[sinclairfan]

BELLA VS ROBIN--PHONE SEX LOVE TRIANGLE

My name is Bella.  I'm a blonde, attractive, not quite 30.  My favorite part of my body is my breasts; they're 34D.  Most of the women I've known my life have been insecure about their breasts, or even tried not to think about them, which is pretty much the same thing.  But not me--in my opinion, I have movie star breasts.  They've always been a source of confidence to me.  I like my blonde hair, too.  But I really love my breasts.

Eight years ago, in 2009, when I was 21, my college roomate and I had a horrible catfight.  She was angry with me--beyond angry.  She was in a rage.  I'll tell you why later, but for now, I want to tell you what she tried to do to me.  When she came at me, she went straight for the part of me that she knew I cared the most apart--my breasts.  Her claws were out, and she meant business.  She tore into me, without any thought of defending herself against my counterattacks.  I feel horrible that the fight happened,  and yet I can't forgive her for how she chose to come after me.  She and I have never spoken since that terrible day.  And I've tried not to think about it.

Until now.  I'm hoping that writing about what happened between Robin and me will help me to put that chapter of life into my past.

Where to start.  I met Robin at Northeastern University in Boston, as we were both entering our junior year.  I was a Finance major, she was an Environmental Science major.  We were both on a fast track, wanting to begin our careers quickly.  That's what always attracted me to Northeastern--it was very career oriented, with majors to get you a job after college, and plenty of Boston-area internships. 

But the career-centeredness was also its biggest weakness.  The close friendships you form at a state university dorm?  Hard to pull off at Northeastern.  And the "hooking up" all my high school friends were doing with college boys?  Not so much, for me.  A little bit, but not much.

That's where Robin came in, on both counts.  She needed a roomate, I needed a roomate.  I answered her ad on an old-fashioned bulletin board in 2007.  (Facebook and Snapchat hadn't really taken off yet.)  She and I weren'g super-compatible--she had black hair and was intoverted.  34D breasts, just like me though.  She caught me peaking one day.  We must have both been feeling sorry about ourselves about the dearth of hookup opportunities at Northeastern, because she made the first move and said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours, Bella."

"Just so you know, Robin, I'm straight.  As in, not even bi-curious; just, 100% straight."

"Well, good, because so am I.  So, can I see yours?"  Robin opened her shirt, revealing the prettiest 34D breasts that I'd ever seen.  Except for mine.  I still liked mine the most.  But, shit, Robin had nice breasts.

I opened my shirt and bra to reveal mine.  We started touching and massaging each others' breasts and nipples, observing how hard we were making each other.  We scooched closer on the couch.  And closer.  And closer.  I leaned in and licked Robin's pretty breasts.  I lied go myself and said this was two new roomates with pretty breasts showing off to each other.  Competing.

Ah, yes.  Competing for boys.  We had worked out the ground rules for that early on.  Like many girl roomates, we had the "dibs" rule.  Whoever saw a boy first had dibs on him.  Period.  No exception.  The only one who could go after him sexually was one who saw him first.  If you swung and missed with him, he was still off limits to the other girl.  Forever.  That's it.  No discussion.  No matter how much electricity there was between the guy and the non-dibs girl, the non-dibs girl could never take a shot with him.

It just worked well as a rule.  Because, you see, Robin and I were roomates, not friends.  We just never clicked as friends--not enough in common I guess.

Now, I kinda left you hanging there a few minutes ago, didn't I?  Remember, she and I were on the couch?  Topless?  Her boob in my mouth?  You're probably wondering what we did next.

Without discussing it, we went ahead and finished it.  Our first, and last, lesbian experience.  I sucked her boob until she came.  She sucked mine until I came.  And then we made out until we came together.  Wet, deep, passionate kisses.  As if it would never happen again.  And, it didn't.

Don't get me wrong, I loved kissing Robin.  There was a....a trust....there.  We had both been checking out each others' breasts for weeks.  I guess we just decided, ok, enough of thd games.  Here I am.  Here are my tits.  Here's how they look.  Here's how they feel.

Here's how I kiss.  Here's how I like to be kissed.  Hdre's how I'll be kissing the boys who I have over, ok?

Here's how I cum.  Here's how long it takes for me to get "over the top".  I'm not a nun, but I'm no porn star either.  Just a regular girl, trying to do the best I can in Boston.

Now you know, Robin.  This is me, Bella.  I like sex, I like kissing.  I don't obsess over it.  I'm not a lesbian, but I'm not a homophobe either.  I want a husband someday. 

I thought the lesbian sex we had would help us get over the getting-to-know-you weirdness.

It did.  But it didn't.

We stopped checking out each others' pretty boobs.  That was a good thing.

I broke the dibs rule. 

That was a bad thing.

A very

very 

very

very bad thing.

It led to a catfight between us.

A vicious, breast mauling bitchfight.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

GRADUATION

Robin and I roomed togehther junior and senior year at Northeastern.  We studied together, sort of.  We worked thru summer job interviews and inernships together, sort of.  We went to Happy Hours and brunches and dinners together, sort of.  We cried on each others' shouldrrs for breakups, sort of.

There was never anything particularly "wrong" between us, per se.  We never argued or even snapped at each other.  Ever.  There was just something "off" between us as friends.  I often wished we would "click" as friends.  We just never did.  So, finally one day, I just decided, "Ya know what, in May 2009, we'll graduate.  I'll get a job, Robin will get a job, we'll shake hands and say our goodbyes, and never see each other again.  No biggie.  We're both in a hurry, career-wise anyways, right?  Right?

You know how that worked out, right?  In October 2008, Robin and I each had post-graduation job offers in hand. Then Lehman Brothers "happened".  The Great Recession.  In January 2009, her company rescinded her job offer.  In February 2009, my company rescinded mine.  May 2009 came.  Graduation.  May went.

No job.

No money.

No prospects.

No leads. 

400 applications to jobs between us.  No call backs.  No offers.  The Northeastern Career Placement Office, sll of a sudden, can't help us.

To get a job, you need a job.  No job.

We start serving at restaurants.  Working for tips. 

It totally sucked.  Totally.

All of a sudden, our slacker friends are still in school.  Or on to grad school.  Laughing at Robin and me.  For graduating in the worst job market ever.

All of a sudden, Robin and I have more in common than we want to.

We were about to have something else in common too.  A boy.

We met a cute, nerdy-but-sexy blonde boy named Scott.  Very socially awkward, but in a Bill Gates-type way.  He was an internet coder.  Future millionaire.  Maybe he could "save" Robin or me.

Correction.  Save Robin.  You see, she had dibs.  She saw him first.  That's the rule.  I could never date him.  Never, ever.  I wanted to.  Too bad.

Weeks went by.  Robin and Scott dated.  They texted.  Then sexted.  He sent her dick pics--at her request.  They went to first and second base.  He worked crazy hours.  They hadn't gone all the way yet.  He withdrew.  Robin withdrew.  Robin missed him.  She reached out.  More sexting.  Then he withdrew again.  It was a soap opera.  Is he shy?  Socially awkward?  He's just 19--you don't think he's a fucking virgin, do you?  Is he gay?  A spy?  Is he stalking Robin on the web?  Is he turned off my her being a server?

What's the fucking deal, Scott.  Robin goes thru an emotional roller coaster.  She feels rejected.  Snubbed.  Intrigued.  In love.  He's the one.  He's not.  He is again.  Depending on the day.

I support Robin at first.  Then I need to let it go.  Best of luck, girl.  You're on your own.  I have my own fucking problems.

One day, I'm home alone, watching the phone for a potential job interview callback.

Caller id says it's Scott.  I decide to pick up.

--Hello?

--Hey, it's Scott.  Is Robin there?

--No, Robin's gone till tonight, I think.  Can I take a message?

--I just got a research grant at MIT.  I'm happy.   <<<<His speech sounds slurred.>>>>

--Congrats, Scott.  I can talk.

--Thank you.

--So, MIT, huh?  Some sort of military grant?  If you tell me, you have to kill me?

--You're funny.  What are you wearing?

--<<<<Really, Scott??  What are you wearing?  And.....really, Bella?  Why are you falling for this?  Why did that just work???>>>>  Scott, I heard you have Snapchat.   <<<Snapchat had just come out.  It was pretty much used exclusively for dick pics.>>>>

--Did Robin tell you that?

--<<<<Seductive voice>>>  Let's not talk about Robin.  Let's talk about us.  I just got Snapchat.  I wanna use it.  Break my Snapchat cherry, Scott.

--Send me a pic of your tits.

<<<<I'll never know why, but without hesitation, I comply.>>>>

--Nice.

--Nicer than Robin's?

--I thought we weren't talking about her?

--If I'm better than her, I wanna know.

--Are you just sayin that?

--No.  I like your nipples better.  They have that sand dollar thing going on.

--Are you stroking it, Scott?

--Uh-huh.

--Snapchat me your dick.

<<<<Shit, he's big.  Not superlong, but wide.>>>>

--Do you wish we were fucking, Scott?

--Uh-huh.

--Fuck my pussy, Scott.  Do it.  Fuck me hard.

--Oh..Rob....oh....

--It's Bella.  Say my name, Scott.  Say Bella.

--Fuck me, Bella.

Scott and I cum three or four times each that afternoon.  And exchange over 50 filthy Snspchats.

I'm hooked.

I know what I want in life.

To Snapchat.

And not just with anyone.  With Scott.

I can never "date" him--the roomate code.

But he appears not to date, anyways.

--Can I call you tomorrow at 11am?

--Wait till noon.  Robin will be at work then.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

ME VERSUS WENDY

The amazing thing about Snapchat, when it first came out in 2009, was that it was custom-made for "sneak-sexting" with someone.  What I mean is, it made "sneak-sexting" a thing.  If you were sexting with an actual boyfriend, where you wanted to look back later at your sexts, as a way to pinch yourself and say "Am I actually dating X?", well, by definition, you wouldn't do that on Snapchat--you couldn't look af it later.  So there were only two types of "couples" on Snapchat--teens (and, uggh, tweens) whose parents checked their cellphones, and "sneaking" couples like Scott and me.  Scott wasn't my roomate's official boyfriend--they hadn't "done it" yet--but he was "off limits" to me.  Which is what made our sexting and phone sex so exciting.  We were both doing it behind Robin's back.

Having phone sex.  But no actual sex.  Why was that?  Freshman year at Northeastern, there was a guy who wanted phone sex but not actual sex.  My theory at the time, which turned out to be correct, was that he hsd a small dick.  As in, less than three inches.  But that's not Scott's deal--he's Snapchatted me his wide dick.  Does he have performance anxiety?  I want to confront him, but I don't.  The phone sex, and the sneaking around Robin, is still exciting.

One day, Scott and I are on the phone.  We've both cum, but are resting so we can cum again.  We're asking each other random questions about each other.  He asks me if I've ever been in a fight with a girl.  He's probably looking for some made-up lie.  For some reason, I tell him a true story that happened to me in 2005, when I was 18.

Although my parents both had good jobs growing up, our neighborhood in Massachusetts was a bit rough-around-the-edges.  It wasn't a cookie-cutter cul de sac.  New houses were getting built in between and around older decaying houses.  Which meant people who took the train every morning to fancy jobs in Boston or who worked in the industrial parks in Natick or Framingham were mixed in with the "townies" who started landscaping or plumbing are heating/air conditioning businesses out of their homes, driving to jobs in white vans they parked evrry night in their home driveways.  In elementary or middle school, we didn't think much of such social stratifications.  But by high school, where you needed to decide if you were going away to college or not, understanding such social niceties became unavoidable.

My senior year in high school, 2004-05, a new girl moved into the neighborhood, about 5 or 6 houses from mine.  Her name was Wendy.  She had a very pretty face, and pretty much the fanciest hair style (coloring, layering) I had ever seen in a girl my age.  She also wore what seemed like expensive outfits and boots.  When we would take the school bus home (ughh, how I dreaded thr school bus as a high school senior!) I would stare at Wendy's boots.  Then her clothes.  Then her hair.  Then her face.  Our eyes would meet.  Is she staring at me?  Is she challenging me to a fucking staring contest?  That bitch!  Who does she think she is?  We never spoke.  Just day after day of these wordless staring contests on the bus.

As the school year went on, I gradually learned Wendy's story.  No wonder her clothes were so glamorous--she was 19 years old.  She had gotten pregnant a year ago by a guy, now 22, who grew up in our neighborhood.  They weren't together anymore--they never really had been, except for the hour or whatever it took them to get pregnant--but her parents had rejected her for getting knocked up before finishing high school.  The baby's paternal grandmother, who was my neighbor, took Wendy in.  Wendy delivered the baby, she and the grandmother were raising it together, and now Wendy was back in high school to finish her degree.  So, shit, Wendy was a mom.

So it made sense, a little at least, that Wendy never spoke to me, or anyone, on the bus.  We must all seem like little kids to her.  We're all looking for dates to the school dance on Friday; Wendy's already had unprotected sex, taken a pregnancy test, seen the dreaded '+' on the stick, run away from her parents, gone thru 9 months of pregnancy (including the getting-fat part--gross), delivered a baby, nursed a baby, changed a baby's stinky diaper 200 times, gotten up at 3am with a hungry baby.  And then gone back to high school.

So what did a girl like me and a girl like her have to say to each other, anyways?  So we just stared at each other on the bus senior year.  I was outta here anyhow, once my Northeastern acceptance came thru in April.  So long, suckers (including you, Wendy).

The summer between high school graduation and going away to Northeastern was like some not-quite-a-woman-but-MOST-DEFINITELY-NOT-a-girl 12-week interlude to blow off some steam.  I got totally horny for a 21 year old pothead type in our neighborhood.  Our "fooling around" actually was surprisingly tame (hand jobs, mostly) considering how horny I was.  He was too much in love with pot to ever pay too much attention to a girl.  The perfect summer fling.  But I ended up walking into and out of his place that summer.  In, out, in, out.  And Wendy could see.  And started to notice.

And one humid summer evening, as I was returning home on a walking path, she was standing there.  In boots, as usual.  Hands on hips.  Total attitude.  For the first time ever, I heard her voice.  "Another booty call, Bella?".

"What business is it of yours, bitch?", I impulsively blurted out.

The universe, at that moment, was conspiring to loosen all of my inhibitions.  The stars were aligned.  I had just had mediocre casual sex.  A pretty girl in badass boots was blocking my way home.  The first words said girl ever stooped to address to me were kinds personal.  We had just discovered that we clearly were "sharing" a booty call partner (so much for an unplanned pregnancy scaring Wendy off of sex). 

But on top of all those, this was the clincher.  The meaning of all those school bus staring contests became blindingly obvious--Wendy had been challenging me.

All that remained now were the fighting words.  And they came quickly.

"Get out of my way, Wendy."

"Make me.  Bitch."

And I just lost it.  My hands went for Wendy's styled, colored hair.  Win or lose, she wasn't getting out of this fight, I decided, without me doing at least $50 worth of damage to her hair.  I felt punches to my face, my sides, my back.  Good, keep doing that, punch my back you stupid GED teen mom.  That doesn't hurt at all.

I think during our fight, I actually did call her a teen mom.  Out loud.  More than once.

And I think it actuslly worked.  In hurting her.  Because even though it was my first catfight ever, I won.  I never let go of Wendy's hair once.  Within a minute, I was dragging her along the ground by the hair, kicking her in the belly.  I aanted to keep going, but then I felt bad that she had a baby at home.  So I made her give.  And I walked home.  And I kept doing that booty call for the rest of the summer, hoping each time that she would stop me on the way home.  But she never did.

**********************

Scott must have like my story.  "Tell it to me again," he begs.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

MY SECOND FIGHT

I continued my phone sex/Snapchat sexting conversations with Scott.  He wasn't pressuring me for real sex, or even a real "date", so I rationalized to myself that he wasn't cheating on my roomate Robin.  Or that I was stabbing her in the back.  I was stabbing her in the back--but I convinced myself that I wasn't.  I'm not proud of myself.  So why did I do it?  Maybe I thought being in a sexting relationship was exciting.  And maybe, just maybe, I was excited that someone was asking me about girlfights I had been in.

**********************************

After Scott and I had, ahem, ......explored .....my fight with Wendy, Scott wanted to know the story behind my second fight.

It happened the spring semester of my freshman year at Northeastern, in April 2006.  This a the semester at Northeastern were business majors begin their first internship.  The assignment is usually not a challenging one, but it's where you learn to commute to a job, all while balancing your school course work and your personal life.

I was taking the Red Line to the big glass John Hancock building in the Back Bay section of Boston.  I was on the same seat at the same time, day after day.  It was like taking the high school bus, just more lucrative and less humiliating.

There were a few regulars on that line, a quirky crowd, since it was off peak hours, 10am on the morning line.  All ages, all races, all sexes.  There was a pretty, tall girl, who looked a couple years older than me.  It looked like she spent a lot on her hair.  I started thinking about Wendy.  I started picture myself fighting the tall girl.

But there was one thing I didn't want this girl to have in common with Wendy.  I didn't want her to be a mom, like Wendy was.  I felt like I had held back in my fight with Wendy, not wanting to hurt my opponent and deprive a child of her mom for even a few days.  If I hsd to be in another fight, I wanted it to be a really vicious one.

One day, the Red Line train we were on had some sort of brake line problem.  We needed to pull over for 5 minutes, and were allowed to exit the vehicle.  It was a warm April day, so several passengers got out to stretch their legs.  I remember watching as "tall girl" got out, flipping back her beautiful light brown hair, and lighting up a cigarette.

Based solely on this single observation, I drew an inference that tall girl must not be a mom.  Any self-respecting female who somehow did become hooked on nicotine would, for the sake of her baby, quit the minute she learned she was pregnant.  She just would--the maternal hormone or instinct or whatever would kick in. 

So "tall girl", I decided, met all my criteria for an ideal fight opponent--nice hair, pretty, a little older than me, not a mom.  Now, how to get her to fight?  Wendy, when she shared a bus ride with me, had made eye contact with me to challenge me.  I tried the same with tall girl.  Over the course of a week, our eyes met.  Then she looked away.  Then she caught my eyes.  Then I looked away.  Then, on Good Friday afternoon, with the train ridrrship at significantly decreased levels, our eyes locked.  And sustained the stare.  And sustained it some more.

As tall girl got off the train, she said, "Follow me, I know somewhere we can go."  Insanely, I followed.  Insane, because there were a lot of bad potential outcomes, given I knew next to nothing about this woman.  She could rob me.  She could lead me to a robbery.  She might think I'm propositioning her romantically.

But, we were both looking for the same thing--a catfight.  Tall girl strode puposefully to a Back Bay back alley.  She removed her jewelry, dropped her purse, and whipped around to face me.  My pulse raced like the summer night 10 months ago when Wendy confronted me on the narrow neighborhood path.  I had found a fight.  Now, was I ready?  Or, as ready as tall girl, who obviously did this a lot.

Tall girl and I buried our hands into each others' hair.  My most immediate goal was to prevent getting rag-dolled, like I had done to the smaller Wendy.  I decided to get the fight to the ground as quickly as possible.  I pulled her hair downward, sticking my legs betweeh hers, hoping to trip her.  She saw my determination fof a ground fight, and decided that was ok by her, as long as she was on top, so she fell on me.

This fight opponent smelled more exotic than Wendy.  But her body felt softer, less in shape.  Thd hard pavement we were fighting on was hard an unfitging.  I hoped she wouldn't grab my skull and bash it into the surface.

Tall girl began punching me in the face, rapid wellaimed strikes.  I had her down now, so I released her hair and punched back.  Although I had never punched anyone before my blows elicied cries of pain.

My right hand was free to swng, tall girl's was under her body.  I decided to make sure it stayed there, not letting tall girl get up.  After a few more minutes of strggle, I was the only one fighting.  I inflicted two more minutes of punishment on tall girl until she gave.

Two fights  two wins.....

[JT Edson]

I am LOVING this so far.

[sinclairfan]

ROBIN AND I GET SNIPPY

One night, coincidentally, 4 short hours after Scott and I have concluded an epic phone sex marathon, Robin and I are sitting on the couch at our apartment watching a Harry Potter movie.  Neither of us are really into it, and it's obvious Robin has something on her mind.  I begin to feel bad that besides sext-cheating with her crush for the past few weeks, I haven't been a very good roomate to Robin.  We've gotten out of the habit of just chatting about "stuff".

Robin:  So what do you think Scott's deal is.  Why doesn't he wanna get in my pants.

Me:  <<<<playing dumb, hoping Robin doesn't sense my guilt>>>> Ummm, I dunno.  Does he have a girlfriend?  Or, wait, a wife who the divorce isn't final with?

R:  Already asked him that.

M:  Which?  The girlfriend <<<<please, no>>>>?  Or the wife?

R:  Both.

M:  And?   <<<<am I under arrest, Officer?>>>>>  He's YOUR boyfriend, isn't he???

R:  Why the edge??

M:  Why the leading questions, <<<<bitch>>>> ?

R:  I'm sorry.  I'm just crabby.  Feeling all rejected.  I want him to fuck me, and it's.....not happening.

M:  <<<<feeling sympathetic>>>  I'm sorry, Robin.

R:  I mean.... I could see if I was, like....flat-chested like you....

M: <<<<not sorry anymore>>>....'Scuse Me???

R:  Well, I mean.....well ok....compared to me then.....

M:  <<<<getting pissed>>>> Say what, Robin???

R:  Ok, time out, who has <<<<air quotes>>> "edge" now?   Hmmmm?

M:  Ok, time out, are you stirrin' shit on purpose??

R:  What, about our chests?  Cuz that's not shit, that's real.

M:  Like.  Hell.  Robin.  We have the same damn chests.

R:  Like.  Hell.  Bella.  Scott don't think so?

M:  Why?? What did he say??

R:  <<<<<Eyebrows raised>>>>  Is he my boyfriend, or yours, Bella??  Cuz I'm getting real confused.

<<<<<Pause, collecting our thoughts, as we glare at each other.  Does one of us have a trump card up our sleeve?  I try a new tact.>>>>

B:  Ok, Robin.  Forget Scott.  What do YOU think??  Are our chests pretty much the same??  Or is YOURS nicer??

R:  Pfffft.

M:    Pffft, the question?? Or, pfffft, my chest?!?

R:  Pfffftt, your chest Bella.  No offense, but you're flat-chested.

M:  WE WEAR THE SAME DAMN BRA SIZE <<<<<you damn bitch>>>> !!!!

R:  Proves nothing.

<<<<Is she trying to bait me into a strip-off??>>>

<<<<<We stare at the movie for 5 minutes.>>>>>

M:  I'm going to bed.

R:  No sorry?!?

M:  I'm sorry your boyfriend doesn't want your tits.

R:  Bella.  Look at me.

M:  What.

R:  Watch how you talk about him.

M:  Watch how you talk about me.

R:  Game on.

M:  What?

R:  Nothing.

To be continued....

[RPBella]

this is getting very catty and interesting

[sinclairfan]

"WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH YOU AND ROBIN?!?"

Scott and I spend the next night in <<<yet>>> an<<<other>>> epic phone sex session.  He sends me Snapchat dick pics of his erect, then ejaculating, cock.  I send him pics of my engorged boobs.

I want him to think my boobs are sexier than Robin's.  He hasn't gone all the way with her yet, but he's been to second base with her, so he's one of the few people on Earth whose opinion of whose boobs are nicer, Robin's or mine, actually matters.

Me:  <<<<Getting right to the point>>> Who has nicer tits?

Scott:  Umm, you of who?

M:  Nice try.  Who do you think?

S:  You or???......Kate Upton?.....Anna Kendrick?.....

M: .....or, your girlfriend???......although, now that I think of it.....  IS she your girlfriend???....

S: ......Why?  Do you and her talk about me?...

M:  Since you ask.....Robin and I if you're secretly married....

S:....<<<<<sigh>>>>....

M:....as in, you're separated, but the final divorce is still pending.....

S:.........

M:.....Ssoooo??...

S:  Why would you two wonder that?

M:  ...Because you haven't fucked her yet...

S: .....<<<<<sigh>>>....

M:  Scott,.....WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH YOU AND ROBIN???  Why haven't you two fucked yet?

S:  Why are you and her teaming up against me?

M:  Teaming up against you??  Scott--news flash--we're practically at each others' throats over you!!

S:  At each others' throats how?

M:  Scott???...ok, so last night, she and I are sitting on the couch....giving each other the silent treatment....and she says you think I'm flat-chested...

S:  ...BULL...CRAP.....

M:  Ok, wait, wait......correction....I take that back....she says SHE thinks I'm flat-chested.....she says YOU say her tits are nicer than mine....

S:  ...she was just trying to make you jealous....

M:  So MY tits are nicer?

S:  I've felt her tits.....I haven't felt yours.....

M:  ....you haven't felt mine because you have a girlfriend,
 SCOTT......

S:  ....and YOU have a roomate, BELLA.....

M:.....oh, and like, you're just OH...SO.....DISAPPOINTED...that I go behind her back to sext with you, right, Scott?.....

S:  Why don't YOU tell ME what I'm into, smarty pants??

M:  I think that YOU like the idea of two girls catfighting over you.  I hear how you cum when I tell you about my fight with Wendy, my fight with tall girl....

S:.....you and tall girl was like anonymous sex.....but an anonymous catfight instead.....

M:....so....answer me then.....would you rather fuck Robin, or watch me and her catfight??? 

S:.......

M:  Take your hand off your dick and answer me, Scott.

S:  I'll answer you, if you answer me.  Would YOU rather fuck ME, or catfight ROBIN.

M:...........

M:..........

M: <<<<Touche, Scott.  Touche.>>>>>

To be continued......

[ThumperAlpha]

OK got me on edge here

[sinclairfan]

"KISS AND MAKEUP?"

For the next two weeks, Robin and I give each other the silent treatment.  We avoid each other as much as possible.  When it's absolutely necessary to converse, like when coordinating payment of the rent check or the cable and electric bills, we avoid eye contact.  It's actually incredibly lonely to be feuding with your roomate.  I begin to expect that, any day now, Robin will announce she's moving out.  Which would totally blow a whole in my already horrible financial situation--my college loan payments have begun, even though I'm just working in a restaurant.

The only respite from my loneliness is my phone sex buddy, Robin's boyfriend Scott.  He and I get off for hours at a time to Snapchat pictures of our genitals, and to stories of my fight with teen mom Wendy.

But the loneliness at home becomes too much to bear, and one day, as we're both home in our respective bedrooms, Robin breaks the ice and texts me.

"Bella--I know I've been a bitch to you lately.  I'm sorry.  Please understand, I'm in a weird, frustrating, confusing relationship with Scott right now, and it's making me crabby.  I shouldn't take it out on you.  Can we just kiss and make up?  I mean, like, literally.  Do you remember that time we kissed without things getting weird?  Can we keep our clothes on, not talk, and I come in your bedroom and we just kiss until things are cool between us again?  I miss you."

I read, and re-read the text.  That was nice of Robin to make the first move.  I miss her too (even though I'm phone fucking her boyfriend).  And we did manage to kiss before without, like she says, "things getting weird".

I decide not to leave her in suspense.  "Yes, come in.  I've been a bit of a bitch myself, worrying about not getting a job.  No talking, just kissing."

I lie back on my bed, and Robin walks in, closing my shades.  We eye each other, not in the face, but checking out each others' chests.  Maybe Robin is realizing how wrong she was to call me flat-chested.  I wish I was standing, not flat on my back, to maximize my 36D's.  But this will do for now.  I'm glad we agreed to not talk--we'd probably say something catty and ruin the mood.

Robin mounts my bed and straddles me.  We both lick our lips, preparing to kiss.  My phone sex affair has been going on so long with Scott that I've forgotten what it's like to kiss someone.  I extend my arms, signalling to Robin my eagerness for the make out session to begin.  And for it to be a long one.

Robin goes in for the kiss, and from the very start, everyone is "off" between us.  She comes in from the side, instead of straight down, our mouths missing, and our cheekbones colliding.  What we are doing is some sort of awkward hybrid of Eskimo nose rubbing and kittens rubbing faces.  Why won't she put her mouth on mine?

I try to correct our alignment, but Robin has seized the initiative.  Her hands locked with mine, and pin them awkwardly above my head, completely immobilizing my movement.  I'm unable to roll side to side or to sit up.  My arrms are extended and stretched against my ears, preventing and turning in either direction of my head.  So my face is completely at Robin's mercy, and she rubbing it with the hard bony parts of her face--her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her jaw.  My discomfort is extreme, and is betrayed by painful grunts from my throat.  Robin listens to them and seems to enjoy them?

My sense of guilt grows.  Does she know about my phone sex affair with her boyfriend?  Is this my punishment?  Or does she just suspect, and is trying to get me to confress?

Robin's and my face are pressed together.  I become aroused by her domination of me, by her making the proposition to this make out session, or whatever it is.  Our being fully clothed adds an odd dynamic, as my eroticism flows to the two parts of my body in direct contact with Robin--our hands, and our faces.

I hear a whisper, or at least I think I do, out of Robin.  I reply back in a whisper.

Bitch.

Bitch.

You blonde bitch.

You're the bitch.

I hate you.

Your boyfriend doesn't.

My arousal now becomes sexual, and I need to be kissed.  I open my mouth and offer it to Robin.  To my surprise (after what we've just confessed to each other), she accepts, and covers my open mouth with hers.

Our tongues find each other immediately, and begin dueling.  Like swords.  They attempt to eject each other from each others' home.  The advantage ebbs back and forth, first my tongue gaining the advantage, then Robin's.  We strain our faces and jaws, trying to seize the initiative and forcibly kiss the other.  I'm frustrated that Robin has more freedom of movement than me.  She's on top, so she can move her head up and down.  My arms are pinned against my ears, so she can tutn her head side to side, and I can't.

And yet I hold my own in our tongue war.  Our loudly moaning voices betray our extreme exertion.

The tongue thrusts I endure from Robin are invasive and hateful, like the prelude to a sexual assault.  Our moans lock into each others' rhythm, and we finally release our kiss and screech in orgasm into each others' ears.

yyyyyyyyeeessssssss

unnnnnnnnnnnnggggghhhhhhhh

yyyyyyyyyeeesssssssss

unnnnnnnggghhhhhh

yuuubbbiiiiiiiiiitch

ffffuuuuucckkkkkkyyyouuuuuuuuuu

biiiitccccchhhhhhhhhh

bbiittcchhhhhhh

For the first time, Robin releases my hands, plunges her hands into the back of my hair, and sinks deep tongue kisses into my mouth.  Not gently and not affectionately, but less forcefully and hatefully than before.  She allows me to reciprocate.

Robin gets up and returns to her room.  She texts me, "I'll never talk about that again if you don't."

I think, then reply: "Agreed."

********************

The next night, Robin and I watch a movie, and talk about our day.  Not as smooth as the old days (pre-Scott), but not as icy as the last two weeks.

I'll take it.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

BELLA VS WENDY, ROUND 2

With my phone sex affair with Scott still running scorching hot, my job search sill running ice cold, and my relationship with my roomate Robin some where in between, I accept an offer from my parents to spend Thanksgiving Day 2009 at home.

I sleep in my childhood bed the night before, thinking of my tongue fight with Robin.  The whisper name calling we were doing to each other--what was that?  Were we just frustrated that Scott won't choose and give himself entirely to one of us?  If he does choose, it will probably end Robin and my roomate-ship, and since neither of us can afford to live alone in Boston, will probably end whatever hope either of us have for post-Northeastern employment in our major.

Or was our tongue fight the start of Robin and I realizing that we need to choose for Scott?  Were we sizing each other up?  If so, Robin is one strong bitch.  She was pinning me exclusively with the weight of her body on mine and by holding my hands over my head.  In my two fights, I won by hairpulling tactics--what if I fight Robin and my hands aren't usable?  Would I be able to do anything to Robin?  If so, what?

Should I try another fight?

I wonder if Wendy still lives in this neighborhood.

After Thanksgiving dinner, my mom go walking on the path that I used to walk on to go to booty calls with the pot head.  I see that he still lives there--his pick up truck sitting in his driveway.  I look next door to him to the house Wendy was living in when we fought.  I see a five year old-ish toddler playing in the yard.  That's about the age Wendy's child would be if she still lived there.  Seems like Wendy might be there.  I begin to formulate a plan.

Around 2009, Black Friday Christmas shopping was migrating into Thanksgiving Day, or evening, itself.  My mom and dad were headed out around 10 to get some shopping done, so the house was my own for a few hours.  My mom and I return from our walk around 4 in the afternoon, the sky just turning dark.  I retreat to my bedroom, and call Wendy's number.  Wendy's child's grandmother answers, and I ask for Wendy, who comes to the phone.  My hands are shaking, as if I'm 14 and talking to a boy.  Wendy speaks first.

> Hello?

> Wendy, it's Bella.

> Oh, yeah.  I saw you out walking with your mother.

> Yeah, that was us.

> I woulda, come out, but I didn't want to start trouble in front of her.

> That was a good idea, because there prolly woulda been trouble.

> That's what I thought.  Is that why you're back here today?

> To cause trouble?  With you?  Yeah, pretty much.

>  Well, you found it.

> Good.

> Good.  Right now, then?

> No, not yet.  My mom's going Christmas shopping at 10.  Can you come to my place then?  I have a backyard spotlight.

> <<<thinking>>>  Ok, fine, my kid will be asleep then.

> Well, then fine.

> Fine.

> Fine.

I want to tell her to wear boots, but decide not to.

Six hours takes forever to go by when you're waiting for a fight, let me tell you.  Scott is away with his family at an undisclosed location, but he is able to sporadically Snapchat.

>  Hey.  I have a chickfight at 10:00.

>  Whoa!!  10:00 tomorrow??

>  No.  Tonight.  That teen mom girl Wendy I told you about, next to my mom's.

>  Is that why you went home for Thanksgiving?

>  Lol.  She asked me that, too.

>  So?  What's the answer?

>  Probably.  If you keep stringing Robin and me along, I might need to fight her.  So I need to practice with Wendy.

>  Are you just using me as an excuse? 

>  I don't like when you ask me zingers like that.

> Because you know I'm right.

> Maybe you're right.  Or maybe you're blowing it with Robin and me.  How about if I don't tell you whst happens in my fight with Wendy.

>  Then I'll just assume you got your ass kicked.  Not saying that to be a wise-ass.  It's just what I'll assume.

>  You can be an asshole sometimes.

>  Please be careful against Wendy.  Don't go easy on her just because she has a kid.

>  I worry about the boots she always used to wear.

>  Thinks she stomps on girls she fights with them?

> Yes.

> Mmmmm.  She probably sucks at punching then.....

> Mmmm......HhhhmmmmMmmmmm.......

> Punch her in the face, Bella.  Mmmmm.....

> I just came.   

> Me, too.

>  :-)

>  ;-)   And seriously, don't let her get on you with her boots.

>  I won't.

>  Text me afterwards.

> I will.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

MY FIGHT WITH WENDY

As my fight appointment with Wendy approaches and it gets dark outside, I hear the wind pick up, large gusts racing thru the trees.  Wendy and I aren't going to be able to fight outside--and postponing the fight isn't an option.

I start walking thru my house to find suitable fight locations.  My senses, including my sexual ones, thrill to the anticipation of Wendy and I locked in an embrace, throwing each other into walls, onto couches and leather chairs and TV tables.  I think of my recent tongue fight with Robin--do I want to fight Wendy like that?  Will Wendy want to fight me like that?  Is Wendy as sexually frustrated as Robin?  Does Wendy find it hard to date because of her young child?  Is that why she's still living at the home of her child's grandmother, four years later?  Was that her plan?  Does she have a plan?

Do I have a plan?  It's been 6 months since I graduated Northeastern, and I still don't have a real job.  Interest in my resume, already low, is plummeting quickly.  A couple of classmates in my position are going back to school in the spring, to prevent a big gap in their resume.  Robin and I missed the deadline to apply, distracted by our respective affairs with Scott.  Should I be worried about my future?

My parents leave to go shopping.  I look out the window, anticipating Wendy's arrival.  Shit, I still don't know what room to fight her in, I was so busy thinking about my (non-)career, about my wasted time with Scott, kissing my roomate.  I want to do that again with her, I realize, but we agreed to never talk about it again--how do I bring it up?

Wendy knocks on my back door.  Why is she using that door instead of the front one?  Because it leads to the backyard, where she's expecting to fight?  She has no coat on, despite the cold.  Her face is as pretty as I remember it, but her hair is all brunette now and, well, thinner, stringier.  Does she not spend as much on her hair as she used to?  Is the Great Recession destroying her finances like it's destroying mine?  She still has expensive-looking boots, at least.

I let her in.  We maintain eye contact but are both afraid to talk, not knowing the perfect thing to say.  I latch the door behind us--just you and me, now, Wendy.  I break the ice.

"I've wanted to fight you again since thst day on the path outside."

"You're such a good fighter.....I couldn't believe.....when I lost to you.....I had never lost a fight before that day....."   <<<at least I'm good at something.....>>>>

"Are you worried you'll lose now?"

"Yes....but I need to fight you again anyways."

<<<<we come together and grab fistfulls of hair>>>> "After you win fights, do you kick.....bitches....with your boots?"

<<<<<the hairpulling becomes painful, and our voices begin to strain and moan>>>> "Yes.  What do you do to....bitches....to hurt them....after a fight?"

<<<<The hairpulling becomes rougher.>>>> "I haven't been in....enough fights.....the last one was in an..... alley.....in Boston.....I just wanted to run away fast....after...."

<<<<the hairpulling crosses the line to violent>>>>> "You need to....hurt the other girl......otherwise....she'll just want to fight you agsin...."

<<<<<we fall to the floor in a painful catball>>>> ".....like you're fighting me again?".......

<<<<Our faces press together>>>>> "Hurt me, Bella.  Hurt me bad."

"You hurt me, Wendy.  Like everyone else you fight.  Show me how."

Wendy and I are wrapped together in a stalemated ball on the hard foyer floor.  She is loosening her legs, attempting to line up my shins with annoying but ineffective heel kicks.  We've both come primed for an action-packed fight, but instead are locked in a boring catball.

I think back to my tongue fight last week with Robin.  She must have learned that some time, some where, from someone.  If Wendy's been in fights, maybe she's done it before.

I pull Wendy by the hair and position our mouths together. I violently insert my tongue into her mouth.  Wendy responds once she realizes what I'm doing, and her tongue finds mine and attacks.   Our mouths escalate their, with more teeth being involved than was the case in my duel with Robin.  Is Wendy just that terrible of a kisser?  Or is she thinking about biting me?

Wendy and I maintain mutual grips on our hair, but noe our hands slide to each others' soft tops, and begin tearing.  I thrill to the sound of ripping fabric, and fine the flesh of Wendy's warm back, raking them with my nails.  Wendy opts for my front, gouging my movie star breasts, a satisfying admission of her jealousy of them.

Satisfying.  That's the word.  Altough my hair and breasts are in extreme pain from Wendy's hands and claws, my sexual arousal is being satiated by her hard, deep kisses and bites.  Wendy's mouth and mine continue to invade and press together.  Our moans betray a desperation to continue.

Our upper bodies begin to hydroplane in unison on the layer of salty sweat between them.  Our nipples are now hard enough to become used as weapons, and we thrust hard into each other, rolling on the floor.  Our mouths are unable to maintain contact, as Wendy and I struggle to suck in air.

"I'm....gonna....punch...you....in....the....face.....Yeah?.....Do it.....bitch...." we threaten.

"Fight me like you fought the bitch in the alley in Boston," Wendy plaintively begs me.

I reflect.  My next fight with Robin won't be a kissing duel.  It will be a fistfight.  She'll find out about my phone sex and sexting with Scott. 

Wendy and I rise, topless, to our knees.  We throw right-handed haymakers at each others' faces, a sickening flesh-on-flesh sound echoing thru the foyer.  Hatred emanates from our eyes.

"Teen mom."  I attempt to hurt Wendy with words now, too.

"Unemployed waitress."  Ouch.  Is that what I am?  Correction--can she that's what I am?  Is it that obvious?  When I'm in Boston, does she talk about me, my failures, with my mom.

"I'm better than you, slut."

"At what?"

"At fighting."

"Show me."

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

".....LIKE YOU FOUGHT IN THE ALLEY...."

Wendy and I have been squared up for over a minute now, but no one has thrown the first punch yet, not even a jab.  Wendy is going to follow my lead as to the thpe of fight we have.  Our summer fight on the walking trail was a hairpulling catfight, but she's looking for something more raw, something more "ghetto", tonight.  She knows I've been in a Boston alleyfight, and she wants to give that a shot.

But my Boston alleyfight wasn't a YouTube-style 35-second streetfight.  There was a sexual element to it--I was attracted to the girl I fought--it was why I picked her as an opponent.  Wendy is looking to follow my lead.  I need to show her how 2 girls about to fight tap in to the sexual tension between them.

I think of my recent tongue fight with Robin.  I need to show Wendy how to fight like that.  Maybe she'll respond, maybe she won't.  Maybe there will be sexual magic between Wendy and me, maybe there won't.  But we need to try.  I need to try.

Wendy and I are still squared up, fists clenched.  But Wendy reads my eyes or my face, and notices that I've started looking at her "that way".  I'm sizing her up, deciding if I'm sexually attracted to her.  I am.  Especially when she has those damn boots on.  Does shd like me?  Has she ever thought about it.

I back into a nearby sectional couch.  Wendy follows me and mounts my lap.  We pull hair hard and cram our mouths together.  I show her how to tongue fight, but it's less intense , less edgy, than my tongue fight with Robin.  Is it because Robin and I are in a triangle with a man right now, but Wendy and I aren't?

I try to step up the tension with Wendy.  I start whispering to her about the summer she and I were "partying with" the same pothead.  Damn, what sas his name?

> Wendy.

> <<<<between tongue kisses>>>> What, Bella?

> What was the name of that pothead we fought over?

> You didn't even know his name, ditz?

> I knew his name, bitch.  <<<<Wendy clutches my bicep.>>> I don't remember it now.

> It was Gary. <<<hard tongue thrust>>>  What about him?

> When you and him....banged....did you two talk about me?

> Yes.  One time in particular.

> And?

> I asked him to stop fucking you?

> Jealous bitch.

> That's right.  No girl likes to share.

> I do.  Or...I will....if necessary.  I'm sharing a guy right now.

> Whos's the other girl?

> My roomate.

> Whoa......Does she know?

>  She's getting suspicious.

>  What'll happen when she finds out?

> She'll freak.

> At him.....nnnnnnmmmmmmuuu.....nnnnnmmmmm.. or at uuuuuuuuuuuu?    <<<<<Wendy orgasms>>>>>

> Kiss me.

> Answer me first.

> Kiss me first. <<<<we pull hair, tossing each others' heads side-to-side>>>>>

> She'll fuck you up.

> Like you tried to do.....mmmmmnnnnnnn.....on the path??

> We weren't roomates.

> That matters??   <<<<I've cum once, but am still aroused.>>>>

> How so?

> It's a betrayal, bitch.  You and I were enemies.

> <<<<the word "enemies" sets me into a frenzy>>>>  uuuunnnnnggggggg........ujmmmmmmmmmgggggg.......WWEEEnnnnnddddyyhhh........mmmmmnnnngggggg......fuck.......fuck......fuck......Fuck.  So 2 girls who are friends will have a rougher fight than 2 girls who are enemies?

>  Hell, ya.

> <<<<<< Wendy and I carress each other, lost in thought.>>>

> <<<<<<More minutes pass.>>>>>>

> Surprised we didn't fight?

>  Little bit. 

> Disappointed.

> Little bit.  You?

>  No.  Because we talked.  And I learned something.

>  About friends fighting?

> Yes.

> Scared?

> Yes.

> You should be.

I am.

To be continued.....

[JT Edson]

Loving what your cook'in.

[sinclairfan]

"YOU'RE A REAL BASTARD SOMETIMES"

After I get back home from my tongue fight with Wendy, I debate whether or not to text Scott.  He's expecting to hear about a streetfight or catfight with her, but that's not what ended up happening.  Instead, Wendy and I ended up talking about.....well, him.....and me.....and Robin.  And about how my sexting with Scott, if it continues, is going to lead to some sort of clash between me and Robin.

So, why do I continue to sext with Scott?  I do it because my money worries are getting really serious.  I've used up every payment deferral opportunity I had on my student loans, and I'm now running "cash negative" every month--my rent and my student loan payments exceed my tips from waitressing.  I keep applying for "real jobs", but the likelihood of landing one of those is gdtting more and more remote. 

So, my self-esteem sucks.  And Scott is so damned mysterious.  He seems like somd sort of tech entrrpreneur.  Or a hacker.  Or a coder.  Wait, no, a hacker.  His name doesn't even come up in a Google search, like he knows how to scrub his presence from the Web.  Can he, eventually, help me with my money troubles?  Would I sink that low?  Would I accept money for sexting and phone sex?

I know that's why Robin continues to pursue a dateless "relationship" with him.  Her money problems are as bad as mine.  She needs a white knight, too.  And Scott seems like he might be it.

Scott told me to text him when I got back from my fight with Wendy, or else he'd assume I got my ass kicked by her.

Fine.  Let him worry. 

I go to sleep.  At 4:30 am, my cellphone buzzes.  A Snapchat from Scott.

> So?  Any word?

> <<<<I play coy.  Two can play at this game.>>>  About what?

> Haha.  About you and Wendy.  Did the fight happen?

> <<<<I cave.  Apparently, I can't play the "Obtuse Game".  At least not very well.>>>>  It's complicated.  A fight hsppened.  But not with fists.

> With what, then?  Pillows?

> <<<<Ok, now I'm being mocked, and I don't like it.>>>> You know what, Scott?  You can be a real bastard sometimes.  I go days without hearing from you, but you check in a dawn to get play-by-play on a chickfight to relieve your morning wood to.  Selfish.

<<<<<I hit "send", and then immediately regret it.  Shit.  Will he break up with me now?  I hope not.>>>>

> Shows what you know.  No morning wood, babe.  While you were with Wendy last night, I was with your roomie, Robin.  And we did it.

> WTF?!?!?  Scott, this is huge!!  How was it??  And why did you cave??  <<<<And....why are you telling me this??>>>

> Well, it was....exciting.  And she sort of left me no choice--she showed up uninvited.  And I was here.

> <<<<<Wow, go, Robin.  How did you get his address?  How did you know some other woman wouldn't be there?  Or, ....well....were you HOPING some other woman would be there?>>>>> So, are you and her...like...a normal boyfriend and gitlfriend now?

> That's sort of why I'm texting you.  Has she said anything to you about dropping by my place?  Before she did it?  Or since?

> Well....since you ask....Scott, you hafta admit--you're kinda a mysterious guy.  She and I did worry if you're married or something.

<<<<This conversation is awkward as fuck to be having by text.  What if he stops texting back?  He has all the power in this "relationship".  And I hate it.  And I hate myself for continuing in it.>>>>>>

> Well, she knows now.....and so I'll tell you too....because Robin....what's the word?....ransacked my place, looking for evidence that another woman lives here.  And she didn't find any.  Because there isn't one.  My only "other woman" is you, Bella.

<<<<<I break out in a blush.  Ok, now I'm glad we're having this conversation by text, and not in person.  I don't want Scott to see how good it makes me feel to be the other woman.  To betray my own roomate.  How being Scott's sexting partner is the only thing in my life that gives me any sense of purpose.  I hate myself for the whole situation.  But I refuse to be ashamed by it.>>>

> Wow.  Because I was starting to wonder.

> Well, now you know.

> Do you still....want me to be your other woman?   

> If you'll still have me.

> <<<<<<Yes, I'm self-aware enough in the moment to sense the cognitive dissonance of Scott and I "committing" to each other to continue to sneak behind Robin's back.  But it's all I've got right now in the romance department.  Plus, I'm horny as fuck and need to get off.>>>>  I will, Scott.  Let's keep having our affair.

> Ok.  Let's. 

> On that topic:  when Robin was "ransacking" your place....did she seem jealous?

> Yes.

> Did that turn you on?

> You know it.  Does it turn you on?

> Yes.  Are you touching yourself?

> Yes.  Scratch what I said before about no morning wood.  I have it now.

> Mmmmm....Scott....even though Robin fucked you last night?  Was she not enough woman for you?

> I thought she was....until I started thinking about you.   mmmmmmm

> mmmmm....yes, Scott....Scott, whose tits are nicer? Mine or Robin's?.....

> mmmmmm....yours, Bella.....

> What's better about them, Scott?

> Mmmmm, Bella.....your nipples are, wider....and ghey point out more.....they're just so much....sluttier....

> Mmmmmm, Scott.....is Robin slutty in bed?

> Mmmmmm.......she's.....hesitant.....she holds herself back....

> Mmmm.....that icy bitch......I never do that with you Scott.

> I know Bella......I love it.....

<<<<<My body spasms in a titanic, long orgasm.  Knowing that this is Scott and mine first time sexting since he and Robin "consummated" their relationship drives me crazy...in a good way.>>>>

> Fuck, Scott.....I just came like you can't fucking believe....

> I know.  Me, too.

> Scott, I love being your phone slut.

> I love having you.  But now I have to go to work.  You going back to Boston?

> Yes, later this morning.

> You gonna see Robin?

> Actually, I don't know.  We haven't caught up all weekend.

> Is it goona be....weird....being around her now?

> Ummm, obviously. 

> Anything I can do?

> I think you've done enough.  Troublemaker  :-)

> Ok.  Till next time   :-)

<<<<Gawd, I want there to be a next time.  And a next snd a next and a next.>>>>>>

To be continued.....

>