In the fall of 2016, the retired-but-still-lovely Victoria, of WWE Divas fame from the early 2000s, stumbled across the cellphone number of the also-still-lovely Trish Stratus, circa the same time period. Victoria's supermodel-ish long raven mane still cascaded down her back in all its glory. Her face was perhaps not what it had been lo a decade ago, but it still turned heads. And Victoria's hard body still "closed the deal" anytime she wanted to stave off a lonely night. Man or woman, Victoria could pair up on demand with just a few hours notice. Victoria was fighting Father Time every step of the way, and quite successfully, too.
But, there was one thing which got Victoria's goat. Trish Stratus. Trish was one step ahead of Victoria. Trish had gotten several runs at WWE superstar domain, both as heel and face. This had enabled Trish to parlay her wrestling career onto the big screen in "Bail Enforcers", a mediocre but serviceable B-Movie. Thus, 25 years from now, Trish would be remembered, while Victoria would be forgotten. Trish would be immortal, Victoria a footnote. Victoria wasn't bitter, she was....ok, she was bitter. She needed to understand why. What was the secret sauce that propelled Trish to where destiny had taken her.
Victoria cold-called Trish, and after establishing that she wasn't looking for money, in gift or loan form, received a warm Canadian welcome from her contemporary. "Sure, Victoria, I insist, stay a my house a couple days in October. I love reliving Glory Days." Trish gave Victoria the address to her Manitoba luxury ranch. Victoria was responsible for getting herself to the Winnipeg airport, but Trish's people would take care of the rest.
When Victoria met Trish at the ranch, she couldn't believe her eyes. Trish hadn't aged a day. Trish's blonde hair was as thick and shiny as ever. And Trish smelled delicious as could be. When you weestle, you memorize the smell of every opponent. Trish always smelled sublime--it got Victoria every time. Despite herself, Victoria couldn't resist playfully pulling it. "Ow, ow, ow," yelped Trish, who herself grabbed a handful of Victoria's long, straight locks. "Talk first, catfight later," Victoria let slip, wondering to herself "Where did that come from?". Trish and Victoria kicked back in a relaxing Canadian hunting den, both ladies in jeans, tight as could be. But while Victoria's top and shoes were "sensible", Trish was in a sexy-as-could-be low cut top which showed her ample bust, and even sexier boots with flashing pastels. God, what a sexy woman, thought Victoria to herself. Both bashful ladies removed hair from their nails.
Trish: Do what do I owe the pleasure, old friend? We are still friends, right? No bad blood or hard feelings, I hope.
Victoria: Just the opposite, Trish. You and I always got along swimmingly, and I've been rooting for you in your career since. I do have some questions, though.
Trish: Well, ask away, girlfriend.
Victoria: So, the thing is Trish, I was never given a foil the way you got Lita. I look back, and I don't think I fulfilled my potential. Trish, what held me back. Did you sleep with Mr McMahon?
Trish: Well, first, a lady never kisses and tells, so watch yourself, missy. But, Victoria, let me pull up this YouTube video of your backstage catfight with Tori Wilson. Now, I hope we both know, with the benefit of hindsight, that although Tori was a Minnesota-nice as could be, a streetfighter she was NOT. Vickie, you shoulda cleaned her clock in this fight. But her she is, spending the whole fight on top. A streetfight, no less, Vickie. What do you think Mr McMahon thought when he saw that?
And Trish was just getting started, as the Crown Royal started to flow and inhibitions loosened. Trish proceeded to pull up on YouTube her own infamous backstage throw down, one with Lita, where one or both women could have been easily hospitalized. A textbook lesson in NHB catfighting, Victoria was simultaneously enlightened in her career underperformance, and shamed for not seeing the light until tonight.
Victoria didn't know if it was the shame or the Crown talking, but out blurted words she could never take back, "You sure are an arrogant one, now, aren't you, Trish?".
Trish's eyes searched Victoria's for signs of meaning. And what she saw was the oldest, most feminine emotion in the book. Jealousy. She saw it a lot. Something in Victoria's challenge needed to be answered. "Are we gonna do this, Vic?".
Both ladies rose simultaneously, kicking off their shoes, and instinctively moved to an area of the den clear of furniture. They moved in for a staredown. The hissing insults started. "I always thought you were a cxnt." "I've waited 10 years for this." Trish regretted inviting Victoria, but there was no turning back now. The 2 rivals were going to find out who would have been the 2004 champion of each other. Backstage style.
Victoria made the first move. Trish's glowing breasts were an irresistible target, and Victoria clawed with all her might. Trish answered skillfully with elbows to the face, but slowly, then quickly, remembered Victoria reputation for not feeling pain. Several direct blows accomplished essentially nothing. Victoria was punishing Trish's chest harshly.
For leverage, Trish went for the hairpull. With no one to interfere, this was going to be settled by women, as women. The fight went to the floor, Trish hoping to use her legs to maneuver the brunette to a draw. The two women were in a face-to-face cat ball, hissing insults into each others' faces. Victoria's clawing was ferocious, drawing blood from the former champ.
Victoria was surprised at the hatred she harbored for Trish. But fear prevented her from releasing the initiative. She was on her enemy's home turf--a loss would no doubt result in unfathomable consequences, and was thus not an option. She instinctively breast-mauled her opponent, drawing tears and shrieks of pain and then torture. She felt Trish's will to fight sapping away. And yet Victoria continued fighting, both women sweating under their tight jeans.
The fight did not last long. Victoria got on top, and slapped Trish's face repeatedly. Every ounce of jealousy came out of her and into her hands, which administered a ferocious beatdown to the blonde. Victoria collapsed in exhaustion too, finally. Twenty minutes later, she gathered her things, and exited as quickly as she could.
I coulda been a champ, thought Victoria, on the plane trip home. Why wasn't I?
