock-hard, with even the scattered patches of turf offering only a sharp feel to our high-heeled feet, causing us to hesitate in kicking off our heels, even though we could barely balance on the slick ground.

We were completely hidden from any human field of vision, which as recently as 5 minutes ago was what I thought I wanted.  But now that I was alone with Kelli, both of us already sweating through our linen office clothes, I became apprehensive that she knew more about this hidden location than she had let on.  Had she brought any other of Bob's lovers here over the years?  Is that why she and I were the only mistressing Bob was boinking before the pandemic locked down business travel?

Did she have plans for me besides a fair catfight?

I remembered my Waterbury street fights growing up.  The other girls would fight fair as long as someone was watching the fight, but would stab you in the back in an instant the minute the crowd got distracted or disbursed.  You never wanted to be cornered alone with one of the Lithuanian or Italian girls. 

And yet, here I was, alone with Kelli.  I should have asked Bob if she was a streetfighter in her school days.  Did she grow up in Texas?  In the city?  On a cul de sac?  (Is that why her career ended up being in residential real estate?)  On a farm?  Or a Texas cattle ranch?

Kelli and I locked up, tearing at each others' long, thick hair, awkwardly stumbing in our heels, which came off within the first 60 seconds of our fight.  The pain to our feet from stepping on the stubbly grass was excruciating, and Kelli seemed not to object when I took our fight to the ground by tossing her down by her hair.  I reflexively released my grip on her mane and began throwing punches at her face and sides, but was stunned when she sank one claw even deeper into my scalp, and another into my ckeek and forehead.  She was consciously raking my flesh and my face, a frightful sensation only multiplied by the discomfort being dealt to my senses by the scrabbly ground and mid-day heat.  And now Kelli's feet were kicking my shins, sending a stinging sensation over my entire body surface.  She palmed my entire face and pushed the back of my head into the hard ground, and squiggled her hips over my soft mid-section, forcing air out of my gut and giving my body yhe sensation of drowning. 

A v-shape opened at her legs and hips and I desperately drove my knee into her crotch with all the force I could muster, forcing a gutteral grunt out of her nose and mouth.

I was ashamed it was the first moment of the fight where I wasn't being completely dominated.  Shit, Kelli was a determined fighter.

> Why do you fucking hate me so much, bitch?

> Because you think you can go toe to toe with me, slut.

> I can.  What do you think we're fucking doing??

Kelli closed her fist and starting hitting my face.

I prayed my adrenaline would kick in soon.

Or that Kelli would get winded.

Or both.

To be continued....