The Girlfriend Chapt 1 Learning the Ropes
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The Girlfriend - Chapt. 2 - Filled To The Brim With Girlish Glee free porn video
The Girlfriend - Chapt. 2 - Filled to the Brim with Girlish Glee
"Can we practice one more time?" Lissa said. She was the perfectionist of
the group, and loved to perform for an audience as I was well aware.
I restarted the YouTube video and strains of 'Three Little Maids are We'
filled the den, coming at us from Natasha's uber hi-end sound system.
Lissa, Jackie, and I began singing the words, dancing in a choreographed
routine that Denise had put together for us. She sat on the couch, more
interested in her cellphone than in what we were doing. It was our final
rehearsal, and we were in our costumes. Rather than the traditional
kimonos, we sported school girl uniforms - knee high socks, white cotton
underwear, a short plaid skirt, a white blouse, and a tie. We were all
wearing glasses. Denise had insisted on the uniforms. "Show'em some leg
and a glimpse of panties and they'll love you no matter how bad you
butcher the song."
We finished with only a handful of small mistakes. Lissa carried us
through the vocals - she had a very nice voice. Jackie and I struggled to
stay on key. We weren't professionals, so it would have to do. Denise
looked up when the music stopped. "Great job," she said, although she'd
not looked at us once.
"Doing a tableau is cheating," I said to her reproachfully. "You're
taking the easy way out."
"What's a tableau?" Jackie asked.
Lissa poured herself a glass of wine, killing the bottle. "It's a staged
scene. Think of Lincoln's assassination. The curtain parts and you see
Lincoln sitting in his chair, Mary Todd Lincoln next to him, and Booth
behind pointing his pistol at the doomed president. Everyone is frozen in
place, like manikins. The audience takes in the scene, everyone applauds,
then the curtain closes."
"Sounds boring," Jackie said, looking at the clock. "I better get ready.
Angelika will be here for me in a few minutes and she doesn't like to be
kept waiting."
To be honest, I was surprised that Jackie was allowed to participate at
all. Angelika came across as very controlling. Jackie seemed happy,
though. To each her own.
I sat down next to Denise. "You're doing Joan of Arc at the stake,
right?"
"Nope," she said. "Changed my mind. Liberty leading the people."
It took me a minute to place it. "Why am I not surprised?" I said. Denise
gave me a big smile.
"What's liberty the people or whatever it was?" Jackie said. She had
gathered up her bag and purse and was standing at the window looking out
to the street.
"A painting," Denise replied.
"Gotta run," Jackie said, hurrying out of the room. "Still sounds
boring." She left through the front door.
Denise put down her phone. "Did you hear about the Bannerman sisters? It
saw it on the FLR website."
I shook my head.
"They've been banned from the association for a year. Then they can
reapply for reinstatement. Since you were the aggrieved party, you have
veto rights. I guess you can expect them to start sucking up to you."
"Sounds unpleasant," I said. The two of them gave me the creeps.
"At least I don't have to watch them do their 'Sisters' act from White
Christmas again."
I thought about the duet that Rosemary Cooney and Vera-Ellen had
performed in the movie. "How does that fit the theme of the show - A
Celebration of Women?"
"And Three Little Maids does? Ours is at least as off target, and I'm no
fan of Gilbert and Sullivan," Lissa said.
Denise winked at her. "It's got that special moment, right?"
I looked at the pair of them. Up to something, as usual. Lissa saw me
staring and laughed. Why did it feel like I was going to be the butt of
some joke?
"Guess we oughta be going too," Denise said. She and Lissa had driven
here together. I walked them to the door and gathered them together in a
group hug. It seemed almost normal to give them each a kiss on the cheek.
I was learning. "Thanks for being my friends. I love you girls."
"We love you, too," Lissa said. I jumped in surprise and squealed.
Somebody had pinched me on the butt. I stared at both of them, but
neither gave any indication of being the culprit.
After they were gone, I straightened up our practice space. I thought
about keeping on the school girl uniform. Natasha enjoyed role play, and
the sex was heart stopping and energetic. I encouraged Natasha to play
her part to the hilt, and more than once I'd had my clothes torn off me.
But I didn't want to get my things ripped to pieces two nights before the
show, so I changed into a simple Donna Reed number and started to pull
dinner together. It seemed I had a thing for retro style fashion and
loved being skirted up this way. The clip-on earrings looked nice, but
they hurt my earlobes.
I had dinner on the table 15 minutes after Natasha got home from work.
Confession - I'm no great cook. It's something I was going to have to
master. I was getting by on internet lists of easy 30-minute dinners.
Natasha hadn't complained, though I knew she had refined tastes as far as
food was concerned.
"How's the act coming?" she asked me over a glass of wine.
"Fine. I'm concerned about Lissa, though. It looks like she's putting on
weight. Do you think that has anything to do with her operation?"
Natasha practically snorted wine out of her nose. "Babe, no. She's three
months pregnant."
I frowned, trying to make sense of that. "She can't get pregnant. That's
impossible."
"Our kind of FLR is about sharing, Muffin. If Carla has to carry a baby
in her belly, so does Lissa. She'll match her girth to Carla's. They'll
even start dressing alike. For reasons of comfort Carla will start
wearing dresses. Lissa will buy silicon baby bumps online that give her
the appearance of being pregnant. They come in graduated sizes. Lissa is
probably wearing her three-month belly. It's kind of satisfying to see
husband and wife sharing their pregnancy for all the world to see. Be
sure to ask how she's doing the next time you see her. Then she can talk
your ear off about what they're going through. I think the whole
pregnancy thing is one of her many fantasies. I imagine they'll both find
a way to feature it in a slew of modified sexual positions."
I hid my confusion behind the rim of my wine glass. There was so much I
didn't know. I was trying, really trying. I hardly blinked on eye anymore
when I was slipping into a bra and panties. A dress felt nearly normal.
Makeup was still a challenge, but I thought I was getting better at it.
Around the house I was okay, but it was still a gut-wrenching event to go
out in public. And there were some people I would never want to see me
this way. Stated simply, I was conflicted.
Natasha helped me clear the table and put dishes in the dishwasher. I
told Natasha about the Bannerman's but she shrugged it off. I was
persistent. "Why is it a big deal to be banned from the association?"
"It's not yet a world where people tolerate those that are different,"
she said. "The association is our support group. It's an environment
where we can be ourselves. If you lose that, you're suddenly fending for
yourself. The Bannerman's don't have a lot of money, despite the airs
they put on. They'll struggle."
"And I get to say if they can rejoin? That's what Denise said."
Natasha picked up a glass and rinsed it in the sink before loading it in
the dishwasher. "The next week is going to be tough. I'll be working late
most nights. Probably have to go in on Saturday. I've got the opportunity
to put a buyer and seller together. It'd be the biggest deal I ever
arranged. We've got a lot to pull together before I can pitch to both
sides, but I know I can make a happy marriage."
She'd dodged the question, but it wasn't worth pushing a second time. I
wasn't exactly clear about what Natasha did. Something financial. She had
a small company with two other employees - Erin was the analyst and
Aubrey covered the legal and administrative sides. Anytime I asked,
Natasha just said she was a matchmaker. "You'll be at the show?"
"I'll try."
Natasha spent the rest of the evening working at her computer. I didn't
want to interrupt her, so I ironed some clothes. About nine she surfaced
in the kitchen, rummaging through the leftovers in the refrigerator and
taking out some cold chicken. I joined her at the counter.
"I understand what you mean about needing a support group," I said.
She gave me a quizzical look.
"I'm going to quit my job. My vacation is up on Monday and I don't want
to go back."
Natasha put down a half-eaten leg and took my hand. "That's a big
decision, babe. You'll be bored here at home. You've got a real brain and
you need to be challenged. Why the sudden rush to quit?"
I told her about the things people said to me at work. The pictures that
the Bannerman's had put on the internet had gotten to a few of my peers
at the office. Some of their reaction could be attributed to curiosity,
but some was clearly hateful. I felt isolated and vulnerable. I dreaded
going to the office now.
"You know what I'm like. I'm not an advocate for running away," she said.
"You used to enjoy your job. Why don't you tell me about the things
you're working on? We never got down into details."
She'd understated what I felt about the work I did. I loved designing and
writing software. I'd been hoping for the opportunity to tell her all
about that part of my life "We're working on the holy grail of small
business applications, and the most intractable problem in software
design - how to automate the data collection and generation of TPS
Reports. A million companies have tried to do it. We're one million and
one."
"Will you succeed?" She seemed to be taking a genuine interest, and I was
warming up to the conversation.
"Meh. The business model is wonky. The part I'm working on is the most
interesting piece. I'm writing a cellphone app that takes a picture of
handwritten data, analyzes it, and stuffs it into a digital version of a
TPS Report. There's this really cool AI program that sits on the phone
and can do astonishing things with the data. We get it from a small two-
person start-up in Erie Pennsylvania. I wanted to see how it worked so I
decompiled the executable. They'd obfuscated it a half-dozen ways, but I
kept grinding at it until I got it into a readable format. Their code was
Beethovenesque, as beautiful as one of his symphonies." I realized I was
babbling, but I couldn't stop myself. "I could think of a dozen ways to
use it in new products. I heard the president of our company talking and
he wants to buy them out."
Natasha was watching me, a grin on her face. I blushed. "I love watching
you talk about software," she said. "I don't always understand what
you're talking about, but you say it with such passion. That's one of
things that I love about you. You don't hold back in matters of the
heart. You inspire me. That's why I can't see you sitting here at home."
I shrugged. "There's cleaning and cooking to worry about. And making
myself pretty for you."
"You're not my servant. You're my partner. You need to be in a situation
that brings you happiness and allows you to grow. I'll have to think
about this."
Somehow Natasha found a way to say things that made my heart skip a beat.
How had I been lucky enough to meet someone like her? I took her hand and
put it under my dress. "How's this for an example of personal growth?"
She laughed and kissed me on the mouth. "You little vixen. All this talk
about software has given you an erection. What are we going to do about
that?"
I showed her.
# # #
I could hear the audience cheering and two wives I knew only by name
exited the stage as the curtain closed. They'd presented a dramatic
dialog between Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Jackie,
Lissa, and I stood nervously in the wings awaiting our turn. Denise was
next to us. She had on sandals which she took off and put on a folding
chair. She was wearing a Phrygian cap and an off-the-shoulder ankle-
length mustard colored dress with a full skirt. It was tied at the waist
with a piece of rope. The other four members of her tableaux were
standing behind her.
"Ready?" she said.
I nodded and picked up the sign she'd prepared - LIBERTY LEADING THE
PEOPLE by Eugene Delacroix. Denise and her crew took positions behind the
curtain and struck up their poses. She looked at me and grinned. I knew
exactly what she would do the minute the curtain started to open - the
final adjustment. I slipped out from behind the curtain and walked across
the apron like one of the boxing bimbos that carry the cards announcing
the round number, my sign held aloft. I took up position on the left side
so I wouldn't block anybody's view, because they were going to want to
see this.
The Marseilles began to pound through the auditorium speakers, setting a
martial mood. The curtain opened. The audience gasped. I took a peek.
There Liberty was, the French flag in one hand and a musket in the other,
a fallen revolutionary at her feet, two others advancing on her right,
and one to her left. Liberty, her dress pulled down to her waist and two
breasts displayed for all the world to admire. Liberty must have been
quite the wanton, given how many times she was depicted with her boobs
hanging out. It was classic Denise. The audience began to cheer, some
rising and clapping enthusiastically. Denise let them stare for a good
thirty seconds before signaling for the curtain to close. I slipped off
the stage and joined Jackie and Lissa. "I'm going to have to look at more
paintings," Lissa said admiringly.
The stage manager pointed at us. We were up next. I took a deep breath.
Nervous, but I could do this. Lissa dipped her face next to my ear. "No
matter what happens out there, keep your cool. And don't be nervous."
If I hadn't been nervous before, I was now. They were definitely up to
something.
The curtain opened. The music began, and we took each other's hands and
skipped out onto the stage, giggling and whispering to each other. I'd
watched several YouTube videos of Three Little Maids. They were nothing
like what Denise had put together for us. Her version was risqu? in a
restrained manner. We sang in unison:
'Three little maids from school are we'
'Pert as a school girl well can be'
At the word pert we cupped our breasts and lifted, though since Lissa was
the only one with anything to cup it really was her moment to shine. We
twirled and showed some leg and a panty glimpse with a little flip of our
skirts.
'Filled to the brim with girlish glee'
We made an exaggerated act of tickling Jackie and she bent forward
protectively as we skipped around her. We transitioned into the second
verse and continued our playful, teasing ways, hoping to draw the
audience into our fantasy. Things seemed to be going well. We could hear
people in the audience chuckling as we gave new meaning to some of the
lines by our antics. The first chorus finished and we lined up for the
next verse. Each of the first three lines was to be sung by one of us in
turn - myself. Lissa, then Jackie. I was a little apprehensive at the
line assigned to me, but there was no time for that. I stepped forward
two paces and sang:
'One little maid is a bride - Yum-Yum'
I put my hands demurely to my cheeks to cover my supposed (yet real)
embarrassment.
'Two little maids in attendance come'
Jackie and Lissa sang that in unison. That was wrong. They were standing
slightly behind me, one to each side. The music paused. I felt something
being pushed into my hair. "What's going on?" I hissed sotto voce. Lissa
shoved a bouquet of flowers into my hands. Jackie did something to my
hair and a white gauzy piece of cloth fell forward, covering my face but
still allowing me to see. A wedding veil? I looked at the flowers. A
wedding bouquet?
The music started up again, but this time it was Mendelssohn's Wedding
March. I looked into the audience and gasped. Denise was standing next to
Natasha, and she pulled her to her feet. She put a small black box in her
hands.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. My face felt flushed and my palms were
sweating. I used my free hand like a fan. Natasha was going to propose.
She'd set this whole thing up. I...I hardly knew what to think. What
would I say? And I knew instantly the answer to that most important
question.
Natasha opened the small box and stared into it. A voice, I think
Denise's, started a chant that the whole audience picked up. "Marry her.
Marry her. Marry her."
Natasha locked eyes with mine. I felt faint; my legs were trembling. I
swallowed hard, willing myself to remain standing. Then she took the box
and put it on her seat, walked to the aisle, and headed towards the exit.
What was happening? Had she changed her mind? I flew off the stage and
pursued her down the aisle. "Honey, Darling, Natasha," I cried. She kept
on walking, never looking back. I caught her at the back of the theater,
grasping her by the wrist.
She peeled my fingers off her arm. "What were you thinking?" she said, a
hurt look on her face. "How could you embarrass me this way? If I ever
decide to propose to you, it won't be an ambush in front of a lot of
people I don't care about. My private life is exactly that. Private." She
spun on her heels and exited the theater.
I was frozen in place, unable to speak. She'd said some things, words,
that I couldn't seem to hold together. There was only one word that
mattered. One word that caused all the others to flee. If. If I ever
decide to propose. I kept saying it over and over in my mind. They were
words of doom.
Denise was suddenly by my side. She took my hand and led me to the
ladies' room. I was crying, tears streaming down my cheeks like two
rivers in flood. "I thought she was going to propose. What happened? What
happened?"
Denise hugged me. "It's alright, sweetheart. It'll be okay. It wasn't
Natasha. It was us. We thought we could jump start the proposal. It's
obvious how much you love each other. We thought we could help."
"You did this?" I said, horrified.
Denise looked away, her face bright red. "We all did - Jackie and Lissa
and me."
"You have no idea what you've done," I said, tears cascading anew.
"We'll make it right," she said. "We'll fix it."
I ran out into the evening. If I could just talk to her. Explain.
Natasha's car wasn't in it's parking place. She'd left without me.
# # #
Denise gave me a ride home. She kept apologizing but I didn't respond. I
kept thinking about the hurt I'd seen in Natasha's eyes.
The house was dark. I let myself in the front door. Natasha's car was in
the garage, so I knew she was here. I went to her bedroom. The door was
closed and there was no light leaking around the edges. I knocked, but
there was no answer. I didn't want to barge in, not now. "Honey, Natasha,
it wasn't me. We've got to talk." My pleas were met with silence.
I made my way to my room. Tomorrow was Saturday. I'd talk to her first
thing. We'd get this straightened out. I took a shower and slipped into
my yellow satin pajamas. I lay in bed, thinking, my mind a confusion of
thoughts that chased me across landscapes I feared to tread. This was our
first fight. I didn't know how Natasha handled these sorts of things.
Would she stay angry? Could I even get her to listen to me? Could I ever
heal the hurt I'd done her, even though I hadn't been the cause? I tossed
and turned. I tried meditating but my mind refused to settle. What if I
lost her? She was the most important thing in my life. I was desperately
in love with her. I'd do anything to make things better. I went through a
box of Kleenex, filling a wastebasket with my fears. The clock hardly
seemed to budge, the minutes longer than I'd ever known them to be. Hours
were an age. The last I remembered checking, it was past 4 AM.
I awoke to the angry demands of my cell phone. My hands were clumsy
blocks of granite, and I fumbled the call open. I could see it was
Denise. Should I answer it? I was still mad at her.
"Yes?" I said.
'Shawna. It's me, Denise. I wanted to check on you. Are you okay? We're
all worried about you."
"I'm fine," I said.
"Did you and Natasha talk things through? Once you tell her it was our
fault, she'll be fine."
"I've got to go," I said, and hung up.
I looked at the clock. Nine AM. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and
stumbled into the kitchen. Everything was quiet. I padded to Natasha's
bedroom. The door was open. She was gone. Her car was gone as well. She'd
said something about working the weekend. That had to be it.
I made myself a pot of coffee. I didn't feel like eating. I'd have to
wait until she came home from work. I couldn't just sit here and worry
about it. I'd end up spending the whole day crying. I got busy and made
the beds, did some laundry, cleaned the kitchen. When I'd finished with
that, I picked out clothes that I knew she liked me to wear. I spent
extra minutes getting my makeup just right. The moment she walked through
the door I'd beg her to let me explain. She had to, right?
I got a series of calls from Jackie and Lissa and Denise. I didn't answer
any of them. I couldn't deal with their pity and apologies right now. If
they'd ruined my life, I'd never forgive them.
A little after two PM the doorbell rang. Denise, of course. She of all
the girls had adopted me as her sister, and was annoyingly persistent. I
had some words saved up for her. I went to the front door. "I said I
didn't want to talk to you," I exclaimed as the door swung open. It
wasn't Denise. It was the Bannerman sisters. I groaned. This was even
worse than I imagined.
"We need to talk," said Catherine. "May we come in?"
I gestured with my head and they followed me into the parlor. I was in no
mood for their fawning attempts to get in my good graces. I wasn't
capable of grace at this moment.
I didn't offer them a drink. "Well?" I said.
They looked at each other, then Abigail spoke. "You've no doubt taken
pleasure in our banishment from the association. An undeserved
punishment, but we'll deal with that. I suppose some of your friends" -
the word sounded unsavory the way she said it - "have explained that you
must agree to our return at the end of a year."
I nodded, frowning. They weren't very good at fawning.
Catherine spoke now. "Don't expect us to apologize, there's nothing to
apologize for as far as we're concerned. You should be apologizing to us.
We heard about the shameless manner in which you tried to force Natasha
into a marriage with you. How despicable. You're exactly the type of
person we believed you to be."
Abigail didn't miss a beat, stepping into the conversation immediately.
"You've blown it with Natasha. She won't forget this. She won't forgive.
You'll be gone by the end of the weekend. And we'll be standing by, ready
to comfort her. To treat her like she needs to be treated. You may have
supplanted us in the short term, but it was never going to last. I
wouldn't be surprised to see you driven from the association. Everyone is
against you. Our friends are discussing it with Ms. Fanshel right now.
You'll have no say in our reinstatement. How does it feel to have your
plots and backstabbing blow up in your face?"
I listened to them rail against me. It was like I was standing outside of
myself, outside of the conversation. The words had no impact. No sting. I
only felt a coldness.
"I think you should go now," I said calmly.
"We had sex with her, you know." Catherine said. "Natasha seemed quite
enthusiastic in our little threesome. How could you ever hope to compete?
You're nothing but a boy in woman's clothing."
I escorted them to the door and listened to their car pull out of the
driveway. I went into the kitchen and got an almost full bottle of wine
out of the fridge and poured myself a glass. The Bannerman's went best
with hard liquor, but this would have to do.
They were bullies and fools, but that didn't mean they were wrong. I
began to worry again, all my fears ganging up on me at once. What was I
going to say to Natasha?
When the supper hour came and passed, I began to get hungry. I made
myself a sandwich. I listened for the sound of the garage door. She'd
been gone all day. What if she didn't return? What if she stayed away
until I got the message and left on my own? I was floundering in seas
that threatened to drown me. My stomach clenched and I felt nauseous. The
Bannermans were right. I had blown this. The most important relationship
in my life and I'd trampled all over it. I was an idiot. I began to cry
again. Damn, damn, damn, I thought. I brushed at my face and my hand came
away stained with mascara. I must look like the saddest version of Emmett
Kelly ever to haunt a circus tent. I reached for the wine but the bottle
was empty. I stared at it, confused. When had I drunk all that? The
realization struck me like a quantum event. I suddenly felt tipsy. Was I
drunk? I had nothing I could say that would fix this. I would cry and
beg, and she'd tell me to leave. What would I do? Where could I go?
Things couldn't get worse.
The sound of the garage door opening was like the blast of trumpets
announcing the apocalypse.
Bess
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