I have been told this text should be called Experience vs. Psychosis.
A while ago, Alison had gotten into a fight with Elgie, in which one woman beat up another woman. Reading further into this text, one could learn who won. However, some people take elements of my life as some type of sporting events and they don’t always like to know the outcome of those events, so I won’t discuss it immediately. Due to the resulting tension from that fight, Elgie took her child and moved out of her home. Alison considered this to be the elimination of her enemy, and was content with this.
As this was all taking place, I was building up feelings of my own. I was thinking about the money problems that come with trying to be an upstanding woman. Problems like not being able to pay bills, or have all the things I want. And I was frustrated with Deacon as we were trying to work out a good relationship between us. And I was thinking about how Alison had created the problem between her and Elgie by degrading Elgie. Even after this, it was Elgie who was ultimately removed from the house. It seemed like injustice. I don’t know if it was due to my friendship with Elgie, or just a reaction to all my personal problems, but somehow all of my tension became focused on Alison.
In a lot of ways, 43-year-old Alison operates like a young woman. She has a youthful appearance and her body performs well. She performs better than my 22-year-old friend she beat up. She likes to get active and socialize. She likes to fuck. But in a lot of ways, she seems like an older woman. She takes liberties, assuming her age will au tomatically cause people to forgive her straightforward comments. Maybe she thinks she’s some kind of authority. And she backs off, or even submits, when she feels the slightest sense of a threat she might not be able to overcome. Maybe she thinks she’s fragile in some ways.
So I was left with general tension, and feeling like Elgie should be allowed to return. And Alison made it clear that she didn't think Elgie belonged here. And she felt that I was overemotional. This all made me more emotional. So Alison sensed the increased tension and just walked away. This made me feel like she was dismissing my feelings and regarding them to be insignificant.
By now I wanted to beat her ass. I wanted to beat the hell out of her. I wanted to beat the shit out of her. I wanted to beat the fuck out of her. Like an enraged wild animal, this had been set in my mind. Alison was no longer a woman. She was a tall, fit piece of female meat. There was no mind/soul/spirit. There was only this female flesh that had offended me. So in my mind, her offense had made her an animal, and my rage had made me an animal. A female wildcat set to tear apart another female wildcat.
All of this happened in a fraction of a second. Yet, it seemed like a very long time. I watched as this tall, thick, physically fit woman turned around in slow motion. I watched as every muscle in her body conformed to her movement. I watched every curve, and the shifting of her ass as she walked. She was a woman like myself. I knew we were both raised from the soil of the motherland, Africa. And maybe God would not have us fight, but sometimes I allow myself to be overcome with the ways of the world.
Alison is a moderately large-breasted woman with a very large ass. Like every other woman in our home, she takes pride in packaging herself well. Her package consisted of a tall, strong, fit African American female body in a buttoned shirt and a tight skirt that came down to her knees. My package consisted of my own Africanized female body in tight stretch jeans and a t-shirt. I felt like I had a strong advantage because my t-shirt and jeans allowed me to be very mobile. I also felt like she knew she was in a skirt, and going to be restricted by her business suit. In retrospect, the moment reminds me of that whole Jeans vs. Shorts fiasco I had a while back. I called out to her, “Hey!”
That ass shifted again and she turned to face me. Everything was still going in slow motion. I could tell by the look on her face that she knew what time it was. And we both realized we were no longer just woman, and no longer just animals. We had both become pure sex. And we knew the sexfight would occur. She was nothing but a large mass of Black Sex. And I was nothing but a large mass of Black sex. We both had rage burning like fire inside of us. And as fire consumes all in it's path, two fires will come together and burn until they are gone. Our rage brought us together as two wild masses of pure sex, and like two raging fires, we approached other to consume each other. I told her, “I am going to beat the shit, fuck, and hell out of you.”
No more words were spoken. She waited for me to come to her. My jeans approached her skirt and woman engaged woman. I put my arms around her and she put her arms around me. She’s about the same size and weight as me. I can easily take a woman my size and throw her across the room. But that didn't happen. I felt my body being turned around until my back was facing her. I didn't know why she was able to turn me around instead of me turning her around. My right arm was behind my back. Alison took my left arm and also put it behind my back. I felt myself shoved forward.
Even in high heels, she thrusted me forward with enough power to heave my entire body into the center of the room. I stopped myself and tried to turn around but she had both of my arms. She ended up swinging me around. I tried to break free from her, jerking and kicking while she struggled to bring me down. Finally, she swung me around and I hit a wall. I felt the sound of my hip hitting the wall and then I basically bounced off of the wall and fell to the ground.
Alison got on top of me, putting all of her weight on me. I was on my side and she started hitting me in my face. In a way, she was reteaching me a lesson I had forgotten, since I decided long ago not to hit people in their head. That lesson is it is much harder to fight back while somebody is hitting you in your face. I couldn’t see where she was, but I knew two things: she was on top of me and the floor was underneath me. It’s not too much to ask for me to lift myself while a full-grown woman is on top of me. So I threw her off of me.
The whole event had only made me more mad. I don’t like being pushed around. And nothing upsets me more than being hit in my face. Rage had turned to super rage and I was ready to kill this bitch. So I got up and she got up, and once again, the jeans approached the skirt. Woman engaged woman. I swung directly at her face and hit her hard. Then we locked arms again and tried to wrestle each other down.
Once again, I felt my body turned around so my back was to her. She swung me around again, and the side of my body hit the wall again. This time, I could not bounce off of the wall. Alison’s body came crashing into mine, doubling or tripling the force of the blow. She put my back flat against the wall. I tried to raise my arms to fight, but she was just pounding my arms. She was beating my strong arms up. I never got into a position to hit her.
Then with a single blow, she plowed her fist into my abdomen. All of the tight muscles in my s tomach went inward. I do hundreds of crunches every day as part of my routine. My abdominal muscles are tight and usually able to take many punches. It was unnerving to think another woman had enough power to make me seem tender after one blow. I felt like everything I had eaten was about to come out of me. And after Alison drove three more blows into me, it did. And I stood there silently, pinned to the wall by Alison. I wasn’t silent because I had nothing to say. I just couldn’t talk. But she could. And she said to me, “You gone beat the fuck out of me? Oh that’s right, you gone beat the ‘shit, fuck, and hell’ out of me.”
For the moment, my rage was less intense. I was feeling this intense, conflicting combination of rage and danger. Like I wasn’t fighting to beat the fuck out of her anymore. Suddenly I was fighting to prevent her from beating the fuck out of me. And maybe she had the advantage. I felt like something must have been wrong with me to even get myself caught in that position.
Then I realized she had me in the same position she had Elgie in. Right before she had beaten Elgie into oblivion. And it had taken her less than two minutes to get me in that position. Just as it was not too much for me to throw this woman off of me, it was not too much for this woman to sort me out, and beat me into oblivion.
It suddenly became very clear to me how Elgie lost to this woman. It didn't really matter that I was in jeans and she was in a skirt. Animals don’t think like that. When animals have a job to do, they go to work. And Alison was going to work on me. She was a full woman, using every ounce of her herself to destroy every ounce of me. She knows how to use her strength and her weight. She knows how to beat the hell out of another woman.
But I am a woman too. I cannot stand with my back against a wall and let another woman own me like this. The wall was a solid object behind me. Just as it gives her leverage to pound me and plow into me, it gives me leverage to move her body. Given such a situation, I will turn a bitch around and beat the fuck out of her. And that is exactly what I did. And I wanted to make her throw up. I wanted to beat everything out of her that I could beat out of her.
I don’t usually talk during fights, but my feelings were so strong, they manifested themselves in words. The rage spoke to her as I drove my fist into her 43-year-old abdomen. You [blow]… fucking [blow]… bitch [blow]! Her food came out of her. By now, the entire scene was probably more disturbing than most people reading this text would like to imagine. Most of my fights are. And I stopped and stood right in front of her, so close that my body was touching hers. I told her again, “I am going to beat the shit, fuck, and hell out of you.”
And that little pause was all she needed. Her animal instinct kicked in for her just as mine had done for me. And she lunged off of that wall, pushing me back fast. It is arguable that the best thing I could have done in this situation is fall down. But my instinct causes me to try to always stay on my feet while I am not in control. So I stayed on my feet while she was moving me back, all the way across the room. Then I was brought to an abrupt stop as my back hit the wall. I guess one could imagine the girlish sound that came out of me when I hit that wall. And it happened again when her body crashed into mine.
The wall was starting to seem like more and more of a dangerous place to be. I had tried to raise my arms to fight before. I got punished for it. And I had tried hitting her in the face before. I got punished for it. So I didn't bother raising my arms. Instead I wrapped one of them around her leg. That was hard to do because she was in that long tight skirt. It got harder because she started punching me in my side, hitting my ribs. I put my other arm around her upper body and got the leverage I needed. I lifted her body and threw her down.
She yelled as I held her in the air, and as she hit the ground she made the same girlish sound I made hitting the wall. There was a look of terror and almost sadness in her eyes as she saw me over her and watched me come crashing down on top of her. Both of my knees went into her chest with all of my weight. I got up and came down on her again, crashing hard into her waist and the lower part of her abdomen. It seemed like she was incapacitated for a while but I knew better than to give her a second to breathe.
I wanted to take away this bitch’s ability to fight. So I got on her and stretched her right arm. That’s her best arm. She made a weak sound. I know she was yelling out on the inside but she could only make a weak sound after what I had done to her. I turned her over and did the same thing to her other arm. When I turned to stretch her legs, I realized the skirt made that hard.
I wasn’t enraged anymore. I wasn’t scared either. I was back to pure, raw Stripfighter. Now that I had Alison under control, I could to all of the things I use to define myself in a fight. So I grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled, letting all the buttons snap loose as I snatched her shirt off of her. Then I turned, sitting on her back and looking at her ass and legs in that skirt. I thought about how sweet a Boston crab would be. Then I thought about how much sweeter it would be if she were naked. And I snatched that skirt off of her.
Then I took her arms and stood her up. She was pretty much out of the fight and I probably should have walked away. So maybe there was till a bit of rage left in me, but I think I was driven by other things. I wanted to turn this into a stripfight. So I put her back against the wall and snatched her bra off of her. Then I pulled her panties down to her ankles and made her fall down as I snatched them off of her.
Now that she was both naked and beaten, I finally felt like I had won. And I was able to think more clearly. I realized I had a t-shirt on at the start of the fight but by that point it was on the floor. It must have been snatched off of me while she was swinging me around the room. But I was still in my jeans, and still in my bra and panties. Alison was naked.
I picked her up and put her naked back against the wall. She just looked at me, as if to say “just get me over with.”
And I was happy to do that. In fact, I was thinking about a concept I was working on. Everybody knows by now that Black women are superior women. So I felt like there should be a special form of surrender when a Black woman is fighting another Black woman. I call this a Sisterfight since it is a fight between two Sisters. Anyway, so I was not going to let this bitch go until I had made her clap. And I was going to make her clap in every way.
I reached out and took Alison’s breast into my hand. Then her arm came up and she drove her fist hard into my sternum. I suppose I made another girlish sound as all of my wind came out of me and I turned around stunned. Then she jumped on me, trying to take me down. I managed to stay on my feet while she punched me in my back. As I turned around, she was punching me in my ribs and kidney area. I started fighting back but I fell down. She grabbed my pants legs and started pulling at them as I pulled away. I knew it would be over if she managed to get them half way off of me, and dangerous to fight for the pants. So I kept pulling away and my jeans were taken off of me.
Alison came at me, kicking my legs and ass as I crawled and rolled away from her. Then I got to my feet and stood in front of her. I was standing in my bra and panties and she was standing naked. And she said “you’re a crazy young woman.”
I was rather upset. Not because of what she said. I couldn’t argue with that. But because the fight wasn’t over. Alison was standing in front of me as if the fight had just begun and she had not been beaten at all. I snatched my own bra off of myself, and took my own panties off. Then I threw them on the floor and stood in front of her. She turned away from me and started picking up her clothes.
I took her arm and snatched her clothes out of her hand. Then I jumped on her. We both fell down and I wrestled with her. We both rolled over several times as she tried to get on top of me. When people try to roll on top of me, I just keep them rolling until I am on top again. I think both of us were ready for the fight to be over. At this point, we weren’t really hitting each other.
I came out on top of Alison. She was laid on her back naked, and I was sitting on her pussy, towering over her. Her arms were pinned beneath my knees. I think the whole fight had been too much for her. I guess she felt like she was with a crazy woman and the only way this fight could end is with her incapacitated. Maybe she had accepted that and was waiting for it to happen. She started to cry.
I started feeling bad about the whole matter. So I told her, this fight can be over if she does a few things for me. She agreed to do those things. So I helped her to her feet. I told her she was going to clap as a means of formally surrendering to me. She agreed.
I took her breasts and slapped them together the best I could. They didn't make the clapping sound I had hoped for. And I made her say “I surrender to you.”
Then I told her she has to turn around and clap her ass. All real Black women can do this. They just don’t like to do it under the kind of circumstances we had. But I made her turn around and she did it. And as she did it, she said “I surrender to you.”
She was not very enthusiastic as she spoke. Then I made her face me again. And I made her raise her arms above her head and clap her hands, as if to applaud me being the better woman. And finally, she said “I surrender to you.”
Then I let her go. We both put our bras and panties on and walked away in separate directions.
So we were at dinner and Elgie just didn't talk much. She tried to be social, but I knew she wasn’t okay. And I started feeling very bad about everything that happened. The fight for me was like an orgasm. Men seem to understand there is the feeling where they have this substance building in them, and it has to be released. Then after they release their substance into a woman, suddenly their brain works again. For a female fighter like me, the fight was analogous to sex. And after deeply fucking Alison through that beating, I finally finished her and made her surrender. I made her clap. And that was the orgasm. And now I was able to think.
Not only was my behavior very bad, but I had created a hostile environment for Alison. She had come to live with us because she was not secure in her own home. And I had made her feel insecure in our home. And she didn't really have anywhere else to go. I was determined to make things good for her again, and I needed this to work out.
So I waited until she left the table. And she went toward a bathroom. I shoved her into the bathroom and closed the door. Alison immediately raised her arms above her head and clapped her hands, saying “I surrender to you.”
I realized I had just made things worse. By this point, I was almost frantic. I was in tears myself. So I told her I didn't come to fight. And I told her how sorry I was for all of the things that happened. I told her I now realize it was all wrong, and I think it was a harsh over-reaction to what happened to Elgie. And I told her I need things to be good between us again, and I need her to feel good in our home. I don’t know if all of that made sense to her or if she just wanted to get me out of the bathroom and make herself feel more secure again. But she told me she understands. She has a way of analyzing people. I think she did understand.
At this point, things seem to be fine between me and Alison. I think she’s one of those types of people who are used to getting over things. Elgie has also returned to our home for a few visits. That’s all.
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