Making Love Under The Rainbow
- 4 years ago
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Somewhere Over The Rainbow Ch. 01 free porn video
Susan’s asked to leave Hannah’s spare bedroom in Hershey, PA.
Susan sat on her twin, lumpy bed in Hannah’s small, spare bedroom talking to herself through her tears. Albeit much better than living at the shelter, she was still unhappy nonetheless. Without having a car or money to travel anywhere, she felt much like a prisoner living in a 12′ by 12′ room in the house of a kind, elderly Mennonite woman. She’s lucky to have a place to stay.
It’s been a long time since she felt free aimlessly wander and purposelessly roam, even to just go for a ride to nowhere and to see parts of Pennsylvania that she’s yet to see. Without having traveled around the state and without knowing any landmarks, she doesn’t have a bearing on where she lives. She knows Philadelphia is southeast and Pittsburgh is west and Boston is northeast and a long way away.
Contemplating the emptiness of her day, it’s been a long time since she’s been happy. It’s been a long time since she laughed. Happy and laughing all the time before, she never expected her life to turn out the way it had, alone, unemployed, homeless, and poor. Miserable now, as if she’s been cursed, everything that she worked so hard to accomplish and achieve has all turned to shit with the sour economy.
She figured she’d own a house by now. She figured she’d have a couple of kids. She figured she’d be living the American dream. Now, with all of her dreams gone out the window, the only bright spot in her life is when she’s lost in her characters while writing one of her stories.
Crying and feeling sorry for herself has been her daily routine since living at the homeless shelter and before, since leaving Boston to live in Pennsylvania with her crazy, incestuous, whore of a mother. Yet, strangely enough, crying and feeling sorry for herself always made her feel better, that is, once she snaps out of it enough to count her blessings. Wallowing in self-pity, her personal pity parties, with her as the only invited guest, are the only parties that she attends now and the only parties that make her feel better after she’s had them.
Yet, even when in her lowest and darkest place, not there for very long, a true survivor, picking herself up, she always rebounds. With all the people in the world who have real problems and serious issues, she realizes that she should have a problem. What doesn’t seem so important until she no longer has it and oftentimes taking her good health for granted, at least she has her health. Not having any medical insurance, at least she’s not sickly. At least she can get out of bed, think clearly, and go for a walk.
Judging by how many women color their hair blonde, with so many women not blessed with natural blonde hair, she wears her hair as if it’s her personal golden crown. At 5’9′ in height, a slim 128 pounds, and with a shapely figure that boasts D cup breasts, she’s glad that she still has her shapely body. The envy of many women and the wishful love interest of many men but when not feeling good about herself, she sometimes wished that she could see what they saw.
At least she still has her good looks. Not having any dental insurance, at least she still has her bright smile. Having witnessed the condition in so many others, with comfort foods making some feel better, her depression could easily turn into an overeating problem but food has never been her demon. Another blessing to count, albeit now a bit tarnished, twisted, negative, and cynical, with her bad mood still not destroying her sense of humor, most times she’s still her funny self.
Continuing to count her blessings, at least she has a roof over her head. A time when she didn’t even have a proper coat, hat, and gloves, she used to hate the cold, the wind, and the rain when she was homeless and wondering around outdoors. Forever standing in a doorway shivering while waiting for the shelter to open for the night, thanks to Hannah, at least she has the privacy of her own room now. At least she has food to eat and a place to rest her tired body.
Something fleetingly intangible, the best blessing she received from out of all that’s happened to her over the past two years is her discovering her passion to write erotic stories. She’s always written poems and stories but nothing like this. Now averaging more than a million words a year, she’s been so very prolific. Having been beaten down so low, all too often her writing comes from a place that she hopes to never visit again. Even though things could be much better, things could be much worse.
* * * * *
Missing her beloved Boston and her friends, some friends they are in not keeping in touch with her. Yet, their good excuse not to contact her, even her friends don’t know where she is and, after realizing that they aren’t her real friends, she’s glad that they don’t know where she is now. Not one of them has reached out to find her. Up until the flood, her cell phone number and e-mail address hadn’t changed. There was no reason why they couldn’t have called or written her.
Afraid that her ex would track her down through her friends and appear at her door one day with his abusive attitude or worse with a gun, she removed her Facebook page after some pervert posted her personal information online to Literotica. Thinking it was some anonymous basher bashing one of her stories, she realized that maybe it was her ex who posted her private information online. Definitely, it may have been her ex. He’d do something like that to her while thinking it funny to embarrass her. Whomever he or she was, she reported the person and Literotica removed all that had been posted but the damage to her privacy was done.
Then, after her friends didn’t try to contact her, she changed her e-mail address. Maybe they tried to call her on her cell phone, but her computer, her TV, her clothes, her furniture, her photographs, her memories, and her life, along with everything she owned was destroyed by the flood. Without a job, she couldn’t afford to get another cell phone and even if she could somehow get another cell phone, she lost all of her contact information. After spending so many hours talking on her cell phone, as if God had pulled the plug by cancelling her account, suddenly feeling so alone, there was no one for her to call. As if God had wanted her to slow down to enjoy the things around her, she was given this time to write her stories.
Willing to go it alone, with her life in the toilet anyway, it was then that she had made the hard decision to start her life over again by not telling anyone where she was going and where she is now. Still, if her friends wanted to find her, they could have called her mother to find out where she is. Her mother knew where she was at the homeless shelter, that is, until she was invited to live with Hannah and left there to live in her spare bedroom.
Her friends could have tracked her down, when she was living with her mother before the flood. If they wanted to find her to see how she was doing, they could have at least made the effort by getting in touch with her mother or even with one of her brothers. Yet, the fact that her friends didn’t try to hook up with her again, told her that they never were her true friends. They were married and she wasn’t. They had children and she didn’t. They had a life and she only had her bad self.
There was tensions in her friendships once she divorced her ex. Where her and her ex were a couple before, now she was the odd women on the outside looking in. She was the third wheel left out of the conversations once they endlessly talked about their children, their homes, their schools, their clothes, and pediatrician visits. Obviously afraid she’d steal their husbands, her girlfriends were always jealous of her. Good riddance is perhaps how they felt about her leaving the state and leaving them behind.
Truth be told, she never wanted any of their husbands. She wasn’t attracted to any of them and if she was, in the way that her ex always cheate
d on her, she’d never cheat with a married man. She’d never be the other woman to break up someone’s happy home. She never do that to someone in the way that someone did that to her.
* * * * *
A city girl living in the country was as difficult for her as would be for a country girl living in the city. Afraid of bugs, she hates bugs, especially spiders and there are lots of big, ugly, nasty looking spiders where she lives in Pennsylvania. Sometimes, seemingly, there is as many spiders indoor as there are outdoors. Never does she sit outside on the front porch in the way that Hannah enjoys doing. A Lancaster, Mennonite farm girl, Hannah’s not afraid of bugs. She grew up with bugs.
When she’s not escorting the insects out by opening a door or window, she crushes them with a tissue. Eww. With the front porch screening and chairs infested with spiders and spider webs, totally freaking her out, the one and only time she sat on the front porch, there was a big, ugly spider crawling up her leg. Gross.
Now always checking and looking, too often there’d be a big spider poised at the very top of her bedroom wall watching her and waiting to crawl down to launch itself at her. Now when she enters her room, armed with a can of spider spray and a fly swatter, she looks for spiders with a flashlight before retiring to bed. She knows they’re there. She can feel them. They seem to be everywhere especially in the dark. With bugs her boogiemen hiding beneath her bed, she wish she had a man to protect her from bugs.
Living with her mother in a basement apartment across from the Susquehanna River before moving in having to live in a shelter and before living in Hannah’s spare bedroom, she was close enough to the river to throw a stone in the water. Oblivious to them, her mother always had some strange bugs living there too. Bugs that she never saw in Boston, aside from an occasional huge cockroach, Pennsylvania is loaded with bugs.
With the Susquehanna River Bridge in the near distance, the view was unbelievable. Yet, sitting so low as if she was in a New Orleans flood basin but unprotected by a levy, she felt so vulnerable living there with her mother in her basement apartment. In all the places she lived, sometimes feeling much like a prisoner living in a jail cell, especially with the security bars on the windows, she never lived below street level.
Even though she’s an exhibitionist, never wanting to be peeped on, she only enjoyed exposing herself when it was her decision to make and her game to play. Needing to control the interaction, she only enjoyed exposing herself when she could make her exhibitionism appear accidental. Unless it was the early morning, when she didn’t need a light to see, she kept her shades drawn. Now living at Hannah’s house, when she was writing, she kept her shades up to look out her window that overlooked the woods.
With her shades drawn most times, and with men seemingly always walking around in the woods across from where she lived, whether hunters, hikers, sportsmen, or perverts, she never knew who could be lurking outside and peeping in her bedroom to watch her undressing or dressing. Leaving her shades open with her bedroom light on gave her the creeps. She’d rather control who and when she flashed someone rather than some man having her under his surveillance.
Someone who preferred concrete to grass, moving to the country was a difficult adjustment for her to make, especially when there were more little, country paths that meandered through the woods than there were wide city sidewalks. Learning to appreciate the trees over the skyscrapers, with the cicadas creating their disturbing racket, the crows cawing their warnings of an intruder, and a dozen other birds singing their songs together or individually, seemingly the country was sometimes as noisy as the city. Then, always there was a strange noise in the night that frightened her. Whether man or animal, she couldn’t tell what it was when such a sound awakened her from her deep sleep.
Not far from a military base, there were always large, noisy cargo planes flying overhead. Then there were the sirens that summoned the volunteer firefighters to duty that sounded multiple times a day. Since she lived so close, twenty miles away, she could hear the test sirens for Three Mile Island, the nuclear power plant. With their giant smoke stacks that loomed so scary in the distance, especially when crossing the Susquehanna Bridge, well within the nuclear dead zone, she didn’t realize how close she lived to Three Mile Island.
Even though the state has plans on closing the highway to incoming traffic and rerouting traffic all one-way out, if that power plant fails, instead of fleeing, she’d just stay where she is and kiss her ass good-bye. She’d rather go with the first nuclear explosion then to be stuck in traffic on the highway and die with Hannah in her trapped car or to be sick and glowing green a few weeks later. As if the nuclear power plant smoke stacks are seething and biding their time to explode at the hand of human error or by the act of some terrorist, seeing them from the distance when crossing the bridge reminds her of what happened to the World Trade Center Twin Towers.
Having grown used to city life, every day was a cacophony of alarms, sirens, trains, planes, and buses. Oddly enough, most times, she never noticed the noise. She thought the country was quiet and most times it is, especially at night, but she hasn’t lived here long enough not to hear the noise. Always there was so inexplicable noise that frightened her. Always there was always some bump in the night that awakened her. Obviously, she never felt comfortable living here so far away from Boston, her home.
* * * * *
A bustling metropolis, Boston wasn’t nearly as noisy as New York. What she loved about Boston, she hated about New York. Even though Boston was big, it was small enough that she could walk anywhere from anywhere. For those distances too far to walk, Boston had a great public transportation system whereas, no longer having a car, her only option now was to hitch a ride or to take the bus. Where she lived in Pennsylvania, she needed a car to get around.
More than a two mile walk to the bus stop, on those cold or hot days, a hike to the bus stop and back was too much of a trek. Walking that far of a distance made her feel homeless again when she used to endlessly walk the downtown streets of Harrisburg while watching the cars whizzing by her. Out in the country where she lives in Hannah’s house, there are no sidewalks next to the winding, country roads. Even though there are speed limits and occasional speed traps, as if driving on a racetrack in a race, most cars disobeyed them. With no street lights from her house to the bus stop, it wasn’t safe to walk the country roads, especially at dawn, dusk, and at night.
The only places she went now was to her Post Office box and to Wal-Mart to buy food. Everywhere else was far away and too far for her to walk. Besides, every time she was out walking she always attracted the wrong attention from leering men. The Post Office was a six mile round trip and Wal-Mart was a twelve miles round trip. Never allowing her to drive her car, a plain Jane Honda Civic with a manual transmission, the perfect Mennonite car with all chrome trimmings removed, she was dependent on Hannah for a ride. If she missed anything at all about her old life, she missed having a car to take her wherever she wanted to go, whenever she wanted to go. What she thought was a necessity before in owning a car was a luxury now. If she the money to buy one, she’d even welcome the freedom of riding a bicycle.
* * * * *
Always alone in her room, if anyone was to see or hear her talking to herself they’d surely think that she had money in the bank or was crazy. Unfortunately, more the latter than the former, she only wished she had money in the bank. If she had money in the bank, she wouldn’t be talking to herself. If she had money in
the bank, she wouldn’t be living here. If she had money in the bank, she could afford to buy a car. If she had money in the bank, she could afford to leave Pennsylvania and move back to Boston. Only, even with a job, living in Boston is expensive. The only way she could afford to live in Boston again is to live with a roommate or to hook up with a man, but she wasn’t ready for that yet.
‘Now that Hannah has asked me to leave, what do I do? Where do I go?’ She looked up at the ceiling before looking down at the carpet as if all of the answers to her questions were either up there or down there. ‘As if I was given a brief respite to regain my sanity, sadly, I’m not much better off now than I was two years ago when I was living at the shelter in Harrisburg. I don’t want to go back there. I can’t go back there. Such a horrible place, I’d rather die than to go back there,’ she said looking at and running her fingers through her wild, long, blonde hair in the mirror.
‘Look at me. I’m such a frightful mess. I need a haircut. I can’t remember when I had my nails done. It’s been years,’ she said looking down at her nails in a running monologue. ‘Maybe nail polish and some lipstick will help,’ she said looking at herself in the mirror while forgetting about her nails to reach for a tube of lipstick.
Still talking to herself, she was always talking to herself, even more now than ever before. She wondered if she was losing her mind. With all that’s happened to her, she easily could go crazy. With all that’s happened to her from when she lived with her whore of a mother and four, incestuous brothers, to living with her ex, to living at the shelter, and to living now with Hannah, there was always someone taking care of her.
Yet, now with Hannah asking her to leave, this would be the first time that she’d be on her own. Taking a lesson from her mother, maybe she could hook up with one of the men who regularly writes her online. Yet, too dangerous, she couldn’t just go live with some stranger who professes his love for her. How could she pack up and go live with someone she’s never met. Only, with no place to live now, what choice does she have? It’s either find someone to live with or return to the shelter.
While thinking about the men who write her whenever she posts a new story, she carefully covered her lips with lipstick as if there was a man in her life to kiss but there was no man for her to kiss in years. Except for Hannah, she was alone with her bad self. When it came to men, never looking at them or talking about them, Hannah was a bad influence. Never married and with no children, Hannah wa only dependent upon herself. As far as she knows, Hannah has never had a man in her life. Never wondering about it before, now she wondered if Hannah was lesbian.
‘God, compared to what I used to look like, always so put together with hair, makeup, and clothes just so,’ she said pulling at her hair to fix it in place before brushing out the tangles, ‘I’m such a frightful mess. With my pale pallor, from staying indoors too much,’ she said getting up from her bed to rest her hands on her dresser and to lean in the mirror to look more closely at herself, ‘I’m beginning to look like a Mennonite women.’
Turning from side to side to examine her face more closely, she continued staring at herself with a critical eye.
‘When did I get these wrinkles? I never had wrinkles before. At least my fingernails aren’t dirty,’ she said examining her fingernails again. ‘I used to be so dirty when I was walking the city streets collecting discarded cans to redeem. At least I have a bathroom to use but, with Hannah asking me to leave, for how long?’
To be continued…
Anastasia
- 14.11.2020
- 23
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