CRUISING WITH ANDREA
Andrea and I drive thru the dark February night to the neighborhood her enemy Kelsey lives in, 2 towns north of where Andrea lives and where their school is. Although neither of us have any definite plan in mind, we are both excited at the possibilities of our impulsive decision. The school's decision to monitor Andrea's social media accounts means that since the New Year, Andrea and Kelsey have had to cease their dispute on Instagram and Facebook, and their class schedules have been arranged do as to avoid any contact in the hallways. An IRL crossing-of-paths is the only scenario remaining open to them. I sense Andrea's anticipation at the possibilities of our "field trip" to Kelsey's house.
I, meanwhile, am experiencing my own anticipation. Kelsey's mom--I know I've seen her at school--blonde lady. What's her name? Lorraine, I think? What will she say about bringing Andrea to Kelsey's? Why will she think I brought her? Obviously not for a playdate. Will Lorraine allow Kelsey to fight Andrea? And if so, will she want to watch?
Or will Lorraine want to protect Kelsey? Will she be angry at me for bringing Andrea? Will she call the cops? Or will she want to fight me? Does Lorraine fight?
What if Kelsey, Andrea, Lorraine and I end up in a 2on2 fight in Lorraine and Kelsey's house. How do you determine a winner in a 2on2 fight? The "team" with the first girl to give loses? Or, is it "last woman standing"?--the fight goes on until 3 women can't go any longer? Would Lorraine and I fight during the entire brawl, or would we "pair off", me fighting Kelsey and Andrea fighting Lorraine for part of the fight?
As we cross the county line and the houses become noticably larger, and the roads become noticably less well-lit, I struggle to take my mind off of tonight's fight possibilities, and to focus on driving. We enter a gated community with the gate open. The roads are twisty and unalphabetized, nothing like the predictable grid system of Cook County. We're the only car driving around, and no doubt would look totally suspicious to a patrolling police car, were one to show up. Shit, these houses are big. I feel pangs of nostalgia for the nuclear family life that I had with my son and ex-husband, until thzt bitch Colleen ruined it all. Do these massive McMansions speak to the wealth of the owners? Or are they mortgaged to the hilt and nothing but debt traps?
As we cruise through the darkened development, looking for house number 12764, I notice there are no sidewalks. How damn sad. No wonder these spoiled rich-bitch teenagers get into so much trouble on Instagram--there's no going outside after school to see who else is out. They just come home to their brick McMansions, lock themselves in their bedrooms, and go online. This town is less than 10 miles from Cook County, but it's a world away socially. So sad, so sterile.
And, yet.....damn, the wealth. Range Rovers and Lexus's and Acura's and SUV's in every driveway. Do the moms in this neighborhood work? The dad's obviously work either downtown, or as doctors in the suburbs. Does Lorraine work? Is she doing something with her husband right now? Out to dinner with him? Already in bed?
Shit, this was a stupid plan.
But Andrea and I press on. We've come this far--we need to see it to a conclusion.
We get to a house numbered 12764. We get out and knock on the door, our nerves tense with anticipation. No answer. Shit, it's cold out. We ring once more. Still no answer. Owls hoot in the background--there's a sound you don't hear much in Cook County. We get back in the car, defeated and relieved at the same time.
"Was that even the right house?", I ask, rhetorically. I enter it into my GPS. "You are....6 tenth's of a mile.....from your destination."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Right development, right house number, wrong street. Why would they give two houses in the same development the same 12764 street number?!?!?", I demand to my innocent passenger.
Andrea and I are hungry, lost, and frustrated. And lonely. What a damn pathetic way to be spending Valentine's.
Welp, this evening was a total....fucking...waste. We look at each other, the only decision remaining being which Drive-Thru we do for dinner on the way home, Taco Bell or McDonalds.
Suddenly, on the darkened road behind us, we hear 2 female voices, walking on the road parallel to us. We strain to listen. The two girls are laughing, giggling really, probably stoned. One has some sort of Eastern European accent, and the other is Andrea's age. "I think that's fucking Kelsey," says an incredulous Andrea. "What??" I ask, my nerves on edge agsin, my heart racing. The pitch black darkness causes us to rely on sound to orient ourselves.
The female pedestrians approach our car from behind, and Andrea seizes control of the situation. She tells me to shut the car off, and gets out of the paaengers door. She strides to the sound of two females, now about 20 feet away, and confidently shouts,
> Hey, Kelsey, you bitch.
> <<<<After just a moment's hesitation.>>>> Andrea?? What the fuck are you doing here?
> <<<<<I'm out of the car now, too, standing behind Andrea protectively. I've literally and figuratively got her back, while Kelsey's mystery partner--tall like me--has hers. Our eyes adjust to the near total darkness enough to vaguely make out each others' figures.>>>> I'm here looking for YOU, dumbass.
> Oh, is that right. To fucking do what? <<<<All four of us are now less than 10 feet away in the street.>>>>>
> <<<<Kelsey's blonde ice queen Eastern Europen partner speaks.>>>> Kelsey, who are these two bitches?
> This is that slut Andrea from my school.
> That's what I thought. I'll fucking handle this.
> <<<<The blonde ice queen lunges for Andrea, and I leap between them, tackling her to the ground. We roll into a heap on the road, while Andrea and Kelsey wastd no time tearing into each other with fists and feet and knees. The blonde claws at my face, the only flesh on my body unprotected by heavy wibter clothing. I tear into her hair, trying desperately to get her razor-sharp nails away from my face. She and I are fighting silently, while just inches away, Kelsey and Andrea punch and kick to shrieks of "bitch" and "slut". Fists and shoots collide with coats and flesh, harmless blows intermingled with crushing unrestrained attacks. The ice queen regains my undivided attention when she mounts me and attempts to slam my head into the pavement. I deperately kick out of her pin, and angrily attempt the maneuver on her, but find her to be too strong for me. She and I stalemate, and I hear dogs barking in the house my car is parked in front of. The middle-aged female resident opens the door and shouts, "What's going on out there?!?.....I'm calling the police," and retreats back inside.>>>>>
The blonde ice queen grabs Kelsey by the wrists, and they run. The suddenly vulnerable Andrea and I instinctively race to my car, and burn rubber out of the development.
"Do you think any cameras saw the license plate?", the surprisingly practical Andrea asks me.
"I doubt it, it was so damn dark," I reassure her. "Let's just get the fuck out of here, then we can talk."
We speed back to Cook County. No cops following us--phew.
We pull into a large Mcdonald's parking lot. I park into an isolated area.
Andrea mounts my lap, facing me, and sticks her tongue down my throat. I reciprocate, clutching her hair with one hand and putting my other hand under her shirt.
We recklessly kiss and fondle in the darkened lot, not pausing to talk until we've each cum once.
> I couldn't tell--did you fuck up Kelsey at least?
> Not as much as I want to. But I think her mouth was bleeding. Fuck, I wish we coulda kept going.
> Who was that fucking blonde with her?
> Her family has a nanny from Poland. Thst mighta been her...or a relative or friend of hers. You and her were.....going at it pretty good.
> I know....I had her but......I kinda wanted to watch you and Kelsey fight.
> <<<kiss>>> well, I....<<<kiss>>>....kinda wanted.....<<<<kiss>>> ....to wach you and her fight.
Andrea and I finger each other in the car for another hour.
We head home.
I pray that Joan is asleep--I'm not in the mood now to explain to her what happened tonight.
I slip into the bedroom.
You know how sometimes, you just know?
I can tell my son has been in this bed tonight.
In the dark, Joan hisses at me, "You were with Andrea, weren't you?"
"You were with my son."
Joan and I silently fall asleep.
To be continued......
