One of my cyberfight buddies and I just recently started a scenario that is new to us both: a catfight between two female pro wrestlers. I have heard other guys, visitors to this blog, say that they have no interest at all in watching the ladies fight, but I could not disagree more.
This fantasy fight my friend and I just started working on has the potential, in my opinion, if not his, of becoming one of the hottest things we've written together. He suggested it, though, and initiated the story, so I figure he must like the idea too, for whatever reasons of his own.
Already we have, vicariously through black-haired "Bubbles" and bleach-blonde "Candi," both recent squeezes of a hunky male junior light heavyweight, who's sitting at ringside with yet another squeeze, explored the wonderful world of hair pulling, even more, wrapping hair over the top rope to hold the bitch in place, raking one's nails over the opponent's eyes, tit-twisting, and driving one's go-go boot to the opponent's cameltoe.
I have felt the strange allure of the catfight for as long as I've been turned on to wrestling--yet I have no interest in penetrating any woman anywhere or in fighting a woman (or even in watching a woman fight a man). Still, even now as I write this, there's a certain frisson at just the thought of a big-boned girl bodyslamming another girl.
What is the appeal, then? Like most of the things I write about in this blog, I have no earthly idea. But I think a part of it is the softness of the women's bodies, a part of it is the uninhibited viciousness of the attacks, with not even a nod toward gentlemanly fair play, and a part of it is the odd sensation I get when a lady fighter gets kicked in the crotch ... at which point I have a simultaneous response of "OUCH!" and "Hey, wait a minute, there's nothing there!" (Well, of course, there IS something there, but I'm reacting to the strangeness of not being able to imagine what a kick between the thighs would feel like if there were no nads in the way.)
It's axiomatic that chicks fight dirty. There's no pressure on them to come off as noble, straight-edge, or scientific in a brawl. Bitches go right for the jugular--and they scream like alleycats for the duration.
Some time back, not too long ago, somebody in some chat room suggested, I forget who and where, a "male catfight," and all at once my heart fluttered. I can barely conceive of such a thing, but it sounds so right to me--men screaming, clawing, scratching, dragging each other over the canvas by the hair, pinching and twisting each other's nipples.
Sign me up, bros.