Blondes vs. Brunettes #39 -- Kansas City #3

Thanks as always for checking out the blog. 

Before I continue with my story about the year I spent in the Kansas City area, a year that turned out to be a blonde vs. brunette battlefield, I wanted to make a couple of administrative comments.  First, I’m trying to figure out how to best illustrate the stories.  Clearly, we didn’t have smart phones with either photo or embedded video capability ~25 years ago, so I don’t have pictures of anything that I’m going to blog about.  But we do have boxing, wrestling, and catfighting videos now, so I’ll probably use some of them when I think it shows a reasonably accurate portrayal of the girls fighting.  My second point is that while I was working on this blog over the past week, I started getting all cranked up.  Mid week, my mind was reeling after working on the blog for about 30 minutes.  I actually got into a blonde vs. brunette conversation with a young girl, maybe 20 or so, while I was out jogging and, at one point, waiting for the lights to change at an intersection cross walk. 

Well, I couldn’t resist.  She was a dark brunette, Hispanic I’m sure, and was wearing sun dress and heels. 

Just minutes earlier I was in a gym near my workplace and there was this blonde in there that I hadn’t seen before, and she was solid muscle.  I watched her, very discreetly of course, for most of my workout and then before departing to go for a run, walked up to her asked if there was any part of her body that wasn’t solid muscle.  (Might as well use the direct approach!)

She laughed and said, “Well yeah, a couple at least.”

“Ha, ha” I said, “I didn’t mean anything naughty!”

So we chatted for a couple of minutes. 

This gal was a natural blonde (eyebrows and short hairs on the back of the neck and on the arms never lie) with crystal clear blue eyes, standing about 5’2” and maybe a hundred or so pounds.  All of which was muscle. 

So naturally, when I saw this brunette waiting for the lights to change I had to say something because my mind was ready to explode.  The direct approach again: “Hey, I hate to bother you but me and a buddy of mine were having this argument in the gym about which girls were stronger, blondes or brunettes. So tell me, what do you think?  Who are stronger, blondes or brunettes?”

After the initial shock, she started laughing.  We chatted back and forth as we crossed the street.  She was blabbering about how there were strong blondes, and there strong brunettes and then there were weak blondes and there were weak brunettes and then there were so many different ways to measure strength, as well as stamina, which she said was simply strength over time, so that the question couldn’t really be answered in any meaningful way and finally I said something like “Cut the shit and just answer the fucking question, will ya?”

Ok, it wasn’t that bad, but it was close.

So she looked at me and with a big huge smile said, “Brunettes, of course! Brunettes are stronger than blondes!”

 

“Well thanks!” I said, “And hey, listen since you’re taking this so well and not punching in 911 on your smart phone, let’s talk about catfights.”

And wouldn’t you know it, instead of saying “Get away from me you creep” she started all over again with “Well you know there are some blondes that can fight and some blondes that can’t fight, and there are some brunettes that can fight and some that can’t fight, and basically a girl has to have a reason to fight and if she does, it doesn’t make any difference what her hair color is … and blah, blah, blah..”

And on and on until I finally said, “For Christ sakes, will you please answer the question, before the Earth is consumed by the sun?”

And she said, “Brunettes of course! We always beat up blondes when we fight! Well, almost anyway, it all depends on…”

She was funny.  We chatted a little longer; she was home on college break and had an internship in downtown Washington DC and was walking from the metro (subway) to a bus stop so she could get back to her home in the Shirlington neighborhood of Arlington, when I started bugging her. 

 

Nice girl. I thanked her for entertaining an old guy, we fist bumped, and I jogged away.

This really happened on Wednesday!!

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Will I ever get to the blog entry about Kansas City? 

Of course.

Picking up where we left off last week ….

So we headed back to the mid west, me in my Toyota 4Runner and Jacky in her Ford Mustang which could hardly carry more than a couple of suitcases, explaining why my 4Runner was packed to the gills.  I'd say it was a good drive but I had to get back to work and so were focused on making time, not love.

Eventually we got to St. Louis where we checked her into a furnished, extended stay place – I think it was an Oakwood apartment – near the main highway.  My thought was to head straight back to Leavenworth but since Jacky was wearing her daisy dukes, how could I?  After all, what's the point in having a lover if you don't make love every chance you get? So once I brought all her gear up from my truck and got her room squared away, off came her shorts and she squared me away!

Coming back to Leavenworth, I accepted the reality of a long summer with a lot of work and no vacation time coming to me.  Thank God Jacky was in the same area of the country and had to do a lot of business in Kansas City, which she said she would try to arrange each Friday! Nothing better than being free and unencumbered all week and then having a gorgeous dark haired, dark eyed Italian girl dressed in a halter top and hot pants waiting to take you in her arms on the weekend!

Being a decent, but not spectacular high school athlete, one of my interests over the years was running.  Of course, the whole country got caught up in the jogging craze in the 1970s, so there was always plenty of eye candy out on the streets.  Jacky herself didn't run much.  She dabbled in gymnastics and tennis in high school, but mainly avoided athletic pursuits.  She certainly didn't need to run in order to burn off calories:  dark and slim, she was born in good shape and effortlessly seemed to stay that way.  Her legs were shapely and sexy, although her calves were a bit skinny.  She always joked about slicing off and implanting some of my very sexy calf muscles into her legs. 

So one day I'm jogging through Leavenworth and I look off to the side and there's this little park area and I see this blonde-haired girl throwing what looks like a punch in the stomach to another blonde girl.  "Well, damn: I thought, "You don't see that every day!"

Naturally, I moved in for a closer look.  It didn’t take long for me to figure out this was a photo shoot of some type, the girls weren’t really fighting and there’s this older guy with a 35mm camera (the type that used something called “film” to record images) and he’s giving instructions to the girls and snapping pictures as they posed in various fighting positions.  Damn, I thought, kinda like Sports Review’s apartment house wrestling, except this was in a little field.  I decided to hag out and see what happened and my presence didn’t go unnoticed by the gentlemen with the camera.  After another 15 minutes or so of very nice poses to include the girls pinning each other on the grass, he appeared to thank them and then hand them something, cash it turns out, and then they hopped in a car and drove away.   

At this point in the story, I should add that I had been working out at the Leavenworth Rec Center which was a reasonably proceed gym and pool not far from my hotel in the downtown area. Nice place, with a pool.  I had befriended some of the folks who worked there and was helping, just a few hours here and there, coach young kids little league.  A bunch of the young fellows, up to age 12 or so, hung out at the rec center on weekends, and soon as school was about to let out, during the summer months.  Little did they, or me, know at the time, that they would become an integral part of a stunning blonde vs. brunette battle involving Jacky as the summer ended.

But I bring it up now because one of the girls looked familiar. 

Figuring I had nothing to lose, I approached the old guy and introduced myself.  Don, he replied, was his name.

Well, it turns out Don was fascinated by girls fighting.  Like me, he was a big Sport Review Wrestling magazine fan and enjoyed the apartment house wrestling features.  He was, in fact, trying to recreate something like that and sell the photos to either SRW or an adult publication that featured catfight materiel.  Or maybe start his own mail order business and sell his own videos.  Lot of possibilities he said.  

We decided to have a few beers at a local bar.  I think the name of it was “Green’s” or something like that, but I can’t find it anywhere on the internet.  Must have been something else--?

Well, it turns out he was trying to arrange a private match in his backyard but the two blondes wanted something more public, apparently they were afraid that Don was a pervert or something, and weren’t to enamored with the thought of going to his house.

“Well, I am a pervert” he said, “So I don’t blame them.”

Turns out the girls had been recently hired by the rec center to handle the summer crowds, mostly kids out of school. Don said they attended the University of Kansas and had been hired by the rec center just before the Memorial Day weekend.  “Well” I thought “That’s why they looked a bit familiar.”

http://www.mediafire.com/watch/dv090zn70qbuvl5/White_Blonde_vs_Mexican_Wrestle_inBikinis.wmv

Don, a retired widower said if I was willing to kick in a few bucks, he’d call me when he had a couple of girls lined up and ready to wrestle.  There would be a few other guys there as well, he said, helping to share the costs.

Sounds good I told him.

And then I made a suggestion. 

"You've lived here forever Don, so you know better than me that the Mexicans are starting to move in.  Maybe you could get one of those dark Latinas to fight a white girl, a blonde maybe.  I bet that would be a good battle."

He looked stunned, and then glanced both ways before whispering to me, "I'm trying to do just that, but it's been tough to arrange." 

When I got back to the hotel, I snapped up the weekly Leavenworth paper in the lobby, took it back to my room and left it on the desk, unread, before turning in for the night.  “Maybe I’ll read it in the morning” I thought, before heading off to brush my teeth and get ready for a good snooze.

As I slept, the paper lay on my desk and I lay in my bed, not knowing that the paper had a prominent advertisement for something called “Buffalo Bill Cody Days” an annual Leavenworth festival that featured arts, crafts, and amateur mud wrestling.