0 comments/ 11711 views/ 4 favorites Florida Women Ch. 01 By: KimMarcone 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 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, 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 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. Florida Women Ch. 01 Kristen charged forward and went for Dee's breasts. She got her hands on them, but Dee spun free and tossed Kristen into the wall. Kristen hit it and fell forward a bit, stunned, and Dee stepped forward. She slapped her across the face, right and left, sending Kristen's head back and forth in a whirl of blonde hair. Then she shoved Kristen back into the wall, holding her by the hair with one hand and latching onto her breast with the other. Kristen moaned and grabbed for Dee's breasts, but Dee knocked her arms away and dragged her around by the hair. She flung Kristen onto her stomach and sat on her lower back, still holding her by the hair, like a bridle, shaking her head back and forth and then hitting her face on the mat. "Hate to mess with that pretty face of yours," Dee hissed. The composed woman you might see at a manager's meeting was gone now, and the catfighter who was willing to endure anything to whip your ass was in her place. She yanked Kristen's head back until her breasts lifted off the mat, allowing Dee to snake her hand under and grab Kristen's breast again. She tortured her womanly flesh until Kristen started moaning. "Admit that I've beaten you, bitch," Dee commanded. "Or we can do this all night." Kristen tried to roll free, but Dee had her stuck and gave her boob a twist. "Admit it, you small-boobed bitch, and I'll let you go." "I give, let me go," Kristen said at last. Dee let loose her hair and Kristen's face fell forward into the mat. She lay under Dee, gasping for air, while Dee sat astride her. Sweat was beading along the Indian woman's enormous bust, now thrust forward with pride, and her face now beautiful with the glow of feminine conquest. She glanced across the room and looked eyes with me provocatively, and with that silent challenge from her I knew that I was hooked. Florida Women Ch. 02 My name is Kim, and I work in housing administration at a liberal arts college in Florida. In my last story, I described how I met Claudia and learned about a group of women in my city who arranged catfights between women, contests with rules in controlled environments. In the weeks that followed that first night, I met more of these women and spent time in their circle. I had not been to another fight, though; Claudia had said that I should focus on getting myself into shape and getting ready to tell Joel, my boyfriend. But when I watched Joel play Xbox and check his twitter account all evening, sitting on the couch gaining a little more pudge, I could feel myself turning away. I kept my new interest a secret from him, and as far as he was concerned I was hitting the gym for his sake and not because I'd found a new life for myself that he wasn't ready for. Going to the gym took on a new intensity for me. No more searching for motivation to do another lap on the treadmill. Now I was going to the track and sprinting laps after hitting the weights, and I was trying out the squat rack and not using the pink barbells in the corner and drinking stacks of plastic water bottles like the other women. One of the rules of Claudia's club was no professional training, meaning no boxing or martial arts lessons, but she told me that I had to have my cardio and muscular endurance levels to a higher stage. I was already in pretty good shape, but as I raised my level my face, abs, and arms thinned out while I still kept my curvy shape. I was always going to be a busty woman, and I would always be proud of that, but having a trim waistline would be a necessity when I stepped on the mat myself. We were women, after all, and when I stepped on the mat it would be an extension of my femininity and not a denial of it. Things were heating up for me at the gym in multiple ways. There was a new queen bee, and she was a real looker. Her name was Gemma, and she was a British woman who had moved here with her husband Richard, who was a visiting math professor at the college. My office was in the same building as the payroll department, and we had talked in the hallway a few times. He was cute in a European-gent sort of way, and it seemed like he was just here to hang out in Florida for a year, which had a strange sort of appeal to it. At the risk of sounding a bit full of myself, it was obvious that he thought that I was pretty hot, and honestly, it felt good to get that sort of attention from someone like that. We talked in the hallway a few times, and then he would stop by my office and chat for a minute whenever he was in the building. I knew that there wasn't any real reason for him to have so many payroll problems, but he seemed to like the view, and by that point I knew that I wasn't feeling any particular reason to avoid attention from other men even though I wouldn't cheat on Joel with any of them. I don't know if Gemma knew about any of this and I don't see how she could have, but she sure treated me as if she did. Given that we were the two best looking women at the gym—and frankly, that's saying something in South Florida—it was probably natural that we wouldn't get along. We gave each other the once-over the first time we met, talking by the front desk, and things never got beyond chilly between us. But we did the fake smiles and "how are you's" in the gym and steered clear of each other. I was hitting the free weights and doing a lot of track work, and she spent all of her time in the cardio area. We were staying clear of each other's space, and while in the past I would have been fine with that, now I wanted something spicier. And I got it when one of the other women sat down next to me in the locker room. After some small talk, she said (with a little spark in her eye), "Gemma's been telling everyone that your girls are fake," and she made a little nod to my boobs. Well, if that was how Gemma rolled, tit for tat. I went to her high-intensity cardio class and staked out some territory to stretch. I was wearing a new tank top that gave everyone a view of my very real boobs. The men who came to Gemma's classes to see her could only manage the Medium level at best, and the only men who came to the advanced class were gay. I had aimed the volley directly at Gemma and I did it in front of the other women, and it wasn't about the drooling silly men at all. Gemma was a real blonde with a very impressive set of boobs herself, and she showed them off to just the right degree, suggesting trashy and slutty without actually being it. I got exactly the response that I wanted, too. While we were stretching she looked me over and then said, "This is the advanced class. Someone like you might be better off starting at one of the other levels." She said this standing over me with her hands on her hips and her chest stuck out. "Someone like me?" I asked, and by now everyone was staring at us. "Someone who needs to know her place," she replied, taking a step forward. I started to step forward toward her and then I stopped and said, "You're right, of course. I should head back to the beginner class, and then work myself into shape to be in here with the big girls." With that, I turned and headed out. I knew that Gemma would think that she had won a battle here, and that the other women in the gym would think that I had backed down as well. But that was fine. Let them think what they would. There was a party coming up in a month that everyone would be at. It would be given by a real estate tycoon, Earl something, a player in the area's hotel industry. Every year he threw a themed party at the beginning of February, and he had gotten a reputation as a bit of a perv. The word was out that this year's theme was "pirates." I talked to Claudia and she said that she could get me an invitation on the basis of my looks (as I said, the host had a bit of a reputation), and I had it on good authority that Gemma and her husband would be there too. This good authority was Richard himself, who was easy to ply for information in the hallway a few days after the sendup in the aerobics study. I talked to my boyfriend Joel about the party—which would require him to wear a costume, meet new people, and watch his girl get in a catfight—and he soon enough had to go to New Orleans for a convention that weekend. I guess that I should clarify that I didn't tell him about the last part of the evening, although by this point I wasn't sure that anything at all was enough to bring Joel back to life. When he told me about the convention, I smiled, pecked him on the cheek, and left him to his Xbox and went back to planning my costume. The big night had arrived. Unfortunately, my wingwoman Claudia had not, having come down with the flu that week. I arrived on my own on what can only be called a South Florida estate, a sprawling compound on a few hundred acres. The house was a two story monster in the center, with a guest house to the left and a pool and guest house to the right. I parked my little Beamer in the gravel next to a Jaguar and a Porsche, sucked it up, and went in. For tonight it was cris-crossed with hanging lanterns, pitchers of rum, and paper mache swords and pistols. There was even a faux beach set up around the pond, with sand piled around and plastic cannons perched atop the mounds. I was surprised by how few people were here, considering the party's reputation. The night was cool, but only by Florida's standards, and most of the guests were outside. There was a noticeable skewing in the ages: the average male guest was somewhere on the wrong side of 50, while the average woman was closer to the right side of 30. And there were a few girls who looked like they had been snagged from a sorority. Everyone had the right look, though. The men were obviously upper management, bankers, lawyers, with just the right level of paunch, and there was a consistent conservatism to their costumes, all leather jackets, flappy hats, and the occasional eye patch. Their female companions, who were mostly second wives with a few mistresses-slash-new-girlfriends thrown in, were all over the place, but again, in the expected way. Lots of open blouses, short dresses, and whore boots. I do have to say that when I entered the "beach" area, I turned some heads. My brunette hair was back in a loose, flowing ponytail. It seemed appropriate for the costume, and I felt rebellious and sexy as hell in it. I had put on some rather aggressive make-up, too, with heavy blush and eyeliner, which drew a few hostile looks from the female guests. But most of the hostility probably came from my outfit. I had picked up some very nice black Jimmy Choo heels, which I noticed a few women check with quick glances and jealous smirks. But both the ladies and their male escorts directed most of their attention at my body. I was wearing a tight black skirt with slits up the sides so that it sashayed with my curvy legs as I strutted about (in my very sexy shoes, naturally). And I was wearing a thin white blouse open halfway down, showing off a whole lot of cleavage and hinting strongly at everything else in there, as well. There was a bit of sweat on my face and cleavage now, and I knew that I was taking on a glisten. I shook hands and made small talk with two couples outside, and then I made my way into the guest house. The inside was decked out just as the outside, but they had gone all in on authenticity. All of the electronics were off: the lighting came from real lamps they had hung from the ceiling; the air conditioning was turned off, leaving the room just below sweltering so that the sweat beads popped out on my face and body; and the only sounds were talking and the noises carried by the hardwood floors. The overhead lamps cast a flickering effect around the room. There was a full bar that they had set up in the along one wall of the living room—or maybe it was the dining room. It was hard to tell. And at the bar was Gemma. She was leaning one elbow on the bar, smiling at a man who wasn't her husband. She wore a red skirt and matching blouse that highlighted her very impressive rack, too, and she had her blonde hair in loose curls that fell to her shoulders. Her face looked extremely pretty in the dancing light, I had to admit, and as we made eye contact I gave my hips just a bit of sway. From the way her eyes narrowed, I could tell that she noticed and that she didn't care for it one bit. "Hey, Kim," she said in a voice that seemed deliberately disingenuous. "Gemma, I'm surprised to see you here." Her smile grew just a bit more. "I could say the same thing about you. I give private lessons to the Simons' daughter; I'm out here three days a week. I didn't realize that you knew the Simons, though. Frankly I didn't realize that you ran in these sorts of circles at all. Doesn't quite seem to be your society." "What does that mean?" I asked in a sharp tone. "Oh, I didn't mean anything at all," Gemma replied, touching her hand against my upper arm a bit too firmly. "I just hadn't seen you at these sorts of parties before. We all just stick to our own." I nodded and agreed, and we exchanged acrid smiles. "What do they have to drink here?" I asked. "Anything you could think of and more, probably," she replied. I ordered a glass of red wine from the very hot, tall bartender. He smiled at me, and as he started to walk off I called him back, tapping him on his hand. "Help us settle a difference of opinion." He looked back and forth between Gemma and I and at first I didn't think he would do it. But then Gemma shouldered her way into me and turned to face him, with the same competitive fire in her eyes that I had. You could see his masculinity push his common sense off his face, and he nodded eagerly. Both of us leaned forward, elbows pushing our cleavage out, and Gemma subtly started pushing me to the side. I shoved her back hard enough to make her stumble just a bit. The bartender's smile grew at the sight of this very feminine competition. And seeing him smile while staring at Gemma's rack made me just want to slug her in the face. "Oh, I think I'm not dumb enough to get in the middle of you two." "Then fuck off," Gemma scoffed. Turning, she stole a glance at my chest and tossed her hair back out of her face. "I'm so tired of these limp-wristed men." "Is Richard here?" I asked. "He seems to have wandered off. Probably with the boys somewhere. Why?" "Just wanted to say hi," I replied, and I turned away and started to walk off. But Gemma grabbed my arm and tugged me back, saying, "You're not getting off that easy." "Let go of me, bitch," I said in a loud, catty voice. I might have come here with a plan, but at this point all of my emotions were genuine. I really wanted a piece of this woman. "Excuse me?" Gemma replied, stepping forward so that our breasts and noses were nearly touching. "Why don't you leave before I throw your flabby ass out." I poured my wine down the front of her blouse. Gemma gasped but she immediately slapped me across the face, and the catfight was on. The slap spun my head around, but I came back and slapped her face hard, bringing my hand up from my waist. The sound was hard and flat in the busy room. Gemma spun all the way around and landed facing the bar, bracing herself with her hands. As she tried to push off I grabbed her from behind, putting my arm around her neck and pushing down on her head. I had her face against the bar, and I wrapped her hair around my hand. But she elbowed me in the stomach, and I bent over grunting hard, the air rushing out of me. I tried to hold on to her hair, but she elbowed me again and I let go, stumbling backward holding my stomach. In the tumult we both had already lost our heels. Gemma pushed herself off the bar and turned and charged me. I met her charge and we threw our arms around each other grunting as the air rushed out of both of our bodies. She drove me back into the crowd. They scattered out of the way, although all I could see was people shouting and jumping and drinks sloshing. My ass hit a table, and we tumbled over it and hit the floor. The two of us both grabbed onto each other's hair. We pulled hair and rolled back and forth on the floor, our shapely hips and legs intertwined and pretty faces pressed against each other and flat stomachs and buxom chests bouncing and sliding. We grunted and groaned. Gemma got on top of me and slapped my face back and forth, and while I was stunned she ripped open the front of my blouse. My buxom bra-encased chest popped into view of everyone. But rather than cover up, I reached up and sank my hands into her own boobs, squeezing through the material of her blouse. She shrieked and smacked at my hands, and in her discomposure I bucked her off of me. We rolled apart and stood, facing each other and panting hard. My hair and hers were completely disarranged. My blouse was ruined and I shrugged it off, revealing my lace demi-cup bra. That drew a few appreciable gasps from our audience. "Come on, bitch," I taunted. Gemma gave me a wicked smile and tossed away her own blouse. Her own rack was very impressive, and a few of the men cheered. No one offered to stop our catfight; they were all deeply into the rhythm that was between the two of us. And the women were even more into it than the men, staring at us with eyes wide open. I snarled and leapt at her. Gemma got her hands up in front of her face but I threw an awkward punch into her side that left her bent over, holding herself. I grabbed her hair and yanked her face up and slapped her, leaving her stunned. But she wasn't as hurt as I had thought, and when I wound up to slug her she spun out of my grip. I grabbed for her but she got to the side and smacked my face hard. My dark hair spun about my head, and she latched onto a handful of it, tugging hard to the side. She was able to control my head by yanking on my hair, and as I went to the side she grabbed hold of me around the side and shoved. We went down to the floor again, with her on top of me. I bucked my hips up, but she was on me good. She slapped my face with a forehand and a backhand, and at that point the room started to spin. I put my hands up in front of my face and tried to roll free, but she smacked my boobs through the lace bra. I tried to cover up my sensitive, well-developed girls but then she slapped me across the face again, a real wind-up blow that knocked me senseless. At that point I could feel my arms go rubbery. I pawed weakly at her face, but she knocked my arms aside. Then Gemma rose from off of me and yanked me to my feet by the hair. I was staggering on my feet, and she slapped me hard again. I threw a slap back, but I was out of it and harmless. Gemma took hold of me by the hair and held me still, and the two of us paused like that for a second. Blonde and brunette, and as much as I don't want to admit it now both stunningly pretty and our buxom breasts heaving in our bras and sweat popped out all over our faces and chests and wet hair. We looked into each other's eyes with real feminine hate and then she slapped me incredibly hard with all of that hate and I spun around and fell into the crowd. Two men caught hold of me and I was finished and the catfight was over. I was helped out to my car, and someone produced a t-shirt for me to wear home. I checked my face in the car: some redness and bruising on my cheeks, and my hair was a mess, and my lip was burst, most likely from the last slap. My blouse was ruined, too. At the top of the list, though, was that I'd just had my ass kicked by another woman in front of a crowd of strangers. I had been humiliated by this was woman who was extremely good-looking and well-built, and my heart was racing. But it was racing with excitement, and I wasn't anywhere close to crying or distraught like a typical girly girl. I wanted more. Florida Women Ch. 03 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." Jesus, I thought, she even gives better advice than I do. "So tell me about you." "I'm just the hot girl who works at the coffee shop. I'm from Ohio, and stupid me, I thought that I could come down here for college and change everything. It seemed like a way to avoid the 'young girl goes to LA' cliché, but I just switched one old story for another. Communications major, can't land that pre-med boyfriend, don't like parties, at least not every night like some of these girls do. And most importantly ..." "Other women won't be friends with you?" "Something like that," she replied, and we both laughed. "Let's go," she said, smacking the table and grabbing her purse. "I want to go shopping." And that was how I found myself following a 20-ish girl around the mall. She needed a new sun hat, and we drifted from store to store. At the end of the afternoon, I had a new pair of sandals and a few t-shirts that were twice as expensive as they should have been and a size too small. I had also paid for a pair of shorts and new bikini for Anna. The shorts were very short and made a good show of her muscular thighs, but the bikini was something else. She came out and modeled it for me in the store, and I clapped for her. It was a bright, shiny blue piece with tiny white vertical stripes, cut high on her hips. And I couldn't help but notice that the material dug just a bit into her flesh all the way around, on her waist and across her DD chest and the straps on her shoulders. The top had full cups, but they were still barely enough. God help those straps, I thought. "Do you like?" she asked, and I replied that yes, I most certainly did. There was another young woman perusing the suits, and she had her eye on us. Anna, specifically. This girl was hot, too. She was a bit taller than me but an inch shorter than Anna. She had a Latina look to her, a very pretty face that was sharp at the same time. Very light skin, her straight black hair hanging about her shoulders, and she smirked and tapped her hair with her forefinger as she saw me seeing her. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and capris and sandals, but the ring and Omega watch were a few steps too high for her pay grade. Even with the baggy clothes, though, I could tell that she had a fit and strong body. She was giving both of us the same scan, and when Anna smiled and said a barely polite hello she slid over. "Shopping for a new suit, too?" Anna asked. "All the fucking time, it feels like," the girl replied. She had what seemed like a South American accent. "I'm Leila." We both accepted her firm handshake, but Leila dismissed me quickly and lingered over Anna. The shake hovered between the two of them, and I could see their eyes scanning each other's pretty faces, Anna's healthy and fair and Leila sensuous and piercing. At last they broke contact. The two girls continued to stare. "Have you settled on that one?" Leila asked. "It looks gorgeous on you. And you have the body to pull it off." "That's what I've been trying to tell her," I said. "Are you getting one too?" Anna looked at me with curiosity, but I shook my head. "I'm not in the market for one right now." "That's too bad. You have the body for it too." "Where are you from?" I asked. "If you don't mind." "Sao Paulo. Brazil." "That's so fascinating!" Anna exclaimed. "How did you end up here?" Leila moved to the rack of suits and started browsing. She held one up to herself after the other, but none of them really worked. "I came here for college. Daddy always wanted me to go to school in the US, but he also didn't want me to live someplace cold or too far away. It's," she trailed off, and shrugged. "Why is it you need to buy suits so often?" I asked her. "Work." She pulled a black one out and held it up. "What do you think about this one?" she asked Anna. "You should try it on," Anna encouraged her. Leila came back out rocking the black bikini. She paraded herself just a bit in front of Anna and me and then posed in front of the mirror next to Anna, who was still in her own suit. The two of them next to each other was quite a sight. Anna full and buxom in her blue and white suit, and Leila lithe and strong in her shining black string bikini with its triangle top. "I'm definitely getting this one," Leila said. "And you," she said to Anna, "need to come and see me at work." "Where do you work?" Anna asked her. Leila took a card and pen from her bag and wrote down an address. "It's called Bad Sports, and it's near campus. We're having matches tonight, four of them, and I'm going to be working." "Matches?" I asked her. "There's a ring?" Anna asked. "Sometimes. Tonight it's a pool. Baby oil." "We'll definitely be there," Anna answered her, taking the card. "Awesome! I will be looking for you for sure," she said, touching her a bit too long on the arm. "Both of you," she added, with a glance at me and then back to Anna. Anna and I ate chicken and salad at one of the chain restaurants near the mall. We didn't talk much. I felt like Leila and Claudia and Dee and all of these other women were at the table with us, but it was also as if I were all alone, and Anna was alone as well. At least we had that in common, I thought. When it was time we drove over to Bad Sports. "Near campus" wasn't quite the way that I would have put it. It was between the campus area and an upscale office area, and the crowd was just as much yuppie as frat. There were more women in the audience than I had expected—never underestimate the Florida factor, I was always re-learning. The bar was furnished well, a modern look with clean lines and black metal, and management brought a solid security presence, too. I took Anna to the bar and shook hands with the bartender. He was a tall white guy with a round, tight gut and oversized forearms. "This is a little awkward," I started. "We were out today, and we met this girl who said she worked here. She wanted us to come by." "Oh yeah? I wasn't informed that I was hiring." He set the whiskey back on the shelf. "It wasn't for a job. I think that she just took a liking to her," I explained with a nod at Anna, who had wandered over to the inflated pool. It was a massive thing, nearly the size of a regular ring. It was translucent and made out of baffles that rose too high and fell too low. Getting a foothold would be hell, which was the point, no doubt. "Really pretty and lean Brazilian girl. She said her name was Leila." "That figures. I'm Garrett. I'm the owner." "Kim." "Your friend there has the face and body for this shit. Can she perform?" "Sure she can." "Have you seen her in action?" he asked, and from the look on my face he smirked. "We'll find out soon enough. She needs to understand that what we do here isn't scripted. It's not rough, and you don't lose control, but it's legit. That's what brings people here." I went over to Anna as she stood by the pool. "You ready for this?" I asked her, and she nodded eagerly, anxiously. "You'll do great. And I'll be here with you." She smiled and gave me a hug, and her face perked up. The hostess came over and directed Anna to the back so she could change. The hostess was in her forties, and you could tell that she had once been a performer at places like this. She gave me a good once-over and asked if I was interested in getting in there myself. I shook my head and explained that I was just there for moral support. "If you're going to provide moral support, you should provide a little entertainment, too." Soon enough I found myself changing as well, into a thong and a Bad Sports shirt that stopped just below my boobs. Anna and I waited together in a dressing room in the back, wearing robes and sitting on folding chairs. Anna's foot was bouncing up and down, and I touched her on the knee and smiled at her. That calmed her down a bit, and she brushed her hair back and gave my hand a squeeze. We hadn't seen Leila or any of the other girls who would be competing tonight, only the few waitresses with whom we were sharing the changing room. There was a hallway of them, and thinking of the other girls waiting in each room to step into the pool made me feel charged. And then we were headed out. I was taken around from the side and directly to the ring, while Anna got to prance out onto a small stage that lead down into the pool. The crowd cheered for her as she stepped into the spotlight and dropped her towel, shaking her red hair and her bountiful chest, too. She took her spot in one corner of the pool, and I climbed over the side and joined her. I took out the tube of baby oil, drenched my hands, and began slathering it across her feminine form. I rubbed down her firm breasts, stomach, hips, thighs, all the way down to her feet. The hoots of the men in the audience I barely heard. All of me was intent on the feeling of her flesh under my hands. When I was finished with her lower legs I raised myself back up to look her in the eye, and I leaned forward until our noses touched for just an instant, our buxom breasts pressing together and our thighs and hips standing as it were in parallel. Leila then made her own entrance in her sexy new bikini she had bought as a response to Anna, and the difference in her performance mirrored her physical attributes: sharp, striking, and darkly alluring. She then joined us in the pool, some twenty feet away in the far corner. She looked over her shoulder at Anna, black hair draped across her eyes, and then leaned forward on the side and posed with her ass up in the air. Anna and I were both taken in for a bit, but then I realized that Leila had no one in her own corner. She motioned for me and I crossed the pool to her. I oiled her up as well, but unlike with Anna the whole time I could feel her attention on me as if there were some impossible divide between the two of us. And when I had oiled her small breasts and vibrant arms, back, stomach, legs, and I came back up again, Leila was ignoring me altogether and staring intently at Anna. Anna was staring just as hard back at her. The MC called me for to leave the pool, and I scrambled out. He rang the bell—a real bell that you struck with a mallet—and the two women crept toward the center of the pool. They were bent at the waist, legs taught and hair dangling over their faces. Anna's breasts swayed slightly as she moved back and forth. The skin of both glistened in the flashing lights of the bar. Anna had a focused, determined look on her face, but as they drew closer something delighted came into her. She motioned "come on" with her hand, and she and Anna crashed together. They gripped each other by the shoulders and tumbled about the pool. Anna got her around the back and tossed her across her hips and they went down in a pile. Anna tried to get on top of her, but Leila slid out of her grasp and got behind her. She locked her legs around Anna's hips, and the two started handfighting as Leila went for Anna's top. Anna did a good job of keeping free, though, and Leila had to settle for getting her forearm across Anna's collarbone and neck and controlling her. Anna tried to roll free, and the two tossed back and forth some more until the MC rang the bell to end the round. Anna rose and came over to our corner. Her hair was tussled and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. "She's pretty strong," she said. I pushed her curly red hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. "You looked great out there." Florida Women Ch. 03 She smiled and turned to face Leila, who was preening for the crowd. The crowd was eating her show up, too. I rubbed Anna's shoulders, and she gave me a smile and then the break was over. They both rushed together and Anna had her down on the mat soon enough. Leila tried to slip free, but Anna had a good grip on her and they were sliding over each other as the crowd roared. Leila got her legs locked around Anna's torso, and from the look on both of their faces things had gotten serious. Anna pushed at her legs but her hands just slipped off. At least Leila's legs were moving around just as much, up and down Anna's torso. Frustrated, Anna smacked Leila's thighs. Leila smacked her back, on the torso, and again and again. Then she reached back and Anna's hair a tug and everything went fuckover from there. Anna popped her hips and spun free and she came at Leila. For maybe 30 seconds the two women went wild, tugging hair and smacking sides, hips, legs. Then the pace slowed down and Leila settled down on top of Anna. Try as she might, Anna couldn't buck her off, and I thought that she looked like she was gassing out. They had been going hard for too long for someone who wasn't conditioned for it. Eventually, Leila mounted her and then slid up so that she was sitting on her chest. Anna turned her legs back and forth, but she was stuck. I felt terrible for her, but it gave me a rush too. And then right before the bell rang, Leila leaned down close and slapped her across the face and then her boob. And after each slap she put her face right up to Anna's and said something. And then the round was over and Anna came back to the corner. The audience was fairly nuts at that point, and it seemed like the women were even more into it than the men. Her face was focused and intense, and I asked her what Leila had said to her. "She said one was for my pretty face, and the other was for my big boobs." She and I locked eyes for a minute, and then I grabbed the lotion bottle and went to work. I pulled off my own top and poured the oil all over myself, and then I threw my arms around Anna and ground and rubbed myself against her. The place blew up, and it got even louder when I kissed her when the bell rang. The kiss was there between us and I looked right into her green eyes and then I was knocked aside. Leila and Anna tore into each other. I threw myself out of the pool and got my shirt back on, which only made me a different sort of topless as the oil from my chest soaked into the white cotton. Leila got Anna in a headlock and paraded her around the ring. Then she tossed Anna over her hip and got her up against the side of the pool. Anna tried to get out from under, but Leila was a strong woman and she held her down. Then she got one of Anna's arm's trapped under her leg, and she first patted Anna on the cheek and then pulled down the cups of her top, exposing her large breasts. They looked firm for as large as they were, and they swung back and forth with her exertions. "Come on, Anna!" I shouted. "Get out of there!" She had a frantic look on her face, and on hearing my voice she looked at me and then slipped out from under Leila. As the Brazilian spun around, Anna got her by the hair and pulled her down. And when the two girls came back up, Leila's top had been yanked down, too. Anna smirked at her, and in response Leila smacked her boob. Anna shrieked and slapped Leila across the face and then the bell rang to end the match. But the two of them fell together like two well-oiled hellcats, Anna pulling hair and Leila squeezing her breasts and both rolling back and forth. At last two bouncers pulled them apart, to the great disappointment of the audience. The last I saw before Anna and I were hustled into the back, a well-dressed woman of around 45 was shouting, "Let them finish it!" When we were alone in our changing room, I hugged Anna and told her that she had been great. And she still looked great, too. I couldn't stop taking in her messed red hair and smooth full lips and her buxom breasts. "God, I want to fight her for real," Anna said, and I told her that there would be plenty of time for that kind of thing later. And then at that moment, as I was about to kiss her again, I realized that not only had I not told Joel that I would be out so late tonight, but I'd forgotten that he existed at all. I pulled back, and I could see that Anna was confused. "I have to get home sometime," I explained. "Joel probably thinks I've died." "Some other time?" Anna asked. "Definitely," Leila said, sliding through the door. Anna tensed up, and I put a hand on her shoulder. But before I could say anything, Leila added, "That was a fucking great time out there. We have to get you back in here again," and she threw her arms around Anna. "I'm glad that you left most of my hair in place.' "My boobs owe you a rematch," Anna replied. She and Leila traded cell numbers, and then Anna and I left. I drove her back to her place, and after a lingering and awkward "good night," I was heading back to my life with Joel. When I arrived at out place, I found him eating at the kitchen table with Dana, the co-ed who worked at his record store.