[sinclairfan]

Laying flat on my back and under Kelli, and running out of options to protect myself from Kelly's onslaught, I grabbed under her satiny blouse and latched my hands onto her breasts.  Her boobs were as large in person as they had appeared on my Zoom calls with her, and they were also firmer than I expected, confirming my suspicions that she was aroused by our fight.

Either that, or the excitement of beating me up (so far--I still had every expectation of winning this fight).

I was confirmed in my expectations that she was an experienced catfighter when she picked up immediately on what I was doing.

> Oh, are we going there, Carol?!?  Are we mauling tits???  You're going to regret doing that with me.

> Show me, bitch.

Kelli reciprocated im.ediate and tore open my blouse and raked my breasts every bit as hard as she had been raking my face.  But my plan worked--her fists finally stopped pummeling my face, and I had space to stop the pain and get my wind back.

Kelli and I alternatively moaned and shrieked as we twisted each others' breasts.  My position on the bottom of our scrum was now less of a disadvantage as I was able to pinch her underboob as gravity did the dirty work for me and exposed the entire surface area of her 38c globes, whereas mine had receded partially into my chest and were more hidden from her nails.

Kelli realized what was happening, and surrendered her mount of me, rolling to the side.  I pounced on her mistake immediately, freeing my legs and locking onto her hips with my knees pressing into her sides.  She realized her error and desperately tried to remount me, but was unsuccessful.

We were now in a side by side stalemate, our faces pressed together.

> Stupid bitch.  You could have knocked me out.

> I still intend to, slut.

> I'm going to hurt you so bad you'll never leave Texas again, Kelli.

> I go where I want, Carol. 

Kelli's determined anger at me both frightened and aroused me.  My breasts were now hardening as hers already had.

I said aloud what my body was feeling.

> This pandemic sucks.  Have you fucked since it started, Kelli?

> No.  [Oh, good.  My question doesn't shock her.]  You?

> No.  Are you thinking what I'm thinking.

> Depends.  I'm thinking thinking two things.

> Tell me, bitch.

> That we still need to finish this fight.  But ..... let's get off first.

> I'm game.

Kelli and I press our mouths against each other and open our dry lips and tongues to each others'.  Our breasts rub together and our fingers find each others' soaked pussies.

Our moans build to slow but irresistable climaxes.

> You better enjoy this.  I'm gonna kick your ass .... again .... slut.

> Fuck, what a bitch you are.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Even though Kelli and I had spent the last 10 minutes pummeling each other, and were going to spend however long we needed to after our lovemaking doing so again until only onre of us was left standing, both of us were giving in to an undeniable truth as we kissed and groped under the hot Texas sun.

The undeniable truth was that in Year 2 of Covid, Zoom sex had long since stopped "getting the job done".  Video sex with Bob was a novelty and satisfying for most of 2020, and he exploded with pleasure into a tissue of screen for me each and every time.  But although having him talk dirty to me continued to be arousing in 2021, I had stopped climaxing several Zoom sessions ago, no matter how hard each of us tried to make it happen.

Earlier this afternoon, as I felt Kelli's flesh on mine, my body thrilled to the flesh on flesh feeling that could only happen in person.  I had never advanced beyond experimental early-20s Music School teaching with another woman, but as soon as Kelli and I began kissing, I craved an entire fuck session with her, even if the circumstances of it being mid-catfight couldn't be more discordant.

Kelli's and my arousal was evident in the noises our breathing was making, in the firmness of our breasts and nipples, in the moistness of our pussies as we presented them to each other.  Just like making love to a man, I decided.

And, yet, ...... different too.

I wanted to talk to Kelli as we kussed and fondled.

We alternated between kissing each other on the neck and shoulders wjlhile the other one spoke, getting more aroused by the minute.

> Where'd you learn to fight like that?

> Couple places.  Growing up, after school, no parents in the neighborhood.  Then at a gym--,aerobics instructor who taught me.  You?

> Same.  First at a private school in the middle of no where.  Then on the streets of Waterbury, Connecticut.  Outside liquor stores.

> I love fighting.  But they always end too quick.  Until you.  [Our breathing is now deep and fast.  My pussy is on fire.]

> I thought this might be a fast one.  You were mounting and punching me so hard.

> You can take a punch, Carol.  Lots of them.  You never turn away from a hit like other women.

> I know that you just get hit more when you do that.

Kelli and I return to kissing on the mouth, our tongues flicking against each other despite being parched.  I can tell we're near orgasm.

> Kelli.  Mount me, and fuck my face.

I lay flat on my back, and Kelli straddles my mouth.  She grinds her hips while pulling my hair hard.  Her pussy explodes into my mouth.  I taste it, and enjoy it.  She rolls off of me, and looks me in the eye.

> I suppose you want to do the same to me now, Carol.

> [I desperately need to finish.  To climax.]  Can I?

> [Her face gets angry.]  No.  No you may not.

> [[I attempt to mount her anyways, my pussy throbbing with desire.  Kelli and I lock hands, as I attempt to mount her.]  Lay down, slut.

> [Kelli resists, pushing back on me.  We look each other in the eye.]  Bitch, don't you get it?  No means no.

> You're a sick fuck.

> Then what does that make you?  [Kelli slaps my face.  We're not making love anymore.  We're fighting again.]

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I mount Kelli and pin her, holding her wrists firmly with my hands as she attempts, unsuccessfully, to punch my boobs.  Her punches have lost force as she is tired from riding my face and cumming.  The salty taste of her cum irriates my lips and mouth, and I'm in a damn cranky mood.

Cranky, but with perks.  For one, my pin of my rival fulfills a fantasy I always had of pinning my ex-husband's blonde, bitchy Lithuanian divorce lawyer under me.  The feeling of dominance is a head rush, and I have no intention any time soon of un-mounting Kelli.  Mounting one of the streetfighting Waterbury girls always signified a victory, and I'm grateful Round 2 with Kelli is going better than our debacle of a Round 1.

Also, though, I thrill to the thought of costing Kelli her job and her career.  She's been AWOL from her job for thirty minutes and counting now, and will be returning to her office naked.  I'm naked as well, bur can get in by car and drive back to my privste Airbnb.  I'll have no one to answer to.  Unless Pulte runs a loose ship, Kelli was have 'splainin' to do.

I think about how thrilled I was when Loredona from Advest lost her banking career to downsizing, then her house to foreclosure.  The house I had fought her in.

I loved dominating other bitches financially.  Owning them romantically was sweet.  And beating them financially was even sweeter. 

Kelli, as is becoming usual, reads my mind.

> Get off me now, bitch.

> Push me off, whore.

> Get off of me, Carol.  I have a job.

> Not once I'm done with you..... Kelli.

Calling each other by our given somehow comes across as meaner than calling each other 'bitch' or 'slut'.

Meaner ..... because it's more personal.

Like both sleeping with the same man for years.  Until the pandemic came.

The feeling I'm getting right now is more satisfying than any orgasm would be.

I think about how my second husband and I grew apart due to his impotence.  He could still make me orgasm by eating my pussy.

But it was never satisfying.  For that, I needed him in me.  Not all night, or even for an hour at a time, but at least some morning wood every 5am.  That would have been enough.  To feel him need me. 

I need Bob to need me.  And not be sharing him with Kelli.

I see the catfight scars on her boobs Bob told me about.

I'm going to give her some more.

Right now.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli and I fighting alone in a secluded field, along with her mention of youthful after-school catfights, reminds me of a 1980s snowstorm incident at my Litchfield County music boarding school.  It was a lazy Saturday in January, and a wet heavy snow started falling and accumulating on the crunchy icy snow already on the ground from earlier storms.  Someone outside yelled "snowball fight!!", and a bunch of us ran outside and split up into teams based on our dorms.

The mix of wet and icy snow to assemble weapons was a mischief-maker's paradise--the 2-step process, if course, was the break off a sharp shard as the inner core of your snowball, then pack the fresh hard stuff around it.  When the ball hit your enemy, the fresh layer would crumble off and your target would get a taste of buckshot from the ice you had inserted.  Anyone who didn't already know this learned fast that January day.

There was a girl in the other dorm named Laura.  She and I didn't care for each other, although we never spoke much about whatever our issue was.  During Waterbury beer runs, she and I would watch each others' streetfights against the immigrant girls, no doybt secretly hoping to watch the other suffer a vicious beating.  But that never seemed to happen--we were both almost always victorious.

She and were surreptitiously lobbing snow grenades at each other during the snowball fight, being careful to mix in throws at other girls (and a few participating boys--most were smart enough to stay indoors, knowing how barbaric girl snowball fights can get) so as not to draw direct attention to ourselves.

I saw Laura sustain a hit to her eye and retreat to the sidelines the evaluate her injuries and dry off.I snuck around to check her out, and even possibly "finish her off" with a direct shot of snow, when the lines of battle behind us started to break off into chaotic snow brawling.  Laura seemed to retreat further, so I followed her.  I got within 10 feet of her, and she could hear my boots crunching in the snow.  Her eyes were tearing from cold ice on her skin, and I stared out of genuine concern if she was ok.

But she squared up and stared at me right back, reaching in her coat for a pair of leather gloves, put them on, and said "Let's go, bitch".

I thought of how when NHL ice hockey players fight, they square up and remove their gloves.  Laura and I were now standing in a blizzard, squared up, and putting gloves on.

I thought it was primal as hell.

The actual fight wasn't as great as the set up.  Wearing full winter gear, hats, coats, boots, it's really hard to do much harm with a punch.  And the ground was soft as a baby's bottom with fresh snow, so no injuries were even really possible to us when we fell to the ground in a catball.

Betwern the mutual realization that there would be no winner in our battle, and a distant shout of "Hey, look everyone! , Laura and Carol are fighting!!", our skirmish quickly ended.

But I masturbated for years to the thought of wounded, crying Laura turning to face me to fight.

I wonder.  When this fight with Kelli ends, will I masturbate to it?

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Despite the oppressive late-day Texas sun, I enjoy the powerful feeling of Kelli being under me.  We're in a slalemate from a fight perspective--her nails are digging into my wrists, and I'm unable to either slap or punch her face.  But she has tried numerous times to squirm out from under me, or to knee my kidneys to dislodge me from her, and has been unsuccessful.

I feel bold enough to start taunting her.

> You came into my house and put that note in my cabinets, Kelli??  Really?  How fucked up is that?

> You're married and fucking a man on business trips??  You're one to talk!

> [I realize I don't even know Kelli's marital status.  She's not wearing a ring, and doesn't have tan lines on her ring finger.]

But I'm not wearing a ring on MY finger, either, I realize.  When did I stop wearing my wedding ring.  After my first marriage failed, I swore I'd do it right the second time.  But that marriage went even worse than the first.  And ended in sexual separation even faster.

I think about my lapse into .... and out of .... Catholicism during the interlude between my first and second failed marriages.  I really believed .... I still believe .... all the tenants of the Catholic Faith.  That God the Father is real.  That Jesus is His only Son, and died for our sins.  That the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son.

I look down at Kelli's hips.  She has a tattoo--a cross tattoo.

Inspiration comes over me.  [Perhaps it's the Holy Spirit Himself?]

> Kelli?  That tattoo?  Can I ask your something personal?

>  I suppose.

> Well??  Can I??  [What a bitch.]

> Fine.  Ask.

> Did you get it .... after a divorce.

> [Kelli's non-answer is more telling than any verbal answer would have been.  We're both divorced.  We've both felt the pain, the emptiness, the gap.  The failure.  Neither of us will ever get over it.]

> You're a kickass fighter.

> You are, too.  You alrwady knew that.

> It's still good go hear it.

I fall into Kelli's embrace.  It takes awhile to kiss, but we eventually do it.

She kisses really good.  I hope she thinks the same if me.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli and I, bruised, sweaty, and topless, get off the ground where we just had our inconclusive 2-round catfight.  Back to reality.  She's on the job, and I'm 1,500 miles from home.  (Philly to Dallas is a long flight.  I need to get back home in 2 days.  My email inbox is probably already overflowing.)

Does Kelli still have her Pulte job?  I'm afraid to ask.  When we got on the golfcart to fight, she walked out of a sorta-busy sales office.  Where do they think she's been?  Are they upset?

Kelli and I get on the golfcart, both of us covering up as best we can with what's left of our shirts.  I look at Kelli's bare back.  She's 47 or 48, I think.  But she has the skin of a 25 year old.  Southern Living, I guess.  Maybe I should move South.

No wonder she fucks who she wants, when she wants.

She drives us to a model home.  She has a key tucked in the golfcart.  She brings me in.  "There's a closet full of clothes in here.  Antiperspirant, too.  No brush, tho.  Just do the best you can with your hair."

Kelli and I watch each other clean up.  Shit, she has every angle covered.

" So..... I gotta ask.  This back up plan of yours--a secret place to clean up:  This isn't the first time you've used it, I take it."

"No comment."

"No, no .... that's not my question.  My question is ..... when you've used it .... hypothetically, of course .... did you clean up from a fight?  or from fucking?".

"Which would YOU use it for?".

"If I had YOUR job .... if the client was a man .... and I brought him back in the middle of no where .... I want it to fuck."

"And if the client was a woman?  Woman can fuck, too ya know."

"True.  But if it was a woman client .... I'd use it to fight.  IF she was a good size and age matchup with me."

"Hmmmmm."

"So ..... I'm not gotta get an answer from ya, am I?"  [Both of us are smirking.  Not quite serious, but not completely playful, either.  There's still a small bit of tension between us.  We recognize we each won a round of our fight.]

"Maybe tonight you can come to my place and try and beat an answer out of me."

"Is that what you do .... when a woman won't answer you?".

"Sometimes, ....  for that reason, or another reason.  And sometimes for no reason at all."

"Just for the challenge?".

"Ya .... something like that."

"I do enjoy a challenge.  That fight ended 1-1.  Seems a liitle .... inconclusive."

"I agree.  You free tonight?".

"Where do you live?".

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli and I are so competitive that we know we can't leave our 1-1 catfight in a tie--one of us needs to be the victor.  We would both rather lose, trying to get a win, than just settle for being equal.

Symbolic of our neurotic, compulsive competitiveness is our discloure to each other of our "number", our net worth.  Mine is $4.8 million, hers is $4.1 million.  But I have 7 years on her, so we both walk away happy--I'm ahead for now, but Kelli can now tryand pass by 2021 number by the time she's my age.  And .... given her employment at Pulte in a scorching housing market, she probably will.

Hey, told ya we're compulsively competitive. 

No such win-win scenarios are available in our catfighting ability--either I will beat her tonight, or she will beat me.

We try to maintain a modicum of sanity to our war by sharing each others' Catholic Mass attendance when we were down and out after our divorces.  Kelli shares that she met lonely middle aged and young man at Mass.

> They'd pick you up at Mass?  How is that not flaunting the adultery commandments??

> Because they usually didn't want sex; just talking, and maybe kissing.  Usually very little more.  One guy just wanted me to pole dance.

Maybe they were impotent.  Like my second husband.  Why do Kelli and me attract impotent men?

I'd delve into that with more if she were my friend.

But we're not friends.  We're enemies.

Enemies who are going to catfight tonight until one of us is defeated.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Unlike Kelli's Sunday Mass pickups, neither of us want talking or kissing.  And especially not from each other.  I'm definitely straight--I'm not homophobic, but I'm just plain not attracted to women.  Never have been, either.  Even when I was in my Litchfield County boarding school for years, and many of my dorm mates wluld experiment with late night kissing and breast fondling, I just had no interest.  Kissing a girl was like kissing a .... pillow.  And I only know just-the-basics about Kelli, but same-sex attraction or even experimentation just isn't a priority.  She likes men--confident, cocky men--successful men.   (Her fling with my son was just to troll me.  She dropped him after she had bedded him.)

So Kelli and I have no sexual interest
in each other.  We don't rev each others' engines.

BUT

It's been a long pandemic.  Both of us were used to regular sex before the pandemic.  Good sex, intense sex.

Masturbating on Zoom was good, as a novelty, at start.  But it's gotten old.  And unfulfilling.

And we've both been without sex for other a year and a half.  And we're both horny as fuck right now.

We have a fight to finish.  And we will.

But first, we both want to get off.  With each other.

Meaningless, commitment-free fucking.  Like my 1990's Advest banking days.

We strip naked, and get in the Boston crab position, opening our legs to each other.  I've never scissored, but I'm willing to learn.

> I hate you, Kelli.

> I hate you more, Carol.

> That's not possible.

We're literally hate-fucking.

Our thighs bang together, awkwardly at first, but eventually rhymically.  Kelli's body is incredibly toned for a 48 year old.  Her pussy is slick as an oil spill.  She's fingering her clit.  I'm pinching my right tit.

This is just about getting off.  No performance anxiety.

I love it.

> Fuck you, Kelli.

> Go fuck yourself, Carol.

Both of us come in waves.  This is better than hooking up with a man.

No reboot time.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Deciding to have sex with someone you're not in love with, and who doesn't love you, is a difficult choice for a woman.  I think back to my 1990s Advest years, when I was still married to my Lithuanian chef, but decided to start sleeping with Advest bankers from work.  At first, I would only sleep with one's who I had had non-work conversations with, thinking that even though we weren't in love at the moment, we would be after a couple times of fucking each other.

My bubble was burst when I slept with the Advest banker who was the career mentor of my rival Loredona.  He and I had talked about the Hartford Whalers, their persisten threat to move South to a bigger market (they eventually moved to Raleigh, North Carolina in 1997; a devastating blow to the ego of downtown Hartford), and whether he and his spouse and myself and my spouse should buy seasons tickets in hopes they would stay in Connecticut.  We didn't love each other yet, but maybe we were compatible.

He propositioned me, and the sex started scorchingly.  Little foreplay--his tongue finding the roof of my mouth immediately and aggressively.  Him penetrating me before I was 100% ready.  Juvenile..... but exciting.  I went with it.  I yielded to him completely.

Then my trust was shattered utterly.  He started calling me 'Loredona'.  Repeatedly.  Passionately.

Loredona.
Fuck me, Loredona.
Suck me off, Loredona.
Ride my face, Loredona.
You're ... so .... fucking .... hot .... Loredona.

Was he doing this by accident?
On purpose?
Which was worse?
Did he want me to be calling out his name?
A different male name?

Impulsively, I say to him, "Loredona is a bitch.  I hate her."

He doesn't respond, but instead keeps plowing me.

"And she hates me."

He keeps fucking me, oblivious to be words and their meaning.

I let him keep fucking me.  I get that 'cheap' feeling about me that advice columns always talk about, but that I've never expeeienced.

We don't talk about it .... or anything, really .... after we fuck.

Three days later, we fuck again.  And the same thing happens.  He calls me Loredona the whole time.  I tell him how much I hate her.  And want to fight her.

We're talking past each other.

As Kelli and I scissor in her bed, I realize that for the first time since my Advest days in the 1990s, I'm fucking someone I don't love.

But I can't say no to it.  The pandemic, and the lack of business travel, was too long without skin-on-skin sex.

And my impotent husband--why does he still sext with women?

Why doesn't he sext with me?

I'd enjoy it.  Does he realize that?

I look at Kelli orgasming across from me in the bed.  Lost in her own thoughts, just like I am.

54 years old.  And sex is still a mystery to me.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli and I sit naked and exhausted on her bed, criss-cross applesauce style, facing each other.  We lean in close enough to each other to be nose to nose.  I can smell her breath.  Trickles of sweat run down her erect breasts.  Does that mean she's aroused?  That's what it means when mine are erect.

She surveys my body.  I'm glad that I stayed in shape on my Peloton during the pandemic.  I hope she's jealous of it.  I have stretch marks from child birth; Kelli has none.

I hope she's jealous of that, too.  Is that why she fucked my son?

Kelli wants to talk.  I guess we're not going to fight yet.  Is she waiting for her arousal to go away?

> What's the biggest guy you've ever fucked, Carol?  I mean his dick, not his size.

> Ya, thanks for clarifying.

> Answer the question, wise ass. 

> [I actually don't have a lot of notches in my bedpost in that area.  Even my Advest lovers weren't well-endowed.  I disclosed that to my Atlanta lover.  Did he then disclose it to Kelli?  Does she already know the answer?  Is she trying to prove she can one-up me?]  Why don't YOU tell ME the biggest guy you fucked, bitch?

> I fucked a Dallas Maverick.  Then a Dallas Cowboy.

> [What a fucking slut.  What does Bob see in her?]  Neither of them wanted to put a ring on it, huh?

> Maybe they did.  But I like my freedom.  And anyways, athletes are lost souls once their career is over.

> [I sense Kelli projecting.  I pounce.]  Oh?  So I take it YOU'RE an ex-jock, Kel?  Lemme guess:  peaked in high school?

> [Kelli's face is stung.  She's intimidated that I read her so well.]  I haven't peaked yet, Carol.  You're a real anti-social wise ass.  People tell you that often?

> Less often than you think of it.  Apparently.

Kelli and I are not just nose to nose now, but mouth to mouth.  Our conversation seamlessly melts into kissing. 

Rough, aggressive kissing.

Gawd, I miss kissing so much, I now realize.

Kelli and I pull each others' hair as we kiss.

We're hurting each others' mouths.

Whether it was caused by her bygone athletic Glory Days, Kelli really is a lost soul.

> Fuck you, Carol.

> Fuck you, bitch.

We continue kissing for a half hour.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The rough kissing with Kelli arouses a desire in me, but not sexual desire.  I have a desire to hit Kelli, and to be hit by her.

Our catfight in the sun at the undeveloped lot was exciting and sweaty and personal, but it was too static, with both of us pinning each other to the grassy ground.  My house fight with Loredona moved from room to room inside her house, the setting constantly changing.

I want to fight Kelli like that.

> Fight me, Kelli.

> I'll fight you, Carol.

> Hit me.  [She punches my face.  The closed fist surprises me.  But I'm ok with that.  I close my fist and punch her breast.  I stun her, as I was hoping to do.]

I think of Kelli's fucking the Dallas Cowboy and the Dallas Maverick.  I think of my Advest days in Hartford in our 1990s heydey, when one of the Advest bankers had a Hartford Whaler as a client.  He asked me if I wanted the Whaler's phone number and address--I saw that he lived in Glastonbury, a well-to-do suburb of Hartford.  I asked the banker if the Whaler was married.  He said he was, and showed me a Connecticut Magazine picture of his wife. 

She was a beautiful blonde, rubbing shoulders in a gown at a blacktie fundraiser.  I had fantasies of getting the Whaler's phone number, consummating an affair with him, and then his beautiful blonde wife finding out and confronting me, wearing her elegant black tie gown.

I pictured her and me engaging in a vicious catfight in my house, her defending her man and her home and her marriage and her National Hockey League salary and lifestyle.  She would hit me harder than even the Waterbury immigrant girls, angered by my affair with her husband.

The fight would be more exciting than the sex.  And might even last longer.

I never followed thru with the offer of the Glastonbury phone number.  I didn't want the Advest banker to get in trouble for disclosing confidential personal data.

But, now I could get the house fight over a lover which I had been craving, had always craved.  Kelli was the fight opponent I had wanted since I found out about her, that she and I shared a lover.

Kelli and I get off the bed and face each other, fists cocked and jabbing at each other.  We hold nothing back, needing to know who between us is the better fighter, the better woman.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Kelli and I stand with out left hand holding the back of each others' hair, while our right hands alternate between punching and slapping each other in the face.  We remain standing, going from bedroom to hallway to living room to dining area to kitchen.

Our fight in the kitchen feels erotic to me, as I recall my house fight with Loredona as Advest slowly fell apart, as well as Kelli having somehow snuck into my Philly house and placed a note in my pantry when we were playing our long distance game of Cat and Mouse. 

We're playing one last game right now, which is to see who the Best Catfighter is between the two of us.

Earlier today, we both had each other pinned on the ground in the hot Texas sun for about 20 minutes each.  That battle, and our afternoon and evening of hate-sex in Kelli's bed, has left both of us satiated and exhausted.  This fight will eventually result in one of us winning.

But at what cost?

The loser will be badly injured.  I'd feel bad if it was me.  And even worse if it was Kelli.

Do I have a soft spot for her because she gave my son a night of great sex?

And gave me an afternoon of intense fighting ....  and sex?  In the midst of an isolating pandemic.

> Kelli.  Would you be offended ...  if I offered you a draw?

> [Kelli thinks about my offer.  She hits me in the face, testing my resolve, which I answer by hitting her back just as hard.  I'm offering her a draw, not a surrender.  She releases her painful grip on my hair, and I do the same to her.]  Fine.  Draw.  That was a good fight.  [We kiss on the mouth.  Kelli goes to the fridge, and offers me a bottled water.]  Carol..... you and that Lithuanian lawyer .... are both lucky she didn't take you up on your challenge to fight her.

> You're probably right.

I fly home the next morning.

I log onto Facebook to see if my ex-husband is still married to his Lithuanian divorce lawyer.

He is.

And she's head of the firm now.

What a bitch.

I masturbate to the thought of calling her and fighting over him, all these years later.

I wonder .... does she think about it, too?

I decide it's best if I never know.

Sometimes it's best to let life be win-win.

Everything doesn't need to be win-lose.

Does it?

i email Kelli.

"You're a really good fighter."  xoxo Carol

She doesn't write me back.

THE END

[Miah Baker]

That was a great story, thanks  really enjoyable

[Dude64]

I hope you kick that whores ass Kelli! Your the best!

[sinclairfan]

Epilogue

In February 2022, when Russia invaded Ukraine and the financial markets went crazy, I thought of my two rivals, Kelli and the Lithuanian divorce attorney who represented my first husband.

I thought of Kelli, because we had shared our net worth "number"s in 2021, after our fight.  I was somewhat ahead of her at the time, but she still had 6 years on me to catch up, since she was 48 at the time and I was 54.  Since her net worth was heavily in real estate and mine was in stocks and fixed income, which was losing value by the week in January and February 2022, I figured she may have surpassed me.  I set up a Zoom with her to ask if she wanted to compare notes.  Although she was closing in on me, she hadn't yet gotten the gap down to zero.  But we both got horny from the conversation--me, because I was still ahead of her; her, because she was getting closer to me.  We took off our tops and had Zoom sex.  It was wonderful, we agreed, and hoped to talk again.

I called the Lithuanian attorney.  She was arranging aid and housing for Ukrainian refugees.  We expressed relief that we had never fought each other.  My ex-husband was raking in beaucoup money because of the shortage of chefs in the restaurant industry.  That made me jealous, but I forgave him.  And her.  Sorta.

I hope the world goes back to normal soon.