Note From the Author
Written by the Author: First, no this is not a shameless infringement on FyreCracka’s phenomenal signature series, Fyre’s Fight Journal. I wrote the first part exclusively for Fyre as a fangirl tribute. The story is what I imagine it might be like if I somehow ended up in the universe FyreCracka inhabits. Kelli and I thought it would be fun to develop it a little more and share it with the forum, so a second chapter was added. More chapters will be added periodically.
I’d like to thank Kelli for allowing me to borrow her character and her wonderful world where finding a woman to fight can be as easy as going to the bakery to buy a cake.
Fyre’s Fight Journal can be found on her author’s page.
Chapter 1: Deep in the Heart of Texas
She certainly seemed nice enough and friendly. There was no doubt about that. She seemed very…normal. In fact, when I moved with my family from the northeast to Texas, Kelli was one of the first local women outside of work to reach out to me. I appreciated that. Relocating across the country can be quite an adjustment. My husband accepted a lucrative offer as an interventional cardiologist at the university hospital. I became the nursing manager of the medical intensive care unit. We were both excited over our new lives in Texas but work left little time to make new friends.
Kelli and I met in spin class at the gym I recently joined. She and her husband Jake lived in an adjacent neighborhood in the suburbs. We hit it off right away. We shared a lot of common interests. We both had a school age child attending the same school. Our husbands played in the same golf group at a local club. We enjoyed chatting in the locker room before and after workouts. Occasionally we had lunch together. Kelli was close to forty years old. She was very attractive at 5’6” and about 130 lbs. with beautiful blonde hair, brown eyes and a gorgeous smile. I was several years younger, an inch taller a little thinner with long dark brown straight hair and blue eyes. Frankly, I thought we were a couple of good looking milfs and I enjoyed being with her.
Then one day, I received a revelation about Kelli that shocked me to the core. At first it seemed innocuous. Sometimes she wore a warm up jacket to the gym embroidered with the words “Fyre Cracka” across the back. When I curiously asked, Kelli explained, “Oh that’s just a nickname my husband gave me.”
Next, I noted a strange pin Kelli sometimes wore on her sweatshirt or T-shirt. Other times, it was attached to her gym bag. The pin was an image of a cat baring its claws. Although I wondered, I never did ask her the significance of the pin. I didn’t need to ask. A time came when I would see it for myself.
On that day, Kelli and I, after getting showered and dressed, left the gym together, walking to our respective cars. In the parking lot, we approached two women walking toward us to enter the gym. One woman was tan and fit with thick shoulder length wavy black hair and dark brown eyes, wearing a sports bra covered by a T-shirt and yoga shorts. Her companion was a smaller slender redhead with curly hair wearing a T-shirt and gym shorts.
The two female pairs offered each other a courteous greeting before Kelli and the tan dark haired woman froze in their tracks, then backed up and exchanged cold intense stares. Confused, I also took a step back and looked at both women. There they stood facing each other, saying nothing, but glaring at each other as if they were mortal enemies. I noticed their eyes shift. The dark haired woman diverted her gaze from Kelli’s eyes to the cat pin on her gym bag. Kelli, in turn, focused her eyes alternately between woman’s face to a pin on her T-shirt – a pin of a cat with its claws out – identical to Kelli’s. What the hell? I thought, as it became apparent that this confrontation had something to do with those pins. Is this some female gang squabble?
Both women were now trying to stare at each other without blinking. With their chests puffed out, they moved closer to each other, standing toe to toe and chest to chest. I became increasingly anxious as it now seemed these women were about to come to blows. “Girls,” I said, my voice slightly shaking, “I don’t know what this is about but I’m sure there’s a mature way to resolve it. Why don’t we all go inside and talk?” No one responded.
There they stood in the parking lot, Kelly and another woman, in each other’s face, their shoulders slightly hunched, like two alley cats about to fight over territory. The redhead also stood to the side, but unlike me, seemed totally unfazed. She looked at me with an intense cold gaze as if I were her foe.
Out of desperation, I tried again. “Let’s all go out to lunch. I’ll buy,” I said. My words were completely ignored as Kelli and the woman continued their stare down.
Finally, the tan skinned woman ended the uncomfortable silence. “Well, it looks like you and I will settle this now, right Blondie?”
“Who are you?” Kelli responded in a low grim voice. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“My name is Deanna,” the dark haired woman answered. “I moved here from New York a few months ago.”
Holy shit, I know her, I thought to myself. Deanna was a physical therapist at my hospital. She started about the same time I did. A beautiful woman of Italian ancestry and a heavy New York accent, Deanna quickly gained a reputation at work for being an aggressive assertive, some would say rude, employee who often rubbed people the wrong way. “The pushy New Yorker,” as she was affectionately called.
“I’m Kelli,” my friend responded.
Double Holy Shit! Do these women not know each other? What the fuck are they fighting about?
“Can someone please explain to me what this about?” I begged. I may as well not have been present.
“Well Kelli,” Deanna sneered, “you’re going to learn today that I’m the new alpha bitch around here. I learned to fight in New Yawk City. I’m shoor not afraid of some blonde Texas bitch.”
“I know a place behind the gym,” Kelli responded, her voice low and steady. “There’s a secluded clearing where we can fight.”
Fight? Did she say FIGHT? Kelli and this woman are going to fight? No, this can’t be.
“Go to the back of the building,” Kelli instructed her adversary. “Down the hill, cross the bridge over the creek, then turn left. There’s a grassy area surrounded by a grove of trees. Chances are no one will see us. Give me five minutes to change. Meet me there.”
“You got it, skank,” Deanna snarled as Kelli turned back toward the gym.
I had a hard time keeping up with Kelli’s fast pace as she hurried back to the gym front door. “Kelli, don’t fight. Please tell me what this is about.” At first she said nothing as she hustled her way back to the locker room as I tagged behind her. As she speedily retrieved her bra and shorts from her gym bag, I tried one more time, “Kelli, this is freaking me out. Are you in a gang? I just don’t believe that.”
Kelli paused for a moment. Finally, keeping her voice down, she began, “Kiva, I’ll tell you everything later. For now, I’ll just say there’s something about me you should know.” What she said next was mind blowing. Kelli explained that she belonged to an internet-based network of women who enjoy physically catfighting. The women wear the catpins when they desire a fight. When two women wearing the pin encounter each other, they are expected to fight as soon as possible.
“That’s crazy,” I protested. “Someone will get hurt.”
Kelli went on to explain that the fighters actually have a code of ethics where they strictly abide by agreed upon rules. Usually, once the loser submits, the winner must stop fighting. Sometimes however, “stakes are involved.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Kiva, listen,” Kelly said, “you’re welcome to watch. My hobby isn’t exactly a close secret. But you must not interfere or get involved in any way. Please do not move or do anything during the fight. You must promise me that.”
As my best judgment quickly took flight, I replied, “Um…uh…Okay,…I………..promise.”
Back in her sports bra and yoga shorts, Kelli exited the back door, with me close behind carrying her gym bag. We hurried our way, down a grassy hill to a creek that bordered a public park. After crossing the foot bridge, we headed to a wooded area. As we made our way, through trees and a shallow ravine, we came to the clear grassy area Kelli mentioned. They were there.
“Look, the two losers showed up,” Deanna taunted. “After today, you’re going to know which woman rules around here. Ready to get your ass kicked, Blondie?”
Deanna removed her T-shirt, revealing her matching brown sports bra and shorts, similar to Kelli’s black set. The two women took a few minutes to stretch, then kicked off their shoes. They both tied their hair back into ponytails. As for me, I was very close to an anxiety attack.
Finally, Deanna shook out her arms before placing them on her hips. Kelly, stood across from her, also with her hands on her hips. They quickly said something about “rules” which I did not catch before resuming their icy stare down.
“Texas is full of losers,” Deanna started. “The Dallas Cowboys suck. The San Antonio Spurs suck. Ted Cruz is a moron. The Houston…SMACK! Kelli’s right arm swung faster than my eyes could follow to deliver a slap effectively shutting Deanna’s big mouth. The brunette’s head snapped to the side sending her stumbling backward. I was not prepared for what I was about to see.
“Bitch,” she screamed as Kelli charged in tackling her foe to the ground. Securing a position on top, Kelli threw several punches to the body and slapped at the other woman’s face as her opponent tried to cover up. Screaming and shrieking, Deanna thrashed and kicked with her long legs while arching her back trying to escape her predicament. Kelli shifted her weight on her opponents chest and managed to pin the arms with her knees. Deanna snorted and swung her long legs upward hooking Kelli around the neck and pulling her down off of her. The two women locked up on the ground, each taking handfuls of the other’s hair, swinging their heads side to side. They scrambled on top of each other, each one trying to gain the superior position. With their legs kicking and entwining, they rolled across the grass still clutching each other’s hair. First, one was on top, then the other. This continued several times until I heard Kelli let out a terrible shriek. It took a moment before I could tell what occurred. To my horror, it became apparent. Deanna had very long red painted fingernails and wasn’t afraid to use them. With her enemy’s hands dug into her shoulders, Kelli released the grip on the woman’s hair but was paralyzed in pain. Kelli tried to roll out of the way, but Deanna continued her attack slapping and scratching at the shoulders and chest. Kelli managed to get up on one knee as her attacker flailed away. Deanna, now on her feet, used her superior position, pulling the blonde’s head forward by the hair as she yanked the back of the sports bra over the head so it covered the eyes as she continued her slapping attack.
Blinded, Kelli, swung at air as the New Yorker shot for the legs driving my friend to the ground. Deanna sat atop her rival’s belly, throwing slaps at the face and exposed breasts. Pinned beneath the Italian beauty, Kelli defended the slap attacks, blocking some but not all with her arms. Frustrated, Deanna once again resorted to using her claws, digging her long red nails into Kelli’s breasts.
Hearing Kelli scream, I instinctively ran to the two combatants to break it up. I remembered Kelli’s solemn instructions and my promise not to interfere. But breast clawing? Am I expected to just stand still and watch? I could tell from Kelli’s face she was in severe pain. Although she was silent, her face seemed to be communicating another message to me. That message was “Stay out of this.” Reluctantly, I backed away, noticing my hands and knees were shaking. I just wanted this horror to be over.
Kelli gripped her attacker’s hands trying to undo the talons grip on her bare breasts but without much success. She managed to fling her knee upward striking the rowdy physical therapist in the middle of the back. It must have hurt as Deanna let out a yelp and was knocked forward. Kelli saw her opportunity, reaching toward the aggressors face and grabbing and squeezing the nose with her fingers. It proved to be a simple and effective trick as Deanna released the claws from Kelli’s tits. With my hands over my mouth and still in shock, I could only imagine the level of Kelli’s pain. My friend squirmed and bucked, then used her other hand to seize Deanna’s hair while pulling on her nose. Finally, the taller woman was forced off her opponent as Kelli released her hold and rolled out of the way.
Kelli rose to her feet first while Deanna was still regaining her balance. Wasting no time, she removed the tangled sports bra which was wrapped around her neck and shoulders before tossing it to the grass. Kelli rushed at the other woman, throwing a series of punches to the belly and ribs. Taking a step back to measure her opponent, the blonde woman buried her knee to the belly. Deanna doubled over letting out a loud “oooommph” then fell to her knees. Kelli stood over her disadvantaged foe, yanking her up by the hair and the back of the sports bra, exposing the tanned woman’s tits, before firing a vicious slap to the face. Deanna fell backward, landing on her ass. Kelli stood straddled over the the brunette as she rolled onto her knees and elbows. With perfect timing, Kelly wrapped her legs around her prey’s waist, locking her ankles together into a hold I know to be a body scissors. Deanna let out a loud cry as she crumpled to the ground, her body being squeezed by Kelli’s strong legs.
I could see Kelli straining as she repeatedly contracted all her leg muscles, crushing Deanna’s ribs. “Give up, bitch” she yelled.
“No,” Deanna weakly gasped, her face contorted in agony.
I knew from watching Kelli in the gym that she has powerful legs and Deanna was feeling the full wrath. I hoped against hope my fellow hospital employee would give up and end this. No such luck. Kelli reached down and pulled on her victim’s hair to further add to the misery and hasten a submission. Finally, Deanna resorted to her only apparent weapon. Finding her talons, she dug her nails into Kelli’s thighs. I could tell Kelli was trying to hold on, until she finally broke the hold.
Looking pissed off and frustrated, Kelli stood on her feet looking for a way to end it. Deanna began to rise slowly, looking terrible with her labored breathing, pained expression and blood trickling down her nose. Her bra was tangled around her neck as her exposed tits dangled. Her ponytail tie was gone, her thick black wavy hair in total disarray. She barely had time to regain her footing when Kelli wrapped her arms around the trunk pressing her foe’s vulnerable boobs with her own. The dark haired woman appeared to have a 35D bra size, dwarfing Kelli’s 34Bs but it was Kelli in total control. She lifted the taller woman up on the toes as she squeezed the ribs again in a bear hug. After holding her in this position for half a minute, the blonde catfighter threw the unfortunate physical therapist forward sending her to the ground flat on her back.
Moving quickly, Kelli picked up both of the other fighter’s ankles before folding her up and planting the woman’s feet to the ground above her head in a hold I knew as a matchbook pin. Except, Kelli wasn’t done yet. She turned her body to lie on her side of her victim’s head, holding one leg down with her arms and the other one trapped between her own legs. Then, she spread Deanna’s legs apart into a hold I later learned was called a spladle or banana split.
I watched Deanna whimper as Kelli tightly held the hold. I knew Deanna was simply helpless, her body folded, the legs immobilized, her ass sticking up pointing at the sky. Finally, I felt relieved knowing that this beastly affair would be soon be over.
“Give up,” Kelli ordered.
“No,” Deanna defiantly answered.
Again, Kelli held her opponent trapped on the ground for what seemed like half an hour, but may only have been half a minute. Growing impatient, Kelli held a leg with one hand, freeing the other to punch away at Deanna’s thighs. Unable to defend herself, Deanna tried to withstand it. Finally, Kelli delivered a slap to the crotch as a final warning.
Deanna let out a cry before sobbing out “I give up….Let me go,”
“Who is the alpha woman in this part of town,” Kelli demanded.
“You are.”
“Who’s the most pathetic loser in Texas?”
“Me”
“What did you say you are?”
“A loser.”
“Are you going to stay out of my way from now on?”
“Yes.”
Kelli released her victim, who straightened out her legs, and was now again lying flat on her back, her bare tits rapidly rising and falling trying to replenish oxygen. Tears flowed down her cheeks as Kelli approached her and planted a foot on the defeated woman’s distressed chest while flexing her biceps, striking the pose of a victorious ancient Roman gladiatrix. During the pose, I saw the skinny redhead again glaring at me with a look of hatred. Her expression seemed to say, “It will be you and me next.” Why? I had nothing to do with this.
Kelli slipped a T-shirt on as I picked up her gym bag. “Are you OK?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” I must have still been shaking as she asked me, “Are YOU OK?”
I looked at her scratched breasts, shoulders and legs. “I have Neosporin ointment in my car. Can we leave now?” I asked.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”
As we headed back to the gym parking lot, I looked behind me to see Deanna and her ginger friend looking forlorn but slowly leaving the scene. The redhead gave me one last bitter look as we continued onward.
Kelli and I said nothing as we headed to our cars. I gave her the Neosporin as we parted. “Look Kiva, I’ll explain everything but right now I need to get home.”
The next evening I met Kelli at the school after the parent-teacher night we both attended. “Are you up for coffee?” she asked.
As the waitress placed the mocha and biscottis before us, Kelli began her story. At age 37, she took up a hobby of catfighting other women, most of whom she met on the internet or in person wearing the catpin. Jake is her trainer and accompanies her on her arranged fights. Most of her fights are recorded on the internet. It just sounded too incredible. The way she explained it, women are naturally competitive and the urge to physically fight is within most of us to some degree. While many women try to hurt and control each other through gossip, lies, and manipulation, catfighters throw away all of the pretentiousness and just go at it to decide the better woman. They are simply honest about us having competitive primal urges and found a more direct way to deal with it. I agreed with her about the tendency of women to be “catty” but fighting? Really?
“How does this affect your marriage?” I asked. Kelli explained that fighting, especially in front of her husband, gives them a level of sexuality and intimacy that is out of this world. Interesting, but very strange I thought.
Over the next few weeks, I continued to see Kelli at the gym, school and community events. I did not mention her hobby to anyone. At work, sometimes her fight with Deanna would cross my mind. The funny thing was I would think about it when I saw women treating each other badly. Even stranger was that I pictured myself beating up women I couldn’t stand. There was the dysfunctional head nurse who had a need to constantly challenge my authority. The administrative assistant to the CEO with her exaggerated sense of self importance. The narcissistic Vice President of Marketing who couldn’t market anything but herself. The phony as shit operations officer with her plastic smiles and subtle put downs. I’m better than the whole sorry lot of them I said to myself. Wouldn’t it be a dream come true to put all these jerks in their place? Kelli’s explanation of why women catfight started to….make sense. And I had to admit, unlike these “respectable” women, Kelli was one of the least pretentious women I’ve ever met.
Kelli’s fight with Deanna had another effect on me at work. Deanna still acted pushy and aggressive. That is, except when I was around. In my presence, Deanna was quiet and passive and had trouble making eye contact with me. This supposed tough bad ass knew I saw her broken and humiliated and her act couldn’t work with me. One day, I pushed the envelope. When Deanna was on my unit, I let her have it. “Deanna,” I barked, “the patient in room 12 needs physical therapy…NOW! This was ordered YESTERDAY! Why wasn’t it done yet?” I had to admit, I enjoyed this supposed alpha female submissively answering, “Sorry, it’ll get done.”
I didn’t expect it but I found myself more and more intrigued with Kelli’s hobby. I even began to fantasize about it. The image of the bad bitch from the Bronx helplessly folded up like a lawn chair with her ass facing the heavens was well….funny…..and exciting. I daydreamed about subduing and submitting annoying bitches just like Kelli did to Deanna. I wondered what it’d be like to have my husband watching.
“Tom,” I asked, “has Jake ever said anything to you about this strange hobby he and Kelli have?”
“Yeah, sure,”
“Really? Well, what do you think?”
“I think it’s great that they both love the outdoors and go hunting and fishing together. What’s so strange about that?”
“Oh….Nothing I guess.”
I would try again another time. I was only in one fight in my life. It was against a big bully named Faith early in my nursing career. I told my husband about it once. “I would have liked to have seen that,” he said.
“Tom, I’m thinking about taking up combat classes, you know, martial arts.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Learning some self defense can’t hurt.”
“What if I had arranged fights with other women? You know, competitive fights?
“Bad idea, Kiva,” he said, “Great way to get hurt.”
“What if there were rules?” I continued, “to take away some of the risk?”
“Still a bad idea.”
“What if I wrestled another woman?…wearing a bikini?”
“Well now, that would be hot.” We both laughed. At least it was a start.
A few weeks later, my interest in learning more about female fighting continued to swell. I’d look at random women and think, “I could take her.” My routine at the gym started to include more weight training in addition to endurance. I knew a lot of wrestling holds from growing up with my brothers but I would need trainers and instructors. Maybe Kelli and Jake knew somebody.
Kelli did send me the website she used to arrange fights. I watched all of the fights she posted. She won the majority of them. At first I was taken aback by the rawness of these encounters. Some were harrowing affairs. Then, I watched them again…and again. I can do this I told myself. I browsed at the profiles of some of the women. Some were very experienced. Others were novices. Then I came across a profile of….Deanna’s friend,…the redhead who continually glared at me and sized me up like she wanted to fight me. Her name was Freda. Her fight record was 0-0, a Newbie. That’s it, I thought. I’ll join this site and challenge her…..No, I can’t do it.
About a week later, I got out of the shower. I dried off and slipped on my bra and panties. Taking a large pillow off the bed, I slammed it to the floor. In the full length mirror, I watched myself step on the pillow and throw my arms to the air in a victory pose. I have to do this. I’ll tell Tom later. He’ll later understand.
I clicked on the Register button. Creating the user name “Catfighter_RN,” I filled in the profile information including my stats. All I had to do next was click Submit and set up my first fight. No, I can’t,I thought. Tom’s right, this is crazy. I’m a wife and mom. I have a career. If I get exposed, my reputation might get ruined. Maybe this will kill my career. I’ll delete the profile….No, I won’t. If this is so wrong, why do I feel this way? Isn’t it primal? Isn’t it natural? But I need My husband to be on board with this…I’m too old….No, Kelli started at age 37….It’s not too late…I’m a fast learner…I’ll click Submit.
Submit….Delete….Submit….Delete….I’ll Submit and that will be final. Just one click away and….Delete…Click….No, I can’t. At least not now.
This Story is Continued in Chapter 2. Click Here to Keep Going!