Part 1: The Rivalry between the Haves and the Have-Nots!
I still remember growing up in the seaside City of Middletown: We had two high schools, one 7-11 (that wouldn't card you when you bought beer!) and three churches, but what was really unusually was how this one sleepy town had so many "haves" and "have-nots." This was decades ago, before all the sloganeering about the One Percenters and Occupy Wall Street, but in the seaside City of Middletown, either you were filthy rich - or you were a poor, pathetic working stiff.
My family was... well, we were not filthy rich.
On the east side of town, right alongside the sparkling white seaboard, lived the filthy rich. They had the big, beautiful homes, the big, beautiful yachts - and all the beautiful housewives with the big, beautiful tits. On the other side of town were the poor. Their homes were smaller, their wives' tits were smaller... and instead of yachts, there were motorcycles.
Lots and lots of motorcycles.
The Queen Bee who ruled the city with an iron fist (and manicured French nails) was Mrs. Lacy Lovington, a.k.a. The Empress. She was the wife of the local Mayor - and good Lord, was she BEAUTIFUL! With her long blonde hair, eye-popping cleavage and ultra-curvy figure, she was the epitome of suburbanite sophistication. She always wore the latest fashion - Parisian dresses, Italian heels, Tahitian pearls and Manzoni mink coats (even when it was hot out) - and all these years later, I still remember how she'd tower over me. (Not that I minded; it meant that her freakishly big boobs were eye-level!) With her stiletto heels (and she ALWAYS wore heels) Mrs. Lovington was easily over six-foot, five-inches.
I'll admit it: I masturbated to her. (Hey, ALL the other 18-year-old seniors in my high school class did! Probably most of the teachers, too.) Okay, maybe she had a BIT of a butter-face and a slight double-chin, but the mild hint of pudginess was her only flaw. Trust me, she was a stunner.
She was also the mom of Timmy Lovington - my best friend. We were the same age and had been BFF's since kindergarten.
Mrs. Lovington was president of the PTA, president of the Church of Middletown, president of the School Board, president of Middletown's Special Events Committee... and the president of pretty much everything else she wanted. She had it all - and she also had an archenemy.
Rachel Trovolli.
Lacy Lovington and Rachel Trovolli HATED each other! And that's what the rest of this story is about:
Rachel was a tough-as-nails, pixie-sized brunette from the "wrong side of the tracks" who was more at home shooting pool than sipping Chardonnay at the Middletown Yacht Club. She was in her early 20s and always wore black leather pants, a snug black top, a black leather jacket and jet-black sunglasses. Her biker-boots were also black - with six-inch spiked heels. Her lipstick was bright red and her mascara was heavy, giving her something similar to a "Goth" look, but even if you're not into Goth-babes, there was no denying her beauty.
She had the world's sexiest smile. Like she was sharing a devilish secret with you - and you alone!
Rachel moved into Middletown a few years earlier, when her Dad (or maybe it was her uncle?) took a job at the construction yard. Almost immediately, Rachel was turning heads and dropping jaws. Maybe it was because of her tight tops, bold makeup and bad-girl attitude - or maybe it was because of how crazy-sexy she looked when she slammed back a few shots of Jack Daniels while kicking your ass at pool - but Rachel quickly became the most lusted-after girl in town.
If we weren't jerking-off to Lacy Lovington, we were doing the Five Knuckle Shuffle to Rachel Trovolli.
One night, Mrs. Lovington overheard Timmy and me talking about how sexy Rachel was. The tall, busty MILF glowered at us and snidely retorted, "You think that dark-haired little tramp is actually good-looking?! She's a shapeless twig with gaudy makeup! Furthermore, her REAL hair-color isn't even dark brown - it's light blonde! I heard it at the hair salon! And I'll bet you anything she stuffs her bra! You can tell! Hmmph!"
I was speechless, because until that moment I hadn't realized how jealous Mrs. Lovington was of Rachel. After all, the telltale sign of a woman's jealousy is when she belittles another woman's looks... and in my teenage mind, how could a woman as beautiful as Mrs. Lovington be jealous of anyone?
In hindsight, the writing was on the wall: ALL women are insecure, and let's face it, Mrs. Lovington was getting... older. Maybe late 30s, early 40s? And I noticed from Timmy's family photos, as Mrs. Lovington had matured, her hips had grown wider, her curves had grown fuller, and her outfits had become more layered. But back then, I was still a kid - I honestly didn't know any better.
The feud began with catty name-calling: Mrs. Lovington would demean Rachel whenever possible, calling her a "tramp" or a "slut" in a voice loud enough to be heard by EVERYONE. At first Rachel ignored her. But finally she responded by walking right up to Mrs. Lovington at the Middletown Thanksgiving Festival, where the glamorous MILF was showing off her new designer dress. All the important people in town were hovering around her.
"What a pretty dress, Lacy! I didn't realize they made them plus-sized!" Rachel purred.
Mrs. Lovington turned beet-red! But Rachel wasn't done:
"Hey, let me know when you get a zoning permit for that big ass of yours! I'm looking for a place to park my Harley. Well, see ya!"
Everyone tried to stifle their laughter, but you could still hear the snickering ricochet like rim-shots! Mrs. Lovington turned even redder and placed her hands over her butt. (Personally, I didn't know what Rachel was talking about: Sure, Mrs. Lovington's butt was bigger than normal, but to me it looked round, firm and perfect. I LOVED her ass!)
Christmas break was when the feud flew into overdrive. Two of Mrs. Lovington's relatives came to Middletown for their annual visit - Abby the sex-kitten and "mature" Yvette. A.K.A., the bitch-cousins.
Abby and Yvette were local legends. High school boys, college boy - it didn't matter. Every red-blooded male DREAMED of getting in their pants!
But none ever did.
They were older than Timmy and me and TOTAL snobs. We HATED them! Abby looked sort of similar to Mrs. Lovington: She had the same sexy hips, buxom frame and heaving cleavage, but with red hair instead of blonde. (We called her "arrogant Abby" behind her back, because her ego was the only thing bigger than her tits!) Yvette was prim and fussy, and had one of those expressions that seemed to convey how unimpressed she was with everything. Her big thing was bragging about how "mature" she was - and how Timmy and me were a pair of whiny little babies.
Still, the cousins were both gorgeous - and they never failed to dress to the nines. Abby mimicked her aunt's style and wore beautiful clothes that accentuated her large bust and rollercoaster-curves. She was so preoccupied with her looks; Abby never met a mirror she didn't like! Yvette wore less-revealing clothes that encouraged her firm, perky tits to pop right out of her torso. And whereas Abby typically dressed like a 20-something socialite who belonged in a swanky Manhattan nightclub, Yvette preferred to dress like a business executive in her early 30s - she called it the "sexy professional vixen" look.
Well, a high school senior was throwing a party, and Abby and Yvette dropped by to check it out (probably because they ran out of things to belittle). Most of us were wearing your typical high school clothes: jeans, t-shirts, and whatever else we could dig-up. Abby and Yvette, on the other hand, were dressed like they were walking the red carpet of a Hollywood movie premier!
A buddy of ours - Nedley Nelson, a 19-year-old dropout from the poor side of town - asked one of the cousins out on a date. (I forget which one.) What I DO remember is how Abby and Yvette laughed in his face! I had never seen anyone act so rude! Then they starting going back and forth, discussing what a pathetic LOSER he was:
"Look at his clothes! Hello? Like, shop at the Salvation Army much?"
"Like, totally! And nice hairstyle, homo! That bowl-cut totally says, 'I'm poor and my Mom cuts my hair in the front yard!' What a dork! Take a hike, needle-dick!"
A crowd of us observed the commotion, staring uncomfortably. I'm ashamed to say that none of us had the guts to stand up to them. Looking back, I guess we were afraid they would make fun of us, too... because, let's face it: Our clothes weren't any better...
But Rachel Trovolli wasn't scared. Hell no! She was watching the whole thing while perched on her motorcycle. Hearing enough, Rachel took a final swig of beer, hopped off her Harley and marched right over - flicking her cigarette in the cousins' faces!
