[sinclairfan]

INTRODUCING MYSELF

Howdy from Texas.  My name is Tina.  I'm 55 years old, and have lived in Texas that entire time.  Hurricane Harvey last month reminded me that life is short.  I wasn't affected directly; I'm up north is Dallas.  But I might be affected next time, by some other disaster or personal calamity.  Time to say out loud something I've been keeping bottled up for 20 years.  Thank you for listening.

I grew up outside San Antonio in the 1970s.  The city was changing--it was growing fast.  The new people coming in often came from faraway place--California, Illinois, Missouri--And at least one of the parents usually worked a job for a corporation.  That was a big change from the Texas my parents were used to, where you tended to work for a small local business; or even better, be your own local business-- hardware store owner, a lawyer, a doctor.  The corporate types coming in were partly exotic, partly menacing.  Exotic, in that they had all these non-cash perks we couldn't touch but could sense:  company cars, paid vacation time, frequent flier miles, pre-arranged discounts at certain stores, company picnics and holiday parties.  My parents' social life resolved around the local country club.  The corporate parents had no need for the local country club--all the family fun they needed was affiliated with their company.  And that was the vaguely menacing part.  They participated in our community, but only as a backup plan.  There was a snobbishness they gave off, whether they meant to or not.  "If I have nothing better to do, THEN I'll go to your church/swim in your pool/come to your cookout.  (And they would calculate out the cost versus the benefits, to them, of applying for membership at the country club.  And typically decline.)

My parents and I never verbalized this.  But we felt it.  Every household in the development was either a country club household or a corporate household.

Mine was country club.  Teresa's was corporate.

Ahhh, Teresa.  She and I were frenemies before that word was invented.  I'm pretty sure it was invented just for us.  Our lives have been twisted and tangled since we met in 1976, the summer before we started high school.  Our frenemy-ship started even before we met that summer-Teresa's mom had found out that we would be in the same development, starting the same school in a few weeks, and asked my mom if Teresa could "tag along" with me the first few days, until Teresa got her feet wet in the school.  I was bitchy about the whole thing--I didn't want my style crimped while making a first impression, and I thought Teresa was being a "big baby" anyways--9th grade was the perfect time to gracefully start high school in our district, since the high school was a combination of a handful of public 5 thru 8 and Catholic K thru 8 districts.  So, everyone was meeting everyone anyways the first few weeks--I didn't see why Teresa needed special hand holding.

Well, leave it to my mom, but my "big baby" comment got back to Teresa.

I don't think she's ever forgiven me for it.

Now, girlfighting.  This is the part of the story I know you care about.  No, Teresa and I did not fight when she heard my "big baby" comment.  Our fight was still 20 years down the road.  You're going to have to be patient.

By high school in Texas in the 1970s, most every girl had tried two things:  kissing, and fighting.  The kissing was definitely intended to lay the foundation for more kissing (and, yes, eventually sex--AIDS didn't arrive until 1982).  But the fighting was different.  If you were no good at it, no biggie, but your fighting career was over.  No one would pick on you about it (or, as we call it today, "bully you" just because you couldn't fight).  But you were just understood to be one of the girls who wasn't a fighter.  That was probably two-thirds of the girls at our school.

The other third, including me?  Well, that's where things got complicated.

Without meaning to, the girls who could fight were constantly sorting ourselves into a hierarchy.  Every girlfight always had a winner and a loser.  If there were two girls who had just lost a fight, well, they were probably going to fight soon.  And if there were 2 girls who had just won a fight?  Well, the chatter would start about who would win a fight between the two of them.  So, after most of middle school of winners fighting winners and losers fighting losers, our town had a pretty well-defined food chain.  And I was one of the "survivors" sitting on top.  I was 6 wins, no losses.  One of the Queens of the Hill.  I wasn't the only one.  But there weren't to many of us.  Maybe 3 or 4 undefeated girls in the high school.  And let me tell you, we made sure to stay out of each others way.  Because we knew if we ever crossed paths, no matter how innocently, well, watch out.

Now, I never planned any of this for myself.  Why was I such a good girlfighter?  Honestly, i was probably just a good athlete.  Family lore has it that one of my ancestors was a Hall of Fame catcher for the Philadelphia Athletics and Detroit Tigers.  If i was born 10 years later, I probably would have played softball or women's soccer.  But in 1976, if you were a girl, boys played football, and girls fought or fucked.

I fought.

And Teresa....kissed.

The bitch wasted no time finding a boyfriend.  A junior.  A boy I had always liked, named Buddy, for Buddy Baker, the NASCAR driver.  Between Teresa being "corporate", between our "big baby" mini-drama, and now this.......i was totally fucking jealous of her.

For all of 1976.

For all of 1977.

For all of 1978.

Her boyfriend graduated.  Good, I thought, he'll go away to college.

He didn't.  At the last minute, he got homesick, and stayed in town for junior college.

They rubbed my face in this for the rest of 1978.

For all of 1979.

For the first half of 1980.  Teresa and I graduated high school.  Buddy graduated junior college.  Teresa and Buddy got into University of Texas at Austin.  They rented an apartment there.

I was still a virgin.  A frustrated one.

I got into Texas A&M.  But I didn't show.

I got a job at home. 

I watched Teresa grow up with Buddy, living the life with him I was supposed to be leading.

I was spinning my wheels.

I stopped avoiding the other undefeated girls.  One in particular, and blonde named Lisa.

Back at the high school, on a Friday night, at a football game, she and I ran into one another in the bleachers.  She said she was surprised to see me, wasn't I at A&M.  "Naw, changed my mind.  Decided I still had loose ends back home."  She lifted her eyebrows at me at that one.  "Nothing like settling loose ends."  I propositioned her as if we were flirting lovers:  "Wanna get out of here and go somewhere?".  "Thought you'd never ask."

In the Friday night dark, Lisa and I went to a dark alley on the road from the high school toward the older section of town.  Without any preliminaries, we started beating the shit out of each other.  There was no fight strategy at all between us, other than to make one of us lose our membership in the undefeated fight club.  Hairpull, scratches, punches, kicks, knees--we threw the kitchen sink at each other, holding nothing back.

I didn't last super long.  She knew she had been in a fight.  But she got me on the ground, and took full advantage.  I don't know how I made it home that night, because both my eyes were nearly swollen shut.

It was fall 1980.  I had nothing.  No job, no prospects, no boyfriend.  And now I wasn't even one of the few undefeated catfighters.

While Teresa shacked up in Austin with the boy I wanted.

Actually, I did have 2 things.  My youth.  And my looks.  I would use them to get back at Teresa.

[sinclairfan]

A NEW FRIEND

The Monday morning after our streetfight in the alley, Lisa called me at home.  She asked me if I was ok after our fight; I told her I was, and asked her the same.  I think what we were asking each other wasn't about fight injuries.  It was that we had fought, alone, in an iffy part of town, on a football Friday night, with hundreds of drunk football fans out all night partying.  One or both of us could have easily been overpowered by some bad dudes on our way home; both of us had obviously been feeling a bit guilty over the weekend, and as the fight winner, Lisa had been the bigger person and reached out.

The ice broken, she continued, "My parents are at work until tonight.  I have the house to myself and the key to the vodka cabinet.  Wanna come over?  Vodka doesn't leave a smell on your breath; your parents will never know."  I suddenly felt more mature than Lisa:  First of all, the vodka-doesn't-smell thing i knew to be an urban legend.  Second, even though I was living at home, I was 19 and my parents treated me that day--Ithat didn't give a shit if I drank with a friend at 10am Monday morning.

"Sure, be right over."

When i get to Lisa's, She's already glowing and, ummm, happy, obviously with some drinks already in her.  She sees my eyes, and says, "Ouch, nice shiners."  "Yep, tanks so much for giving 'em to me, Lees."  We hug.  "I'm sorry.  Let's not fight again.  That could have easily been me."

We decide to clear the air and get the topic of our fight out in the open first.  We both establish that when we entered high school, we were both aware of each other's undefeated record, and fully expected to tangle eventually.  She said she had been in my development a couple times for parties, for example one Halloween Party freshman year.  She had followed the Texas 1970s middle school custom of, when you want to fight another girl, going to the street outside her house, having a friend ring the doorbell, and "calling her out", literally.  That particular night, I was apparently away at a different party, and so a showdown fight had been avoided.  Lisa continued, "Every May, last day of school, I was like, how did I not fight Tina this year?  And then after senior year, when I thought you went to A&M, I assumed, well we're never gonna fight.  Until I saw you at the football game last Friday.  That's why I caught your eye.  I was hoping we would fight.  And when you said yes, and we were walking to the alley, I felt, so, alive.  And the fight was so intense."

"I know, me too.  I was in such a rut all summer and fall.  I feel like you brought me out of  it."

"Tina, I know this is personal, but no boyfriend."

The vodka must have been in effect, because next I said,

"Lisa, I'm a virgin.  And boys can tell.  Which makes me stay a virgin."

"Whoa.  As long as we're confessing.....umm, this isn't a line.  To, you know, pick you up.  Just saying.  I fucked a couple boys.  And, ummm, I didn't like it.  I just fuck girls."

I acted cool and detached, but in September 1980 Texas, coming out of the closet to someone was a freaking bombshell.  I had seen Lisa kissing boys in the hallway and at dances in high school.  I would have never guessed.

I felt, I guess, bonded with her, about us expecting to fight for so long and finally doing it.  Then making up over it.  And now knowing each other's deepest darkest sexual secret.  I felt I needed to reach out to her, to make her feel safe over what she had just told me.

"Lisa, I'm straight.  In fact, remember Buddy, 2 years ahead of us, going to UT?  I have a crush on him."

"He's seeing Teresa, right?"

"Ummm, ya, more on that later.  Well, anyways, I'm straight.  But if we can do it without messing up our new, ummm, friendship, wanna mess around a little?  Like, no carpet munching, but wanna mess around?"

"You read met mind.  Again."

Lisa and I tenderly kiss.  I had said "no carpet munching", and she respected that, and good thing.  I'm still straight, but our make out session was ssssuuuccchhhh a turn on.  If she had tried to take it further, I totally would have.  But we kept it at that; messing around.

And we repeated that on Tuesday.

And Wednesday.

And Thursday.

On Friday, her mom was home, and we had to just talk on the phone.

We talked about Teresa--our weird, unresolved "frenemy" situation.  My crush on her man.

That weekend, Lisa and I tossed around an idea.  "Do you want to move to Austin and get an apartment?  We can work as waitresses.  And you can try and steal Buddy from Teresa."  Unspoken was that Lisa could be in the only place in Austin where lesbians could go out in public.

We saved our money from September till December.  We signed a lease for a 2-bedroom for January 1981.

Watch out, Teresa.

[sinclairfan]

MY AUSTIN YEARS

Now, wait a minute you say.  You moved to Austin to be near Buddy and Teresa in 1981, but you and her didn't fight until 1997?  How is that possible?  Doesn't exactly sound like the white hot rivalry you promised in the title.

And, candidly, in 1981, it wasn't yet.  I was a 19 year old virgin, precocious in some ways, but naive in others.  First, my obsession with Buddy wasn't Lifetime-level.  Just the opposite--she being 2 years older than Teresa and me gave him an "older brother" vibe, rather than a traditional boyfriend.  Second, UT is a damn big college, and was even in 1981--Teresa, Buddy, Lisa, and I weren't in each other's face all the time.  Finally, Lisa and I were two working girls, exhausted from full timed work, and pinching our pennies.  We were also toying with the idea of taking classes--UT in state tuition in 1981 was, I shit you not, $182 per semester.  I opened by saying I have regrets--one Texas sized regret is that, at that price, I never got a degree at UT.  A bachelor's in, fuck, anything.  Phys Ed.  Basket weaving.  4 years of college for a little over a grand??  And I decline?  Fuck, what was I thinking?

Life is so easy to live in hindsight.

Anyways, I'm not going to bore you with the details of my 20-something Austin years.  I know you're just here for the girl fights. 

Fast forward to April 1983.  Spring weekend.  I finally get Buddy drink alone.  (P.S.  I'm still a virgin at that point.  Isn't that pathetic?)  I learn a secret about Buddy.  He has quite a porno fetish.  This is 1983--there's no internet, VCRs are still no.  Playboy is the gateway to porno.  Penthouse is the real thing.  Especially their girl on girl pictorials.  Buddy is obsessed with them. I get a wicked idea.

I tell Buddy I know where he can watch real girl on girl.  My roommate Lisa.

Confession time:  it was pretty low of me to pump out my roommate.  I was reinforcing every neandertal stereotype of lesbians being sluts.  Lisa wasn't thrilled with me making this offer without running it by her.  I sold it to her as a way for me to get closer to Buddy.  To keep him from Teresa.  Lisa agreed, but I'm ashamed of that even today.

Lisa found one of her Austin lesbian girlfriends.  They did, not what real lesbians do, but what Penthouse lesbians do, in front of Buddy.  They "fluffed" him, for me to lose his virginity to him. I had finally slept with Buddy.  It wasn't great sex.

But I had lost my virginity.  And had fucked Buddy.

Watch out, Teresa.

[sinclairfan]

THE EIGHTIES

From April 1983, when I joined Teresa in the "Lost Our Virginity To Buddy" Club, until Ocober 1988,  Teresa finished her degree at UT, and got a corporate office job at Southwestern Bell, while Buddy dropped out of college and sponges off of Teresa.  He also kept up his Penthouse habit, and expanded into even more explicit stuff, like Hustler.  Buddy started stashing "nudie magazines" at my place, looking at them there, jacking off to the magazine's, sometimes jacking off to Lisa and one of her lesbian lovers, and sometimes, less than I would have liked, fucking me.  I was still into him.  But Buddy was a little "too into" his pornos.  They gave him an unrealistic image of real sex, and he was using it as a replacement for real sex with real women.

Real women like me.  And real women like his girlfriend and, as of Valentine's Day 1988 his fiancee, Teresa.  They got engaged in February, with plans to marry in October 1988.

Was I concerned, you may ask, that the object of my desire was going ahead with plans to marry my rival.

I was not.  Because i didn't expect their marriage to last.  For a couple reasons.

First, she was supporting him financially.  In mid-1980s Texas, that was an unsustainable relationship.  Women always married up.  Marrying even your financial equal was socially scandalous for a woman.  And Teresa was marrying down.

Second, Buddy showed no signs of wanting to end our "arrangement" of magazine stashing and viewing, lesbian roomate voyuerism, and occassional actual banging.  It continued unabated after the engagement.

My self-esteem must have been pretty low to continue to find this acceptable.  I rationalized it and justified it to myself (and, to Lisa, when we talked about it) in two ways.

First, for me, the variety of the magazine's was actually quite fulfilling.  Patiently learning what guys like in sex--and what I like.  The expansion into the realm of late-1980s Hustler was actually, how do I say this, an eye-opener.  The models/girls would be in different bad girl/ good girl situations.  I always pictured me as the bad girl, Teresa as the good girl.  Sometimes in the pictorial, the girls would confront each other, and sometimes even have an actual brief catfight.  The anticipation of reading those was my favorite.  I would masturbate entire afternoon's to those.

The second reason I allowed Buddy to use me like that was that Teresa's women's intuition knew that something was "up" with Buddy and me.  She just couldn't put her finger on it.  By this time, she knew my roommate Lisa was a lesbian--that threw her off, because I think she suspected me of being a lesbian as well.  After a all, a pretty, single woman like me and never dating men?  What other explanation could there be for that, right?

Teresa alternated between obtusely snubbing me, and then suspiciously hectoring me.  We always talked bitchy to each other.  Ever Lisa's lovers noticed something odd, something passive aggressive between us.  One of them told us to our face one dasy, "You two really just need to cat it out with each other."  Teresa and I turned and faced each other, and for a minute I thought it was going to happen right there right then.  But the moment passed, our odd love triangle continued.

Buddy had a good thing going--he wasn't going to rock the boat.  So on we went.

I was even in Teresa's bridal party that October, when Buddy and Teresa got married.  She was 26, he was 28.

And he continued fucking me/masturbating with me/masturbating to my lesbian roommate.  But then it fizzled out.

What ended Buddy and me wasn't him getting married.  It was him and Teresa buying a house.  With all the work the inside and outside of the house took, Buddy didn't have the time or energy for Lisa and me.  He started standing us up.  Let me tell ya, getting stood up my a cheating, married man will make a single girl take a cold, hard look in the mirror.  Even Lisa and whatever lesbian partner she had lined up would feel pretty damn empty when he would stand us up.  "He said no to us to apply sheetrock??  What the fuck?? ", one of them said one lonely night.

As the 1980s ended, Texas, or at least Austin, was less oppressive to lesbians.  Lisa stopped hiding her lifestyle.  She was around our apartment a lot less.  I decided I better grow up, too.

In 1989, I decided to move on. I was 27, single, better looking than I'd ever been.  My light brown hair had become this sexy auburn color, and was fuller than ever.  The 1980s big hair craze hit its peak.  My boobs popped out to 36D.  I stopped saying no to customers hitting on me.  I started to date.  And to fuck.  I was started to learn what I liked.

There was types of sex I liked.  And there was catfighting I liked.  I liked dating a man my age who either had an on-again-off-again girl.  Or better yet, and actual separated or divorced wife.  I had waited so long to date that i was catching men my age on the rebound.

I enjoyed the catty arguing I would have with them.  And, since this was Texas, the occasional bitchy throw down.  Fists, claws.  You name it.  It was the 1970s in the neighborhood again.  Fucking and fighting.  I lived for the rush.

1989 became 1990 became 1991 became 1992.  I couldn't face turning 30 and being single.  I married the guy I happened to be with in early 1992.

We were divorced by early 1994.

I moved back in with Lisa.

Teresa and Buddy got divorced in 1995.  Seven year itch.

Teresa moved in with Lisa and me.

And that's when things got interesting.

[sinclairfan]

BAD THINGS COME IN THERE'S

They say bad things come in three's, and that's what happened to Teresa in 1996.  When she divorced Buddy and moved in with Lisa and me, the idea was that she was just supposed to stay until she could unload some of her stuff and find a new place.  But then plans changed when Tragedy #2 and Tragedy #3 happened.

Tragedy #2 was that Teresa got job eliminated from Southwestern Bell.  They had merged with BellSouth, forming the heartless, soulless SBC Communications.  Tragedy #3, possibly induced by his daughter's divorce and unemployment, was that Teresa's dad died very suddenly.

Teresa was devasted by these three events.  I felt so badly for her that I travelled down to San Antonio, back to the old neighborhood.  It was surreal walking those streets, seeing this houses again.  So little had changed.  Where had the time gone?  15 years since Lisa and I became friends and moved away to Austin.  There used to be so many kids in this development--now it was just aging couples, or like Teresa's mom now, aging widows.

Widow.  What an ugly word.  And now i knew one.

Another confession:  I was, at best, ambivalent about the tragedies buffeting Teresa.  Not empathy at all, no matter how much I tried to summon some up.  In fact, I quickly became jealous when I heard about the life insurance Teresa inherited from her dad.  She cancelled all job search efforts.

She started hanging around the apartment more.  Getting on my nerves.

To this day, I don't know if I was just being paranoid, but it seemed everytime I tried to kick back and masturbate, Teresa would knock on my bedroom door with some bullshit question which could have waited till later.  It was like she was either listening, or had some sixth sense that I was touching myself.  It was creepy.

The atmosphere in the apartment got claustrophobic.  In 15 years (minus the 2 I was married) of rooming with Lisa, she never made me uncomfortable.  Even if I wasn't in the mood to chat, I was happy to sit quietly with her, watching TV or listening to music or reading the newspaper (hey, it was 1996--people still read newspapers then).

Not so Teresa.  She made my skin crawl.  The worst was when we got AOL--remember?  Dial up?  Everyone had to hang up the phone in the house.  Well, I was always on the phone, or wanted to be, when Teresa was online.  It was uncanny.  Constantly stepping on each other's toes.  Like she was poke-poke-poking me intentionally.

But I was super nice because every so often she'd bust out crying about her dad.  Then her unemployment.  Then her marriage.

Ugh.  Her marriage.  Awkward topic, because I had fucked her husband before and during their marriage.  Lisa knew, but Teresa didn't.  Should I confess?  Wasn't I still lying by not bringing it up?  Just hope it never comes up?

Just ask Teresa to PLEASE GET YOUR OWN DAMN APARTMENT BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!!!!!!   ?

Sorry, I'm ok.

But I wasn't in 1996.  It sucked.  Something had to give.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

FIRST CLASH

In early 1997, Teresa's widowed mom sold the San Antonio house that Teresa moved to in 9th grade, and moved back to New Jersey to be closer to her family.  Given that Teresa was now single and unemployed, I was kind of hoping Teresa would go to New Jersey, or somewhere, as well.  I kind of wanted her out of Texas, out of my hair.  No such luck, tho.  She announced she was staying in Lisa and my apartment.

Teresa's mom scored quite a windfall on the sale of the house, and knowing Teresa had no job, sent her a check for a big chunk of it--I don't know the exact amount, but it was for tens of thousands of dollars.  This was on top of her prior windfall from her dad's life insurance.

For a UT graduate, Teresa wasn't being very smart with all this money.  As best I could tell, she wasn't putting any of it away.  Lisa and I were both working girls at different restaurants, but we meticulously saved in mutual funds IRAs.  Starting in 1995, the market was going up 30% a year, and we were making more from our investments than from our tips.  That was a great feeling.  Add to the list of irritating things about Teresa that she kept getting these unearned cash windfalls, blowing it, and getting more.

Grrrrrrrrr.  I just wanted to punch that bitch.

So what did Teresa do with her money instead of saving it?  (And with her ridiculous amount of free time, for that matter?)

Teresa was giving herself an extensive makeover.  She was growing her hair out--it was now a long, thick, brunette mane (which she would she'd all around the apartment--grrrr).  She was constantly getting facials.  Getting her eyebrows done.  Getting her teeth whitened.  Building a large wardrobe of clothes and shoes.  Mani/pedi.  Suntans.  Fragrances and scents.

She was fighting Father Time, every step of the way.  It was working, I'll give her that.  She looked better than ever.  She sure turned the heads of Lisa's lesbian friends.

But to what end.  She still had no interest in dating.

But I noticed something about myself as well.  I hadn't dated in awhile.  Or fucked, either.

Not from a lack of desire.  Fuck, I was horny.  35 years old.  The magic number--the peak of a woman's sexual drive, right?  Well, it was true--i was turned on 24/7.

But sex with another actual person didn't seem worth it.  I was too old to gracefully go to clinics to treat STDs.  I was less tolerant of the gross things about men than i used to be--the lack of basic hygiene, the rudeness, you know?  Every guy's cock was either to small or too big or too bendy--i was turning lesbian like Lisa, I still craved cock; it was just too damn exhausting to find the right cock.  And I needed satisfaction NOW.  So my hand would do just fine.

So, Teresa and I were pretty much asexual since our divorces.  The question was, were we independently making that choice, or were we bad influences on each other?  And was our constant bitchiness due to some sort of sexual frustration.  We were like two crabby nineteenth century spinster, bickering with each other and ready to explode.

And I certainly wasn't going to "just go out and get laid" just to be less frustrated by Teresa.

One cold, grey day in January 1997, Teresa and I finally irrevocably crossed a threshold.  Teresa's was all decked out, smelling hot, hair flipping around the apartment, getting in my face.  I went to my bedroom to masturbate.  I was looking and smelling pretty damn good as well.

Just as I was getting nice and, ummm, slick, the bitch knocks on my door.  I ignore her, and she keeps knocking.  I pull my panties back up, and open the door, aggravated.

Teresa says, "I'm running out clothes shopping, wanna come?"

Aggravated, I say, "Teresa, shouldn't you live in a bigger place if you're gonna own triple the clothes Lisa and I have combined?  You hog all the fucking common closets in the place."

Teresa:  Sorry.  What else bothers you about me??

Me:  Teresa, I NEVER knock on your bedroom door when it's closed.  Why do you do that??

Teresa:  Tina, because your door is always fucking closed.  Why do you masturbate so much??

Me:  How is that your business??

Teresa:  Because it's rude to do it while I'm here.

Me:  You're always fucking here!!!!!

Teresa:  You're jealous of my money and my looks.

Me:  Fuck you, Teresa.  I'm trying to avoid you.  Stay out of my face.

Teresa:  Make me.   <<<<<Teresa takes 3 steps into my bedroom>>>>

Me:  Not.  Cool.

Teresa:  Make me get out.

Teresa had already asked twice.  I wasn't going to let her call me out a third time.  In my mind, it was 1981 back in the development, and a neighbor girl was calling me out.  I saw red.

I grabbed Teresa by wrists.  She tightened her arms and pushed back.  I was trying to grapple her out of my bedroom.  I wasn't totally cutting loose, but shit this bitch was stronger than I expected.

We weren't so much fighting as just continuing our standoff with a physical component.  Sort of like a baseball umpire and manager going noe to nose.

After 5 minutes of that, we both decided we had something we'd rather be doing.  She wanted to be shopping.  I wanted to get myself off.

So, we pulled apart, staring at each other and calling each other a bitch.

Between my working and Teresa's shopping and grooming, we didn't see each other for three days.

The fourth day, we were going to be home together.  Lisa left a note on my door.  "Apartment meeting.  All 3 of us.  4pm.  Mandatory."

This should be interesting.

[sinclairfan]

LIAR!!!!!

You're probably asking, Tina, Teresa came into your bedroom and asked, twice, to be thrown out; why didn't you just throttle her?  There are two reasons why.

The first reason is, I couldn't let go of the 1970s neighborhood hierarchy--that some girls are fighters, and some aren't.  I was a fighter, Teresa wasn't.  And girls who fight don't call out girls who don't fight.  Teresa's own mom subscribed to a version of this--when she had asked me to "show Teresa around" the first fews days of high school, she was in effect asking me to "protect" her from any girlfights which someone may try to get Teresa into.

The second reason was that when I did grab Teresa by the wrists, I was stunned by how strong she was.  When she tensed her arms, I was unable to move her at all.  It had been 5 or 6 years since my last catfight, so perhaps I had lost a step or two.  But, shit, how was Teresa so strong?  Was I underestimating her?

As the 4pm Lisa meeting approached, I wonder how this had all come about.  Had Teresa gone to Lisa and asked her for an "Airing of Grievances"?  Or was Lisa just reacting herself to the growing tension in the apartment?  The solution to me, either way, was obvious--Teresa could get the hell out.  She had had sufficient time to grieve her dad's death, her job loss, her divorce.  I had been a perfect roommate to Lisa for 16 years--she would side with me.  Right?  Right?

4pm arrives.

I'm not sure I like this.  Lisa has brought a "facilitator"--a masculine-ish short-haired with-glasses woman named Geri.

Lisa:  Ladies, I think we can agree the atmosphere in the apartment between you two has become sufficiently unpleasant that we can use some mediation.  I've invited a professional--please listen to Geri.  She's here to help all three of us.

Geri:  Thank you for coming ladies.  I'll say upfront, I don't want to rehash anything in the past-- want to help you three decide mutually agreeable rules for the apartment going forward.  Everyone will get a chance to give her perspective, so, please, no interrupting.  Is that fair?

Lisa:  Fair.

Teresa:  Fair.

Me:  Fair--for now.  Lisa, this feels like a set up.  Why couldn't we have talked first?

Lisa:  Let's talk now.

Me:  Fine.  I'll go first.  I don't want Teresa in my bedroom.

Teresa:  I don't want you in mine, masturbating on my bed.

<<<<<What the fuck does that mean?  Did she just accuse me of something?>>>>>>

Me:  Geri, Lisa.  Can I have a moment with Teresa?

Geri:  I think Lisa is affected by this and would benefit from hearing it.

Me:  Fine.  <<<<I turn and face Teresa.>>>>  Ate we really going to do this?

Teresa:  Do What?

Me:  Tell lies and innuendos about each other in front of an audience?

Teresa:  What lie did I tell?

Me:  I've.  Never.  Fucking.  Masturbated.  In.  Your.  Bedroom.

Teresa:  I didn't say you did.  I said I didn't want you to going forward.

Me:  Why would you bring it up?

Teresa:  Because you masturbate everywhere everyday every hour.  I know you want to do it in my bedroom, if you haven't already.

Me:  Ok, ok, Geri, Lisa.  This is actually going to work?  I have to listen to this???  This bitch is the Queen of Passive Aggressive.

Geri:  Tina, would it make you feel better if Teresa were aggressive aggressive?

Me:  <<<<<I think for a minute>>>>  It would.  But what are you saying?  Are you ok with things getting physical between us?

Lisa:  Tina, you gotta admit--that was the basis of our entire friendship.  When you and I beat the shit out of each other after that football game--it's been 16 years of smooth sailing since then. You and Teresa have needed to have it out for awhile.

Me:  Major difference, Lees.  That was a fair fight.  We had both fought before.  We were both undefeated.

Teresa:  I bet Lisa won.

Me:  Zip it, bitch.  <<<<<Turning to face Lisa.>>>>  You don't think this princess would stand a chance with me, do you?

Lisa:  Then if You're so tough, giver her odds.  Have a handicap match.

Me:  As in?

Lisa:  You can't close your fist, and she can.  You can't pull hair, but she can.  To start.

Me:  I don't know, Lisa.  If I'm gonna fight, I need to be able to fight.

Teresa:  I agree.  I don't want excuses after.

Me:  Excuses for fucking what, slut?

Teresa:  For when I kick you ads.

Me:  Ha!!!   <<<<Turning to Geri>>>>  You ok with this?

Geri:  Like I said, I'm just here to facilitate.

Me:  To facilitate, or to instigate?

Geri:  Would you prefer we discuss why you masturbate so much?

Teresa:  Ooo, yes, Let's do that!

Me:  You actually want to fight, Teresa?

Teresa:  Bring it.

Me:   <<<to Lisa & Geri>>>>  Here?  Now?

Lisa:  You tell us, tough girl.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

INTERLUDE 1A& 1B--HUSTLER PICTORIAL, 1972 TRICIA VS DONNA

Teresa and I stare each other down in the center of the living room, me in my long auburn hair down to my butt, her in her sandy brown hair the same length.  It's winter in Austin, so I'm in a heavy dark green sweater with grey jogging sweats with no bra and no panties (more on that in a minute), Teresa is in a skirt-and-jacket matching outfit you might wear to an office; in other words, way way overdressed for a roommate house meeting.  She's been doing that a lot lately.  We stare out each down, and grab each other by the arms, cupping each other's elbows and grabbing fistfuls of clothes.  Teresa smells good.

I stare at Teresa but talk to Lisa.  "Lees, if she and I fight the way you and I do, it'll be over in 60 seconds."  Without hesitating, Lisa responds, "Then don't fight her that way."

Teresa and I continue jostling, but still not outright fighting.  More like a continuation of our shoving match in my bedroom from 4 days ago.  Teresa looks down at the crotch of my sweats.  "Slut here is soaking thru already.  Geri, what's your diagnosis of this psycho?  Is nymphomania still a thing?".  Geri peaks at my crotch stain.

My mind is a jumble of anticipation of the coming clash with Teresa, a Hustler pictorial I've been looking at lately, and a 1972 memory of when I was first living in the San Antonio development where i would meet Teresa in 1976.

The Hustler pictorial is 2 exaggerated busty model in wedding outfits.  One is the bride, the other the maid of honor.  They are outdoors on a sunny day at a country club, at a wedding reception.  The bride finds out the maid of honor slept with the groom the night before the wedding, and is confronting her about it.  As they argue and jostle, but not quite fighting, clothes are slowly (and strategically, for the viewer) shed.  Their mutual hatred shows on their faces.  I think of the years long affair I had with Teresa's ex-husband before they got married.  I think of the day in 1988 I stood up at Teresa's wedding to him.  I remember the reception, bridal party photos about to be taken.  I remember Teresa calling me aside, and wondering if we were about to re-enact the scenario in the Hustler pictorial.  We didn't, to my disappointment.  I was ready to.  I wanted to play the part of the maid of honor in the pictorial.  I wanted a girlfight in wedding dresses, on the grass.  I've masturbated to the memory of that day almost a hundred times by now.  It makes me cum every time.

The 1972 fight happened our first year in the San Antonio development.  There were still lots of empty lots, so all the school buses would stop at the front of the development in a staggered schedule.  There were 2 high school 18 year old "bad girls" (in 1972, all the bad girls smoked cigarettes):  Tricia, who went to the Catholic school, and Donna who went to the public school.  Tricia's bus did afternoon drop of first, then my middle school, then Donna's public high school bus.

I remember one afternoon, my bus approaching the stop.  Tricia was standing there in her Catholic school top and skirt.  I wondered why she was standing there in the afternoon.  Why hadn't she walked home after getting dropped off?  I got off and walked past her.  She seemed angry.  Donnas bus approached next.  It stopped, and Donna got off.  As the bus pulled away, the middle and high school boys and girls who had gotten off with first me, then Donna, turned at the sound of Tricia getting in Donna's face and angrily confronting her.  "I saw you giving me the finger this morning.  Did you want to do it again"  Donna unhestitating reponds, dropping her books, "Fuck you, I'll do it again," and sticks her middle finger in Tricia's face.  The two begin a balls-to-the-wall catfights, scratching and clawing in a tornado of fury for over a minute, until they fall to the road in a ball, the high school boys watching separate them, Donna grabs her books and hurries home, Tricia remains the the corner fuming.

For the rest of my life, the memory of that day is one of my go-to masturbation scenarios.  The thought of Tricia stewing all day on an early morning insult, planning to confront Donna.  The thought of Donna's bus arriving and her seeing Tricia waiting.  The nonhesitation in their argument escalating to blows.  Wondering what the underlying cause of their clash was.  Wondering if they ever finished the battle where it wouldn't get broken up.

Those thoughts ate the cause now of my sweats soaking thru between my legs.

Teresa calls me a bitch.

"That's right," I respond.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

HAIRPULLING

Teresa and I continue our standup staredown standoff, me becoming increasingly flummoxed that Teresa intends to actually fight me.  Me.  Undefeated Tina.  Well, until Lisa beat me after high school had ended.  I reach under Teresa's jacket and grab her blouse, tearing the buttons.  I claw the collar, tearing the fabric.  Maybe Teresa's right--maybe I am jealous of her clothes and her money.  But not her looks.  I'm fine with my natural beauty.  She looks fake.  Any guy that wants that can have it.

"C'mon, tough girl," I drawl at my enemy, "take a swing at me."  I long for an excuse to open up the can of whup-ass on this wannabe. 

Assuming our "fight" started a few minutes ago when we grabbed each other's elbows, this is already the longest fight I've had in my life.  All my previous fights were like my alley fight with Lisa--no real tactics to speak of, just two bitches going as hard and fast as they can until one is too hurt or tired to continue.  This is the first fight I've ever "paced myself."  Which makes me even angrier at Teresa--she's somehow tricked me into a fight I have no experience in.

My being a one-trick pony in fighting also applies in the bedroom.  My husband in my disastrous 16 month marriage would always try and "make our love making last".  You know, meaning longer than, like three minutes?  I never got the hang of it.  Once I was turned on, I'd want to get to the finish line hard and fast.  After which I was, yuck, gross, get off of me.  I tried doing it his way, but you can't teach an old dog new tricks.  I have sex the way I have it; if you don't like it, too bad.

So we got divorced.  And I've been asexual ever since.

Teresa reads my mind.  "I'm sssooo much better in bed than you, bitch," she taunts me.  "Your ex could only stand a year of you."

I slap Teresa in the face hard.  She slaps me back harder.  We pull each other's hair so hard that our faces point straight up to the ceiling, our chins almost touching.

"Struck a chord, didn't I, bitch.  You're a pathetic woman," hisses Teresa.

Lisa and Geri start mock clapping.  "Let's get it all out ladies.  That's why we're here."

My trump card is telling Teresa the news that i had a multi-year affair, behind her back, with her ex Buddy.  But I'm reluctant to play it, because once I do, I've got nothing.  I've in effect been stalking Teresa for 17 years, since high school started, with not much to show for it.

But she pushed my button one too many times.

"No man has ever wanted you more than once," she taunts.

"Your ex-husband did," I shout.  "Over 20 times."

Teresa releases her grip and puts her face into mine.  We're toe to toe.

"I knew it.  It's on, sweetie.  But I don't want your blood on these clothes."

Teresa steps back and strips, as I quickly do the same.  My kind of fight.

Or so I think.  We approach in a boxing stance, nude.  But Teresa then lowers her head and tackles me at the hip, taking me down and pinning me.  She stick her elbow on my throat, and pushes down.  Relying on pure adrenaline, I wrap my legs around her face and throw her down.  She wraps her legs around my neck.  We're on the ground, head to toe, in a temporary stalemate.  Our hands are free and start scratching at any flesh they can find.

I need to get this fight back standing up to finish it.  Teresa senses this and tries to keep us pinned on the ground.  My nails find her inner leg.  I stretch my fingers out as far as I can and start clawing.  I can feel her doing the same to me.

Lisa and Geri are kissing each other as they watch us.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

69ing

Expecting that my enemy and I are going to commence a mutual crotch claw, I wriggle myself into position to get a view of the best angle at which to plunge my hand into Teresa.  For the first time tonight, I notice that Teresa's spa-and-primping marathon in the past year has apparently included Brazilian waxing, or whatever, of her pubic bush.  Her pussy is completely devoid of hair or even any hint of stubble.  The sensation of feeling it with my hand, and then with my tongue, is intoxicating.  Earlier in the fight, when we had stripped our clothes off, I had gotten a glimpse of Teresa "down there", and noticed a lack of hair.  I had simply assumed she had recently shaved.  I now realized that she was investing her cash windfall in self-grooming of even her most private parts.  To what end, I couldn't imagine, since she wasn't having any sex that I was aware of.

As I continue to deeply kiss Teresa's bald pussy, I think back to my make-up make out session with Lisa in 1980 after our alley fight.  I had said to her, as if establishing ground rules, "No carpet munching".  In 1980, that was an acceptable command for a straight girl to blurt out to a lesbian--by 1997, it was already questionable, and of course here in 2017, umm, no, just no; do NOT say that.  But sexual ethics aside, I now begin to wonder if the only thing holding me back all these years from "joining the other team" , like Lisa, all these years has been an aversion to getting female bush hair in my mouth.  With Teresa lacking any, I begin exploring Teresa without hesitation.  I become self-conscious of my own untended hair,  clipped somewhat recently but not shaved for weeks.  If that bothers Teresa, she does not show it, as we enter into a full on 69 and stop clawing at each other.  Whether the fight is cancelled or just postponed is unknown, at least to me, but we have already began exchanging short but intense orgasms.

Although my ability to enter into a 69 session with my most intense enemy my appear jarring and inconsistent, it is actually how I've reacted emotionally to women in the past who have stood up to me.  As soon as Lisa challenged me in the Friday nigh football bleachers in September 1980, after tiptoeing around me for 4 years of high school, I felt an immediate bond with her, one that has stood the test of 17 years of rooming with her.  Lying on the apartment floor right now, intimately tangled with Teresa, i think back to my 1989 to 1992 dating years, after freeing myself of my juvenile, adulterous infatuation with Buddy but before entering into my disastrous marriage--I remember the catty, vaguely threatening phone calls with rivals and ex's of my new "boyfriends".  I remember 1989 to 1992 being the heyday of caller id, the cheap thrill of knowing who was trying to reach you at 10:30pm on a worknight.  Well, well, who do we have here?  Margaret Kelly?  I remember my new boyfriend telling me about his "crazy ex, Maggie".  Could this be her?  How did she find me?  And my number?  Did she find my address, too?  I remember being able to answer the phone and "setting the tone" of the conversation right away with a well-modulated, bitch setting turned up to 8, "what the fuck do you want" or "who the fuck are you" greeting.  I remember the days before unlimited minutes, bitching back and forth with a rival for 15 minutes, then her getting antsy about how many of her allotment of monthly minutes she had used on bitching me out.  I remember us mutually deciding to either just watch each other's backs, or, jackpot, "meeting somewhere to further discuss this" in person. 

The point is, even with caveman-like technology making direct woman-to-woman, bitch-to-bitch communication difficult, when direct contact actually did occur, I felt an immediate bond with, and yes an attraction to, any woman with the balls to stand up to me.

That was the dynamic at play now between Teresa and me.  I didn't know she had it in her, but she had decided to stand up to me, in front of an audience of witnesses no less, knowing full well she could be flat on her back right now from me going ghetto on her and kicking her ads.  Instead, she and are putting on an impromptu stripper sex show for Lisa and Geri, who are enjoying every minute of it.

Enhancing our enthusiasm, no doubt, is the fact that Teresa and I have each gone 3 years, in the prime of our sex lives, with no sex at all, and probably even longer without good sex.  Hell, I should just admit it to myself--I've never had good sex.  Ever.  I "saved myself" for Buddy, who already had a girlfriend, and missed out on losing-your-virginity at junior prom, and haven't gotten back on track since.  Even my pathetic years-long affair with Buddy, which should have at least generated some desperate, furtive, God-I've-missed-you let-me-do-to-you-what-she-won't clutching and grabbing, was pedestrian and obligatory.  Who has obligatory spark-free sex with their mistress?  With their engaged/married boyfriend.  Apparently Buddy and me.

A lifetime of sterile, surprise-free sex.  Until tonight.  With Teresa, of all people.  I would have expected this out of Lisa and me before Teresa and me.  Lisa.  Why has she never made a move on me in all these years?  Is she not attracted to me?  Am I making her jealous now, 69ing with Teresa?  I hope I am.  I cum hard into Teresa's face, knowing Lisa is watching.

Are Teresa and I going to finish our fight?  Why not just ask her?

I break our 69 and mount Teresa.  We kiss on the mouth for the first time.  We look at each other, pulling hair.  "Catfight me, you bitch," I hear myself say.  ""I'd love to, you slut," Teresa answers. 

We begin slowly rolling on the floor, hands in each other's hair.  "I hate you, Tina," I hear Teresa say.  Thank God she said that, I say to myself.

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

GROWING UP

Teresa and I roll on the floor in as hairpulling, scratching, slapping catball, alternating between rough grapples for position, followed by slower clinches as we regain our breath.

Or, in my case, my composure.  I've begun bawling uncontrollably, tears rolling down my cheeks.  Teresa and Lisa think it's from the pain of Teresa's scratches, as Teresa taunts me gleefully.  "Not so tough now, huh, bitch?"

But, that's actually not why I'm crying.  My tears are emotional, nostalgic.  I think back to an afternoon recently, masturbating to one of Buddy's old Playboys.  There was an article about why happy couples cheat.  It had an interview with a woman who lived her perfect husband, but was sneaking to a park to make out with a truck driver who she would never date if she was single.  Her therapist said she was doing it because she was trying to recapture her youth.

The article made me cry, because that's been my life from 1976 to 1997.  Craving the middle school security of my San Antonio development.  Being the Top Bitch.  When Teresa moved in, she recognized me as that.  That's why she asked my mom to have me look out for Teresa at high school.

Teresa's arrival brought that whole world crashing down.  Or maybe Time itself made it come crashing down, and I've always just blamed Teresa.  I've spent 21 years refusing to grow up.  Not losing my virginity in high school.  Not going away to Texas A&M.  Following Teresa to Austin.  Letting her boyfriend sleep with me.  Dating for the thrill of catfighting my date's ex's.  Marrying a man I didn't love.  Divorcing.  Using masturbation as a substitute for actual relating with people. 

The death of Teresa's dad was more traumatic to me than it was to her.  I could never go back to the old neighborhood again--at least not the way it was.  It had changed. 

And I hadn't.

I hated Teresa because she had stunted my growth and development.

"Why did you need to move to San Antonio, bitch?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck YOU."

"Get out of my life."

"Make me."

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

FISTICUFFS

Teresa and my rolling catfights drags on slowly.  And sweatily.  Teresa's expensive cologne has long since worn off, and she is now emanating pure disgusting b.o.  I'm sure I am too, but something about Teresa's is particularly disgusting.  Maybe that's why she's only been intimate with one man her entire life.

I'm getting impatient that we stripped, but neither of us is bleeding yet.  We start goading and taunting each other.

I thought you were going to make me bleed, bitch.

I plan to, slut.

How, whore?

I'm gonna....punch....you.....right in the face.

Do it, bitch.

I dare you to first, cxnt.

Girls get a bad rap for catfighting instead of fist fighting, I've always thought.  To start with, if you don't know how to make a proper fist, every punch is just hurting yourself, not your enemy.  But second, most girls, ok I'll say most white girls, can't punch very hard.  If you show your enemy that you're like most girls and can't punch, you're just showing her she has nothing to fear from you the rest of the fight.

Now, Lisa and I:  We're the exception.  We can punch.  We were causing real damage to each other in our 1980 alley fight.  Teresa?  She's probably more typical--no punch.  But We're about to find out.

Teresa and I are on our knees, facing each other.  We ball up our right hand.  We're about to punch each other in the face.  We swing.

<<<<whap>>>>

I sit, stunned.  Not from the power of Teresa's punch--We're both too exhausted to get a strong strike in.  I'm stunned by the speed.  Most girls telegraph their punches (reason #3 for girls catfighting).  Not Teresa.  I never saw it coming.  I just felt it.

Teresa is stunned too.  She's never been hit in her face in her life.  I got her good.  She's recouping.  I try to hit her again before she recovers.

<<<whap>>>>

Shit.  She got me again.  Never saw that one coming, either. 

I'm in big trouble.  Either way.

If I stop punching, Teresa will now I'm afraid of her punches.  If I continue, I have no way to defend myself.

Except to punch her harder and more than She's punching me.  And that's the course I opt for.

Teresa and I, on our knees, enter into a good ole Texas barroom brawl.  Fists up, we patiently wind up and direct haymakers into each others faces.  Because We're on our knees, We're unable to do much in the way of defense, so most punches are direct hits.

My desire the see, and taste, blood is quickly answered.  My mouth tastes of alkaline, a taste Lisa gave me my first experience of in 1980.  But I continues, encouraged by cuts I see on Teresa's cheekbones.

Any thought either of us had of quitting and drawing this fight is gone.  We've drawn blood.  It's personal.

And a personal fight can only be settled in a catfight.

We resume pulling each other's hair.  We roll on the floor, much more actively than before, adrenaline coursing our veins.  The runner's high kicks in.

I regain my fighting spirit.  And my untapped athleticism.

I mount Teresa and clamp my fists on her nipples.  I twist and yank hard.  I'm in a pure rage.

Before, it was my crying.  Now it's Teresa's turn.

Lisa pulls me off.

"That's enough, Tina.  She gave."

To this day, I don't think Tina did give.

But itg was probably for the best that she ended it.  I was angrier than I've ever been.

*************************

I never saw Teresa again.  She moved back to Pennsylvania.  She died of stroke in 2009, at age 46.  I know because we were following each other on Facebook, and some of her followers posted the death notice.  We followed each other on Facebook, but never reached out to each other.  I don't know why.

Or maybe I do.  What was there to talk about?

I dated women for awhile, then, just as abruptly, went back to men.  I wanted to be supported by one.

I guess, in the end, I was just an old fashioned Texas girl.

I fight when I need to.  But I don't look for it anymore. 

It hurts too much.

In more ways than one.

THE END

[ralbright2010]

Another excellent tale! Loved it!