[sinclairfan]

I worked flex time at NYNEX the Monday after Father's Day to get my annoying long hair chopped--and patched, in places where Maria had ripped it out by the roots.  I also got the color touched up.

Blondie had to pipe in when I showed up.

> Finally noticed your roots were showing, skank?

> Screw you [incredibly cussing, including the F-word, is not allowed in our 'office'], loser.  Everyone knows you dye your blonde mop a different shade of blonde.

> I never said I didn't dye mine, bimbo.  I just said mine looks .... classy.  Yours looks .... whore-ish.  Like the whore you are.

> [It really hurts me when girls call me a whore, given that my experience with men is near virginal.]  Note to self:  scratch Blondie's head bald if she ever lays a hand on me.

> We can go right now if you want, sweetie.

One of the NYNEX blue collar workers overhears us and steps in--"Save it for the parking lot at summer's end, ladies."

I go home that night and spend 3 hours masturbating to the thought of catfighting Blondie.

To be continued.....

[kevan]

Absolutely totall erotic and amazing catfight scenarios....your writing is super duper.....the fact that you can do so many scenarios and keep up the "hots" is cool........

[sinclairfan]

You might think that working a jam-packed schedule in a challenging environment like P&G would be exhausting and a grind.  But this summer was teaching me the opposite--that it's the tedious, make-work, dead end jobs like my 'internship' in the NYNEX office -slash - glorified - switching - station that the suck the life out of you.

That, and, while this is mean to say, working with blue-collar middle-aged males who have the world's boot on their throat.  'Blue-collar' in 1987 didn't mean what it means in 2023.  America has few true 'blue-collar' laborers left.  These guys were skilled--they were trained engineers, builders, electricians.  They never went to college, but not because they weren't smart.  They WERE smart, but often had an undiagnosed reading disability that prevented them from scoring 400 on the Verbal half of their SAT.

So they got a blue-collar job instead at 19.  Because union jobs still existed, and because we still made and built things (besides McMansions) in America, they made a good living.

But they were underchallenged at work.  Their career plateau'd at age 25 or 27, and after that they were just counting down to retirement.  Their home life was lackluster, after the honeymoon phase of their sex lives with their wives was over.  First, she'd be too tired with the kids to accept his advances enthusiastically.  Then, since there was no Viagra back then, as she got older and the kids got more independent, her renewed interest in 'doing it' was met with disappointment at HIS performance.  So, they both retreated into their own inwardness sexually, and their sexuality became more and more disconnected from reality.

Which, for the now-40-something guys meant a mis-estimation of their desirability to us women in their workplace.  They spoke boastfully to us about their sexuality, with an "Oh yeah, she's into me" glow when we responded with the tiniest sliver of civility.

They's be intrigued thst Blondie and I were both college students.  "Wow, sexy AND smart!".  Golly gee, what a combo!

Not that they thought we actually did and studying at school.  They poked and prodded about the partying.  Sex with boys .... and experimenting with sex with girls.  [Although, ironically, they 'had me' on that one.  Even a broken clock is right twice a day.]

With me in earshot, they would ask Blondie if she experimented with girls at school parties.  And with Blondie in earshot, they'd ask me the same question.  I responded truthfully--that at Miami, I had a suitemate from Cleveland who had a crush on me.  There ard Lies of Commission and Lies of Omission--i was telling a whopper of the latter type of lie by leaving out my full blown affairs with Lorraine and Elena.  But I couldn't think of way to get to the part of kissing them.  So I just talked about sharing my suitemate's childhood bedroom in Cleveland.

Blondie told a similar story--a roomate in the dorm in Boston.  Being alone with a girl, unchaperoned, for the first time ever at 3am.  The now-or-never urge to be intimate, especially once beer is in the picture.

Then Blondie had to be a jackass:  "But unlike Lisa, I regretted it the next morning."

"Gimme a break ..... alcohol makes you do what you REALLY want."

"Fuck you, Lisa, all I really want is to kick your ass."

The guys go off, laughing, muttering "PMS" [an all-purpose, misogynistic putdown by men of women in the worplace in the late 1980s], thinking Blondie and I are putting on a dhow to impress them.

But we're not.  It's not about them.

It's about us.  Blondie and I hate each other.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I came home and had a Pity Party after my office bickering with Blondie, because she was right, but not for the reasons I thought.

I WAS more successful with women than with men .... but only because men were intimidated by my attractiveness.  If Blondie was having better luck with men, it just proved I was more attractive than her.

DIDN'T SHE SEE THAT'S WHAT IT MEANT?

Saturday morning, I gog a surprise visit from my Dad's ex-gitlfriend.  It was official--they had broken up.  My Dad had tried to leave Maria after I beat her up, but couldn't "cut the cord".  He was in love with her .... or, in my opinion, the younger version of her, when she had been my best friend.  He was re-living his youth ... AND Maria's .... thru Maria. 

I regretted not rag-dolling Maria when I beat her up.  Like Kelsey had done to me in Cleveland.  That's more humiliating to your opponent than mounting her and slapping her face.

My Dad's ex- and I commisserated with each other about my Dad's choices, and ours.

Then, we took out our frustrations on each other, WITH each other.

We stood up against the wall in my apartment, nose to nose, and started taking turns kneeing each other just below the belt.

We were doing it hard, and really hurting each other.  We wanted to hear the moans of pain, and exertion, up close from each other.

> Ever since my Dad brought you home the first time, you were obsessed with hitting me.  I love that.

> I loved it too.  But I was baiting you, Lisa.  I wanted you to want to hit me back.

> [I didn't know that.]  I didn't know.  But it's sexy.

> Now that you're doing it .... hitting me back .... do you like it?

> I love it.  And .... it's not weird anymore ...

> Why not weird, Lisa?

> Because you'll never be my mother in law , silly.

> Ah.  I see.  But don't call me 'silly'.  Call me 'bitch'.

> Don't call me Lisa.  You call ME 'bitch',  .... bitch.

> Fuck you, bitch.

My Dad's ex and I line up our mouths and start tongue kissing.  We strip each others' clothes off.

By the time we stop kissing, we've missed lunch.  We've both cum more times than we can count.

> Wanna go out and grab dinner, bitch?

> Yes.  But somewhere quick.  Then let's come back here and hurt eaxh other more.

> You read my mind, bitch.

> Fuck you.

To be continued........

[sinclairfan]

Sunday morning, as my Dad's lay in bed next to me sleeping (and recovering from our long night of hurting each other), my Mom called me on the phone.  She was fired up.

> Did you hear that that snake Maria is shacking up with your father?

> I did.  She's a bitch.  I always hated her.  Even when she and I were friends.

> Do you remember senior year in high school?  When you and her fought in my backyard?

> How could I forget?

> I always knew she was a snake.  I was watching, hoping you'd beat her ass.

> [I don't have the heart to tell my Mom that I did beat Maria's ass, 3 weeks ago.]  I know.  I saw you peaking thru the curtain.  I thought maybe you just wanted to see a wild bitchfight.

> Nah .... saw enough of those growing up in Pawtucket .... we were really poor, Lisa.  No ... I was hoping you'd kick her ass.  I was tempted to come out there and help you do it.

> You never told me about Pawtucket.  Lots of girlfights then?  Even in the '50s?

> Lisa, the '50s were the original Teens Gone Wild.  Car culture, leather.  Girls fighting over the alpha male.

> [My Dad's ex has overheard what my mom is saying.  She's turned on.  And knows I am too.  She starts licking my pussy.]  Mom, can I call you back?  I gotta pee.

> [She senses I'm lying.  And am with someone in bed.]  Actually, I'm leaving for Sunday Mass now.  You should go more often.  Bring a nice boy home.

> Or beat up another girl and take hers?

> That's how I got your Dad.  Bye, sweetie.

My Dad's ex and I flip into a 69 for the next three hours.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

When I went into work next Monday, after a weekend of escapades with my Dad's ex, I was super-sleep-deprived.

When I'm sleep-deprived I get bitchy.  And I knew exactly who I wanted to take my bitchiness out on:  Blondie.

When she came in and sat down, I lay right into her.

> You're wearing more make-up than usual this morning.  Covering up your zits?

> Fuck you, Lisa.  My skin is clearer than your.  Your back-ne is disgusting.

> [How does she know about my back-ne?  Is it that bad?  I change topics.]  And your hair has its usual brillo pad look.

> [This touches a nerve.  Blondie stands up.]  What's your fucking problem, Lisa?  Get stood up this weekend?

> I had non-stop sex this weekend, you clueless fucking bitch.

> With a man ..... or a woman???

> [How does this bitch know my fucking deepest darkest secrets?  Is she spying on me?  Now I stand up.]
Sex with a woman is still sex, cxnt.

> Call me that again, and we're throwing down right now.

> cxnt.  cxnt.  cxnt.

> I'm not fucking kidding, Lisa.

> cxnt.

> Bathroom.  Right .... now.  [Blondie turns and marches to our tiny, lonely ladies' rest room.  Is she fucking serious.  That's where we're fighting?]

> [I can't gracefully decline her challenge .....Nor do I want to.  I'm crabby as hell right now.] 

I strut into the ladies' room, my hands and knees shaking.  I lock the door behind me.  Blondie is standing next to the dirty potty.

> Just like high school.  Loser gets dunked, Lisa.

> [How does she know about my high school bathroom fight wizh Maureen??]  Fine by me.

We close the space between us, and dig our hands into each others' scalps, trying to slam each others' heads and bodies into the stall wall and door.

Fuck, Blondie is strong is hell.  She's definitely been in fights before.

We start kicking each other in the shins as hard as we can, causing our high heels to fall off.  Blondie releases her right hand and starts punching me in the face, landing one blow direct on my bottom lip, which I can already feel swelling.

> Fuck you, bitch.

> I fucking hate you, Lisa.

We waltz over to the bowl, desperately trying to push others' faces down into the water.  The smell is so gross that I feel myself getting dizzy.  By pure luck, I get my right leg under Blondie's, and she falls towards the lav.

I instinctively .... and desperately .... press my advantage.  Blondie loses her footing, and her left shoulder makes contact with the brackish water.  Her silk top absorbs the water and soaks thru.

> Get off, Lisa!!!  Get the fuck off me!!!  I give!!!!

I have an instantaneous choice to make.  Show mercy .... or humiliate my enemy.

I decide to humiliate her.  To completely dunk her.

But my hesitation foils my plan.

Our office manager open the ladies' room door.  He sees us fighting.

"Lisa!!!!!  Get off of her!!!! Now!!!!!"

To be cobtinued.....

[sinclairfan]

After breaking up my bathroom fight with Blondie, the office manager took her out the backdoor, telling her he was taking her back to his place to clean her up.  I immediately wondered if Blondie and the office manager had been having an affair all summer, or maybe even longer--maybe that's how she got her job here.  And maybe that's why she was so cocky with me about having regular sex.

I assumed I'd be allowed to go home early as well, but was told by one of the NYNEX technicians that if I left, I shouldn't bother coming back--that I'd be fired.  I used my fat lip as dvidence for a lie I began telling that morning that Blondie had sucker-punched me in the bathroom.  Word of mouth was passing around the story pretty quickly that Blondie and I had fought in the bathroom, and I wanted to make sure it was MY version, and not Blondie's, that took root.

I figured out over the courae of the morning that my sitting behind my desk for the rest of the day with my fat lump, my crumpled clothes, and my wrecked hair was the point.  Every NYNEX employee in the damned Back Bay, from our mini little sub-station to one's in walking distance from the neighboring high rises, made a point to come into the lobby and check out my face.  I could hear them giggling and tittering as they left, gossiping about me being one of the two combatants in a NYNEX bathroom catfight.  It was pretty much self-explanatory what the only explanation was for my battle scars.

I wondeted if this offices tradition of pitting 2 college girls in an end-of-summer brawl against each other was so that this "look at her" parade could happen post-fight.

Well, all the NYNEX voyeurs were  getting their Summer 1987 show today.

I hope they were enjoying it.

Was I?

I was happy I had won the fight.  Hearing Blondie beg me to stop was sweet music to my ears, that was for damned sure.

But I wished I could have finished the job and dunked her.

That would have been real sweet.

She's such a cocky bitch.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

If you learn one thing in Catholic School it's the God works in mysterious ways.  And that was certainly grue for me during my 1987 NYNEX summer job.

I was going to clear out my NYNEX apartment, quit the next morning at work, then drive to Rhode Island to spend the rest of the summer with my Mom.

But I had a voice mail from an old P&G fellow intern from LAST summer.  She gave me her number in the voice mail, so I called her back, and got an answer.  She told me everyone at P&G missed me and had wondered why I hadn't returned (so, the story of my impulsive anti-Lorraine screed hadn't gotten around, at least not to the Average Bear).  I asked about Lorraine, and was told that she was living in downtown Cincinnati in an expensive apartment with a female 'roomate', who was rumored to be her lesbian lover.  The lover was her roomate at Wheaton.

Those 2 fucking bitches.  I was instantly jealous as fuck.

I was jealous of Lorraine's luck with women.

But I was super-jealous that Lorraine's P&G paycheck was allowing her to live a grown-up lifestyle and be in a grown-up relationship.

While I was still having high school bathroom catfights.

If I quit NYNEX, I would have now burned bridges at 2 Fortune 500 companies.

2 down, 498 to go.

I was already behind financially from where I was hoping to be.

Miami of Ohio was relaising tuition again, and I was falling further into debt.

I ask my intetn friend if she has a Cincinnati phone book l, and can find Lorraine's number.  She does, and gives it to me.

I call.  It goes to voice mail.

"You fucking bitch, Lorraine.  It's Lisa.  I'm back in Ohio in September.  Jope we can meet up for some Girl Talk."

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

After swapping threatening voice mails for a week, Lorraine and I finally connect live by phone on a Tuesda night in August. 

> Hey, bitch.  Enjoying pathetic NYNEX.

> Better than boring dinosaur P&G [P&G in 1987 is indeed resting on its laurels, and NYNEX feels is still in its Baby Bell honeymoon.  But as I write this in 2023, P&G is still around going strong, while NYNEX didn't even make it all the way to the year 2000].  Best thing I ever did quitting there, cxnt.

> Fuck you, Liar Lisa.  You lie, lie, lie.  You tried to get ME fired, but I got YOU fired. 

> [The gears in my head turn 850rpm--well, wait, she's not saying anything about the letter I wrote.  She must not know the WHOLE story of what happened.]   You call me a liar, Lorraine??  Fucking look in the mirror.  You write me a rave review, then before the next summer are getting me fired??  What kind of useless mentor are you???

> I knew it, bitch.  It's KILLING YOU that you have no future at P&G, isn't it?  Admit it, slut.

> Fuck you, Lorraine.  I got the spend the summer back home in in Boston, while you live IN THE FUCKING CLOSET FOREVER in Puritan Cincinnati.  [In 1987, there was no way of knowing the lesbianism would become as accepted and mainstream as it has the past 40 years.  The hardest thing about moving in with a permanent exclusive partner, especially in Middle America, was facing a lifetime of hiding your true self.]

> [Lorraine doesn't even try to pretend I've 'got her' on the repressiveness of the Queen City.]  Fuck you, Lisa.  I'm on the Fast Track here.  I'll have my pick of transfers.  And my partner will follow me.

> [Shit, is Lorraine actually THAT serious with her partner?  My heart breaks a little bit.]  Then face me when I'm back in Ohio next month slut.  I'll fucking kick your ass.  LIKE I ALWAYS DO.

> I'm scared, Lisa.  So fucking scared.  NOT.  [Lorraine hangs up.]

> [So, are we fighting when I go back to school?  Not?  Did she hear there's life after P&G and get frustrated?  Was her lover laying in bed next to her that entitlre conversation, and Lorraine was trying to get her jealous enough to move to her transfer city with her?]

In the dark of the night, I start to think my last guess is the correct one.

In which case .....  FUCK .... Lorraine just fucking used me.  Again.

I always win rhe skirmishes with her.  And dhe walys win the damn fucking war.

I pick up the phone and call my Dad's ex.  She answers.

> Can you come to Boston this weekend?

> To help you move out of your NYNEX apartment.

> That.  And one other thing.

> What?

> Hurt me bad.  So .... fucking ... bad.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

That Thursday night, my Dad's ex arrives to spend the weekend with me and to help me move out of the NYNEX apartment.

On Friday, Blondie's last chance to show up and work and face me, ..... she's a no-show.  I guess our fight in the bathroom will end up being our brawl for the summer.  Our NYNEX coworkers didn't get to see their annual summer catfight.

They just got to see me for a week with a fat lip.  Oh well--some of them enjoyed that more than they would have enjoyed a fight anyways.

I don't end up getting much of a sendoff.  Am I invited back next summer?  Or am I blackballed because I impulsively fought in the bathroom with no one watching.

So I guess my next fight is with Lorraine, in Ohio in the fall.

In bed Friday night, my dad's ex tells me:

> I'm jealous of how much .... and how often .... you and Lorraine hurt each other.  Do you prefer her company over me?

> Not even close, Babe.  With HER, I like hurting her, but not getting hurt BY her.

> And with me?

> I like you hurting me.  A lot.

> I like you hurting me, too.  I should have asked sooner.

> Or ... forced me to do it.

> Oooooo, that IS sexy.

> Well, do it now then.  Force me to hurt you.

Tonight is gonna be fun.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As my Dad's ex and I cleared out my NYNEX apartment and got onto the road back to Rhode Island Saturday morning, we talked about growing up in the 1970s to Saturday morning cartoons.  Saturday morning cartoons were already dying out by 1987, morphing in transparently marketing oriented fare like the Transformers and My Little Pony.  Our 1970s classic cartoons were just as marketing oriented, existing just for heavily sugared breakfast cereals.  But at least the cereal companies were opaque about their intentions--there were no breakfast cereals in the actual cartoons themselves.  Transformers broke the wall between the show and the commercials--the show WAS the commercial.

The first infomercials, in fact.
That's pretty damned brilliant, Lisa.  P&G lost a genius when the picked Lorraine over you.

The most classic morning cartoon of them all was Bugs Bunny, with its snarky violence.

Which they then upped a notch, with Sylvester and Tweety.

And then brought to a climax with Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner.  The violence between them was more intense than any 1970s R-rated movie.

My Dad's Ex and I talked about how much we were drawn to the violence in those cartoons.  We didn't have the terminology, at that tender age, to explain what we were feeling.

But it shaped our sexual personalities.

The childhood Mount Everest of Saturday mornings was followed by the Death Valley of Sunday mornings.  No cartoons on TV.  Intlstead, you'd get dressed up for Sunday Mass.  Sunday Mass had violence, too.  And not just the Crucifiction--although there was plenty of that, blood and all, both in images, statues, and words.  There was the adulteress woman who was about to be stoned in the street by a mob.  There was David and Goliath.  There was St Paul (as Saul), present at the martyrdom of St Stephen. There was St Paul being captured, imprisoned, and fleeing across the Mediterranean, knowing the whole time his likely fate was his own crucifiction.  There was Cain killing Abel on impulse.  There were the world wars in Revelation.

My Dad's Ex and I, in our own ways, internalized these influences into our sexuality.

My Dad's Ex found fulfillment by joining had biker gangs, fighting her way up to ride in the bitch seat with an Alpha biker.  Then fighting the baddest bitches in other gangs.

She told me my expression of sexualized violence was to pick a fight with Lorraine while I was a senior in high school.  She said I was sub-consciously looking for someone to kick my ass.

And that I still was.  Especially since Lorraine had failed to do so the first time around.

I told her how, during Spring Break, Kelsey had rag-dolled me in the alley in Cleveland.

"Got your blood pumping, huh?"

"I don't know.  I was pissed her friends were hitting me."

"Yeah, that was sucky.  Women should let two women settle their business alone."

"Yeah.  They should."

"Women should settle things alone more often."

Ain't that the truth.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Miami of Ohio welcomes us back with a Convocation Mass.  I'm starting my junior year of college now.  The age Lorraine was when she had her beard high school boyfriend, heard I was dating him, and came to my house to catight me.  Even though she knew I was in high school, too.

How incredibly immature that was of her, I can't help but observe.  I can't picture sleeping with a high school senior at the age I am now.  And I can't picture driving to a high school senior girl's house to catfight, no matter what the reason.  Just the opposite--this spring I met a 28-year old in a Cleveland alley to street fight.  That was way tougher than what Lorraine was doing at my age.

And yet it's Lorraine who has the career up and going at P&G.  And me who they banned for life.  And who NYNEX banned.

How fucked up is that.

I hate facing nine more months of school.  Not because of the schoolwork--I actually enjoy that.  But because of the opportunity cost of not earning pension service credit, which I'd be getting if I was still at P&G.

If I hadn't sent that impulsive letter saying Lorraine sexually harrassed me by basing my evaluation on me dating her that summer.

When did I get so impulsive?

Was I copying my Dad, who impulsively divorced my Mom, and started dating young chicks?

Or was he the one with the Grand Plan all along?  Patiently waiting for Maria to turn 20, and then asking her to move in with him?  Is that what he wanted all along, from the time Maria had our primary school sleep overs?

If it was, his patience sure paid off.  He had her now.  Even if it meant giving up me.

What would happen to me in May 1989 when I graduated Miami?  Move into my Mom's small house?  Where would I work?  What kind of guy would I marry?

Should I just run away somewhere with my Dad's ex-girlfriend.  She and I had undeniable sexual energy between us--but it was dangerous.  We wanted to hurt each other all night long .... and twice on Sunday's.  We'd never survive each other.

Should I dive into the surprisingly active underground lesbian commjnity in Cleveland?  Hope to find a partner there?

Cleveland, Lisa?  Really? Cleveland?

I wish the Church welcomed women in leadership positions.  Not as priests--there's no way I'm committing to celibacy--but as parish finance directors.  Maybe if I commit to being a greeter/receptionist for a few years, they'll let me on the Finance Committee.  Somw really thriving suburban parish with a budget.  Then I can go to a diocese.

The Cincinnati Archdiocese is thriving in 1987.  The Catholic Church has some generous benefactors in Cincinnati.  It sctually tithes--gives away 10% of its revenues--to other dioceses in Appalachia and the Midwest.

I don't know why Church Finance is speaking to me, but it is.

Maybe I'm trying to "quit" women--they've been nothing but trouble to me--and what better way to do that than to hide inside the Catholic Church.

Maybe in my receptionist role, there will finally be a man with the balls to ask me out, then to ask me to fuck, then to ask me to get married.

And I can keep doing Finance work for the Church.  And stay away from women.

And the trouble they bring.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Other than finally finding a career calling ..... well, my third career calling, but this one feels like THE ONE ..... my Junior Fall semester is off to a sucky start.  I'm 21 now .... legally of age to get into bars and buy liquor, and all of my suitemates are pressuring me to buy for them all the time.  Like, all weekend long.  I can't even get enough time to myself to masturbate.

The final weekend of September, I can't bear the thought of another Saturday/Sunday stint on campus with no classes.

I know what I'll do.  I'll drive down to Cincinnati and kick the shit out of Lorraine.

My last Friday class ends at 12:05.  I go back to my dorm and dress in club clothes.  I bounce back and forth on whether I should warn Lorraine I'm on the way.  Nah, I decide .... let her pee her pants when she sees me, and realizes why I'm there.

The drive down is lonely.  My 21st birthday came and went without my Dad taking me out for a beer, something he and I had talked about my entire childhood.  All because he decided to start dating ma childhood friend Maria.

Falls used to be such an exciring time of year for me and Maria growing up.  New classes, new weekend sleepovers.  Staying up till 1am one Friday night and seeing Freddy Mercury and Queen doing a Bohemian Rhapsody music video before MTV was even a thing.  Realizing immediately why they called themselves Queen, and that Freddy was gay.  Did I realize then that I was gay, too?  In 1987, had I 100% accepted it yet?

Have I 100% accepted it even in 2023?

Four hours later....

I arrive in Cincinnati.  A heartbreakingly beautiful early Fall sunset over the Ohio River.

I love this city.  Even with its dying downtown department stores.   Lorraine is so fucking lucky to live here.  To be building a career here.  To be fucking her girlfriend here.

I'm gonna kick her ass.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As I park in the street and walk to Lorraine's apartment, I come to the realization that downtown Cincinnati has already deteriorated badly in the 22 months since I had my Fairy Tale Black Friday 1985 trip to the Cincinnati Tea Rooms in rhe Downtown Department stores.  There's nothing but sirens blaring from every direction.  Foot traffic isn't close what it should be for a Friday Happy Hour.  Everyone's retreated to the suburbs for the weekend.

Except for pathetic Lorraine, sitting in her boring downtown apartment.  Trying to eke out the last few nice weekends before the frigid Cincinnati winters set in.

She can't even spend the weekend watching football.  The Buckeyes (Ohio State) are playing out the string in what will be Earle Bruce's last season.  The NFL is playing wirh replacement players during their Strike.

Good.  My Dad has nothing to watch on weekends with Maria.  I hope they break up soon.

I'm starting to feel better about the two years I have remaining at Miami of Ohio, learning Church financial administration so I can work for an Archdiocese somewhere.  Not Cincinnati, tho, I decide.  The collapse of downtown is taking on Cleveland-sized proportions.  Poor Cleveland.  So many parishes are going to need to close.  The beautiful Churches cost ssooo much to maintain.

The Catholic Church's beauty.  That, more than anything, is what draws me to it.  The organ music.  The Gothic architecture and art.  The liturgy.  The chant at the end of the Eucharastic prayer:  Through him, with him, and in him; O God Almighty father ...... forever and ever.  I lose myself in that prayer everytime.  I feel as one with the Church.  I hope to never lose that feeling. 

In this life.  Or the next one.

I feel that warmth, that sense of safety, wash over me as I enter Lorraine's building, talk my way thru security, go up the elevator to Lorraine's door, and knock.

Please answer-Please answer-Please answer.

Phew.  She does.

Her jaw falls to the floor.

> Lisa???  Lisa.  How are you.

> Good, Lorraine.  Good .... but not so good.  Can I come in?

> Yes, sure.  I'm alone this weekend.  Did .... did you drive here???

> [Lorraine closes the door.  She and I are alone.] Yeah.  Impulsive, I know.  But I needed to ask you something.

> Uh-oh.  But ok.  Go ahead.  Ask.

> Lorraine ... do u wanna fuck?

> Lisa .... Yes.  There's almost nothing else I'd rather do.

As we begin to strip and kiss, we both know what the 'almost nothing else' refers to.

It's that we'd rather fight.

But that can wait.

Lorraine and I go to her bedroom.

We strip.

And we fuck.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

The Sunday drive home back to school makes me feel sad and lonely.  I get the "Sunday Scaries" that the P&G management trainings always used the talk about--the dread that 9-to-5 employees get about getting ready for work on Monday mornings.

Why am I feeling so .... sad?

> Is it because I'm not in a relationship?  and don't even know how to carry on a relationship?  I've never been out on a date.  All I have is fuck buddies.

> Is it because of how Lorraine and I fucked over the weekend?  She's better at 'doing it' than I am.  The eating out pussy, the tit-sucking, the scisdoring, all of it.  She more ... purposeful .... at it.  She stays with it longer and more intently, with a single position.  I'm all over the place, ADD-ish ADHD-ish almost.  There was one point where I was fingering her pussy, and she got completely dry but kept moaning.  She was probably faking, to patronize me, but I was too afraid to ask her.  I'll be mortified if Lorraine is better in bed than me.  Where did she learn so much?  At Wheaton?  Should I have gone to a women's college?

> Downtown Cincinnati is Deadsville on weekends.  Not lesbian bar scene to find a catfight at.  More chance of getting mugged than getting into a lesbian catfight.

> I saw Lorraine's 401k/ P&G deferred comp account statement.  She over $11,000 already.  I have nothing to my name. NOTHING.  She waking up every morning richer than when she went to bed.  So unfair.

At least I have a realistic career path.  Maybe I should be throwing myself into that.

I go to Sunday evening Mass on campus.  Good ole Catholic Church--always my refuge whenever I'm having a pity party for myself.  All of the students hug at the sign of peace.  The hugging feels good--no sexual intent.

I need hugs now more zhan anything, I decide.  My Mom and I talk, but have never been huggers.  Feeling her aging skin and bones on mine scares me--my Mom is getting to old, too fast.

My Dad and I were always the huggers.  On the couch watching football.  Now he's on that couch with Maria, my ex-best friend.  He's acting out on her lifelong crush with her.  All those years he was hugging me, I assumed it was ME he had the crush on.

It wasn't.  It was my friend Maria he wanted.  And now he has her.

So gross.

And even after I beat the shit out of her. 

Although he had been wanting to watch that, too.  Maybe not me winning, but at least her and I fighting.  He had been imagining that for years.

Trying to get me to talk about it.  About her and I bickering.  Whether it would become a chickfight.

Whether I'd be in my tennis skirt when it happened.

I wonder, now that he has Maria, if it was all worth it.

And I wonder if Maria thinks it was worth it, displacing me from my own house.

And I finally realize, getting hugged in Church, why I feel so sad.

To be continued....