[sinclairfan]

It may have come from the Christmas Eve spirit of my deceased Aunt Catherine, but I suddenly had an inspired thought of how I could help my Mom get a little revenge on my Dad's girlfriend.  My Dad's girlfriend was trying to instigate a fight between Maureen and me so that she could watch me get hit.  What if .....

What if.....

What if ..... instead  .... I had my Mom drive me to Maureen's to get that fight over with .... and let my Mom watch the fight instead of my Dad's girlfriend.

My Mom must have noticed the gears turning in my head.

> What are you thinking, Lisa?  You look lost in thought.

> Mom, I have no plans of seeing Maria during winter break.  But there's a girl, Maureen, who I think is gonna try and see me.

> Maureen from high school??  She has a beef with you?

> It sounds like it.

> Is she home on break to??

> She never went to college.  Unless she started trade school or whatever in the fall.

> Oh.  .... Is that her beef?  Jealousy thing?  Didn't she drive you to Wheaton to fight crazy Lorraine?  [my Mom STILL doesn't know that Lorraine was my buddy at P&G.... sigh]

> Yes, that was her .... Maureen .... but, ya, I know she drove me to the fight .... but we were never close ... we, ummm, kinda sorta fought in the bathroom in high school.

> Oh .... I see .... it sounds like she wants to fight again, then.

> Can you drive me?  Should we call first?

> Since it's Christmas Eve?  Yes, we should.  She might have guests.

I call with my Mom listening, and it rolls to her family's voice mail.  I tell her my Mom and I will be over in 2 hours ... in case she wants to 'chat'.

My Mom tells me 'good job'.  I ask her to help me get changed.  I still have my high school clothes at my Mom's.

I hope they still fit.  I've put on 10 to 12 pounds since going to college.  And quitting tennis.

We look for the sluttiest clothes we can find.  Good thing it's freakishly warm out today.

I ask my Mom if Aunt Catherine used to help her dress before catfights.

She tells me, yes.

I ask her where chickfights used to happen when she was growing up.

She says their section of the city had a drive-up burger shack.  Girls used to cruise, looking for fights with girls from enemy gangs.  They'd fight in the dirt parking lot.  Since they were all Catholic, on Friday's, they couldn't eat burgers till midnight.  [No meat on Friday's, not just during Lent--all year long.]

So around 9pm/10pm, all the girls would be hangry as fuck and would fight at the smallest provocation.

Catherine would drive my Mom home if she got hurt in a fight, to distract their parents from seeing her scratched up, or her clothes torn.

My Mom helps put makeup on me.  So I look good for the fight.

My halter top is totally slutty, and my jeans are a size too tight.

I'm horny as fuck right now.

My mom is totally excited to see me catfight.

We're quiet the whole car ride there. 

I hope Maureen is home.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

When we got to Maureen's run-down Colonial in Pawtucket, she and an attractive woman my Mom's age, who I didn't recognize, were waiting on the sun porch.  They motioned us to park in the driveway, which went on a slant towards a covered driveway half-a-level  below sidewalk level.  The sidewalk was badly eroded from seasons of rock salt (that stuff eats concrete), and I wondered how Maureen's family had afforded paying 4 years of Catholic high school tuition.

Gett8ng out of the slanted car was completely awkward.  Did Maureen and her 'adult supervision' already know that when they had us park here?

They came off the sun porch with attitude on their faces.  Did Maureen know there was nothing for her and I to 'chat' about?  Should we not have warned them we were coming.

My nylons ripped as I got out of the car.  They were running up my ass.  I felt cold on my legs, and on my pussy.

Maureen motioned me to the backyard.  There were a whole set of dilapidated swingsets, forts, and treehouses.  And three baseball pitchbacks.  I remembered that Maureen was an All-Rhode Island softball pitcher who had her career sidetracked by an arm injury.

So many disappointments in her life. 

We found an empty grassy in the center, and our hands were in each others' hair.  We were rag-dolling each other onto the frozen ground.  The ground was hard and abrasive as sandpaper, and it was raking my exposed leg flesh.  Maureen-s body was protected by her thick ski pants and winter coat.  Protected from my punches and scratches, protected from the hard ground.

My scalp and legs were in agonizing pain.

She stuck her face into mine.

> You fucking arrogant bitch, Lisa.  I always hated you.  The whole school fucking hated you.  You had no friends there.

I could see Maureen's attractive older relative (step mom?  had we ever talked about a step mom?) was grappling with my mom, both standing and half-watching Maureen and I brawling.

I felt Maureen mount me.  She saw my shredded nylons, and knew my pussy was completely exposed.

She didn't hesitate.

I couldn't blame her.  I wouldn't have hesitated either.

Maureen raked me.... hard .... deep.... aggressively.

That was the word.  She was so fucking aggressive this whole fight.

I could feel myself passing out.

I looked to my left to my Mom.  She was trying to get to me, but couldn't.  Maureen's attractive relative was holding her down.  Pinning her.

I was so stupid to wear the clothes I did.

> You fucking bitch, Maureen.

> I AM a bitch, Lisa.  Don't you ever fucking forget it.

Maureen stuck her tongue in my mouth, nearly suffocating me.  She pulled down her ski pants and mounted my face.  She rode me hard, cumming on my face. 

It happened fast .... and yet wasn't stopping.  I was too light-headed to keep track of time.

When it got dark, my mom helped me to the car.  It was even awkwarder getting in, on the incline, than it had been getting out.

My mom had a fat lip. 

I was dreading looking at myself in the mirror.

The car ride home was in total silence.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Christmas Dinner the next day with my Dad and his instigator girlfriend was a nightmare.  My inner thighs were still severely scratched from my catfight with Maureen, and wearing nylons, jeans, or a miniskirt were all out of the question.

I wore a long loose fitting dress.

My Dad's girlfriend pounced.  She and my Dad and I were sitting on wood chairs in a small circle (triangle?), and she had already heard about the fight.

> Heard you had a catfight yesterday, Lisa.

> Catfight?  Lisa?  with Maria?  [reassuring to hear my Dad still obsessing with me fighting Maria .... some things never change... his love of me fighting her will outlive even downtown Cincinnati's gloried Tea Rooms ... apparently]

> Not Maria..... Maureen.

> That Catholic school classmate of yours?

> Yes, Dad.  HER.

> Get ur ass kicked, Lisa?

> Fuck you, bitch.  See any black eyes??  [My face is flawless .... withOUT makeup]

> How does your pussy look, slut?  [How does she know my pussy got scratched???]

> Thanks for bringing up my pussy in front of my dad, classless slut.

> You wanna go right now, bitch?!?

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

Just as my Dad's girlfriend and I stood up to brawl in front of him in my childhood living room, where I had opened Christmas presents the early morning on every Dec 25 going back to 1971, a Christmas Miracle happened--a timer went off in the kitchen teliing my girlfriend it was time for her to baste the Christmas Ham.

I'm pretty sure it was the spirit of my deceased Aunt Catherine, my Mom's sister  who made that timer go off when it did.

My Dad, his girlfriend, and I started hitting the Christmas wine real hard, figuring out how we were going to pass the remainder of the day without a trip to the ER.  My dad's girlfriend and I discussed exchanging 5 or 6 punches to the face, but then my dad's girlfriend said she had seen a girl lose a tooth that way.

> They weren't punching in the face, then.  They were punching in the mouth.

> Fuck you, smart ass.

> Uneducated.

> Notre Dame dropout.

> She didn't drop out .... she never got in.

> Thanks, Dad.  Whose side are you on here?

By now , my dad's girlfriend gaze was fixed on my boobs, which were showing out of my dress.  And my eyes were on her tits, wrapped tight inside a Christmas sweater.

As we ate dinner, we the after dinner would be retiring to the smkoing room for brandy.  And punching each other in the breasts.

I was sad it had sunk to this between my dad's girlfriend and me.

Not because I was shy about getting into the gutter with her.  But because she would enjoy .... this .... sick .... 'game' .... much much more than I would.

Ever since she had met my Dad, she had wanted to hit me.  She was jealous of how he looked at my ass whenever I walked by.  She was jealous of how he smelled my hair when he hugged me.  She was jealous of all the pictures around the house me in my tennis skirt.  She was jealous of how the thought of my frenemy-ship with Maria turned him on.

She was jealous that I didn't have a serious boyfriend yet, so my dad could still consider me his baby girl.

Is that why I had become a lesbian?  To not break my Dad's heart and give myself to a different man?

> Let's get this over with, bitch.

> I'm gonna get off on this.

> I already knew that, perv.

> Fuck you, Lisa.

My memory, 36 years later, of what my dad's girlfriend and I did to each other on an awkward love seat for the next 15 minutes is hazy.  I pulled my dress down to my waist.  She pulled her sweater over her head.

We gasped at how similar our breasts looked.

This got her angry.  Everytime my dad saw her boobs, was he thinking of mine?

We counted and exchanged, in alternating fashion, 8 solid punches to each others' boobs.

If we had made it up to 12 or 15, I would have passed out from the pain.

When we were done, we covered back up.

My dad's girlfriend went into the bathroom and latched the door.

I could hear her crying.

Then masturbating.

I'm pretty sure she did it to humiliate me.

When she came, she and I looked at each other.  We had resolved nothing.

We still hated each other.

My dad told us he loved us both.

Merry Christmas.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

My Christmas vacation back in New England had been an unmitigated disaster.

I had gotten my ass kicked by Maureen in a catfight.  I had barely done any damage at all to her, and she had shredded my inner thigh.

My Mom, while watching my back in that fight, had gotten tackled by Maureen's step mom.

My Dad's girlfriend had fulfilled her 3-year wet dream of hitting me.

This was the worst holiday weekend I could think of, since ..... I don't know ..... maybe 1974, in second grade, Thanksgiving weekend.  Steve Owens was a Detroit Lions running back, a former Heisman Trophy winner from Oklahoma.  Having a fantastic first quarter running the ball for the Lions, then tore up his knee after getting tackled.  Never played the game again.

Fast forward 10 years.  1984 Thanksgiving weekend [I'm in 12th grade at this point], Detroit Lions are playing again.  This time it's Billy Sims, another Heisman Trophy winner, yes, from Oklahoma.  Tears up his knee in the first quarter.  Never plays again.

Steve Owens and Billy Sims, 10 years apart to the day, same circumstances, watching live with my Dad, same outcome.  Same shitty luck.  What are the odds??

When the 1974 Steve Owens injury happrned, my best friend was Maria.  My dad asked me what would happen if Maria and I were outside sledding, and one of us twisted our knee.  Would I know to run and get an adult?  To not try and move her, so as not to make her injury worse?

Always fantasizing about Maria and me.

By 1984, Maria and I had fallen out, pretty much irrevocably.  She and I were enemies.  When Billy Sims got hurt, my Dad asked me if Maria and I were catfighting, would I know to get her down on the ground 69'd and, if she were kicking me in the face, to grab het shin and twist her knee the wrong way until her ligaments stretched and tore?

Always thinking of Maria and me catfighting.

Always wanting to talk about it.

All those years of watching football with me, he was actually thinking and me and Maria, or me and my tennis teammates, or me and his girlfriend, tackling and hitting each other.

And talking about it with me.  Talking to me about chickfights.

If he only knew what he was missing out on.

If, instead of talking to me about fighting, he had talked to me about relationships .... would I be in a relationship now?

Would I ever be in one?

[sinclairfan]

In January 1987, my Miami of Ohio suitemates started filtering back to our dorm, even though classes didn't start until the end of the month.  I listened with envy as the other girls told stories of Christmas with siblings and parents, rekindled romances with hometown boyfriends, and New Years Eve parties with high school friends back home from college.

What stories did I have to offer:

> Getting my ass kicked in a Christmas Eve catfight with Maureen?

> Tit punching with my Dad's girlfriend Christmas night?

> Juggiling two girlfriends, Lorraine and Elena, who brutally used me at every opportunity?

> Not re-uniting with my hometown BFF, Maria, because I didn't know if she and I were enemies or frenemies?  And, being too afraid to ask.

The first three stories were not sharable in polite company at a 1980s Catholic college.  So when it was my turn to speak, I told the fourth.

My falling out with Maria.

Which elicited this response:

> You should have reached out, Lisa.  It normal for brst friends to fight.  The important thing is to keep the lines of communication open.

> Reaching out.  Having lines of communication.  Those aren't really my thing.  They're not me.

> Maybe a good 1987 New Years Resolution is that they should be.

Maybe.  The outcome couldn't be any worse than my sex life so far, doing it my way.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

In January 1987, the last Friday night before classes resume at Miami of Ohio, I go out to happy hour at the happening Oxford, OH bar crawl area.

If I was at Boston College right now instead of Miami, or even at Holy Cross in Worcester, the bar scene would be SSSSOOO much better than this.  Some of my high school classmates went to Assumption in Worcester.  They're having better happy hours than me.

They're having better sex than me.  And more of it.  Even tho they're less pretty.

Hell.... they're having more sex than me BECAUSE they're less pretty.

Guys wuss out when they approach me in a bar.  They see my pretty blonde hair from behind, and approach.  Then they see my 10 face .... and they freeze up.

They get tongue-tied.  They back off.  They go talk to a less pretty girl.  Less intimidating.

It sucks.  Sucks to be me.

I think about all the Bud and Bud Lite flowing out of the taps.  Another make-it-rain company like P&G:  Anheuser-Busch, based in St Louis.  Printing gobs of money for their shareholders, for their employees.  Quarterly dividends.  Rising earnings.

Yesterday was P&G earnings day.  Another record quarter.

Lorraine's 401(k) is probably growing.  I miss her. 

I go back to my dorm.

I call her.

Thank God.  She answers.

> I miss you.

> Why?  What's up, Lisa?  [No 'I miss you, too.'?  What a fucking bitch.]

> Feeling down.  Sophomore slump.  I just want to fucking graduate.  And work full time.  Like you.  With you.

> That would rock.  Then we could fuck after work.

> You read my mind.  Now I need to tell you something.

> You're pregnant?!?

> Very funny.  And .... fuck you.

> Well?  What then?

> I had 2 fights over Winter Break.  Two catfights.

> And??

> One I lost.  And the other was just pathetic.  My dad's fiancee and I punched tits.

> That IS pathetic.  And strangely sexy.

> Fuck you again.  And .... I difn't even fight the girl I wanted to fight.

> Your ex-best friend Maria?

> How'd you know?

> Oh .... women's intuition.

> What does your women's intuition say about how many fingers are inside me right now?

> Three??

> Just two.  But close enough.

> Three are inside me, babe.

> Make me cum, Lorraine.

[We have phone sex for the next hour.]

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

In the 1980s, long distance phone calls, even at non-business hours times if day, was unimaginably expensive.  And when I was on the phone with Lorraine, it was un-sexy to say, or even hint, "Hurry up and let's get to the phone sex part and get each other off."  AT&T's monopoly was just starting to be broken up, and viable competitors like MCI and Sprint and Nextel were just emerging, but for the foreseeable I was stuck and isolated at college.  Except for breaks. 

Where I could go back home and get punched in the tits by my dad's sadistic, way-too-young girlfriend. 

Or get my ass kicked in a catfight with Maureen.

Or miss another chance to catfight Maria.  Or even worse, actually fight her .... and probably lose.  Since I was a soft college student now.  Whereas Maria was in the real world, working for a living, on her feet for 8 hours the the restaurant business.  Supporting herself.

I worked, too.  Summers, as an intern at P&G.  Earning service year credit.  Eventually a pension and 401k.  Maria didn't have that in the restaurant industry.

Was I on the right track?  in the right industry?  AT&T was making a shitload of money in 1987.  And they had spun off the "Baby Bell's":  NYNEX, Bell Atlantic, BellSouth, Southwestern Bell, Ameritech, U.S.West, and Pacific Telesis.  Lifetime employment.  Great benefits.

Or should I swing for the fences?  Go work for MCI or Sprint?  Get stock options and hope the pay off.

Too many choices.  Focus, Lisa, focus.  P&G is what you've been working for.  Keep at it.

You're doing fine.

Except your sex life sucks.  And you're losing every fight.  You can't even think of someone whose ass you could kick in a fight.

Lorraine, maybe.

She's gotten soft, too.  Since graduating and getting her P&G job.

I bet I'd kick her ass in a fight.

Like I've done twice.

I need to do it again soon.

I wonder if it would piss her off if I told P&G that I don't want her to be my advisor this summer.

That I don't think she's a very good leader.

I write P&G's summer program adminstrator a note, stating exactly that.

Dear Miss Robinson--My advisor last summer was Lorraine Lxxxx, and you have her pencilled in for that role again.  I'd like to request a new advisor.  I don't think Miss Lxxxx is a good business leader.  I also don't think she's a mature role model.  She makes sexual innuendos which, while not technically inappropriate or harrassing, are not where I care to spend my energies in a work environment.  I'd be happy to discuss.  Lisa Mxxxxxx

I put the letter in the mail.

They need to pick her or me, now.  I love that sensation.  In business....OR in bed.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Don't let anyone ever tell you that P&G is --or, in 1987, was--  a bumbling, plodding, leviathin, behemoth corporate bureaucracy.

Because, somehow, on February 15, 1987 (P&G dividend day, of all days), mere days after I had sent the head of the Summer Intern committee head my poison pill letter about Lorraine (all of its accusations being basically true), all of my dreams of building generational wealth at P&G crashed and burned.  Forever.   I received back the attached love note from them:

Ma Lisa Mxxxxxx:

Thank you for your written, signed communication of February 10, 1987.  In light of your feelings about an associate of ours, Ms Lorraine Lxxxx. as we as other budgetary and other resource constraints at P&G, we are unable to honor our previous commitment to you for a summer internship experience in our Cincinnati, OH headquarters.  We are regretfully hereby withdrawing it.  We hope the expedited handling of this matter enables you sufficient time to find another summer experience.  P&G will verify your 1986 employment staus with any potential employer who enquires.

Wishing You Only The Best,
Mary R××××××××
P&G Summer Internship Lead

My thoughts were
> THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS!!!!!  Putting "your wriiten, signed communication" in the lead line???  They were doing that for legal reasons!!!!  To signal to me that they would defend themselves against any wrongful termination lawsuit I brought against them.

> NOTHING ABOUT THAT ACTUAL CONTENT OF LORRAINE'S BULLCRAP?  Other than to call her a trusted associate?  Did they already know what a bullshit artist she was, and were afraid I had busted them??  Did she have someone inside P&G protecting her??? [Was it Elena's family?]  DID LORRAINE KNOW ABOUT THE LETTER I WROTE?

> WHAT THE FUCK WAS I GOING TO DO THIS SUMMER TO NOT HAVE A GAP ON MY RESUME??

That last concern was saved by 3 things.

1> A skyrocketing Early 1987 economy  (the stock market crash, Black Monday, didn't come until October.

2> Miami of Ohio's stellar career placement office.  I get an interview with a NYNEX (the Boston-area 'Baby Bell') recruiter with a simple visit, with my resume, to the Career Services office.

3> My sluttiness.  When that NYNEX interview with a young, slimey Assistant Vice President named Robert went mediocre, I accosted him in the parking lot when all the interviews were over.  It had come up that he was staying overnight at the local Holiday Inn.  I asked him if he wanted a dinner companion.  He accepted.  I footsied him under the dinner table.  He invited me back to our room.  I gave him the best fucking blow job he had ever experienced, then let him watch me masturbate for two hours, him hoping he would be able to 'reboot' and fuck me.

He didn't.  I had apparently drained him, literally and figuratively, with my blow job.  Thank God--he was slimey and had BO.

But I had something, too.

A summer internship offer in Boston at NYNEX.

Suck on THAT, Lorraine.

To be continued.. .

[sinclairfan]

I spend February 1987 and March 1987 in my dorm room bed at night in Sour Grapes mode.

Sour Grapes-ing all the reasons I'm doing the right thing giving up Cincinnati for Boston.  P&G for NYNEX.  Boston isn't forever .... I may or may not "stick" there after Summer 1987.

But Cincinnati, in all likelihood is forever.  I've probably seen the last of Cincinnati .... and Cincinnati, the last of me.  And I come ip with Sour Grapes reasons of why I'm ok with that.

Cincinnati is way, way too hot in the summer .... but still brutally cold in the winter. 

Cincinnati is too .... provincial.  Cleveland on the Ohio River.  Well, Akron on the Ohio.

Cincinnati's downtown department stores .... Pogue's, where Elena took me as recently as Black Friday, 1985 ... 16 damn months ago .... are dying.  Pogue's doesn't even do business under that name anymore.

And the Tea Rooms .... much more vital than the department stores themselves, even in the Glory Days .... are already dead.  The Cincinnati Grande Dames don't actually "luncheon" there anymore anyways.

Old Cincinnati is on Life Support.  Why do I want to have anything to do with that??

Sign me up for Boston.  Filene's Basement is still unchanged from the '60s.  Faneuil Hall is being renovated.  The Freedom Trail still has a post-Bicentennial '76 glow ... or embers at least.  Japanese tourists walk it enthusiastically.

The Prudential Tower is full of Raytheon employees.  The John Hancock Tower is full of employees of .... John Hancock.  Liberty Mutual, New England Mutual, across the street on Berkeley.

All high paid finance types.

Cincinnati does't have that.  Just P&G.

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

In 1987, most U.S. colleges and universities still weren't cess-pits of "Hookup Culture"-that was still 10 to 15 years down the road.  So, there was sex happening in my Miami of Ohio dorm, but at very low levels.

And yet .... even by that low bar, I was underperforming my suitemates.  There were times they need to hang a headband or scrunchy on our door handle as a warning to give them 60 minutes while they finished doing it with a guy.  And never a time I needed to do it for them. 

One day I realized I didn't even have a scrunchy set aside in case I needed one in a pinch.  As if that was ever going to happen.

The sex thing wasn't happening for me.  Having Elena over the prior school year had set me back socially in 2 ways.  First, everyone assumed I wasn't into straight sex, so they didn't hit on me.  And second, even though I was now over 20, I still didn't know how to flirt.  Which made me come off as a snob.

Even Elena had stopped coming, or even calling.  Where was she?

And what was the deal with my P&G letter accusing Lorraine?  I was let go because of it.  But was she disciplined?  Did she even know about it?  Why wasn't she calling me?

Didn't she wonder why I wrote the letter.  Not that I would have had a good answer for her.  I didn't even myself really understand why I wrote it.

My Dad and his girlfriend find out I'm going to be in Boston for the summer.  My Dad's girlfriend calls me one Sunday.

> You'll have to show me a good time in the city this summer.  I know ypu'll be working at NYNEX during the week.  But on weekends.

> [How the fuck does she know about NYNEX.  The bitch has never got past the Garfield comic strip in any newspaper in her life.]  I guess.  I didn't realize you and I hang out.

> Stop it, Lisa.  I loved hanging out with you Christmas Day.  Don't say you didn't love it.

> I didn't love having my boobs punched.

> You got me back just as good.  You're one of the few ... one of the VERY few .... girls who can go toe to toe with me.

> So that's why you want to hang out with me.  To punch my boobs?

> Lisa ..... don't pretend you haven't wanted to do it again.

> [Is that why I quit P&G .... burned my P&G bridge?   And got myself a Boston job?  To titfight my Dad's girlfriend.]  When you .... do that .... with another girl ..... have you ever pinched each others' boobs.

> Sometimes .... that can be fun .... painful but fun.  Do you wanna?  This summer?

> We'll see.  I'll think about it.

Hell, yes.  I wanna.  Hell fucking Yes.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

As my anticipation builds for a summer confrontation in Boston with my Dad's girlfriend, my Catholic guilt seeps into my mind.

Good ole Catholic guilt.  It's now March 1987, the heart of Lent, where we're supposed to give up something pleasurable.  Back in Catholic high school, girls who had started sleeping with boys would give up sex for Lent.  Since I hadn't had sex yet, I gave up masturbating, or would try to.  I found it made me curt and short with my parents--I wondered later if that contributed to their divorce.

1987 is pre-Viagra.  I can't stop thinking about the sex life between my Dad and his new 20something girlfriend.  Is he able to get hard enough to truly satisfy her?  And as often as she wants and needs it?  Or does she consider him as an underwhelming dud, like Tennis Tommy was for me and Lorraine?

I think about my upcoming summer in Boston.  I should see my Dad.  At least as much as I hang out with his girlfriend.  If not more.

It won't be NFL season when I'm home for the summer--we won't be able to watch football on TV together.  I know what my Dad REALLY wants.  He wants to watch me fight my ex-frenemy Maria.  Maybe Maureen too--my Mom got to watch me fight Maureen.  But my Dad REALLY likes Maria.  He always had a thing for Maria back before she and I grew apart, and stepped being friends, and eventually fought in my Mom's backyard.

My Mom's watched me fight twice.  My Dad has never seen me fight.  Even though he thinks about it all the time.  And works it into conversations with me.

My Dad's summer was be enjoyable if he could watch me fight Maria.  She's still living back home--I wonder if she's started community college yet--or if college just isn't her thing.  That was one of the reasons she and I grew apart.  Maria started falling behind academically; I started charging ahead, hoping to get into BC or Holy Cross.

I think that was a reason my Dad identified with Maria.  When I was still friends with Maria, and she would be over and he would ask her how she was doing, they would banter in words that were ... I don't know .... 'simple'.  They'd get to the point with each other, communicating with body gestures as much as words.  It would get my extroverted Mom jealous, the connection Maria had with my Dad.

It was why when Maria and I fought in my Mom's backyard, my Mom was rooting for me.  She wanted to see me kick Maria's ass.

If my Dad was watching me fight Maria, who would he be rooting for?  Me?  Maria?  Or would he just want a long, even, rough girlfight?

If Maria hasn't started school yet, she's gonna be getting married and getting pregnant soon; not necessarily in that order.

I'm running out of time to treat my Dad to a Maria vs Lisa catfight.

On Sunday, I call my Dad.

"Dad, I was thinking about this summer home. "

"I've been thinking about it, too.  I can't wait."

"Good.  I can't wait either.  Can you keep a secret?  Like, from your girlfriend?  Do you have secrets from her?"

"Sometimes.  For important stuff."

"Well, this is important to me.  When I'm back home .... Maria and I have unfinished business.  Can you go to her restaurant .... and see if she feels the same?"

"Say no more.  I'll make the arrangements."

"Ok.  You can watch."

"Say no more."

I had promised myself I wouldn't masturbate this 1987 Lent season.

I was wrong.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

Spring Break 1987 arrives, and I'm woefully underprepared.  Weeks ago, I had turned down an offer from my suitemates to fly down to Fort Lauderdale.  I had done so out of a mis-begotten hope that Elena would reach out and invite me to Cincinnati.

For shopping. 
To check out which stores (was Pogue's still around?) were still open.
For one last hurrah lunch in the dying downtown tea rooms.
For fucking.

Was I persona non grata with Elena now because of the letter I had written to P&G about Lorraine?

Did Elena hear I was done at P&G, and was going to Boston at NYNEX?  Did she think I was doing that voluntarily?

Did she think I wasn't interested in her anymore?  The only phone numbers I had for her had been disconnected.  I could call her parents' house, but I didn't know them well enough.

The suitemate who visits me late at night to talk about fighting notices me moping around.  She drops out of the Fort Lauderdale trip (she claims she was going to do so anyways; that she's not doing it for me) and invites me to her house outside Cleveland for Spring Break. 

I ask her if there's room for me.  She says yes, I can sleep in her bed and she'll sleep on the floor next to me.  I tell her yes.  And that she doesn't have to sleep on the floor--I will.  She tells me we shpuld both sleep in the bed, then.  (Does she mean we'll sleep in the bed, or fuck in the bed?  I guess we'll find out later.)

We arrive in Cleveland  on a Saturday, and go to the Vigil Mass with her mom and aunt in a beautiful inner city basilica.  I've been missing Mass a lot at Miami.  Maybe my life wouldn't be so 'out there' if I had just kept going to Mass.  We say the Lord's Prayer, holding holds with my suitemate's family.  She squeezes my hand, her thumb caressing my fingers.  We are instructed to give each other the Kiss of Peace.  Her aunt kisses me on my cheek.  My suitemate kisses me on the mouth, and holds it for a long time.  How long has she wanted to kiss me on the mouth like that?  Did she feel she couldn't at school?

She's a good kisser.  Better than Elena.  Better than me, actually.  I hope she enjoyed my kiss back to her.  When we release our mouths from each other, I pull her back close to me and kiss her cheek.  I hold my mouth there.  I want her to know I liked her kiss.  The choir starts singing the Agnus Die a capella, in Latin, because it's Lent.  She and I continue to hold hands thru the Agnus Dei.

We come home to a traditional ethnic dinner (German?  Polish?  there's lots of kielbasa and pastries) which has been prepared by another aunt and a cousin of my suitemates while we were at Mass.  The two of them will go to Mass tomorrow while we stay behind and make brunch.

Eating, eating, eating.  And family.  I already feel at home.

My suitemate's Mom and Aunts must want my suitemate to get married and have kids.  They must be wishing she brought a boy home, not a girl. 

We sit around the dinner table and start our feast.  They give me Riesling wine.  They're just sipping, but they keep refilling my glass.  Are they trying to get me drunk? 

They start quizzing me about my Massachusetts family.  They commisserate with me about my parents' divorce.  I tell white lies about how Catholic we are.  We're Catholic, but not as practicing as they are. 

My suitemate blurts out, "Lisa fights!  She drove to Wheaton College to fight a girl."

I wait for my suitemate's Mom and aunts to shake their head in disapproval.

They instead applaud me.

"Good for you, Lisa.  Maybe while you're here this week you can give some tips.  This neighborhoid is getting rough."  They ask me to describe my fight at Wheaton with Lorraine.  I tell them, leaving out the pussy-scratching parts.  Although I'm confident they wouldn't cringe from it.  I avoid it because I don't want them to think I'm exaggerating.

I want to come across as authentic.  I want to be invited back here.

I like it here.

My suitemate's aunts and cousin pinch my waist as we clean up dinner.  Then my ass.  Was that a proposition?

Bed time arrives fast.  My suitemate and I go upstairs to her cozy bedroom.  There's an inviting made bed, and cushions set up on the floor.

What will the sleeping arrangements be?

My suitemate and I get on the floor, lay next to each other, and start kissing.  Our tongues are licking each others' teeth.  Her hands are under my pajama top, fondling my breasts.

Has she ever slept with a girl like this?  Because she's really good at at.

Her fondling my breasts is so erotic that I cum.

"What do you want me to do to you now?"

"Show me, Lisa.  Show me something you do." 

I pull down her pajama bottoms and lick her pussy and clit until she cums.  We fall asleep in each others'  arms, kissing.

When her Mom wakes us up early the next morning, she's in the bed, and I'm on the floor.  She tells us we need to start making brunch.

Does her Mom know we fucked last night?

To be continued....

[sinclairfan]

After we my suitemate's aunt and cousin return from Sunday Mass, we eat brunch, another meat-heavy ethnic offering--lots of sausage.  My suitemate and I give each other knowing side-eyes during dinner, remembering the sex we had last night .... and wondering what tonight might have in store for us.

After brunch, we all pitch in in cleaning up.  I've spent more time at a sink the last two days than in my entire 20 years on Earth before this.  I wonder if my Mom would have wanted more help from me cleaning up over the years.

I wonder if she'd still be married to my Dad if I had helped her more in the kitchen.  I wonder if she ragged on my Dad all those years because of how tired she got cooking dinner, then cleaning up.  Cleaning up dinner is exhausting.

My suitemate's cousin Dawn is getting more aggressive with pinching my ass.  I reciprocate, and pinch her ass.  Her butt is totally sexy.  Her face and hair are cute too.  She asks me if I want to go for a ride to the butcher later.  "Of course," I reply.  "Just you and me."  [This family has a household butcher?  What is it with them and meat?]

I get in the family car with Dawn.  It's a beat up old Ford Fairmont.  She tells me she's 25, that she got married in 1980, at 18, just to see what sex with boys was like.  She was disappointed, quickly got divorced, got it annulled, and has had had friends-with-benefits sex with a couple of gus since; that nothing has clicked yet.  And probably never will.

I tell her that my story almost exactly matches her.  I tell her about Tennis Tommy, about me stealing him from a college girl, only to have mediocre sex with him.  That he was small, that he wasn't that good at it.

She tells me what she likes instead, maybe I'll like it too.

We pull up to the butcher's.  It's in a side alley which has seen better days.  Most everything is closed, since, it's Sunday, excepte the butcher's.

She tells me we have time, let's sneak down the alley while the sun is still high in the sky--that it gets shady here, literally and figuratively, when the sun goes below the rooftops.

She pushes me against the brick alley wall--it's coated in a combination of graffiti and birdshit from the seagulls circling around the dumpsters.

"I'm gonna do something to you.  A couple times.  Then, if you like it, you can do it back to me " 

[Is she gonna kiss me?  Fondle me?]

"Oooooomph".  Faster than I can protect myself, even reflexively, Dawn knees me in my crotch.

"Oooomph."

"Ooooomph."

Each time, harder than the last.  My eyes are tearing.

"Now you do it to me."  Dawn turns me away from the alley wall, and backs up to it.  "cxntbust me hard.  Bitch."

I hesitate, letting her wonder if I'm gonna do it.

Then I let her have it.  Hard.

"Mmmmmmmppphhh."

"Mmmmmmffff."

"Mmmmmmmfffff."

"Bitch."

"Slut.  You like it slut?"

"No.  I love it."  And I do.  I'm horny as fuck, and kiss Dawn.  "That's fucking awesome."

[I wonder if my Dad's girlfriend knows about this.  Maybe I can try it with her this summer.]

We go into the butcher's walking gingerly.  We drive home in silence.  Mostly in silence.

"We're still good, right, Lisa?  That wasn't too intense?"

"We're good, Dawn.  And ..... it was wonderful."

"Good.  Bitch."

"Bitch."

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

I spend the rest of my Spring Break week in Cleveland showing my suitemate, at night, fun things two girls can do together (take a shower together, shave each others' pussy, watch each other masturbate), and going to the butcher alley every afternoon with Dawn to ram our knees into each others' crotches. 

Dawn has figured out by now that her cousin and I have been fooling around in the bedroom together at night--she heard us laughing together in the shower one night.  She's fine with it--she tells me her cousin has always been the uptight one in the family.  Dawn asks me if I find her family to be too "deviant".

> Dawn .... are you kidding me? .... for years, my Dad has had a thing for my ex-best friend .... this bitch named Maria ....

> He flirts with her and shit?

> Flirted with her when we were friends.... the when she and I fell out .... started asking when she and I were gonna catfight ....

> That's not deviant .... it's a natural question .... and sexy, too .... when ARE you and Maria gonna bang it out?

> I go back home this summer .... my Dad is scoutin' out with her if she's willing ....

> Know what you should tell your Dad ro tell Maria?  Tell her to grow her hair out.  Then you grow yours out to.  Nothing sexier than two girls fighting in long hair.

> That's actually brilliant.

It actually is.  I call my Dad quick that night.  He likes the idea, too.

Correction.

He loves it.

To be continued....