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Old 12-Mar-24, 09:44
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Samantha and Friends

Below is a new story involving a character of mine who appeared in the stories (by “BOS”) linked here.
I’m calling this new one Chapter 4, but you really don’t have to read all the others. One more note: I didn’t like my ending in the first link below, so I rewrote it. The fixed version appears farther down in that thread.

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CHAPTER 4: THE SECRET

Samantha had not wanted her girlfriends in New York to know about her other life, the one she had engaged in in Las Vegas. In New York she was a successful public relations person with her own firm. And she was an even more successful sexual adventurer, a woman of extraordinarily frequent conquests. That was enough of a life in New York.

True, there were a couple of connections between her two lives. For example, one of her Las Vegas acquaintances was headquartered in Manhattan. She couldn’t resist engaging with him at his penthouse. But her friends didn’t know.

Then at a certain nightspot, she spotted Charlotte, a close friend, across a room. She saw that the little brunette was being harassed by a pot-bellied guy. Now, Charlotte was a dainty and elegant art gallery employee from the Upper East Side. She might as well have been the woman for whom the word “cute” was coined. And she was a bit naïve. Samantha felt protective of her. So, when Charlotte went to the ladies room – partly, it seemed, to get away from the harasser – Samantha saw an opportunity to get her friend out of this troublesome situation. She thought she could do it quickly enough and discreetly enough that Charlotte wouldn’t know. But she had to act immediately.

She beckoned the guy to follow her, knowing that he would, hoping for sex. Samantha thought the guy would find her sexier than Charlotte. She was a blonde. She was, as usual, dressed hotter than Charlotte, showing curves and skin just about wherever a guy looked. And she just had a certain quality that hooked guys. This horndog would follow her anywhere. She led him out a back door.

Charlotte, when she re-entered the main room, was determined to confront the guy and tell him off. But she didn’t see him at first, then thought maybe she saw him across the very large room, leaving the place behind a woman who kind of looked like Samantha. So Charlotte decided to check things out.

When she opened the back door, she heard something that seemed to come from behind a bin. She walked beyond the bin and saw a commotion there. Samantha was, indeed, there, as was the guy. At first Charlotte wasn’t sure at first what was going on. Then she realized they were fighting. Fighting? Then the man was down. Was Samantha winning the fight? Now the man was getting up. Charlotte expected Samantha to look for a weapon or call for help or run or something. But no. Samantha seemed to actually wait for him to stand.

Then Charlotte assumed Samantha would put up her hands in a “stop” motion and say something to calm the man down. But no. Samantha stepped into him, blocked a big punch he was throwing at her, then threw her own punch into his fat belly. He bent over in pain.

Again, Charlotte thought Samantha might look for a way out of the fight. But no. Samantha waited for the man to look up, then kicked him in the face with a long, sweeping motion that exposed much more leg and undergarment than Charlotte really thought a lady should ever show, even in a fight, at least if she was already winning.

The man fell back to the ground. Charlotte thought Samantha might leave him there. No. Instead, she bent over him, lifted him by his lapels to his feet and twirled him smack into the side of a big garbage bin, back first. Then she stood in front of him and waited for his next punch. He slugged her hard, or rather tried to. She blocked the punch with one arm and slapped his face with her other hand, then again with a backhand slap, then again with a forehand.

He was obviously dazed. She turned her back to him and slammed her butt into his gut hard three times as Charlotte’s chin dropped to the level of her midriff. The man slumped to the ground. Samantha said, “Get up,” and when he did, slowly, she put a hand behind his head and thrust him headfirst into the side of a bin.

He collapsed again. Charlotte approach and dropped a naked knee into his gut. He bellowed a grunt and folded into a fetal position.
Samantha wouldn’t let him rest. She pulled him to his feet, pushed up against a bid with a low wall, put both of her hands into his crotch and lifted him a little off his feet, then pushed him over the wall of the bin. She looked over the wall and apparently decided he was done for.

Samantha brushed her hands together in what looked like a symbol of congratulations to herself, but was also a matter of brushing dirt off her hands. Then she turned her attention to her clothes, straightening them and brushing them.

Only then did she see that she was not alone outside the nightspot. There was Charlotte. Staring. Stunned. Transfixed. Speechless; and, though Samantha didn’t know it and Charlotte was shocked by it, aroused.

Samantha smiled thinly. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said. Charlotte was still motionless and soundless. “But, I mean, he was kind of a pig, right?”

Charlotte nodded minimally.

Samantha decided she would have to take over. She put an arm over Charlotte’s shoulder and guided her gently back into the building, got her seated and ordered her favorite drink and one for herself.

When they got settled. Charlotte eeked out some partial questions like “Wha? How….? When did….?” She never finished a phrase, much less a sentence.
Samantha realized there was no way she could minimize or explain away what Charlotte had just seen. It would stay with Charlotte forever. So Samantha, after a long silence, said, “OK.” She took a breath. “Here’s the thing.” She paused. “Here’s the thing. I, uh…..”

And then in all poured out. All of it. Samantha realized she had been dying to tell somebody in her life about her life. She told all. She told about Las Vegas and about the mobster she dispatched to Yemen against his will and about the New York penthouse suite where her Las Vegas conquest hung. And she told about a lot more leading up to Vegas. Charlotte was silent, having to occasionally tell herself to close her gaping mouth.

Finally, after another long silence, Samantha said, “What can I tell you? I love it. I mean love, love, love it. Beating the hell out of a big, bad muscular macho dude? Oh, man. It’s better than sex. It’s even better than chocolate. I can’t get enough, ever. It’s not the guys’ pain I want. And I don’t need their money anymore. It’s their fear I want: to make a horny, piggish guy twice my size afraid of this soft, smooth, curvy, dainty sexy little bundle! To turn his world upside down. To make him wonder who he is, after all. To crush the male ego. Oh, man. Give me some of that, and then give me some more.”

Another silence. Charlotte needed time to digest all this. A waiter came with new drinks. Charlotte wasn’t doing her usual ladylike sips. Not this night.
Finally, Charlotte said, “So, um, I mean, when you say, I mean, what if, you know, when the, uh….”

Samantha tried to anticipate her question, and there followed a whole Q. and A. session, sometimes without the Qs. Samantha told Charlotte that she never lost fights. Noticing Charlotte’s confusion, she said that one thing people need to realize is that so many men are horny idiots. And they’re carrying all kinds of macho baggage that makes them particularly stupid in a fight. And she said a lot of factors matter in a fight besides size and strength.
Eventually Charlotte said, “Are there other women like you?”

Samantha smiled and said, “You want some, don’t you?”

Charlotte turned chartreuse, and Samantha laughed. Charlotte said, “Well, I mean, you know, a little self-defense….”

Interruption again. Samantha: “Yeah, right: self-defense. Like that’s what I’m talking about.” Charlotte shrugged but had to laugh.

Samantha eyed Charlotte analytically. She finally said, “Yes. You want some. Well, let’s see.”

When they left the club, the whole world looked different to Charlotte. She was discombobulated, disoriented by her own feelings, most specifically by her arousal, which she didn’t tell Samantha about. She had this sense that the world wasn’t what she thought it was, that there was far more about it that she didn’t know than she ever imagined. There was something out there that was much better. She knew intuitively that every story Samantha told was true. And she wondered: If Samantha can do it, how many other girls could? Yet a part of her still wondered if this was all a dream.

Samantha still didn’t want the other girls to know about her other life and about Charlotte’s involvement. She thought the others might think she was endangering Charlotte by bringing her into this new world.

As Samantha oriented Charlotte over time, introducing her to her ways, immersing her in new possibilities, Charlotte continued to live a fairly normal New York social life. But she started to feel that she was playing a role now. Whereas she had always been a certain kind of woman, now she seemed to be sort of pretending to be that kind of woman. The pretense didn’t feel quite right. To allay her concerns that she wasn’t being entirely true to herself, she started dressing more provocatively. The bolder Charlotte.

Then a certain guy came along. On their first date, he wanted oral sex. He kept pushing her head in a certain direction, first gently then somewhat more insistently. Charlotte made clear to him that she didn’t do what he wanted. He kept insisting, trying to seem playful about, to talk or seduce her into it, and trying to keep a smile on his face.

But now she was taking offense at his refusal to take “No” for an answer.
He was tall, dwarfing her, and athletic but pretty thin. She began to think maybe the time had come for the new Charlotte.

In bed, he directed her head toward his crotch. She resisted, meanwhile putting one foot on the floor to push off from. Then she suddenly rammed her head into his gut. He wasn’t ready for that, and he let out an “Oof” and let her go. She sat there right next to him, straightening her hair. The always-perfectly-coiffed eastside princess did not like a guy messing up her hair when she wasn’t all in.

Now, in just sitting there, she reminded herself of Samantha, who didn’t run when she put the harasser down in the alley. That thought gave her a thrill. She thought Samantha would be proud of her.

Now the tall guy said, “Jeez, there was no reason to get physical.”
She said, “You started it. I stopped it. Now I think you should apologize.” She was trying to look her fiercest, but to him she just looked cute.
He said, “Oh, you do? Well, I’m not going to apologize for making a pass. We’re on the bed, for Chrissake.”

Charlotte was now standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. He sat he still sat on the edge of the bed. She said, “You need to apologize for not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

He said, “You know, I don’t feel a need to do that. Maybe you need to apologize for leading me on and then….”

Suddenly her right hand came up in a backhand slap across his face that shocked him not only because it happened, but because it hurt a stunning amount, actually bringing a little tear to one eye.

(more to follow)
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Old 18-Mar-24, 20:34
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Default Re: Samantha and Friends

CHAPTER 5: THE TALL ONE

This is a continuation of a story about Samantha, a beautiful New Yorker who has engaged successfully in certain physical confrontations with men and has enjoyed it. She has introduced her friend Charlotte to the activity, and Charlotte has had an encounter with a date who wanted oral sex which she did not want to provide.

--------------------------------------------------------

Samantha and Charlotte started to feel a little guilty about excluding their close friends from their get-togethers and keeping this secret about their activities.

Besides, Charlotte could hardly contain herself. So, at a certain brunch at a certain eatery, sitting among the stylish, confident, affluent, powerful and alluring ladies of Manhattan, she – with help from Samantha – told Carrie and Miranda everything.

As Charlotte and Samantha spoke, mouths were agape. Heads were spinning. Could all this be true? And, if not, what was going on?

Samantha knew one thought that would be on the other girls’ minds. So she said, “No, I don’t usually go for the balls. That gives them too much of an excuse afterwards. Takes too much of the fun out of it. I’m going for psychic pain here, not just physical. You know: Go after the male ego.”

At a certain point, Samantha said to Charlotte, “Tell them about your date.”
So Charlotte told the story about the oral-sex guy. She got to the part where he was basically calling her a cock teaser.

“So I gave him this backhand slap. I’ve come to like those, because backhands hurt more than forehands. It actually brought a tear to his eye. And slaps are so girly, right? And I do so enjoy being a girl.” She giggled. Samantha smiled and they exchanged high fives. The others were mainly just stunned.

Charlotte described how her date, still sitting on the bed, responded to the slap by saying, “OK, you asked for this,” and started to rise, and how she simply jumped on him, her legs around his stomach, flattening him to his back on the bed.

She said, “Looking down into his eyes at very close range, I said, ‘This ends with you apologizing.’” Again, she giggled. “I couldn’t believe I did that and said that, but I did it and said it.” She shrugged. Carrie and Miranda looked at each other in wonder.

Charlotte continued. “So the guy twisted me off to the side. But that was perfect, because it gave me a chance to lock in a waist scissors. A girl has to take advantage of a girl’s advantages, and one is that the guys have no idea how strong our legs are.” The other girls listened in wrapt attention, except for Samantha, who had already heard all this and was mainly interested in watching the reactions of Carrie and Miranda. Charlotte continued, “I mean, sure, it’s true that my legs are short, but this guy was pretty thin. The perfect scissors victim for a girl.” She giggled again. The others were starting to go with her. Her enthusiasm was, as usual, so infectious.

“So we kind of laid lay there facing each, which, I have to tell you was pretty hot, because this guy was a good 9. I clamped my legs together good and hard. Well, he let out a grunt that was just delicious.” Here Charlotte shuddered almost orgasmicly. “Then he put his hands on my thighs, which was also pretty hot, and he tried to push my legs apart. But he couldn’t get anyplace at all. Oh my! Did I ever love that! I mean this was little me overpowering this big guy. Talk about hot!” She was getting hot as she told the story, and all the others could see that.

“Now I pushed back toward him, and it wasn’t all that hard really to put him back on his back. I climbed up on him, still holding my scissors as he pawed at my thighs. And now, I can’t believe I did this, but I leaned into his face and said, ‘Don’t make me beat you up.’” That one got to her audience. Carrie and Miranda gasped and put their hands to their mouths and squealed in laughter.
Charlotte continued, shaking her head. “I didn’t know where these lines were coming from. But they were coming. I felt like I was getting in touch with a new side of Charlotte.”

Again the other girls looked at each other as if to say, “Are you hearing what I’m hearing?”

Charlotte continued. “I mean, yes, of course, I was concerned about his advantage in size, and, yes, I knew that I had no way of knowing how good a fighter he might be. But I was all-in now, and I was mad, and I didn’t see any point in pussyfooting around. I wanted to shake him up, to mess with his head. That’s an important part of fighting. And a guy’s head is just so easy to mess with.” More giggling. “Meanwhile, I sort of squiggled around on top of him at my midsection. Know what I mean? That felt really good.” Multiple female eyebrows rose.

“Well, because he was so tall, his feet reached the floor of the end of the bed, and he tried to use them to get leverage to push me off to his side again, to get on top of me. Oh, he would have loved that! But it wasn’t going to happen. I reached over the edge of the mattress and wrapped my fingers under the bottom of it and had a real good grip. So he got nowhere. I just simply had him as his hands struggled with my thighs. Omigod! What a feeling that was. Totally intoxicating! And I mean, hot? You better believe it.

“I was wearing a short skirt that allowed free movement by my legs. And I had high heels and bare shoulders, lots of cleavage and a tight top. You might say I was dressed to kill.” They nodded and laughed. “I thought about burying his face in my boobs, maybe smothering him, and, you know, messing with his head some more. But I was too short.” The girls laughed.

“So,” Charlotte said, “I put I my free hand on his throat and squeezed hard, and I said, ‘I’m your boss now.’”

At the eatery, beautifully manicured hands were now at beautifully made-up mouths.

“Then,” Charlotte said, “if you can believe this, I licked him from the bottom of his face to the top.” The girls were beside themselves now with fascination, shock and anticipation. “I just thought that was, I don’t know, so dominant, so insulting to his manhood or whatever.

“Then I got off him. But I wasn’t easing up on him. I just thought of it as another way of insulting him. I mean, I was saying that I wasn’t afraid to give him another chance.

“You heard that story about Samantha in the alley, right? As I watched her, I was shocked that when she got the advantage over the guy, she didn’t try to escape or get help or even negotiate. She let him come at her again. Well, she’s my mentor.

“So now this guy is checking to see if I had broken any of his ribs, and, of course, I loved that. Meanwhile, I was checking myself out in a full-length mirror. And I gotta say, I still looked perfectly good.” She laughed.

“Now, as I’m sure you understand, this was a big moment in my life. I mean, I had just demonstrated to myself that I really could beat up this man, this much bigger guy. I mean, I never would have gotten into this if I didn’t think I could do it. But you don’t know for sure until you actually do it, right? I mean I had certainly never done it before. Not little Charlotte, little Upper East Side girly-girl Charlotte. Not so long ago, I couldn’t even have imagined this moment. So I’m looking in the mirror, and I’m thinking, ‘Look at you, you little bitch.’”

She laughed louder than she really thought appropriate for that public setting. She continued the part of the story where she was talking to her image in the mirror, “‘So tiny, so girly, so hot, and you just humiliated the hell out of this big jocky guy! I mean really: That happened? Damn right, it happened. You hurt him and you controlled him and mocked him. You dominated him. Are you something, or what!?”

Now a waitress came by, and the girls all thought they needed a break. Each got a new drink. But they definitely wanted to hear the rest of the story.

When Charlotte resumed, she said, “So he’s behind me on the bed, right?, and he says, all macho, ‘You’re gonna regret that, Bitch.’ Of course! Don’t you just love the cliches? Well, that made the moment all the hotter. I kept looking at him in the mirror and fiddling with my hair, and I said, ‘So you’re an idiot as well as a pig, huh?’”

The other girls were really into it now, nodding and laughing and trying to restrain themselves from clapping.

She continued: “I mean I was using these lines as weapons, punches, kicks to the gut. No hold barred, right?

“So he climbs off the bed to come at me. I say, ‘Mistake, Junior.’ That ‘junior’ thing just came to me. I loved it. So he reaches me and he turns me to face him. I let him, and I say, ‘Another mistake.’ He’s fuming now. I swear there’s steam coming out of his ears. And he bent over to lift me onto his shoulder, very macho style. I let him.

“So now I’m bent over his one shoulder. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I know we both think we’ve got each other. He’s trying to hold me with one hand, a stupid, macho mistake. I take my leg that’s nearest his head, and I throw it over his head, and I lock my ankles together. Just like that, I’ve got him in another scissors. You might think he’d be careful about my legs by now, right? Nope. So now I squeeze. Now I’m in complete control. All he knows is that his head is being squeezed – hard.

“Now, the truth is all us girls kind of like having a guy’s head between our thighs, right? But I gotta tell you: This was the most fun way ever, for me. I mean, just the fact that it was involuntary on his part added a lot. But also, I mean, I’ve got him way up between my thighs, if you know what I mean. Way up! And I’m just separated from the back of his head by my panties. You’re getting this, right?”

The girls were definitely getting it.

“You know I was hot to trot to begin with,” Charlotte continued. “But now everything was turning me on. I mean, he’s thrashing all over the room, trying everything to get out. But that’s not going to happen. I’ve got him too good. He makes a little progress now and then, but then I twist his neck, and he loses his concentration. Anyway, he’s thrashing around so much it’s like he trying to turn me on.

“And he succeeds completely, if you know what I mean. Completely.”
Jaws drop at the eatery.

“Then his thrashing begins to weaken under my thigh pressure. To my surprise, he falls to his knees. And then, before I know it, he’s unconscious on the floor. And I’m standing over him. Wow! What a feeling. And you know what? That was hot too. I mean, a girly little babe like me knocks out a big guy like him with her thighs? Tell me that’s not hot! I was damn near ready to go again.” Laughter and nodding. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t leave.

“I took a seat and waited for him to recover. It was fun watching him try to piece together what had happened. When his head seemed to have cleared, I stood up, which made him stand up fast, almost as if he was afraid I was going to attack him. I took off my top and was now down to my bra, all white and frilly and, you know, kind of tiny. He was, shall we say transfixed. I walked up to him, stood in front of him and clasped my hands behind my head.

“I had to tilt my head up pretty sharply to stare at him in the face. I said, ‘That must have been so humiliating for you: getting K.O.’d by a tiny slip of a girl like me.’ His face turned really red with rage or embarrassment or something. That was funny. And I said, ‘But you know what? I’m going to do it to you again.’”

Pausing in the story, Charlotte took a girly sip of her drink as all waited for her to continue. She did. “I told him, ‘I’m going to stuff your face into my smooth, girly-girl armpit, and I’m going to cover your mouth and nose so you can’t breathe. And I’m going to hold you there until you pass out. You’ll feel like you’re dying, but I don’t think you will. Then, you know what? I’m gonna do it again, so that you know I can do it whenever I want.” At this point in the story, Charlotte had her female audience in the palm of hand every bit as much as she had had the guy there. She took her time.

“Well,” she continued. “He started to tell me I was crazy. I faked a knee toward his crotch. That made him bend over enough for me grab him in a headlock. I twisted him over my hip to the floor and had him just where I told him I’d have him. I mean his face was covered with me. He flailed his arms, of course, but I locked one between my legs so it was useless to him, and I grabbed two fingers of his other hand and immobilized it. It was easy. The rest was just a matter of time. When he stopped struggling, I almost had an orgasm right there.”

Carrie said, “Wait a minute? You had his face in your armpit?”

“Yeah. I mean he wanted me to put my mouth on his dick.” Carrie and Miranda had to nod, seeing the justice in her course.

Charlotte continued: “This time when he woke up and started to stand up, I said, ‘You might as well just stay down, Lover. It’ll save you the pain and humiliation of being thrown down again by a petite little babe.’ But he got up and assumed a sort of fighting position, I guess, just short of putting up his dukes. By now I just simply didn’t take him seriously as any sort of competition for me. Why should I? He was mine, you know? I said, ‘Go ahead. I’ll give the first move.’ He tried to sort of snort and said, ‘I’m not going to….’ So I slapped his face much quicker than he could react to. He said, ‘Look….’ but that got him another slap, with my other hand. That got him going. He starts sort of stalking me, and I say, ‘You’re going into the pit, Junior. Nothing you can. I own you. This is happening.’ He’s red in the face again; furious. He comes at me. I put up my dukes and slap him in the face. He keeps coming. I slap him again. Now his fists are up and closed, and he’s swinging hard. I know what he’s thinking: If I can just land one punch! She’s only a girl, after all. But he can’t land anything. I’m blocking and dodging. Meanwhile, I’m landing my girly-girl slaps. I say, ‘OK, Junior, this is where I put you out of your misery.’ I turn my back on him, raise my skirt all the way up to direct his attention….”

Carrie interrupts: “something that would have scandalized the Charlotte we used to know.”

Charlotte continues, “What can I say? I raise my skirt and kick backwards into his gut. He bends over, and I turn back around and put both hands on his head and slam his forehead into the floor. From there the actually pitting is easy.”

Carrie: “The ‘pitting’?”

Charlotte: “Yeah, that’s a good thing to call it, don’t you think? Like, ‘I pitted him twice.’ Anyway, this time when he comes to, I stand right in front him, craning my neck up, and say, ‘Would you like to fight with me some more?’ He’s silent. I continue. ‘Or would you like to apologize?’ By this time I’ve pretty much forgotten what he was supposed to apologize for. I just wanted an apology, on principle.’ I got my apology, first mumbled then – because he had no choice – spoken out loud. Then I said, ‘Now tell me why you don’t want to fight with me anymore.’ He said, ‘What?’ I stood there with my hands clasped behind my head. I said, ‘Say what you know I want to hear, or I do you for another 20 minutes.’ He delayed but then said, ‘I can’t beat you.’ I said, ‘Not the words I want. Try again. Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.’ He stalled again then showed me that he wasn’t all that stupid. He said, ‘I’m afraid of you.’”

It's a good thing that when jaws drop they don’t make a crashing sound, else somebody would have thought the eatery had just had a major accident.

Charlotte continued: “Mission accomplished. With that tribute to my mentor on the record” – here Charlotte nodded at Samantha, who liked to go for male fear – “I was done.

“Well sort of. I said, ‘You still want oral sex, don’t you? OK. Assume the position.’ After some hesitation, after he imagined the results of not doing so, he did: flat on his back. And there was oral sex. And it was good. For me.”
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Old 19-Mar-24, 12:09
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Default Re: Samantha and Friends

Now, if Sex and the City was actually like this, I might have watched it.

Thanks for sharing this story with us, mate.
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Old 21-Mar-24, 03:01
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: Samantha and Friends

Quote:
Originally Posted by mixfightor [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Now, if Sex and the City was actually like this, I might have watched it.

Thanks for sharing this story with us, mate.
Thanks for the note. Stay tuned. New episodes every week or so for a while. At least that's the plan. And they are drafted.
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Old 26-Mar-24, 03:38
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Default Re: Samantha and Friends

CHAPTER 6: CARRIE AND THE VAN

When Charlotte finished her story, all the girls wanted a smoke. The group dispersed to get back to normal life, though not necessarily in normal frames of mind.
Carrie thought about this a lot. A lot. She was certainly not alien to all forms of female physical assertion. She had taken her share of self-defense classes. That seemed an obvious thing to do for an attractive woman alone in New York. And she stayed in shape. Had a personal trainer for a while. She was proud of her biceps, especially the right one.
And she had certainly wondered how she could handle herself in a fight, if, say, a guy assaulted her sexually. Despite her diminutive size, she didn’t think she’d be helpless.
She was more certain of that after joining Samantha and Charlotte in various gatherings and after taking some guidance from Samantha, who was impressed with her potential.
The writer in Carrie took over. She imagined having an experience worth writing about. Once that thought occurred to her, she felt she had to follow through, even though she’d write iwith a pseudonym. She had a story to pursue. Not to do so would have lowered her opinion of herself as a writer.
She went to Las Vegas, where she was unlikely to be recognized. And she decided that her adventure would take the form of hitchhiking. She picked a road that seemed promising. She wore a shortish, loose-fitting skirt, high heels and otherwise normal clothes.
The plan was to get a ride by showing a lot of leg. She had seen that in movies and she had actually done it a couple of times with other girls. Truth was, she kind of liked flashing leg. She had received a lot compliments on hers, especially in heels.
Still, she could hardly believe she was doing this. Her style as writer involved frequently beginning with a question. So she was thinking, “What causes a person to do something that anybody she told about it would likely consider to be very, very stupid?” But she went ahead.
She was looking for an asshole. She was confident that Vegas would offer on up soon enough. She got some rides that went noplace, so to speak. The idea, after all, wasn’t to pick a fight with a nice guy. On the third night, a certain young guy stopped. He was driving a van. Hmmm. Vans figured in some versions of Carrie’s fantasy.
She approached the van on the driver’s side. She sized the guy up quickly as unexceptional in size or physique. Possibly athletic. She said what she had rehearsed: “I appreciate the offer, Pal, and as a thank-you, I’m willing to keep flashing you all the leg you want. But that’s it, right? I mean, no touching. Just looking. Agreed?”
He laughed, motioned to his passenger seat and said, “Get in.”
She repeated, “Agreed?”
He laughed again. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Get in.”
She was thinking, well, this is it: The moment of truth. As promised, she showed leg. One entirely and one almost. He laughed again.
He drove. After some talk about where she was heading, he said, “Kind of dangerous for a lady to thumbing out here at night, no?”
She said, “I suppose. But I didn’t have much choice.”
After a while he said, “Nice legs.”
She said, “Thanks.”
“Actually, no, not nice legs. Great legs!”
She laughed. “Thank you.”
“You work out to get legs like that?”
“You know, I really don’t think we should be talking about my legs.”
“No, huh? Well, I mean, you are showing them, but you won’t talk about them?”
“The deal was showing them.”
He laughed. After a while he said, “You know, where I come from, when a girl shows her, uh, charms like that to a guy she doesn’t know, people might say bad things about her.”
“Look, Friend,” she said, “We had a deal. I’m living up to it.”
He had exhausted his capacity for any level of subtlety. He said, “What about this deal: I’ve got a mattress in the back.”
She looked at him. “Is that your idea of hitting on a girl?” She imitated him. “‘I’ve got a mattress in the back?’”
He laughed and pulled the car over. “I want to show you my mattress.”
She said, “Sorry, Pal, not interested. I just need a ride.”
But he got out of the van and walked to the passenger door and opened it. She said, “You need to think about something, Dude: When a girl gets herself into a situation like this, it’s either because she’ll fuck anybody or because she thinks she can handle things if they get out of hand. Well, I’m not a girl who will fuck anybody.”
He said, “So let me get this straight: You think you can handle me?”
“Just drive.”
He said, “I’m sorry. Those legs are just too much for me.”
“We’ll see,” she muttered under her breath.
He took hold of her upper arm to pull her. She warned him against doing that. He pulled harder.
The writer in her thought, “What is it that causes us to know in our gut that a pivotal moment has arrived.” Then she thought, no; if I’m writing about this, I have to do better than that.
She poked two fingers of her free hand into his throat. He stepped back gagging. She twisted in her seat so that one of her legs was hanging outside the van. His eyes went to it, thinking she was going to kick him, but she didn’t. He came at her to grab her again, and she locked in a waist scissors. Her ankles locked around him as her arms grabbed enough of the rest of him to keep him from pulling away. She kept her seat and squeezed. He grunted and swore, and his hands went to her legs. She slapped them and said, “I told you: No touching.”
The writer thought, “What is it that keeps us looking for the right line when we should be focused on the plot?”
He struggled and twisted and pulled at whatever could be pulled, until he finally was making some headway – or so he thought. What he was actually doing was moving her legs up on his body until finally what was caught between those attractions was his head.
Carrie squeezed until he started to lose consciousness, then kicked him away so that he sprawled on the pavement. She got out of the van and, straightening her clothes, said, “I guess my legs really are too much for you.”
The writer thought: “Some lines are just irresistible.”
Slightly groggy as he got up, and a little worried about being seen by passers-by, he said, “Get in the back.”
She said, “What about out here?” She raised her skirt to show everything under it and said, “I’ll be glad to continue the leg show.” She was giving him the advantage of knowing how she would fight with. She knew guys, and she didn’t want this one to be able to say anything about being taken by surprise.
As he came at her, the leg show intensified. She kicked him low on one leg, nearly sending him to the ground. Then she hit his face with a roundhouse blow, and he was down. She let him get up. She let him come at her.
Then he was stunned to find that she could use her legs to block his attempts to grab her, as well as his attempts to hit her. Those legs!! She blocked him with one, then the other. She curled her finger at herself and when he came, she turned her back on him and kicked him in the gut. He fell to one knee. He got up too fast and grabbed for her and got blocked by one of those legs again, then again. He tried to grab one and missed, following it too far as she lowered it, and he found himself kicked in the ass with her other one, and he was down again.
She said, “Maybe you should have just kept driving and then jerked off later.”
She had put some thought into the writing of lines designed to mess with the male ego.
As he got up, she turned her back on him, raised her skirt all the way and kicked him in the gut, then came around with her other foot to his head. Now he was sprawled on his back, dizzy and a little nauseous.
“OK,” she said, “let’s check out his mattress you’re so happy about.” She did, letting him recover. “Hmmm. Not bad,” she said. The only noteworthy thing inside the van was a cooler full of beers and ice water. She called to him, “I dare you to get in there with me.” He was still down. She walked over to him. “Come on,” she said. “You’re not scared are you?”
A cliché, the writer admitted to herself, but effective, she was sure.
He swiped at her pathetically, but got nothing and then followed her. She climbed in, sat down, spread her legs wide and said, “Here I am, Horndog. Come and get me.”
She just simply loved saying that. And she thought that luring him sexually might be the only way to get him to follow her, given the beatdown she had just delivered. In fact, though, he was thinking that if he could get her in such an enclosed space, he could beat her in a fight because of his size and strength. He wouldn’t have to worry about the long kicks she could deliver with those devastating legs. But as he was thinking about those legs, she flashed him a big double-bicep pose.
“How about some arm now?” she said. She was bent on not relying on her legs this time. She felt she might as well redeem the work she had done to get her arms the way they were. And she didn’t want to allow the dude to think that his only problem in fighting her was that he didn’t know how to use his legs the way she did. After all, every blow she was striking was designed to be a blow to the male ego of this pig. She wanted him to be unable to escape a sense of sheer physical inferiority, sheer helplessness against this tiny babe who had taken over his sexual imagination, who he had been certain he could force himself on, who had insulted him by suggesting she could “handle” him.
Furious, humiliated and horny, he practically dove on her. He led with his head, and it ended up in her arms as he tried to get as useful a grip on some part of her, but failed. In the scramble that followed, she got him on his back with her on top and slightly off to the side with a headlock locked in by her bicep across part of his mouth. She loved that. Something symbolic about it. It was like he had to kiss her muscle. It was like literally rubbing his face in her superiority over him in this most masculine realm. His squirming got weaker and weaker. She had one of his arms locked between her luscious thighs. When he tried to bring his other arm into play, she grabbed its fingers and won control of the arm. His legs were useless to him accept to try to twist and turn so as to get on top. It never worked, and it exhausted him.
She could easily have locked in another waist scissors. That was particularly tempting, because she suspected his gut was already hurting. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She felt she could also easily position herself to throw one knee into his crotch, but that wasn’t what she wanted either. Too easy. She wanted to show that she didn’t need to take advantage of the great male disadvantage.
She just held him until he stopped squirming. She wanted him to show he was accepting his emasculating loss, his defeat by a girl at this most manly contest. For him, giving up was almost physically painful.
She said, “Are you officially handled?” He said nothing. She squeezed, and he thought his head would cave in or explode or something, and he couldn’t breathe. He tapped her in a sign of submission. Not good enough. She loosened her grip enough to let him talk, and she said, “Say it.”
He said, “OK, you win.”
She said, “Not good enough. Say it. I want you to accept just how pathetic you are.”
The writer thought, “What is it that makes us… oh, never mind.”
She tightened and loosened, and he said, “OK.” He paused. “I’m handled.”
She let him go but kneeled above him within reaching distance of him. To remind him of her femininity and her allure, she took off her blouse, revealing a highly revealing, frilly white bra.
She said, “I beat you up outside, and I beat you up inside, and you know what: It was easy both times. Now I’m going to dunk your head in your cooler. It’s been clear since you practically drooled at the sight of my legs that you need to be cooled off. So this is gonna happen. There’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.” She flexed her right bicep, the bigger one, and flashed him her most male-enchanting smile. She suspected that she was not as strong as him at the beginning of their confrontation but probably was now that she had taken so much out of him. She pulled the cooler closer to them. He was trying to rise and had gotten to his hands and knees. She knelt behind him and to his side. Wrapping her arms around him, she was able to get his face over the cooler. With a forearm on the back of his neck, she pushed down. He resisted with all he had left, but he went under. She held him for a symbolic 10 count.
She let him go and sat near him with a smug look on her face. She said, “This must be so humiliating for you.” She wanted him to attack again, which he did, diving on her with as much anger and desperation as lust. She laughed, but now he was on top of her lengthwise, and she was flat on her back, her arms pinned to the floor. She smiled up at him. He had forgotten about her legs and had fallen into her trap. She wrapped her ankles around his and spread his legs farther than most men can spread them without major pain. She was going to get some advantage out of her childhood dance training.
Soon she had him in a level of pain that showed on his face, then in a level that got expressed through his mouth. He moaned and swore and gritted his teeth. She smiled up at him. She said, “Now I’m going to take your keys.” She had felt them in his pocket. “And there’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me.” She loved saying this from her back. Then she jerked her legs outward. He squealed. She laughed.
Now she twisted him to his back, brought his two arms together over his head so close that she could grab fingers on both his hands with one of her hands, and she went for his keys with her other hand. She got them and dangled them over his face. As he struggled, she said, “My goodness, you’re pathetic!’’
She got off him and sat back against a wall. She left her legs exposed fully, to her panties. She spread her legs wide, and she put the keys right in front of her panties. She closed her eyes and, to his astonishment, dozed off.
After a while, his head cleared, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the keys and their surroundings. He didn’t know what to do. He approached her slowly and quietly, lest she wake up. As he got close, she said, without opening her eyes, “Don’t even think about it, Lover Boy. I’ll beat the hell out of you worse than ever, strip you completely, keep your wallet, throw you out and take your wheels.”
It was a line she had fantasized about delivering. It felt as good as she had imagined it would, giving her a visible sexual quake.
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