Dear TABSK--Sara, here again. Sara the Scholar. Not. I've completed my first two weeks of my freshman year of college in Boston, supposedly the collegiate education capital of the world. But, I have a secret to fill you in on. College in Boston, and in at least the entire East Coast of America, has very liitle to do with education. Especially in the freshman dorms. Instead, it's all about two things. Binge drinking. A hookup sex. And by hookup sex, I mean BAD hookup sex. I know the difference, because I spent the summer having good sex. Really, really, really good sex. And after 2 weeks of having, and watching, and listening to bad sex, I was in the mood for good sex. I was missing my boyfriend. The one I was the Summer Sidechick for, back in the Midwest. So, with Labor Day weekend coming up, I used the cash allotted for my Thanksgiving airfare, and booked a flight back home. I landed on Friday afternoon, with nothing but my backpack with weekend clothes and no plans beyond Ubering to my boyfriend's and winging it from there. Even if that meant tangling with his girlfriend in a rematch of our patio brawl. I expected they were already banging each other again. But I had no idea it would be in progress literally as my Uber pulled up to his house. His stepmom let me in to their tiny house, and we could literally hear them going at it in the basement. So .... white ... trash. I played a hunch that his stepmom was tired of her stepson and his girlfriend so rudely crimping her style. So I "confided" to the stepmom that I was away at college, on the path to a bright future, and that if her stepson played his cards right, I might bring him along for the ride .... and more importantly for her, finally get him out of her basement. If only .... if only there was a way to get the pesky, slutty hometown girlfriend out of the way.
"Are you two ladies already .... acquainted?", drawled the stepmom. "We've ...ahem .... butted heads once already," I coyly responded. "And I take it you've come today to .... renew your acqaintance?".
"With her. Then with him."
"Well, you're on your own with the second. But I'd be pleased to assist you with the first."
"Much obliged, ma'am."
"In fact, it would give me a thrill to witness you and her ... in action."
"To show my gratitude to you ..... I'll allow it."
"There's room enough in the back yard for two ladies to do .... what you and her need to do. Why don't you use the restroom, then head on back? I'll send her out in a couple minutes. Good luck."
"Thank ya, ma'am."
The restroom idea was a good one. I needed to go after my flight and my Uber ride. Plus, I was nervous as heck now. I knew I might fight my rival at some point this weekend, but wasn't fully prepared for it to be so soon. And with our boyfriend and his stepmom watching. Plus, our first fight had been a donnybrook, so I knew even if I won, I'd be feeling the effects of the fight for days.
Plus, once I got outside, I realized it was damn hot in the summer sun. The small backyard had no shade from the mid-afternoon sun. I had flown in from rainy Boston, and was in jeans and a light but long-sleeved sweater, with no top underneath except my bra. It was too late to change, tho, or do much of anything, because within a minute, true her word, my boyfriend's stepmom sent my blonde rival, with a literal dragged-out-of-bed wardrobe, out to the backyard for our confrontation. Both of us knew that with our boyfriend and the woman of the house watching eagerly from the picture window, there was no point trying to de-escalate our tete-a-tete. This was the Real Thing--winner gets the boy, loser goes home with her tail between her legs. Without any verbal greeting beyond two high-pitched semi-shaky "You.... slut .... bitch ...." shrieks, we closed at each other, claws fully extended, digging into each others' scalps with every ounce of strength we could muster. Neither of us had learned much from the Draw ending to our first battle on my childhood patio. We were holding nothing in reserve, and instead were heedlessly going all-out for a first-round knockout, scratching and punching each others' faces without a single iota of energy going towards defense. I've never been so angry with anyone in my life, nor had someone going after me like my Summer Rival was. The bone-on-bone crunching of knuckes on face bones, jaws, and teeth was like the crackling of the Saturn V rocket that I had seen on an Apollo 11 50th anniversary special a month before. My long-sleeved sweater cause me to break into a dripping sweat, but shielded my flesh from my enemy's scratches. Her thrown-on tank top, on the other hand, was quickly shredding under the pulling-and-tugging of my windmilling hands and fingers. My rival's sweaty and aroused 38c breasts popped out into the open, and I quickly sensed my path to victory. Both of my hands grabbed my prize and gouged and twisted them like a Florida citrus farmer juicing a pair of grapefruits or a bartender squeezing lemons into a cocktail. My enemy shrieked in desperation, collapsing onto her knees and raking at my eyes in an attempt to force me to release my grip on her chest. I felt her sharp nails slicing a trail from my cheekbones to my forehead, but was grateful to have my boyfriend's stepmom available to nurse my face if I could dispatch of my enemy. I dug deeper and twisted harder at her breasts, grateful that she didn't have access to mine to exact revenge. I pushed her onto her back, and collapsed on top of her to pin her. I mounted her, now adding pressure from my knees onto her wounded chest. Still raging with jealousy, I cemented my total victory by raining punches onto my defeated enemy's face. I stopped only when the stepmom pulled my still-flailing torso off of my prostrate foe. That evening, as my stepmom treated my numerous scratches in her kitchen, my boyfriend's stepmom said, "I don't think we'll be seein' much of her around these parts anymore. That started out as one helluva catfight, and ended as one helluva ass-whuppin'. Remind me never to get on your bad side, Sara. College girl or no." My boyfriend and I then had some of the really, really, really god sex I had been missing so bad. And I flew back to school.
My question, for you, TABSK, is this. Is it true my rival won't be back?? I'm 800 miles away at school, and have 10 weeks away until Thanksgiving. I don't trust the two of them home alone, stepmom at the door or no. I'm jealous a.f. of them having the opportunity to keep their relationship going. Am I being paranoid? Sara
Dear Sara--always good to hear from you, and congratulations on the catfight victory. Three thoughts:
(A) We join you in mourning the decadent, binge-drinking, bad-hookup fallen state of what passes today for American Higher Education. We salute you for not passively participating in its worst behaviors and pathologies. Good for you.
(B) Excellent fight. Bravo. You still have progress to make in the pacing department, but your repertoire of endgames now includes to go-to classic breast maul. This will take you far in life.
(C) You're not being paranoid. If the stepmom thinks a little setback will stop the rival, she has evidently never been with a man who is Good In Bed (which would go a long way to explaining how it is that she's a middle-aged stepmom living in a .... ahem .... white trash home). Your boyfriend and his ex are no doubt having make-up sex behind your back (the best kind of sex there is), and she is no doubt plotting her revenge for Thanksgiving Break. You and her will meet again. But eat your vegetables, keep up your cardio, sharpen your nails, and we're sure you'll do fine. TABSK
