[sinclairfan]

That Friday evening and night in my house, my own childhoood house, is claustrophobic torture.  Cara and I have lost our private catfight den at Fleet, probably because someone snitched on us.  My divorced mom is absent as usual, probably over at my Dad's bachelor pad apartment, giving him the attention and affection which, if she had only given to him while they were still married, would have prevented their marriage, and our happy home, from breaking apart in the first place.

And, worst of all, my slut sister is in her bedroom with Lance, both of them ignoring me, and being indiscreetly loud in their fucking, knowing I can hear them.

How can Lance tell me I fuck better than my sister, and then choose to be with hertwenty-four hours later?

My house is no longer my home.  I need to find a different one, and fast.

I need to take Mrs Harris's home from her, and make it mine and Mr Harris's.

I go to bed early that night, burying my head under my pillow to muffle the sounds of Lisa and Lance's lovemaking.

And I'm up at dawn.  I pack my workclothes, and my own cologne and soap and makeup--I'm taking Mrs Harris's from her, but I'm putting it in the trash, not using it.  The thought disgusts me.  I fill my car with all my belongings.

I thought I'd be making this car ride in 8 weeks to go the Northeastern in Boston, and then to Rhode Island College.  But I don't need either of those now.  I have a career at Fleet Bank.

And I'll soon have a new husband.  Mr Harris.

The whole car ride, the excitement in my pussy builds for my confrontation with Mrs Harris.  Donna gave up Lance with such ease when my sister Lisa starting fucking Lance--sure, she came over to our house and slapped Lisa around one day.  But Lisa kept right on fucking Lance, and there was nothing Donna could really do.

It'll be the same with Mr and Mrs Harris.  Mrs Harris and I will have our epic bitchfight.  But Mr Harris will want to be fucking me.  So Mrs Harris will just disappear into his past.  She hot and young--she'll find someone else.

I arrive at Mr Harris's house just as the sun is rising.  The scene couldn't be more picture perfect.  Their new two-story Federal Revival, with full central air, is ahead-of-its-time in 1983 Rhode Island, where the humid summers normally favor Ranch or outdoor patio lifestyles.

What a bitch Mrs Harris is, planning to have zero-to-one kids and buying a house with four bedrooms.  What are the extra rooms for, bitch?

What's even in those extra bedrooms?

I ring the doorbell.  Mr Harris, in his bathrobe, answers.

> Anne!  [He's not upset to see me.  Just understandably surprised.]

> Mr Harris, I know I should have called.  But I can't stand it at home anymore.  My obtuse mom.  My slut sister.  Her horny boyfriend.  It's not .... home.  Can I crash here??

> Who is it, baby?  [I hear from upstairs.]

> [I recognize that voice.  But it's not Mrs Harris's.]  Mr Harris, is that ....  DONNA ?!?!?!?  WHY THE FUCK IS SHE HERE??

I push thru the door past Mr Harris. I feel the tables turn on me from my conversation with Cara, her telling me she had ..... seniority privileges on me .... in flirting with Mr Harris.  That's how I feel with Donna. 

Plus, I won three catfights against her.  In front of the school, at the Providence no-tell-hotel,  and in the woods.

I barrell up the stairs, planning on throwing Donna out of this house by her hair.

When, another bathrobed woman emerges from the master bedroom.

It's Mrs Harris.

> Well, well, it's Anne.  You just can't let go of your high school feud with Donna, can you?  Why don't you FUCKING GROW UP, ANNE? 

> [I'm pissed off, now.]  I'm GROWN, bitch.  And this feud isn't between Doona and me.  IT'S between YOU and me ..... you've just be using Donna this whole time.  I can see that now.  [The thought of Donna, Mrs Harris, and Mr Harris sharing the master bed enrages my jealousy.]

> Well, what are you gonna do about it, sweetie??

> You and me, Mrs Harris.  RIGHT .... NOW.

> I'm game.  With Dannoa and Mr Harris watching?  Or not watching?

> You ....  and me .... alone, Mrs Harris.

> Fine.  What are we waiting for, Anne?

> For them to leave.

To be continued.....

[Cali_teen]

I just LOVE this whole story and now its reaching the climax.  Cant wait to see what happens next!

[sinclairfan]

As Mrs Harris and I listen to Donna and Mr Harris pull away in Mr Harris's car, my throat is dry from anticipation of what is about to occur between Mrs Harris and me.  I hope she will break the silence as she and I stare acrosd at each other in the 2nd floor hallway, since my voice will betray the anxiety I have of facing her in a no-rules catfight.

She reads my silence correctly, and speaks.

> Anne, before we get started, I have a confession, and a question.  I'm wondering if you'd like to hear either, or both.

> Both, Mr Harris.  The confession first.  [I hope she doesn't interpret my answer as a reluctance to fight.  I want this more than ever.  We're five feet apart, and we both take a step forward, staring at each other woman to woman.  Just a few months ago, I was nervous about even looking her in the eye.  But this morning, I'm unable to look away from her.  Her blonde hair is so beautiful even in its dishevelled early Saturday morning mop.  Her face is even more beautiful without makeup as with.]

> As you wish.  My confession is this.  I regret getting you suspended from you last four weeks of school.  Not because of what it did to you.  But because of what it did to me.  I missed our after school yearbook chats.  I missed being around you in school, listening to what you had to say.  Having someone to confide in.  Someone your age, I guess.  The way we would ..... test each orher.  What we would trust each other with .... what we would hold back.  You were ..... strong ..... and finding your strength everyday.  I found it exciting.  It couldn't go on forever .... but it could have gone on another four weeks.  I regret that you and I lost those four weeks, Anne.

> I regret it, too, Mrs Harris.  And that you ruined it.

> I'm glad I told you that, Anne.  Now, do you still want the question.

> Yes.  Please Mrs Harris.

> Very well.  What's it like to come into another woman's house to take another woman's man and home? 

> You've never done it?

> Never.  I've contemplated it, of course.  Every woman .... or at least, every married woman .... has contemplated it.  But, no, I've never acted on the .... desire.

> Then you are missing out.  Because I'm feeling more erotic now than I ever considered possible.  How does it feel to fight another like me off?  To defend your home.

> That feeling is similar .... erotic.  Transcendentally so.

> Mrs Harris .... I think there's nothing more to say.

> I think you're right.

We step together until we're nose to nose.  Our breasts touch thru my top and her robe.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Mrs Harris and I are toe to toe, chest to chest, and nose to nose in the narrow 2nd story hallway of her house.  I envy her Federal Revival over the Raised Ranch I grew up in.

Correction.  MY Federal Revival.  With Mr Harris.  And I want her out now.

> What a waste these extra bedrooms are, Mrs Harris.  Extra bedrooms are for children.  The children I'm going to have with my husband.  Your ....  EX- ..... husband.

> [Contempuously..] Big talk, girly.  Children having children, how sad.

> I'll prove to you I'm no child, but a woman.  I'll throw you out of this house.  I've dreamt of this for weeks.

> And a DREAM it will remain, honey.  BUT .... let's say I'm wrong.... you can't throw me into the street .... and expect me to drive to my parents' house .... in a bathrobe, can you?

> Then dress.  But make it fast.  And I'm watching.

> Freak.

> You're one to talk.  Go.

Mrs Harris struts into her bedroom, realizing too late thst I've gotten the satisfaction of bossing her.  She stops short, causing me to run up on her heels and get her thick unkempt hair in my nose and both.  I somehow resist the urge to shove her in the back, which would no doubt spark a catfight in an instant.  Instead she just chuckles at me.

Is she enjoying this as much as I am?

Did she and Donna "sort out" their hierarchy when she brought Donna into her house?  If so, that sucks--I broke Donna for her.

I'm not broken.  I'm horny as fuck.  And possessive.  I might still have unfinished business with Cara after this.

I lie down on my back in Mr Harris's unmade bed, the one he took my virginity in.  I have THAT over Donna--her virginity was long gone by the time the Harris's got her.

Mrs Harris strips off her robe, and starts putting on lace underwear.  She twirls and allows me to see her bare breasts clearly for the first time.

> My rack is better than yours.  That's why your husband wants it. 

> 34EE, sweetie.  Any man would suck mine over yours.  [She's not lying thar her cups are bigger than I realized.  Is that why she's showing me?]

I go to reply, but am unable.  My fingers are already masturbating myself under my shorts, thru the waist.  I didn't plan on cumming in front of her, but before I can stop myself, I do.

> mmmmmm ....... mmmmffgfg   ..... fffffffUUCCKKKK.

> So melodramatic.  Like a virgin with a new toy.

> So, sensitive, Annie-pie.  Your pussy may not be a virgin anymore.  But psychologically, you're going to be .....  THAT .... for while.  Possibly forever, .... but definitely for awhile.  A virgin, honey.  VIRGIN.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

If all Mrs Harris has to use against me is juvenile name-calling, and not even accurate name-calling at that, then I figure I must be having a good morning so far.  It must be slowly sinking in to her that I'm actually serious about taking her husband from her.  And that her husband is interested in having me.

I wonder if Mrs Harris now wishes she had at least one child with Mr Harris.  I intend to get pregnant with him as soon as I can, if possible on our honeymoon, or even before. 

My mother had Lisa and me shortly after marrying my father, and now has our youth and her freedom.  Having children young is the way to go, I decide.  Mrs Harris's feminist path is a mirage, a false promise. 

I stand up, emblematic of my growing sense of superiority over Mrs Harris.  I always sat in her presence in school.  Why was I so in awe of her?  She's just a regular woman, who puts her pants on one leg at a time.  Which she is literally doing right now, so we can start our fight.

> What's the smirk for, girl-y.?

> I was just thinking:  The only regret I have of when your husband fucked me is that I didn't ..... WE didn't .... take you up on your offer to stay and watch.  I wish you had seen it.  How a real woman fucks.

> You seem pretty confident for a novice.  What makes you the expert.

> Because I've done it .....  [shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck; What a fuck up I am.  I accidentally start to tell Mrs Harris about my fucking Lance.  She doesn't need to know about that.  And especially Mr Harris doesn't need to know about that.  I wonder if Mrs Harris has noticed my slip up.]

> [Shit, if she didn't notice it at first, she notices it by my abrupt silence...] Sssooooo, the virgin slut has been sleeping around, has she?  Is that why, ..... even after three fights, ...... there's still tension between Donna and you?  Huh, slut?.... Quite unsporting of you, by the way, ..... , that day in the woods, to not let her off the ground to fight.

> You could have gotten me off of her.... if you wanted to watch a catfight so bad.

> I'm telling my husband you're a slut.  SLUT.

> Get out of my house, bitch.

> Get out of mine.

> Make me get out.

> Come at me and I will.

I crave bodily contact between my ex-mentor and me.  I walk up to her and grab two fistfulls of hair.  She reciprocates, and we're on our knees on the floor.  We yank on each others' hair as hard as we can.

I just want to mount Mrs Harris and dry-hump her thru my shorts, to ride her like I rode Donna in the woods.

We stare daggers into each others' eyes.

I realize Mrs Harris is the sexiest woman I've ever seen.

> Do you think I'm sexy Mrs Harris?  [I expect she'll say no.]

> When you're fighting?  Very sexy.

> Are you turned on now, freak?

> I love when you call me a freak.

> Because it's true?

> Because you notice its's true.

> I still want you out.

> You can't make me.

> I'm going to try.  Right now.

> Do it, slut.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Mrs Harris and I are now at her bedroom door, which leads to the narrow hallway, which leads to the steep stairway (about 15 steps, straight down, with no turns or breaks), which leads to her front door.  I want her out of this house.  Catballing with her on the bedroom floor isn't getting her out, and is just giving my knees and elbows rugburn on the harsh Berber carpeting.

I grab ahold of the waitstband on Mrs Harris's shorts in the back, and raise her first to her knees, then to her feet.  I'm surpised by how easily I'm able to mover her strong but light body.

Is that the real reason Mrs Harris is postponing children?  To keep her taut, lean figure?

I shove Mrs Harris into the hallway, slamming her entire frontside into the hallway wall.  She releases a painful-sounding grunt, which excites and arouses me.

The last time Lance fucked me, I surrendered control and allowed him to dominate me.  Has Mrs Harris never truly surrendered to Mr Harris, in bed or out?  Has he never attempted to dominate her?  To take control?  Has she been wanting him to notice her desire for student fights all these years, and he never did?

Am I the first one that noticed it in her, and brought it up?  Is that why she's surrendering to me now?

Will she surrender if I throw her down the stairs and out the door?

I lead Mrs Harris to the threshold of the long stairway.  My right hand has her shorts firmly in a wedgie, allowing me to toss her body almost like a ragdoll.  The power I have over her body causes my heart to race.  Miss Fredrickson was wrong to try to outslug Mrs Harris in their fight in the woods.  She should have taken control of Mrs Harris's light body and then pinned her, like I pinned Donna.

> [Mrs Harris becomes aware of the control I have over her body.  She's actually frightened.] Anne, no, not the stairs.  Don't throw me down the the stairs.

Mrs Harris clings to my waist, desperately trying to use my body to alternately block her own path to the stairs, and then as Wiley E. Coyote would use a tree branch on the side of a cliff to cling to the keep from falling.

She realizes it's this marrow thread by which her marriage is dangling.

The pleading in Mrs Harris's voice is disorienting.  That, and the height of our bodies at the precipice of a freefall (and, never having eaten breakfast that morning), causes me to become lightheaded.

Mrs Harris's legs and mine tangle.  Her desperate nails dig into my arm flesh.

And we tumble down the stairs, looked in a catball.  We summersault down the stairs, grunting and rolling as if we are in a car wreck.

We come to the bottom of the landing, our arms and legs tangled and pretzeled together.

> Anything broken?  [Are we asking about each other, or wondering aloud about ourselves?]

> We could have died, Anne.

> I'm glad I didn't.

> That's cold.

> Am I sexy when I get like that?

> [Mrs Harris answers me not with words, but my cupping my cheeks in her hands and sucking my mouth and tongue with an aggressive kiss.  We continue kissing.  For some reason our eyes are open, not closed.  We lock our legs together, kissing loudly and aggressively, and rock each other to multiple orgasms.]  I'm not leaving, Anne.  Do you not see yet what you'll nned to do to get me to leave??  If Mr Harris and I separate, you'll need to get him to leave, not me.

> Fine ....  but Game On.  Freak.

> Game On yourself, sweetie.

***********************
I spend Saturday and Sunday in the shower, healing from my fight with Mrs Harris.

On Monday, I walk to Mr Harris's office to ask him to leave his wife.

The office is dark, the desk is cleaned off.

I storm to Cara's desk.

> Where the fuck is Mr Harris??

> Anne, you didn't hear the news?  Fleet is buying Norstar Bank in Albany, New York.  Mr Harris is going there, .... New York ...., for four months.  This all happened Sunday afternoon.

I feel my world crashing around me.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

In 1983, when someone told you they were going away to Albany, NY for four months, they might as well have been telling you they were going to Mars for 4 years.  Communicating with them was just impossible--no cellphones, no texts, no email, and landline communication which was unaffordable (unless you were rich like the Harris's) and had none of the accessories like caller id or voice mail.

I felt an emptiness at the pit of my stomach, something I had never felt in my loneliest days as a virgin.

Being away from Mr Harris for four months was unacceptable.

> Cara, did Mrs Harris go with Mr Harris?  To Albany?

> I didn't think to ask.  But I know where to get the housing expense records.

Four months would take Mrs Harris into the start of the next school year, which she would not be able to do without taking a break from her career, which she would never do.  Which is why Mr Harris needed me as his bride, not her.

Cara makes it official by finding out  that only Mr Harris submitted expense records for the stay in Albany.

So Mrs Harris must be back at their house.  With Donna.

> Cara, are Mr and Mrs Hariss, like, separated?? 

I think back to when my parents got divorced, it was preceded by at least a year of living separate lives.  Is that what the Harris's have been doing?  or at least srarted?  Will this clinch it?  Is that why Mr Harris is afraid of getting "fleeced"?

Is that why Mrs Harris is experimenting sexually?  And behaving wrecklessly?

Security calls Cara and I into a conference room.

> You 2 ladies are terminated.  Immediately.

> For what??

> For udong the Executive Washroom inappropriately.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Cara and I are given a small cardboard box to pack our desktop knick-knacks and are escorted out of the building by security.

I can't believe I got fired after one week at my first real job.

"What do we do now?," Cara asks me.

"Cara....wanna come with me to Albany?  Drive up there and try and find Mr Harris?", I impulsively ask her.

"We're gonna need money to do that, Anne.  I have some, but not much."

"I have my Rhode Island College deposit check refund.  I can pitch in that .... if you pitch in what you can."

"I don't have a car," Cara feels the need to confess to me.

"Oh ...  we can take mine," I volunteer.  "But, Cara, .... how do you get to work?"

"Umm ....  well, when I started, the city bus."

"And ..... lately???", I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Mr Harris would take me.  He'd pick me up on the way.  And drop me off at night." [My heart sinks at knowing how far Cara and Mr Harris have progressed in their .... relationship ..... or, I guess now, their full-blown affair.  Am I making a mistake bringing Cara to Albany with me?  Cara loves Mr Harris--but does he love her back?]  Can we stop at my place and get some things?"

"Sure."  [No turning back now.  Cara and I are in this together.]

We drive thru a really seedy part of Providence to get to Cara's three-decker home.  She asks me to come in.  I'm expecting a large Italian extended family to greet me, with the smell of pasta sauce cooking on the stove.  Instead, I'm greeted by the scent of women's hairspray and perfumes, inducing a sneezing fit.

"Sorry," Cara tells me, " most of my roomates are dancers."

"As in ..... strippers?", I naively ask.

"We prefer 'dancers'."

"Oh,"  do you.... 'dance'?", I curiously ask Cara.  She's attractive, but not .... "stripper"-attractive.  If there is such a thing.

"I'm trying to cut back.  But, yeah, I dance."  [I want to ask her if Mr Harris knows.  And what he thinks.  Maybe it makes him like her even more.]

I lie on Cara's bed and watch her pack some things.  And take a huge wad of cash out of her closet.  Maybe my college refund check isn't as generous a contribution to our pot as I think it is.

Mr Harris and Cara must have fucked on this bed.  I wonder how many times.

The scents of the house are making me horny.  I'm staring at Cara's ass as she packs.

She catches me staring.

She walks over to her bedroom door and locks it.

We each button our shirts, and Cara slithers over to the bed and mounts me.  We open our mouths and begin tounge-kissing each other deeply.

We clumsily undo our skirts and slide out of them.  We want out hips to be pressed against each other.  Cara tips back into a crab position, and is supporting herself on her elbows.  Our crotches grind together.  I cum before Cara, who is still just getting started.  She opens her knees, and I start going down on her.

> Oh, yes, finsh me.  Finish me, bitch.  [Cara starts to pull my hair hard as I go down on her, which re-arouses me.]

I lick Cara over and over until she cums.

I mount Cara and kiss her passionately on the lips.

> Let's drive to my place now, bitch, and do it there too.

> You slut.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Cara and I get onto, then off of, 195, and drive into the nice suburb I live in, I sense Cara's envy of the neighborhood I grew up in.  The Fleet girls stereotyped me as a typical Rhode Island college drop out, and Cara is realizing now I could have gone to school at either Rhode Island College or Northeastern.  I wonder if she's realizing I'm a better fit for Mr Harris than she is.

I just want to get in and out of my house with basic clothes and supplies, and my college deposit refund check.  Then I want to get on the road to Albany.  Cara and I will need to find a cheap hotel who will take us. 

But I also want to have sex with Cara in my childhood bedroom.  We come to a stoplight, and I look over at her.  We kiss each other on the lips.

> You're such a sexy bitch.

> So are you.  I miss fighting you.

> We can do that later.  I want to fuck you for now.

> You did good at my place.  Most girls hold back going down on me.  My bush .... intimidates them.

> I love your bush.  Does .....

> Does .... who?

> Does Mr Harris love it??

> Should we talk about him?  That way, I mean?  Is that the best idea?

> Because we both want him?

> Because we both love him.

> Is it love .... with him .... for you?  Not just fucking?

> It's love.  Definitely not just fucking.  [The mood in the car is less playful than seconds ago; it's much chillier.]  How about you?  Is is REALLY love?  Are you sure?

> I'm sure.

> Then we probably shouldn't talk him about him that way.

> I agree.  YOU, on the other hand ..... IT'S JUST FUCKING ..... sweetie.

> [Smiling] ....  you don't love me?

> I love how you fuck, Cara.  But, no .... I don't love you.

> Good ..... and, samsies.  [We llok each other over, and kiss again.]  God, you're sexy.

> You are too.  Sweetie.  We're almost there.  I can't wait to get you in my bed.

> Do me, baby.

> I want to.  [And, ....., eventually ,.... I want to fuck her up and take Mr Harris from her.]

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

By the time Cara and I pull into my driveway, we're touching each others' flesh everywhere we can--thighs, triceps, cheeks, calves, waist spare tire, hands, forehead, eyelids ..... God I love sucking her eyelids.  I wish she would love sucking my neck and shoulders like that. 

Going into the house, Cara and I tell each other how much we want to fuck each other in my bed.

> I want to totally fuck you, bitch.

> Get me off, slut.

> You can slap me, sweetie.  [slaps my face]

> That all you got, hun?  [I slap her three times harder.  I love slapping harder than an ethnic Providence city girl like Cara, whose older than me.  And a dancer.  Is this real?]

> [Cara lifts a fist at me, about to swing.]

> [My sister Lisa's voice says:]  Anne??  Is this girl from Fleet??  ..... Are you two .... fighting?

> No, it's good, Lisa. .....  Where's Lance??

> Mom told him he had to pay rent.... or leave.  So he left.

> Oh, wow.  Mom actually did that??  [I get more aroused.  I wish I could have thrown Mrs Harris out like Mom threw Lance out.]

> Gonna introduce me, Anne?  I didn't know your sister was blonde!

> Lisa, this is Cara.  Cara ... Lisa.

> Charmed.  Anne, I don't mean to interrupt your .... fun.

> You can join us, Lisa.  Right, Anne?

> [Cara can't possibly realize how 'close' Lisa and I are with each other.  But she's about to find out.]  Lisa, strip.  Cara, strip.

> Is that an order.

> Yeah, is that an order bitch.

> Do it before I kick both of your asses.

The three of us are in my bed a minute later.

> Lisa, check out Cara's bush.

> Oh ..... my .....  God.

> She says girls .... what was it you said, Cara?  They're turned off my it?

> They shy away.

> 'Shy away'--that was it.  Well, umm.... I'm not shying away.  Are you Lisa.

> No way.

> Are you two, like for real, Lisa and Anne??

> Does this seem fake to you?  [Lisa and I are both going down on Cara together.]

> Mmmmmmmmmmmm...... yes ..... keep going.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

For the entire drive from Providence to Albany, Cara and I finger and pinch and carress and kiss each others as our car caroms down the Mass Pike at 75 miles an hour.  A little over half way there, we're so aroused that we can no longer drive saglfely, and we pull over at a Rest Stop (the Mass Pike had lots of those in the 1980s) to relieve ourselves and get each other off.

We get out of the car (the rest stop parking lot is too crowded with summer travelers and truckers to offer any privacy in my parked car), and discreetly stroll down to a secluded spot in the hilly woods.  We tear each others tops off and start sucking on each others' boobs hungrily.  I wish Mr Harris's long cock was slamming my wet pusdy right now, but Cara is the next best thing right now. 

I try and tell her that.  Women like to hear that sort of thing from their lover.

> You're so fucking attractive, Cara.  I want to ignore it, but I can't.  I hope you know that.

> You're such a fucking sexual animal, Anne.  I would have never guessed it the day you walked into work.

> Thank you for telling me that.

> Your sister, too.  What sort of shit goes on in that house??

> [She'll never believe me if I tell her it got out of control just in the last few weeks; I might as well exaggerate, tell her something she'll believe.]  You have no fucking idea, Cara, abd neither does she..... I fuck her boyfriend behind her back every chance I get.  [Cara gets instantly twice as soaked as she already wad, her nipples hard as rocks.  Good.]

> Fuck, Anne, that's fucked up.  Would she be pissed if she knew?

> Probably.  She got into an actual catfight with his last girlfriend over him. 

> I love that you called it a catfight.  That's totally different than the streetfights I had growing up in Providence.  Catfighting is so .... primal.

> Like you and I did in the Executive Washroom?

> Yeah .... like that.  Who do you think ratted us out?

> I don't know how .... but I think it was Mr Harris's wife.  She does narc shit like that.  She got me kicked out of school senior year.

> But I thought you said her and Mr Harris are separating??

> I think they are.  But she's a sick fuck .... she doesn't want me in his office.  Not you either, if she knew you love him.  [The air comes out of our party balloon instantly, as if a gray thunder cloud just rolled in.]  I wasn't supposed to talk about how we both love him, was I?

> Ewwww, and you make it worse?  Really, Anne? ..... You fucking your sister's boyfriend .... you do that because you dig HIM? ... or because you haye HER? ..... cuz that's pretty damn cold, Anne.

> [I'm hurt, and want to hurt Cara back.]  And who the fuck are you, Cara .... Mother Fucking Theresa???

[Both of us are silent, avoiding each others' eyes.  We realize we're two vulnerable in the middle of no where with no jobs, limited money, and unlikely prospects.]

> Let's drive and find Mr Harris.  That'll make things better.

> For one of us.

> Excuse me.

> Never mind.  You're right.  Let's go to Albany.

No turning back now.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

Cara and I arrive outside of Albany and check into a cheap motel.  The front desk clerk eyes Cara suspiciously as Cara takes out a stack of cash and explains that she and I are on a summer road trip and stopping thru for a few days for a tour of the State Capitol.  Cara suddenly feels years more mature and worldly than me.  Will Mr Harris pick Cara over me because of her maturity?

Cara and I order a pizza and get it delivered to our hotel room.  We sit on one of the twin beds eating the pizza, and I begin to wonder what staying in a Northeastern University or Rhode Island College dorm eating dinner with my floormates would have been like.  What privacy ground rules would my roomate and I have worked out if we wanted to fuck a guy for an hour?

When I applied to college, I had anxiety about being the roomate always being asked to leave the room.  Now I wonder if I would have been the roomate always needing to request privacy.

Cara is quiet as she eats her pizza.  We stopped touching each other in the car after I confessed to fucking Lisa's boyfriend Lance behond her back, and Cara asked what other "sick shit" goes on in my house.

Tonight in the hotel will be awkward if we don't loosen the tension between us.

I get an impulsive idea of how to re-break the ice between Cara and me.  I don't know where the idea comes from, since I've never done nor seen it before, but I put the idea "out there".

> Wanna have a face slapping contest?

> You mean, like ..... we sit on the bed and slap each other in the face?

> Ya, ..... , not hard, we can start slow if you want.

> [Cara considers the idea.  We sit on the side of the bed facing each other.]  Ok, you go first.  Show me how hard.

> [Part of me wants to clench my fist, punch Cara in the jaw, take her cash, and propose to Mr Harris.  But it was sporting of Cara to offer me the first slap.  I open my hand, and gently but firmly slap her cheek.]

> Owww!  This is fun.  My turn now.  [Cara lines up her hand, like she's practicing a golf shot.  I hope I don't regret this idea.  But I enjoy the sensation of being at her mercy.  Cara winds up and slaps me hard, but not as hard as she could have.  I wince, but get over it.]

> This IS fun. 

> Do you and your sister do this?

> [It suddenly occurs to me that before Lisa and my arguments crescendoed into full-on violent catfights, we would slap each other in the face.  Is that where I got the idea.]  Yes, sometimes.  Do you and your stripper roomates do this?

> How'd you know they're dancers?  I never told you that.

> [How DO I know that?]  I guess I assumed .... your place just smelled so good ... and they were all so pretty.  [It dawns on me why Cara is so self-conscious.]  Does Mr Harris know .... that YOU'RE a dancer??

> This is really dangerous, Anne.  Talking about Mr Harris .... and you and your sister .... and slapping each other like this.

> [She's right.]  Maybe we should just slap then.

> It's your turn.  What are you waiting for?

Cara and I exchange face slaps for another ten minutes.  The tension between us is less than in the car, but not entirely gone.

It's time for bed.

I wonder if we'll use one bed or two.

I use the bathroom to change for bed.

I return to the bedroom.  Cara is asleep in her bed.  Does she want me to climb in next to her?  Or use my own bed?

I decide to use my own.

I lay down.  I can't sleep.

I start masturbating.  To the thought of Cara and I slapping, but with closed fists.

I cum loud.  I wonder if Cara heard me.

If she did, she pretends she doesn't.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

The awkward silence of Cara and I in separate beds continues all night, with me hoping that Cara will climb into my bed.

Is she hoping I'll climb into her bed?  Is she not climbing in because the bed is so small?  There's not enough room for us to lay side by side--one of us would need to mount the other.

Is she just tired from the long car ride?  Does she regret spending her stack of cash?  Was she saving it for something else?

It's mid June, so the dark starts giving way to dawn at 5:15am and comes thru the shade on the motel room window.

Cara and I have no firm plan of what to do today.  We know where the Norstar office is in Albany.  But are we going to try and get in?  Security at Fleet in Providence took our Fleet ID's from us.  Fleet and Norstar aren't even officially one company yet anyways.

And will Mr Harris be free to talk to us during the day?  Or too busy with work?  We want to know where he's living in Albany, not where his job is.

Either way, I'm not tired anymore anyways.  I go to the bathroom and plan to shower and put in work clothes.

I spent a fortune on these office clothes and now don't even have an office job.  And I'm running out of money every day Cara and I are in this motel.

Does Mrs Harris have the same sensation of running out of money if she divorces Mr Harris?  I hope she does.  Because this sensation sucks.

I go into the awkward tiny bathroom.  I climb into shower.  The water is loud and tepid, even with it on full Hot.  The water pressure also sucks.  My hair is never going to get clean in this shower.  My skin feels like it's breaking out from clogged pores. 

I want to look my best for Mr Harris.  But I just feel gross.

I get crabby when I feel gross.  I'm crabby now.  I climb out of the shower to dry off.

I'm startled to see Cara at the tiny sink, washing her face.  Our bodies bump as I almost lose my balance in the slippery shower.

> Watch it, bitch.  [I didn't mean to call Cara a bitch--it just blurted out with my frustration at the shower.  Should I apologize?  Before I can, Cara decides to escalate the situation.]

> [Cara turns and puts her nose directly into mine.] Don't call me a bitch, bitch.

> Don't call ME a bitch.

> Or what, Anne?  Are you gonna fuck me up, go to Mr Harris, and leave me stranded in Albany with no money?  [So, Cara is having the same money worries that I am?]

> Oh, is THAT where your head is at, Cara?  Are you gonna take MY car and strand ME in Albany??

Cara and I take a half step forward, our bodies touching from chin to chest.  Our mouths are speaking into each other's mouth, our lips actually touching as we argue.

Our argument is abruptly interrupted by a banging sound on our bathroom wall, followed by "SHUT UP!!!!  IT'S SIX A.M.!!!!!"

Shit.  The walls are paper thin and we woke up the person in the room next to us.

But Cara and I continue our face to face argument, just quieter.

> Don't even think about backstabbing me, bitch, or I ...  WILL ....  FUCK .... YOU .... UP.

> You pretentious Barbie Doll, you lay a finger on me and I'll fuck up those movie star looks.  [Cara thinks I have movie star looks?  She's a dancer and the prettiest woman I've ever see.  And she thinks I'm pretty??  I still feel gross.....but now I feel aroused too.]

> You stuck up city bitch.  You think you're so hard, but it's all just talk.  Classic bully.

> Fuck you, Anne.  Don't make me show you I'm more than talk.  I'll show you a side of me you haven't seen yet.  [How bad ass has Cara had to get in her Providence street fights, I wonder.  Her threat sounds even more menacing in the whispering voices we're speaking with.]

> Oh, you're a real tough bitch, huh, Cara??  Huh?  [I bump my aroused breasts into hers.]

Cara and I press our mouths into each other and start .... biting .... and kissing ....  and sucking.  Fighting each other with our mouths and tongues and teeth.

Waves of arousal swirl in my mouth and head and breasts.

Neither of us backs down from the other.

> Bitch.

> Bitch.

Both of us cum together, accidentally biting each other and breaking skin as we do on our lips.

The intensity of my orgasm is indescribable.

Cara runs water in the sink, and we wash each others mouths and faces.

I just want to keep my body pressed against Cara's.

She and I climb into the shower, pressed together.

Neither of us is able to stop kissing the other.

The water dribbles onto us, unable to clean us off as our sweat gets each other dirtier and dirtier.

But neither of us can stop cumming.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

After kissing each other to exhaustion in the shower, Cara and I rinse and stumble out of the shower and fall naked onto our beds.  We stare at the ceiling in silence, getting our breath back.

We're both in need of a rest, but neither of us is near satiated.

I think of the word 'insatiable' over and over to myself.

> Cara, I won't be able to make myself presentable to go to the office.  This shower isn't going to cut it.  My hair won't come out right.

> Mine, neither.  It's supposed to be in the 90s today. 

> Shit.  Should we just try and find out where he's living?  Get his address?

> Ya.  Lemme work the phones.  [In 1983, telephones are something which, literally, need to be 'worked'.  As in dialling switchboards, getting transferred.  And at daytime long-distance rates, Cara and I are going to deplete more of our precious cash.]  I can call the Fleet office in Providence.  Let's wait till people are in, tho.

> [I take that as my cue that we have time for more sex.  I climb over to her bed and mount her.  Cara looks up at me and carresses my breasts with her hands.  The inside of my mouth is cut, and hers must be too, as we don't kiss.  I wish we were kissing, but carressing will have to do for now.]  When you called me a Barbie Doll ..... what did you mean by that?

> Ooooo, you don't forget things, do you Annie?

> Well?  What did it mean??

> Relax.  It was a compliment. 

> Doesn't sound like one.

> Well it is.  Did you ever notice that Barbie's tits are, like, impossibly proportioned?  Compared to the rest of her body?  Well, that's you, Anne.  Firm ass, but huge boobs.  When someone first looks at you, well, you do a double take ... like, is that body for real??

> [Being told I'm sexy arouses me every time.  Including now.]  I think that way about how pretty your face is.  Your hair and your face together.  It makes me do a double-take every morning in the office.  Like, is it possible for someone to be that pretty.

> Thank you.  But .... what did you THINK I meant??

> I thought you were implying that girls like me .... from the suburbs .... that we're these delicate models who don't fight.  We get into girlfights in the suburbs, too, you know.  We just wait till after school and do it in the parking lot.  Or the park.

> Well, I ..... don't think that.  But you're right .... city girls ... many of them .... think country girls can't fight.

> I'm glad you don't think that.

> I don't think that ....  ALL .... country girls can't fight.  Just SOME of them.

> I think country girls WANT to fight .... if they could do it without getting in trouble.

> Why aren't YOU afraid of trouble, Anne? 

> I am .... I'm afraid of trouble.  But I'm more afraid of missing out.

> Missing out on what?

> Fucking.  Other stuff, too.  But mostly fucking.  [The room gets quiet.  We recognize each of us wants to fuck Mr Harris.]

> Have you ever scissored with a girl?  It's close to fucking.

> Show me.

Cara and I face each other in a crabwalk position and lock our legs together.  We push and grind our hips together.

It's exciting and sexy.

But not as good as fucking.

And not as good as fighting.

I wish I was fighting Cara right now.  Or my sister.  Or Donna.  Or Mrs Harris.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As Cara starts making phone calls to get ahold of Mr Harris's whereabouts in Albany, and as my stomach starts giving me a bloated-gassy feeling from the cheese of all the pizza Cara and I have been subsisting on, I feel a sense of inadequacy from Cara's contacts at Fleet Bank and her looks and natural beauty and sexiness.  Sharing Mr Harris with her will never work--I'd always be feeling competitive with her and have a sense of not measuring up.

What a bitch Donna is, to be able to live with Mr Harris while Mrs Harris was in the house with them.  How does she not feel inadequate next to Mrs Harris?

I wish I had beaten up Donna more when I had her on the ground in the woods.  When Mrs Harris was watching us.

I need to get out of this tiny hotel room.

I wander into the lobby.  A bunch of newspapers are laying on the table.

(Newspapers were the Facebook news feeds of 1983.  For those too young to remember.)

I go to the comics.  Apartment 3G, my favorite.  A melodrama about a single woman in the city named Margo, my role model for being fierce and independent.  Her apartment neighbor is a recently divorced man named Marc.  The two badly want each other, but are afraid to act.  So sexy, a recently-divorced and newly-available single man.

Available for fucking.

The sexual tension between Marc and Margo is heightened by conversations revealing that each is being woo'd by rival suitors.  Margo feels a sense of jealousy at the other women, one in particular, itching to get into Marc's pants.  She catches herself frequently spying out the peephole in her front door to see if Marc's lover is entering or exiting.

What does Marc's lover, my rival, look like, Margo wonders to herself?
Am I prettier than her?

Could I take her in a catfight?  (Margo never says this in the comic.  But I know she's thinking it.)

Apartment 3G is so taut because it unwraps its Margo-Marc story so slowly, in 3-panel snippets per day.  Sunday's paper has 8, or even 12, snippets (in color!  so that the design of Margo's sexy clothes are revealed), but those usually just recap the plot from the prior Monday thru Saturday, for readers who don't get the paper daily.

Reading Apartment 3G makes me want to masturbate to a vicious catfight between Margo and Marc's sexy suitor.

Shit.  I wish I had some privacy right now.  I'm so fucking horny and frisky.

I turn to the businesss section.  I talks about the Fleet-Norstar merger.  It gives the address of the Norstar office.

I wonder if Mr Harris is at that address right now.

Or if his temporary housing is close to it.

I have my car keys.  I ask the front desk girl for directions.  I get in my car and drive over there.  Without teliing Cara.

It's less than 2 miles away.  I find both--the Norstar building, and the luxury apartment building across the street.

I try the apartment first.

There's a doorman.

> I have a delivery.  For Mr Harris, Fleet Bank.

> Room 306, ma'am.  What are you delivering?

I'm delivering my pussy to him, dumb ass, I want to answer.

> It's confidential, sir.  Can you let me in?  He's supposed to be back this afternoon.  From work.  At Norstar.

> I'm aware of that, miss, he indiscreetly answers, not wanting to appear ignorant to a 19-year old girl.

Pretty crappy doorman.  He'll probably let Cara in if she figures out that Mr Harris and I are here fucking.

But he lets me in.

Finally.  A shower with decent water pressure.  No hair dryer, tho.  My hair will need to towel dry.

But I feel so dirty that I take a long shower.

I climb nude into bed.  Mr Harris's bed.

I masturbate.  Then fall asleep.

I can't wait for Mr Harris to get home.

Tonight.  And every night.

For the rest of my fucking life.

To be continued.....