#femonfem

Last time they were together, they fought about sweet tea, this time, they fought about nothing – or more accurately, because they wanted to. And though they would never admit it, to each other, or anyone else, they have found that something about fighting with the other turns them on. The feeling of denim sliding against denim; the way the other whimpers softly when struck; the smell of their perfumes and hair products mixing as they wrestle body against body; the sound of the other’s heavy breathing as she tries to escape from a well-applied hold; the way that battles are their dirty little secret; and the thought of what their husbands would do if they ever came to know.

It is for all of those reasons that they have met on the stair to their apartments, and for all those reasons that they fought, dragging each other up, until as they reached the top, they suddenly separated, fixed their hair, and as they walked into to greet their husbands, pretended like nothing ever happened – each counting the seconds until the next time they find themselves alone.

www.KittyFights.com

It had taken every year between the age of 12, until 43 for Dominique (brunette) and Sandra (blonde) to get to this moment. They had always been rivals. Always been enemies. Going to the same schools. Working in the same offices. Chasing after the same men. Never letting an opportunity pass to insult each other, one-up each other, embarrass the other in the worst ways possible.

Finally, it had all led to this – a catfight on the carpet in Sandra’s living room. A conflict planned over text message, in the two women’s first conversation since junior high school. They each promised that they would hurt and wound – pull hair and scratch – smother and strangle the other … and they will. Of that there is no doubt.

But as their fight begins, they do none of those things – finding themselves compelled by desires they do not understand to hold onto and press into each  other – slowly grinding their breasts together – first to the left, and then to the right. And though they have always wished for the other to be gone from their life forever, each cling tightly – clasping their hands around the back of their rival – desperate to keep them there – terrified that they might run. Terrified that whatever their feud has meant, after all these many years – that all the passions and hate they have each felt for each other, will be suddenly stolen away. That this moment, whatever shape it may take, will end without satisfaction – without their demons being purged.