[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK:  My name is Tammy, and I'm a 46 year old homemaker and Mom in the suburbs, blonde and with a figure I've always been proud of.  I've had a long-time auburn-haired frenemy named Debbie--for 40 years to be exact, when we met in the city in grade school.  We grew up in the city, went to Catholic high school together, and always had an unspoken sexual rivalry over boyfriends that kept us from 100% bonding:  passive-aggressive commentary over each others' looks or relationship successes or failures cast a cloud over any conversations we had.  Both of us moved out to the suburbs after school, neither of us ever quite fully breaking off an friendship which had probably outlived its purpose.  Debbie got married first, at age 24, and quickly had three kids, which stung me so much that it took me a full decade, at age 34, to get my own act together and get married myself.  I started having my own children, and Debbie graciously (I assumed) offered to help me with the infant-rearing stage.  I was so exhausted from lack of sleep that I missed the clues that Debbie was also in the process of falling out of love with her husband, which eventually resulted in her getting divorced.

And trying to steal my husband.

When Debbie was in our house helping with bottles or groceries or the dishwasher, she was "checking out" my husband in his pajamas or underwear, which progressed to touching him (first "above the belt", then below), and then full-on kissing him, on the mouth, with tongue.  I don't know whether her intention was to have this progress to sex and then him leaving me, or if she was just acting out on her jealousy of me, but he resisted her temptation--he told her to stop it.  But never told me, until last night, during a stupid  quarrel he and I were having.

I'm incensed with Debbie--I could scratch her eyes out and not care.  But I also need to know:  was she just lonely, or was something more malicious going on?  Which scenario will result in a worse fight between her and me:  if I confront her immediately with my discovery, or if I seethe over this for months and years?  (Remember, I said that she and I grew up in the city--we've seen each other catfight more than once, and neither of us takes any prisoners once a fight starts.  It won't be pretty if she and I get physical.)  Tammy

**************************
Dear Tammy--The energy between you and Debbie seems like it's been leading to this from the start.  Candidly, if you're completely sure you can avoid her forever, do so.  This itch can't be scratched without it leading to, well, ......, lots of scratching.  And biting.  And worse.  But, if you two are in circles where physical distancing can't be guaranteed, then our advice is to get this settled immediately.  Furtive glances and flirty touching are one thing.  But kissing?  No, Debbie, you did NOT just do that.  Time for some 'spaining.  TABSK

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--My name is Kristy, a long-time reader, and a contemporary in age and class (and religion) of Tammy, so I needed to write to her, through you, to give her some encouragement in this time of betrayal by her so-called friend.  Tammy:  I know it might not feel like it right now, but you're not alone.  We all have a Debbie in our lives.  That sometimes-friend sometimes-backstabber, who rides our wave when times are good, and rides our husband/partner/boyfriend when times are bad, or at lead chaotic and uncertain.  You say no sex happened between Debbie and your husband.  First, don't assume that.  But even if true, in Debbie's mind, she's lived out every favorite fantasy of hers with him over and over again--without the pain in the ass of ever doing his laundry or cleaning his pots and pans.  Things are not square between you and her.  You worry that a catfight between you and her will get crazy:  .....but she already tongue-kissed your man!!!!  Make her at least pay the toll for that ride.....with penalties and back interest.  No more free riding, Debbie.  Pun intended.  Oh, and take it from me.  If your last catfight was high school, never fear:  it's like riding a bike.  You'll remember how it's done once your claws are in her auburn head.  Don't dawdle, Tam.  Get this done.  Now.  Kristy

Dear Kristy:  Just a quibble--not sure we all have a Debbie.  Asking around on Zoom, we got no confessions of behind-the-back tongue kissing with a newborn sleeping nearby.  But point taken--Tammy and Debbie have a lot of water under the bridge.  Debbie should apologize....or take off the earrings.  TABSK

[JT Edson]

Looking forward to seeing what happens next.

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--Tammy, again.  The one who got backstabbed by Debbie.  I did it.  I confronted Debbie.  Your reply to my letter (no, I'm not 100% sure Debbie and I would have never crossed paths again), Kristy's subsequent letter of support, and your reply to Kristy, all got me closer to doing what I needed to do.  And, finally, one of the books on my daughter's summer reading lists got me off my butt into into Debbie's face.  It's called "Kate Fenningate", by Booth Tarkington.  It's about a 1920s Middle America nice girl, Kate, who's bullied her whole life by a high school classmate, Laila Capper, for over twenty years.  Two years after high school, Laila stole Kate's boyfriend and married him.  I realized, like Kristy said, that we all have a Debbie, and that Laila was Kate's Debbie.  I did what Kate should have done to Laila.  I dressed in high school semi-badass clothes (jeans, white halter top, heavy makeup, teased hair, small purse--to put down suggestively when out talk got heated, gaudy hoop earrings--to take off suggestively when it was go-time, heels--to kick off at the first punch), and I drove right over to her house on a Saturday afternoon, on a hunch that she would be home alone then.  She was.  She took the hint from my clothes.  She knew why I was there.  She was ok with it.  She closed the door behind us.  I told her my husband confessed to their bedroom kissing.  I demanded an apology.  She said, "It takes two to kiss, last I checked."  There wasn't much to talk about after that.  It was on.  I put the purse down on an end table; then the earrings.  I never did get the heels kicked off--she was on me, and then we were both on the floor.  Kristy was right--my reflexes kicked into gear like it was senior prom after-party at the city beach.  Our nails sought to dig deep into flesh, scalp, and clothing.  Our legs coiled around each others' midsections and sought to clamp down and squeeze.  I dared not open my eyes for fear of Debbie's slashing nails.  My anger was uncontrollable at her unapologetic invasion of my home and husband.  She had watched fights of mine in high school--did she not think I would retaliate for advances on my husband?  I shrieked these questions in her ear as our faces got close to each other.  She called me a stuckup bitch, which fueled my anger even more.  Out hatred for each other was complete; our friendship was over.  I hated her for her recklessness, for her hatred and jealousy of me and my life.  I scratched unreservedly, and bit.  We both did.  Over and over.  It was horrible, and yet long overdo.  Both of us went to our limit, and neither of us gave.  It was pointless to expect either of us would.  I guess I'm the one who eventually left.  Enough was enough.  I made my point.  Tammy

Dear Tammy--Kudos.  And yet....how long ago was this?  Days?  Weeks?  Is it over? 

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--It's Kristy again, worried sick about Tammy, and the Pandora's Box she's opened with her frenemy, Debbie.  This isn't about me, so I was reluctant to tell the story (the full story) of me and my frenemy, Robin.  But, given that Tammy has "gone there", and cited me as an inspiration, I need to write in that her confrontation with Debbie, while necessary, wasn't as ....  decisive..... as it needed to be.  Tammy is evidentally a reader, so I'll put this in literary terms for her:  there's a classical saying, I think from Shakespeare, that if you take a shot at the King, make sure you don't miss.  Well, Tammy's "visit" to Debbie was an effective declaration that "the gloves are off" between the two erstwhile classmates; but it was too inconclusive.  There was no winner, and no loser's concession, at their battle.  If Tammy had won (and Debbie admitted it), Debbie would have paid with interest and penalties for her borrowed kisses of Tammy's man.  Even if Debbie had won (and Tammy admitted it), Debbie would have had double-guilt on her conscience:  guilt for the emotional adultery, and guilt for bullying her betrayed friend.  Instead, Debbie gets to bask in the revisionist history, a "So, that's how it is between us, huh?  And apparently always was?".  If so inclined, she can make another run at Tammy's man.  Or even at Tammy herself--unfinished business, after all.  Tammy did say that avoiding each other is not an option.  Again, this is not about me......but Robin and I learned the hard way that inconclusive draws settle nothing.  It took us four bitter rounds to get to "I give."  (From her, of course.  Did you have any doubt?)   Tammy, please know what you've started.  You can do it, but only if you steel yourself to take this to its finish.  Kristy

Dear Kristy--We couldn't agree more that Tammy and Debbie have unfinished business.  But......don't Kristy and TABSK also have unfinished business?  We have 4 Kristy-Robin fights that are undescribed to our readers.  Surely, we deserve to hear about them, no?

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--So, it's Kristy again.  I was reluctant to make this about me, but what the heck, life is too short, and I've never really fully mentally processed my multi-year melodrama with Robin, so here goes.  Robin, and I, and a third girl our age growing up, Cindy, were an odd suburban threesome during the 1980s.  Although we lived in the same New England cul de sac, we went to three different schools.  Robin and I went to different Cstholic schoools (the Archdicese of Boston offered a plethora of choices back then, even at the high school level), and Cindy, well, ...... Cindy was the agitator in many ways in our late high school catfight soap opera.  She was in an out of various "juvie" schools and halfway houses.  To this day, I don't know what Cindy's original " crime" was:  I know she was tied to some house breakins, stealing car radios (a popular crime in the early 1980s), selling stolen property, possessing stolen property.  All three of us were in some flavor of broken homes touched by divorce, separation, death of a parent.  Broken homes gave a bad girl aura to girls growing up in them in 1980s Massachusetts, so we were locked out of circling in "popular girl" sleepovers, and were doomed to living off scraps on the social margins.  But Cindy was the real deal:  court dates, probation officers visiting her home--and fistfights with other girls.  Girls who threw closed fists were like finding Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster or the Abominable Snowman--fearsome creatures to be avoided, but which surely existed, and therefore everyone wanted to see once.  To keep her urban legend alive, Cindy looked for fistfights whereever she could find them.  And one Sunday afternoon at 4pm, on the Pop Warner football field, she found Robin.  The 2 of them had a standup fistfight with only 4 witnesses, but they gave each other black eyes, and the next day at our 3 different high schools the Robin-Cindy fistfight was the only topic of conversation--even the teachers were buzzing about it.  "Did you hear???  Robin fought Cindy.....and won!!!!  Knocked her down three times in 20 minutes!!!!"  It was as if Robin had slayed a dragon.  Cindy had a reputation to repair, ..... and, a month later, when her boyfriend (not a real relationship--just a boy she slept with) was romantically linked with me (not true--he just went to my school), she chose me as her rebound catfight.  I had been in scraps before, but never would have guessed I could beat Cindy in a real fight.  Until the Saturday afternoon I did, in my backyard, when Cindy got drunk and walked over, with 3 of her friends, to confront me about the boy.  Even though Cindy was inebriated, she was on her fistfight game--she dished out plenty to me in that long fight, but I dug deep and found something I didn't know was in me.  The next Monday morning, same deal--in all 3 of our schools, my fight victory over Cindy was the Talk of the Town.  That continued for a good 2 to 3 days more, when it morphed into more whispered conversation:  "Who would win a fight between Kristy and Robin??"  I heard it whispered about me.....then TO me.  I was like, "Why would you ask me that??  Why would I fight Robin??  I barely know her."   "Oooooo.....You afraid???   Kristy's afraid of Robin!!!!"   WTF?  I wasn't afraid.....and anyways, is this kindegarten?  I graduate high school next spring.  I'll be an adult.  With an adult job.  How is this immature conversation happening???  And yet.....and yet.... I couldn't help thinking at night.  Who WOULD win a fight between Robin and me??  TABSK, do you see where this is headed??

Dear Kristy--'Atta girl--for beating Cindy.  And for opening up about your story.  Can't wait to hear how you vs Robin went down.  TABSK

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--Kristy here, again.  Thanks for the encouragement ..... and, don't say I didn't warn you about my rivalry with Robin being a soap opera.  Rivalry.  After my backyard catfight victory over Cindy, that's what our relationship had become.  Because I had taken something from Robin, something important.  You see, Cindy had genuine "street cred" (that wasn't an actual saying yet in the 1980s, but it became one later and describes Cindy well) in our neighborhood and our town for being a genuine badass:  a genuine criminal record, genuine run-in's with the law, a genuine love of fist-fighting.  When Robin and her met that Sunday late afternoon on the Pop Warner football field to fist-fight, Robin wouldn't have been given a snowball's chance in hell of winning that fight.  And, yet ..... she did.  There had been 4 unassailable witnesses.  A fair fight--Cindy the Terrible had lost a fair, arranged catfight.  Robin finally had status--was invited to parties, boys danced with her and wanted to be seen by her, girls wanted her over for sleepovers; heck, she HOSTED sleepovers (I was at one of them).  She moved up the social ladder.  It was what she was known for--the only girl ever to beat Cindy in a catfight.  Until .... until I did the same.  Robin was very bitter.  She thought I had instigated my fight with Cindy by getting involved with Cindy's man.  But, I swear, I didn't.  It wasn't even true--he and I had nothing between us.  And I was a shocked as anyone the Saturday afternoon Cindy confronted me.  The shock of her coming over, and the adrenaline rush it gave me, is probably the only reason I won the fight.  So Robin and I had a beef now, because Robin went back to being pre-Cindy Robin--just a broken girl from a broken home.  She craved having her old status back.  The only way to get it was to fight me.  We were on a collision course.
It was only a matter of when and where.  The entire student body of all the area public and Catholic high schools knew who we were, and were placing bets on who would win our inevitable fight.  Team Robin, Team Kristy, and Team Will They Lose Their Tops were the three cliques that winter and spring.  I dreaded being the topic of so much gossip, and wanted it to end--but dreaded even more the ostracism of losing the much anticipated Catfight of the Century.  Even though our houses were walking distance, knocking on each others' doors and settling the matter privately was unthinkable--the masses demanded blood, or the site of blood.  Even tho' hundreds would have bought tickets, it was understood that most would need to settle for a second-hand description--but that description had better damn come from credible witnesses, actual friends of ours.  Oh, and physical evidence as well.  The black eyes Robin and Cindy wore after the football field fight, and the face scratches Cindy and I took from our backyard battle, set a high bar for war wounds demanded by the student body.  The wanted Robin and I in casts, if not wheelchairs, the day after our inevitable clash.
Keep in mind, this was before the internet, or even cellphones, before texting, before Instagram or Snapchat or TikTok.  It was damn hard to fight a girl who didn't go to your school, even a neighbor.  And neither of us had cars, either.  We both just walked around with our guard up, knowing that almost any face-to-face meeting almost anywhere would result in a nose-to-nose challenge, and then nails and knuckles. 
I kinda just wanted to get it over with.  Because I was masturbating about it all day and all night.  I was picturing Robin and me in different clothes, or none at all, in different settings, locked in a catball, tearing at each others' hair and flesh.  I pictured us calling each other Bitch and Slut.  I pictured us ripping each others' clothes off to the delight of the boys and (mostly) girls luck enough to be in the right place at the right time for our Clash of the Titans.  I pictured our fight getting dirty, with breast-tearing a low blows.  I pictured shin-kicking and knees to the face.  And it all made me cum, over and over again, in waves which not even good sex had ever induced in me.  When Robin and I eventually fought, would I lose control sexually like this?  How embarrassing--and dangerous.  What if Robin saw my distracted state and started wailing on me?  What if I lost the fight because I was sexually aroused?
It finally happened at a Confirmation practice.  Robin's Catholic high school and mine had a joint Confirmation event during April vacation.  We judiciously avoided each other before and during the event (catfighting at Confirmation class?  how inappropriate!), but it was ....  SO ON .... later that night, after pickup.  Two junior girls with cars, who wanted to be witnesses to the fight, got one each of us into their cars, and drove us to the back parking lot of a KMart, known as a smoking and catfighting hangout.  As soon as I saw the Kmart sign, I knew I had been duped, and that if Robin had been simlarly tricked, then tonight was Fight Night.  I wished I had known and dressed in jeans, but was otherwise fine with what was about to go down.
I wish it had not been so dark that night, too.  And that we weren't fighting on pavement.  I saw Robin's shimmering black hair coming at me in the lot, but otherwise would have never known it was her.  She bullrushed me and took me down, and the gravel and pothole chunks of the parking lot broke skin on both of us, so the metallic taste of blood in my mouth was overwhelming.  And not at all sexy--no need to worry about cumming now.
Because of the dark and the immediate drawing of blood, there were no pretensions of tactics in our fight.  It was brawling in its purest form.  How would it have ended if we had continued is pure guesswork.
And something we'll never know the answer to.  Because we got broken up after about three minutes.  Figures--I was on top finally when the end came.  But one of the Confirmation teachers had gotten wind of the junior girls' trick on Robin and me, and had driven to the KMart to break up the fight.
Which probably saved me an ill-timed senior year expulsion.  But which caused me years of headaches with Robin.
Because, Robin still didn't know the answer to the question that defined her.  Who would win a fair fight between Kristy and Robin?   Kristy

Dear Kristy-  Well done!  The fight ....  and the retelling of it!  We can't wait to hear how Rounds 2, 3, and 4 went down.  TABSK

[sinclairfan]

Dear TABSK--It's me, Kristy.  You know how, in movies, most sequels are worse than the original.  Well, .... Spoiler Alert! .... Kristy vs Robin 2 and Kristy vs Robin 3 were, at best, the same as, meaning as indecisive as, Kristy vs Robin 1.  For both the audience, and the combatants.  The original happrned in 1984, the first sequel in 1987, and the second sequel in 1990.  Why so long between fights?  Well, when I came home from my first KMart parking lot encounter with Robin, I ran up to my bathroom and was a bit shaken by how much damage my opponent ... and the KMart parking lot .... had inflicted on my face and forehead and scalp.  My entire cranium .... is that the right word? ..... had thin rivulets of blood streaming from deep crevices -- blood that wasn't clotting the way, say, a cut from a thorn or a branch does, say when you're hiking thru the woods.  It wasn't caking in my blonde hair -- it was .... permeating it.  The sheets on my bed and my pillowcases at the time were dark blue, but they still stained the next morning and needed to be trashed--I made up a lie to my stepmom about a heavy period.  If Robin and I could inflict that much damage on each other in a 3-minute tussle, I could only imagine the post-mortem (literally?, maybe) from a 20-minute Cindy-brawl between us.  I also think the the junior girls who drove us to the parking lot felt like human cockfighting handlers--not good, in other words--and ratchetted down the catfight buzz around town.  Confirmation, finals, prom, and graduation came and went, and the town found some other drama to gossip about. 
And yet ..... part of me was still Robin-curious.  What if the Confirmation teacher hadn't taken it upon herself to drive to KMart that night to break up the catfight?  St the Confirmation pre-ceremony, Bishop Hart from Fall River came down the rows of csndidsyes and could ask any question he wanted.  What if he asked, "Who would win a catfight between Kristy and Robin?".  What would the candidates say?
Not to mention--my masturbating to our fight--the real one, and fantasy ones--continued.  Full force.  Constantly.  Nightly.  And intensely.
Robin left the cul de sac the Summer after high school graduation.  I stayed, and tried to keep up with what was going on at het house--her family still seemed to be there.  But no Robin.  Until Jsnuary 1987.  Some sort of Late Christmas/Orthodox Epiphany/ Three Kings family reunion on January 6.  I was walking by, being nosey.  Robin was with family ,..... cousins, I guess, also walking.  She and I made eye contact .... and a bee-line for each other.  We were in the snow, exchanging fists and kicks in no time.  And were broken up just as quickly.  On that day, and on the same day in 1990, in a scene out of the movie Groundhog Day.  Why not in 1988 and 1989?  Weather.  Storms on both days cancelled her family reunion.  Or we would have fought those days, too, I have no doubt.
But we were getting no where.  We clearly both wanted to fight each other to a conclusion.  There was no point resisting. 
Even after her childhood home was foreclosed on in the summer of 1990.
There was no Google back then.  I had no way of finding out where she and her family moved to.
By 1997, I had given up hope of ever finding .... or fighting .... Robin ever again.
Until this neat service called AOL--America Online--came along.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kristy's letter, continued....

AOL, some readers may be too young to realize, was the first way to access the internet.  Unsolicited, they would snail mail a disk or CD to your home address, you would load the disk on your PC or laptop, and then you would "dial in" to AOL, either its conect or the internet.  It was all pretty primitive (and slow) by 2020 standards, but there were a couple features which anticipated today's Snapchat and Facebook.  The sorta-precursor to Snapchat was AOL chatrooms, and the sorta-precursor to Facebook was something called Classmates, which organized user self-reported data in high school and class year.  I went straight to Robin's school and year:  Marian High School, Class of '84, and there she was.  Or, there a short biographical sketch was--current hometown (Leominster, MA ; or, about 55 miles north of where we had grown up), favorite saying, job (administrative assistant), email address, and AOL user name.  Robin had found AOL too; in fact, a few months sooner than I had, apparently.  It was a foregone conclusion that I was going to reach out to her.  I debated whether to do so by email or AOL.  I had some free time on my hands, so decided on the patient approach.
I had some free time on my hands in early 1997 because my first career choice was winding down.  You see, at age 31, as s stripper, you are becoming old.  Yes, I had spent 1989 to 1997 as a dancer.  The money was insane--well over 100k a year, cash, practically no taxes (as long as you didn't deposit most of the cash in a bank).  So I'd be up all hours, screwing around on the Web, stalking Robin.  If you knew an AOL user's login name, you could see if they were online, and then see what Chat Room they were in.  You could then get their attention publicly in the Chat Room, and then invite them into a private room.  My heart fluttered the night Robin was on at the same time as me.  I just cyber-stalked her at first--why was she online, I wondered?  There were run of the mill chat rooms, and then more kinky ones, like for Lesbians and what-not.  Was she on here for sex?  To meet someone?  Her profile was bland, other than to confirm her Massachusetts location, and her age of 31, and her jet black hair.  And that she was divorced.
Sometimes I would get close to being in the same Chat Room, and then get frozen out because it reached its maximum capacity of 31.  I started thinking I'd have to cave and cold-email her.
Late one Monday night, I was in the same chat room as her.  No one in the room was talking in the room, so they must have all been DMing each other.  I took my cue, DMd my old enemy, and held my breath.  I wasn't disappointed:
K:  31/f/MA  I think I grew up with you.
R:  If you're 31, that's possible.  But I grew up lots of places in MA and RI.
K:  I meant high school.  I think we knew each other.
R:  Oh, you went to Marian?
K:  No, Xaverian Brothers,  But you and I were neighbors.
R:  If you're Kristy, we were more than neighbors.
K:  Yes, it's Kristy.  And, what were we?  besides neighbors?
R:  Kristy, you were sort of my nemesis.  You made it really hard for me growing up there.
K:  I'm sorry.  I think--not sure what you're referring to, tho?
R:  You're not?  Kristy, you spread all sorts of rumors about me in Southwick.  I never had a chance there.
K:  Whoa, whoa, time out.  Robin, I don't know who told you what about me, but you shouldn't take any of it at face value.
R:  Kristy, then why did you jump me everytime I came home?
[I'm now masturbating furiously.]
K:  Jump you??  I thought we were .... catfighting.  I thought we both wanted to??
R:  Why did you want to catfight me?
K:  Because, we never finished.  To see who would win.
R  You want to finish a fight between us, just to see who wins?
K:  Yes.  Don't you??
R:  More than anything.

To be continued.....

[femfitefan]

I'm really enjoying this.  The side story has turned into the primary.  Hope to hear about lots more of both.

[sinclairfan]

Kristy's story, continued....

Looking back, I'm surprised Robin and I didn't fight that night.  There were two reasons we didn't.  The first was that it was 1997, and there was no GPS.  Leominster, MA isn't the easiest city to get to, and to get around in.  Robin's adminstrative assistant salary, and her divorced status, didn't exactly pay for the most on-the-grid housing--so I probably would have gotten lost on the way there.
But the other reason was more .... physiogical.
You see:  it was impossible to drive 50 miles when I needed to .... epically masturbate.  I mean, literally, for hours.  I was always a frequent masturbator .... borderline addicted.  But hearing that Robin wanted to catfight me .... alone, with no rules ..... sent me completely over the top.  No amount of ... doing it .... was enough.  It just made me crave more.  No, I wouldn't have been able to pay attention to the road that night.  Or the next day.  Or the next night.  Or the next.  Are masturbation benders a thing?  I went on one.
What thoughts was I maturbating to?  Robin and I catfighting nude.  Robin and I catfighting in bikinis.  Robin and I catfighting in miniskirts.  Robin and I catfighting in leather pants.  In jeans and nothing else.  In heels and nothing else.  In bathrobes in nothing else.  In a hot tub.  In a shower.  In a locker room.  In panties and nothing else.  In French Maid uniforms.  In admin assistant clothes, fighting for her job.  In a prison cell.  In a prison courtyard.  In a car.  In a submarine.  In a castle.  In a dungeon.  In a closet.   On the Pop Warner football field where she fought Cindy.  In my backyard, where I fought Cindy.
In Foxy Boxing gloves that some strippers at my club fought in for bachelor parties.  In work gloves that my mom used to pick poison ivy in.  In brass knuckles, that one of the strippers at our club who was getting stalked used to wear for protection. 
I'll fight you any of those ways, Robin.
I thought about having 101 fights with her.  First one to 51 wins.
Not so much, thought ..... more like, masturbated to it.
What took us do long? 
She gave me directions to her Leominster home.  We specified no rules ... and no clothes.  I was a stripper .... but why was SHE so comfortable with no clothes?  It took me months as a dancer to be semi-ok with no clothes.  What wasn't she telling me about her past?  Was this a prank?  A set up?
I emailed her to reassure myself this was real.

Let's fuck each other up, Robin.

Or, I could just fuck you up, Kristy.

In your dreams, Robin.  I've been in fights since high school.

So have I, slut.  Hard one's,  what's your point??

The bitch that broke up your marriage??

Jealous a guy proposed to me?  I heard strippers don't get any cuz guys are intimidated by them, Kristy.

You heard wrong, bitch.  And who told you I'm a stripper?

You just did, skank.  Lucky guess.  Dumb ass.  Slutty AND stupid, what a surprise.

How many Nobel Prizes as have you won as a secretary, Robin??

As many as you have as a whore.

So, yes, it was true.  This was real.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Kristy's story, continued....

As the day approached for me to drive to Leominster for my catfight against Robin, and as my AOL chats and emails (this was 1997--texting wasn't really a thing) with Robin became increasingly threatening, I decided I would be wise to bring a driver with me to the fight.  I was confident in winning, but was reluctant to get pulled over on the way back home and have to explain to someone the cuts on my face and the hair under my nails. 
I was between boyfriends--a state which pretty much described my entire love life from 1985 to 1997; I enjoyed my independence and having my stripper money to myself--so someone from the club I danced at was my best option as a fight wing-girl.  I wanted someone reliable--not a sure thing among the girls at work--but yet with no baggage; well, you know, without a kid at home; I wanted someone who could take care of me--run to the grocery store for band-aids and disinfectant and bottled water--the night after the fight.
There was a dancer much younger than me named Britney--I doubt that was her real name, but she was blonde, and Britney Spears was popular at the time, so that's we she went by, on-stage and off- --who I'd seen do Foxy Boxing a few times.  I guess her fighting background gave me the courage to broach the subject of my own impending fight with her.  Or, wore down my inhibitions enough to, one night at work, ask her if she could call me at home after work one night.  Her boyfriend was a North Quincy cop who worked the graveyard shift, so she was known to be open to late-night phone chats.  I still couldn't work up the balls to explain the whole story of my rivalry with Robin, ftom the beginning, in person, or that I was asking her to get involved, a little bit, by chauffering me to and from the fight.  I took a deep breath that night, dialled, and waited for Britney to answer.

B--Hello?

K--Hey.  Now a good time?

B-- Yeah, actually it is.  What's up, Kristy.  Everything ok?  Yiu've seem distracted lately.

K--Good call.  I have been.  That's what I wanted to talk about?

B--No health trouble, I hope?

K--No, no .... nothing like that.  It's .... it's a girl from high school.  She and I are gonna catfight.

<<<<I was half-prepared for Britney to hang up here, and moreover run and tell every other dancer at the club.  My fears were unfounded, to say the least.>>>>>

B-- Oooooo, sexy, a catfight.  I love catfights.  What's the raison d'etre??  A man??  Which one of you bee-aches is the side chick??

<<<I think Britney meant 'causus belli', not 'raison d'etre', but didn't have the heart to correct her.>>>>>

K--No, not over a guy.  Sorta just an unsettled score.  We actually went to separate high schools--we were in the same neighborhood at the time. 

B--So .... exciting.  So, you two, ...  what ..., ran into each other at Stop N Shop??  Tell me!!!

K--Well, so, .... she actually moved up to Leominster.  This is .... this is so weird, .... I haven't seen her in person since 1990 ..... I assumed I would never see her again.  I .... this might sound weird or stalkerish .... I found her online, on AOL ....

B--Not weird at all .... a girlfriend of mine just upped and moved to Atlanta to a guy she met on AOL....So, Kristy, you just got to the point and challenged her to a catfight??

K- Well .... basically, yeah .... yeah that's basically what happened .... well we talked about how in 1990, ya know, the last time she was at her old house, she and I had fought, and gotten broken up....

B--Oo, getting broken up sucks.  So, yeah, I would call that unfinished business.  Is she hot??  What's her name??

K--Her name is Robin.  She has black hair, she's not blonde like us .... She was always jealous of blondes ....

B-- She said that??

K--Well, ..  not quite ... long story ... this other girl from our neighborhood who she fought, Cindy, .... vicious fight senior year .... well ... Cindy was blonde ...

B-- Cindy was your best friend??

K--No, no .... not even close .... like I said, long story ..... see, well, Cindy and I fought too .....

B--Kristy?

K--Yeah?  Getting bored??

B--No....getting horny.  Three gitls, three catfights.  Are all these stories true??  Please say yes.

K-- All true, I swear.  Why?

B--Kristy, make me cum.

<<<<<Was I not the only one turned on by the fight triangle between Cindy and Robin and me?>>>>>

K--What would make you cum, Britney??

B--Your fight with Cindy.  What was she wearing??  Tell me everything.

K--It was spring, right after school.  She went to a private school with a uniform.  White blouse.  Navy skirt, above the knee.  Black nylons.  Short heels.

B--And you?

K--Different school, but also with a uniform.. Catholic school uniform.  Yellow shirt, plaid skirt, also to the knees.  White stockings.

B--Did you two talk before the fight?  Did you know there would be a fight?

K--Once she was in my yard, I knew I had to fight her, regardless of whether either of us wanted it.

B-- Gawd, territorial ...... so fucking sexy, Kristy.

K-- Britney, I'm so fucking turned on.

B--Me to .... gawd,  ahhhhh   uuuuummmmmm, gawd talk about the fight Kristy.

K-- I caaa nnnt .....  gawd I'm too fucking turned on....

B- Then finish .... so you can tell me about the fight ....

K- Gawwd, I want to, Britney ....

B--I want you to, too ..... Kristy ....

K--Cum together with me .....

B/K ---  Mm  Mmm  Mmmmm
<<<I buck uncontrollably on my bed and cum>>>>>>

<<<<<We exhale together in the phone for two minutes.  I break the silence.>>>>

B--You're the first person I've told that I get turned on by catfighting.

K--Same.

B--Will you drive me to my fight with Robin?

K--I'd love to.

To be continued......

[sidekick]

You have a rare and wonderful talent for writing in the most sexy way I can imagine about girls fighting.

[sinclairfan]

Kristy's story, continued

Every night that Britney's boyfriend was working the graveyard shift--which was 4 or 5 nights a week, depending on the week--she and I would eagerly call each other and talk about fights we wanted to be in, or already had been in.  We would ask questions and work each other into full arousal--and past--with detalis of fights we craved or had experienced.  One story of hers which I kept steering her back to was a scenario which seized hold of my imagination:  stealing a boyfriend from a rival.

K-- Does your boyfriend know catfighting arouses you so much?

B--Just the tiniest bit.  There's .... SO MUCH .... he doesn't know yet.

K--Such as?

B- - Such as .... that a catfight between his ex and I is the reason I'm with him!

K--Britney!?!?!  NFW!!!  You fought your man's ex!!

B-  Correction, Kristy.  I fought his girlfriend.... when they were together!

K-- Britney, if you're lying about this I'll be so disappointed!

B--Scouts honor, Kristy.  It was REAL ...  and it was ...  SPECTACULAR.

K-- So?!?!  Spill!!  Who was she?  Where'd you two rumble?

B-- Well, her name was Dawn.  I met her the same place I met him ....  at the same time.  I was out in Carver grabbing birth control, and the two of them were in the same aisle .... so, they were obviously a couple ...  I guess that's what triggered the troublemaker part in me .... I heard them talking, and they came over to me ... anyways, he and I brushed hands .... she was a brunette, older than me... attractive, but definitely older .... I could tell -- she could tell -- she and I had the simultaneous recognition--  that my being blonde and younger had caught his eye ..... she was gonna try and nonchalant it -- not make me even more attractive to him by making me seem like, you know, forbidden fruit, or whatever .... but I gave her this death stare, not voicing the words but saying with my body language--"Stupid bitch, we're in the birth control section.  All three of us are obviously picturing how sex with each other would be.  And you're obviously ... coming up short with him." ..... I thanked him for helping me pick out a gel, and told him my name and that I shopped here a lot, same time of day, and maybe I'd see him again.  I then brushed by him. and she got in the aisle as if to block me.  She told him she'd catch up with him at the checkout.  He left--she and I locked eyes, and she told me "I think I have a problem with you flirting so obviously in front of me."  I told her, "I'd love to discuss it more with you, Dawn.  In private."  Kristy, I swear, I was totally improvising.  That was sort of reckless--with a lot of girls, it would have been totally on in the aisle right there.  But I did it anyways--I wanted this fight.... and I wanted HIM. 

K-- He was that hot?

B--He was that hot ....  AND ...  Kristy, it is SO HARD ... to meet cops, like off duty, to date.  He was out of uniform, but I had heard them talking.  Kristy, I had been trying to meet a cop for so long that I had given up....and this one fell into my lap.  And there was obviously tension with his girl.

K--So ..   you and her didn't fight in the store?

B--Not in the store ..... but she mentioned a park behind Plymouth-Carver High School.... I told her I didn't know it, and anyways it was winter out.  He was motioning her to wrap it up--he had finished checking out--and that made her blurt out her street address--she said it was where she lived.  And she said, "But not tonight--he's not working.  Let's do tomorrow."  I said, " Fine.  8pm."

K--Britney!!!  So balls-y!!   And?  You drove over there?

B--Walked--it was walking distance, off Main Street. 

K--This is in Carver??  She didn't live with him??

B--Yeah, Carver.  Half lived with him, half had her own place.  I dressed up like we've talked about--badass jeans, jean jacked, to not get scratched.  I did my nails.  Full battle dress.  She answered the door, I brushed past her for the second time in two days--it's an old-style three-plex with a long narrow foyer--she locked the door behind us, and we just fought right there in the foyer.  She went for my hair, but I went for her face--with my nails.  Kristy, the foyer was so narrow, there wasn't even room for both of us to fall to the floor, so the walls were holding us up.  I just keep clawing....grabbing.... grabbing flesh.  She realized pulling my hair was doing much and started punching, then grabbing and clawing.  We were moving up and down the long, narrow hallway, slamming into the walls.  I just wanted to scratch her face as hard as I could, as many times as I could.  Just, like, raking her ... her face, her neck.  I started sweating like crazy from being in jeans, but it made it hard for her to scratch me or grab me.  It was so intense.....she started yelling "Stay away from him," and I was yelling back, "He wants me more.  I'll steal him."  We both knew exactly why we were fighting.  Anyways, we fell to the ground, and I was on top, because I was a bit stronger and had her back on her heels a bit.  I started tearing at her soft top and got her chest exposed.  I started raking and clawing there, too, now, but not letting go of her face, either.  She had no way to get me off of her--she had been in enough fights to know to beg me to stop while I still would.  I would have kept going, but I was sweaty as could be ....and I sensed it was over between them.  I think she knew it too.  I told her to give.  She eventually did.

B--Kristy?

B-- Kristy, you there?

K--Britney, I swear I almost blacked out.

B--Oh ....  did you hear what I said??

K-- Every word.  Every .... damn ....  word.

B-  And?

K--He doesn't know this happened ... between you and her.

B-  Nah .... some things should just stay .... girltalk.

K--Amen to that.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Kristy's Fight Day versus Robin

The arranged day finally came for my fight against Robin.  My new bestie, Britney, came and picked me up, dressed to the nine's for the occassion (fancy office clothes--to look as professional as possible if we were pulled over on the way back), her blonde hair straightened and in a mature style I had never seen her in.  She caught me staring at her across the front seat.  Britney was more than a bestie by this point--I had an outright girlcrush on her.  That I wanted to act on   Acting on a girlcrush was a much, much bigger deal in 1997 than it is in 2020.  Unless you were an artist or an accomplished writer or something along those lines, you could act out like I wanted to with Britney, but had best keep in deep deep deep in the closet.  And she was so much younger than me--I never asked, but guessed she was 21 to my 31.  So, even though Britney had bared her deepest darkest secret to me, her love of girlfighting, I couldn't bare my crush on her even to her, never mind others.  So, I just resigned myself to staring at her, and not acting on it.

And, anyways, I had more immediate issues.  After 13 years, Robin and I were finally going to find the answer to the burning question of our high school years:  who would win a catfight between us.  It was hard to imagine living down a loss like that one.  I needed to get rowdy, and yet pace myself.  Both of our fights versus the notorious Cindy had been marathons, and I didn't know how reliable my cardio was anymore.  Did Robin work out?  I wished now that I knew.

The day was very rainy, and I wondered if Britney would be allowed to watch the fight.  Leominster houses had huge backyards, which was my preferred venue for our catfight.  But the New England weather seemed to have different ideas--if it forced our fight to move indoors, would Britney be allowed in to watch?  I had neglected to consider this possibility in weeks of the informal arrangements I made with Robin.  We had typed to each other several times, "Naked.  No rules."  Did we actually mean it?  I hoped so.

We pulled up to Robin's house in Britney's car.  This was 1997, the pre-iPhone era.  I couldn't really text or even call Robin from the car on the curb.  My only choice was to make the run-of-shame, through pouring rain, puddles, and mud to the front door.  And ring the bell.  And wait.  And frantically knock.  As I got more soaked, no coat or sweatshirt over my tank top.  Robin was either playing head games with me, or had chickened out.  Which was worse?

She opened the door.  Our eyes locked.  Robin was more beautiful than she had been in high school--jet black hair even shinier than back then, hazel-green eyes that pierced straight into you.  I wanted to come in--should I just push thru her or ask first?  I hesitated, so she spoke first, motioning to Britney's car on the curb.  "Who's Blondie?"

"She's my ride."

"She wanna watch me kick your ass?"

"She loves catfights."  [Dummy Kristy--don't violate a confidence like that.  I felt like Robin was winning the pre-fight.]

Robin turned from the door, and said, "Invite her in.  Let's get this over with.  Bathroom on the right is yours.  Strip."

I waved Britney into the house.  Was Robin's nonchalance false bravado?  Or had she fought like this before?  If so, was I in trouble?

Britney shut off her car and ran in, while I held the front door open.  The house was modest but well-kept.  The living room had all the furniture pushed to one side.  Robin was definitely ready--she was already removing her pants.  I was a professional dancer and didn't strip down that readily in front of others.  Robin was definitely a mystery to me--I should have scouted her better.  Her body was as firm as it had been in high school.

Britney locked the front door ominously, while I retired to the guest bathroom to pee and to strip.  I heard chatter and light shuffling outside--was Britney finding a comfortable seat to witness her fantasy:  an all-out nude catfight?

I opened the door and came out.  Robin was in Britney's lap, and they were full-on tongue-kissing each other.  The scene was surreal.  I was confused, hurt, jealous af.  Was Robin bi?  Was she doing this to distract me?  To hurt me?  Did Britney and her know each other?  I had told Britney I found Robin on AOL--maybe Britney found her too.  Or maybe this was totally spontaneous.  Britney was no doubt very turned on from the anticipation of the drive--she wouldn't say no to anyone right now.

Should I ask, "What the hell is going on here?".  That would just give Robin the satisfaction of knowing she had punked me and flustered me.  And kissed my girlcrush before I had.

I chose another tact.

"Let's go, Robin.  Are we here to fuck or to fight?".

"To catfight."  She got out of Britney's lap and stood to face me.

To be continued....