House Play

The Ladie's Circle was a complete bust. Not only did Marissa offer to show me every pan that she owned after I asked about borrowing something to make cupcakes in (none of which were Futura Deluxe, by the way), the circle itself was an excruciatingly dim affair, and Penelope and Sheila rolling their eyes in disgust seemed to exemplify my own boredom. Rain didn't show up, and I suppose I don't blame her. Still, I had to try to do my *real* job of trying to obtain what we're looking for, but sitting around a circle of housewives that have the combined intellect of your average blender is not what I'd call my idea of a good time. I even tried subtly pumping them for information, but it was like asking a giant, vapid brick wall. Sheila, Penelope, and I left the festivities after we could no longer take it and are now back at the Silverman homestead. It's late afternoon and I am surprised to find that Ryan hasn't come home (I mean, back) yet.
"Those were the dumbest bitches I've ever met. I don't even think you could call them anything else." Sheila starts in, the three of us sitting on the patio in my backyard in lawn chairs, the kind that recline, "They're just dumb. Happy-Ass and dumb."
"Amen to that, Sister." Penelope chimes as they clink their vodka-tinis.
We've decided to purge ourselves of canning peaches and discussing recipes with drinks and impromptu sunbathing in my fake backyard, hitching up our shirts and skirts to allow our skin access to the dying sun.
I sip my own vodka-tini, "I don't know about you two, but anything authored by Better Homes and Gardens is not my choice for the best book ever written." I say, leaning back. It's rare for me to have girl time. Normally, I live with two men, so I don't get a lot of estrogen in my life, and I'm not really in the business of socialization. It's too risky. So this is kind of nice.
"Agreed! That was some bullshit!" Penelope laughs, "What *is* your favorite book, Cat?"
"Right now it's 'Still Life with Woodpecker' by Tom Robbins, and I like Anais Nin and Jack Kerouac, too." I reply, as myself, "What about you?"
"Hell yeah! Beat writers are fucking rad!" Penelope agrees, "I loooove me some William S. Burroughs."
"I like Bukowski, myself." Sheila chimes, "I woulda fucked that drunken bastard like no tomorrow."
Penelope and I burst into surprised laughter, "I fuckin' love you, Sheila." Penelope chuckles, "You're rad ass! I can't say that I'd fuck Uncle Bill, though."
"I'd fuck Young Kerouac in a New York minute." I say as I down the rest of my drink.
Penelope and Sheila cackle, "Look at fuckin' Snow White letting her hair down!" Sheila nudges Penelope.
"What? Are you implying something?" I goad them, sitting up a little.
"You just act so *pure* sometimes, Cat." Penelope explains, "I mean, you're cool, and I love you, but it's as if you have a little bluebird twittering on your shoulder. Like you aren't getting laid, or something."
"You had me fuckin' shocked when you said Anais Nin, you dirty girl." Sheila laughs, "I've read that shit too. Crazy, fucked-up sex, those books."
We hear a car door slam and low drunken singing that gets closer as we hear the front door to the house slam, "Lu-ucy! I'm home!" I hear Ryan holler loudly in a schwilly Ricky Ricardo.
"We're back here!" I yell back, shooting the girls a furrowed glance and mouthing 'What the fuck?'
The three of us twist in our seats as Donavan and 'Christopher' stumble in our direction, resuming their high-volume singing of Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell".
"Yes!" Penelope laughs, "Baby, you're *drunk*! I've never seen you this plowed before!" she exclaims in happy astonishment, "The tables have turned!"
I am less enthusiastic about this by comparison. Why is he drunk? We're supposed to be recovering an object here, "Christopher, you're smashed." I glare at him as he stands in front of me, swaying a little. I haven't moved from my chair, and I'm trying to remain icy, but I've drank one and a half vodka-tinis and am a little tipsy myself. But *I* have an excuse.
"Yep, and you're sex-xy." he slurs as he hauls me up by my upper arms and kisses me on the mouth. With tongue, even. I'm altogether shocked, turned on, and pissed, but I allow the kiss to happen for quite a few seconds before pulling away. It was just so...nice. He kisses like a pro. Too bad it's all an act.
"How much did you drink?" I give him a withering glare, "And what the hell did you do at that Men's Club all day?"
'Topher' just shrugs, blank-faced, "Cards." he says.
Donavan cracks an invisible whip in his direction, and Penelope high-fives him, "I'm loving this side of you!" she says, then takes in the look on my face and addresses the others, "Honey, Sheila, looks like there's trouble in paradise, so we should split."
"Yeah, I need to get home and see what trouble my sons are getting into. High School, now. What the fuck." Sheila stands up, "Thanks for having us, Catherine. This was good."
"Thank you both for being my partners in arts and crafts hell." I say to them as they make their way to leave around the side yard, "I couldn't have done it alone."
"A bientot, Cat-her-rine!" Penelope waves, "You better call my ass!"
I wave goodbye and assist Ryan's drunken person inside, "The next time you kiss me like that, would you warn me first?" I snap at him angrily, "Did you find anything, or were you too busy partying? And why am I smelling perfume on you?" It smells cheap, and furthers my incense. I don't feel like a jealous wife, I *am* a jealous wife right now. Method.
He collapses on a leather couch in our living room, "Why're ya in such a snit, Babe? I'm just livin'." he mumbles into the arm, "I played cards...I drank too much and hung out with Spaulding and the guys...checked the office when they were distracted but it wasn't there." he strings together in an inebriated ramble, "How's the Ladies Whatchacallit?"
"Fruitless and horribly dull." I'm a little soothed by the fact he actually did some investigating, "The female residents are of no use, they all know one mode: Super Homemaker, and that's it."
"What'dyou just say?" Ryan replies slushily as he turns his head to the side and smiles at me. Why is he so fucking cute? I want to punch him.
"You're no good to me right now." I sigh, "Not in the state you're in."
"You're so beautiful, Micki-Kitty!" he exclaims loudly in a delirious voice, then half-whispers with drunk conspiracy, "You *are*. You're gonna make some guy so happy someday. I just hope that whoever he is, he's the best guy in the *world*."
Even in his plastered state he's difficult to read. That drunken asshole; you can't kiss me like that and tell me I'm beautiful then give me away mentally to another man. I want *him*, but I guess he's still waiting for someone else. He seems to like the hunt. I love him and I hate him right now. "Take a nap and sleep it off." I tell him as I make my way to leave the room.
"Aye-aye, Cap'n Gorgeous." he salute me, then face-plants promptly back into the armrest.
This mindfuck is exhausting.

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

I don't know how I got to bed. I drank entirely too much yesterday, but when you're hanging out an entire day at a place that's more or less a churched-up strip club with an open bar, complete with men chiding you into playing quarters at 3 in the afternoon, you're bound to end up in that state. Not to mention that they goaded me into doing body shots off of the eerily similar redhead named Luscious while chanting "Whipping Boy!" The Men's Society is akin to 'Revenge of the Nerds' on steroids, and I was in hog heaven. The rich really do live it up. I did manage to find a little time during the floorshow to rummage through Spaulding's office, but came up with bubkus. Speaking of O'Clare, he's actually a pretty nice guy. I know he's fishy, because of ownership of the cursed pan and all, but we have a shitload in common; namely Comics. He has a huge room filled with them at the Society. We spent a good hour there, comparing our favorite issues, going through stacks that were at least a foot taller than we were.
Micki didn't seem happy when I got back to Casa de Silverman, but my events are fuzzy. I do remember that my pants tiger was happy to see her. She looked lovely and suburban, sunbathing with her friends with her shirt tied up to just under her breasts, exposing all kinds of midriff happy, plus she had her skirt hitched all the way up to the tops of her thighs. Every ounce of tension I had relieved at the Society that day went flying out the window. And she's cute when she's angry. So I gave in to my inebriated impulses and just layed one on her. I figured it was in character, anyway. You come home wasted, you lay one on your wife, the usual. I don't think that my brain would let me forget that kiss, even if I had consumed an entire barrel of bourbon *and* a beer factory. She tasted like peaches, cherries, and a little vodka and I believe I felt her tongue slide against mine but I can't be sure. I know that it's all I dreamed about last night. Well, that and another dream in which *Micki* was the stripper that I was doing body shots off of while the boys stood around in an ominous circle chanting "Whipped!"
Anyway, Bed. I don't know how I got here. I roll over and hug onto a pillow; man, I feel like shit covered in hangover. Ahhh, this pillow is soft. It's like a woman, it's so soft. My knee slides between shapely legs as I bury my face into my pillow when I realize the softness has a twin and I've landed somewhere in the middle. I feel small, soft hands glide down my back, resting at the top of my ass which causes my eyes to pop open. My pillow is a gorgeous redhead. My head has landed between champagne-satin clad breasts and my half-concious nuzzling of them halts as I tense up. Her groin comes in contact with my thigh and she grinds against it a little in her sleep. Fuck. She's wet, too, and the feeling of it causes my cock to harden against the side of her hip. She whimpers quietly and grinds a little more into my leg, holding me tightly as I try to get the presense of mind to release her waist, which my arms had circled around when I thought she was a pillow, but I can't lift my head from between this wonderland because it's pounding in protest. I'm powerless now, and arousal mixed with hangover is a strange combination. Micki's no help because her hips are writhing and I think she's got to be dreaming about doing it to Ed Harris or something. What a disappointment it's gonna be when she wakes up to me on top of her. Too bad it's almost impossible to move right now.
I hear a gasp. Here it comes. I prepare to get hit, "Ryan, what're you doing?" she breathes as her hips stop suddenly and her hands that were gripping my lower back go slack.
"Sorry." I mumble into the valley of her softness, " I thought you were a pillow." I add, "Now my head hurts and I can't get up."
She squirms a little under me, her hands moving to my shoulders, and she shoves me off of her. It's initially painful in my throbbing temples, but I am grateful as I roll over back onto my own pillow, "Owwww-ch." I groan, clutching my head.
"No one asked you to drink that much." she chastises me as she faces me on her side. Her curves slip enticingly under champagne-satin as she gives me a sleepy grin, "What did you *really* do yesterday?"
"After I realized the pan wasn't there, I indulged in some guy time and played cards and video games. We *all* took advantage of the endless open bar." I admit between groans of pain, partially telling the truth. I don't want to break guy code by revealing the fact of strippers. If it got back to Sheila, Len would be a dead man, so I thought it best to spare that detail.
"Fine, don't tell me." she laughs, reading me like a book, "I got nothing at Marissa's; she even willingly showed me every pan she had at my behest and none of them were it. You look green, Ryan. If you're gonna go back there to investigate further today, we have to set you to rights. I'll get you some water and Nuprin to start you off."
"Little. Yellow. Different." I croak as she slides off the bed, trying not to notice the swell of her ass as she walks away, but damn, I love that chewing gum walk. Very wrigley. After she serves me water, pills, and a sausage biscuit breakfast, I'm feeling human again. She just put the serving tray to the side (we both ate in bed in our nightclothes as we watched the morning news) when she suddenly freezes. I get why, there are soft footfalls in our hallway. Someone must be here.
Without warning, she straddles my lap and grabs me by the head, "Don't ask, just kiss me." she whispers into my mouth before we collide lips. Her free hand even moves one of mine onto her breast. Okay, I won't ask. I'll do anything you want if you just keep letting me do this. Sometimes the torture gets a reward, even if it is just to cop a magnificent feel. Her mouth tastes like bliss and coffee, with just a smattering of tongue, and I don't fight my inclination to caress her breast with intent as her nails slowly scrape down my back. I guess, if she wants to give a show to be convincing as a couple, that's what we're gonna do. Method.
We hear a throat clearing loudly in our bedroom doorway, "Hey 'Body Heat', sorry for the intrusion." Penelope kids us with surprise in her voice as she catches us in our staged compromising position.
It's embarassing, but I can't stop kissing her right away, and I have to reluctantly let her bottom lip go as she pulls away and feigns surprise at Penelope's presense. "Oh, Hi!" Micki greets her, a little flushed as we acknowledge her in an erotic tableau. She's still straddling me and my hand is still resting on her breast, "Is it noon already?"
"I take back what I said about you not getting any, Cat." Penelope laughs, "Do you want me to wait downstairs? If this was a few years ago I would have offered to join in, because you guys look pretty enticing, but I don't think Donavan would like that too much, and I fuckin' love that hungover bastard."
Is suburbia always so boner-inducing? The image of a three-way with the titian angel on my lap and the raven haired, pigtailed beauty in our doorway causes my erection to expand and stab Micki's leg through my boxers. Her eyes get saucer huge and she escapes the confines of my lap quickly, "Flattered." she says to her in a semi-laugh, "Yeah, go to the kitchen and help yourself to some coffee, and I'll get dressed."
Penelope gapes at my lap, "Cat, I had no idea the Jews were so blessed. Nice *work*, Topher."
Micki and I notice my raging erection tenting the bedspread at the same time. She barks out a laugh, covering her mouth as she practically pole vaults off the bed. I try to tamp it down with my hands, and just want the mattress to swallow me whole. At least Penelope's impressed, but it doesn't ease the shame of popping bone recklessly in front of Micki. She *has* to know that was for her.
I decide it best to get dressed and leave to the sanctuary of the Man-Palace. I walk the mile and a half there to clear my head and try to calm down from the morning's events. When I get there, I'm practically bowled over by Patrick Holston (Husband to Mary-Beth) cruising up from behind me with his arms full of bottles of Baby Oil.
"What's all this, Man?" I ask him, following him up the steps to the front doors and opening them for him.
"We're in for a treat today, Toph. It's Baby-Oil Wrestling Match day at the Society." Patrick explains as we enter the inner sanctum. A giant rubber wading pool fills the center of the room, half-full already with clear, slippery goo.
This is the coolest Society, EVER. Clint slides up next to me, "Howdy Topher." he tips a bottle of Bud my way, "Wanna play a round of darts?"
I nod, "We missed you yesterday, where'd you run off to?"
Clint sips his beer, making a face, "Had to set things right with Rain. I think we're finally on common ground." He grins, "Plus, I'm a full-fledged member of this place, now. 24/7 access, partner. So I got reasons to be happy."
"So do I, it's Baby Oil Wrestling day today." I agree.
Len and Spaulding exit the latter's Private office, Len making his way to the exit door with a package similar to what Clint was carrying yesterday. Must be a membership handbook.
"Len! Where are *you* going?!" I yell at him from the wall of dartboards, "It's Baby Oil Wrestling day! Tell me you're not leaving!" I'm confused. He's the last person that would miss out on such an event as this.
"Don't get your panties in a wad, Whipping Boy." Len chuckles loudly, "I'll be back. I just forgot to tell Sheila something important." He gives a wave and leaves.
Spaulding approaches Clint and myself, slapping me a high-five, "Topher! You two got room for a third in this game?"

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

"Sorry I interrupted your lay this morning." Penelope tells me as we sit on my couch in the Silverman living room. She's introducing me to the wonderful world of Mexican Soap Operas as we sip coffee, "Looks like the passion's definitely not gone from *your* marriage."
I grin shyly, "I guess it hasn't." I agree loftily, feeling a twinge in my center as I remember this morning, and the feel of him all over me. I woke up to find myself grinding into his thigh with his head between my breasts. He thought he was cuddling a pillow, as is custom with Ryan. It was all I could do, either push him off (even though I reveled in the feel of his body against mine) or rip his boxers off and order him to take me. I played it safe and chose the former. Then Penelope showed up, and remembering what she said about Catherine not getting laid, I decided to take action. Method Acting 101. Oh God. It felt real enough. He kissed me with enough fervor to power Southern California, and his hand caressing my breast was delightful. Shit. I think I'm gonna have to change these panties, now. The rush of arousal forces me to rub my thighs together thinking about that kiss, those hands, that...
"Cat! Earth to Cat!" Penelope waves her hand in front of my face, "You there, girlfriend?"
I snap out of my reverie, "Sorry, I drifted off." I can't stop grinning giddily under my aroused state.
"Shit, you really do love the fuck out of your husband, don't you?" she nudges me, "It's cute as hell, and a girl can't blame you. Topher's snuggly-dorable and sporting mighty-wood. Damn."
I start to snicker, which quickly leads to full blown cackling, "Yes, I really do love him." I agree, trying to catch my breath. Not lying, either.
"Well, if you can get your brain out of the toilet long enough to listen to a sister, I was trying to tell you that the perfect companion to Mexican Soaps, aside from coffee, is pot. We should skip on over to Rain's and see if I can score a little."
"Won't Donavan be mad?" I tease her.
"Donavan, Schmonavan. He's at home nursing a hangover; he's not going to notice that I'm a little high. Besides, he's fully wore out. Drunk sex is fabulous, by the way. We were like fuckin' *animals*!" she shares, "He was crazy wasted, so it was fantastically down and dirty."
"Penelope, I don't think I want to get high today." I say warily. Pot makes me horny, and I'm already at a place that makes me want to scale walls and do backflips, so that's no good.
"Cat, pleeese. Pot's the only thing that cures my insomnia. Well, pot and Ho-Hos." Penelope pleads her case with innocent eyes, "Be a friend."
"How can I say no to that face?" I grumble jokingly, "Are we taking your car or mine?"
"Yours. I want to drive with the top down."
I pull up in front of Clint and Rain's sprawling one-level ranch home with Penelope fifteen minutes later. We look at each other in mild confusion as we take in the familiar beige station wagon in her driveway. Why is Marissa and Co. here? Curious. There's a tittering of ladylike, genteel laughter coming from her backyard, so we make our way around the side yard towards the sound. Penelope and I stop in our tracks in horror as we take in the scene.
What the hell? Half of the Blissful Grove Welcoming Commitee is here, surrounding what looks like Rain, but most certainly isn't the vegetarian flower child that I first met. Her blonde hair is curled and set, there's no more flower in her hair, and she's dressed in a red and white checked gingham halter dress with a long full skirt that sways as she busies herself with pouring her guests iced tea. She has the barbeque going, and appears to be preparing big slabs of briscuit and ribs, and there's a large array of biscuits, collard greens, and pecan pies on the picnic table next to the in-ground swimming pool.
"Looks like I won't be scoring any weed from Rain." Penelope cracks, but I can tell she's just as terrified as I am. We begin to back away, hoping none of them see us.
"Catherine and Penelope!" Heloise exclaims as she spots us, "What brings you by?"
"Just stopped in to say hi to Rain." Penelope says, flustered, "We can see that you're in the middle of something, so maybe we'll come by later."
"Please, do stay." Rain smiles at us with glassy, medicated eyes, much different than the former red-rimmed and stony ones we knew before, "We'd love to have you."
"No really, we don't want to impose." I interject sweetly as we slowly resume our backing up, "It wouldn't be in good taste."
"Alrighty. But we must visit real soon." she says cordially in her new soft-spoken southern lady accent as she resumes her tasks of running her barbeque smoothly.
After we're sure their attentions are fully diverted, we run to my car like a bat out of hell.
"Motherfucker, what the fuck!?" Penelope exclaims, panting as we dive into the LeSabre and peal out of there. Who *has* this thing, and how did the effects manage to spread to Rain in the past 24 hours? I had just talked to her on the phone yesterday whe she told me in her slow, stoned drawl that 'she wasn't going to no boring-ass ladie's circle and was gonna stay home and toke by the pool'. Now she's in the running for Miss Southland Homemaker.
"We need to go see Sheila." I say quickly as I make a sharp left in the direction of her house, "See if it got to her."
"See if what got to her? Do you have any fucking idea what's going on?!" Penelope shoots accusatorily in my direction, "Cat, this is fucking scary. I don't want to fall privy to being a mindless douchebag."
I shake my head, swallowing hard, "I don't really know exactly what's going on, but it's *something*, and I don't like it."
We reach Sheila's and I slam on the brakes hard in her driveway, jarring us both, but we're jarred already so it doesn't matter. We run to the front door and knock a little too hard. It swings open, and there she stands with a scowl on her pretty face. It's the most beautiful thing we've ever seen.
Penelope and I explode in shaky laughter, hugging each other in relief, "Sheila!" we exclaim.
"What is wrong with you crazy bitches?" she gives us a suspicious look as she derides us.
"Nothing. Got any pot?" Penelope giggles, still a little visibly shaken.
"Sure, but you can't stay. My big lug of an asshole husband is home and I'm about to get laid, so I'll be right out." she pauses, holding the door, "The fuck is actually being romantic for the first time in years. I need to take advantage of this rarity."
Sheila leaves for a few beats, then returns with a small bag that she palms into Penelope's hand, "Consider this a gift because I'm fuckin' happy."
"Thanks. Call me later, okay? Cat and I saw some shit today and..."
"Fucking *leave*, I will call you later." Sheila states impatiently, shoving us away and slamming her door.
We wouldn't have her any other way. Penelope and I walk with relief in our step toward the LeSabre. "Thank god." I breathe out as I slide behind the wheel.
"I was really panicking there for a minute." Penelope laughs nervously, "I mean, who knows, Cat? Maybe those bitches have superdrugs that we don't even know about. Rain *did* like drugs."
"Back to my place?" I ask her. I like her reasoning, but I know it's not the truth. Drugs wouldn't make Rain cook meat.
"Yes, to resume Mexican Soap Operas, and so we can drink more coffee and I can puff. I am still *way* stressed." Penelope sighs, "Maybe you can get back to your daydreaming about that raging erection your husband donned this morning and get happy again."
Squidge. Oh yes, I just got *real* happy. Again.