My name is Kim, and I work in housing administration at a liberal arts college in South Florida. In my last story, I described my first adult catfight, with a woman named Gemma. We had a full-on brawl at a pirate-themed party at a mansion, and I lost. But in the following days, all of my thoughts went back to that fight, slapping and tearing clothes and pulling hair, matching myself against this beautiful, busty woman. When I came home looking like a mess, my boyfriend Joel freaked out. He wanted to know what happened, but as I started telling him about and the excitement came through in my voice. I could see him pull away from me, which was fine. He could go back into his world of video games and cable tv. I felt like my own life was taking shape for the first time, and if he wanted to drift back into lifelessness it was his loss.
Claudia was more accepting, though. She was the woman who had encouraged my interest and taken me to watch an organized catfight, a topless match between willing participants in the basement of a well-heeled sponsor. Claudia and I talked at her house over some glasses of wine. She's a gorgeous Latina with a bountiful body, and she was wearing a long-sleeved button-up shirt that she had only buttoned about halfway up. We were sitting at her bar, and her black hair was swept across her forehead like the darkest water in the world. I told her all the details about the catfight with Gemma and the feelings that I was having afterward.
"What's holding you back?" she asked. "Why haven't you committed yourself to this yet?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're still with a man who would rather play Call of Duty than talk to you about the most important thing in your life. And it is the most important thing in your life now, isn't it?"
I finished my glass and stared at her. All the images from my fight with Gemma flashed through my mind, and the rush that I felt with each slap, tug, maul. "It is."
"Then act like it. Be a bitch. It's okay," she told me, and then Claudia told me this story about a fight she had in college, the one that told her that she was hooked:
All through high school and college I was the girl in the room that all the guys were paying attention to. And because of that, all the girls paid attention to me too. Lots of death stares when I was in class, at the grocery store, sitting around on one of the benches on the UF campus. There was one girl in particular who seemed to have it in for me. She was a strawberry blonde girl named Jessica, a grad student who TA'ed for my psych lecture. The professor had given me a few looks in class and Jessica didn't like it. She had graded down my essay test because of it too, and when I went to her office to complain it turned into a shouting match. It simmered for a month, and that whole time I was thinking about her being a jealous bitch and about how much I'd enjoy kicking her ass, and humiliating her. And then I ran into her at a party, a grad student party I'd gone to with a guy I'd started seeing. It started with a dirty look when I first entered, continued with a hearty bump in the kitchen, and it ended with a catfight outside in the back yard. She was lean and small-breasted and she went for my chest early. Soon enough she had me topless and was smacking my boobs around, but in the end I got her pinned against a car and pounded her down into the ground. Five minutes after I asked her if she wanted to step outside with me, I was standing over her listening to her sob, and it was the most wonderful night of my life.
Claudia's story percolated in me over the next few weeks. I took a long weekend off of work, long enough for makeup to cover up the marks on my face. There were scratches on my body, too, so I had to dress more conservatively than I felt like on the inside. Joel and I had essentially stopped communicating altogether, just going through the motions of a relationship. That included his sleeping on the couch, too. He tried to touch me the night after the fight, and it left me cold. I told him that I needed time, but I was coming around to the thought that our time was about over. He did a good job of paying bills, though. He owned a used record shop, and I started spending more time there. It was under the guise of getting closer to Joel, but I think that both of us knew that that wasn't true. It was true that it was nice spending time at his work, though. He had a clerk named Dana, a co-ed who worked nights and weekends for Joel. She brought in a lot of foot traffic and did a good job of tolerating it, too. She was tall, taller than me and maybe 5'8. She wasn't beautiful or stunning, but she had a very wholesome college girl thing going on. And she was built well, too, with a generous C cup and strong hips and thighs from years of playing lacrosse. Easy to see why she attracted all the foot traffic. I knew that it would have been easy for me to dislike her, with Joel always working around her, but I'd never seen her show any more interest in Joel than she had in the yahoos who wandered in.
I also had a run-in with Gemma. I had gone out to look for a new recliner for Joel because all the Call of Duty had worn down his old one. It had run down his ass, too, if I'm honest. Gemma looked hot, if I'm continuing to be honest. She was wearing a sun dress that was a size too tight and clung to her chest and waist. I had gone too conservative, jeans and a t-shirt, but the shirt showed me off well and I looked hot too. We locked eyes and slowly drifted toward each other. We stopped a few feet apart, both of us holding our breath, eyebrows raised, and held that pose. I wanted to slug her, and I knew that she wanted to do the same. So, I put out my hand, and we shook. A long, hard, tense handshake, and then she snapped her hand out of my grip.
"Looking for couches?" she asked.
"No, no. Thinking about replacing the recliner."
"That sounds nice. The picture of domesticity."
"We plebs do what we can."
"Oh, I'm sure you do."
"And when we do, we bring it until it's done," I replied cattily.
"And I'm sure that some day that will all work out well for you." We hung fire and then turned and left the store separately.
A few weeks later I was driving near the neighborhood where Claudia had taken me to see my first arranged catfight. We had stopped by a coffee shop where she introduced me to Anna, a waitress who shared our passion. I went to the coffee shop, but no luck. The girl who was working the counter didn't take too kindly to my questions, either, and I had to burn a medium house brew just to sit and watch college brats pretend to study while they checked their phones. No giving up, though. I called Claudia and said that I was interested in getting to know Anna better, and she was overjoyed about my interest. She gave me Anna's number, and a few texts later we had a date. Not at the coffee shop, either.
The mall was new, finished just before the economy crashed and about one wing too big for what the area could support. But it was modern, with clean lines and open white spaces. I met Anna at the food court. I was wearing my hair in wavy curls and walking with a spring in my step. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing cutoff jeans and a spaghetti strap top that could barely contain her massive chest. She was still young, but you could also see that she was going to age very well and develop into a self-assured and powerful woman in her thirties. Your age, I told myself, except she would be a physical powerhouse, as a fighter and a looker. We smiled at each other, and as I approached she rose and gave me a hug. Her grip was firm, her body responsive and strong but also fluid and yielding as she moved. Judging from the looks that we got from the two middle aged women sitting next to us, any guys walking by got a great view of two well-endowed women hugging for too long and too tightly.
"So, Claudia tells me that you've joined our little club."
"I suppose so," I replied shyly. "I lost though."
"What was it like?"
"It was like I was myself and this other person at the same time. And while we were getting down and dirty, we were dancing too."
"I know exactly what you mean," she said, leaning forward and touching my arm. "Don't get down. It's all about the experience for you right now. You have to get comfortable with yourself."
