CAVALIER#1
By Tex Biceps Spim33@aol.com
Debbie against Barbara

I wrote this story. It was printed in the November 1990 issue of 
CAVALIER, a men's magazine which devoted a portion of its pages to 
female fighting. That section was entitled "Fight Time" and it consisted 
of readers' letters detailing a veritable plethora of diverse female 
fighting scenarios. CAVALIER #1 contains sex, violence and other adult 
things. IT IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES. 

Dear "Fight Time": 

I'm writing to let you know that there are lots of women who enjoy "Fight 
Time". One of my lovers introduced me to your magazine about a year ago, 
right after we met. He says he's been turned on by catfights ever since 
he can remember, and the same goes for me. Just the thought of pounding 
another woman into subission while my man watches gets me hot. 

Now don't get me wrong--Cavalier is my favorite magazine, but I 
think the letters you print are giving the impression that big-busted 
bimbos, drunken barflies, motorcycle mamas, and fat-ass "amazons" are 
really tough. You and your readers seem to be living in the past. Today, 
there are lots of strong, able-bodied female athletes like gymnasts, 
swimmers, and bodybuilders who could kick the shit out of Tiger, Dee, 
Maureen, Lotta Butt or any of the pencil-armed bimbos you feature in 
catfight pictorials. 

I should know, I'm one of those women. As a competitive bodybuilder, I 
know that when the likes of Dee and Maureen see the tanned, rock-hard, 
vein-popping muscle packed on my 5'6", 138-pound physique, the last 
thing they want to do is take me on. In fact, I get a kick out of coming 
on to men right in front of their girlfriends. When most guys get an 
eyeful of my blonde, blue-eyed, D-cup assets and compare them to the 
bitch they're with, they have a hard time resisting my advances.  But 
their lovers see my fifteen-inch biceps and know that if they protest 
they could get hurt! Most, but not all of them, keep their mouths shut. 

Last week I fought a bitch who reminded me of Tiger, the supposedly 
unbeatable "Fight Time" fighter from New York. It all started when my 
boyfriend and I went to a nightclub that features female wrestling. My 
clever lover mentioned that an old girlfriend of his, Barbara, wrestled 
there and that he wanted me to meet her. Well, we both knew he hoped 
that meeting would lead to a fight, and so did I. 

We spent the majority of the evening watching a bunch of skinny women 
wrestle...if you call rolling around on a mat "wrestling". The final 
match of the night pitted Barbara against "The Commando", a big-busted, 
muscle-less blonde in a camouflage bikini. Barbara, wearing a blue and 
red one-piece suit with a white star on her chest, was introduced as 
"Wonder Woman" and promptly flexed her biceps for the crowd. She had a 
fair amount of muscle, certainly more than the other wrestlers we'd seen 
so far, and from the opening bell it was obvious she knew how to 
wrestle. For three rounds, she dominated "The Commando" with headlocks, 
full-nelsons, and even hard slaps and punches until her overmatched 
opponent submitted. 

As she raised her arms in victory, Barbara saw my boyfriend and began 
making her way through the crowd toward our table. She approached my 
lover, who congratulated her, then brazenly kissed him hard on the 
mouth. "I kicked her ass, didn't I?" she bragged as my smiling guy 
nodded his agreement. "My time in the gym is really paying off," she 
said as she raised her right arm and made a muscle to prove her point. 
"See?" 

I grabbed her tensed arm, squeezed the well-defined but rather puny 
biceps, then sneered, "Get lost Wonder Woman!" 

The raven-haired wrestler spun around and yelled, "Find another ride 
home, honey, or you'll get your ass kicked too!" 

I smiled. "Put your money where your mouth is, cunt, " I challenged, 
knowing the white jacket and black leather pants I was wearing concealed 
my physique. "There's a ring right here!" 

Barbara looked at the crowd gathering around us, smiled with extreme 
cockiness, then replied, "I'm gonna jurt you, bitch!" She headed for the 
ring. 

We both stepped through the ropes and the crowd buzzed with excitement, 
realizing they were being treated to a free match.  Soaking up the 
attention, Barbara strutted confidently around the ring as I stripped 
off my pants (I had on bikini bottoms) to reveal my strongly built 
legs. Wolf whistles from the crowd caused Barbara to look in my 
direction as I began taking off my jacket. Her eyes widened with fear 
when she spotted my muscular upper body, stretching my yellow tank top 
to its limits. I walked over to the now-nervous bitch and said, "I work 
out too, Wonder Woman," then slowly raised my arms into a double-biceps 
pose. I squeezed the thick, roughly sculpted muscles until the veins 
bulged and etched angry patterns across my rippling, fifteen-inch 
symbols of feminine power. The totally-intimidated brunette's mouth 
dropped open as I shouted, "Let's get it on!" 

At that moment, someone rang the bell. I pushed Barbara and fired a hard 
punch into her soft midsection, causing her to double over and gasp for 
breath. Then I lowered the boom with an elbow chop to the back of the 
head which put her face-down on the mat. "Get up!" I yelled as the dazed 
brunette struggled to her feet. The wobblely "Wonder Woman" sprang 
toward me and I caught her in a bearhug. The vise-like power of the 
straining muscles of my chest, shoulders, and arms crushed her as I 
lifted her off the canvas then threw her roughly to the mat. 

Again the battered brunette got to her feet. I moved in and fired a 
stiff left jab to the face, then followed with another. As Barbara 
reeled from the punches, I feinted with my left, then rocketed a right 
cross that connected squarely with brunette's nose, dropping her to her 
knees. Blood oozed from both nostrils as I rifled two vicious left hooks 
to the side of her head which put her flat on her back, unconscious. 
Seeing the fight was over, I stood over my victim, put one foot on her 
tits, then flexed my biceps as the crowd cheered. 

I hope this story will set the record straight for your readers...the 
Dees and Maureens of the world are not the toughest women around--they 
just talk the loudest about being tough. Most of the skinny girls 
and lard-asses your read about in "Fight Time" would get their asses 
kicked by the strong and muscular women of the nineties. So let's hear 
more about fights involving the REAL tough gals of today...like 
me, DEBBIE.