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My name is Kim, and I’m writing to tell some of the stories that I participated in–and that my friends and non-friend participated in–in the South Florida city where we lived for about three years. We moved there so that my boyfriend, Joel, could open his used and rare record and book store, Vinyl & Pulp. I had gotten a job in the Housing office at the Liberal Arts college as a low-level administrator, overseeing the diversity and socializing programs in the school dorms. That mainly meant dealing with bitchy middle-aged women who ran the housing system and who had once been very pretty, and their teenage forerunners who lived in the dorms now and who set all records for pettiness and self-centeredness. Every day was a new meeting or email exchange in which I wanted to slap some sense into a pretty little princess who thought that it was appropriate to come into a college office with her full-on battle make-up on and her boobs hanging out.
At the same time, I have to admit that it was that part of the job that got me up in the morning. Life with Joel was wonderful in the sense that was always dutiful, and charming when he was supposed to be charming, and as good of a provider as you could expect from a man whose goal in life was to fawn over rare vinyls and signed copies of third-tier novels. He was the good boyfriend, and that was the beginning and end of his existence so far as that went. Now before I give the wrong impression, I have to say that I was in love with him and that he was *mine* in the sense that women like me use that term (the meaning of that will probably be more clear after I’ve told my stories). But he was boring to be around day after day, and night after night. We would go to dinner and a movie or just sit around at home, where I’d read a magazine while he played Xbox, and talk about work and our neighbors and their work and dinner-and-movie dates. I felt like the passion was being drained out of me as the shallow kisses and shampoo ads stacked up one atop the other.
Looking back in the light of what happened for me while we lived in that city, I had always felt that way while spending time with boyfriends and family, or on shopping trips where my girlfriends would prattle on and smile about everything. My social life in high school, college, and after had been like the show floor of a furniture store: Everything is set up to look just perfect, but after you’ve been there for a few minutes you start to understand what a lobotomy would feel like. I wanted something that would inject some life into me. I wanted to flip the furniture over, get thrown over a couch, and smash a lamp over someone’s head. Metaphorically and literally. I had been in two fights in high school, but they were the typical hair-pulling and shouting matches at parties, chick-fests where there wasn’t any real chance that anyone would suffer and the guys were cheering us on.
My entry into the world of catfighting came from Claudia, a Latina woman who was one of the major real estate agents here in town. She had helped two of our administrators buy houses when they moved to town, although Joel and I had not used her. She was extremely pretty and curvy, very busty and with sweeping hips and a tight butt. She and I had met several times at parties; all of the clients she had gotten close to were men, and she seemed to be around a lot. Claudia was the kind of woman who flirted with her male clients just enough to get them coming back to her for more attention, but not enough for anything real to be there. Her looks helped her do this, of course, but she was very skilled at walking that line. She would wear a sweater that was too low and too tight, a skirt that was split too high and that was too tight across her upper thighs, but she’d never do anything more than touch a male client on the arm or smile too much in front of his wife. In fact, I had noticed once or twice that she smiled at the wife of the man right after she had touched his arm or brushed into him. Sometimes, it seemed to me that she was aiming her flirtations at the wife more so than at the man she was touching. She had a way of tossing her black hair in the middle of a party that only another woman would really notice and understand the meaning of.
Claudia and I first really spoke at a Christmas party thrown by Richard, my supervisor, and his “permanent girlfriend” Wendy, an ad executive at a local agency. Richard loved that his parties were a little more interesting than the usual fair in town, and he only invited people that he knew would be in on it. He was the type who never outgrew the thrill of being the host with a little drugs & sex mixed in with the drinking, and he was the only adult in our group whose parties still included people sitting on the back porch getting high and couples–and sometimes people who weren’t couples–sneaking off for a while. His girlfriend Wendy was a great match for him, too, always the woman who wanted to show off a little poker oyna more, get a little drunker and wilder. She was Chinese-American, slender and pretty and still in her late 20s (Richard was in his late 50s, but people had basically gotten beyond their age difference because they so were so immaturely matched for each other). Tonight Wendy was wearing a dark green blouse that was open halfway down her shirt and too tight, showing off her small pert breasts and her lean torso and arms. She was bouncing around the room, taking over each conversation that she entered. Joel had stayed home tonight, and I was glad that he wasn’t here watching the hostess move around the room.
I had stationed myself at the bar, drinking a glass of wine, when Claudia drifted over and took the stool next to me. We smiled and gave each other a quick lookover. She was wearing a dark blue v-neck sweater that showed off an impressive amount of cleavage (and it was very firm cleavage, too, I might add, impressive for a woman who was probably carrying a DD cup). She saw me check and said, with a giggle and a bit of a smirk, “I’ve always felt like women like us should stick together,” with a nod toward Wendy. We both laughed at that. I’m a well-built woman, too, with D cup assets that were only a bit smaller than Claudia’s and still just as firm. I had played club soccer in college, and I still had that athletic build in my hips and legs, and I was tighter through there than Claudia, although I was a good bit larger than Wendy. Wendy was a pretty woman, but not many women would have put her in Claudia’s class. They probably would put me in Claudia’s class, though. I have shorter light brown hair, and although I was showing a little cleavage that night, it wasn’t as much as Claudia’s deep showcase.
“I’ve noticed that you don’t mingle with the other women at these things,” Claudia said, swiveling so that she was facing me more directly.
I looked at her for a second. Her comment was obviously meant to steer me toward something specific, but she was also right. I had never had many female friends. I had always felt that there was some tension or barrier between me and all the women around me. I had never gotten too far into the world of catty remarks and buried hostility, but I had always understood where that need came from. I told her, “I guess I’ve never felt the need for it.”
“I can tell, it’s okay. You’re like me. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same tension that I do when we have seen each other at these parties. You feel the same competitive desire that I do,” she added, and now she was leaning in closer, in a way that was aggressive and conspiratorial at the same time.
I took a deep drink of my wine and said, “When I was playing soccer, it always felt like I was playing against the other girls rather than playing a sport.”
When I said that, Claudia did that little smirk again, which was starting to get under my skin. Looking past my shoulder at Wendy, Claudia said, “Women like that have always gotten under my skin. She can work the room as much as she wants to, and no one says anything about. But if I act like that, they call me a whore beyond my back, just because I’m prettier than she is and because of the girls,” she added with a mischievous smile toward my own set. “And if I unbuttoned my blouse that low, the women here would drag me out by my hair.”
“You like that, though,” I replied and finished my wine. “The fact that you draw all that attention for pretending to flirt.”
Claudia laughed. “I knew that I was on the mark with you. You feel the same things that some others of us do. Come on, let’s go talk.”
She pulled me by the elbow and we went out the front door. The air was cool and there was a breeze, and we walked briskly through the well-off neighborhood Richard and Wendy lived in. I asked where we were going, but Claudia hushed me up. At the end of the block was a small shopping area for the neighborhood, and we went into the coffee shop. A few people were there by themselves, but there were also some couples sitting together, as well as a few girls working behind the counter. We got coffees and took a seat in the corner. Most of the women were forgettable, but the girl working the cash register definitely stood out. She was college-aged, very pretty and with an air that she knew the kind of status her looks gave her and that she was indifferent to it. She had long, curly red hair that she wore down just below her shoulders, and she was a very well-endowed woman, with deep cleavage and athletic legs and hips. Claudia had caught my look and said, “What do you think of her?”
“She’s very pretty,” I replied. “And she has the obvious assets.”
“Yeah,” Claudia said, laughing. “What else do you see?”
“She can handle herself, despite the good looks. She’s confident, too.”
Claudia leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I knew that I had you pegged right. She’s a catfighter.”
“Like, canlı poker oyna she gets in fights?”
Claudia explained that there were some women in town who were interested in competition. “I could tell from the way that you were watching me and the other women in the room that you were one of us. You just hadn’t realized it yet.” For these women, the emotional side was just as important as the physical contests, and they occasionally had arranged fights, with rules and safeguards in place. For audiences, too; she said that some fights were in private, but they would also have matches in front of audiences. They liked to change costumes and situations, and she said that if I howed that I could hold my ground and take it seriously, there were a lot of possibilities that might become available. Anna, the girl at the counter, was one of these women, and after the crowd thinned out she came and sat down with us.
Claudia introduced us, and Anna said “Hi” and gave me a very handshake and look right into the eyes. The confidence that you could see from a distance was aggression up close, but seeing it in her eyes up close, frankly, made me feel charged. She was wearing just a touch of make up, and although she had to wear the cheap collared shirt of the coffee bar, she was still wearing some very nice jeans and heels, and she knew how to make it work. And I’m sure that the tight stretch of the shirt across her boobs helped her fill the tip jar, too!
We made small talk until the last customers left, and then Claudia asked if we were ready to go. “Go where?” I asked.
“There’s a match tonight. A friend of ours is catfighting wih a women from Tampa.”
I knew at that point that I should excuse myself and forget that all of this had happened and I knew that I never would do that. “Does she know this other woman?”
“They met in Miami. They both went on the same group vacation, with some friends they had in common. While they were there things developed between the two of them. Kristen said that she just knew that she and this other woman both wanted to catfight each other. It was just there between them. They agreed that they would meet up for this match later, rather than risk exposure to their other friends in Miami. You have to understand, Kim, that there is going to be a strong taboo to what we do for the rest of society. You have to be careful.”
The three of us left the coffee bar and went to Kristen and Richard’s house. About ten adults were there, men and women, and after Claudia explained who I was and vouched for me, we were in. Everyone there was either well-off (Kristen and her husband Richard had a spacious five bedroom house with a basement converted for events like tonight’s) or obviously on their way to the same (Anna, who offered deep competition to any woman who was there). I was feeling out of place, socially as well as physically. I didn’t think my checkbook stacked up with the others and I wasn’t Anna any more, and my high school catfights didn’t look like they would carry much weight in this crowd. I didn’t know which mask would be more humiliating to lose.
We were escorted into the basement. It was originally meant as a large rec room, with a bar at one end and a large open space on the other, which they had covered in wrestling mats on the floor and along the walls. A few people were talking softly to each other, but otherwise the atmosphere was very tense and anticipatory. We all got drinks and gathered around the fighting area to wait. Soon enough the visitor came out. Her name was Dee. She was a stunningly pretty brunette wearing a full length robe that was covering up what had to be a brick shithouse figure. She had a brazen look in her eyes, and as she came through the crowd she held eye contact with two different men. A few of her friends had come with her, for safety, but she looked like she was in command of the room. She had very dark skin, and she was probably from India. Before she stepped onto the mat, she glanced at me and let her eyes linger on me for just a second, and I could feel her challenge, not just in her eyes but in who she was, and I knew that I was the woman in the room she had singled out like this. After she had taken her position on one side of the mat, Kristen entered from the other side, also wearing a robe. She had short blonde hair, and she was pretty but she wasn’t in Dee’s class. She stood opposite Dee on the mat and everyone came pause.
Richard came forward and stood between the two women. “Good evening, and welcome to our home. Tonight we have a rules catfight between my lovely wife Kristen and the equally lovely Dee.” Both women made a little huff at this, but he ignored them. “It will be a best of 3 falls match, falls to be determined by submission only. Slaps to the face and body allowed, no closed fist strikes, no attacks to the crotch, and hair pulling allowed. Tops but not bottoms may be removed. Ladies, if internet casino you will, please.”
Richard stepped back, and the two ladies dropped their robes. Kristen was a very fit woman with a firm, athletic body. She was wearing a teal bra and thong panties. Her breasts were a nice size and shape, likely a B cup, and her arms and legs looked strong without being fat or ponderous. But while Kristen was lean and trim, Dee was a force. She had full-on boobs, not breasts or boobies, at least as large as mine or Claudia’s and encased in a white lace bra (with matching panties) that made a startling clash with her dark brown skin. Her arms and legs were not fat, but she had full womanly hips and she looked more shapely than Kristen. She was at least an inch taller and seemed to be a few years old than Kristen, too. The two women looked each other in the eye for a long, held moment and then they took in the other’s body. It seemed that both stared intently at the other’s chest. The basement was hot, and sweat was already popping on their skin; breathing hard in anticipation, hair damp, they were ready to come together.
They flew at each other. Kristen grabbed Dee by the hair and yanked her head down, but Dee ploughed through that and grappled Kristen, getting her hands around Kristen’s back and driving her into the mat-covered far wall. Kristen grunted and tightened her pull on Dee’s hair. Dee drove her along the wall, grinding her bodily into the mat, and then she tripped her and the two fell to the mat. The two scrambled briefly but then Dee got atop her and sat across Kristen’s hips. She slapped Kristen across the face with two short rights and yanked her hair with her left, but then Kristen smacked her boob and then squeezed it through the lace. Dee twitched and moved to yank the hand off, and in the fracas Kristen rolled herself free and both women got back to their feet. Dee pressed forward again and blocked Kristen in the corner. Kristen slapped Dee across the face but Dee came right back with two wild slaps of her own, the sound hanging in the damp air and Kristen’s shrieks with it. As Kristen was stunned Dee tackled her back to the ground and the two women were in it, rolling back and forth, yanking hair, smacking faces and sides, and squeezing breasts. Both women’s bras were torn loose and their breasts spilled free. At one point Dee got on top but Kristen threw her legs around Dee’s hips, controlling her, and then sank her hands into Dee’s massive boobs. You could see Kristen’s fingers sink into the soft brown flesh, and after several seconds Dee shouted that she gave. The first round went to Kristen.
The two women separated and went to opposite corners. Hair awry, gasping, both women tried to put their breasts back in their bras and then as by some mutual consent tossed them aside, going topless the rest of the way. They paced back and forth, hands on hips, and when the five minutes was up they faced each other without a word. At Richard’s call they came forward again, more slowly than for the first round. Kristen went for a fake and then smacked Dee across the boobs, sending them wobbling. As the Indian covered her chest, Kristen smacked her in the face and then yanked her by the hair. You could see on Kristen’s face that she thought that she had turned the tide for good, but Dee was snarling as Kristen spun her around by her long black hair. At last Dee fell to the mat, but even though she lay there panting Kristen waited for her to rise again. I think that Kristen felt like Dee’s strength was too much for wrestling, and she had an advantage on her feet. After a moment Dee rose and the two squared off again. Kristen tried to smack Dee’s breast again, but Dee grabbed her in what looked like a Greco-Roman hold and flung her over her hip and to the mat. But she bent over Kristen and lifted her back to her feet immediately by the hair, bringing more shrieks from the blonde. Dee yanked her head all the way back and then slammed her face-and-boobs first into the wall, and then as Kristen came back Dee brought her to the ground, locking her legs around Kristen’s hips from behind. Kristen struggled, prying at Dee’s legs with her hands. But Dee yanked Kristen’s head painfully hard, straight back, and reached across her chest and clamped onto her breast, almost kneading the flesh with her fingers. “How you like it, bitch?” Dee said into her ear. “I can hold your little boobs like this all night if I want.”
Kristen tried to hold on, but after about a minute of this she tapped the mat in submission. The two women rolled apart. Both of them looked like a mess; Kristen sat holding her breast, while Dee climbed to her feet and stood in her corner. They were glaring at each other this time, ready for the clash to continue, and Dee motioned for Kristen to rise. “Face me on your feet like a woman,” Dee said with scorn, and Kristen stood with a look of death. “I get looks like that from girls like you all the time,” Dee said, “who aren’t as big as me and less pretty. It feels good to finally pay you back.” Kristen said nothing in response, just staring back with her hands on her hips and her chest stuck out. Soon enough the five minutes ended.
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