[sinclairfan]

My name is Anne.  I'm 56 years old now, and grew up in Rhode Island in the 1970s and 1980s.  It was a pretty good life, and I kept my nose to the grindstone to keep it that way, and to make sure my adulthood would turn out even better.  I was a good girl, did well at school, and did everything I could to make sure no permanent mistakes would put me off the rails from where I was trying to get to.

Which, in the early 1980s meant:  No drugs, and no getting pregnant.  I can see now, though, that I took both of those rules to an extreme.  My "no drugs" rule somehow turned into never taking even a sip of beer until college.  This led to some embarrassing, and potentially dangerous, episodes in my 20s when I didn't know my tolerance with alcohol and was lucky to not get pulled over (or to hit anyone) when I was driving while under the influence, probably three or four times the legal limit.  This could have been avoided by learning how to drink socially at high school parties and hangouts.

And, the the sex department, it translated into a chaste existence that would make a Catholic nun look downright wanton.  I avoided high school boys and anything to do with them.  I avoided flirting with them; talking with them; help, even making eye contact with them.  I probably seemed either painfully shy to half and obnoxiously snooty to the other half.  And this had nothing to do with looks--I was as pretty as most any girl in my high school class, and had found my niche at the lunch table and in social clubs with my own sex.  I was average at worst on the popularity totem poll.  I talked on the phone at night with girls, hung out at the mall on weekends, and was never lonely or depressed.  It was a surprisingly drama-free four years.

I knew I was straight--I wondered what it was like to kiss a boy, and was curious about how their whole machinery worked "down there".  I would sneak reads in my home encyclopedia about testicles and prostates and sperm.  But the notion of taking it to the level of actually interacting with a boy--well, that was off the table until much later in life.  I was focused on my studies first, then getting a career going.

I didn't play any sports, but I did end up taking an important position on the Yearbook Club.  Desktop printing and publishing was becoming a thing, and I had a vague notion of heading in that direction for college and my career.  So what better way to learn than by helping put a yearbook together?

There was a section of our yearbook where class member would "rank" the senior class members.  In 2021, this would no longer be considered appropriate, but cetain "jock"/fratboy boys would of course rank girls by their looks, or even worse, their sluttiness.  Us girls on the yearbook committee were irrestibly drawn to these lists.  We'd read them, laughter amongst ourselves, be ashamed at how proud we were to show up with a high ranking on a list, then throw them away--they were publishable in yearbooks, even in 1983.

One day, came across a strange list.

What two girls in the Class of 1983 would have the best catfight?

Number 1--Anne vs Donna.

My hands started shaking.  I blushed uncontrollably.  Our teacher advisor, Mrs. Harris noticed me.

"What is it, Anne?  Why are you shaking?"

" No reason," I lied, crumpling the list.

To be continued......

[Vanessa]

A good start

[sinclairfan]

Mrs Harris could tell I was lying, both because my demeanor was so generically flustered, but also because Mrs Harris was my favorite teacher in the whole high school.  She knew about my interest in desktop publishing, and had contacts for weekend and summer jobs in local office parks getting some experience in the field.  And earning some always-welcome walking around money, for things like gas and food.

I had confided in Mrs Harris my semi-feminist desire to become financially independent, to not be dependent for support on a man when 'I grew up", even if it was man I  loved.  Mrs. Harris was very like-minded in this regard, and confided in me her strong feminist beliefs, nurtured in the 1970.  Although she had been happily married for 8 years, she had chosen to hold off in getting pregnant, not wanting to derail the rapid ascent up the teaching ladder.  She was preparing to become an Assistant Principal in a couple years, with eventual hopes of full Principal, the Superintendant, then "early retirement".  She would fit in kids ("just 1 or at most 2") somewhere in there if possible; but if not possible, "so be it".  I was excited by her ambition and her intense desire to be master (well, "mistress") of her own fate, and I felt as if I was talking to the older sister I didn't have.

My only sibling was a younger sister, one year younger than myself.  No brothers.  And not close at all to my sister.  She played sports.  And slept with boys.  As in, actually in our house.  I could hear them.  I would get so angry at her -- she knew no boys were allowed in our house by our Mom.  But my sister would sneak them in when my Mom was working one of her three jobs.  She had gotten divorced 5 years earlier, and while she was civil with my Dad, and he was prompt with child support, alimony, and even pitching in on yardwork around the house, my Mom had become accustomed to nice things.....and our big house....and felt the need to work hard to keep up the lifestyle.  And to compete with the Jones's in our town, who would whisper about her being a divorcee.  Remember:  This was 1983 in (very) Catholic Rhode Island.

My sister was putting me in the impossible situation of either snitching on her, or putting up with her gross noises and pillow talk.  No high school virgin wants to listen to her younger sister getting lucky, over and over and over, with a revolving door of boys.

So I'd confront my sister.  And we'd both be aggravated and resentful.  And frustrated with our life.

And we'd catfight.

First verbally.  Then, as the weeks and months went by, lightly physically.

Then full on violent.  We're talking, full on barroom brawling.  Hairpulling, scratching.

Above the belt.

And then below.  This was no hold barred.  Each of us trying to submit the other.

Which, neither of us ever could.  We were complete equals in catfighting ability. 

So our fights would go to mutual exhaustion.  And never resolve anything.  Except to lay the seeds of bitterness for our next battle, the next time she had a boy over.

No one knew about these fight.  Except for my sister.  Me.

And Mrs Harris.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

How my fights with my sister at home came up with Mrs Harris was a bit of an accident.  I didn't want to say anything to an authority figure which would reflect poorly on my overworked Mom. 

But one day after school Mrs Harris and I were alone after a Yearbook Club meeting, and she cornered me with a question.

> Anne.... did I hear correctly from another teacher earlier today...., is Lisa in the class of '84 your sister?

> You heard correctly.

> Oh, see ...... it's just, I never would have guessed that.  She has curly blonde hair, yours is brunette and straight ..... your faces are, well, different .....

> [with half-sarcastic false modesty] I suppose you think she's prettier???

> [backpedaling] Oh, no, no, Anne, no .... no, please don't think that ..... Lisa is attractive, but if you force me to choose between the two of you ..... it's no contest, you're much prettier.  And smarter.

> [winking] Nice save, Mrs Harris.

> [moving closer] Anne .... I wouldn't pry about your family if I din't find you attractive, and smart, and strong.  [Backing up]  BBUUUTTTT....

> But, what?

> Have I hit a nerve?  Ate you and your sister .... not close?

> [Abruptly] We hate each other.

> OK, I'm sure it's not hate.  ALL sisters are competitive at times....

> We HATE each other.  Mrs Harris ..   Lisa and I BRAWL.  Some day soon one of us will be in the ER.  Or both.

> [getting physically closer again] Does  ...... anyone know?  Has anyone seen this?

> No one knows.  It starts when our parents aren't home .... and she breaks house rules.

> Did you learn by .... watching ... grownups fight in your house?

> Mrs Harris .... I don't want to make you hear anything you need to .....  report.

> Anne .... if sisters got reported for catfighting ..... every woman in America would have a criminal record.

> [My body tangled at Mrs Harris saying that word:  catfighting.]  Lisa and I catfight.  A lot.  And it's getting worse.

> Anne, you surprise me all the time.  But you're right.  Let's discuss this another time.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

One weeknight shortly after Mrs Harris had hesitated and cut off a conversation with me at school after I hinted she was getting personal, I was home alone (my slut sister was out fucking in some boy's car) and my phone rang.  This was 1983--no cellphones, no caller ID.  I needed to answer in case it was my Mom, and I did.

> Hello?

> Anne?  It's Mrs Harris.  Are you free to talk?

> Oh, hey, Mrs Harris.  What's up?  [I was feigning calm, but inside my heart was racing.  Mrs Harris, my favorite teacher, calling me late on a school night?]

> Anne, I'm glad I caught you.  You and Lisa don't have each other by the throat, right?

> Not at the moment.  Maybe when she gets home. 

> That bad, huh?

> That bad.  She's literally letting a guy have his way with her on the first date.  Behind our Mom's back.

> That sucks, Anne.  I wish I could help.

> You are.  Thanks for listening.

> Awwww, thanks.  Wanna know what helps ME ..... when I get aggravated by SOMEONE..... or SOMETHING .... or, just, the world?

> No, what?  Tell me Mrs Harris.

> Well, ..... and this is 100 true .... I think about kicking another woman's ass.

> Mrs Harris?!?!?!? You?  .... like, whose ass?  [Did I just say that out loud?]

> Well, don't tell anyone .....

> I won't.  I swear.

> You know Miss Fredrickson?  The new gym teacher?

> Mrs Harris!!!!!!   

> What?  You don't think I can take her??

> [My pussy is soaked.  And my fingers are stoking it.]  It's just .... she's so pretty ..... well, you both are.... Mrs Harris .... have you ever ....  TOLD her .... this?

> Not yet.   .....  Anne .....

> Yes, Mrs Harris??

> Can YOU tell her?

To be continued.....

[BadBitchDana]

I like this story so far, I can't wait to see where it goes.

[sinclairfan]

I hung up the phone with Mrs Harris, promising to broach the catfighting topic with Miss Frederickson my next gym class, which was in 3 days.  (Hell, let's face it, I would have said "Yes" to anything Mrs Harris asked me that night on the phone.)

I then masturbated myself to sleep.  I realized my masturbation frequency had grown from once per week, before Mrs Harris and I started becoming close, to once per night.

I then fell into a deep sleep.  And started dreaming.  About Mrs Harris and Miss Fredrickson, buck naked, catfighting in the gym locker room showers.  Catfighting hard, like my sister Lisa and I did, actually trying to hurt each other.  I found the catfight the two teachers were having to be serious to the two of them, but erotic for their audience (which was 1 person, me).  The gym showers were running full blast with steaming hot water, filling the locker room with humid mist, and causing Mrs Harris and Miss Fredrickson to sweat buckets.  Their skin was pure muscles and exertion, and both somehow looked even sexier naked than they did in school clothes (and that was saying something, since both teachers always dressed impeccably).

My pussy exploded while I was dreaming, the sound of my own moaning startling myself awake.  I tried to fall back asleep, to capture the dream back.   But I was now wide awake.  My clock said 12:49am.

> Shit, I exclaimed out loud, why did I need to wake up?  Shit, shit, shit.

I saw a night go on in the hallway through the cracks of my door.  Either my Mom or Lisa had heard me.  Shit, don't let is be Lisa.

My door cracked open.

> Are you masturbating, slut?

> [Shit.  It was Lisa.]  You're no one to be calling someone a slut.

> Fuck you, Anne.  That was fucking pornographic, what you just did.  They could hear you in fucking Providence.  Can you touch yourself, like, 50 times quieter??

> Can you fuck 50 times quieter when you open your legs here, before I tell Mom?? [I'm equal parts mortified and angry.]

> Tell Mom, and I'll slap you silly, Anne.

> What's stopping you, tramp?  Let's go right now.  [I'm totally ready to catfight Lisa here and now.  She can tell I'm serious.]

> Someday.  I'm tired now.  And it's a school night.

> Chicken.

> Whore.

> Slut.

> Tramp.

> Bitch.

Lisa goes back to bed.

To be continued.....

[britney_summer]

This thing is getting hot. Carry on.

[sinclairfan]

Our high school had an extended break between second and third periods, during which the "bad girls" (and boys) went out to the high school courtyard and smoked Marlboros and Winston's.  One of the girls, one of the blonde's, one of the pretty blondes, always out in the courtyard was Donna, a classmate of mine with whom I've never spoken beyond 'hello'.  Donna was my height (5-7), my measurements (38-32-34 or so), with thick blonde hair, sort of straight and sort of teased and sort of feathered in a Farrah Fawcett way. 

Donna was always out in the courtyard, but never actually had a lit cigarette in her hand or mouth.  She would sometimes be holding an unlit cigarette, chatting with smokers, sometimes (but not always) kissing the bad boys out in the courtyard.

I knew this, because I had been watching Donna, between 2nd and 3rd period, from inside the school for all 4 years of high school.  Watching her unlit cigarette thing, whatever that was all about.

And the masturbating to it at night, in bed.

Masturbating to thought of her actually lighting one of her cigarettes, and taking a puff.  Masturbating to the thought of her kissing one of the bad boys in the courtyard.  Then tongue kissing him.

Masturbating to the thought of her tongue kissing one of the boys in the courtyard who had a bad girl girlfriend, the girlfriend getting jealous as fuck, and then challenging Donna to a catfight, right there in the courtyard, right there in the front of the boyfriend, right there in front of the "good" students, like me, staring out from the inside at the bad girls and boys outside smoking and kissing and catfighting.

I wondered how Donna would do in a catfight.  She seemed like she'd fucking kick ass.  Her body proportions seemed perfect to dig into some bitch's hair, like I would dig into my sister's Lisa's when she and I would catfight.  I would masturbate to the thought of Donna totally losing it on some jealous bitch's hair and face over some courtyard stolen make-out session.  Each trying to fuck up the other before getting broken up by the Assistant Principal.

Who next year would be Mrs Harris.

Gawd I loved Mrs Harris's hairspray.  Her scent.  The way she'd get in close with me when she asked about my catfights with my sister Lisa.

The way she asked me to set up a catfight between her and Miss Fredrickson.  Or ask about one.

I hung around gym late after 2nd period that day to ask her exactly that.

I got out of the shower, my pussy somehow wetter than when I had gotten in.

I got dressed.

I knocked on her door between  the showers. 

The showers I had wer-dteamed about her catfighting Mrs Harris.

I knocked.

"Come in."

It was Donna.

""What the fuck are you doing here?"

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I was so shocked and flustered to see Donna (or, for that matter, any student) in Miss Fredrickson's office between periods that it didn't immediately register with me that Donna's clothing was completely disheveled.  Her blouse was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a lace bra and the tops of her 38c breasts.  Her skirt was unbuttoned and a cute rope belt had been untied.  And her high heels were unstrapped in the back.

Granted, she may have been getting ready to change into her gym uniform for next period.  But something about the half-assed nature of her undressing made it look less innocent than that.  And why not do it in the locker room?  Why get changed in the gym teacher's office?  Behind closed doors?

Something was fishy.

Since Donna and I were both 19 and at the age of consent, in 1983 there would not have been a scandal about Donna having sexual interactions with the school gym teacher.  But in 1983 in Rhode Island, the same sex angle WOULD have been a scandal--a career-ending one for Miss Fredrickson.

My, how the world has changed from 1983 to 2021.

But all I could think was--damn, I have some juicy gossip for Mrs Harris.  Miss Fredrickson was doing something inappropriate with my classmate Donna.  Maybe, just maybe,, Mrs Harris could use this knowledge to goad Miss Fredrickson into the catfight she was craving with her.

And maybe, just maybe, I would be invited to watch.

I felt my crotch getting soaked, and hoped Donna wouldn't notice.  I needed to get out.

I started to back my way out of the office to get to my 3rd period class.  But Donna wasn't going to let me leave without having the last word.  She spoke up to get me to pause.

> Hey!  Anne!  C''mere!

I pretended to not hear her and to be on my way.  I turned my back on the bitch.

> Anne!  Don't ignore me!! HEY!!  VIRGIN!!!!

[Did she just call me that?  How does she know?? Does the whole school know I'm a virgin???]

I turn around and face her.  I close the office door.

> Don't call me that, you slut bitch.

> Why not???  Because it's true???  Virgin?

> Say it again and I'll tear your hair out.

> Pffft.

[But it works.  She stops calling me that word.]

> Why'd you call me back?

> Tell your sister Lisa to stop fucking my boyfriend.

> Ha!  My sister and I don't talk.  Tell her yourself.  Can I go now?

> Tell her anyways.  And, yes, you can go now.

[I half want her to call me a virgin once more.  But she doesn't.]

[My hands are shaking.  My nipples are erect.  And my pussy is soaked.]

[But I have what I want.  Gossip for Mrs Harris.]

To be continued.....

[sidekick]

This is simply fabulous. It hits so many of my hot buttons. Can't wait for the continuation.

[sinclairfan]

I stayed after school for a Yearbook Club meeting,  hoping to update Mrs Harris on the double life her rival Miss Fredrickson was living, and seeing her reaction.  But Mrs Harris's backup, not Mrs Harris, was in the room, informing us that Mrs Harris had a personal matter to attend to, but that the rest of us should make use of the time and continue with work on the yearbook.

I turned to the Senior biographies section, and looked up Donna, and what her Likes and Dislikes section.  Under Dislikes, she put "sneaking around" and under Saying, she put "Two's Company, Three's a Crowd."

I immediately thought of this morning's confrontation I had with her, where she told me to tell Lisa to stop fucking Donna's boyfriend.  I assumed it was just trashcan to fluster me, by reminding me that my younger sister slept with boys while I didn't.

But was she serious?  Was Donna actually being two-timed by her boyfriend?  And, of all people, by my younger sister?

And for how long had this been going on?

I tried to replay in my mind the boys my sister had over.  Every one of them seemed to be new--"relationships" didn't seem to be my sister's thing.  She was more a "play the field" / "having a good time" type.

But then I thought of the boy she had been sleeping with lately in his car (gross; how is that sexy?).  At first I assumed that, too, was a different boy every time.  But then it dawned on me that the car engine it a distinct revving sound when it pulled out of our driveway.  And that he and Lisa seemed to have some pickup drill worked out where he would circle our cul de sac first, almost "casing the joint", and then pull in, with my sister already outside waiting for him, her having heard him pull onto our street minutes before.

My sister had no scruples about inviting boys into our house, and into her bed.  Why not this boy?  Was it because the two of them were hiding their sleeping around from others?

And why did he tolerate Lisa sleeping with other boys?  Was it because he was cheating on his own girlfriend himself?

Was he cheating on Donna?

And what was the connection between him and Lisa?  Did the two of them have mind blowing sex?  Was Lisa that good in bed?  Or were the two of them so bored with sex that they were seeking a thrill, in the form of a secret affair?

I got sad that I didn't have the type of relationship with Lisa where she would confide in me about who she was sleeping with.  The rift between us had become so wide that whole pieces of her life were a mystery to me.

I went home, hoping Mrs Harris would call.  She had my number, but I didn't have hers.

I decided undress lay down on my bed and masturbate to the thought of my confrontation with Donna earlier in the day in Miss Fredrickson's office.  And what would have happened next if Donna had used the word "virgin" just once more.

I was just starting get aroused, when my bedroom door was pushed open.  Shit, I forgot to lock it.

Double shit.  It was Lisa.

> Well, well, look at you go Anne.  The masturbating queen.  if only the whole world knew your secret life.

I pop up, naked, startled, irritated, frustrated.  This whole day has been frustrating.  I think of what I can say to hurt Lisa the most.

> Fuck you, bitch.  If only the whole world YOUR secret.  Fucking Donna's boyfriend.

Something clicks in my sister's eyes and face.  Fear.  Shock.  Then anger.  She comes at me, grace me by my shoulders, and pushed me into my closet door.  Her nose gets into mine, almost touching.  Our bodies are pinned together.  Her face is red.

> WHERE did you hear that, bitch?  ANSWER ME, Anne.  THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Part of me wants to zip my lip and make my sister stew in her own juices.  But her level of agitation is like nothing I've ever seen.  Shit, she actually CARES about this boy she's fucking.  That's not like Lisa.

Good, I have her.  I can hurt her.  And I will.

> Donna told me.  Between 2nd and 3rd periods.

Lisa slaps my face.

> AND WHAT DID YOU SAY, DUMBASS?!?!?  YOU DENIED IT, RIGHT?

I hesitate.  DID Donna know?  Or just suspect?  What were her EXACT words.  I realize now that I don't know.  Shit.

> ANNE, you fucking dumb ass.  She was TESTING YOU.  AND YOU FUCKED UP.  YOU SCREWED ME.  MY OWN DAMN SISTER.

Lisa slaps me once more.

Lisa calms down a tab.

> Anne, you don't understand sex and relationships.  You're so fucking naive.  This all happened because you're a virgin.

I see red.  I'm shaking.  And pissed.

> Say that you're again, Lisa, and you and I are having this out for real, right here, right now.

Lisa looks me in the eye.  She's as pissed and hurt as I am.

> Fine by me.  Virgin.

I lunge at my sister, tearing into her blonde hair and throwing her head around like a rag doll.  But her body is fully clothed in a t-shirt and jeans, while I'm buck naked.  So she claws at my breasts and twists and mauling them, ripping at flesh and digging into my boobs.

I retalitate finding her breasts under her t-shirt and pushing and pulling in them as hard as I can.  Lisa respond by moving her hands down my frontside, finding my exposed and wet pussy, scratching it until I grunt in excruciating pain.

We fall onto the floor, our hand and arms flailing at each others' most personal regions.  Her attacks are more effective, since I was dumb enough to get into a catfight with myself naked, and my opponent fully clothed.

Was I going to lose a catfight to my younger sister?

Just then, the front door of our house opened.

It was our Mom.

> LISA!!!!! ANNE!!!! Stop fighting right away!!!!

Shit.  This was bad.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

My sister and I stand up, bruised and embarrassed, our mother not knowing what to make of the scene in front of her, confused by many things (she would brag all the time to her friends, "Oh, my daughters are easy!  They never fight."), but probably most confused by my nakedness.  I expect, and hope, for her to order me to put clothes on, but she decides an explanation for what has just happened can't wait.  I cover my breasts with my crossed arms, but my pussy is out for all to see.

> What's this nonsense all about?  I'd love to hear what's worth you girls trying to kill each other!

My sister speaks first.

> Anne narc'd on me about Lance to his girlfriend Donna!!!

> Anne?!?!?!?  Are you insane???  Why the fuck would you out your own sister?!?!?

> WHOA?  TIME OUT!!!  You know his name is Lance?  I didn't even know his fucking name!!!!

> But you knew your sister was seeing a boy??

> [air quotes]  "Seeing"?? IS that what you call it?

> Mom!!  Anne is lying!!  She knew everything!!  She was just talking with Donna about Lance and me this morning at school!!!

> Anne?!?!?!?  You were doing what??  Why the fuck would you take the side of Lance's girlfriend over your own sister?

> MOM!!!!  STOP SAYING THAT!!!! How am I the bad guy here?  I wasn't conniving with Donna.  Hell, I almost got into a catfight with her.

> Ya, ALMOST.  So instead you catfight your own fucking sister?!?!?!?

[I decide I'm just completely tired of talking about this to either my sister or my Mom.  I'm at a complete disadvantage, being naked both literally and figuratively.  Literally, because I cannot believe the absurdity of trying to explain myself while wearing no clothes.  Figuratively, because there IS one basic fact about which my sister is completely right.  Donna DID trick me into confessing that Lance was two-timing Donna with Lisa.  But not in the way Lisa and my mother think.  But I can't tell either of them the REAL reason I was talking with Donna.  That I was trying to instigate a catfight between Mrs Harris and Miss Fredrickson.

Shit.  Mrs Harris.  I still haven't spoken with her.  She's the only one who will listen to me.  I just want her to call tonight

> Mom, you've clearly taken sides and made up your mind.  Can I just take a shower and get dressed.

> You may.  But then you're fucking grounded.  And that means no phone calls.  And it means go to school for classes....AND THEN COME STRAIGHT HOME.  NO YEARBOOK CLUB.

[My life passes before my eyes.  My phone calls and Yearbook Club with Mrs Harris are the only happy moments of my life right now.  If those are taken from me, I have nothing.]

[I hatch a scheme.  I'm going to take a shower.  Then I'm going to pack four days of clothes into my backpack.  I'm going to school tomorrow.  And not coming back home.  I'm going to beg Mrs Harris to let me go home with her.  At least for a couple days.  I can't take this house right now.  My Mom will chill out in a few days.]

> OK.  Can I take a shower now?

> Just one more thing.  Shake your sister's hand and kiss her.

> KISS HER???  Gross!

> What are you afraid of Anne??  I know you never had sex.  But don't tell me you never kissed anyone.

> [Game on, Lisa.  You wanna do this.]  OK.  You wanna kiss Lisa?  Let's kiss.

[I step up to my sister and get right in her face.  She meets my stare right back, which sort of surprises me, but there's no turning back now.  I open my mouth to hers, expecting her to keep hers closed.  But she doesn't.  She responds my licking my lips with her tongue.  Our tongues touch, accidentally by me, by seemingly intentionally on her part.  She's trying to flustered me, but I'm in no mood.  I put my tongue inside her mouth.  She flinches first, pulling back and ending our kiss.]

> Freak.

> Slut.

> Virgin.

> END THIS.  NOW, GIRLS.  I'M NOT JOKING.

My sister slams the door behind her in her bedroom.  I retreat to mine and do the same.

I get in the shower.  I start the water. I start to soap up.

But there's something I need to do first.

I rub myself off, trying to muffle my moans under the sound of the shower.

I cum in my hand.

And then I start doing it again.

Wave after endless wave of orgasms.

I hope the water is loud enough for my sister and mother to not be able to hear me.

I get out of the shower feeling dirtier than when I got in.

I need to get out of this house.

I hope Mrs Harris will take me.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The next day at school, I can't wait until afternoon to see Mrs Harris, so I go to her class during homeroom at the start of the day.

Thank goodness.  She's here.  Only 2 or three students are in the room yet, so I'm able to engage her in conversation.

But she's almost as happy to see me as I am to see her.

> Anne!  I tried calling your home last night, and you Mom wouldn't put you on the line.  She said you and your sister had fought.

> [Fuck.]  You talked to my Mom?!?!?!?

> Yes!  Anne, what's happening between you and your sister?!?

> Oh, Mrs Harris, it's terrible.  But it's not my fault.  My sister is seeing another girl's boyfriend, and somehow I'm the bad guy. 

> Indeed, Anne.  Don't cry.  C'm'ere.  [I didn't plan on crying.  Why did she say that?  Mrs Harris moves in close to me.  She smells good, like always.  Her chest gets up into mine, and I can feel our breasts touching.  Her left hand reaches down and grabs my right hand.]  Anne, how did this all happen??

> [Mrs Harris hand is caressing mine.]  Mrs Harris, where do I start???  Why were you out at Yearbook Club yesterday afternoon???  I needed to talk to you.  About Miss Fredrickson and ..... and ..... another senior.  [I look around the home room.  The class is filling up.  The other students are starting to notice Mrs Harris touching me.]

> I need to talk to you too, Anne.  [She puts her cheek into mine.  Her skin is so soft.  She puts her mouth into my left ear.  She whispers...] Your mother said when she broke up you and your sister, that you were completely naked.  And that your sister had you by your pubes.  Is that true?

>[I whisper back to her....] Basically true.

> Ohhhhh, Anne.  After I got off the phone with your Mom, I fucked my husband's brains out for 3 hours picturing that.  He had to beg me to stop.  So I did.  And kept masturbating next to him.  Anne, that's so fucking hot.  We need to talk about it.

> I want to.  Can you bring me home with you tonight???  Mrs Harris, I don't want to go home.  I hate it there.  I have four days of clothes with me.  I just need to borrow your .... toiletries .... your makeup.  Your brush.  A toothbrush.  [Or, we could just share a toothbrush.  Right now, I wouldn't hesitate to put Mrs Harris's toothbrush in my mouth.  Fuck, I'm horny.]

> Let me talk to my husband.  I think he'll be OK with it.  But let me check with him first.  Come see me at the end of the day.  But....

> But?

> But you do the same..... tell your Mom when we get to my place.  So she doesn't worry.  Ok?

> Do I have to?

> Anne, let's do this right.  Above board.  So we can talk.  Alone.  Ok?

Mrs Harris let's go of my hand.  I feel the absence of her touch, the intrusiveness of the other students in the room.  I just want to be alone with Mrs Harris.  I just want away from my house.  Away from my sister, and away, now, too, from my Mom.  How could she take my sister's side?  How could she tell others about my fight?  About me being naked.  About my "pubes"?  I didn't even know my mom knew that word.

****************************
Mrs Harris calls her husband at work.  He's ok with me spending the night at their place.  As long as I tell my Mom.  So. I call my Mom at her work.  She can't pick up, but a coworker of hers does.  I ask her to tell my Mom that I'm going to go home with Mrs Harris.  And spend a few nights there.  And I'll call her at home later this afternoon from Mrs Harris's place.  Which Mrs Harris wanted me to do anyways.

I get in Mrs Harris's car in the school parking lot, a Cadillac.  Kinda old, but fancy..  Four or five loitering students stare at us getting in the same car, no doubt wondering why a teacher and a student are leaving the school parking lot together.  Great, within a few hours the whole fucking town will know Mrs Harris and Anne were in a car together after school.

As Mrs Harris pulls onto the highway, I bring up all that's happened since yesterday.

> Mrs Harris, I went to Miss Fredrickson's office yesterday. And Donna was there, alone.  But, it's not just that she was alone.  Mrs Harris, she was.... well, not undressed, but, like, getting ready to undress.

> Well, it WAS gym class.  She was probably just changing.  Slow down, tho, Anne.  Stop spazzing.  You're hyperventilating.

> [She's right, I am.  And my heart is racing.  But it's because I can't believe I'm in Mrs Harris's car.  And going to her house.]  No, Mrs Harris, well.... there was more to it than that ..... but there's more than that.... well, first, Donna told me to tell Lisa to stop fucking Donna's boyfriend ..... and well, my sister's such a slut, I just ASSUMED .... that Lisa knew that Donna knew.... but Donna was just trying to trick me..  And it worked.  Sorta.  I didn't disagree with her, and ...  well, it's so stupid, because my Mom already knew about Lisa and the boy ..... his name is Lance .... he's Donna's boyfriend, ok? ..... that Lisa has been fucking on the side? ......

[Traffic gets heavier.  Mrs Haris is weaving between lanes.  She's getting irritated trying to decipher my stories and navigate traffic.]

> But Anne. Anne, Anne.  Slow down.  How did Lisa PROVOKE you to fight her??

> [Shit, she sure is obsessed with Lisa and me catfighting]....and, well, ok, we'll get back to THEM later, but .....well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about [I can't believe I'm about to confess this to Mrs Harris, my ugliest secret] .... Mrs Harris ..... Lisa gets me everything by calling me this ..... and Donna me yesterday too .... they both called me a VIRGIN.  Which I am.  And, Mrs Harris, I hate it.  I need to lose my V-card.  Can you help me?  I heard it hurts.  The first time, you know.  I want someone who's good at it, and won't hurt me.  Who's experienced.

> How about my husband?

> [Did I just fucking ask that?  And did she just give the answer I think I heard?  Is this car ride happening?  Is this past few weeks actually happening?]  You'd be .....  OK .... with that?  You wouldn't, like, hate me after that??

> Well, there would be conditions, of course.  You and he can't kiss.  Or even small talk.  I mean, while you're doing it.  And no contacting each other afterwards.  I guess I should be asking you ..... would YOU be OK?  With those .... arrangements?

> [Thinking.  I can't believe this is happening.]

> And, Anne.  [Turning, and looking me in the eye.]  I mean it.  No contact between you and him afterwards.  Ever.

> Of course not.

**************************
The rest of the car ride is silent. 

We pull into her driveway.

> You should unpack.  Then call your Mom.  Let her know we're here.

I go into the guest bedroom.  I see a portrait of Mrs and Mr Harris.  He's so baby-faced.  He's 28, but looks 22.  Him taking my virginity will be look hooking up with a Providence College hockey player.

Perfect.

I call my Mom.

> Hello?  [my mom sounds upset]

> It's Anne.  Everything ok?

> I hope you're happy.  You should have been home with Lisa.

> Why?? What happened?

> Donna came over and kicked the shit out of here.  Anne, you should have engaged been here to defend her.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

The moment my Mom told me that Donna had kicked the shit out of Lisa was the moment something snapped in me and I started disassociating from Mrs Harris.

There was too much, psycho-sexually, on my plate.  Way too much:

<> My girl crush on Mrs Harris.
<> My catfight wet dreams of Mrs Harris versus Miss Fredrickson.
<> My escalating catfights with my sister.
<> My tongue kiss make-up kiss with my sister.
<> Miss Fredrickson doing something creepy with Donna.
<> My near-catfight with Donna.
<> Lisa having an affair with Donna's boyfriend.
<> Donna coming over to our house to confront Lisa.
<> Lisa and Donna fighting.
<> Donna kicking Lisa's ass.
<> My desire to lose my virginity.
<> My opportunity to lose my virginity to Mrs Harris's husband.

That was twelve courses on my plate.

I could juggle all of them.

Until I couldn't.

I needed to focus.

And as soon as Mr Harris came home from work, I knew which one I needed to focus on.

Mrs Harris offers to be in the bedroom when he takes my virginity, when he and I make love.  Or to be just outside the bedroom, waiting in the kitchen.  Or to leave the house entirely, to pick up dinner, which all three of us will eat together afterwards.

"Dinner sounds nice," I somewhat ungratefully tell my hostess.

"Are you positive, Anne?", Mrs Harris asks me.

"Very," I reply, not looking Mrs Harris in the eye.  I go to my bed and strip.

Mrs Harris leaves, telling her husband, "Go easy on her."

She takes her car keys.  We hear her leave, her Cadillac start, and leave.

I look Mr Harris in the eye.  "Actually, go hard on me.  Real hard."

Mrs, Harris had told me no kissing with Mr Harris, and no small talk.  It takes us 3 seconds to break the no kissing rule.

Mr Harris grips my ass and put his tongue into my mouth.  I reciprocate enthusiastically.  I undo his belt with my hands, pull down his pants, then take his cock in my hands.

I lay down at the end of the bed my legs dangling over the side.  I want him to be stand up when he fucks me.  He senses the position I want to be taken in.

I wish it was possible for us to kiss and talk at the same time.  But since it's not, I release our kisses,,and begin talking to my lover.

> I think your wife's a bitch.  I hate her.

He's inside of me.  It hurts.  But is as exciting as I hoped for.

> I hope you enjoy this with me more than you do with you wife.

He and I are rocking back and forth on the bed.

> This is just the first time Mr Harris.  Let's fuck twenty time.  In twenty positions.

In my encyclopedia searches, I had stumbled across drawings of twenty-eight or so sexual positions.  I want to try them all with Mr Harris.

> You're not talking, Mr Harris.  Don't tell me you're afraid of her, are you?

> [He looks at me mid-thrust.]  Aren't you.

> [I think.]  Na.  I think I can take her.

> I think you might have to, before this is over.

> She can bring it.

He explodes inside of me into his condom.  I sense the pain everyone talks about.

But I'm not a virgin anymore.

He throws away the condom and looks at me.  "You ok?"

"Yes.  Let's do it again."

He appears to hesitate.

"What is it, baby?  Was I no good?"

"Are you for real?"

"Try me."

To be continued.....