Welcome to Fight Club

"Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club!" She stood center stage, spotlights beaming from above, tattoos and skin glistening in the harsh light of the bar basement. "Third rule of Fight Club: if someone yells "stop!", goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two women to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, girls." Everyone laughed, a harsh discord of nervous giggles and confident huffs.

She continued. "Sixth rule: the fights are bare knuckle. No shirt, no shoes, no weapons. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to." She stopped and glared at everyone, her unblinking stare piercing each heart for what seemed like an eternity, though she did not tarry on any one person for more than a split second.

"And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight."
Everyone cheered, a surprisingly brutish sound for how many women were present. Tyler Durden stood off to the side and let us get ready for the tonight's fights.

I had no idea what to expect when I was "invited" to this club. A friend of mine from work had gone once and said it had changed his life. But the first and second rules were that you couldn't talk about it, so I would just have to see for myself.

I was one of the first to arrive, only my buddy Dave and three others were arriving with me. It was a crappy little bar in the middle of a vast parking lot. Middle of nowhere in downtown Los Angeles.

We walked down to the basement together, but it was there that things took a turn for the unexpected.

A wave of naseaua hit me, but left as soon as it came. I felt off. But when I looked around, I noticed that I was suddenly surrounded by brutal and beautiful looking women. They were tattooed and bruised, each with a look of harsh intensity.

Others were arriving, each becoming a different woman. Most were tattooed, some had sports tape wrapped around their large breasts for protection. All looked ready to kick ass.

It was after I had seen so many other transformations that I finally thought to look at my own.

"This is the woman inside you," said a woman who stood where Dave once was. "This is who you will fight with."
I looked into the warped and jagged mirror near the stairs and saw the woman inside me. I was beautiful. My hair was just a little bit longer, with a strike of purple running through it. My face was smaller, a stud in my lower lip and lots of mascara around my eyes. I had tattoos along the left side of my body, Japanese symbols on my shoulder and a little marching boy under my arm. My tits were smallish and my waist had contracted considerably. Both of my nipples were pierced as well as my navel. My ears had large black hoops where the piercing should be. All I was wearing now were panties and torn jeans.

"Fight?" I asked. I my first word in this new body.

"You'll see."

It was then that Tyler Durden first came down the stairs. She was a menacing woman, tattoos running up and down her arms and stomach. Her breasts were bigger than most of ours and in her eyes we saw the fiery passion that I was just beginning to feel. She immediately stood in the center of the room.

"Welcome to Fight Club..." she began.

It was my first night. I had to fight.

The woman who used to be Dave, now a tall brunette with smoldering brown eyes, came forward, took my wrist, and led me to the middle of the ring. I would be tonight's first fight.I fought hard. Something within me found the fury to match each of Dave's blows. I let go, I let the raging woman who I had become take me over. The others screamed and roared with each punch. They didn't root for either one of us, only for the next solid punch.

I pushed away and turned to face Dave. My boobs were sore and scratched, my knuckles bleeding and bruised. Blood dripped down the side of my face. Panting and smiling, I stared into the eyes of my opponent, seeing the matching exhausted glee in his eyes as well. She was just as bruised as I was. Each of us were on our last legs. We had knocked each other down over and over. I had smashed his head into the cement and he had nearly broken one of my arms. The next blow would determine this fight.
She punched hard. I hit the concrete floor with a sickening crack. I didn't get back up. Not this time. But I was smiling. I was in excrutiating pain, but I had never felt more alive than in this moment. An exhausted female Dave and other women picked me up. Dave hugged me and I hugged back with what little strength I had left. I laughed with him, rejoicing in the ecstasy of my first fight. Someone dragged me to a wall and let me sit.

Dave leaned in before going to watch the next fight, "Hooked?"

I smiled, half deranged and exhilarated. I rolled my head to face him. Blood dripped from my mouth. "Rematch next week."
The whole time, Tyler had been standing off to the side, observing quietly. Every once in a while, she would give a small smirk at a sharp crack of heads butting or the satisfying crunch of fist meeting face. Others cheered loudly, wishing not the destruction of anyone but the thrill of destroying something beautiful. We were all even in the eyes of Fight Club.

Tyler lit another cigarette with a quick flip of his silver lighter.

I watched other fights from my spot against the wall. I cheered with the other women, though each cry was partly a cry from pain. At the end of the night, nearly half the room was bruised and beaten, but the fire of the night was alight within them.

Each turned back into the man they had been as they left the harshly lit basement into the crisp night air, but I could see the stride of the prideful women inside them.

I was the last to leave. I waited until even Tyler Durden had left the basement. I looked down at the blood and sweat that drenched the floor. Taking a deep breath of the stench trapped down here, I knew I was hooked.

I came back the next week. And the week after that. My female body came back with me, scarring and healing just as my body did. In fact she never left. Whenever I'm at work, filing papers and crunching numbers, I can feel her inside me, waiting patiently for her chance to come out and relieve my tension out through her fist into another woman's jaw and stomach. She used to be nameless, this raging brute of a woman inside me, but she has accumulated one all her own: Scarlett. The others call her Scar for short.

I am Scarlett's wasted life. She is my smirking revenge.

**Pictures from Suicide Girls.**