Chapter 2: Cynthia vs. Deanna by Joe Hallahan
Preface
These two women first appeared in KFJ. If you’re not familiar with KFJ, here’s a quick background. Deanna is a physical therapist at my hospital where I work as a nurse. She relocated from New York to Texas with her fiancé. She is very attractive but a rude, uncouth, aggressive bully. She was Kelli’s opponent in KFJ Chapter 1.
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=90742.0 You can read Kelli’s grittier version of the fight in FFJ Chapter 22
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=78153.75 Cynthia is a native Texan. She is a national collegiate cheerleading champion, married to her college sweetheart Josh, a former college football star whose NFL career failed miserably. Now in their 30s, Cynthia and Josh are obsessed with reliving their long past college glory days. Cynthia is generally a nice person, but can get downright vicious if her buttons get pushed. NEVER suggest to her that she and her husband are has-beens. She was my opponent in Chapter 8 of KFJ. Let’s not go there. She fought Deanna prior to fighting me.
Joe Hallahan is the fictional narrator and Deanna’s fiancé.
You will notice plenty of New York City and Texas stereotyping and jokes in this story. It’s all in fun and only used to create conflict for a fight story. In truth, I lived most of my life not far from NYC and Texas has been my adopted home for the past several years (Yes, that part of KFJ is real.) I love both. Regional geographic and cultural variation is part of what makes America so wonderful. So please, no hate mail.
And now….
She's cold and she's cruel
But she knows what she's doin'
Knows just what to say
So my whole day is ruined
'Cause she's bittersweet
She knocks me off of my feet
And I can't help myself
I don't want anyone else
She's a mystery
She's too much for me
But I keep comin' back for more
She's just the girl I'm lookin' for
-The Click Five“‘Scoose me, ‘scoose me, over here. Anybody gawnna take our order? I wanna see the manager. You should all have your asses fired.” My fiancée was growing impatient. No surprise there. Our plans were simple: dinner at the bar and grill, then a movie.
“Let’s go, let’s go, people. We want SERVICE!” Deanna continued. “Gawd, why are Texans so damn slow.”
“My name is Vickie, and I’ll be your waitress,” chirped the smiling thin waitress, her blond hair pulled back into a bun, accentuating her thin upbeat face. “Are y’all ready to order now?”
“Ready? Are you freakin’ kiddin’? And what’s with the ‘y’all’. Y’all this, ‘y’all that. Doesn’t anybody tawk right here? If I hear one more Texas drawl, I swear I’m gawnna scream.”
The waitress’ smile looked more plastic by the second as she withstood the abuse. Deanna is certainly assertive. Some would say aggressive. Sometimes she can even be boorish. Okay, I know, sometimes she can be a total bitch. The young waitress twitched nervously as she backed off in intimidation. Her head bobbed and her hands trembled slightly as she took our order. Deanna glared at her, relishing the head game she controlled with this young woman. The poor girl couldn’t get away from our table fast enough as she stammered, “I’ll be back shortly with your meal.”
“Don’t you think you should tone it down,” I suggested.
“Why? Someone needs to hold these losers accountable,” she responded.
I looked at her thick black hair, the round gold earrings against her tan skin, the brown eyes, the bare shoulders above the strapless top. I gazed at her facial expression and body language. She was the alpha female and she wanted everyone to know it.
They say opposites attract. That’s certainly the case with Deanna and I. I’m Irish and fair skinned. She’s Italian and olive skinned. I’m blond, she’s a brunette. I’m quiet, she’s outgoing. I’m said to be low key and patient. Deanna can get loud and patience has never been a word associated with her. I’m rational and try to avoid conflicts. And Deanna? Well, she loves to fight.
My family and friends say I’m making a mistake. They say marrying this woman will be a disaster. They say my life will be miserable. She’ll control me, dominate me, embarrass me. But the truth is, in spite of all the warning signs, I can’t imagine life without her. Honestly, there’s something about her aggression and her combativeness that attracts me. Maybe, there’s just something deep inside me that desires a dominant woman.
Deanna grew up in one of the rougher neighborhoods in the Bronx. She started getting in fights at a young age. Later, she ran with a bad crowd and had a few brushes with the law. Fortunately, she straightened up a lot and finished high school. We met as students at Rutgers. I was working on my masters degree in mechanical engineering and she was studying to be a physical therapist. As the saying goes, you can take a person off the streets but the streets don’t always leave the person.
Deanna and I met at a frat party. We were having a conversation over beers. When she went to the bathroom, a blonde came over to me. It got flirty. When Deanna returned, she told the blonde to get lost. It got intense, words were exchanged. The two women nearly came to blows right there. My buddies and I took the girls to an upstairs room of the frat house. In front of seven or eight guys, we let them fight. Both screaming and cursing, they slapped, they wrestled, they pulled hair, they scratched. They rolled across the floor. Clothes were torn. I know we should have stopped it but due to the alcohol and sexual turn on, the guys let them finish. Finally, Deanna had the blonde on her back straddled and pinned, banging the back of her head on the floor and slapping her face, leaving the helpless girl in tears. We decided it was enough. Deanna and I spent the night in my off-campus apartment for the most amazing sex ever. From that night onward, I was in love.
When Deanna learned about the catpin sorority, she wasted no time seeking women to fight. We graduated, Deanna earned her catpin. We both found jobs on Long Island. After a few years of dating, we became engaged. Then, I received an offer from one of the oil companies in Texas which was too good to pass up. Deanna accepted a physical therapist position at a large teaching hospital. At first, she wasn’t happy about leaving New York. Then, she found her mission. Moving to Texas meant one thing to her - to prove she’s badder and better than any of those tough Texas bitches. Tonight, I convinced her not to wear her catpin.
“Looks like we’ll be here all night,” she moaned. “Gawd, Texans are so dumb. All they care about are guns, football, and Bibles. Like … take a look at that guy over there,” she said, pointing her head at a diner sitting alone a few tables away. “What a big galoot. He probably says, ‘Howdy pardner, I’m sure fixin’ to get me some grub.’”
“Oh come on, Deanna,” I protested. “You know that’s a silly stereotype. Most Texans don’t talk like that.”
“No, really,” she argued. “Just look at that guy… Wait a minute. He looks familiar. I think I’ve seen him before.”
“You’re right,” I concurred. “He does look familiar.” The man was tall, appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with brown hair and he was wearing a red football jersey with jeans.
“He looks like … Josh Garrison,” I suggested. Remember him. The Jets drafted him in the first round some years back. He was a quarterback.”
“Josh Garrison? Oh yeah, one of the worst draft busts in NFL history…I think that is him. He’s from this area. Oh great. Joe, can we skip this movie? I feel like we’re actually in a horror film. It’s called, ‘Night of the Losers’. I’m tired of waiting for the waitress. Let’s get some drinks from the bar.”
We slid up to the bar next to waiting patrons when Deanna pushed her way in front of a woman, nearly knocking her over.
“Hey,” the woman complained. “You’re very rude. I was next in line.” The woman asserted herself nudging her way back to her rightful place. She was quite attractive with her shoulder length light brown hair and green eyes. Yet, she appeared confident and not the least bit intimidated by my fiancée.”
“Too bad, honey,” my girlfriend retaliated, nudging the woman back. “You snooze, you lose.” The two women engaged in a shoulder bumping battle. Deanna gave her opponent one of her patented mean stares but the woman didn’t back down. Dressed in jeans and a red football jersey with an 18 emblazoned on the back, similar to the one worn by the man at the table, she contrasted with my Deanna with her jeans and sexy black strapless tight tank top, nicely snug over her 35D boobs. I knew my girl was in the wrong. I know she was being a bully but it’s just … so darn sexy. Finally, my better judgment took over.
“Deanna, I think this lady was here first and…”
My woman delivered one last hard shoulder block, sending the red jersey clad woman off balance, stumbling backward, bouncing off a middle-aged male patron.
“I’m telling the manager,” the woman said sternly through clenched teeth, regaining her balance.
“Go ahead, dear,” Deanna taunted. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you survival of the fittest is the law of nature?” As the woman turned, the name “Garrison” was in full view across the back of her jersey.
Deanna laughed, “Are you the president of the Jawsh Garrison fan club?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” the woman’s eyes widened with intensity, as her breathing became shallow.
“Then you must have a membership of one. Who’d want to be a fan of that bum. We couldn’t ship him out of New Yawk fast enough. Hell, that draft bust sent the Jets back for years. Texas can have him.”
The woman clenched her fists, her shoulders hunched, her teeth grinded. Her eyes dropped to Deanna’s handbag, more specifically, to what was attached to the handbag.
My girl’s adversary could barely get out her words between breaths. “Is…that…a…cat…pin?”
“Damn right it is,” Deanna said proudly, her body language assuming dominance with her hip cocked, her shoulders back, and her chest puffed out.
The woman fumbled through her own handbag, her eyes not once fell from Deanna’s face. Finally, her hand emerged from the bag, holding up a matching catpin.
“Let’s…fight,” the woman snarled.
“Hey now, ladies,” the bartender said as a small crowd gathered around the two women. “If you can’t get along in here, we’ll ask both of you to leave.”
The woman in the red jersey softened her posture but maintained her stare as Deanna gave her a condescending smile.
“Come to our table,” the woman said. “Let’s talk.”
“Oh yeah,” Deanna grinned. “This is gawnna be good.”
The three of us joined Josh and stated our names. We learned the woman is named Cynthia and she is the wife of the ex-quarterback we insulted. Also, she likes to fight. I easily got the sense that she is very proud of her husband and is quite sensitive and defensive about criticisms of his football career. After a brilliant run as a college quarterback, it must have been a bitter disappointment to not find success in the NFL. Pro football fans can be merciless. I suspect this is at least part of what fuels her motivation to fight. Once tempers settled, we discussed business. Cynthia and Josh would host the fight in a ring in their home on Friday night with just the four of us present. The women would fight topless in panties. The fight would end in a submission. The couple appeared to be quite reasonable. They seemed to have a thing for colleges. Cynthia asked where Deanna went to college, then asked her to wear red panties to match Rutgers colors. No problem there, Deanna assured her. I looked at Deanna as we discussed arrangements and I felt a wave of excitement. She was already sizing up her opponent. I’m sure she was envisioning herself ripping this woman apart in front of me, her husband-to-be. My future wife is a badass. I love it.
For the rest of the week, Deanna and Cynthia exchanged text messages. Unsurprisingly, Deanna used every cheap insult she could think of to mess with Cynthia’s head.
“So what’s Josh doing now?,” she types. “Driving taxis or delivering pizzas?”
“What does Josh have in common with possums? Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.”
“What does Josh have in common with Rev. Billy Graham? Both could make 70,000 people in a stadium stand up and shout ‘Jesus Christ’.”
Deanna can be sadistic. “Hon, don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?” I asked. Mind games are one thing but jokes about people’s very lives may take you somewhere you shouldn’t go.
Friday night arrived. I returned home from work, giddy with excitement. After a light dinner, I massaged Deanna and helped her stretch. She picked out her red panties and we headed to our hosts’ house. Their home was in an upper middle class neighborhood. Josh was jovial as he let us in. He gave us a brief tour through a home dedicated to the memory of his college years. In a large home gym room, Josh showed us the 18x18 feet ring with three ropes and a blue mat with a large emblem of their alta mater in the center. Deanna had never fought in a ring before and the excitement in her face was undeniable. Then Josh took us to a guest room where Deanna prepared for the fight.
As I studied her naked body, I became lost in my wonderment. Removing her earrings, necklace and rings, she began her transformation from ordinary woman to warrior. The eyes, the nose, the lips, all geared for the sensory input necessary to survive in the harshest and cruelest conditions. At 5’8” 140 pounds, her frame is magnificent. The well-toned arms and legs, the powerful thighs, the sinewy back and strong abdomen, the woman is a magnificent piece of art. The large but firm breasts jut out, the dark pink areolae and nipples fearlessly point forward. There will be a day when those breasts will be nourishment for our future offspring, but tonight, they will be part of a struggle for supremacy against another female gladiatrix, flesh against flesh. The dark red nail polish on her fingers and toes contrasted with her deep tan, invoking images of bloody weapons. Then, there’s her attitude: bold, confident, unforgiving, merciless. She’s a warrior. She could have any man but she chose…me. She’s a proud fighter and she is…mine.
“These people are crazy,” Deanna muttered. “They keep reliving cawllege because he was shit in the NFL. And what’s with those red jerseys. Look, there’s one there,” she says, pointing to one of Josh’s red number 18 jerseys sitting atop of a pile of folded clothes, apparently intended to stored in a closet. My naked future wife holds it up, rolls her eyes, then crumbles it into a ball before tossing it in her gym bag. “It’s mine now,” she declares.
“No Deanna, you can’t. It’s stealing.”
“I said it’s mine now,” she reasserts as she tosses it in the open gym bag. “So what. They got thousands of them here.”
As she zipped the gym bag, I noted a box of what appeared to be markers and small squeeze bottles inside. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Body paint,” she answered.
“What the fuck for?”
“Uh, Cynthia and I agreed to stakes. You’ll see.” Oh good Lord, I thought. That’s my Deanna. She always full of surprises.
Josh summoned us to the ring. Deanna slipped on her red panties as I walked her to the ring like a prize fighter. Her breasts jiggled with each step as we entered the place of battle. The ring evoked a primal emotion in both of us, imposing a harsh reality of excitement and dread mixed together. One woman will leave victorious and jubilant. The other will lie defeated and broken.
Cynthia made her way into the gym, confidently striding forward in her red jersey. She performed an athletic jump over the top rope, then proceeded to stretch. She stood up again, only to execute a leg split twice, first the right leg forward, then the left, demonstrating amazing flexibility. I could never do that even in high school while stretching for track practice.
“She’s a national cheerleading champion,” I told Deanna. “She’s an elite athlete.”
“Ha,” Deanna scoffed, “This is fighting.”
Josh summoned us to the center of the ring where the four of us gathered to review the rules. There would be no punches or kicks to the head or biting. The fight would end with a verbal submission or tap out. The women stood face to face, their noses nearly touching. Deanna had a one inch height and 12 pound weight advantage. Compared to Cynthia, her muscles were bigger, she appeared stronger. Cynthia looked sleeker but still tightly muscled. She already established her agility and flexibility. I know Deanna is not afraid, she has repeatedly overpowered this type of opponent with her aggression and strength. Their breasts protruded in opposition. Deanna’s were larger, tan skin and dark areola and long nipples proclaiming dominance. Cynthia’s bare boobs, smaller but with creamy skin an pink areola, appeared pert with a hint of feistiness about them, as they answered Deanna’s pair in defiance. My girl looked disdainfully at the former cheerleader while Cynthia appeared intense. The women separated and went back into their corners to wait for Josh’s command.
Josh gave the order, “FIGHT!” Both women charged to the center of the ring. Cynthia, perhaps respecting Deanna’s power, feigned a lockup but pulled back to maneuver to the side. My girl saw it coming. Grabbing Cynthia’s arm, she pulled her opponent back close, wrapping her arms around the woman’s head and neck. Cynthia took hold of Deanna’s neck with her free arm and the two fighters, pulled, and slapped at each other, screaming, spinning, and stumbling around the ring. Not surprisingly, Deanna took control. Despite Cynthia holding on to her hair, it was Deanna dictating the direction of the fighters. Cynthia thrashed and kicked at my fiancée’s legs but my honey was a bulldog, driving Cynthia into the ropes.
With her opponent’s back to the ropes, and forcing the neck down with one arm, my fighting vixen fired punches to the ribs as Cynthia squealed, trying to block the blows with her arm. Deanna backed up, threw a series of hard slaps to the head, leaving Cynthia bent over and covering up. My babe next saw an opportunity, easily grabbing on to Cynthia’s hair and spun her around, taking away her balance and flinging her to the canvas.
Seeing her opportunity, Deanna pounced on her fallen prey, however, Cynthia, on her back, managed to get her knees up to prevent a full mount. That didn’t stop Deanna from relenting her aggressive tactics, as she rained a flurry of body punches and head slaps, most of them blocked. Unable to get past Cynthia’s raised knees, Deanna lost her position when Cynthia used her legs to push her to the side before rolling to an escape. I had to give Cynthia credit. She used her legs well defensively. But I thought it’d be a matter of time before she’d succumb to Deanna’s power and relentless attack.
Indeed, Cynthia barely rose to her feet when my warrior princess rushed in firing body shots to the ribs and kidneys. A hard right to the midsection doubled over Mrs. Draft Bust before she dropped to her knees. Deanna immediately took advantage using her foot to shove her victim in the chest, knocking her over to her side. Standing over Cynthia, yanking her by the hair as she got back to her knees, Deanna pulled her face upward and fired a vicious slap across the face, the loud smacking sound reverberating through the playroom.
Still on her knees, Cynthia looked stunned and her face red as Deanna reached for the brown hair to deliver another crack across the face. To my surprise, the agile former cheerleader dove for Deanna’s legs, wrapping her arms around the knees, and driving her body forward. Deanna let out a shriek as she tumbled to the mat and Cynthia lurched on top of her. The two women wrestled for control, rolling on the mat, shrieking and grunting, grabbing onto each other’s arms and hair, their legs kicking and clamoring. I thought Deanna, being stronger and heavier would have the advantage. As I expected, she established the top position, but Cynthia proved to be good defensively. The fight turned into a titillating ground game as both both sexy bodies struggled against each other. With Deanna keeping Cynthia on her back, I figured it’d be a matter of time before the former college star would wear out.
Suddenly, in a flash, the woman in the red football panties executed an impressive reversal, maneuvering into a top mount on my girlfriend. Deanna managed to twist her body and position herself face down with Cynthia on her back. Surprisingly, Cynthia backed off slightly, giving my girl more room. I didn’t understand it but then it became apparent. When Deanna lifted her head and chest off the mat, Cynthia quickly struck. Using her speed and agility, the amazing legs wrapped around Deanna’s neck, locking at the ankles into a head scissors. Deanna only had time to gasp as her attacker’s legs forced her back down to the mat on her side.
I felt weird seeing her in this position fearing Cynthia cinched in a choke. Fortunately, that wasn’t quite the case. Deanna’s right arm was raised up to her head when Cynthia applied the scissors. Her neck blood vessels were protected by her arm. It wasn’t a choke. Still, Deanna was in trouble, down on the mat, with Cynthia fully in control.
For a few moments, Deanna’s lay awkwardly on the mat, grunting and snorting, as Cynthia tried to tighten the hold. My doll’s proud chest heaved for air, the bare tits riding along in an expansion and retraction pattern. Surely, Cynthia must’ve realized she didn’t have the choke in place put that didn’t stop her from growling, “Give up, bitch.” Fuck, I never heard anyone ask my wife-to-be if she wanted to give up.”
“Fuck no!” Deanna growled, her voice muffled by Cynthia’s legs around her mouth. I watched my sweetie shift her body and gain some traction on her knees as Cynthia continued to lie on her side trying to maintain the leg scissors around Deanna’s head and raised arm.
With her one free arm, Deanna tried prying Cynthia’s ankles apart enough to slip her head through the hold. She came close several times but one hand and arm was no match for Cynthia’s legs. However, she managed to get herself on both knees, forcing Cynthia onto her back. That was all she needed. Her leverage wasn’t great but it was enough. With closed fists, knuckles protruding for extra damage, my gladiatrix went to work burying punches into Cynthia’s thighs. The wincing of Cynthia’s face and her barely controlled whimpers couldn’t hide the effects of Deanna’s blows. One after another, easy shots pounded her opponents gorgeous strong legs until Cynthia relented, releasing the scissors. Free, Deanna, took a deep breath and coughed but not before Cynthia, from her back, delivered a kick to the chest. Deanna took the blow, scrambled backwards as Cynthia rolled in the other direction. Now, with considerable space separating them, both ladies slowly rose to their feet.
“Dumb Texas bitch,” Deanna taunted.
“Fuck you, cxnt,” Cynthia answered.
The women approached each other, their eyes glaring with hatred, their hair a wild mess. Simultaneously, they lunged at each other, locking their arms around each other’s neck and waist in a standing grappling contest. I was sure Deanna was stronger and this would work in her favor. However, Cynthia stood her ground as they pushed against each other, panting and grunting, their muscles bulging and flaring, their bare feet digging into the mat as they tried to throw each other off balance. The bare breasts pressed together as the legs drove forward into a stalemate. As a guy, the sight of these two was like an epiphany. Two strong gorgeous women locked in combat, their sweat reflecting the overhead light off their skin. They looked like creatures from some ancient mythology. So primal, so beautiful, so sexy.
As I expected, Deanna gradually took control, backing up her opponent. After blocking Deanna’s hip toss attempt, Cynthia was vulnerable and Deanna took full advantage, driving her knee to the belly. Our hostess doubled over as Deanna moved in for the kill. My woman charged forward driving Cynthia into the ropes. Then she went to work. A yank of the hair, a slap to the face, a backhand chop to the chest, punches to the body, a rake of the red polished fingernails across the tits. Seemingly defenseless, Cynthia bent over in half trying to cover but Deanna was relentless. Just a matter of time now, I was sure. Then out of desperation, Cynthia managed one more defensive escape. Crouching low, she pulled off a gymnastic forward roll right under Deanna’s arms and away from her ropes. Deanna, like a cat, waited patiently for Cynthia to rise, finding the right moment to charge again. Cynthia appeared to wobble some as she stood up. Deanna rushed at her to finish the kill.
It happened so fast. I wasn’t sure if I saw it clearly. As Deanna shot in, Cynthia went low, wrapped her arm around my girl’s thigh, grabbed her arm, and lifted her over her back in a fireman’s carry, dropping her on her back. Deanna instinctively turned onto her hands and knees, as it was now Cynthia stalking prey.
With Deanna on her knees, Cynthia came from behind, pushed Deanna’s head forward, then again used those deadly legs, clamping on a standing head scissors. I could hear Deanna’s distressed moans. Her head was wedged between Cynthia’s thighs just below the pussy. I didn’t like the angle of her neck and back. I was worried.
“Give up. Your finished,” barked Cynthia.
“No fucking way,” Deanna responded. Her weak voice was discouraging.
For a very tense minute, I wondered if Deanna would tap out or if I should throw in the towel. I could tell Cynthia had the scissors on tight.
Then, in an incredible effort, Deanna wrapped her arms around Cynthia’s ankles, shifted her legs, pushed up off her knees and straightened her back, lifting Cynthia off her feet. Then unbelievably, my girl began to stand, with Cynthia on her shoulders still holding onto the scissors. Holy shit! Even I didn’t know Deanna was this strong.
Deanna sprung up on her legs in an attempt to stand. She did get to her feet but never gained stability. Exhausted and with the awkward weight of Cynthia on her shoulders, my sweet cakes stumbled backwards. Unable to recover her footing, she barreled toward the ropes, carrying Cynthia with her. Then the shit hit the fan. The ladies uncontrollably crashed into the ropes. As the two bodies fell backwards, Cynthia broke her hold and, with a shrill scream, fell over the top rope onto the carpeted floor below as Deanna dropped on her butt inside the ring.
Josh and I quickly ran to check on Cynthia who demanded to continue the fight. The guys agreed her fall out of the ring was accidental and the fight would resume. We also agreed our women could have a thirty second break.
I met Deanna in our corner as Cynthia collected herself outside the ring. I wiped her face with a towel and rubbed her sweaty skin. “Are you OK, babe?” I asked. “Cynthia is tough, isn’t she.”
“She’s mine,” Deanna replied. “She’s got nothing left. She’s done.”
Deanna made a sly smirk. I recognized it. It’s the smile she wears when she thinks of something devious. “Joe, get me the jersey.”
“What jersey?”
“The red jersey. It’s in my gym bag. “
“The one you stole? Why? What are you going to do with it?”
“Just get it. Give it to me NOW!”
I’ll never know why I obeyed her. I guess everyone is right. For some reason this woman has a spell on me. She controls me. I handed her Josh’s jersey.
With Cynthia still outside the ring, Deanna took her position on the school emblem in the center of the ring. To my utter shock, she proceeded to remove her panties, kicking them away with her feet, standing there stark naked. It was surreal but there she was, her gorgeous round ass and dense black bush in full view.
“Deanna! What are you doing?” I shouted. Shit, I thought. Now she’s out of her mind.
With the red jersey in hand, Deanna, in her birthday suit, waited as Cynthia climbed through the ropes to return to the ring. I’ll never forget what happened next. As Cynthia made her way back, Deanna, standing on the school emblem squatted. Reaching behind, she wedged the jersey into the crack of her ass, moving it from a front to back motion as if it were toilet paper.
After she completed wiping her ass, Deanna dropped the jersey, then mimed flushing a toilet handle.
Cynthia stood at the edge of the ring, her eyes wide with horror, her mouth wide open. Her hands clenched into fists, her back arched like an alley cat.
“You fucking BITCH!” she shrieked with an intensity that made me nervous. The offended woman rushed at Deanna, who back pedaled away, dodging the onslaught. Cynthia stopped her charge on the logo, gently picking up the desecrated jersey. As carefully as if she were handling a priceless possession, the school alumna held the top of the jersey with her finger tips, letting the garment spread out to be inspected by her loving eyes. Suddenly and eerily, the face contorted into a look of horror, as if she just witnessed the slaughter of cute puppies. Did she see something? Was there a tear? Did Deanna leave …a skid mark? I have my suspicions which I’ll keep to myself.
With a blood curdling scream, Cynthia ran at Deanna like a missile. Deanna dug in to meet her. She was not prepared this time. Cynthia threw her body at my girl like a spear, knocking her down and falling on top of her. Cynthia on top mounted Deanna and in a fury, threw punch after punch at her chest and belly. Deanna gamely fought back and managed to throw Cynthia off of her and escape but it wouldn’t last. Cynthia ran her into the ropes and with the ferocity of a hurricane, attacked with a whirlwind of punches, knees, slaps and kicks. My fiancée was slumped against the ropes and helpless. Before I could throw in the towel, Cynthia wrapped her arms around Deanna lifting her off her feet before twisting and throwing my woman to the mat.
Deanna lay face down, and I suspect she was confused, as Cynthia stood over her, straddling her at shoulder level as patient as a cat hovering over her mouse. Slowly, Deanna lifted up her head, pushing her upper body up with her elbows. Cynthia backed away from her, circling, her movements stealth and deliberate. I felt a sense of dread. It was clear Cynthia had an end game plan. The way she looked at Deanna’s body turned my dread to ominous despair. She looked like a predator setting up the final kill. As my fighter pushed herself to her knees, I felt as though she was vulnerable, unknowingly setting herself up for her Cynthia’s fatal delivery, whatever that may be.
Deanna shifted her weight from her elbows to her hands and knees. I saw Cynthia’s powerful legs contract, her knees bent slightly. “No Deanna,” I screamed. “Stay down.”
Then it happened. The former cheerleader’s legs sprang into action, wrapping around my girl’s neck in a figure four position, then clamping into a scissors around her head and neck, her powerful thighs and calves, squeezing and contracting. Deanna let out a muffled scream, as Cynthia’s control of her head forced her back down to the mat and on her side. I heard her make a sickening choking gasping sound as she frantically punched and clawed at her attacker’s thighs.
I felt like my heart would stop. I had never seen my woman on the verge of defeat. But there she was, her beautiful strong body helpless, her thick black wavy hair splayed wildly in all directions. With her face engulfed by her opponent’s muscular lower extremities, I could make out her forehead, now maroon from her compressed veins. She was being choked. I swallowed hard and uttered words I did not expect. “Deanna, you can tap out. It’s OK babe, tap out.”
She waved her hand in defiance, somehow shifting her weight partially to her knees. She tried digging her hands between her neck and Cynthia’s legs, desperately trying to relieve the pressure off the vital structures of her neck. She scratched. She clawed. Cynthia responded by twisting her body, sending the top of Deanna’s head buried into the mat, creating a horrible angle of my girl’s neck and the rest of her body. Her knees were on the mat, with her bare ass facing upward. With her head firmly fixed, the legs uselessly twitched like a dying rabbit caught in a snare. Oh fuck, I thought, this could be dangerous.
“That’s enough,” I called out. I entered the ring to break it up. It wouldn’t be necessary. I saw Deanna’s hand, forlornly tap Cynthia’s leg. The two women came apart. Deanna rolled to her side, gasping and coughing. Cynthia crawled away on her hands and knees, retrieving her husband’s defiled jersey. I squatted down beside my fallen woman, lightly taking hold of her hand. “Babe, are you OK?” I whispered. Deanna made a quick gagging sound, made eye contact with me for just a second before turning her head. The look of shame on her face said it all. “You fought a great fight, love. And when we get home, I’ll…”
I’m interrupted by a knee nudging me in the back. I turn to see Cynthia standing, clutching the red jersey. She said nothing but her message was clear, “Get out of my way.” I’m not sure why but I offered no protest. I rose, leaving my wife’s side, effectively handing her over to her conqueror. Cynthia wasted no time moving in, rolling my future wife onto her belly, mounting her back. The cheer coach, pulling Deanna’s head up by her hair, deposited the jersey on the mat, then shoved my girl’s nose into it. I noticed Josh standing on the other side of the women, watching silently.
“Kiss it!” Cynthia demanded…”Did you hear me? I said KISS IT!!!”
I wanted to intervene. I wanted to say Deanna has had enough. I wanted to pull Cynthia off of my girl. Yet,…I couldn’t. Something inside told me this is how it must play out. Something primitive and carnal, like a voice, said the women must finalize what they started. All debts are to be settled. No doubts are to remain. No questions to be asked.
The two men quietly looked on as the women played out their ritual of justice and punishment, of victrix and vanquished, of pride and brokenness. “Kiss it, NOW,” Cynthia screamed.
In the midst of muffled sobs, Deanna made an unmistakeable lip smacking sound. “There, she did it,” Josh acknowledged, showing a hint of compassion. Cynthia released her grip from the back of Deanna’s head, then slowly lifted off of her, rising to her feet, as Deanna lay face down. I motioned to retrieve my fallen female warrior, but Cynthia again silently indicated she wasn’t done yet. Her foot lightly kicked against Deanna’s arm. Understanding the cue, my woman obediently rolled over offering up her chest and belly, like land about to be impaled by the flag of the conqueror.
Cynthia claimed the spoils. After draping the offended jersey over Deanna’s face, she placed her foot on my future wife’s breastbone, just between her tits. With one hand on her hips, she raised the other one triumphantly, making a fist, then transitioning into a flexed biceps pose. I found my eyes glued to her. Her hair was a mess, her face was reddened, yet, she was beautiful. Her green eyes and smile radiated jubilation, relief, the joy and self-pride of having vanquished a foe, of engaging in hand-to-hand combat and emerging as the better woman. Her skin, although splotched with red marks and scratches, glowed. The breasts were perky again, the nipples awakened, rejoicing in the knowledge of their safety, knowing the battle was won. Her muscles undoubtedly ached, but her posture reflected the confidence and self assurance of the victrix. At that moment, I thought she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. But she could never be mine. She was deeply in love with her husband and wore the number 18 on her red panties to prove it. My eyes tracked down to the strong, athletic legs. Even her feet were beautiful as they pinned the woman I’m about to marry to the mat, claiming their ownership of her.
My eyes turned to Deanna. Her head, hidden under the number 18, tilted to the side. I thought of how alone she must feel in her humiliation. The thick black hair was a chaotic cascade. She still looked beautiful…but different. It was the same body. The bronze skin, the thick muscular build, the bosomy chest. It was all there, but it was if all the spirit and vitality were gone. The chest took in air but the nipples flattened as they moved up and down as if trying to hide. All the muscles were still, the arms, legs, hands, feet, red polished fingers and toes uselessly lay motionless. The large black bush now seemed to shrink in embarrassment. She was like a proud wild animal that had been sedated and put on public display.
Finally, Cynthia dismounted, leaving Deanna on her back, the jersey on her face, for which Deanna made no effort to remove. I squatted by her side and lifted the jersey for her. The face was expressionless, the eyes flooded with tears. She glanced at me briefly before looking away. The breathing rate was slowing down, she made no attempt to get up. I held her hand and kissed her forehead. “That was a great fight, babe. You were wonderful,” I whispered. In their corner, Cynthia and Josh were locked in a passionate embrace.
Deanna acknowledged me with her eyes but gave no other response. Finally, as if she just realized she was naked, folded her arms over her breasts and crossed her legs, rolling to her side. “Hold on to me, my love,” I said. “Let me help you up.” I grabbed her arm, as she clung to mine. With my other arm around her waist, I lifted her up. After a short stumble, she regained her footing. The eyes still seemed a little glazed and the lips quivered. All I could do was hug her and kiss her head. “I’m so proud of you,” I told her. In truth, I didn’t know how I felt. I only knew Deanna as strong, aggressive, a true alpha female. Seeing her in this state, I may have been just as stunned and confused. “Let’s go home, honey,” I said. “Let’s get you washed up and in bed. You’ll be fine. You’ll be back.” I walked her back to our corner and picked up her gym bag.
“Wait a minute,” a woman’s voice called behind us. I turned to see Cynthia, back to wearing her own Josh jersey, holding a body paint kit, much like the one in Deanna’s bag. “We have one last piece of business,” she informed.
“Look,” I argued, “I don’t know what you have in mind but Deanna’s had enough. Leave her alone.”
“She agreed to stakes before the match,” Cynthia argued. “In fact, she demanded it. It was her idea.This will only take a minute. Now Deanna, turn around.”
“Deanna, is that true?” I asked. She didn’t need to speak to answer. The truth was on her face.
Cynthia quickly positioned herself behind my girlfriend’s back. With a large paint marker, she drew a large red 18 on Deanna’s back. Taking a black marker, she penned the letters “NYC” on defeated woman’s left ass cheek and ‘Sucks” on the right buttock. Moving to the front, the winner wrote “Property of” on Deanna’s upper chest followed by “Cynthia” on the belly.
“There,” Cynthia beamed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Oh, one last thing.” Deanna’s conqueror picked up the dirty jersey off the mat. “We have a rule. You break it. You bought it. But we’re giving this to you for free. Now raise your arms.”
Deanna, still speechless, followed the order. Cynthia and Josh stood on each side of her, spreading out the jersey, then slipping it over her head, directing the arms into the sleeves, then pulling it down over her body, where it extended to her mid thighs. Deanna’s lips began to quiver again. “Are we done, now?” I snarled.
“Yes,” Cynthia replied. “Kindly leave.”
I held Deanna’s hand with mine, carried her gym bag with the other, helped her out of the ring as Cynthia and Josh followed behind us. As we exited the front door, Cynthia gave Deanna a poke in the ass with a cheerleader baton as if it were a cattle prod. Neither of us said anything.
The drive home was excruciating. Deanna, in the passenger seat, donning painted skin and a jersey that smelled like her ass would intermittently break out sobbing. I wondered how this experience would change her. I thought of how our relationship might never be the same. I tried to reassure her. I mentioned how everyone loses at some point but the good ones come back. I told her how she can beat Cynthia in a rematch. I tried to joke.
“Sure you’ll beat her, girl. Come on, she married Josh Garrison, the king of the pick six pass interceptions. They’re Texans, for Pete’s sake. A red state. They probably voted for Trump. What do you call a man who crosses the Mexican border seeking a better life for himself and his family? Ted Cruz. What does a woman in Dallas call a hand job? Texas Hold ‘em. What do you get if Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas seceded from the U.S.? A new country called KOTEX. Why is Texas the Lone Star State? Because one star was the minimum allowed in a five star rating system. See Deanna. You’ll totally kick her ass next time.
I noted her chest heaved again but this time she was holding back laughter. Then she finally smiled and spoke, ‘Yeah Joe, I know I can take her.”
Then I saw it by the side of the road. It must have been 14 feet high and 48 feet long. Red, white and blue. The lone star. The silhouette of the map of Texas. And the words. I tried to distract Deanna. I asked her to count cows by the side of the rode. I didn’t want her to see it. Too late.
The huge billboard was from an anti-littering campaign. The letters were emblazoned, declaring it’s slogan, DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS.
My girl’s laughter reverted to sobs, then to loud wailing. Shit!
