Edited by Naughty Mike (what would I do without you?) And thanks to all my male fans, you've been so much fun and such an inspiration, whether you knew it or not. xoxoxo
After my long-awaited graduation from Hamner College, Duane and I, for reasons I find myself somewhat at a loss to explain now, but it may have had to do with large quantities of fermented barley mash, had decided to “shack up” and maybe get married eventually. In due course, I moved into his and Darby's trailer and settled in. The “honeymoon period” was very nice indeed. I cooked dinner on nights we didn't thaw out TV dinners or get Chinese takeout. I even pretended to clean house (perceptions are important.) I even experimented with something mother called “baking” although that word would be kind considering the pain and grief I would put sifted flour through. I even sewed a button back on Duane's blue denim shirt. Okay, so I unthinkingly used bright red thread, but my heart was in the right place, wasn't it?
And of course, every night was pure paradise. My pussy never had it so good. We made love twice a night, sometimes more often if we had the next day off from work. And it wasn’t one of those I do him, he does me and then we go to sleep kind of things. Our lovemaking involved all sorts of medieval implements, kitchen utensils, abandoned hardware, parts from a ’54 Chevy and old Hasbro products. Did I mention the power tools? Instead of the back bedroom door leading outside like all the other trailers, ours went into a storage shed. I was living the dream of any young woman in love….
Except for one small detail. Its name was Darby. Two is company, and three is very much a crowd, especially when the third party is the Dreaded Darby. In previous submissions, I've touched on his rudeness, his vulgarity and his unwelcome ogling. In the dictionary his picture is by “immature asshole.” I had by now learned to mostly ignore these traits, but after I moved in, he took his irksome traits to a whole new level. He evolved “octopus hands."
Example: I walked past Darby who was sitting on the couch. As I pass in front of him, he reaches out as if to get the remote control off the coffee table but ends up with his tentacle on my ass. There were lots of incidents like that and they all ended up with his hands fondling my ass cheeks. A couple times he tried to work his fingers unto my pussy from behind and I just pushed him away. I do admit when he tried that maneuver I had on a painted on pair of shorts, boasting a pretty healthy camel toe. Duane would get turned on by my camel toe. He would see my pussy aching in my shorts, just dying to be set free and cared for, then he would grab me and the key to the tool shed and head for the bedroom.
Sometimes Darby would come busting in on me while I was in the shower. Oh sure, the bathroom door had a lock, but it was a trailer lock- it only worked when it wanted to. I remember one morning as I turned off the water, a hand appeared around the curtain holding my towel, and it wasn't Duane's hand.
Now don't think I just took this kind of harassment quietly. Not Amy Rae. I warned Darby in the strongest kind of language, so there would be no fucking misunderstanding that Duane was the only man in the house who was allowed to put his hands on me, and last I checked, Darby's name wasn't Duane. When that didn't seem to impress him, I said Darby, if you touch me like that again, I will hurt you.
That lasted all of one day. Apparently my pussy was too tempting as he then tried to run his hand up the inside of my leg under my loose shorts. So, I turned around fast and slapped him in the mouth with the back of my hand. His lip bled a little bit and he made a point of avoiding me for a few days until the stitches were removed. Then the whole thing started up again as if nothing had happened.
“Where was Duane all this time?” asks a concerned reader. The answer is: he was there. He saw most of the groping incidents, and he certainly heard me yell when Darby handed me my towel in the shower. But he never did anything more than say "hey, cool it, Darby!" I would've thought a big macho man like Duane would have jumped right in and kicked ass to protect his woman's honor, or at least her ass from unwanted feels.
The unwanted attentions continued and the tension between me and Duane began to escalate. I didn't necessarily want him to start a physical fight with his roommate, but I would really have appreciated it if he would at least back me up. We started having arguments about it, with him saying I was a big girl and didn't need his help, and me saying” I didn't NEED it but I sure would LIKE it” and “you’re going to need an extension cord for that thing.”
Finally one day I blew up. I said "Duane, one of these days I am going to call Darby's bluff and take him in the bedroom and give him what he thinks he wants. Duane just rolled his eyes. "Oh sure," he said.
"Just you wait," I countered. "There's no telling what I'll do when I hit my limit.” And as Fortuna would have it, I hit my limit the very next day.
