[sinclairfan]

At the tennis club where I had been playing with Tommy for about 5 years, travel teams consisted of 4 boys and 4 girls, who would match up against other clubs and play 6 matches:  2 boys singles, 2 girls singles, 1 boys doubles, and 1 girls doubles.  Six matches--first club to 3.5 won matches won, but in the event of a 3-3 tie, total number of won games won the team match.

So only 4 boys and 4 girls got playing time.  If you were 5th on the club "ladder", you needed crack the Top 4 by beating Number 4 in a "challenge match".  But you needed to do that early in the season--otherwise, you weren't eligible for the post-season New England tournament.

Being Number 4 or Number 5 on the Girls' Ladder was a Soap Opera.  Because the whole club was watching waiting for Number 5 to take down Number 4.

One year, Number 4 in my age bracket in the early season was a nice, athletic girl named Becky--everyone liked her.  Number 5 was a bitchy attractive girl named Susan who had gone to Bradenton, Florida that summer to a special tennis camp to improver her game.

To be able to beat Becky, and take over her Number 4 slot.

There was about 6 weeks to go before the season started and the tournament-eligible roster had to be submitted.  Everyone was waiting for Susan to challenge Becky.

During drills, Susan and Becky specifically avoided physical proximity with each other.  But still Susan didn't challenge Becky.

In the lounge, during breaks, Susan and Becky specifically avoided sitting next to each other.  In the locker room, one wouldn't go in until she knew the other wasn't in there.

The weeks went by.  Susan didn't challenge Becky to a match.

When the season started, Susan was in the van travelling to a match with us.  Becky wasn't.

We arrived at the match.  Becky was on the other team, playing as their Number One player.

On the way home, we asked Susan when and why Becky has left our club.

"Last week."

"Why?"

"She and I had a catfight."

"SUSAN?!?!?  What started it?"

"I called her on the phone to set up arrangements to our challenge match, and it kinda turned into arrangments for a catfight.  We met in a parking lot.  I won--she left the club."

Would my phone call with Lorraine turn into arrangements for a catfight?

> Lorraine, I wanna fight you  but not at my house.  Stop coming here.

> Then you come here, Lisa.  To Wheaton.

> When?

> Saturday night.  It'll be cleared out for finals, but the graduation crowd won't be in town yet.

> Deal.  If..... you'll fight me with no pants .... I want to scratch you bald.

> Fine.  Don't change your mind later, little girl.

> You're not that much older than me.

> I'm a junior, bitch.

> And you're fucking a high school senior?  Pathetic.

> Come see how pathetic I am, Lisa loser.  Courtyard of my sorority.  Bring someone to carry your sorry ass home.

I know imnediately who I want to drive me to Norton.

> Hello?

> Maureen?

> It's Lisa.  Can you drive me to a fight Saturday.  I'm in it--you can watch.

> Someone from school?

> Better.  A college bitch.

> Do you know what tou're doing?

I sure do.
I sure as hell do.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

That Thursday was Ascension Thursday, so we had school mass in the chapel.  I sat next to Maureen, by coincidence--divine intervention, I guess.

Until our phone call earlier in the week, she and I had never really talked since our bathroom fistfight.  We never really established our status vis-a-vis each other --were we still enemies with unfinished business, or were we "good"?  I had just called her to ask her to drive me to the Lorraine fight on a gut-instinct impulse, and while part of me was surprised by her "Yes, I'l do it", part of me fully expected it.  I'd have done the same for her, I guess.

After all, who doesn't like to watch a good, love-triangle catfight?

At mass, Maureen's arms and mine rubbed against each other.  Accidentally at first, then on purpose.  I think she was trying to tell me that I could count on her as my driver, and as my wingman, at the fight on Saturday.

During The Lord's Prayer, where you hold hands with the person next to you, I held her hand.

We squeezed hands.  It felt good.  I remembered a few weeks ago, when those same hands had been punching my face.

We were lucky no one got hurt bad in that fight.  We both would have been expelled.

During the part where everyone pauses while the priest says, "Lead us not, Lord, into temptation....", with us still holding hands, Maureen leaned into my ear, and said, "Let me feel your nails, Lisa.....", so I scratched her palms.  "Harder, she mouthed," so I dug into her palm.

During the Sign of Peace, we hugged, and she kissed me on the lips.  Then she whispered to me, "You're gonna need sharper nails than that for a catfight.  Come to my house tonight."

After Mass, my friend who had set up my bathroom catfight with Maureen said, "Sssssoooo.... looks like thd feud between you two is over?".

"Yeah ..... we both proved our point .... not to fuck with each other."

Now I just need to teach Lorraine.

That night, Maureen was sharpening my nails. 

"How did you get this chick Lorraine to agree to catfight you?"

"I started an affair with her boyfriend."

"That'll do it.  Everytime."

" You sound like you know."

"Yep."

"Is it as intense as it seems like it'll be?"

" The sex?  Or the fight?"

"The fight."

"More intense than your wildest dreams.  As long as you don't quit.  And no one stops it."

"Then ..... don't stop it."

"I won't.  And you don't quit..... No matter how much either you or her are hurt."

"That's the plan."

Then Maureen and I finished our kissing from Mass.

It took about four hours.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

The Friday before my planned fight with Lorraine, I wanted to tell my Mom about my plans the next day for Maureen to pick me up and drive me to Lorraine's sorority in Norton, in case something went wrong and we were late coming back.  But I didn't want to tell her that we were driving to Wheaton (or even that Lorraine was a student at Wheaton), because I didn't want her fishing for information and eventually discovering that I had instigated the entire drama.

Getting out of lie once you've started one is hard.

So I made up a new lie, or at least a fib.

> Mom, a girl from school is picking me up tomorrow afternoon.

> Oh, what for?

> We're driving to Lorraine's town to see if she still wants to fight me.

> Oh?  You found out where she's from?

> Yah.  Out by Dighton-Rehoboth.

> Pfffft.  Country trash--shoulda figured.  Lorraine's backyard, tho--will this girl who's driving you be able to watch your back?  in case Lorraine's friends jump in?

> Yeah.  It's Maureen.  In my class.  She can fight.

> Oh?  You're..... sure .... she can fight?  You've seen her fight.

> Ummmm..... [blushing] ......

> Lisa, don't lie to me.  This is serious .... and dangerous.

> Mom .... I've seen her fight .... I was the girl fighting her.  She's bad ass.  We fought with fists ..... in the school bathroom.

> Lisa!!!!  Who taught you how to fight with fists???

> Welll .... Mom, don't tell him I told you ..... but .... DAD .... taught me how to throw a punch.

> Ok .... I'm guess I'm not mad, Lisa .... I mean, obviously you held your own with another girl who can punch .... but .... and I'll shut up after this, I promise [good.... we're back on a path where I can stop telling an ever more elaborate lie] ..... he showed you HOW?  Was he punching someone??

> No. Mom..... uggh, don't make me talk about this .... one of his GIRLFRIENDS was over ...  and he had me punch her a couple times, ok???  [Mom's eyebrows lift up.]  No, not just him ... she was ok with it ... he wan't forcing us to fight..... he, just, ....well, I, had just told them that a girl at school and I had some drama brewing, and might fight .... so they BOTH wanted me to be ready.  So they wanted me to know how to punch .... for real, not just hypothetical, ya know.  I mean, you ARE glad they showed me ... aren't you???

> I suppose.  ....... Wow.  You really punched her?  For real??

> Ya.  And more than once.

> That was actually kinda .... nice .... of her.  In a way.  [Please don't make me lie, again, Mom.  Please don't make me confess that they both also wanted me to FEEL a punch .... or two .... or three .... or four.  And that Dad's girlfriend punched ME a few times that afternoon.  As a way to train me.]  I'll need to thank him some time.

> MOM ....  PLEASE, NO!!!!!! .... You can't ever mention that to them!!!!

> Ok, ok. ...... About tomorrow ..... if you fight Lorraine ..... will IT be a fistfight??

> Umm ..... Autumn .... you know she counsels girls who have been in trouble??? ..... she said if I want to hurt Lorraine ..... which I do .... I should catfight her.

> I agree with Autumn.  Too bad we can't do what your Dad did .... and let you PRACTICE what a catfight feels like.

> Why can't we?

> Because you're fighting tomorrow.  And it takes at least a week to recover from a real catfight .... and that's if it's a short one.  You sure you're ready?

> I can't wait.

And that's the truth.

To be continued.....

[Debbiedoes]

I'm enjoying this very much, wonderful build up.

[sinclairfan]

Saturday of my fight with Lorraine finally arrived.  Maureen was going to arrive my mom's house at 3 to drive me up to Norton, Massachusetts, but my mom thought it would be a good idea to get my hair done before the fight.  She was still under the misconception, because of my lying, that Maureen and I were going to challenge Lorraine in front of her friends, not that Lorraine and I had already worked everything out over the phone--the time, the location, the rules, the semi-nude attire.

So my mom, in her understanding of the confrontation-to-come, wanted to maximize the chances Lorraine would accept my challenge.  She figured that the hotter and bdtter-dressed I looked, the less ready-to-fight I would appear.  So that then Lorraine would try and take advantage of my relative unpreparedness and fight me on the spot.

Get it?  Phew, lying is confusing.

My mom also wanted the fight over for another reason.  She knew I was going away to college in Ohio in just 8 weeks.  She wanted my hometown loose end sewn up before I went away.

The next day was Mother's Day, so my mom's hairdressing place was booked solid.  But she pulled out the big guns to get me an appointment.

> Beth, I really really need a favor.  A big one.  Lisa NEEDS this appointment.  She has a, ummm, important appointment tonight.

> A hot date?

> MORE important.

> Wwhhhaatt ..... could possibly be more important than a date with a new boyfriend?

> I'll tell you what .... an appointment with the boyfriend's ex.  [Lorraine wasn't the ex yet, as you know.  But my mom didn't know that.  See how exhausting this is?]

> Oh.  I see.  So you want me to braid Lisa's hair?

> The opposite, Beth.  IF they fight .... which I'm hoping they will .... I want it to be a catfight.

> That's what YOU want.  Is it what Lisa and .... the other young lady .... want?

> It is.  The other .... young lady .... has already been here ....  to OUR HOUSE .... once ..... a few weeks ago .... looking for a fight.

> I see.  And you stopped it?

> Hell, no.  Lisa wasn't here.

> I see.  So now Lisa's going to her?

> This afternoon.  Late.  So can we get an appointment.  Make her hair look hot as fuck?  To get under the other girl's skin.

> What time can you be here?  I'll give her the works.  And some catfighting advice.

> What's the advice?

> That there's a big difference between a streetfight and a catfight.  In a streetfight, the fight ends with "I give", or "stop, please".  With a catfight, the fight's just getting started then.

> I think it will do her good to hear that advice from you.  Lisa, get dressed!!!!  Beth's gonna do your hair up nice.  And .... give you a pep talk.

> ........

> Lisa?  You ready to go?

> Yes, mom.  Give me 5 minutes.  [To get dressed.  And to finish masturbating.]

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

My Mom's sexy hairdresser gave me the best blonde dye job and best cut and straightening I had ever had.  I wished all the men who had been too shy to talk to me, or too introverted to ask me out, or too indecisive to make a move on me on the first date, or too tentative to ask for a second date, could see me now.  They would regret that I wasn't their girlfriend right now, and that I had been forced to have bad sex with boring Tommy.

Thd hairdresser gives me a pep talk for the fight.  She tells me to hurt Lorraine.  To really, really hurt her.  To scratch her everywhere, so every man who makes love her for the rest of her life sees the scars.

Between 1:00 and my 4:00 pickup by Maureen, Mom did my makeup and cologne for the fight, and dressed me.  Mom gave me her most expensive Chanel fragrance, so that Lorraine would be jealous of my sex appeal.  We put on a silky office top that wouldn't rip when Lorraine pulled on it, and that her nails would have a hard time getting through.

We put on a sexy mini skirt that I could step out of easily, with no underwear.  We shaved my bush so thst it was long but well-trimmed, so that I looked like Timmy spent lots of time "down there".

I couldn't believe how sexy I smelled.  Someday, when I fuck someone I love, I need to remember to wear this.  Since Tommy and I usually fuck after tennis, we both smell sweaty.

Maybe that's why Lorraine prefers reverse cowgirl.  Tommy's pits get rancid quickly.

Maureen picks me up.  My Mom tells her she's counting on her to watch my back if Lorraine's friends think about jumping in.

Maureen notices how good I smell, how perfect my hair is, how sexy my top is.

In the car, I tell Maureen how the hairdresser told me the difference between streetfighting and catfighting.  And how I'm glad my fight with Maureen at school didn't get catty.

> I know.  Me too.  Maybe some hairpulling.

> Ha!  Maybe by YOU, bitch!

> Well .... I hated your perfect blonde hair.

> Will Lorraine hate it too?

> Hell ya!  You look perfect right now.  [If it was 2021 instead of 1985, she'd be taking a picture of how I look right now and posting it on Insta.]

> Good.

> Rub her face in it.

> I will.

> Good.  Fuck her up.

> I will.

The sign says, "Welcome to Wheaton College."

No turning back now.

For me.  Or for her .... the bitch.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Lorraine's sorority house was a long structure which looked like it had been extended several times, with a cross between Victorian and Tudor themes, almost as if it had one of those factory boarding houses at one time.

Like she had described on the phone, there was a semi-enclosed courtyard in the center.  Maureen and walked stepped into it, looking up into doors and windows for where Lorraine might be, and any of her other sorority sisters who might have come to watch the fight.

The Tudor architecture made me think of the 12th century English history class we were taking in school.  All the medieval warrior princesses who were galloping around England and Normandy at the time--Matilda of Scotland, Matilda of Flanders, Matilde de Boulogne, and Matilda the Empress, since she was the widow of the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V. 

All vying to be the strongest Matilda in the land.  Whoever won got the best castle, the best clothes, the best sex, the best food.

Whoever lost starved in the wilderness.

I got so horny thinking about it.

I also thought about when I started playing sports.  Before I focussed exclusively on tennis, i had played softball.  One of our first travel games was against this team of girls who gathered on a hill overlooking a field, and started chanting about getting "rowdy", whatever that meant.  They then came screaming down the hill and ran into the dugout.

They had us beat before the first pitch was thrown.

[sinclairfan]

Just as I noticed how cramped my legs were from the car trip to Norton, two stuck-up bitchy blonde girls emerged from one of the many doors out to the courtyard.

One of them I recognized immediately as Lorraine, even though her hair was very different from the Polaroids Tommy had shown me of hair.  Her drab 1970s straight hair style had been replaced by a beautiful curled style that gave her hair three or four times the volume and body it had before.  Her hair was still blonde, but a nicer, deeper shade of blonde, so it was obviously dyed.

She and I locked eyes and couldn't release them.  Was she surveying my body like I was surveying hers?

Her clothes were a velvety sweatshirt top, which complemented her huge boobs, and a mini-skirt bottom.  Her shoes were already off.

Did she like what she saw?

Was she turned on as much as I was?

Did she hate me as much as I hated her?

> Fuck you, Lorraine.

> No.  Fuck YOU, Lisa.

> Witty comeback.

> Fine.  Be that way.  So ..... should we send our two friends inside (motioning to her own [also gorgeous, but tough-looking] sorority sister, and to Maureen).  Or do you want them to witness me beat your ass?

> [I could tell right then and there I was going to need to masturbate at some point during the fight.  I didn't want Maureen to see that.  I didn't know her well enought yet.]  Alone.  You and me, alone, Lorraine.

> Go inside and make Lisa's bitch friend comfortable, Karen [it was 1985; this was still an actual name, not an insult].

Maureen and Karen went inside.

Lorraine and I got nose to nose.

> We still taking our skirts and panties of?

> Of course.  You first.

One by one, we get semi-naked.

My pussy was literally throbbing.  And dripping.

> You smell.  [she was right.  I did.]

> I'm gonna make you fucking eat it.

> Do that and I'll kill you.

> Let's go.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Later in my life, after I moved to the Midwest (more on that later--Miami of Ohio turned me into a Midwesterner), when I started getting better at learning to make friends, I'd tell them I had been raised in Rhode Island, and they'd tell me how lucky I was to live so close to the ocean, and want to hear stories about beach days in the Atlantic.  I'd break the news to them that, "Hey, I hate to tell you--the Atlantic Ocean in New England is FREEZING--except for maybe the first couple of weeks of August." 

Then they'd say, "Oh?  So you never went in the water?  You just sunned yourself?".

And I'd tell them about the strange sensation all native New Englanders have experienced.  That if you just wade in gradually, the water seems to get colder and colder and colder with each passing minute, and you finally get the urge to just get out.  Conversely--if you just dive in, you get a half-second sensation that you're going to freeze to death.  But as soon as you surface, your whole body miraculously acclimates, and you suddenly feel warm, and you can stay in the water for 30-60 minutes, or longer.

A catfight is EXACTLY LIKE THAT.

If you're facing off with a girl, and one or both of you takes the first swing, once you both have the sensation of hitting or getting hit, the fight feels totally natural.  You still want to win, of course.  But all the fear and anxiety leading up to the fight melts away.  You totally remember why you're fighting her, and it feels ..... natural.  Primal, but still natural.  You start thinking about fight tactics and strategy, and wait for your second wind to kick in if you get tired.  But the fear part, the urge to run, totally disappears.  (That's how my bathroom fight with Maureen had gone.  We knew we only had 3 minutes freedom from the teachers, so we didn't dick around.  We hit hard and fast as soon as the door had shut--and it was on after that.  No hesitation from either of us.)

My faceoff with Lorraine was the exact opposite. 

Nothing but hesitation.  Anxiety.
Fear.  From both of us.

Doubts about whether I had bitten off more than I could chew.

Lorraine was prettier than I expected.  And stronger, tougher looking.

But she was also more ..... mature .... looking.  I knew she was a college girl, older than me by 3 years.

But looking at her inches in front of me .... she looked like ..... a woman.  A grown, bad ass woman.  She hadn't hesitated to bare her pussy in front of me.  Her bush was so .... full .... thick.  Her eyes were .... mean looking.  She was staring death.

My mind was telling me to get the first hit .... like everyone had coached me to do.  My Dad .. . my Mom ..... my Dad's girlfriend, when she showed me how to punch .... my Mom's hairdresser, when she gave me fight tips this morning.

But Lorraine's face was telling me that if I hit her, she would hit me back 10 times as hard.  And that my hit wouldn't fluster her at all.

So ..... why wasn't Lorraine hitting ME??  Her hands were by her side.  I was waiting for her to raise them.  But they stayed relaxed.

Or .... if no hitting .... my pussy was sitting there completely exposed to her nails.  Why wasn't she scratching it?  Was she thinking about if she wanted "thst kind of fight"?

A catfight, and not a streetfight?

Had all her fights been like mine with Maureen?  A fistfight?

Or .... worse ..... had she had a catfight, and known how serious they were?

Our staredown went on for minutes.

I might have gone on this afternoon.

But we could suddenly hear muffled banging inside the sorority.

Lorraine broke the silence.

> I think Karen and your friend are fighting.

> Her name is Maureen.  And that wouldn't surprise me.  She's a tough-y.

> Well, .... she better be.  I knew .... KAREN .... wouldn't let me down.

> Well .... Maureen knows I won't let ...  HER .... down.

> Well, I ain't seen nothing yet from you, Lisa.  Just words.

> Well ..... say hello to my nails.

I reach for Lorraine's pussy and sink my hand in.

She retaliates in kind.

And, like diving in the cold ocean .... for 3 seconds, I get the literal sensation that I'm going to die.

That's how bad it is to get your pussy mauled.

But then.....

Like surfacing from the ocean....

My body acclimates....

And I'm ready to totally fucking kill this bitch in front of me.

> Slut.

> Bitch.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

One of the most important decisions a tennis club makes for its students is what "grip" to hold the racket with when you hit a forehand:  continental, Eastern, Semi-Western, or Western.  Novak Djokovic is in the news right now over Covid vaccinations--he uses the ridiculous Western grip, where you wave the racket like a windshield wiper in front of the ball's path.  You get good topspin on the ball, but you have almost no control over its direction after it leaves you racket.

In hindsight, I wish my club had taught the Semi-Western--the fierce women players today who smash forehands back and forth, and grunt as they do it, use that grip.  It would have been my style when I played.

Instead, my club taught the Continental grip.  It requires discipline, control, and precision over your elbow at every stage of your swing.  That worked for me 80% of the time, tops.  Good enkugh to be a #3 or #4 player.  But not #1 or #2.

As Lorraine and I dug our right hands into each others' groins, I thought of how I should position my elbow, my shoulders, my hips.

And and what angle I should turn my wrist as I scratched and pulled on her. 

Continental?

Eastern?

Semi-Western?

Western?

I tried them all.  Some got whimpers from my rival.  And some just get her madder.  Then I realized, those are just forehand gtips.  There's backhand grips.  Volley grips.  Overhead grips.

Lorraine didn't try any of them on me.  She must have been a volleyball player.  She was coming at me from below, her palms turned upward.  She was getting up inside of me.

> You think you're hurting me?  I could do this all day.

> Then what are those tears?

> They're less than yours.

> I feel bad for what I'm about to do to you.

> Awwww.  What a sweet .... little girl.

> I'm every bit of a college coed as you are.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Those of you who grew up in New England in the 1970s and 1980s, after the 1960s environmental awakening put the kibosh on bug spraying but before the 1990s ah-fuck-it return to spraying, will remember a plague which hit the New England twilight skies every April and May.

Gnats.

Gnats are tiny black bugs that don't seem to want to bite you.  They just want to land on you, smell you, and maybe drink your sweat.

And your tears, if you have them.  Which we both did.

In swarms.  Billions of them at a time.

Any New England bride with a sunset wedding knows what I'm talking about.  Gnats love hairspray.

It was now twilight.  Lorraine and I had our best hairspray and best cologne on.  And we were sweating like pigs.

Gnat heaven.

We got hit suddenly with a faceful each of gnats.  We tried to ignore them at first.  But you can ignore thousands or millions of gnats, if you're in a vicious catfight.  Against your worst enemy.

But not billions.

We release our mutual pussy grab.

> Fuck.  I'm not done with you yet.

> Then let's finish inside.

> Fuck, I dont want you in my sorority.

> You're afraid.

> Fine.  Follow me.

> Bitch.

Lorraine leads me into the sorority house, both of us brushing handfuls of gnats off of us.

It smells so good inside.  There's thousands of candles in the house.

No way these girls are straight.

We here screams in the next room.  We run and look.

Maureen has mounted Karen, and is laying a ground and pound on her.  Both of them are topless.

Lorraine shrieks, "Get off her bitch!!!!!," and charges at Maureen.

I try and tackle Lorraine, but she slips free.

> Let them finish, bitch!!!!!

Lorraine gets Maureen off of Karen.  Karen leaps up, her face full of welts.

> You should have let them finish, bitch.

> Fuck you, Lisa.  This is between you and me.

I pull back my fist, hoping to lay a haymaker on Lorraine's jaw.  But someone grabs my arm and pins it behind my back.

Karen.

The four of us stand staring at each other.

A total 4-girl stalemate.

The b.o. in the room is overtaking the candles.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

People ask me all the time if youth travel tennis matches ever got really bitchy or catty.  And the truthful answer is ..... sometimes.  But never a singles match.  Something about needing to focus all your concentration and energy on your own play, not the other girl's, kept the matches civil and respectful.

But doubles was a different story.  Part of the reason is that a lot of a doubles match is played at the net, and there's more opportunity for a volley hit at a player's face of chest to be perceived, rightly or wrongly, as having been intentional.  And for an immediate retaliation to occur on the next point.

But there's also a 2-on-2 hormonal dynamic that kicks in.  If you think the other 2 bitches are picking on your doubles partner, you want to show her, then them, that you're standing up for her.

So the bitchiness can definitely get sparked in a close doubles match.  And sometimes neither side knows how to, nor cares to, defuse it.

As Maureen and I stood sweaty, semi-nude, and wounded in a strange candle-scented sorority house with the 2 bitchiest women we had ever met, we immediately recognized we were in a doubles catfight.

2x2.  To the finish.

It was just about me and Lorraine anymore.

Both Maureen and I wanted to hurt Lorraine AND Karen.

And they both wanted to hurt both of us.

They spoke first.

> So how do we settle this bitches??  Just brawl until ther's one girl standing?

Karen and I paired off, then Lorraine and Maureen, in standup hairpull catballs.

We both wanted to finish off our enemy rapidly, for fear of facing a 2on1 pummeling if we tarried in neutralizing our dance partner.

I never felt so alive.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The four of us were fighting in an open great room, with a large dining table with leaves inserted off to one side, and a motley collection of non-matching soft chairs irregularly spread around the side of the large room.  There was room to fight on the floor if our fighting went to the ground, but if we stood up, there would be unpredictable interfernce presented by the randomly-placed furniture.

Maureen and Lorraine had chosen the standup option, slugging at each other with closed fists, the girl who was forced to retreat at high risk of losing her footing by getting tangled with unseen chair legs as she retreated.

Maureen was getting the better of their battle at the moment, and I was grateful I had brought her to this fight as my wingman.

Karen, meanwhile had chosen to take me to the ground, and was methodically shredding my shirt with her hands.  I suddenly felt naked, both literally and figuratively, as I realized my skirt was still laying in the grass on the outdoor courtyard, while my shirt was now in unwearable pieces all over the great room floor.

Maureen would have an interesting time getting home in any state of decency.  We would need to steal clothes from somewhere in the sorority house.

Once my breasts were exposed, Karen wasted no time mauling and pinching and twisting them.  This was a different type of pain than when Lorraine was scratching my pussy outside.  It made me angry.

And if made me want to twist hers, which I proceeded to aggressively do.  I had never touched another girl's breasts, and I was stunned at how firm and dense Karen's were.  Was it because she was three years older than me?  Or were hers' just better than mine.

Karen, too, also seemed to be tactililely exploring my breasts.  I thought of how when Tommy and I fucked, one of the things that made me feel empty was that he never touched or kissed or even felt up my breasts.  I had always thought of guys being tit-obsessed.  Why wasn't Tommy obsessed with mine?

Was it because Lorraine's were better.

Karen and I were soon aggressively massaging each others' breasts.  We were no longer fighting, even tho Lordaine and Maureen were, and quite viciously.

My women's intuition kicked in.  I had a hunch about Lorraine and Karen.  I asked Karen to confirm it.

> Have you and Lorraine ever fucked?

> Yes, why?  [We were whispering, so Maureen and Lorraine wouldn't notice us.]

> Want to roll into the next room and fuck?  And you can tell me who fucks better?  Me or her?

> You two really do hate each other, don't you?

> Does that turn you on?

> Fuck, yes.

> So .... wanna do it?

> NOW.

Karen and I roll out of the great room into some sort of utility room, and out feet kick the door close.

We tongue kiss as hard as Maureen and Lorraine are fighting.

Within a minute, both of us are cumming.  We roll into a side by side 69, and kiss each others' pussies.

I feel like I'll never stop cumming.

And that's ok.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Karen wasn't the first girl I had ever kissed.  I learned pretty early on that boys are terrible kissers, and so if I wanted the sensation of passionate intensity and physical connection, I would sneak off after school dances and basketball games with girls from my school or, even better, their friends and sisters who went to public schools or had already graduated.  We kidded ourselves (there's that "lying" habit of mine again) that we were only practicing our kissing skills, or trying out new types of kisses, or "testing" how different kinds of lip gloss stood up to 15 minutes of intense kissing, or exploring the taste of flavored ChapStik or lip gloss, ...... lie after lie after lie.

In the 1980s, we didn't have the language, the confidence, the access to valid information, whatever, to view ourselves as straight or bi or bi-curious or .... gasp .... something else .... lesbian.  We knew about lesbians--but they were all mannish-looking.  That was nothing to aspire to; not at all glamorous.

No.  We were just bored suburban straight white girls kissing each other.

So, Karen wasn't my first time kissing a girl.  But it WAS the first time getting full-on naked with a girl.  And touching each other EVERYWHERE.

And I loved it.  The whole skin-on-skin sensation was electrifying.  The orgasm "itch" that concentrated on my clit when I fucked with Tommy EXPLODED to all different parts of my body--my breasts, the back of my neck, my inner thighs, my toes.  I wanted Karen to touch and kiss me in all those places.  No amount of touching and caressing was enough.  And I wanted to touch her everywhere.

Karen had long straight hair that I could see up close was a dirty blonde tint that I found SSSOOO attractive.  And she had a poise, a classiness, that screamed she was from a wealthy, connected family from long pedigree.  I got so excited arousing her so much that she was willing to let go of her devil-may-care poise and get crazy with me.

We were both letting go of all our inhibitions with each other.

What was her relationship with Lorraine??  Exclusive lovers?  Fuck buddies?  Just sorority sisters?

I wanted to steal Karen from Lorraine.

Karen pushed close the door of the room we were kissing in and latched it.  Maureen and Lorraine were fighting outside, but might finish soon, and the winner would come in and see Karen and me fucking.

They'd be pissed that while they were putting their bodies on the line in a brawl, Karen and I were pleasuring each other.

After latching the door, Karen mounted me.

> Where have you been all my life, Karen?

> [we are barely able to squeeze in words between kisses] Oh, here at Wheaton, and growing up in Ohio.

> I go to college in Ohio in 6 weeks.

> I know.  Lorraine told me. Let's fuck when you get there.

> Yes, Yes.  Let's fuck a lot Karen.  Are you and Lorraine ..... together?

> It's ...... complicated.

> I want to complicate it more.

> I'm down with that.

I try to keep talking, but start cumming so hard that I feel like I might pass out.

Is this heaven?

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Karen and I did get to continue making love for another 10 minutes or so behind our latched door before Lorraine did eventually come and kick the door in.  Lorraine had defeated Maureen in their fight in the great room.

Not, I think, because Lorraine was a better fighter than Maureen.  It was just because Maureen had been full-on fighting with Karen before she had to fight Lorraine, while Lorraine and I had been standing in the grass hate-staring at each other, and then just a couple minutes of pussy-mauling, before the gnats drove us indoors.

Karen had "softened up" Maureen for Lorraine.  And then Lorraine, in classic bullshit bully behavior, had still barely been able to beat up Maureen. 

Every minute I was around Lorraine I became more and more convinced of what a complete and utter bitch she was.  I was half-tempted to get up and rip her eyeballs out right then and there.

But Karen saw the bigger picture.  She realized we had 4-5 weeks of August overlap in Ohio to look forward to, where she and I could fuck each others' brains out, and she could teach me everything I needed to know about f-on-f sex.  (And maybe even some things I didn't need to know.)

Lorraine approached me threateningly, but Karen stepped between us.

> Get out of my fucking way, Karen.  Let me finish off this cheating bitch, like I finished off her friend.

> Whoa, whoa, Lorraine.  I just fucked her up for 10 minutes.  [what a difference the word 'up' makes in a sentence! ]

> She doesn't look so bad.

> She's bad, don't worry.  But, Lorraine, think!  She needs to drive her friend home.  Parents are coming here tomorrow for Mother's Day, and girls are moving back in for Graduation.  I don't want these two bitches here for that .....  DO YOU??

> [Lorraine stares at my hatefully.  I stare at her right back.]  You're fucking lucky, bitch.  Get out, and take your pathetic friend, before I throw you out.  [Karen keeps Lorraine and me separated as I help Maureen out.]  AND STOP FUCKING TOMMY!!!!!

> Just for that, I'M FUCKING HIM TOMORROW, BITCH!!!!!   [Did I hurt Karen's feelings by saying that?  I sure hope not.  I don't want to blow the 5 week Ohio fuckfest.]

Maureen and I drive home.  I want to tell Maureen about what Karen and I were doing in the latched room (and .... that I think I might be in love), but I'm afraid she'll be mad that I was getting laid while she was getting her ass kicked.

She had my back, but I didn't have hers.  [Shit, when I write it like that, I sound like a horrible human being.]

So, I lie.  Again.  Lie after lie after lie lately.

I tell her that Karen was beating me up in the latched room.  That my pussy was in agony from getting scratched by Lorraine.

By the time my lying was over, I had MAUREEN feeling sorry for ME.

And more lies when I got home.  I told my mom that 4 sorority girls had jumped Maureen and me.  That I never did get my hands on Lorraine.  That Lorraine was obviously a big coward and would obviously never fight me in a fair fight.  And that maybe I should just forget about Tommy and go out to Miami of Ohio with a clean slate.

I made arrangements for my off-campus apartment to be available July 1st, rather than mid-July.  My Dad and I packed a UHaul, and we drove out to Oxford.  My Dad moved me in.  His girlfriend told me to call her if I ever wanted some more fight tips ('Same, if you want some from me,' I told her challengingly--I don't think she appreciated the joke), and the UHaul pulled away.

I called the Cincinnati phone number Karen had given me. 

> I miss you.

> I miss you more.

> I'm moved in.  And aaaalllooonnne.

> I'll be there in 2 hours.  With 5 weeks of clothes.

> Neither of us will be needing many clothes.

> Mmeee-ooowwww.

As soon as Karen knocked on the door and I opened it, we were in other others' arms and fucking like freed inmates.

The first fuck session lasted ten hours, when we were both starving.

> I've never been in love before.

> I thought I had been.  But now I realize I wasn't.

> Let's just fuck for five weeks.

> What about when our periods happen?

> What about it?

> Good point.

We ate Ramen off each other bodies, then fucked another 12 hours.

> I can't wait to tell Lorraine about us.

> Me neither.

> When should we?

> Not yet.  I still just want to fuck.

To be continued.....