Chapter 6: Life With Kiva (Part 2 of 2)
It’s Friday night, the eve before my fight with Claire. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop. Tom is watching TV in the living room. Clarissa went to bed after I looked over her homework. Chase, my beagle, is curled up on the floor at my feet as I sip my second glass of wine.
Claire and I finalized the rules this morning. Winner by submission. No fists, kicks or scratches to the head or face. I watch her videos again. She sucks. I mean, she really sucks. Against Destiny, she walked right into punches. Freda tied her up into a pretzel. She looks weak. She can’t stop strikes. When she shoots at her opponent’s legs, she practically trips over herself. In her last fight, she did manage a little offense, and even stunned her opponent once, but did not follow up and gave the match away. I wonder if she likes being a jobber.
I notice my catfight website inbox has three messages. First is from Destiny. What a strange coincidence. I haven’t met Destiny yet. I only know her from the video of Kelli’s fight with her.
“Yo girlfriend,” it reads. “Saw your knockout vids. Let’s talk.”
I’m not surprised. She seems to fancy herself as a striker and is probably looking to go fisticuffs with someone. I’d love to flatten that young punk. Maybe in the future. I don’t have time for her right now.
Next message is from “Gloria.” I have no idea who she is as I open her message.
“Hey bitch, stay away from Frank. He’s MINE! He loves watching me fight. I will tear you to pieces right in front of him....Got it, cxnt?”
What the hell? How does she know me? Did Frank say something to her? Did she see me in the hospital talking to Frank? I should have known Frank enjoys catfights. After all, he’s a male. It doesn’t matter if it’s Frank, Carl, kings, paupers, saints or sinners. Guys like watching women fight. I have no time for Gloria either. I respond.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, hon. You and the other seven women claiming to be Frank’s girlfriend should have a tournament. I’ll present Frank to the winner. Good luck, bitch.”
The last message is from Paige! Jolene’s sister. This should be interesting.
“Hey Nurse. You better reserve a hospital bed. Kelli will need it after Jolene is done with her.”
I half expected there’d be growing tension between Paige and I. She’s in a snotty trophy wives clique at the country club. Then there was that condescending conversation at Billy’s. I’m on her shit list for siding with Kelli. Plus that whole episode with Jake and Jolene during Kelli’s cage fight. The two of us are probably headed for the cage ourselves. But not right now. I type.
“No, but there’s space in the morgue for Jolene.” I log out.
I take what’s left of my wine and head to living room to join my husband. But first, I make a detour to the medicine cabinet for a few ibuprofen pills. My right shoulder hurts. It happened today at work while transferring a patient from a litter to the bed. I was one of six female nurses involved. With three of us on each side, we grabbed onto the edge of a sheet underneath the patient to use as a sling to lift the patient. I was on the far side which meant I was bent over the litter. With the large man’s weight placing a strain on my back, shoulders, and arms, I cocked my hip to block an IV pole from falling. The shift in weight caused a sudden sharp pain in my shoulder. Determined to not let go of our patient I worked through the pain. It happens. There are many occupational risks in Nursing. All day, we stand, bend, lift, pull, carry, move people and equipment. We’re exposed to infections, biohazardous material, radiation. Many of the older nurses I know have chronic back problems. I’ll be fine, it’s just another sprain. I’ve had them before. It should be gone tomorrow.
Well, the fight is less than 24 hours away and Tom doesn’t know the stakes yet. Personally, I’m not worried about it. I know Claire has no chance. I’m bigger, faster, stronger and a much better fighter. Still, I know I shouldn’t have agreed to the stakes. I should have kept my cool. I never would have agreed to this against an equal fighter, but against Claire? It just doesn’t matter. But now, I got to get through this. It’s time to tell Tom. He’ll be upset at first but I can assure him it’s a total non-issue. I think it’s actually kind of funny. Imagine. Me and that geek having a roll in the hay. I think Tom will have a good laugh too when he sees Claire and Carl. Now all I have to do is go in there and tell him. I know how to present it to him.
“WHAT?......WHAT?.....WHAT?....DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT?....WHAT THE F-“
“Tom, keep your voice down. Clarissa is upstairs,” I try to say soothingly.”
“Kiva, are you NUTS? Are you out of your fu- um MIND? How COULD YOU?”
I calmly explain how I was provoked into it and lost my head by agreeing to the stakes. But I assure him that the chances of me losing are nonexistent.
“Dammit Kiva,” he scolds, “are you starting this shit again doing crazy dangerous things behind my back? You promised I would be fully informed of your fighting activity but this one...this one is off the charts. This takes the cake. It’s the most dumb ass thing you’ve ever done. EVER.” The harsh expression, popping neck veins, flushed face tell me he means business. My husband, in a word, is ....pissed.
“I won’t lose,” I repeat.
“Famous last words,” he warns. “No you won’t lose because you won’t be fighting. Cancel the fight.”
“I can’t,” I barely mumbled.
“Then cancel the stakes,” he orders. “They’re not valid because I wasn’t involved. You’re my wife and I should have a say if you’re going to risk running off to screw some virgin dork.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I breathe out, my voice barely audible.
“I don’t mind if you wear a bikini, lingerie, a thong, or fight topless or even nude in front of men. In fact, I think it’s hot. But if you so much as touch another man, we’re done!”
“Does that mean you’ll leave me,” I meekly ask. He pauses.
“Look,” he says, “here’s the deal. If you want to fight here tomorrow night, fine. If you lose and the stakes aren’t cancelled, you will stay here and I will personally throw the two of them out of this house myself. If I have to, I will call the cops. But, you are NOT going anywhere tomorrow night. I am so pissed at you, I can’t even see straight. Excuse me, but I’m going to bed.”
My husband leaves me with a cold expression before turning toward the bedroom. I sit down and try to collect myself. I know he is right about everything. He has a right to be angry. How could I have done something so stupid? In a sense, I did betray him. But this time tomorrow, it will all be over. I will win and everyone will be better off. Carl will start a new life away from his controlling sister. Claire might stop taking beatings. And they will both be out of my hair.
I slip into my nightgown and crawl into bed. I snuggle up to my husband who....rolls to his side turning his back to me.
“Tom?” I call out.
No answer but I know he’s awake. He won’t talk to me. I’m being shunned...and I don’t blame him. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling fan. I’m wide awake. I doubt I’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. And my shoulder feels worse.
An hour later, I’m still awake. I think Tom by now has fallen asleep. I rise from bed, turn on the TV and sit on the sofa. I channel surf through 500 channels of shit, watching old reruns. I spend the next two hours watching “Indecent Proposal,” a 90s movie about a happy young couple who are about to lose their home due to financial ruin. A mysterious billionaire offers to help them out of their predicament by offering the wife one million dollars...if she sleeps with him for one night. It’s not helping my mood....and my shoulder is killing me.
I’ll be fine if I can get to sleep. The ibuprofen isn’t doing much. I’ll find something stronger so I’m back to the medicine cabinet. There it is on the top shelf; a pill box with a few tablets of...OxyContin! Tom was prescribed them last year after an ankle fracture. He hates narcotics so he didn’t use them. They expired a month ago but they should still be good. I know you should never take another person’s prescription medications. But I’m a nurse and I know what I’m doing. As they say, “Do what I say, not what I do.” I can handle this and it’s just one time. I really need pain relief and sleep, then I’ll be ready to kick Claire’s ass tomorrow. I sip from a glass of water and swallow the tablet. I’m good to go. Time to get back to bed. On the kitchen counter, I see the opened bottle of wine. Oh shit, I remember, I drank alcohol and took OxyContin. That can be dangerous. But the wine was a few hours ago. I’ll say it again. I’m a nurse and I know how to deal with this. No one else should ever try this. Ever.
I slip under the covers. Tom’s back is still facing me. Chase awakens at the foot of the bed. He licks my face and plops himself against me. A dog’s love. So unconditional. So nonjudgmental.
It’s 2 am and I’m still awake. My shoulder feels better. My head though is woozy. I’m not surprised. I should have remembered. Narcotics do that to me. I haven’t taken any in years. The ceiling fan twirls and softly hums. Sparks fly off the fan blades and scatter across the ceiling. Strange faces form in front of my eyes, one at a time, emerging from the dark, then receding back to nothing. Brightly colored shapes dance around the room; squares, circles, triangles. They organize into symmetrical patterns within a circle like a child’s kaleidoscope. I hear music in my head but it’s terrible music...Nickelback...Ugh. I know I’m getting drowsy. Sleep is coming. Finally...sleep.
What? It’s light already. And so bright. What time is it?
“Kiva, wake up,” I hear Tom say, “It’s 3:00 in the afternoon.”
“WHAT?...what happened?”
“I knew you were up late so I let you sleep.”
“Shit, my whole day is gone.” I don’t sleep this late, even when I work night shift. “And Clarissa?”
“Clarissa has been taken care of,” my husband answers with a hint of detachment. “Now get up. You’re opponent and lover boy will be here in a few hours.”
I arise, take a shower and put on a sweatsuit but I still feel a bit foggy in the head. Tom and I clear the furniture from the center of the den and lay down the mats for the fight. We say very little. His demeanor towards me is chilly. I have a light dinner while Tom takes Clarissa to Luanne’s house.
My opponent and her brother will be here in thirty minutes. Something doesn’t feel right. I’ve been awake for a few hours but can barely account for the time. It’s so surreal. It’s time to dress for the fight. I don’t want my attire to reveal too much to Carl. There will be no bikini, thong, bra and panties. I put on my sturdiest sports bra and long yoga pants so as not to be bare legged. I pull my long hair back into a ponytail. A car pulls up in front of our house. They’re here. They arrive in one car but if Claire wins, I am to leave with Carl and Claire will call Lyft. As if that might actually happen.
I hear the doorbell. My husband lets them into the foyer as I stand behind him. Immediately, the situation is awkward. We all have little to say to each other. Tom offers them a snack and drinks. The four of us sit in the living room but the conversation goes nowhere. My shoulder begins to ache again. Finally Tom says, “Well, should we get this event started?” Our guests nod.
We enter to the den and Claire and I head to opposite corners of the mat. We kick off our footwear. I pull off my hoodie as Claire peels out of her sweatsuit revealing a tan one piece tank suit. Cameras and cell phones are set up. I size her up but there’s not much to her. She’s 5’3”, probably no more than 110 lbs. Her chest size is small. The arms and legs are thin. Her bowl haircut remains intact. With my four inch and 15-20 lb advantage, it doesn’t seem fair. Carl, dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt takes a seat in her corner as Tom does in mine.
Claire and I meet in the center for a stare down. It’s almost laughable. Her eyes look smaller without her glasses and she squints. The nostrils flare from the thin nose. The small mouth is pursed into an intense expression. I’ll give her credit; she looks serious.
Tom gives the command, “Ready....FIGHT.”
Claire attempts the first move, trying to shove me with hands to the chest, but I block most of it with my arms. Using my reach advantage, I retaliate with my own hard shove, sending her stumbling backwards. A sharp jolt of pain lances through my shoulder as I see her lose her balance, falling to the mat. The pain distracts me from moving in. Tom knows nothing about my injury. I think I may have a strained rotator cuff. I’m not worried. I can beat this woman with one arm. She quickly scrambles to her feet and charges at me.
No problem. I easily side step her, wrap my left arm behind her neck, and extend my leg, tripping her down on her hip. I dive in to tie her up but it proves difficult with one arm. Claire slips away to an escape and we both return to a standing position.
She takes on a boxer’s stance. I’m happy to see this because I know she can’t box worth shit. The nerdy girl tries to slap fight with me but can’t get through my defense. I respond with a flurry of slaps to the head and body. My shoulder pain has taken the power out of my right arm. I land a few slaps with it but I’m mostly using my left. Claire lunges for my hair, but I deflect her arms away. With her body wide open, I shoot in with my left shoulder to her abdomen, tackling her to the floor, where she lands on her back with me on top of her. The impact of the fall creates another jarring shot of right shoulder pain and I involuntary scream out, “Oww.”
“Kiva, what’s wrong,” I hear my husband shout.
With the advantage position, I stay on top of my opponent, trying to gain control. Her legs are wrapped around my waist keeping me outside her guard. I try to be patient, in no hurry to end it, using my weight advantage, hoping to wear her down. Again, I’m not able to do much with one arm. Finally, Claire grabs on to my left arm and uses her legs to roll me to the left sending me off my mount. Our legs battle for control as we continue to roll across the mat, one of us on top, then the other. We seize each other’s hair, throw slaps, and kick at each other’s legs.
Finally, with me on top, I feel a strange but familiar sensation on my back. Two objects press on my skin. It’s like a set of dull but nonpainful nails, as if from a very small pair of hands. I know this feeling. They’re not hands. They’re not human. They’re paws....from a dog. It’s Chase! What the....I thought Tom sent him outside in our fenced yard. He prances in a circle around the two combatants on the mat, leaping up playfully on his haunches, landing on us with his front paws. His tongue pants with delight. The humans are having their playtime and he has no intention of being excluded.
“What the fuck,” Claire shrieks.
“Oh Chase,” I sigh.
Tom quickly scoops up our beagle and the two of them return to the chair.
With our catball broken up, Claire and I stand up and start again.
I’m dismayed I didn’t do a better job of controlling her on the floor. I have better success striking her. I have to rely on my left arm for power. She’s incapable of landing blows on me so I’ll need to be patient. I assume a southpaw stance and flick slaps and jabs to her face and body. They blows lack power but most of them are getting through. And I’m not getting hit at all.
Finally, a hard looping left hand slap smacks her hard on the side of the head. The social worker spins around, disoriented and off balance, staggering to my right side. Very quickly, she falls. Before I can react, she reaches up, seizing my right arm, yanking it down as she falls to the floor. Insurmountable pain flares through my shoulder. I let out a loud piercing shriek. My arm feels like it is jerked out of my shoulder socket as I tumble to the mat with the mousy girl.
Tom, still holding the dog, stands up, uncertain what happened.
On the mat, Claire is on all fours with me on her back. I snake my legs around her waist and lock my ankles into a body scissors. However, she is still holding onto my right wrist draping it over her shoulder. The position is very awkward and painful on my shoulder. She tugs on my arm eliciting another yelp from me. I have no choice but to release the scissors. I kick at her arms and shoulders until she releases my arm. I desperate need to regroup by rolling away from her and getting back on my feet. Claire also stands and I decide it’s time to go back to striking.
Anguished with pain and frustrated I haven’t put this little jobber away yet, I feel myself becoming impatient. My right arm hangs uselessly at its side and I must protect it from further damage. Claire smirks. She thinks she’s getting the better of me. I can finish her with just one arm...and here it comes.
“You dorky little bitch,” I growl at her. I rush at her with a big roundhouse left hand slap aimed at the head. This time, I tell myself she will not be pulling me down with her. I swing as hard as I can. As soon as I threw it, I knew it was sloppy. Claire blocked it with her right arm. Off balance, I feel her knee driving into my belly like a cannon ball. I’m stunned and doubled over. I don’t see her. I now realize she is behind me but it is too late. A volley of punches land on my back. I struggle to collect myself. The creases of my knees are kicked out. My legs collapse and I drop to my knees like a rock. A kick between my shoulder blades knocks me forward on my belly. The overprotective sister pounces on my back. In a matter of seconds, I’ve been flattened face down. I’m confused. And I’m in trouble.
I’m just a few feet from the edge of the mat. I know Tom’s chair is nearby. I’ve got to get this annoying twerp off of me. I lift my head up and blink my eyes hard, trying to regroup. Suddenly, I feel my right arm being pulled behind my back. My shoulder can’t take it and I scream in pain. My right hand is pressed against my left shoulder blade bending the arm into a chickenwing. I don’t want to submit but the pain is unbearable.
Her free arm wraps around my face and tightens like a belt, forcing my face to the side. Oh my God, I know what this is. It can’t be. Her hands clasp together. It’s the crossface chickenwing. How did she learn this? She tightens the hold. My shoulder feels like it’s being ripped off my body. Her bony arm digs into my nose like a steel bar. I know there is virtually no escape from this hold once properly applied. I also know Claire is a poor fighter. I’ll find away out of this.
“Give up, bitch?” she snorts. “You’re not such a mean girl now, are you?”
I can’t move my head and her arm is bending my nose but I shift my eyes to the side. I catch glimpses of Tom and I see he looks very worried. Chase watches intently. He hears me scream and realizes this may not be playtime. Still holding the dog in his right arm, Tom gets on his knees and bends down closer to the mat.
“Come on, Kiva, you can do it,” he tries to assure me.
My husband extends his left hand over the mat towards me hoping to instill inspiration. Claire rocks back sending another excruciating wave of pain surging through my disabled shoulder. Instinctively, I reach my free left left arm out to my husband’s hand. I can’t reach it. I need a few more inches. I manage to lift up very slightly on my knees and lurch forward. It’s not much but it’s all I need. With my head twisted I can’t see him but I feel his hand take mine. His fingers massage my palm. My trembling fingertips stroke the back of his hand. I find his fourth finger and...his wedding ring. My index finger and thumb rub along the golden band. For now, I try my best to ignore the agony. I’m so sorry my love, I want to say. I’ll never do anything this foolish again.
“Give up, fool,” Claire growls. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Don’t leave me, my love. Let me hold your hand. Remember our wedding day? The exchange of rings? Our exchange of vowels? Trust me dear, I’m going nowhere. I’d rather lose my arm than be apart from you. I’d prefer to die here than to be given to another man. No matter what, you will always be the love of my life.
Claire cranks my arm and head again and I’m now seeing spots in front of my eyes. I squeeze my husband’s hand tightly. Suddenly, our hands fly apart, forced away from each other by a violent blow. Now I see. Carl kicked us, tearing our hands apart. My fingers now only clutch barren mat. I’m alone and fading.
“Hey,” he squeals with his nasally voice. “That’s illegal. No touching the fighters.”
“You little shit,” my husband yells, jumping to his feet, grabbing the nerdy IT tech by the collar. “I ought to punch you out right now. I ought to...”
“I GIVE UP!”
“Kiva, did you submit,” my husband asks.
“YES...Let go of me, you win.” I frantically tap the mat.
Silence. The moment seemed frozen in time. For a few seconds we are all motionless. Claire seemed like she didn’t believe what happened. She quietly released her hold on me, letting my head and right arm fall to the mat.
Then, grasping the reality of the situation. She breathes, “I won?....I’m the winner?....I beat her?” Tom and Carl stood by, neither of them yet moving. I could sense Claire’s shock turn to elation as she stayed perched on my back, realizing she was no longer winless. I felt her body bounce with excitement. “I’m the victor,” she repeated. “I won....I beat her...I really won!” She squeals with delight and giggles like a little girl in the school yard. “Oh my God, I won. Carl, take pictures.”
The smaller but triumphant fighter yanks my head back by the hair, forcing me to face Carl’s cell phone. My prone body and defeated face is presented to the camera as a trophy. She lowers her own face next to mine and points both our noses at the phone. Two faces in one image. One face beaming and victorious, the other anguished and conquered. Next, she points me in Tom’s direction, cruelly delivering a lasting visual message that his wife is subdued and broken. I can’t bear to look at him seeing me humiliated. Finally, the little bitch pushes my head back down, pressing my nose into the mat. “This is where you belong, loser. Kissing the ground I walk on.” She shoots a few more poses, flexing her skinny arms before lifting herself off my back. Not done yet, she plants her foot on the back of my neck like an ancient warrior raising her arms in victory.
I’m lying on the mat, degraded and in pain. Unable to hold it back any longer, I sob and choke on tears. I role to my left side to ease the fire in my right shoulder. Tom has not yet come to comfort me, but someone else does. Chase approaches tentatively, sniffing, sensing my distress. He knows. He licks my face, wiping away tears as I drape my sore arm around my dog’s neck.
My brief moment of palliation is suddenly disrupted by a bare foot pushing my bad shoulder down, rolling me on my back. Claire is overwhelmed with joy of her first win and she wants to savor every possible second. I suffer the indignity of more victory poses as the cxnt steps on my chest and smiles for the cameras. “Carl, keep the fucking dog away,” she orders.
I hear her prancing around our den still glowing with jubilation. “Carl, hand me my cell phone...Crystal?....Guess what?....I WON!...Yes, she submitted...I won!....Hello Abby?...unbelievable news...I WON!. Yes, that bitch nurse from the hospital I told you about...twenty pounds bigger than me and I had her begging for mercy...I’ll tell you about it later....Hello Mom?...I DID IT!..I beat her!...I taught that bitch a lesson...she won’t be messing with Carl again..wait till I tell Aunt Jo....Hey Sweetie, guess what? Your girl was the better woman...I WON!...I wish you could be here. It’s so awesome...Yeah, she’s crying and everything...I want to make love to you so badly...Wait till tonight, honey...we’ll watch the video...together...Love ya honey!”
Finally, she starts to collect her belongings while I submissively await her permission to rise.
“Get up, princess,” she orders. “You’re night is just beginning.”
Oh my Lord. The stakes. She expects me to honor it. This can’t happen.
“I’ll give you ten minutes to get ready, then I’ll see you and Carl off.”
Oh fuck, she means it. I’m not going. I’ll fight her again. Tom won’t let them take me. I turn to my husband. “Tom, no, send them away.”
He looks at me with a solemn expression. “Kiva, let’s go in the bedroom and talk.”
I’m frantic as we walk. “You’re kicking them out, right. You said you’d call the cops. Are you going to do it?
“Nope”
My blood ran cold. “You’re not?”
“Kiva, you made the stakes without me so you can deal with it without me. You made your bed. Now go lie in it.”
“You don’t mean this?”
“I’m done talking about it.”
How cold. How callous. He’s rejecting me.
“Hurry up, loser” Clare calls.
I’m in shock. I know the catfight code about stakes. I’m expected to fulfill my obligation. Reneging on stakes means I could lose my catpin, my profile, I’ll be blackballed. My husband won’t help me. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. It’s unthinkable but I must accept my fate. I change into sweat clothes and sneakers, put on a baseball cap over my tied up hair and large sunglasses to hide my face from any possible witnesses who might spot me with Carl, and I place a few items into an overnight bag. I’m sobbing the entire time. I kiss my husband. “You know I love you, right?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he responds flatly.
I walk back toward the foyer, past our wedding portrait, past pictures of Clarissa, past numerous icons of our marriage, our family, our domestic life. I kiss and hug Chase and cry some more. Carl and Claire, flanking me like a prisoner, walk me out through my own door, past our patio, our lawn, our flower garden. We come to Carl’s Honda Civic and I insist on sitting in the back seat alone. He pulls away as Claire calls for Lyft. My house, my street, my neighborhood all disappear through the rear view mirror. Carl and I say absolutely nothing to each other during the ride. I continue sobbing. Finally, I’m resigned to the fact that I’m spoils of war taken from my home and family. All I can do now is resolve to complete my agreement, as horribly distasteful as that may be.
Carl lives in a small one bedroom apartment across from my hospital. I feel faint as we walk from his car to the lobby. I know other employees living there so I pull the visor of my cap way low. The walk from the elevator to his room seems endless. I swallow hard as we enter through his door. Like most single young men in their twenties, his apartment contains very little. A small living area is in the front and a kitchen in the back with a bedroom on one side and bathroom on the other. The walls are bare with the exception of Star Wars posters. Electronic gadgets and gaming magazines are littered about everywhere. There is no bed, just a single sized mattress on the floor of the bedroom. Is that where I’m supposed to do it? I feel like I’m in college again. I again fight back nausea.
“Kiva,” Carl finally breaks the ice with his soft nasal tone, “I uh have something for you....You see, I didn’t think Claire would win, but just in case she did, I uh got you this.” He hands me a dozen long stem roses.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice indifferent.
“Would you um like something to drink? I bought wine?”
“No thanks.”
“Would you like something to eat?” He asks. “I have peanut butter and jelly.”
“No.”
“I can order pizza.”
“No thanks.”
“Um..do you want to play a game? Do you like Final Fantasy 14? Overwatch? Fortnite?”
“I’m not a gamer.”
“I can show you.”
“No”
“Do you,” he asks, “uh..want to watch a movie?”
“No.”
“Carl,” I say, “I know I’m throwing a wet blanket on your plans for a romantic evening but I’m really just here for one reason. We both know what that is. I prefer we just do it now and get it finished.”
“Oh, oh, OK,” he says, “uh, how would you like to start?”
“Well,” I explain, “we start by taking our clothes off. Here, I’ll get us started.” I begin to pull up the top of my sweatsuit.
“Wait, Kiva,” he interrupts. “Uh..May I do it? May I undress you? Uh..you see, I have this fantasy where uh, I’m with a girl who’s about to fight another girl nude. And, like, I’m her cornerman, and...I get her ready for her fight by stripping her and massaging her.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You do?”
“I mean, er, a lot of guys have that fantasy.”
“So, uh can I take your clothes off for you?”
“Fine, Carl,” I tell him. “But let’s go over the ground rules. We’re just going to do a basic garden variety, vanilla flavored fuck. You may touch me anywhere with your hands except my privates down below. You may not kiss me on the face, especially the lips. That’s only for my husband. I will not kiss you. I will not give you oral sex or do anything else beyond the basic. I have a vagina. You have a penis. We’ll hook up the two and that’s about it. Got it?”
“Yes”
Good Lord. I never dreamed I’d be insisting on a wham bam, thank you ma’am. I feel like a whore discussing business terms. I let Carl lift up my top. Because of my shoulder pain, I have to assist removing it from my right arm. Standing in my bra and sweatpants, it’s all at once strange, awkward, shameful and humiliating. Carl’s eyes widen and his pants are already bulging. He stands frozen unsure what to do next. It’s impossible for me to fathom that I’m about to allow this man access to my body. His fingers tremble as he reaches around my back exploring my bra strap. He fumbles with the clasp until I explain it to him. “Push the two ends together, separate the hook from the eye and slide apart.” Finally, I feel the straps loosen and the cups drop. I allow him to slip off the left shoulder strap exposing my poor girl to the indoor elements. I gingerly slide the other strap down my injured right side and allow the entire garment to fall. The sight of my own bare breasts pointed at Carl disturbs ands saddens me. The puppies want to cower and hide like a pair of nocturnal creatures whose cover has been ripped away by a high beam light. The last time I did this with a man other than my husband seems like ancient history. Carl looks mesmerized, the shaking in his hands have become more coarse. Once again, I perform a mental lobotomy on myself, removing and distancing all my emotions. I’ll get through this. I’ll keep it technical. I’ll keep it clinical. No strings attached.
I remove my sneakers and socks. My virgin partner hyperventilates as he curls his jittery fingertips around the elastic band of my sweatpants. My hips wriggle in assistance, the waist of the pants crumples to my knees, then down to my ankles. The legs, in solemn acceptance of my fate, step out of the warmth and shelter of the polyester and spandex. My feet kick the pants to the side, my toes kissing the fabric goodbye.
The cotton panties are all that is left of my previous existence, a life abruptly put on hold due to my own hubris. When they leave me, the transition will be complete, the woman I once was will be tossed to the floor in a heap. I must go through with this. I repeat my mantra. It’s just technical. No strings attached.
The young man’s grubby fingers tug at my white briefs. His face is red, his breathing rapid. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lower lip. It’s done. I feel the cool breeze from the air conditioning vent on my bare ass. I look down and see my doomed genitalia startled at being uncovered in such a strange place.
Carl looks me over head to toe. The lips quiver and the hand tremor continues. I surmise that I’m the first nude woman to be in his presence.
“May I um keep these?” Carl asks holding up my panties.
“No.”
“Claire says since she beat you, they belong to her.”
“No...Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” I ask.
“Um..I will in a minute. Um, first, let’s pretend you’re in a nude catty wrestling match and your opponent banged up your boobs and made you submit the first fall. I’ll be your cornerman and massage them so you’ll feel better. Uh..is that OK.”
“Be gentle,” I warn.
A pair of sweaty nervous hands approach my bare breasts, fingers extended, stretched out like claws.
“Carl, NO!” I scold. “You don’t squeeze like you’re honking a horn. Come up from underneath with your palm like this, then very lightly work your fingers up, around the nipple at first, then gradually move toward the nipple itself. And...Oh Geez, why am I telling you this?”
He sits me on a kitchen stool like a fighter in her corner. “Poor baby, you’ll get her in the next fall,” he coos. “I’ll help you.” He follows my direction. His caresses are clumsy but improved.
“Look,” he exclaims, “your nipples are stiff. They’re standing up. You LIKE this, don’t you? That is so cool! Come on baby, let’s see those nips go.”
Actually, my nipples are stiff because I’m chilly but I’m not going to rain on his parade. His hands grope around my boobs like a child with a new toy. At least he’s more gentle this time. He is still fully clothed and wearing his glasses. For thirty minutes, we go through this charade of role playing with me as a nude catfighter or wrestler and Carl as my boyfriend cornerman or manager. Carl makes up fight stories as I sit on the stool acting like I’m waiting for the bell. With each “return” to my corner, Carl massages my back, shoulders, and boobs. He rubs my feet. He washes me with a sponge, dries me with a towel, gives me water to drink, tends to my bruises and scratches. His hard on is obvious. I hope he loses his load in his pants and gets me off the hook. It’s not happening. I want to speed this along and get it over with. I suggest a story where I score a dramatic come from behind victory after taking a dreadful beating. After the hard fought win, Carl and his nude woman celebrate by running to his bedroom where I rip his clothes off and we do the deed. He agrees.
I stumble around, acting battered and exhausted, but victorious. Returning to my stool, Carl and I hug, he raises my left hand in victory. I taunt my imaginary opponent, “Don’t ever think of flirting with my man again.” I take Carl by the hand into the bedroom. I unbutton his shirt and pull it off of him. Next, I undo the belt buckle. He removes his pants himself and I’m given the honors of separating him from his underwear. Here we are, standing naked in front of each other like two awkward teenagers. Without his clothes, Carl looks like I expected - like a chicken with its feathers plucked off. He is short, thin, and pale. He has a stooped over posture. His cock is at least average size. His ass is as scrawny as any I’ve ever seen. I lead him to his bed, roll on my back, spread my legs and wait. It’s technical, Kiva, no strings attached, I remind myself. I wait...and wait.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he answers, “I’ll be ready in a minute.” I see that he is not ready. I shouldn’t be surprised. I still intimidate him. I acted too aggressively for someone like him.
“It’s OK Carl,” I reassure him. “You’re nervous. It happens a lot the first time.”
We go back to role playing. I tell him fight stories. I pose. I massage his back. I let him suck my tits. He has no problem getting hard, until we’re in bed just at the magic moment. He watches catfight videos. Same result. At this point, I feel I’ve done enough. I put in a good faith effort.
“Carl, you’ll be fine,” I tell him. “There’s nothing wrong with being alone with your fantasies. But a flesh and blood partner is a different ballgame. You just need the right person, someone you’re comfortable with, someone who is your peer. Sex is best when you explore it together with that special person. You’ll meet her someday.”
“We can tell your sister we did it. She doesn’t need to know,” I added. “I’m going to go home now.”
“Kiva, don’t leave,” he pleads. The agreement is that you stay here until 7 am. I think I can do it.”
“There’s no point in putting this kind of pressure on yourself,” I respond.
“Kiva, um...will you do something for me?....Will you....wrestle me?”
“You and I in a wrestling match?” I’m not sure I heard that right.
“Yes,” he clarifies, “a nude mixed wrestling match.”
“No Carl, I’m not doing that. Beside, I have a bad shoulder.”
“It’s simple,” he explains. “If you win, you can leave. If I win, you stay. I’ll be easy on your shoulder, I promise.” I notice he’s not stuttering or stammering so much.
I don’t want to do this, but if it gets me out of this mess....I can beat him with one arm but I know I said that before. “OK, I accept,” I respond, “One fall, ten second pin. Freestyle rules. Do not attack my right arm or shoulder. Do not squeeze my boobs. Keep your fingers out of my crotch.”
“Deal,” he says. “Can I make a request? If I win, I want you to call me ‘stud muffin’.”
We face each other in his small living space. He’s a male but I find myself instinctively sizing him up. Small guy. He’s two inches shorter than me and probably weighs slightly less. His skin is so fair, he looks like he might sunburn if he stood too long in front of an open refrigerator. My 34C cup breasts protrude over his concave chest, my female nipples are amused over his useless pink male nubs. My bikini waxed triangle recoils in repulsion as it faces its erect phallic counterpart arising from its nest of blonde pubic hair. My hands and feet are bigger. My muscle tone is better. I’m more athletic. I can take this guy.
Except...I feel like shit. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. I was already beaten in a fight. My shoulder wants to fall off. I’ve been humiliated. I don’t know the status of my marriage.
“Ready Kiva?,” he asks.
We lock up in a collar and elbow tie up. My shoulder can’t take it and I immediately break off. I can’t believe I’m wrestling a man nude. The freakiness of it all would be overwhelming but after the events of tonight so far, I’m beyond being overwhelmed.
My naked opponent with the XY chromosome and I square off again. I’m forced to take a defensive approach. Carl lunges high reaching for the back of my neck but I push him away. Twice, he shoots for my legs but I easily elude him. My shoulder injury has taken away my mobility as well. My own attempts at leg dives are wholly ineffective. Carl can’t get through my defense and I can’t execute an offense. The two of us, a married nurse and mom and a socially inept IT tech, do an awkward nude dance around the room, pawing at each other.
Finally, I take a chance, lowering my shoulder and charge, driving him into the wall. I press forward with my body, feeling his hard dick on my thigh as I pin him upright. Hooking his armpit and tripping his feet with mine, I manage to send him to the floor. I’m slow to pounce. We grapple on the floor and before long Carl has the advantage. He puts me on my back, straddling my belly. He shifts forward trying to take hold of my arms as his dick rests on my tits. He makes the mistake of bringing his head and shoulders high up. I take full advantage bucking my pelvis, swinging my legs up high, hooking my ankles around his neck. It’s enough to knock the nerd off his mount, but he slips loose as I roll away and we both regain our feet.
Once again, we resume our stand up dance routine with me refuting Carl’s attempts at control. This time though, he’s successful. The diminutive man holds me around the waist lifting me off my feet. He spins around and throws me, sending me crashing down on my back, with him on top. I have my arm wrapped around his neck. The momentum of the throw rolls him off of me, and I continue to roll us into a full reversal.
Now it’s me in the mounted position. I perch myself on his lower chest, holding his arms. I stay low to avoid getting hooked by the skinny legs. Our arms struggle with each other, pushing and pulling. It’s a matter of time before I pin them and go home. Except...my shoulder hurts so much. I see this being another stale mate so I add reinforcement. I slide further up his chest pulling up my knees, digging them into his biceps, firmly schoolgirl pinning my man. 10 more seconds and I’m out of here.
“One...Two...Three,” I count.
His face and chest are red. The shoulder muscles twitch helplessly. The feet flail in futility.
“Four...Five...Six”
I don’t want to admit this to myself but I’m kind of enjoying this. Here I am dominating...a man. He’s defeated. Under my control. At my mercy. Helpless. I feel a flush of pride in securing another victory for girl power. I bask in the sensory input of the moment...my muscles flaring, the tangled matted dark hair over my face, skin glistening with sweat, the hot moist air blowing on my pussy....WHAT?
I look down with horror and disgust. How did this not occur to me? I was so focused on the win to remember that I’m nude. And my pussy is nearly in his face. Alarmed, I let out a gasp jerking my ass back toward his belly and dismount immediately. I know it doesn’t make sense. After all, I’m supposed to screw this guy. What’s the big deal? I don’t know. I’m a wife and mom. It just seemed so dirty and so...shameful.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I sigh.
I sit beside his supine body with my knees up. For a moment, we’re both still and quiet. I need to find a way out of this nightmare. I watch the bony chest heave to catch his breath. His muscle challenged arms lie at his side. His hard on has partially subsided. Maybe there is one other way to finish this. I considered doing it earlier but resisted. It’s now time to take matters into my own hands - literally.
I cradle his balls with my palm, then slide my fingers up and around the shaft until I encircle the entire unit. Up and down I slide, ever so gently at first. I pause to massage the head with my thumb, then resume the stroking. Up and down, gradually picking up speed. The erection is full again. I need him to explode and we may be good till morning.
I’ve been at this for under a minute, and I know it’s getting close. He’s moaning. His cock has an extra firmness. “Come on, baby. Come on my stud muffin.” The breathing is faster and deeper, the moans more frequent. “Come on big guy. Let me be your...”
“STOP”, he yells, slapping away my hand. “I want to save it....for, you know...me and you.”
Defeated again. Carl wants to resume our wrestling match.
I can’t go on. I’m beyond being physically and emotionally spent. I need this to end now. Carl dives for my legs, I deliberately feed him my left arm and let him capture my thigh lifting me in a fireman’s carry. I practically flip myself over his back, landing on my ass on the floor. He moves in, seizing my ankles as I feign trying to escape. The runt folds me into a matchbook pin, pressing my feet over my head. My crotch points to the ceiling. My lower orifices, unaccustomed to light, bathe in the illumination of the overhead fluorescent bulbs. I fake a vain kick out attempt with my legs as Carl counts to ten.
“You’re pinned, Kiva,” he says. “Do you agree?”
“Yes, you win.”
“Who’s you’re master?”
“You are, sir.”
“What’s my name?”
“Stud muffin.”
“Kiva,” he whispers, “I think I can do it this time. Really, it’s going to stay hard. I can feel it. Let’s go in the bedroom.”
I can’t bear going through anymore of this torture. I no longer care how this ordeal ends, just so it ends now. “No Carl,” I reply. “If you got it, you got it, just do it now, right here.”
He shifts back with his body, bringing me into a half fold position and holding on to my legs, keeping them spread apart with my feet up high. I see his member is fully erect and I brace myself for the consummation of our acquaintance. Carl’s eyes shift alternately between my vagina and his dick. He positions his penis with his hands and aims like a nervous golfer before the backswing. His unit lunges forward, missing its target wide left, plowing into my crotch just outside the labia. I wince.
“Let me help you,” I offer. I reach down with my hands, directing his incompetent cock to the front door of my inner sanctum, nudging the head to the opening. My sexual greenhorn rocks back with his pelvis, then thrusts forward sending his missile too far north.
“OUCH!” I yelp, as his rod rams directly into my clit, sending a surge of pain through my crotch.
“Sorry.”
I know what I must do.
“Carl, just lie on your back. I’ll do the rest,” I instruct.
He obeys as I climb on and mount his pale thin body. I straddle him at the pelvis, and lift up, holding his still hard organ. My womanhood hovers over his male member and I slowly descend, presenting my gateway. My pelvis drops further, sliding him through the portal, enclosing him in my personal box. The flushed face gasps, the undeveloped chest heaves with anticipation and wonder.
It’s not easy. Under these circumstances, I’m neither as moist or as open as I would ordinarily be, for this is purely a mechanical performance for me. Nevertheless, I glide up and down and rock back and forth, riding his shaft in a forward cowgirl position. His heavy breathing turns to moans as I increase the pace. He instinctively raises up his hips and I respond by grinding down with mine. His moans are louder, now turning to howls of ecstasy.
Faster and faster, I bounce, I rock, I grind. His hands claw at the carpet in delirious excitement. The belly twitches involuntarily. I decide to take him to the next level but I sense what’s about to happen. His organ seems to enlarge further and I detect a pulsing sensation inside me. Carl, his face bright red and sweaty, let’s out a high pitched scream. I feel a warm infusion fill my inner chamber. I feel his tumescence subside to softness. It’s over. I dismount and roll on my back beside him, fluid trickling down my thigh. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, and ponder the knowledge that I just gave Carl Wankum the best thirty seconds of his life.
“Kiva,” he whispers, “thanks.”
“Congratulations Carl,” I reply. “You’re a man now.”
He suggests we both sleep in his bed. I decline and opt for a blanket on the floor of his living space. Finally, I’m alone. And I’m miserable. I just got used for sex and I only have myself to blame. No strings attached? Who am I kidding? For women, strings are usually involved. I don’t blame Tom in the least for being upset. We both grew up in conservative traditional backgrounds where we were taught that any sex outside of marriage was a sin. But how can something that seems so inconsequential, lasting just thirty seconds be a sin? When I was a teen, a youth pastor said that a girl who loses her virginity to anyone she’s not going to marry later presents herself to her husband as a chewed piece of gum that had been in other mouths. Lovely. Imagine. Only a misogynistic patriarchal society can conceive such an idea. Each couple defines what sex means to them. For us, it was always about love and intimacy and I gambled with it like loose change. I’m dreading talking to Tom about it tomorrow.
It’s morning already. My duty is over. Wait. How did I get in Carl’s bed? I’m still naked. Did he move me? Where is he?
“Good morning, babe,” he greets entering the bedroom. He’s been up and dressed for awhile. Dressed? He’s wearing a freaking tux. “Time to get up, love. It’s our big day today.”
“What the fuck?”
I hear the apartment door open and there are voices. A man and a woman stand at the bedroom doorway.
“Why, there are the two lovebirds,” the woman trills. “This must be Kiva.”
“Do you mind?” I spout angrily as I pull a sheet over my nude body. I note the words “Carl’s Girl” has been written on my chest with a sharpie. The man and woman look like middle aged versions of Carl and Claire.
“I’m Carl Sr.,” says the man.
“And I’m Irene,” the woman adds “We’re Carl’s parents....She’s lovely, dear.”
“Yessir, Carl,” the man adds. “Looks like you got yourself a keeper.”
“Kiva, honey,” the woman adds. “We don’t have much time. Claire and I will help get you ready. The guests will be here soon. Carl’s dad will officiate the ceremony. I know you didn’t bring anything with you, so you will wear my dress.”
I’m too stunned and paralyzed to speak. “Www...wwhha...whaat?
She continues. “We’re so glad you’re joining our family, dear. You and Carl will have a wonderful life together. Life with Kiva and Carl...Carl an Kiva.”
“II..I.m mm,,married,” I could barely get out.
“That’s now invalid, dear. That was in the agreement you signed.”
“Nnn..no..NO. I’m getting out of here. My sweatsuit? Where are my clothes?”
Irene replies. “Oh we threw those dirty things away. They were from your old life. You’re one of us now.”
“She’ll make a wonderful Wankum,” says Carl Sr.
“Yes,” his wife agrees. “She’s thirty three years old but there should still be plenty of eggs left in those ovaries.”
“Just think,” Carl Sr. suggests. “Right now, millions of little Carl IIIs are swimming inside her.”
Claire appears in the doorway. The four of them surround the bed.
“It’s time, Kiva. You’re new life begins now.”
“NO,” I scream, getting my voice back. “LET ME OUT OF HERE.”
“Kiva”
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
“Kiva?” It’s a male voice.
“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!” His hand is on my left shoulder. He’s shaking me.
“KIVA!”
“LET GO!”
“KIVA...WAKE UP!”
“FUCK YOU, CARL!”
“Carl?”
“Tom?”
“”Yes,” says a familiar voice. “It’s me....you’re dreaming....And I’d say you’re having a hell of a nightmare.”
I quickly sit upright. My eyes gradually come into focus. For a few seconds I linger in a confused state unsure what’s real and what isn’t. My heart pounds rapidly, I breathe like I just sprinted. It becomes clearer. I’m in bed, my own bed, in my own bedroom...with my husband.
“Calm down,” he assures me. “It’s just me. I’ll get you a cup of water.”
“What day is it?”
“Saturday..7 am.”
“Clarissa?”
“She’s still asleep. Luanne will take her to dance class.”
“Tom?...did I have a fight last night?” I ask, still not fully oriented.
“No,” he answers. “That’s tonight...against Claire. Are you alright?”
Now I get it. “Yeah, it was a dream,” I sigh. “I’m fine.” Damn OxyContin.
I eat a light breakfast and drink my coffee. I feel both relieved and disturbed. The dream seemed so real, so horrible. Does it mean anything? Could it be foretelling my future? I take Chase on his morning neighborhood walk. The knowledge that I wasn’t really defeated, humiliated and sexually used made the morning air fresher than usual but the fight tonight with Claire and the stakes are still very real. I went to bed last night confident and eager to fight. This morning, I’m feeling apprehensive and, dare I say it, nervous? What happened to my confidence?
The day drags. I go out and runs errands. I read nursing journals. I pay bills. I just feel so...down. Why? It’s just a damn dream. Claire still sucks. And my shoulder still hurts. I rub on IcyHot and hope for the best.
Tom is still acting standoffish. The fight is a few hours away. He drops off Clarissa at Luanne’s. We prepare the den, move furniture, roll out the mats, set up cameras.
“Tom,” I ask, “Do you think dreams mean anything? Like omens?”
“No,” he answers, “there just brain electromagnetic activity processing sensory input, consolidating some data to memory and discarding others. The sensory input can be related to information, emotions, desires.”
“Do you think they could be mystical? Like messages sent to warn us? You know, like Ebenezer Scrooge? Was I visited by the ghost of catfighter future?”
“You’re really shook up by that dream,” he said. “It’s just your subconsciousness telling you that you’re an idiot.”
“Oh.” I know he’s right... “Tom, if I lose this fight, will you really have them thrown out if they try to take me?”
“That dream really got to you. You’re not so sure of yourself, are you? Where’s that confident brash fighter who was here last night? And if you lose...we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
He’s right again. I’ve been awake for several hours, yet that nightmare hangs over me like a dark cloud. And any thought of sex seems repugnant. Do dreams reveal truths about ourselves? Maybe I’m not as good as I think I am. I’m losing my confidence and it shows. Is it possible to get PTSD from a bad dream?
I change into my attire for this fight. Instead of the sports bra and yoga pants, I choose a black sleeveless long legged body suit. I want to reveal as little flesh as possible. With Carl watching, I’d fight in a sumo suit.
They’ll be here any minute and I’m dreading it. The doorbell rings and I feel a knot in my stomach. As we let them in, Claire immediately glares at me like she hates my guts. The sight of Carl makes my skin crawl.
“Well bitch, are you ready to get taught some manners?” Claire snaps at me. Strange seeing such talk from a delicate looking face. I look right at her and...I don’t have a comeback. I remain silent.
We decide to start the fight right away and not waste time with niceties. Claire changes into a silver one piece tank suit. Tom and Carl take their corner positions. Claire and I meet in the center. Since she’s arrived, Claire seems agitated and surprisingly aggressive.
“I’m going to punish you, then hand you over to Carl, mean girl,” she snarls. “You will remember the name Wankum for the rest of your life.” I try to give her a dismissive look but her words send a chill through my body. She just summarized my dream. She removes the large framed glasses and we go through the stare down. My body language accents our size differences. Our eyes lock. I’m surprised at the ferocity in her usually demure face. She looks like a killer. I have trouble matching her look of intensity and then,...my eyes fall to the floor. Oh fuck, she won the stare down. She intimidated me. She knows it. Dominance now shows in her face and body language.
We back up to a distance of ten feet apart and Tom gives the order, “FIGHT.”
Claire attacks me with an aggressiveness I haven’t seen in videos of her earlier fights, swinging wildly with a chaotic flurry of slaps. I effectively block them with my arms, then land a slap of my own to the face. She tries to grab on to my arms, but I grab hers, then shove her chest driving her backward. Pain immediately shoots through my shoulder and I struggle not to panic.
My opponent stumbles, recovers before falling, then charges again. Instinctively, I shift to a defensive stance, placing my left foot forward and pointing my left shoulder toward the bitch, attempting to protect my injury. I keep her at bay, jabbing and slapping with my left hand, making full use of my height and reach advantage. She tries to elude my left, making lunges at my hair.
I’m effectively one armed, looking for a way to generate offense. I raise my knee looking for an opening to kick the bitch in the belly. Claire stuns me by connecting with a face slap, creating a loud smacking sound. I keep my head and remain focus. Her head is within reach. I stretch my arm reaching for her hair then....oooommmph. I’m kneed in the crotch. Doubled over, pain throbbing in my pussy, I try to push through. Claire rushes to my vulnerable right side, seizes my right arm, searing my tormented shoulder. I get a horrible feeling of deja vu as I squeal and grab onto her hair, both of us tumbling to the mat. I roll her off my bad shoulder and the two of us are lying on our sides, slapping and pulling hair, shrieking and cursing. Claire’s mousy face has been transformed into that of a wild predator. We grab and kick, catballing across the floor. Sharp nails dig into the exposed areas of my body suit, namely the arms and shoulders. I’m bleeding slightly as she rakes her hand across my upper chest. I manage to pry her hand away which cost me a small piece of skin. Finally, I’m on top using my weight advantage. I press her arms down, fighting through the shoulder pain.
Despite the bottom position, the deranged social worker mouths off. “I’ll make you beg for mercy, bitch. And Carl’s going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” Just then, I see her stretch her neck to the side, where I have her arm pinned down. She strains to move her head as far as she can to the side, then....opens her mouth, showing her teeth.
Fuck. This little shit is trying to bite me. A new feeling of anger floods over me. I no longer have any knowledge of the foolish stakes. My memory of the dream instantly evaporated. All I know is that I’m in a fight with a nut and I’ve got to put her away.
I release the hold to get away from her teeth. I rise to my feet and give her a kick in the ribs.
“Get up cxnt,” I growl at her.
She wastes no time scrambling upright and resumes her maniacal attack. With elbows flexed and hands bearing claws in the air, she races toward me. I see my opening. I don’t have my big right arm today but I have my left, digging the hardest hook I have thrown from that side into her ribs underneath the elbow. She folds over and staggers. I circle to the side and slam a hard left handed slap to the face. Claire stumbles around, then falls on all floors.
Like a cat, I stealthily position myself behind her and wait. I’m rewarded for patience when Claire pushes herself to her knees, holding her head upright. I snake my arms under her armpits, clasping my hands behind her head into a full nelson. Pushing down on the back of her head for all I’m worth, I see her talons on each side of me helplessly clawing at air. This hold isn’t helping my shoulder but I have so much weight advantage and leverage, I know it won’t be long.
“I give,” she groans. “Let go of me.”
I release immediate as to not cause neck injury. Claire falls back on all fours and I flatten her with a stomp to the back.
“So bitch,” I taunt, “You’re going to kick my ass and Carl is going to do me, huh? I would have to take some bad drugs before I could ever begin to imagine that.”
I return to my corner where Tom and I share a long passionate kiss while Claire grovels on the mat. I don’t even want to bother with a victory pose. I just want to put this whole episode behind me and I want them out of my house now.
“Good fight Claire,” I tell her. “No hard feelings, OK. I’ll see you around at work. Carl, good luck in Cali. I’ll help you out to your car when you’re ready.”
“Kiva?” Carl asks, “Can I uh speak with you...” He adds with a whisper...”privately.” I lead him to the kitchen away from his sister’s hearing range.
“I uh...,” he begins “I want to let you know I accepted the job in Cali.”
“That’s great Carl,” I commend.
“And..I...I...want to say that I...would not have taken you to my apartment if you had lost.”
“No?” I ask.
“No” he answers. “It wouldn’t be right. I uh want my first time to be with a girl who wants to be with me...not just there because she lost a bet. I’d want it to be good for both of us.”
“Well Carl,” I reply, “that’s very thoughtful and considerate of you. A lot of guys would take advantage of the situation.”
“And...” He pauses and stammers more than usual. “Uh...Claire...said...you...read the story I wrote. And...I’m sorry. I never meant for anyone to see it. You must think I’m really weird and creepy.”
“We all find ourselves attracted to other people,” I explain. “It’s just how we’re wired. We all fantasize. It’s easy to create imaginary people and places inspired by others around us. We all have our secret place inside us where we store these fantasies. They are only for us. If we’re lucky, we may share some of them with those we love. Just remember that they only exist in the imagination. The Kiva you created is not me. That’s fine as long as she stays locked up in your secret place. Claire had no right to read your story and allow me to see it. Just be careful next time.”
“I will...And I uh have something to tell you.....I met someone.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he tells me. “She lives in Cali. I met her gaming online. She’s not far from my new job. We’re meeting in person next week.”
“Are you sure she’s real?” I warn. “The internet is what it is.”
“She is real. We’ve been video chatting all week.”
“Very nice,” I say. “I wish you the best.”
We hear Claire’s voice shouting from the den. “Carl, Let’s GO!”
Carl and I chit chat for another minute. I tell him that I appreciate him reaching out to me. Thanks to our honest conversation I feel a burden lifted. I have a little more respect and appreciation for Carl. Finally, I feel like this whole episode is resolved.
“Come on, Carl, I’ll walk you out...and I have a parting gift for you.”
“You do?”
“Yes” I walk him back to the den where Claire is waiting and Tom is restoring the furniture arrangement. I take a head shot portrait of me from the desk and sign it. I watch him blush as he reads:
“To Carl,
My #1 fan and stud muffin.
Kiva”
As the ever so gracious hostess, I walk my guests to their car. Claire remains silent and sullen. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as their vehicle pulls away.
At that moment my cell phone rings. It’s Billy. He asks if I would like a cage fight with Paige as the lead in to the Kelli-Jolene fight. At first I excitedly say yes but remembered my shoulder. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Kelli taught me that. She once hurt her ribs fighting a beast named Candace. She fought again too soon and lost to a smaller woman who had no business beating her. I tell Billy I need a few days to see how my shoulder comes along but he insists on an answer now. Regrettably, I decline the fight. Shit. This is the second time I’ve had to turn down a fight at Billy’s but he assures me I’ll have more opportunities. I’m sure Paige will let me have it. She’ll probably say I’m afraid of her and faked the injury but I’m not going to put myself at a disadvantage. We’ll have our day.
Walking up our driveway, a pair of male hands grabs my waist from behind. I jump. My silly husband.
“You dodged quite a bullet, dear,” he says.
“I know.”
“I’ll think I’ll write my own Life With Kiva story,” he jokes.
“Oh yeah,” I shoot back. “Tell me, what is life with Kiva like?”
“Well,” he teases, “it’s never boring but it’s bad for my health. It’s going to give me an early heart attack.”
“Well, I know some good cardiologists,” I reply....”Tom, you’re right. What I did this time really took the cake. I owe you big time. Tell me what you’d like me to do for you. I promise I’ll do it.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder as we head toward the front door. He answers. “We have two more hours before we pick up Clarissa. I can think of something you can do for me.”
As we open the door and step inside, I place my arm around his waist and rest my head on his shoulder. And I’m reminded of how wonderful life, marriage.....and sex can be.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
-Kiva.
The Kelli-Jolene cage fight has been posted. A must read!
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=78153.13 Head to Head with a Home Wrecker p10, ch 28
