Caitlin and Sara

Please don't reproduce this copyrighted work without written permission.

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My personal thanks to Bernard Lyons, my dear friend in Dublin, Ireland who once again has provided his generous and timely editorial insight. Thanks B!

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Of course all the actors in this script are of legal age.

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It was mid-morning on a lazy Saturday in September and I was relaxing on the white wooden swing that was suspended from the ceiling of our spacious front porch. My attention was focused on the activity that was occurring at the house next door. Since it was the day following a Friday night football game I had nothing special planned, although I'd thought about visiting the mall later to buy a new skirt and a pair of black four inch dress heels.

I was wearing an obscenely risqué pair of white nylon jogging shorts and a tight-fitting gray tee shirt that was still showing visible signs of perspiration. The faded words 'Memorial High School Cheer Squad' were emblazoned across the front of my shirt in maroon and white letters. Like most of my tee shirts this one was custom-tailored by me to reveal as much skin as my adoring mother would tolerate.

My stomach revealed the faint trace of the abdominal muscles that I had been working on for four years using a grueling sit-ups regimen and consequently my pierced navel was always proudly on display to show it all off. My mother could not gripe too much about my attire, since my cheerleading outfit disclosed about as much of me as this tailored tee shirt did. Well, almost as much.

I had actually cut the shirt a bit higher than I had originally planned and now if I moved the wrong way it would reveal the bottom of my boobs, as opposed to our cheerleading outfit that fit rather snugly around our torso just south of that rather strategic vantage point. At first it drew a criticizing stare from my mother, but she seemed to be giving me a lot more slack these days, since I was now a high school senior and I really did try hard not to abuse her trust.

My white Adidas running shoes and my socks were pulled off my feet and lying on the floor below the swing. My legs were curled up tightly against my body revealing toe nails that were painted a bright red color that matched my finger nails that I kept very long and also very red.

I had finished my morning seven mile jogging ritual a couple hours earlier and I was now focusing most of my attention on the three burly men who were unloading furniture and boxes from a large orange Allied moving truck in the sweltering September heat.

It was still very hot in Houston at this time of the year and sadly for those guys, today it almost seemed to be unseasonably hot. I had been watching them since I had returned from my run and they already appeared as if they might not survive the day.

My name is Caitlin Moore, or Cat as I've been called since about kindergarten, and as I mentioned I'm now a senior at Memorial High School in Houston. Like all women who are their toughest critics I consider myself to be average looking, although I know I do have the tools to look really exceptional when I put a little bit of effort into it.

Unlike my mother, who I think is just sexy as hell; I'm more the athletic type who's built more for speed and endurance. My body is narrower and leaner than my mother's and even as a high school senior I'm only now starting to develop that coveted hourglass shape that all my friends have had since about ninth or tenth grade.

I'm a tad over five and half feet tall and I weigh anywhere from one hundred ten to one hundred thirteen pounds. I'm very slender and as a consequence my boobs are not very large, although they are a very nice cup size at nearly a 'D.' I also have been gifted with really large nipples that are nearly an inch long and about the thickness of my thumb, but that's not the best part. They can get visibly larger than that when I'm aroused, which is to say they get longer and thicker when I'm really turned on.

To finish my somewhat modest description of myself, my hair is perfectly straight and it's a reddish blond color and I normally wear it down several inches past my shoulders, but now I have it pulled back in a white scrunchy. My eyes are an emerald green color, just like my mother's, and my lips are very full like hers, which she typically describes as 'pouty.' When I go out or go to school I always wear makeup and I must admit that I can create a pretty impressive package, but right now I'm in my 'plain-Jane' attire.

As an eighteen year old female I'm not into watching everything that goes on in our neighborhood, but I have been mildly interested in the Jones' house since it was first placed on the market in late May. As far as neighbors went, I thought that Gary and Samantha Jones were really terrific people, but they only had one child - a son, who was a couple years younger than me and despite the age difference he would not have been my type even if I had any sort of interest in guys. He was just a very nice fifteen year old kid who always fixed my printer or computer and checked it weekly for viruses and spam, but there was absolutely no dating potential there.

I had known that the Jones' departure from the neighborhood might provide an opportunity for another family to move in who just might have a daughter close to my own age. As a cheerleader and the President of the Memorial High School Senior Class I certainly wasn't hurting for friends, but since I did not own a car I often thought it would be terrific to have a girlfriend who lived close by. As I continued to focus on the activity next door, I remained vigilant for some evidence of the new occupants.

I took another sip of my orange juice and uncurled my long tanned legs and placed them up on the wooden railing that surrounded the porch of the quaint two story brick house where my mother and I lived. It was a comfortable place that was built in the early nineteen hundreds and it had been totally updated just before we moved in, when I was about to begin the sixth grade. But what we really liked best about our house when we first saw it was the neighborhood. With towering Pine and Cypress trees scattered everywhere and friendly, caring neighbors, it was one of the more popular places to reside in Houston's northwest corridor.

"See anything interesting yet, baby?"

The question seemed to shatter the morning silence and it took me by surprise. I instinctively turned in the direction of the voice and watched my mother push open the screen door and step out onto the porch with her newspaper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. In her bare feet she walked silently across the porch to join me on a swing that was long enough to easily accommodate both of us. She had gotten home from work as I was heading out the door for my morning run and she was still in her dark blue hospital scrubs.

By anyone's standards my mother, Colleen Moore, would be considered a genuine heart-throb. At barely thirty-six years old she had frequently been mistaken for my sister and I could tell that she was terribly proud of that fact. She was six feet tall in her bare feet and her thick hair was dark red in color and it cascaded down the center of her back well past her shoulders in the same style that she had worn her entire life. Many people considered her gorgeous locks to be her most attractive asset.

My mother's emerald green eyes and the slight trace of freckles that were barely visible across the bridge of her nose quickly provided sufficient evidence of her Celtic heritage; the same evidence that everyone saw in me and what my loving mother affectionately referred to as my Irish good looks.

My mother worked hard to look good and she knew that all the hours she had spent sweating her ass off in the gym were well worth the effort. She was tall and lean and her body had great definition, and to her delight she was able to achieve it all without sacrificing her feminine side. Her eyes were now highlighted with dark eyeliner and three blended shades of green eye shadow. I knew that my mother considered her eyes - not her hair, to be her greatest asset. Personally, I thought it was way too close to call.

Oh, one last thing about my mother. Her lips were very full just like my grandmother's and for nearly five years they had been tattooed in a permanent cranberry color that always gave the appearance that she had recently reapplied her lipstick. I loved that look and I knew that I would have the same thing done to my lips very soon – as soon as I had an extra seven hundred dollars, that is.

Also, at 34C-23-33 my mother was never tempted to surgically enhance what she considered were the perfect measurements for a woman her size. I always envied her measurements, but I had to admit that my boobs looked more like they were designed for my body and all-in-all I was pretty happy with them.

"Aside from the movers I haven't seen any other life forms emerge yet." I replied, as I smiled at my mother before returning my attention to the activity next door.

My mother tossed the newspaper on the floor and put her arm around me and I instinctively leaned into her, while I continued to watch the movers laboring under the late morning sun. I was glad my mother was such a physical person and I never grew tired of her hugging or kissing me.

Colleen genuinely enjoyed the close relationship that she shared with her only child. She was always hearing all the horror stories about teenagers from the other nurses she worked with, but she was thankfully spared that kind of behavior with Caitlin. They seemed to enjoy living in an open environment and she did not think that Cat kept any secrets from her and vice versa.

"Those guys are going to experience a severe hydration problem, if they haven't already done so. Why don't you grab a six-pack of bottled spring water and head over there; it'll also provide you with an ideal opportunity to conduct your own little scouting mission?" Colleen suggested, as she tugged playfully at my ponytail with her free hand.

I turned to look at my mother and smiled at her, before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks mom, that's a wonderful idea."

I got up and left her sitting on the swing as I headed into the house. A minute or two later the screen door opened again and she looked up at me as I shot her a quick smile before heading down the steps and across the front lawn in my bare feet, carrying a six-pack of icy cold bottled water in one hand and putting on my sunglasses with the other.

Colleen sat up in the swing and focused her attention on her daughter, as she crossed in front of her on her way towards the moving truck. She tried to be tolerant of the styles worn by teens today, but she knew that many people considered that sort of attire to border on the obscene. Perhaps she was more patient than she should be because the entire image reminded her of herself at the University of Texas nearly fifteen years ago and those days always put a smile on her face.

At five feet, seven inches tall Cat didn't have her mom's height, but the hair and those green eyes left little doubt where she came from. Before her husband died six years earlier, Colleen would frequently tease Brian over the fact that there was no trace of him to be found anywhere in their daughter. Now, Colleen would have given anything if that had not been the case. Even after all this time she still missed him dearly. In fact, she had still not gotten past his death and had only been with a man once since that time and that experience was just short of terrible.

As I finally reached the truck, I pulled three bottles of water out of the plastic holder and handed one to each of the three men who had stopped what they were doing when they saw me approach. That was no surprise to me, women just had that affect on guys and I suspected that any female wearing this outfit would get the same level of attention.

As Colleen watched her daughter bantering with the three men, she could not help but notice that she seemed to radiate a rare combination of sensuality with pure innocence – a combination that could definitely prove to be lethal to someone someday. As she watched her lean against the truck in her bare feet, she had a huge smile on her face. She was receiving the undivided attention of the three young men and like most girls she was probably enjoying every bit of it.

Although her daughter had turned eighteen several weeks ago, without her makeup Colleen knew that she could pass for a fourteen or fifteen year old and that could easily become a dangerous weapon. She couldn't help but feel sorry for all the hearts her daughter would wind up breaking in the future.

Sara Martin had been going non-stop at a rather torrid pace since the moving truck had arrived from Atlanta earlier in the day. She had been busy directing the placement of furniture and boxes and unpacking dishes and glassware for more than two hours and she felt as if she hadn't even made a dent in what was now looking more like wall-to-wall chaos. So she was absolutely delighted when she looked out the front kitchen window to see that the movers were finally taking a break.

At first Sara thought that the men were just standing around the truck drinking some water and catching a break, but then she saw what had captivated their attention. It looked like a young girl standing against the truck and she had one of the sexiest little bodies Sara had ever seen. She had to be from the neighborhood, Sara thought, so she decided that she might as well go introduce herself.

Even though I had never felt an attraction to guys – a fact that I shared with very few people - I loved the attention I always received from them. I was certainly old enough to know the effect I could have on them and I really enjoyed having that power over them and I didn't mind using it for a little old fashioned manipulation. I was just about to answer another meaningless question that the cute Hispanic guy asked me when I saw someone coming towards us from the house. When the three men turned to see what had attracted my attention, they reluctantly dispersed and started back to work, thanking me for the water one last time.

I pushed myself off the truck and watched as the woman continued to walk down the long driveway towards me. She was certainly not the high school friend that I was hoping for, but I was not the least bit disappointed. This woman was certainly older than me, probably closer to my mother's age – give or take a couple years either way, and she was every bit as gorgeous. I moved my glasses up on my head to get a better look.

Coincidentally, she was wearing a red University of Georgia tee shirt that seemed to cover some rather impressive boobs, but was also tailored to reveal her bare midriff section. She was also wearing a pair of white denim cut-offs that hit her about mid-thigh and red flip-flops. Her body was very tan, lean and taut and her navel was pierced with a one-inch gold ring, which told me something about her personality and I realized that it made me smile.

My new neighbor had a massive amount of straight black hair pulled back in a red scrunchy that went down to about the middle of her back and she had the bluest eyes and fullest red lips that I'd ever seen on anyone other than me or my mother. I immediately felt goose bumps begin to form on my arms and then I realized that my nipples had become hard and I was moist in my sexual center.

"Hi, ah . . . I'm . . . Sara Martin." She said in a strong Georgia accent, extending her hand towards me.

Sara Martin knew immediately that her words had nearly caught in her throat, but she couldn't help herself. There was some sensual quality about the girl standing before her that was simply captivating. Perhaps it was the unusual combination of innocence with an intense sensual demeanor, or maybe it was a sexual aura that Sara just seemed to sense. Or maybe it was those incredible nipples underneath her tee shirt. Sara couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt her pulse quicken and her mouth was suddenly parched and she was more thoroughly confused about what she was feeling than she could ever remember being in her entire life.

Sara didn't know how she had gotten the girl's hand in hers, but suddenly she was aware that they were shaking hands and the girl was smiling at her, while Sara was staring into her sparkling green eyes. Sara knew she felt strangely, as if she were now a prisoner to the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen; and those Angelina Jolie lips were to die for.

"I'm sorry sweetie, what were you saying?" Sara finally found the words, as she struggled to try and regain some semblance of composure.

I smiled as I maintained eye contact with my new neighbor. I had seen that starry-eyed look before and even with my lack of experience I understood what it meant all too well. I knew there was just something about those emerald green eyes with those pouty lips that made people lose their concentration when they spoke to me. I used to see it happen with people around my mother all the time and ever since I had turned sixteen it had been happening to me with much greater frequency and I simply loved it.

"Ah, I said . . . I'm glad to meet you Sara. My name is Caitlin, but if you like you can call me Cat. I live over there." I said smiling, as I turned and motioned towards my house.

Sara had still not released the young girl's hand and took notice of the fact that the girl didn't seem to mind. She decided to hold onto it for just an instant longer.

"I wanted to come over and introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood. I'm sure that my mom will bring over a cake or something when you're all moved in, but for now how about a bottle of icy cold spring water?" I said, as I held up the three remaining bottles of water.

Sara looked at the bottles and breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Oh god, that would be so wonderful; thank you, Cat."

Sara released my hand, knowing I'd need it to pull a bottle from the plastic holder. As I freed one bottle I handed it over to Sara.

"Is there anyone else inside that could use a cold drink?" I asked, holding up the remaining two bottles, as I furrowed my brow awaiting Sara's response.

Sara finished taking a long drink of water and then she returned the cap to the bottle. "No, it's just me and the movers for now. Otherwise it would be my husband Greg, but he'll remain in Atlanta for another four to six more weeks before he finally joins me here."

I smiled at Sara and handed her the remaining two bottles that were still in the plastic holder. "Well, then perhaps you might want to hold onto these two bottles; put them in your fridge for later. Also, I'm free all day long if there is anything I could do to help you in there."

Sara took the other bottles of water and smiled warmly. "Cat, you are a godsend. It has just been terrible for me since I got here about six o'clock last night and everything is in utter chaos. My husband was supposed to get the darn utilities turned on before I arrived, but he forgot. I drove more than eight hundred miles on Friday to get here to meet the movers and he forgot - after I reminded him twice. Can you believe the moron forgot?"

Sara's unexpected condemnation of her husband caused me to chuckle and then I brandished a huge smile, as my hostess continued with her tales of woe, unabated. I already knew that I was going to really like this woman and I was hoping that we might even become close friends.

"Now I have to survive the whole weekend without electricity or water," she went on. "I can't keep any food in the house and until this very minute I didn't even have a cold drink. I can't flush the toilet and either a warm or cold bath is out of the question. It's just been terrible and now instead of unpacking and putting stuff away tonight, I'll need to go find a motel room because the house will be totally dark when the sun sets, not to mention hot as hell."