CHAPTER #4: Girl verses Girl!


She was standing on a high chalk cliff face over looking the Atlantic Ocean, which, one hundred million years ago, had been a ever widening valley, yet to be inundated in the peaceful interior heart of the super-continent of Gondwana Land. The souls of the ghosts of the Amazon Queens that led their nomadic warrior tribes back and forth across that pre historic world on long forgotten Quests now cried upwards through cold salty depths for their inheritors to hear their battle chants, incantations, and magical words of power.... And evoke by racial memory their Inheritance of Charm and Sword!

She was in modern clothes, her flower print dress rolled down to her waist, exposing fulsome firm black lace bra restrained breasts to the goose bump raising gusts of cold, sea gusts. Her long brown hair fell back of her shoulders in Jamaican braids. She was looking over her shoulder as if to see if her lover had paused in his undressing to stop and watch her unfolding nakedness. Tall, maybe 25 years of age, she looked to me so good that,... If you could go back and erase every mistake I had ever made with my life, and add to that every happiness I had ever hoped of having, and then made THAT emotion into a figure of flesh and bone.... Then it would be embodied in That girl!

She was, I realized mid daydream, the girl who I had just seen leaving a table full of rich Japanese business Tycoons for the backstage area of the Kat Fight Klub. But the girl in my fantasy was scrubbed clean of all the Gangster Moll paint and hard laughter. She was the way she would look as if I were her Lover.... in my dreams.... Where, damn it, had I encountered her before?
Suddenly I was returned to my Body. Why. I looked up. A clammy feeling fell across my flesh like cold oil. Who,... Where? I looked back,... Then groaned, every gate of emotion in my psyche shut down. That's what I felt arrive!

Your Grandparents will tell you they remember where they were when they heard that World War II was over. Your Parents will tell you they remember where they were when they heard that President JFK was shot dead. And your kids will never forget where they were when they heard that Canada had fallen apart and they had 6 new States and State Capitols to memorize. Me, now I realize I'll remember to my dying breath, sitting here in the posh Kat Fight Klub, sipping a Singha brew in the World infamous Coliseum-2000 Resort-Hotel in Sol City, Baja California, when dapper Death Itself nodded to the Maitre Dei to show him to the table always held open for him, in case he should come to town! The table was up front, Ringside, where women met in Mortal Combat for the diversion of Upstanding Citizens who were taking a little Holiday from the Family Values up North. Death was Frank, my Agent Handler, the Computer Whiz, the Turn-Coat Maker.

As soon as I saw him sashay into the room, I knew it was the End of The World. I had wondered why I was given a task so simple as smuggling a C.I.A. Developed combat-lust inducing drug to some Pimp to try out on one of the Fighting Girls in his Stable. Now I knew, deep in my heart, they wanted a Cut Out. Someone expendable. They would hang back and watch me to see if someone grabbed me to steal what they would think was MY Secret fight-advantage giving Potion. When I get grabbed, they would ice me and grab the kidnappers! What a way to intercept the Competition. If they had simply mailed the Pimp the syringe U.P.S., no one would SEE him get a "package" just before one of his girls inexplicably wins a fight where she ought to have been out-matched! 2+2 would give the Enemy ME,... And I would be the bait on the hook to catch the Big Fish of the Opposition.....

I could feel myself turning grey green as Frank tuned his cuff-links, pretending to carelessly look around the Room before taking his seat. He saw me all right. A momentary pursing of his lips, as if a kiss let me know I was one pinned down butterfly. I thought bitterly of poor blond mop headed baby faced Drew, who I'd just seen eat the green weenie in a brutal boxing rout. I identified with her, to my regret. WE were both put in the Ring in order to loose, in order to set up the real fight that was meant to happen... Right now I wished I could find that girl on whatever concrete holding cell bench she was waiting on, waiting to be sent to the punishment that was to be her thanks. I would through my coat over her naked shoulders, and steal her from the Bastards in Power. I would run with her South, somewhere we could hide forever..... Drink. Smoke. Laugh. Forget....

"Look sharp, my Man." It was the guy I only knew as The Pimp, electric blue foil leisure suit and shaved black head flashing in the neon lighting like He was Neon. But his hand was on my shoulder, the smallish face centered in his bullet plug of a head full of genuine concern. That He should be concerned about Me, really concerned me! "My I join the Party?" He slid in beside me as I nodded.

"Do you see the guy I'm not looking at?" I asked, signalling for a waitress. He nodded, patting all his empty pockets. I passed him one of my Turkish Blends of Afghanistan hash and American Tobacco. "Have you ever...." He nodded and hushed me as he leaned forward so I wouldn't have to stretch out my arms to light his smoke.

"Man, I would have never dosed Salma with that stuff had I know'd it come to us through Him." We pretended to letch the waitress as she leaned over to polish out table, letting us know how good a care she was taking of us. I tipped her way more than she dared hope and shrugged my shoulders at the Pimp as if to ask Why. He admired the smoke ring he made and started to talk without moving his lips much, real low, so his words died out about a yard from his face. "Let me tell you a little Story about that Dude. First of all, a friend of a friend of mine served with him in the Suppression of the Idaho-Oregon Uprising. The Cat's a fugging walking upside down Pentegram! Slick as shit through a goose, he pretends all he is is the Brain of a Tax Accountant trapped in the Body of a Soap Opera Hunk, but being able to print his own money mean Nothing to Him. Being a cold blooded stone killer is his idea of recreation. He's an all around Renaissance Man of the World."

"He's my Nurse Maid." I hissed. "Speak nice or keep your Peace."

"Yo a dead man." he continued, just as amused by being in mortal danger as I was. "You set up my Woman for a Fall?" I shook my head inperceptably. "Didn't think so. The other Bitch gonna get a nasty surprise, right."

"I think that's the plan."

"They don't need video of their shit in action do they? No, this is all about seeing who gets all upset with US! ". I nodded, deflating like a tired balloon. "Damn!"

"You said 'first', what comes 'second'?".

"Second," he smiled so everybody could see how at ease and casual he was feeling, "comes a Story that Salma told me about when she had travelled as an Official, on the Payroll of Uncle Sugar, Germ Free Army Whore with the Battalion sent down into Brazil to protect the loggers from international environmentalists and pygmies with blowguns who didn't like the Amazon rainforest converted into Sunbelt Condominiums...."

It had rained for ten days straight, reminding all the Commanders of Vietnam, with mid-calf mud everywhere, bugs the size of cats, and beer served at 80 degrees tasting cold cause it was what they called double 100,... 100 degrees of temperature, 100 percent humidity. While she humped generals and such in a quonset hut with plumbing, all the rank and file grunts had to trudge 3 klicks up a truck route to a double row of fifty year old, falling down, miner's and logger's storefronts and such, all held together by decades of multi-lingual pop-star and cola posters and hand bills. This ville had no name, no police, no plumbing, no pavement. You could buy supplies at scalper's prices, get yo truck half-fixed and drink bath-tub beer and god knows what jungle home brew till you went blind.

Bored and ready to raise hell Salma had sloshed into town only to see every grunt and out of work half-breed in twenty miles around making for a muddy soccer field. It seems Frank was Chief of Security, and had given up trying to settle a feud between the local born whores, (who worked along the truck road, squatting by little campfires, waving their tits at the drivers), and the better looking hookers that Pimps in Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo had flown in to work off debts in their brothels. Frank's idea was to let them arm themselves with kitchen knives, table legs, broken bottles, rocks they picked up, whatever.... and battle it out until one side or the other eliminated the Competition. He parked a troop transport at the edge of the field and had set up a video camera on the roof. He actually fired his pistol into the air to start it off!

All in all maybe sixty soaking wet women fought, staggering about in that muddy field, cursing in Spanish and a dozen dialects, oblivious to the cheering soldiers and loggers and the horror of their pimps who were helpless to stop this decimation of their income property. But almost instantly the slashing and stabbing between the lighter skinned city girls and darker skinned home-girls branched out into bitter in-fighting where old grudges were settled and the more plain girls ganged up on girls they felt given an unfair advantage in looks. Within two minutes, Salma said, it was a general malay, several bodies already being trampled into the brown goosh by furiously fighting girls. Woman everywhere staggered, stripped to the waist, barefoot, wildeyed, blood streaming from their heads down over swinging arms and flapping breasts.

The Town Beauty was held naked and spread-eagled by her arms and legs by four jealous girls of Inca stock, while she twisted, protesting their betrayal. Since they had their hands full just holding her, they just stood there waiting for a friend of theirs to finish off the pale hooker she was fighting with, to come over with her concrete filled pipe to dash out their writhing hell-cats brains. Another mud and blood covered girl actually pulled a woman who was strangling her childhood enemy off of her, so she could throw herself onto the gasping prostitute and wrap her own fingers around the slender throat she felt was hers to throttle! Even the prostitutes daughters, dancing around the field in their tattered rags, soon became so carried away that they rushed in to fight along side their mothers against the daughters of the women their mothers were fighting. And in the midst of this Amazonian Combat a torrential downpour erupted from the sky, so that one could barely see a few yards in front of their face!

This sky launched flood had the effect of splashing the combatants in every direction. Howling women chased screaming women out from the soccer field, where they burst through the encircling ring of spectators, and raced off into the jungle or into the village. Ropes were sought for lenchings. Shotguns were fetched from hotel rooms. Fights were broken off only to be renewed when the combatants met again later in different surroundings. Salma saw two women who had caught up to one another in an open storm drain, wrestling chest deep in the rapids muddy water flowing around them, shout and curses carried away on the wind. Two girls had driven another up a tree like dogs pursuing a cat. She said they were crawling up after her to do battle in the limbs! Yet another girl was seen staggering home to sleep off her drunk, swinging an enemies head by the hair like a handbag.

The dispute was not resolved the way Frank had envisioned, but he had boasted the peace was restored by bringing the number of prostitutes down below the number needed to service all the loggers and soldiers. It seemed the girls remaining were too busy to fight.

"That's really sick" I admonished Mr. Neon, as I now called him. Mr. Neon shrugged his shoulders.

"I notice one thing though", he said drawing on the straw in his tall tropical fruit rum concoction, "I always notice people who get upset by seing or hearing certain things always seem to go miles out of their way so they can see or hear about those same certain things so they can get good and upset."

"I guess they feel it's a calling or their duty." I said making small talk. "What ARE we going to do?" Frank was making certain everyone in the room could see the wrist computer he wore, holding up his arm as he checked to see if he had any e-mail.

"We're going to sit here, watch the fight, and act as normal as we can, guy. And watch each other's back on the sly."

"Oh. No..." I breathed. She was back in the room. She was pausing by the table of Japanese Businessmen, smiling thank you, touching arms, looking drop-dead gorgeous in her black lace gown with it's spectacular cantilevered black lace bodice thrusting honey-dew melon sized bosoms together and up and out in a breath-taking display of marshmallow cleavage. She switched her back length brunette tresses, all eyes in the room on her. Mr. Neon looked at me and smiled as if to say: Forget it! "Who IS She?" I whispered.

"That" the Pimp said, "Is Jennifer Three."

"Jennifer Three?" I asked, for the first time putting together a face and figure with the story Frank had told me about the first experimental use of the Fight Drug.

"Yup, the stuff you passes me for Salma is the Battle-Field Standard issue offshoot of the stuff they gave her and the girl she fought. More stable. Different. Now she's called Jennifer Three as in Jennifer VERSION THREE, just like computer software. Jennifer One was Jennifer before being bio-chemically altered that first time. Jennifer Two was the fighting girl permanently, ( as they found out with that first formula), altered somewhat by that drug. Now here we have Jennifer Three, equipped with implanted, radio signaled pumps that send measured amounts of the fight drug into her blood-stream when her Masters want her in Combat Mode. I was only half listening as Jennifer Three left the table she had been visiting to walk over to join Frank at his.

"Son of a Bitch!" I whispered. "And I thought you were a simple ordinary Pimp with a Stable" He laughed, mouthing the words: "Hell no!" But I was stricken by what I saw dangling like a charm from a thin gold chain looped around her waist. It was gold cursive letters spelling out: JENNIFER IV !


CHAPTER #5 : Hawaiian Fighting Goddesses


A crash of loudspeaker amplified cymbals plunged the Kat Fight Klub into jet blackness and a pulse accelerating drumroll.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Dapper Jack Gotta and Tong Associates are privileged to welcome you to the World Famous Kat Fight Club, and wish this afternoon's Brunch Show will be the highlight of your stay at the equally World Famous Coliseum 2000 Luxury Resort and Entertainment Empire here in sunny Sol City, Baja California !"

Cheers filled the darkness as a brilliant ceiling spot dropped onto the Stage where suddenly tiki torches erupted into orange flames, carried around the perimeter of the fight area by local mexican girls and youths, all naked to the waist, oiled to shining, and wearing flower print skirts and leis around their necks. I guess we were to understand they were Hawaiian youths, preparing to make a sacrifice to Pele, the Goddess of the Volcano or something.... I could see my much hated, ( because he was much hateful), and equally oily control agent, Blank Frank sit ringside at a well waited table, being served champaign, scampi and Cuban Cigars all the time ostentatiously ignoring the noisy floor show that was taking place practically in his lap. The achingly All-American Girl, ( and busty Body Idol), Jennifer sat admiring his every tacky move, as if he were a Game Show Host and she were some Mobile Home Park Mom with a "lady's only" beer-bar bouncer build. I noted with some satisfaction that she too noticed his head flinch, and eyes dart sideways, when a wrap around skirt opened over a bouncing thigh and he could get a split second snap shot of one of the boy's, what he would call: "thing-a-ma-jigs".

"And just for todays performance, we have a VERY special guest to preform a medley of his Greatest Hits, Ladies and Gentlemen, give a great big welcome from the heart to THE HAWAIIAN ORPHEUS, MISTER DON HO!"

A follow spot picked up a pudgy little white haired guy of about 90 walking down the center aisle to the stage, his cummerbund barely restraining his barrel belly, his piggy little eyes almost lost in a storm of deep wrinkles in raw-hide like suntan. He threw back his head and, in a surprisingly smooth tenor voice sang: " Tiny Bubbles, from the Sea...." As an unseen and unsuspected violin section kicked in I noticed Frank was smirking through the darkness in my direction. The guy I now called Mister Neon shifted in his blue foil leisure suit and, knowing he couldn't be heard, even by a rifle mike whispered: "Why does that guy hate you so?"

"I had the audacity to give people a communication encoding program that could protect their communications from his Masters. And then I gave it away FREE. I think he sees me as some kind of Anti-Matter in his Universe. Then I got busted for distributing my Program as Freeware over the InterNet, because the Supreme Court ruled all Encryption Schemes The National Security Agency couldn't crack to be a National Security Matter 'by Nature',... whatever THAT means. He must have Swallowed Big Time to get to be the one to hold my Leash."

Suddenly a black-out in which something massive could be heard being dragged onto the stage.... And with a deafening ROAR pyrotechnic flames rushed up from the jagged peak of a thirty foot high stage-set volcano with smoke billowing side vents and back lit "lightning" flashed accompanied by thunder provided by the lounge Combo's leering pompadour sporting lesbian drummer. Yma Sumac's yowling chestnut "Sacrifice of the Fire Maidens" romped atop all this noise as a truly heart-stooping figure of a feather festooned naked super woman made a stately ascent up the side of the peak, arms outstretched with swords draped in feather covered lame'. At the summit, a spot picked her out.... Salma H., (Neon's main squeeze and lead fighting girl in his Stable),... Her massive proud breasts thrust wonderfully out, ripe as young melons. Her Cleopatra painted eyes swept the room left and right, as if daring some woman to challenge her right to be Queen Bitch of the Mountain! A convenient ten foot "ledge" sat half way up the side of the noisy paper-mache lump for Salma, Chief Priestess of Pele, the Volcano Goddess, to meet her Rival for a Deathfight! I couldn't help but wonder if the serious business of Death ever got so silly in the Arena's of Rome.

A cheer went up from the back of the Kat Fight Klub as a spot picked up the advancing stride of an AMAZON that must have stood 6 foot 3 tall, ( to Salma's more mortal 5 foot seven),.... Wearing only black leather panties and a half dozen leis some Stage Hand must have thrown over her head as she passed, she sneered with a high cheek-boned aquiline countenance that had indeed gotten very adept at sneering down at folks. With incredibly long Show-Girl's legs and 44-D Cup bosoms only a rib-cage like hers could carry as if they were the taut tits of a sixteen year old, she marched up the stage steps and up the side of the "volcano" without breaking stride. Mr. Neon muttered : "It's Six-Foot Julie ..... Your shit better work" He smiled sickly as if he had half suspected this would be the woman his girl would have to fight a fight to the death with. I liked Salma. She had the easy acceptance of things the way they were without bitterness that I both envied and wished dearly I could emulate. I was worried for the second time that night about someone other than my own sorry self. I was just glad it wasn't that poor little butt-kicked blond Drew who was trying to defend that mountain from all comers!

Salma flicked her fingers outwards, sending the swords and feathers out into the suddenly still audience. Like the woman advancing from below, she pulled off her leis and cast them away. Julie unsnapped her panties, and threw them to the crowd so now both magnificent female beasts closed the remaining distance between them entirely naked. Naked as girl gladiators slashing and stabbing with swords in the blood caked dust of the Roman Coliseum! Naked as two bitch tyrannosaurs fastening their jaws into each others necks in the heat of some prehistoric desert ravine! Naked, arms outstretched like wrestlers, claws extended like knives, teeth bared, fury burning like furnaces in their eyes,... Naked they burst together when they were but a body's length apart, screaming at the top of their lungs!

Salma leapt into the air, flying downward at Julie's huge bosom with her knees and the full flying weight of her body. Roaring, Julie swung a back hand slap around, catching Salma on the hip, literally swatting her aside!

Salma rolled down hill, twisted, leaping to her feet in a spit-second...but that was enough time for the big bitch to do a 180, and make a field goal drop-kick, with Salma's beautiful head as the football. Salma pitched out from the force of the blow, sprawled head down hill, legs apart, wet lush vulva open and exposed. Julie couldn't refuse this target, stamping down with all her might to shatter the pubic-bone to slivers. But Salma bucked her hips up, Julie's foot driving deep into the paper mache slope, then sprung from her shoulders to her feet, driving the palms of her left hand up under Julie's jutting jaw, snapping the raven haired Amazon's head up so she could slam her right fist like a hammer into the center of Julie's throat, as if trying to hammer an Adam's apple back through the spine!

Choking on a curse, Julie slammed her fists together on both of Salma's temples, concussing the Mexican girl's brains, then butted her broad head downward into the center of Salma's face, trying to drive the nose cartilage up into Salma's brain, killing her. The angle was wrong. Salma's face exploded into frightening crimson blood, blood squirting from both nostrils of her broken nose. But Salma staggered back down hill, almost to the bottom, shaking her mane wildly, trying to clear her vision. Holding her own throat with her left hand, Julie loped down hill and twisting sideways, drove a bare left foot deep into Salma's wet belly. Salma folded over her tormentor's leg, and weakly tried to pull upward, in order to pitch Julie onto her back, but Julie just brought both hands together over her head and brought them down on Salma's right shoulder, hoping to snap the collar-bone!

I shot a glance at Frank who was doing very well at looking bored. Jennifer's child-woman face was inscrutable as she observed the violence, the freckles on her nose and cheeks exposed by the bright spotlights. A chill went through me as she turned her head and seemed to look directly at me, although Neon and I were sitting in a booth, entirely in darkness. Her pupils seemed to fill her irises and a Mona Lisa half-smile played about her lips, setting my heart hammering in my chest. Could she see me? What was she thinking? I was jerked rudely back to reality when Neon grabbed my arm in a vise like grip, his furious bald head inches from my face.

"What's going on Man? My Woman's getting killed up there!" I could just shake my head in denial. What WAS going on. Was Salma supposed to die,... Convincing the Opposition the Fight Drug was a failure? Was this all an exercise in Disinformation?

Back up the Mountain, Salma had literally fled between the murderess's shapely gams, and crawled at a run on her belly onto the flat area half-way up the volcano. There she weaved upward, tottering on her feet as methodically as a tank, Julie plodded back up the hill to her, smirking, blood, Salma's blood, drooling from the knuckles of her fists.

You could see the recognition of immanent Death arise in Salma's great sad eyes as she made a heroic effort to raise her fists up in front of her in a defensive stance. But it was too much for her. Her forearms were shaking like an old woman's. But suddenly, as if this realization of immanent death was a bio-chemical trigger to secrets locked deep in the cells of her body, a visible shudder passed through her lovely frame, color flooding olive flesh that had gone gray green from blood loss. She seemed astounded by her own recovery, but just for a moment. She realized the drug she had taken was fine tuned to require the body's immanent collapse to trigger it's reaction! Even Julie frowned when she looked up to see The New Salma grinning wolfishly down at her!

This time when Salma leapt up.... It was a feint! She dropped to her ass, lashing up with both feet under Julie's swat, driving her heels deep into the Amazon's liver. Julie bellowed in rage and threw herself down on top of Salma and the two furiously thrashing women rolled over and over to the bottom of the hill. Being bigger by near 20 percent, Julie landed on top, forcing Salma's wrists down on either side of the Mexican girl's head. Then she wiggled her hips down over Salma's belly and over her thrusting pubic bush onto her thighs, all the time lowering her torso onto Salma's. Finally her 44 Inch D-Cup honey-dew melons covered and smashed Salma's 40 Inch D-Cup cantaloupes. The two women struggles mightily, wet buxom torsos wiping a slime of blood, saliva and sweat back and forth. But Julie remained in control.

A smile of pure malice on her face, Julie bared her teeth, and sank her ruthless bite deep into the soft flesh of the throat just below Salma's left ear! The Amazon's powerful jaws worked, dentally sharpened teeth slicing through tender flesh, closing in on the pulse of Salma's jugular vein! Salma's eyes bugged out in rage and fear and agony as she felt Julie's teeth close on the throbbing river of her life's blood. With a desperate heave, she rolled Julie off, and scrambled on top. To Julie's incredulous reaction, she mustered the strength to force Julie's wrist down on either side of her head! Julie bellowed like a gored bull, and bucked. Salma stayed on. Her big bosoms bouncing. Ride 'em Cowgirl!

Suddenly Salma scrambled off, sprinting to the flame belching peak of the volcano. Shaking Her head, Julie lumbered to her feet, and then pumping her arms, sprinted up after her. Both woman fought with their fists on the rim of the volcano. Unforgiving fists punched into pillow like bosoms and soft flat abdomens, Heads snapped back and forth from the force of the blows coming in from the left and the right and again from the left and the right! Blood pours from Julie's mouth, her face a MASK OF HATE, as she wrapped her strong fingers around Salma's throat and began shaking the smaller girl like a terrier shaking a goose it has by the neck! Salma grasped Julie's wrists and by sheer brute force, dragged the hands from her neck, Julie's claws leaving deep bloody furrows from the back of her neck by the spine, down the nape and over the tops of her plump breasts. Still holding those dangerous hands out from her, she dropped to her ass, pitching the Amazon over her head.

Then both women, on their knees, faced each other and wrapped their arms around each other's heads and necks.... What followed was a violent series of wrenches as each woman in turn tried again and again tosnap the other woman's spine! They literally leapt into the air from their knees each time one twisted the other's head, and the other tried to stop the rotation mid-twist. Again and again the two naked sweat and blood covered women wrenched and rocked back and forth. Suddenly a loud crack like the breaking if a two inch thick sapling echoed in the now silent darkness surrounding the flood lit peak.

Salma just let go.... And Six-Foot Julie's body rolled like a log down the slope to the floor, limbs slapping like broken branches as she rolled. Salma struggled to her feet, and raised her arms over her head in the timeless celebration of the Victor!

It was over.

Neon was chanting "Oh, Man!" over and over. Frank was grinning at me as the room lights raised. Jennifer was gone, her chair empty. I had to piss, to get my head together. To just THINK.

So I made my way to the Men's Room and made a Random Choice from the battery of empty stalls running the length of one wall. Staring down at my reflection in the yellow water in the toilet bowl my anus tightened to an *. Someone was standing outside my stall! I shuddered in the headache inducing fluorescent lighting in the bathroom. Holding my breath, I turned around and opened the stall door....

A five foot four, buxom Japanese girl in a thigh length black dress with a scoop neck line stood there with a handkerchief in her right hand. Her jet black ass length hair was tied back in a pony-tail, and her heavy chest melons were white as creme, and smelled softly of jasmine.
"Hello, Sir, my name is Madoka," she said, "Would you like me to clean your Penis?"

I just had time to blink and say: "Pardon me?" When she slapped the cloth over my nose and mouth, I tasted candy, and all was darkness.............

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ May 07, 2007 10:20 PM: Message edited by: Ted Mark ]</font>