[sinclairfan]

MICHELLE VS KAYLA

Hello there.  My name is Michelle.  I was born in 1966 in Western Michigan.  I grew up there on a farm, in a very religious, Christian home.  I didn't understand or even buy into all the doctrine I was surrounded with for 18 years, but I did find comfort in the discipline and sense of duty that came with it.  I studied hard in my rural high school, landed a scholarship at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, and got to follow the Wolverines during the heyday of their quarterback Jim Harbaugh.  He's now their Head Coach, for those of you who aren't sports fans.  In 1986, my junior year, Jim took the Wolverines to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California, and on a hunch, I made the trip. 

We lost the  game to Arizona State, 22 to 15, but I met the man I would marry, The One.  Hank.  Another UM junior, like me.  As soon as I saw him, I knew he and I would have a long marriage.  He was a Marketing major.  He was obsessed with blondes--that's me.  He was at UM for the same reason I was--to find a wholesome Midwesterner to marry.  We took forever to actually sleep with each other--both of us knew we had found what we were looking for and didn't want to blow it.  But we graduated together in May 1988, moved together to his Sales job in Chicago, and got married in October 1989. 

The marriage between Hank and me was genuinely close--we weren't just going thru the motions.  We had a genuine 50/50 partnership, outside the bed room is in.  I took care of things around our (progressively larger) houses(s), and Hank made sure our checking account was funded and that our credit card limits were growing.  We did have, or I should say I did have, fertility issues on the child rearing front.  For reasons that remain somewhat of a mystery, I'm sterile.  But in 1994, we found a surrogate mom who Hank impregnated (the all-natural way, not via a test tube--I'm still a little miffed by that), and we have a healthy girl who I got to raise and dress and put into cute costumes from 1995 to 2013, when she went away to college.  Those were 18 of the happiest, most fulfilling years of my life.

So happy, in fact, that when 2014 and 2015 and 2016 came, I was hit with "what now?" syndrome.  Is this all there is?, I found myself asking.  Having an affair rarely seriously crossed my mind.  But looking back at what happened, I would have been better off if it had.

Because, in the summer of 2016, I did indeed start an affair.  But not with someone my age--instead it was with a college student home for the summer.  And not with a boy.  It was with a girl.  The wrong girl.

Kayla was her name.  Kayla, Kayla, Kayla.  She moved into our cul de sac in 2010, when she was in middle school.  I watched her grow up.  Smart.  Athletic.  Responsible.  More responsible than any of her patents, as best I could tell.  Kayla was always the one shovelling the driveway, getting the mail, saying hello.  She grew up to be a beautiful, brunette,  high school girl, then went away to DePaul.  I started seeing her less and less, but was always glad to see her back home at Christmas break and summer vacation.  I thought June 2016 would be just another such interval before she inevitably disappeared forever.

Boy, was I wrong.

Down the street from us, a Mariano's grocery store had just opened.  In June and July, I would try to meet the summer midday heat by doing my grocery shopping early.  I mean very early--7:30am.  Hardly snyone else was in the store.  Except Kayla.  Her brown hair looked unbelievably gorgeous--straight, long, clean, thick.  I uncontrollably blurted that out as soon as I saw her, and something seemed to click with her.  Kayla and I went from barely acquainted neighbors, 29 years apart in age, to adulterous same sex fatal attraction partners in the 3.8 seconds it took for me to make my flip observation and for her to hear it.

In a freaking grocery store.

At freaking 7:30 on a weekday morning.

She asked if I had any plans for the day and if we could "connect".  We both knew right away we were speaking in code about having sex.  I said I was free until 3 in the afternoon.  My husband gets home at 6--don't ask me why I said 3.  I guess to leave time to "wash up".

She asked if she could come over as soon as she put away her frozen groceries.

I said, "You better."

In 50 years on God's Goof Earth, it was the sluttiest thing I ever said.

And it worked.

By 7:58, we were naked in my daughter's bed.  I refused to defile the marriage bed I shared with my husband.

I didn't know what I was doing--I hadn't kissed a girl--or anyone but my husband--since college.  And the college girl-kissing was goofy, experimental stuff.  Nothing as intense as Kayla.

We went at it for two hours.  And then as quickly as it started, we were done.

Or, I was.

I tried to drop hints.  "You can leave now, Kayla."  "You must have a busy day."  "I'm seeing a friend for lunch."

"I thought you were free till three."

Uh-oh.

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

FATAL ATTRACTION, PART DEUX

When Hank and I started dating in 1987, the movie "Fatal Attraction" was out, and he and I went to the theatre and watched it.  Hank saw it because of his blonde fetish--he obsessed over Glenn Close's look in that film.  The movie really disturbed me--I had nightmares about it for years.  I assumed it was because I feared someday being the scorned mistress.  I never thought that in 2016, I would be playing the role of the cheating spouse--and being stalked by the "other woman".

But as soon as Kayla hesitated in leaving my bed, and my home, that fateful June 2016 morning, I immediately recognized--and profoundly regretted--my grave error.  Kayla was the impulsive indulgence that I would be punished for forever.

Without thinking, I had foolishly assumed that Kayla was having college hookup sex wherever and whenever she wanted it.  I was so tingly and flattered that she had hopped into my bed that our 29-year age difference didn't make me stop and hesitate the way it should have.  Maybe her willingness and eagerness to have morning-long sex with me is a symptom of some underlying "issue" with her--a bad breakup.  Loneliness.  Immaturity.  Inexperience.  Depression.  Bipolar disorder.  Mental illness.

I started noticing the odd way she walked around the cul-de-sac, staring at her feet.  Understandable in a 15 year old girl, but Kayla was 21--she should have outgrown that shit by now.  I learned that DePaul was actually her second college--she had dropped out of a smaller, preppier school freshman year afyer failing to fit in.

Shit, shit, shit.  I had picked a terrible partner for a discrete, no-strings affair.  Now, how do I get out of this?  Be cool to her (literally and figuratively), and hope she gets the hint?  Or talk to her adult to adult and end things.

I picked the former.  It didn't work.  I don't think door number two would have worked either.  I think I was screwed either way.

My daughter had told me that in the 2010's, girls who want to break things off with a lover would "ghost" him--just stop returning his texts and emails and calls.  I figured I would just ghost Kayla for the rest of the summer, and by mid-August she'd be back at school at DePaul.  What could go wrong?

Turns out, a lot.

For example, Kayla could text me evenings and weekends while my husband was home.

She could knock on my door when my husband wasn't home.

She could follow me in her car when I was doing errands.

She could text me racy pictures, including partially nude ones, on my cellphone.

It all started slowly.

But got more persistent, not less.

She wasn't getting the message.  Or maybe she was, and wasn't accepting it.

It was July 10.  Over a month to go before she was returning to DePaul.  My husband was starting to notice my distractedness and fear.

I couldn't let this go on another 5 weeks.

I needed to confront Kayla.

I asked her to meet me at lunch at the town lake.  There would be a large crowd there.

I could talk to her thrre, right?

Right?

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

INTERLUDE:  1984 FISTFIGHT

Even as June 2016 dragged into July 2016, and I reluctantly admitted to myself that I was living a Fatal Attraction adultery nightmare, I was still not worried about things getting physical between Kayla and me.  Granted, I was disappointed that I couldn't just tearfully confess my error to Hank and have him "handle" the stalking, jilted lover with a good old-fashioned ass-kicking (which, ironically, I could have done if I had strayed with a male).  But if Kayla wouldn't just go away/move on, I was confident in my ability to put her in her place.

The basis of my confidence was my rural western Michigan upbringing, and long summer night drinking beer in barns.  When you grow up in a rural area, all ages hang out together.  On top of that, since western Michigan was thoroughly evangelized, we didn't get drunk and have sex.  Rather, we got drunk and hung out in barns and watched each other fight.  Even the girls.  What I mean is, not that every girl fought every party.  But every party, ghere was a girl fight between two same-sized girls.  No hairpulling allowed, no rolling on the hay-covered floor allowed.  Just a regular, fair, bare-knuckled boxing match.

In June 1984, I got singled out to (reluctantly) "participate" in one of these matches.  I had just gotten back from orientation at Ann Arbor, and another girl in the barn that night had just completed her freshman year at Michigan State in East Lansing.  An instigator older girl in the group chimed in that, "Don't Michigan and Michigan State hate each other?  Michelle and Nancy should totally fight," and that was it.  I knew I'd be fighting Nancy that night.

A clinic in martial arts is not how I would describe the show Nancy and I put on.  We were both shit-faced drunk, to start with, barely able to stand fully upright.  But we went after it, locking stares the entire duration of the 15-minute fight.  And almost entirely headshots, zeroing in on each others' mouths and noses with left jabs and right haymakers.  We both scored a couple of knockdowns, and had bloodied faces before we were done.  But I was proud of myself for going toe-to-toe with a college girl after barely finishing high school, and never doubted my ability to stare doen any female roughly my size.

Including my daughter's surrogate mom, when she got too clingy in 1997.  She didn't get clingy with the daughter she had birthed for my husbsnd and me--no, she got too clingy with my husband.  She wanted a repeat performance of the conception night she had with Frank.  She and I had a Skype conversation, and I looked her straight in the eye and told her that if she continued to interact with my husband, she'd need to deal with me first.  She thought about it, then decided I seemed serious and determined.  She made the right choice.  She stopped contacting my husband.

And you know what?   I was kinda disappointed.  I hadn't fought since 1984.  A woman should throw fown with another woman every 10 years or so, when you think about it.  Keep her skills current, her reflexes sharp.  1990s--no fights.  2000s--no fights.  2010 to 2105--no fights.

It's 2016 now.  You wanna try me, Kayla?  Bring it.

We met July 10  at lunchtime, at the lake.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

ASSSULTED BY KAYLA

When I arrive at the park by the lake for my breakup chat with Kayla, I immediately regret my choice of venue.  The town beach section of the lake is greatly expanded from prior years, and there are many more kids, accompanied by parents, grandparents, and nannies than I ever would have imagined attending on a weekday.  I suddenly realize how disconnected from my own town I've become in the years since my daughter graduated high school, went away to college in Missouri, and isolated herself from Hank and me.

I sit on a playground bench, over 40 toddlers playing in front of me in the hot summer sun, waiting for Kayla to arrive.  Is that why I had an impulsive morning sex romp with a neighborhood college coed?  Do I miss my daughter?  Did she and I never fully bond because I wasn't her birth mother?  Do I miss having a child to raise, like all the adults around me have right now?  Am I suffering from Empty Nest syndrome, now that my daughter is apparently never going to visit us, even though Hank and I have kept her bedroom intact?  Uggh, her bedroom.  Where I betrayed Hank with Kayla.  What would Hank say if he ever found out?  What would my daughter say?

Where the fuck is Kayla, anyways?  That fucking bitch, playing the fasionably-late game with me.  I have a busy day, here.  I can't spend all day waiting for her to get here, then letting her down gently.  This was a bad idea--I should just keep "ghosting" her.  She'll get the message.  She's a college girl--she's smart.

I get up to leave.  I start walking back to my car.  I unlock the door and am about to get in.  I hear right behind me:

> Going, somewhere, lover?  What about our date?

> You tell me, Kayla.  What about it?  Why were you late?

> I was trying to make myself look pretty for you, baby.  My hair takes forever to dry in this humid weather.  How do you like it?

I take in Kayla's body standing before me.  Tight cutoff jean shorts.  Tight tank top.  Flip flops with painted toenails.  Brown hair down to her butt, even longer than the morning she and I hooked up.  More makeup and eye shadow than are necessary for the occassion.  I blurt out:

> Why so dolled up, Kayla?

> I did it all for you, hun, thanks for noticing.

The word "noticing" reverberates in my ear.  Cars continue to arrive in the parking lot with kids and their caregivers, and they're walking right by us on the way to the lake.  They notice how Kayla is dressed, and the tension between me and her.  I see a parent whose name I forget but who lives in town and knows me.  Someone's going to recognize Kayla and me talking.  We need to get out of sight.  I motion Kayla to get into my SUV.  With the tinted windows, no one will recognize us together.

Kayla gets in the front passenger seat.  The interior of the car is already sticky hot, so I turn on the engine and the air conditioner.  Kayla's cocky attitude is pissing me off.  Can't she tell I don't want to be here?  Or with her?  I want to ask the bitch why she can't take a hint?

> So, Kayla, why aren't you working a summer internship?  You seem to be home a lot this summer?  Don't you graduate soon?

<<<<Kayla's cockiness fades away immediately.  I've hit a nerve.>>>>*

> Ya, so about that, babe.....I kinda messed up.  I....ummm.....graduated already.  Or, I didn't. ...ATTEND graduatation ... I, umm, finished my degree... early..... I took an accelerated courseload and completed all the requirements two years early.... so I'm not eligible for help getting an internship... and I don't have anything full time lined up.  So I'm sort of in limbo right now?

> What do your mom and dad suggest?  They must be happy to save on tuition in the fall.

> They kind of don't know any of this, Michelle.

> Oh.  Well, when do you plan on telling them?

<<<<Kayla's cockiness returns.  I hate when she shows me that side of her, so defiant.  I used to hate that in my daughter when she was a teen.>>>>>

> Well, when should I tell them about YOU AND ME DATING, MICHHHHEEELLLLLLLE?

<<<<<I've prepared myself, or think I have, for this part of the conversation.  I decide I need to stand firm.>>>

> Kayla, you and I are not dating.  When I invited you into my house that morning, I thought you were mature enough and discrete enough to handle whst we were doing.  I can see by your behavior since that you were not, and that's why it will not happen again.

<<<My own words replay over and over in my head.  I sutprise myself with my poise and firmness, especially in light of Kayla's new revelations about her vulnerability and her deceptiveness, lying to her own parents about facts as fundamental as employment and academic status.  Although, is she deceiving me, too?  Are there parts of her story she's leaving out.  All trust between Kayla and me is disappearing fast.>>>>>

<<<<Kayla's silence is disconcerting to me.  I decide to break it.>>>>>

> So what are you doing the rest of today?

Just as the morning I propositioned Kayla in the grocery store, I saw something "click" with her, I notice my question has done the same thing now.  Kayla's eyes and posture take on an unmistakable aura of lust.

> This, babe.

Kayla rolls her entire body onto mine, wedging herself between the steering wheel and me, sitting on my lap and facing down at me.  Her mouth and tongue latch onto mine like a leech, and she begins kissing and sucking my mouth.  Her hands latch onto my hair and hold me head firmly in place as I attempt to squirm away from her.  I now regret the tinted windows of my car, as people in the parking lot are now unaware of the activity transpiring in the interior of my SUV.  I thrust my chest and hips at my attacker, but Kayla only seems to relish the friction of our bodies placed together in the tight quarters.  Her arousal is unmistakable, from the grunts in her throat, the sweat on her skin, and the firmness of her breasts.  Our beasts align, and begin grinding together rhythmically, my resistance inadvertantly contributing to the rubbing.  I attempt to push Kayla's tongue of my mouth with my own tongue, which she interprets as recipocation by me.  I punch Kayla's sides and backs with my hands, which only gets her more aroused.  I sense that the running SUV is shaking, and notice nearby pedestrians shaking their heads at it disapprovingly.  I contemplate hitting the car horn, but decide that will only draw attention to the car that will place me in a bad light.

My helplessness and vulnerability do something strange to me.

They make me cum.  I yell out in involuntary spasms of release.  Kayla reduces her vice grip on my mouth, as she is cumming as well, just less loudly.

Kayla rolls off of me.

> That was divine, my dear.

> That was an unwanted advance, you prissy, cocky bitch.

> It didn't seem unwanted to me, slut.  And before you get any ideas, let me get two things straight.  Which are undeniable.  YOU invited ME into your house, and YOU invited ME into your car.

> Consider yourself disinvited.  Forever.  Get out.

> Oh, but this isn't over, Michelle.

Kayla gets out of my car. 

Kayla',s words about messing up with college echo in my mind.

I can identify.  With messing up.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

CONFESSION TIME WITH HANK

After Kayla brazenly assaulted me in my own car, I was half-tempted to drive to the police station and report her.  But doubts got the better of me.  My first doubt was, would the police physically examine me?  Would they ask to see my underwear, and see that I had cum explosively?  Would they examine Kayla?  Would they note my spit in her mouth?  Would they wonder why I was apparently kissing her back?  Would they notice that the meeting was set up at my request?  Would the adults in the parking lot report that I invited Kayla into the tinted-window vehicle?  Would the police wonder why Kayla was in my home for two hours in June?

I had let things go too far already, and Kayla was going to take things even further.  I took her at her word on this.  I needed to get my ducks in a row for what was to come.

I needed to confess to my husband, and fast.  Like, before he got home.  The truth will set you free, right?

I get comfortable at home.  I call his work phone number.

> Hello?

> Hank, it's Michelle.  Can you talk?

> Sure, 'shel.  Or, for 15 minutes or so.  What's up?

> Hank, I have something bad I need to tell you about the college girl across the street.  Like, really bad.  Her name is Kayla.

> Michelle, I can explain.  It's not what you think.

> Wait, what??  YOU can explain??  Explain what?

> Well, I assume.....I assume her parents told you...

> They told me nothing.  What are you talking about, Hank?  You're scaring me.

> Michelle, a coiplr of weeks ago, Kayla texted me a selfie of.....of....of her breast.  Her bare breast.  I assumed she accidentally texted it to me instead of one of her boyfriends at home.....so I decided to play the discreet gentleman, and I ignored it.....until last weekend she sent me another one, so I approached Dad...

> But Hank, wait, wait, back up.  How the hell did she get your cellphone number to even text?

> Michelle, remember two summers ago when she was writing her resume and asked if she could use me as a reference.

> Vaguely, but Hank I don't remember ever agreeing to her having your text.

> Well, ya, no shit, Sherlock, I know that now.  The girl's on serious antidepressants, her Dad told me.
But, now, you back up.  If that's not why you're calling me....why ARE you calling?

> Hank.....fuck, this is so embarrassing.....Hank, Kayla .. .. is harrassing me.  For a month now.  And Hank, it gets worse.... she forced herself on me ....  this morning ..   in the car ..   my car  .... we were in a parking lot .... Hank, she's horrible...  IT ...  was horrible ...  Hank she said it's not over ...  I'm so sorry....

> Michelle, ok, that's enough.  You... did... nothing ....  wrong.  I believe you.  I saw enough from her two texts.  And from talking to her dad.  Micelle, we can't talk about this over the phone.  Wait until I get home tonight, ok?

> Please hurry.  Hank, I'm sorry.

> I'll see you tonight.

We hang up.  I never told Hank about my 2 hours in bed with Kayla in June. 

Is it already too late to tell him?

To be continued....