One year later, I believed I had made a near total recovery from my “sexual catfighting addiction.” I was living in Santa Cruz, working for a high tech company near Silicon Valley, and had joined a twelve step program for sexaholics. I had no contact or word from any catfighter in that time. I believed that they were out of my life, permanently.
My first few months in California were spent in a daze, as I recovered from my ordeals by mostly sleeping and going to the beach everyday. I decided my sexual addiction to catfighting and wrestling was the cause of my ruined life. One day, I picked up a Christian pamphlet disguised as a sexual self-help document, where a pastor explained that such sexual obsessions could be cured by an organization called Sexaholics Anonymous. I know it sounds ludicrous, but I was so anxious for my paranoia to end. I was living in fear of seeing Trang or Tara every time an Asian woman with long hair turned around. After weeks of living in fear, I had to do something. My drinking had escalated, and that was not making my anxiety or sexual dreams go away. I gave in and went to an S.A. meeting. I was somewhat surprised to find out that I had to give up all sexual activity for the first year. After I read their literature, there was a sweet, sick, logic to it. Oh, it was rocky, boy! I had a couple days of celibacy, then I would see some TV show featuring Victoria Sensible. I would start thinking of Hollywood catfights on Luna, and begin jerking my yin-yang to ecstasy. After I got rid of the TV, stopped going to movies, and discontinued all my magazine subscriptions, my periods of celibacy got longer. Soon, I had three months of near-total celibacy, along with the new job, and a house that I had made a downpayment on with the money from Vegas. But most importantly-I finally had a quiet, peaceful, contented state of mind.
Shit! I thought to myself one day. I got this Fever licked. I’m a fucking-free man!
So, what did I finally do with this blissful state of mine? I met a megababe and threw all that S.A. shit out the window.
Joanne Duncan was a manager for another division in my company. She was untypical of the women I used to date, or so I thought. She wasn’t Asian, for one thing. A California blonde, though smarter than the stereotype, who was ambitious and smart. I met Joanne in the company health club. Sense a pattern here? So did my S.A, sponsor, but I stopped returning his calls.
I took one look at Joanne’s aerobicized butt and started making small talk. Her body was slightly buffed and toned, as she did a little weight training, too. She gave me interesting signals right from the start, and we began dating.
One afternoon, we wound up in bed together. Joanne kneeled in front of me and I thrusted my penis into her in the doggie position. She rocked her hips back and forth and moaned as I stroked her. It was so good to be back having normal sex! And I had done so without without thinking about women’s wrestling or catfighting! Still more proof I was cured.
We dated exclusively for a few months, and then Joanne moved in to live with me. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion at that point we would be married, probably in the next year. She was ready to settle down, and me, I was more than ready to be stable and be committed to one person for the rest of my life. I felt like I had experienced all the variety that I could stand! Hell, I was just about ready to vote Republican and sign on for the Jimmy Swaggert crusade.
I never told Joanne anything about Trang or the Cat Scratch Fever. I had confessed all that I had needed to in my SA meetings (even though my stories alone made several attendees go “off the wagon”). In my view, Joanne was just about as perfect as a white woman could be. She was sweet, smart, caring, outgoing, energetic, and thoughtful. In addition, Joanne had a ravenous libido that seemed to be in tune with my own sexual energy. She even seemed to like it when I plunged a thumb up her butt, or pinched her heavy breasts. Still possessing a desire to be somewhat conservative, I didn’t want our lovemaking to get too out of hand, so I didn’t press it.
After we had been a couple for six months, our fucking started to get a little dull and repetitious. Unbidden thoughts crept back into my mind. One night, while Joanne rode me on top, I fantasized about her wrestling Linda, our sexy admin assistant. Little, lovely, brown-haired Linda, with those strong thighs and arms. I saw her standing next to Joanne in aerobics class, and for an instant, her hand had touched Joanne’s butt. That was it! The thought of Linda pouncing on top of little Joanne in her leotard drove me nuts! When I orgasmed that night, it had very little to do with the sensations Linda was giving me. That made me feel guilt afterward.
I tried to stop these thoughts. But they would strike me when I was the most unprepared. At work, seeing the pantyhose that Linda was wearing. In the gym, watching a nice pair of buns walk by after I finished a set or repetitions. Or, in any given location, unexpectedly. Late one afternoon in a 7-Eleven, a Filipina clerk named Lizbeth, strutting around in black tights while she handed out Lottery tickets. It drove me crazy. I went home and fantasized about HER stomping Joanne’s ass.
The Fever had me in its grip once again, my droogies. But I still tried to fight it.
“Gil, honey, what’s wrong?” Joanne asked me one night, after I had come. “You seem so…angry.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just a little stressed out from work.”
I arranged to take a business trip to Washington, DC. I planned to get my head straight there, clean it up with God talk, and get my fantasizing about female fighting back under lock and key!
“I stopped at home for lunch. This package came for you in the mail,” Joanne said, dropping off a large manila envelope on my desk.
I was so rushed to get to the airport, I didn’t even look it. I stuffed it into my briefcase and kissed Joanne on the cheek. “Gotta go! I’ll call you tonight, OK?” I saw a funny look on her face.
“Just kinda tired. Drive careful, all right?”
I didn’t see that the package contained a videotape until the plane was somewhere over Nevada. The postmark on the manila envelope indicated that it had come from Cabo San Lucas in Mexico. I ordered a few of those microscopic bottles of booze after I saw the label on the tape.
Catsport 92.
Oh my God, I thought, as the booze slid down into my gut. The Cats have found me again!
Just when I had determined to be a good little boy, the old questions wandered back into my mind. Trang. Ina. Tara. Who had won? Who had proven themselves to be the toughest and smartest cat? More importantly, who had sent the tape…and who might be stalking me?
I couldn’t stop worrying and wondering about it. I even went off into the bathroom to jerk off, just so that I could calm down and keep my sanity for the rest of the flight. I wanted to yell at everyone who obstructed my way to getting into the hotel room with a VCR so that I could find out what had happened. Joanne, my job, my SA oaths-they all went by the wayside.
I jammed the tape into the VCR in my room even before I put away the luggage. I took off my shorts and started rubbing myself, so horny even before it started. The titles rolled off the screen…
“Lustiricci Worldwide Video presents:”
“Catsport 92: Catfight Competition Highlights.”
There were snippets of the previous matches leading up to this one. Brief five or ten second flashes of incredibly vicious fights. Snippets of unknown women wrestling and boxing each other, all naked, some using deadly, razor sharp heel highs, as weapons. And then the women that I knew. A scene of Ina bear hugging Trang from behind, squeezing her ribs, lifting my ex-lover off her feet. Trang screaming and looking utterly helpless. Cut to a scene of Tara fighting an African woman. The Filipina suffered a powerful two-handed blow to her spine and fell down. Cut to another scene of a Thai kickboxer, big breasts on her tiny frame, making Matadora suckle them as she submits. Cut back to Trang standing over Ina, breaking the blonde’s arm, and winning a submission. Cut to Tara laying on top of her African opponent’s back, wrapping her body around the African’s like a copper cobra, and choking the life out of her enemy. Cut to Trang getting pummelled by the Thai kickboxer, who smiles gleefully as each blow connects, like it’s real personal between them. Cut to Tara breaking a white woman’s back over her knee. Cut back to Trang slashing and smashing at the Thai Cat until she is unconsciousness.
Then the full credits appeared: “Catsport 92: Championship Catfight”.
“Tara versus Trang.”
The arena they fought in was a circular cage, ringed by a stand where the audience sat in and watched. An enormous statue of a golden tigress glittered with the reflection of the stage lights in the background. There were various other cat emblems around the stage, which I learned later, are part of the religion that the Cat Cult practices.
Trang and Tara entered the cage from opposite ends, and stood glaring at each other. For a minute they almost looked like a yin-yang symbol, the way the shadows fell upon the stage. They were both naked and each of them stood in the stiletto heels that were as sharp as knives. Tara’s arms were crossed in front of her breasts, and the smile on her face teased Trang as if to say: I have crushed you once before, and I will love to do it to you again.
Trang never let her face look away from Tara’s eyes. Her arms flexed and dangled at the side of her body.
The hag who was the head of the Cat Cult, who looked to be a Thai woman in her late forties, addressed the assembly, advising the gamblers (whose money, after all, profitted her Cult enormously) to place their final bets, and announcing the winnings for the Champion Catfighter of the year. There was, of course, a financial prize, totalling $100,000 in US cash. And another spoil of victory, death or slavery for the loser, and ownership of her slaves to the victor.
After the bell chimed, the two catfighters moved in closer to each other. There was great cheering going on for both of them from the audience. I could hardly hear any dialog between the two fighters because of the constant roar.
Trang exploded into action, taking a series of standing somersaults to reach Tara quickly, the heel of her foot arcing across the Filipina’s shoulder, drawing blood. It had just narrowly missed the juglar. Tara launched a snapdragon punch immediately, which just grazed Trang’s breast as she dodged it.
Tara’s hand flashed out and grabbed Trang’s head by the hair. The Filipina’s left foot smashed into Trang’s cheek repeatedly, rattling the Chinese femizon’s head. Tara’s supporters in the audience roared with delight.
Trang grabbed the kicking leg and twisted it, throwing Tara to the ground. The Filipina landed on her tummy. Trang took off the Filipina’s stiletto heel from her left foot, and continued to twist it. Tara slapped the floor with her hands in agony. My ex-lover sat on the Filipina’s back, wrenching Tara’s left leg in her hand as she did so.
Tara screamed and her nails scraped the concrete floor. Her free right foot slammed into Trang’s back, the point of the stiletto heel puncturing Trang’s back, just below the rib cage. Trang rolled away before her enemy could drive it deeper, and got to her feet.
The Filipina hellcat also got to her feet in a hurry, but this time you could see that she was limping on her left leg. Trang moved in quickly and performed a flying spin kick that connected with Tara’s chin. A sluice of blood followed as the heel of Trang’s shoe raked across. Tara fired a snapdragon punch once more, but Trang dropped to her knees, below Tara’s waist. She fired off her own snapdragon punch…
…and broke Tara’s kneecap! The crowd went bannanas.
The fighting Filipina howled as she crumpled to the ground. She fell on top of Trang, more of in a heap of agony, than as a direct attack. Tara’s body pressed Trang’s back flat on the floor, and the Filipina must have channelled her pain into aggression. Her claws raked Trang’s forehead, splattering blood all over the Chinese Cat’s eyes. Pressing Trang’s head down on the ground with one claw, Tara lifted up her chest off of Trang, and fired a series of punches at Trang’s breasts. Not quite lethal snapdragon-level blows, but enough to make Trang’s body quake under the impact.
Trang’s legs wrapped around Tara’s thighs, and her deadly stiletto heels punctured the back of Tara’s calf muscles. Tara howled again and stopped her punching. Trang’s claws raked down her back, and settled in on Tara’s meaty buns, ripping and digging into bloody flesh. Tara bit Trang’s neck in return, and the two hellcats started rolling on the floor, biting and clawing each other’s skin to pieces for at least a minute.
The lethal catroll ended when Trang grabbed hold of Tara’s head and slammed it against the ground. She rolled away, and got on all fours, in an attempt to stand up. Tara’s stiletto heel stabbed into her right thigh. This time, Trang’s catcall of pain echoed throughout the cage. The audience in the stands were going berserk once again.
With great effort, Trang removed Tara’s knife-like heel from her bleeding leg and tossed it to the other side of the cage. By that time, Tara had leapt on top of her back. She smashed Trang’s head into the ground twice before the Chinese femizon had her arms braced to stop it. Tara’s legs locked around Trang’s. The Filipina’s beefy arms wrapped around Trang’s shoulders, executing a nelson. Tara’s hands cupped Trang’s head, one on the chin, the other on the top of her skull.
She spoke to Trang, and even through the roar of the crowd, I could hear what she said. I was the only one in the world who could have known what she had said, as well as Trang.
“You die now, Trang,” Tara must have hissed. “Just like Helen!”
The Filipina wrenched Trang’s head to the right, trying to snap it. But her nelson around Trang’s shoulders didn’t allow her the right kind of leverage. She wrenched again, but it failed to snap Trang’s neck. Again. A look of deathly pain from Trang’s mouth as she grimaced, but no death, as she fought Tara with all her strength.
The crowd, sensing a death, were all on their feet, yelling like crazy.
Frustrated, Tara roared and rolled over on her back, dragging Trang on top of her. She was trying to shift Trang around in order to get more leverage. Trang’s legs wrestled away from Tara’s, and her stiletto heels jammed down again, hoping to puncture Tara’s feet. But the Filipina quickly moved her legs out of the way, and the heels shattered on the concrete floor. Trang quickly kicked them off and continued to leg wrestle Tara.
Tara’s claws were biting into Trang’s breasts. Trang yelled her desperation scream, and hurled her head back into my “ex-wife’s” nose. The move stunned Tara enough for Trang to sit up. The Chinese femizon sat on her knees, rivers of sweat and blood running off her bare back, down her beautiful buns, on to the ground. The tigress tattoo on her butt seemed like it was leaping off her skin, when you saw the rhythm of Trang’s pulse when she was in this kind of battle. She was getting ready to punch Tara’s cunt…
…when Tara’s body jerked upward and launched a snapdragon punch upward at Trang’s face. Trang fell backward, hoping to dodge it. But the blow hit her smack in the breastbone. She went rolling away from Tara like she had been hit by a bus.
Tara laughed and the crowd was nuts again. The Filipina stood up and quickly limped over to where the Chinese fuck fighter rested, on her knees. Trang’s face was smashed against the floor and she appeared to be in great pain. I saw Tara’s lips mouth her trademark: “Hah!” She grabbed hold of Trang’s hair and cocked back her arm for a “Thai-killer” punch that was aimed for Trang’s neck.
Trang’s head dodged the death blow at the last moment. Her own arm flashed backward…
…and Trang’s own style of snapdragon punch hit Tara right in her cunt! You could see the breath vomiting from her lungs as Tara doubled over in pain. It hurt her too much even to scream. Trang’s snapdragon flashed upward again, smashing into the Filipina’s cheek, twisting Tara’s head savagely to the side. This time it was the Filipina’s body that flew upward, to land in a heap on the concrete ground. The Filipina shuddered as she lost the greatest fight of her life and went to serve the ultimate Cat Mistress. Her eyes fixated on Trang an instant the instant of her death, and rolled lifelessly to the side seconds later.
“That,” I saw Trang whisper, standing over the body of her greatest foe, “was for Helen and Gil.” Trang’s entire body was covered in blood, though not all of it was her own. She wiped away what she could from her face, as she left Tara behind, and walked towards the gate exit of the arena.
The crowd on the tape orgasmed as Trang walked out victoriously. So did I, as I watched the tape on the bed. It felt like an enormous weight, that I had carried around for a year, the threat of Tara coming back to enslave me, was now off my back forever.
I continued watching the tape until the end. I saw Matadora, and the Thai girl with big breasts who Trang had dominated in the highlights portion, each come over to kiss and hug Trang excitedly. I saw another alluring woman, who I did not recognize, of Japanese descent, come over and congratulate Trang with equal enthusiasm.
Completely forgetting about my SA oath to forget about the Fever, I rejoiced in the news the tape had brought. It had to have been sent by Trang! It was her way of letting me know she was alive and all right. Maybe she had waited for a year to let all of wounds, both physical and emotional, heal over. But why was there no letter or note? Was she still so catcrazy as she was the last year in Vegas?
Somehow, I managed to work during the next few days at our client’s site, just stepping through the paces like a robot. There were too many unanswered questions about Trang provoking anxiety within me. The images on the tape replayed constantly in my mind, even when I was not watching it. The Fever raged in my eyes, sucking in any shapely female form and converted it into a catfighting fantasy. My dick stayed semi-hard in my pants all day, until I could come back to the hotel at night and watch the tape. Two or three times a night, jerking myself off until I could go to sleep. When my dick became too raw to touch, I drank myself unconscious.
Three days later, I remembered that I had forgotten to call Joanne.
I rang her up immediately at work the afternoon I realized it. She didn’t return my voice-mail message. I called her when I got back to the hotel, but she was not home. I left two messages that night, with no return call. The next day I called work and they told me that Joanne hadn’t been in to work since Monday. That’s when I realized what must have happened. The envelope containing the tape had already been opened when I had pulled the tape out of it on the plane.
Joanne had seen the tape. Maybe there had been a letter inside from Trang, and she had read it.
I was convinced the Fever had destroyed my chance for a happy life once again.
I arrived in San Jose the next day and raced my car to the limit along the dark and curvy highway 17 towards Santa Cruz. I pushed the accelerator up to 80 on that dangerous mountain. At times I wanted to just swerve over into the lane of oncoming traffic and end all the misery right there. But my curiosity would not allow me to commit suicide. I nearly thrashed my car to pieces, until I had reached my house near the beach.
I entered the front door and the entire house was dark. A creaky silence of hinges and murmurs filled the living room as I walked through it.
“Joanne? Joanne!” I cried out, but there was no answer.
I went into the master bedroom. The window was open and allowing the seabreeze to puff back the curtains. Light from the large moon of the spring equinox fell on the naked shoulders of a young Asian woman. Joanne lay underneath her, licking her cunt ravenously.
“What the hell is this?” I blurted out. “Jesus!”
The Asian woman pushed Joanne’s head down on the pillow, and climbed out of the bed to face me. She was obviously of Japanese descent, and possesed a very short and stocky build. I had seen her hug Trang at the end of the Catsport tape. She put her hands on hips, as if to challenge me.
“I am Kamiko,” she stated firmly. “Your woman belongs to me.”
“Oh, my fucking God!” A feeling of dread crept up my spine. A Cat had invaded my home and assaulted my wife!
“Gil, you suck fuck,” Joanne moaned, pulling the bed sheets over her body. “You sick, sick, dumb-ass fuckhead. Why didn’t you ever warn me about your past?”
“I believe you know how this works, Gil,” Kamiko stated. “I challenged Joanne to a fight. We wrestled, and the prize was slavery for a week. I won your bitch. There’s nothing you can do about it. Except talk to my Mistress.” She nodded behind my back.
“Deja Vu, eh, darling?” A familiar voice said from behind.
I turned around. In the now dimly lit hallway, stood Trang. Her appearance had changed a bit since the Catsport. Her body was less bulky. Her arms and legs had shrunk somewhat in muscle size. She was still buffed and sexy, and had let her hair grow down to her neck. Trang leaned cooly against the doorway, wearing a pair of cut-off jeans and tank-top t-shirt. Her arm was draped around a smaller woman’s shoulders. The light of the moon danced in Trang’s eyes, but the expression on her face was a mystery to me.
“Whatever you want from me,” I said breathlessly, “leave Joanne out of it.”
“It’s already too late,” Trang said softly. She took a step out of the shadows. Her face was faintly smiling at me.
“I had kept the tape a secret from you for a week,” Joanne said. Her voice sounded strange. “I didn’t want you to know that Trang and her friends were coming here. I wanted to meet them alone, and settle this.”
Trang’s other friend stepped into the light. She was of Hawaiian descent, I could tell by her eyes and skin tone. Her body was subtly powerful and graceful as she walked slowly towards me in a pair of shorts. Her breasts were protruding outward through her white t-shirt. I had no doubt she was also a catfighter. It seemed like I had seen her from some place before, but I could not remember where.
I had flickerings of arousal, but I was also extremely alarmed. I knew we were in a bad spot, surrounded by four extremely deadly catfighters.
“Don’t come any closer,” I ordered at the Hawaiian.
She stopped, and removed her shirt. Two breasts, oh so big and perfectly shaped. I repressed the urge to reach out and suckle them that instant.
“Don’t be alarmed, Gil,” Trang’s soft voice replied. “If I had wanted to hurt you, I could have done so a long time ago. And I wouldn’t need to use Kianu.”
Kianu! Of course. The star of the famous cable-tv fitness program. A tit, leg, and ass show legitimized under the guise of weight lifting and cross training. My favorite program, until I joined Sexaholics Anonymous.
“THE Kianu?” I was so stunned that I momentarily forgot my fear.
“I knew you lusted after her. I did, too. I sought her out in Malibu and challenged her. Now she belongs to my Catpack.” Trang replied, walking over to the bed. She unbuckled her pants. They fell away into the shadows, exposing her bare cunt.
Kianu stepped out of her shorts, and started walking towards me again.
I started to step backward, but Kamiko’s hand gently touched my spine.
“There’s nothing left to lose, Gil,” Joanne said, pulling Trang’s tank top off her head. “I’m part of their Catpack now.”
Anger and righteous resentment exploded within me. “So, you decided to come here and claw the Fever into Joanne’s mind! I guess this is payback time for my sins, huh? For what I did to you with Morgan?”
“No, Gil!” Joanne said, sitting up naked on her knees, still in the bed. “It’s not like that. I’ve had this, Fever, you call it, for most of my life! It was a secret that I kept from you all this time. Didn’t you notice all those scratches and bruises on my leg that kept popping up? It wasn’t mountain biking, honey. It was little Linda at the office!”
Jesus! My fucking fantasy had been a reality all this time, right under my nose. I started to feel foolish.
“There’s more than one breed of cat,” Kianu’s honey-sweet voice, a mixture of Hawaiian and cool Californian, spoke as she padded over next to me. “Up here in the business world, they practice a ritual of Corporate Catfighting.”
The Hawaiian megababe held my hand and caressed my arm. She slowly pulled down my chin and kissed me. My brain felt a rush, a rush of my blood and endorphins racing from my heart to my brain and down to my penis. I felt Kianu’s nipples harden as my fingers brushed against her breasts.
“You chose exactly the same type of woman, as you did before, Gil,” Trang cooed, as Kianu unbuttoned my shirt. Kamiko’s hands reached around my waist and unbuckled my pants. “You’ll always do the same. You can’t escape the Fever. It’s in your blood. I’m certain that we were born that way.”
Kianu and Kamiko pulled off my clothes. They smothered my body with their gentle hands and kisses, melting away the shame I had kept for a year. Trang watched us from the bed while Joanne licked her breasts. I wanted to faint from delirious, lustful happiness, but strong little Kamiko kept propping me up. All my reluctance faded from my mind, my erection began to grow, and I gave way to all the silly, artificial barriers I had planted in my mind over the past year.
Trang’s command was soft: “Joanne. You will wrestle Kianu. While we watch you in bed.”
“I was hoping you would say that!” Joanne exclaimed, giving Trang a kiss before she hopped off the mattress.
Kamiko pushed me over on the bed. The orgy of my life commenced as Joanne’s hands locked against Kianu’s, and I marveled at their breasts touching as they struggled against each other. I couldn’t choose whether I wanted to watch them or kiss Trang, so I did both. My hands fondled her beautiful back and hair, and I swear her skin had never tasted so good. She laid down on top of Kamiko, and as Kianu straddled over Joanne on the floor, I got reaquainted with my old lover. Trang let me pump her slick ass, while she rode Kamiko. We grew to a shuddering climax, as Kianu slowly crushed all the resistance out of my Joanne.
I was back in the saddle once again, my droogies, and starting to feel proud of it. I fucked my dick raw inside all of them that night. Every time I stopped they continued, licking and loving each other. The lemon-vanilla cookie sandwich of Joanne getting fucked in-between Kianu and Kamiko alone kept me going for another hour. I had just about dozed off to sleep, when I awoke to see Kamiko pumping Trang’s cunt with a strap-dildo, giving her Mistress an orgasm in the missionary position. How could anyone go to sleep in this circumstances, my droogies? I got all hot and bothered once more, and dipped my wick into Kamiko’s sweet little lathered butt. This stunning catorgy continued until the light of dawn, and then it was only through sheer exhaustion.
“I was really crazy the last time I saw you,” Trang said to me, as we walked alone together along the beach. The other four women had stayed at home to give us some privacy. “The stress of fighting for my life was making me as animalistic as Buri was. After you ran out of the room, I felt really bad. I had driven you away, and I had only meant to play with you. After that, I spent some time figuring out what my goals were, beyond mere survival.”
“And what were they?” I said, looking at her through my sun glasses.
“There was no way for me to just give it all up. Matadora or Tara would have hunted me down somehow. My first goal was to save myself. I had to be a true Cat for a while. It was the only way to win my freedom from Matadora,” Trang replied. “To win the Catsport and end not only Tara’s threat to us, but an end to my fighting for my life in every match. After that, my goal was to become a firm, but also kind, Mistress of a great Catpack. A Catpack full of beautiful, reknowned women, who would bring me great love, sex, property, and wealth.”
“I’m glad you saw that the savagery was getting out of hand. You don’t blame me anymore? I feel kind of responsible for it. If you had died…”
Trang put her hand on my shoulder as we walked. She had become gentle, as she had said. “No, I can’t blame you anymore. You gave me the Fever and turned me inside-out. Maybe I would have had a simpler life if I had broken up with you after Morgan. But I can’t go back and be Suzy Homemaker now. I am wealthier than I ever thought I would be. My physical and mental abilities are at their peak, and I am developing new ones. I have so much love and sex and fulfillment. You couldn’t imagine how much. And with you, that’s saying quite a lot!”
I laughed. “But you still do fight…and you don’t worry about death or permanent slavery?
Trang laughed and threw a trail of water at me. “Slavery? You mean to tell me that you are free, living the fucking American dream, with your $55,000 a year job and $300,000 mortgage! Ha-ha! But no, I don’t fight for slavery or death much anymore. I’m like Kristi Yamaguchi after she won the fucking Olympics! My career’s gone backward to pure wrestling. Hollywood babe-a-lons, who know me from Luna, want to sharpen their skills or prove their mettle against a real wrestler. We get in the ring and wrestle for submission, the two of us de-clawed, but still full of catfury. In those types of matches, I can’t even throw a punch, for fear of ruining a nose job. But the money is fantastic! Once in a while, I might lose, and have to play “maid” for a week or two. Don’t let those bimbos fool you-they can be pretty tough. They’ve had to claw through so many actresses for the better roles. Some of the rich and famous women of the world can be pretty rough, too. My favorite ones to challenge me are those exercise bimbos on TV who want to be real athletes! Anyway, death isn’t such a worry anymore. Every once in a while, I risk it when I have to, but not that often.”
“Your Catpack, you live with them…you must have a home?”
“Yeah! We live in Cabo.”
“You stayed in Matadora’s home town, eh?”
“I am staying in Matadora’s hacienda!”
“She’s part of your Catpack, too?”
“Yep!” She kicked water up at me, and I chased her along the beach.
I caught up to Trang, even though she was laughing and not trying very hard. I threw her down gently on the sand. “Why are you here?”
Trang pulled my head down and kissed me. “I wanted to clear the air between us. I didn’t want to leave our relationship ending…the way that it did. And…”
I kissed her deeply on the mouth, over and over. “I can’t help myself, Trang. I still love you. I loved you, even when you hurt me!” I quickly shut up then. I had said too much.
Trang ran her fingers through my hair and looked softly in my eyes.
“Come with us,” Trang said, “Come and live with me and the Catpack in Cabo. Joanne can come along, too. She already said that she will go, if you do.”
I was stunned and totally unprepared for her offer. “What? And leave all this?”
“What?” Trang asked. “A shitty job and a beach that’s too fucking cold to take a piss in without a wetsuit!”
“The last time I lived with a Catpack, if you recall, it didn’t turn out too good for me. Especially when the majority of them were so butch, they’d just as soon cut off my penis as take it in their cunts!”
Trang laughed and giggled. She rolled on the sand and clutched her side. “What do you think, Gil, after last night? Matadora is little more lizzie than Kamiko and Kianu. But even she will take a nice hard cock once in a while!”
I started giggling as well. “Ok, no problem there! What about a job, for chrissake? Laying on the beach everyday is going to get old after a month!”
“Gil. I’ve got so much money now. But so little time to really put it to use wisely. I need someone to invest it for me, to prepare for the day that I cannot fight any more. Someone who will use it to start up small businesses, buy stocks and real estate. I don’t have the time! You’re the only one with half a brain that I can trust!”
Wow. It started to sound very irresistible, my droogies! “Ok. Ok. Ok.” Trang was giggling again. “What if you lose a match to a slutty bitch who hates men, and she winds up inherits your property? I am screwed for the rest of my life!”
“I don’t work it that way anymore. No matter what any other bitch demands, I fight only for myself, and myself alone. My property or slaves are not part of the deal. I’ll even guarantee that some of the assets are in your name, for your own protection. And…” Trang hugged my chest and whispered in my ear. “…you are not my slave, Gil. Just as I am not your slave. You are my lover.”
My mind was reeling. It was all too good to be true. Joanne was a catfighter. Trang, the most exciting woman in my life, had returned to her senses and loved me. I could live in a sunny vacation spot in Mexico and fuck five sexy megababes. A period would never be an excuse for a night without sex. I could see women wrestle each other in training matches almost everyday until I got tired of it. I certainly wasn’t that partial to my job, even though I didn’t hate it. There had to be a flaw! I kept searching for one.
“C’mon, Gil! Say yes! I know you want to.”
Was it really such a healthy idea to return to the Fever? Which seemed even hotter than before? I almost lost my life and sanity the last time. The fear welled up inside me as I considered my answer…
“…and so all of the women, Trang, her slaves Kamiko and Kianu, as well as my fiancee Joanne, all left for Cabo this morning. I stayed behind. Now I’m full of so much anxiety, I think I’ll burst! I have fallen so far off the wagon. I don’t think I will ever get back on!”
The men in the Sexaholics Anonymous meeting sat on wooden chairs, in a circle, facing me. Bullets of sweat dribbled down the foreheads as I concluded my story.
“You are one tough motherfucker!” Joe H. said.
“I don’t think I’m that strong.” Bob A. commented.
“You did the right thing,” Sammy S., who I called Sammy Shit, my SA sponsor, replied. “You remembered the first step of SA, which, quite correctly, in your case, says, ‘I admitted that I am completely powerless over female wrestling and catfighting-that my life had become unmanagable because of it.’ You are ready for step two!”
“You must GIRD yourself!” Karl M., an elder in the local church, said. “The devil, in the guise of these women, will come for you once again. Memorize Romans 15:1-7. It will bring the Holy Spirit inside your heart to protect you!”
“Fellas!” I exclaimed, smiling broadly at all of them. “I think you have gotten the wrong idea. You see, when I said I had fallen off the wagon, it wasn’t a confession. It was a statement!”
Karl the elder gasped, realizing my intent.
“You won’t be seeing me in Silicon Valley anymore,” I continued, “because while you are stuck in this musty old church basement, moaning about guilty you feel about playin’ with your joystick over some Pamela Sue Anderson pics on the Internet, I’m going to be living the high life in Cabo San Lucas! I’m gonna be fuckin’ these megababes every night, two at a time, in the mouth, in the cunt, in the ass, then I’m gonna watch ’em fuck each other! And if I got energy left, I’ll have Trang call in a couple more of those bitches to do the same!”
A stunned silence permeated the basement as the men in the group picked their jaws up off the ground.
“Gil, don’t do this,” Sammy S. pleaded. “You don’t really want to. You came here because you want help…”
“Naw!” I responded. “I came here because I wanted to give you guys these.” I pulled some photographs out of my wallet and passed them around. Photos of Trang and her Catpack in some tantalizing bikinis. “You see, after you guys fall of the wagon, which we’ll probably be as soon as you get home…” I continued passing out the photos, giving the one where Kianu fucked Kamiko’s ass with a strap-on dildo, to Elder Karl. “…you might realize what a bucket load of foolishness this program really is. And I want to recommend a therapy to cure you, to relieve your guilt over your sexual lusts, that really works wonders. Come down to Cabo and see two of these megababes wrestle each other in their bikinis! I’ll cut you a fantastic deal! No sexual intercourse with them-that’s reserved for yours truly-but I should be able to hook you up with some local specialists in the area!”
“Aw, fuckit,” Bob A. muttered. “There goes my 60-day coin of sexual sobriety!”
“Satan!” Karl spurted, throwing the picture away. “Get thee away from me!” He closed his eyes and started praying.
“OK, one of you lucky sons of bitches gets another free picture!” I replied, stepping outside the circle. “My new phone number is written on the back of each photo, in case you should need my services. Now, while the rest of you are at the post-meeting party at Denny’s, slugging back coffee sludge and patting yourselves on the back for not firing your penis pistol, I’m gonna be at the Irish Lantern, tying one on! All of you guys who are on the AA plan are welcome to join me!”
I opened the door, taking a step outside into the cool night air. I could already hear the catcalls from down south, even though the SAers could not. Tomorrow I would begin my car trip down there, to the catfighting haven of Cabo. But I couldn’t resist one last jab at the mind-control group that had almost robbed me of my new harem.
“Hasta La Vista, mi amigos!”
The End