Whether or not Judge Amy Gray of Hartford, Connecticut and Dr. Sydney Hansen of Providence, Rhode Island came for the seminars or the sex, the fact is, they were willing to indulge both over the course of the next seven days and six nights.
Both women were alike in many ways, particularly in temperament, so it was not surprising that both became highly attracted to the same man, a handsome architect from Manhattan. And after each realized that the other was interested, it became a rather juvenile competition for his attention. He was flattered at first (who wouldn't be?), but he quickly came to realize that both the Doctor and the Judge were highly possessive women, and each had more than a little emotional baggage. Not surprisingly, the architect opted to bide his time with a certain blonde computer programmer instead; she made no demands on him.
By the final night, Gray and Hansen found themselves alone in their rooms. They were alone, horny, frustrated, angry, and both were more than a little buzzed from the spirited refreshments in their room's mini-fridges.
Sydney decided to clear her head and work off her tension with a stroll in the cool evening. Before long, she found herself in the courtyard facing Amy's first floor room. And there was the Judge herself, sitting before the open door that lead to the courtyard, a half-drained glass of white wine in her hand.
The alcohol and her own sharp tongue got the better of her, and Sydney could not resist saying, "I guess it's true what they say about judges being alcoholics." Actually, "they" had never said anything about it, but it was all she could think of at the moment.
Amy immediately shot back, "And I guess it's true what they say about doctors being whores."
Common sense told Sydney to just walk away. But her libido had sidelined her common sense six days earlier. She walked up to Amy, who set her glass down and stood up from her chair to meet her eye to eye.
For several long moments, with their hands on their hips, the two women glared at each other. At this precise moment, their frustrations were focusing entirely in hatred for the other.
Finally, Sydney said, "What did you call me?"
Amy hissed back, "You heard me, bitch."
It was much like the time back in second grade when a boy had made fun of her prominent Greek nose; she responded by shoving him to the ground. Time had not altered the wisdom of this action. With both hands, the doctor pushed the judge; Amy stumbled backwards a few steps before tumbling to the carpet.
For about half a second, Sydney intended to turn around and walk away. But then she thought better of it, and with a banshee's wail, she threw herself at the prone brunette.
Amy may have been down, but she was far from out. As Sydney crashed atop her, she wrapped her arms and legs around the doctor, and the two began to roll across the floor.
There was no grand strategy in their combat, just hairpulling, scratching, and name-calling. Occasionally, they'd sink their teeth into the other. All those years in college had not taught them much about wrestling.
In one respect, Sydney had an advantage: As an expert of anatomy, she knew exactly where certain blows would cause the most pain. But Amy countered this with a few dirty self-defense tricks she learned from police officers. For several long minutes, the battle was a stalemate.
Eventually, they broke their dual embrace and got unsteadily to their feet. Amy threw a punch that connected with Sydney's jaw; the doctor returned with a fist to the belly.
The battle now became a fist fight, with the two brunettes trading blows. Some connected with a sickening thud or a sharp crack; others, wildly thrown, hit only air.
By the third minute of this, Amy was delivering two punches for every one Sydney managed to land. Another sixty seconds later saw the doctor down on one knee, glassy eyed. A knee slammed into her face, sending her falling backwards. She rolled over onto her stomach, trying to get up on her hands and knees. But Amy jumped on her back, her weight causing the brunette to collapse again to the carpet.
Straddling Sydney's back, Amy then grabbed her rival's hair and yanked her head upwards. Sydney moaned, and Amy began taunting her.
But the doctor was hardly helpless. She reached her hands up and managed to get her thumbs over her foe's eyes, and then pressed them in hard. Amy screeched as the thumbs gouged into her eye sockets, and she released Sydney's mane. With a twist, the doctor managed to knock the judge off of her.
Her arms felt like lead. In fact, it was a chore to get her battered body to move at all. But Sydney was determined to win this fight. Lacking the physical strength herself, she knew she needed a weapon. She tore the tattered remains of her silk blouse from her torso and, using it as a noose, wrapped it around Amy neck.
The brunette's eyes bulged in horror as she found herself being strangled. She struggled, but it was futile. She also was at the point of exhaustion, and her strength was gone. She succumbed to the choke mercifully quick. Sydney, not interested in doing any permanent harm, released her, and left her lying on the plush carpeting of her room while the doctor staggered back to her own.
The next morning, wearing sun glassed and large floppy hats to obscure the bruises on their faces, the two women bumped into each other as they were checking out of the resort.
"Don't ever get a traffic ticket in Hartford," warned the judge.
"Don't ever get sick in Providence," replied the doctor.
And with they, they parted company.