Painting Pearls

*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.Pearls

*.*.*

Priscilla Perez kept the ‘Ho’ smile on her face as she gathered up her clothes and her tips. She kept the smile on her face until she exited the stage. Then she allowed her face to relax.

She hated working the early shift; nothing but old men. And the majority of these old buzzards were cheap. They expected to be able to cop a feel for their measly tips. They expected to be able to rub their gnarled fingers over her sweetly rounded backside for their wrinkled old dollar bills.

“Hear Cotton’s hiring,” Jason, the manager had shrugged when Priscilla had complained about the schedule.

Cotton Blossoms was an ill-disguised front for a whorehouse. It was rumored that the mob ran Cotton Blossoms. Their girls danced, then took customers into private rooms for a fuck. Supposedly, the club took an eighty percent cut of the girls’ earnings. Supposedly; Priscilla didn’t know any girl that worked there, so it was pure supposition, told to her by other girls that worked the Captain’s Table.

Hunter’s Cabin was another Gentlemen’s Club. Their reputation was good and their clientele was a cut above The Captain’s Table. But because Hunter’s Cabin was a ‘Members-Only’ club, full nudity was expected of their dancers. If a customer took a girl into one of the Deer Stands, it was expected that the girl would suck cock.

At least at The Captain’s Table, the girls kept most of their money, and were allowed to set their own rules about what they would and would not do in ‘The Stowaway’ private room. Priscilla dressed in half shirt that had ‘The Captain’s Table’ logo over her left breast, a wrap-around skirt that barely covered her buttocks and pasted a ‘Ho’ smile on her face.

She stayed away from table six. Leroy Burns was sitting at table six, arguing about the Myndee University Blue Jays baseball team with another old buzzard. Leroy Burns had done three tours in ‘Nam and had lost a leg over there. He called Priscilla a ‘yellow slant eyed kooch’ the first time she’d approached his table. He told her he didn’t trust no damned Vietnamese bitch.

“But I’m Filipino,” Priscilla had argued.

“Yeah? And ain’t none of y’all ever lied ’bout what y’all was neither, right?” Leroy had accused.

So, Priscilla avoided table six and smiled sweetly at a morbidly obese man as he complimented her. She cooed and asked if he’d buy her a champagne cocktail.

“Telling you, boy pitching? Ain’t shit,” Leroy was screeching, spittle spraying.

“Boy’s got a ninety five mile an hour fast ball, Burns,” another man said. “Going tell me that ain’t shit?”

“Uh huh, don’t matter how fast throw fucking thing. Walks more than strikes out; piss ass little pansy,” Leroy countered.

Then suddenly, Leroy Burns grabbed his chest, let out a strangled screech and slumped over. Priscilla hurried over, pulled the man to the floor and began CPR. Clarkston County Medical sent out an ambulance and the two paramedics smirked at the sight of an Asian girl, breasts and buttocks barely concealed in her skimpy attire, trying to revive the man.

“Shit. Probably what gave him the heart attack in the first place,” One whispered to the other as they slipped the oxygen mask over Leroy’s face.

“‘Bout give me one,” his partner agreed.

Leroy Burns came to in the hospital, fighting mad. He remained in a foul mood, complaining about his chest hurting where the paramedics had hit him with the paddles. He complained about the food, he complained that someone had taken his cigars away.

Being told that it had been a stripper that had performed CPR on him did give him a slight smile. Until Leroy found out that it had been ‘that little slant eyed yellow kooch’ that had saved his life.

He squawked noisily when Paula Kim came in to take his vitals. With quiet grace, the Asian-American nurse left his room, tuning out his shrill complaints. A moment later, the alarm went off. Paula let another nurse rush into Leroy’s room to check on the patient.

Priscilla Perez let a few tears slide down when she heard that Leroy Burns had passed away. Leroy had been ill-tempered, unfriendly, obnoxious. He was also a child of God, loved by his Heavenly Father.

When Matthew Burns heard of his father’s passing from Buddy Jones, his father’s lawyer, Matthew instructed Buddy to bury his father in the cheapest casket he could fine. Leroy Alan Burns would lie next to Jennifer Amy Burns, Matthew’s mother in Eternal Gardens cemetary; the plot was already paid for.

“The cardboard box the caskets come in? That’s good enough for that horrible, horrible man,” Matthew declared.

“Mattie! That’s your father!” Derek, Matthew’s husband said.

“And the residence, an uh two ten Conway Road?” Buddy asked, unperturbed by Matthew’s declarations.

“Strike a match and burn it to the ground,” Matthew snarled.

“And the contents of same residence?” Buddy asked, unfazed.

“Up in flames,” Matthew insisted. “Let it all burn in hell like it deserves.”

“How ’bout I sell it and send you a check?” Buddy suggested.

“That would be fine, Derek, Matthew’s husband said. “Sorry, hi, this is Derek Singer; Mattie’s husband. Mattie’s out on the porch, sulking right now.”

“And you have his permission to act in his stead?” Buddy asked.

“I’m his spouse,” Derek insisted.

Priscilla loved garage sales, estate sales, yard sales and consignment shops. She had a keen eye for bargains; her one bedroom apartment was testament to that. Her furniture was of exceptional quality and she had not paid full market value on anything in her space. She attended the estate sale of 210 Conway Road and managed to snatch up a 24 inch strand of lavender pearls with matching earrings and a 40 inch rope of white pearls with matching earrings. She bought both for two hundred and fifty dollars.

On a whim, she asked the woman what would be done with the home itself.

“Appraised at seventy nine five; make an offer,” the woman said, then turned to take some money for the box of rusted tools an elderly man was interested in, over the objections of his wife.

Priscilla looked again at the house. It was a wooden structure among other wooden structures. 212 Conway Road was also for sale, as was 216 and 209 Conway Road. 208, the house to the left of 210 Conway Road was obviously a rental; there were three cars in the driveway, and three young men standing on the front porch, drinking beer, even though it was only ten thirty in the morning.

Safely in her apartment, Priscilla accessed her bank account. She had a substantial nest egg; she had very few expenses. Rent, utilities, health and car insurance were the bulk of those expenses. Priscilla allowed herself few frivolities.

Priscilla hated dancing, hated taking her clothes off in front of nasty men. She hated going into the Stowaway room, letting those disgusting men touch her flesh. But she had to admit, the money was good. On an average day, she made between five to seven hundred dollars, except when ass hole Jason put her on the early shift.

She knew Jason put her on that shift in an effort to manipulate her into fucking him. That was a trick of his; he would put a girl on three or four early shifts. When they complained, he would smirk and say, maybe if they were nice to him, he would be nice to them.

Priscilla wasn’t about to be nice to Jason. The early shift still earned two to three hundred dollars a day.

“You go to college,” Carmen Perez, Priscilla’s mother had insisted.

Priscilla knew she wasn’t cut out for college. She’d barely squeaked by at Hattie caroway High School. She wasn’t stupid; she just didn’t like school.

In an effort to persuade Priscilla to go to college, Carmen kicked her eighteen year old daughter out of her home. Priscilla knew she wouldn’t be able to support herself on her salary from Zydeco Doughnuts, so enrolled in Myndee’s Vo-Tech School, studying to become an Administrative Assistant. The commercials made it look quite glamorous. You dressed well, did exciting work for well-dressed, handsome professionals.

Soon Priscilla realized she’d never be able to study, work, and support herself for longer than two, three months. Her mother wasn’t appeased; Vo-Tech was not college. So Priscilla started dancing at The Captain’s Table and attending classes when she could; the Vo-Tech was willing to be flexible with her.

When she managed to get her certificate of completion from the Vo-Tech, Priscilla soon found out that Myndee, Arkansas did not have very many places that needed an Administrative Assistant. Further, she found out that when prospective employers learned she danced at The Captain’s Table, they assumed that she was a whore. They expected her to be a whore for them. This expectation came with a job that had very few benefits, and a salary just above minimum wage.

So, Priscilla returned to dancing. She studied the classified ads on-line, put in applications, hoping for the day she could tell Jason to stick his job up his very wide ass.

“Seventy nine five, huh?” Priscilla smirked as she looked at the Gold Standard Real Estate listings.

212 Conway listed for sixty seven eight. 216 Conway said it was a steal at sixty two. 209 was asking seventy three nine. Priscilla saw that 212 and 216 had been on the market for one hundred and four days and one hundred and ninety days respectively. 209 had only been on the market for twenty four days.

Priscilla called Buddy Jones’s assistant, Shirley Fremin. Shirley Fremin had been the woman in charge of the estate sale.

“Ms. Fremin, this is Priscilla Perez,” she said. “I was at your estate sale earlier and asked about the home?”

“Hmm? Oh, two ten Conway?” Shirley asked. “Yes, we’ve had quite a few people asking about it.”

“How do I make an offer? Do I put it in writing? Email it?” Priscilla interrupted Shirley’s sales spiel.

Shirley gave Priscilla the address of their office. Priscilla looked again at her bank account, looked at the other three listings on the two hundred block alone and then looked to see that there were nine other homes for sale in a three block radius.

Her bank had a small ‘calculator’ on their web site that let her quickly do a mortgage approximation. Priscilla put in how much she was paying each month in rent and smiled.

Priscilla ate lunch, then dressed for another day’s work at The Captain’s Table. She’d had three days of early shift, and finally had a late shift tonight. On a whim, she put the forty inch rope of pearls around her neck. The luminescent white pearls looked good against her golden brown skin.

Shirley Fremin smiled when the young Asian woman entered the office. She vaguely remembered the attractive girl from the estate sale; the girl had bought some jewelry. She’d also been one of three people that had asked about the house itself.

“Yes, yes, I believe I’d told you it had appraised at um, seventy nine five?” Shirley smiled.

House across the street is also a three bedroom, two bath home, and has an in ground swimming pool,” Priscilla smiled, showing all her teeth. “They’re asking seventy two. House next door’s asking sixty seven and one down the street’s asking sixty two. One next door’s been on the market for four months now, next one over’s been on the market for six, and one across the street’s been on the market for a month.”

“I uh, well, yes, but…” Shirley stammered, caught off guard.

“One across the street’s been updated. One down the street has all new kitchen appliances and that’s a new roof,” Priscilla continued. “Two ten Conway? I bet those are the original faucets; that home was built in Nineteen sixty four. And there’s no telling when that roof was put on.”

Priscilla paused for a moment. She’d planned on offering fifty five thousand. Instead, she wrote out forty five thousand, signed and dated the paper, and handed it to Shirley.

“This, that’s an insult!” Shirley sputtered, looking at the figure.

“No. It’s a legitimate offer. Cash,” Priscilla stated. “Please make sure Mr. Jones gets it.”

“He will,” Buddy Jones said, entering the small office from his own office.

“But, it’s almost half…” Shirley sputtered as Buddy took the paper from her hand.

Dancing that night, Priscilla put her ‘Ho’ smile on her face. She kept her pearls on; the strand looked quite fetching as it dangled down over her 29C breasts. The pearls looked brazen, slutty as she squatted, allowing the long rope to drape over her red satin covered crotch.

At the end of the shift, Priscilla checked the new schedule Jason had posted in the locker room. She was off the next day; Priscilla frowned at that; Fridays were usually good days at the bar since it was pay day for many in the area. And Jason had her working Saturday’s early shift. Saturdays, most of the men that came in were there to watch the Myndee’s Blue Jays baseball and eat wings. They weren’t there to tip the girls. But Priscilla knew better than to complain. Jason would just leer at her and tell her to be nice to him, he’d be nice to her.

One month later, Priscilla was cleaning her apartment when her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the phone number, but it was a local number.

“Hello?” she answered warily.

“Ms. Perez? This is Buddy Jones. Are you still interested in two ten Conway Road?” Buddy asked.

“Hmm, that’s the three bedroom, yes, I think so,” Priscilla feigned disinterest.

As Buddy had told Derek, Matthew Burns’ spouse, no one had expressed much interest in the home; there were twelve others for sale within a five block radius, one of which had been on the market for nearly eight months. They had one legitimate offer in writing, but it was fairly low.

“Uh huh, and how much will we have to pay to just let it sit there?” Derek had said. “Sell it. As is, no warranty, they pay all closing costs.”

“Who do I make the check out to?” Priscilla asked, already pulling up her bank’s web site on her phone.

Finally, the big day arrived and the movers emptied Priscilla’s apartment and brought it all to 210 Conway Road. They were efficient and polite and moved quickly.

While the movers worked, the five occupants of 208 Conway Road stood around and watched. Priscilla couldn’t help but smirk; it was apparent that they were students of the local university. Two of the young men had on Myndee University tee shirts, the overly endowed blonde girl had on a Myndee University sweat shirt with the sleeves torn off, and the slender red headed girl wore a Blue Jays ball cap.

Priscilla waved to the five young adults. The blond man posed and preened, smiling with a self-confident swagger. The morbidly obese young man waved, pushing his greasy hair back, the third young man stared vacantly at Priscilla. The red head gave a smile and wave and the blonde actually turned her back on Priscilla.

“You go to college?” Carmen Perez asked when Priscilla called to invite her mother to see her new home.

“No, Mother,” Priscilla admitted.

“Bye-bye,” Carmen sang out and disconnected the call.

“But, uh, should see the college students right next door,” Priscilla said to the dead air. “Now, those college students are some real winners, hear Mother?”

Priscilla, ‘Delilah’ as she was known to the customers of The Captain’s Table used her long strand of beads, running the strand between her legs, pressing the strand tightly against her black satin covered crotch. She ran the strand up and down her body, ran the beads over her breasts, between her breasts, smiling her fake smile.

When she’d worn her rope of real pearls, the reception had been positive. Priscilla estimated she’d pulled in nearly two hundred dollars more in tips that night. The next day, she’d stopped off at a small arts and crafts store and purchased white glass beads, slightly larger than her real pearls and made herself a sixty inch strand; she didn’t want to chance damaging, or worse yet, losing her real pearls.

Leaving the bar early in the morning, Priscilla nearly drove to her apartment. At the last moment, she remembered she now had a home and drove to 210 Conway Road.

She almost drove past the house; it was a weathered white wooden house among other weathered white wooden houses. There was a streetlight in front of 206 Conway and a streetlight in front of 212 Conway, leaving her home in darkness. Thankfully, when the garage door slowly went up, it caused the interior light of the garage to come on.

Walking from garage to bedroom, she smiled. Her home. At just twenty years of age, she Priscilla Perez was a home-owner.

The next morning, Priscilla went onto the small concrete pad that formed the miniscule back porch, yoga pad under her arm. She looked around; there was an eight foot tall wooden fence enclosing the back yard. Leroy Burns had put the fence up just to piss off Tom Jensen; the neighbor directly behind the home. It was a good, sturdy fence. Between each one by six board, the builder had nailed a one by two inch strip, leaving no gaps whatsoever.

Priscilla stripped off her tee shirt and shorts and moved from pose to pose, completely nude. Her ankle length black hair was piled on top of her head; she usually tied it up like that to keep it out of her way as she exercised.

An hour later, golden brown skin glistening with sweat, Priscilla gathered her mat and shorts and tee shirt and let herself into her home. She smiled as she closed the sliding glass door; her home.

“Need to change out these appliances,” Priscilla thought as she prepared her breakfast.

“Need to get a better tub,” Priscilla thought as she took a leisurely bath.

“Need to get a better job,” Priscilla thought when Jason called, begging her to come cover the early shift.

When Pricilla pulled out of the garage, the blonde next door was outside. She pointedly looked away when Priscilla waved.

“Oh, ooh, that really hurt, stuck up cunt,” Priscilla said aloud as she drove away.

Pricilla let Jason know she wasn’t happy; she was supposed to be off today. Then she hurried to get dressed to go on the stage. The DJ announced Delilah was in the house and she strutted onto the small stage, sixty inch strand of pearls dangling down.

“Damn, love what you do with them pearls,”” Jason admitted after her set.

“Uh huh,” Priscilla said, zeroing in on an old man that was staring intently at her.

It was still daylight when she arrived home. The blond man and the freakishly tall young man were in the front yard, playing Frisbee. Priscilla did not wave to them. She did smirk when the blond man intentionally-accidentally struck her car with the plastic disc. She didn’t acknowledge him when he ran up to retrieve the Frisbee.

There was a small sole-proprietorship hardware store a few blocks away, on Roselawn Way. Priscilla despised the big box stores; they had little leeway when it came to pricing. Small mom and pop stores, Priscilla found she could usually get a deal. And the proprietor or manager usually knew what the hell they sold in their store, unlike some kid that got a week of training and then were turned loose on the floor of the large chain stores.

“Grass is dead or dying; yard looks like crap,” Priscilla said. “And honestly? I don’t feel like cutting it.”

“So what you thinking?” Chad Campion asked.

“Tear it all up? Put in ground cover?” Priscilla asked, eyes firmly glued to a claw foot tub display.

“See you like that,” Chad smiled. “And look. Looks like an old time tub, don’t it? But. Ever see one them old tubs with Jacuzzi action?”

“How hard is it to put in?” Priscilla asked, imagining herself luxuriating in the beautiful tub.

“Going need a plumber. Internet will tell you, ‘aw you can put this in yourself’ but believe me, you’re going want someone knows what he’s doing. Oh. Or she’s doing.”

Priscilla took a picture of the tub, then talked with Chad about her idea of putting in ground cover. She bought a tiller, opting to buy his floor model at a reduced price, a spade, several pallets of star jasmine ground cover, and some pebbled stepping stones, as well as black plastic bordering. She also contracted to have a truck load of loam delivered the following morning.

“Ma’am, you, you’re not going get this all there in that,” Chad said, looking at Priscilla’s sub-compact automobile. “Tell you what; I can run it out to you, um, how’s eight sound?”

“And that. That’s why I buy local,” Priscilla smiled.

Buying local or not, Priscilla did go on-line and looked up the tub. She saw that Chad wasn’t trying to gouge his customers; he was only a few hundred dollars higher than a discount dealer. And adding in shipping, Chad was fairly in line with the pricing of the discount dealership.

Chad showed up a few minutes after eight pm and helped Priscilla put everything into the back yard. Looking around, he agreed with Priscilla; the yard did look like crap. But, he pointed out, so did everyone else’s yard.

Seven thirty in the morning, Priscilla started up her tiller and chewed her way through the dead and dying grass of her front yard. The blonde woman that lived at 208 Conway Road came out and screamed obscenities at Priscilla; didn’t she realize what time it was? The young woman’s words were not audible over the grunting gasoline powered motor or the clashing and thrashing of the tiller blades. Priscilla ignored the unhappy blonde and kept working.

The load of loam showed up while Priscilla was completing the front yard. Priscilla saw that she would also need a wheelbarrow and called Chad. He made a choking sound and apologized for not thinking of that; he would run one out to her in a few minutes.

Priscilla was tired, sweaty; she wanted to stop, go inside and take a shower. But she also wanted to get as much done as possible; thankfully, she had the late shift that evening.

“Yeah, them Chinese? They’re all industrious as shit,” the blond man said to his friends; all the occupants of 208 Conway Road had come out to watch as Priscilla labored.

“I’m Filipino, not Chinese, dumb shit,” Priscilla muttered.

The three males were watching Priscilla’s every move because she was outside in very short Daisy Duke Shorts and tiny black bikini top. The red head was outside, sketching in her large sketch pad. The blonde was outside because the three men were outside.

Chad pulled up in his store’s van. He opened the back doors of the van and showed Priscilla the three wheelbarrows she had to choose from. He smiled when she pulled out a wad of singles and fives to pay for the new wheelbarrow.

“Oh, hey! Think I recognize this fiver here,” Chad joked and she smirked, shaking her head.

“Uh huh, I know I’ve never seen you at The Captain’s Table,” Priscilla said.

Priscilla did as much as she could, filling in much of the front yard before exhaustion and hunger and the brutal sun drove her inside. She thought of calling in and asking Jason for the night off, but knew that he’d somehow use it to exact some revenge later on down the line.

She made it through her shift, made it home, and made it to bed. When her alarm roused her at six the next morning, Priscilla nearly stayed in bed. But, she had a back yard to tend to. She groaned, staggered outside, nude, and did her yoga poses. After an hour, she did feel better, did feel more energized.

At seven thirty, Priscilla started her tiller. She almost giggled, imagining how upset Darlene must be. Priscilla had learned that Darlene was the name of the unfriendly blonde woman. The immense tub of sweaty lard was named Henry, and the blond man that thought he was such hot shit was named Zeke.

The tall, gaunt man was named Frank; Priscilla had nicknamed him ‘Lurch’ because he reminded her of that character from the movie ‘The Addams Family.’ But she still did not know the name of the slender red head.

“Need get that out of here; thing’s dead,” Priscilla muttered as she worked around the red bud tree.

And, again, when she started wheeling loads of loam from front yard to back yard, Priscilla found that she had an audience. She was sure that her Daisy Duke shorts and black bikini top were part of the reason. She was also sure that part of the reason for their rapt attention was that none of these college students had ever worked a minute in their lives. So, someone working was a real curiosity to them.

By the time the noon sun drove her inside, Priscilla had most of the loam spread out. After a hot shower, Priscilla fixed her lunch. She then called her new buddy Chad and asked him who he would recommend to remove a red bud tree from her property.

“That dead thing in your back yard?” Chad asked. “Tell you what; I’ll do it for two hundred if you can wait until Sunday.”

“And I want three crepe myrtles for the front yard,” Priscilla decided.

“Crepe, guess what? I got three of them right here,” Chad said. “Should I drop off your new tub with them?”

Priscilla laughed and Chad chuckled. She promised she would think very seriously about that tub and ended the call.

After a brief nap, Priscilla looped two twenty seven inch strands of white beads around her twenty six inch waist. They rested on her hips, calling attention to her golden skin, her red thong panties. Looking in the bedroom mirror, Priscilla wondered about getting her dark brown nipples pierced, thought of threading hoops with pearl beads through her nipples. Her sixty inch rope of beads went around her neck and she put her real pearl earrings into her ears.

Again, dancing on the stage, Priscilla, Delilah ‘masturbated’ with the long string of beads, rubbing her satin covered crotch with the beads, kneeling and running the strand over her breasts, between her legs. She smiled her ‘Ho’ smile as she accepted the sweaty, crumpled dollar bills from the customers.

Ground cover planted, crepe myrtles planted, stepping stones arranged, Priscilla still wasn’t pleased with the appearance of her home. The house to her left, the rental home, and the house to her right, which was still for sale now had a sign announcing that the price had been reduced were the same color of washed out white as her home. Up and down the street, most of the homes were tired, washed out colors.

“Okay, Handy Sandy, what you got in mind now?” Chad smiled when Priscilla walked into his store.

“I’ll take that tub; who would you recommend to put it in?” Priscilla said, pulling out her debit card.

“Buckmeyer,” Chad said as he punched in the ticket number of the tub.

“And I want to paint my house. What do you think?” Priscilla asked, wandering toward the paint aisle.

“You? Or hire someone to do it?” Chad called out.

“Me,” Priscilla said, already picking up a five gallon bucket of ‘Pink Pearl’ enamel.

“Don’t,” Chad said. “You’ll need to scrape off the old paint, sand down the rough areas, patch it, then prime it, and then finally get around to paining it. Once you get started? It’s not like you can stop and say ‘this is too hard.’ And I guarantee you, any painter you call out after you’ve started? They’ll charge you extra to ‘fix’ your mistakes. Even if there aren’t any mistakes; they’ll invent them.”

“You talked me into it,” Priscilla said, also setting aside a five gallon bucket of ‘Oyster Shell’ enamel.

Bucky Buckmeyer gave Priscilla a price to pull out the old tub and install the new tub. He recommended a friend to run the 220 volt line that the tub required for the Jacuzzi portion, as well as another friend to do the tile work underneath the new tub.

“Go ahead,” Priscilla sighed; Chad had neglected to tell her about all the extra odds and ends this tub would take

Scraping was hard, hot work. Sanding was hard, hot work. Priscilla would start off at seven o’clock every morning, dressed in white coveralls, long black hair underneath her painter’s cap. Usually before ten in the morning, she’d be down to grey flannel shorts and tee shirt. On the days she worked the early shift, she would stop right before eleven o’clock, put everything away, then drink a protein drink, shower and race to The Captain’s Table.

When she had the late shift, Priscilla sat outside and drank her protein drink, then wearily work for another two or three hours. On the days she was off, Priscilla would strip off the shorts and tee shirt after her lunch and continue to work dressed in her black thong bikini.

“Telling you, them Chinese? Man, they don’t never stop,” Zeke informed his friends as the quintet watched Priscilla work.

“I am not Chinese, you dumb shit,” Priscilla thought as she applied the soft pink color to her home.

The door, the wooden shutters and other wood trim was painted the oyster shell gray. Priscilla decided to do the overhang and the garage door in Arctic White and the crisp, clean color was a pleasing contrast to the pink and gray.

The day after she applied the last bit of paint to the exterior, Priscilla discovered that her neighbors were not faring too well. Sitting in her recliner, sipping her protein drink while watching the local news, Priscilla heard the sound of water running. A check of the two bathrooms, the kitchen, and the washing machine did not reveal the source of the sound of running water.

Stepping outside, Priscilla checked the outside faucet in the back yard. It was not running.

Checking the outside faucet next to her garage showed a hose running from faucet to underneath the fence into her neighbor’s back yard. Priscilla angrily twisted the faucet off, unhooked the hose, and jerked the faucet handle off of the faucet. She then stomped down on the end of the hose, cracking the plastic connection.

“Bitch,” Darlene mouthed as Priscilla backed out of her garage later that day.

“Yes, Mother, I really should go to college,” Priscilla smirked, waving to Darlene.

As she drove east on Conway Road, the woman that lived at 201 Conway waved Priscilla to a stop. Priscilla lowered her window, smiling at the attractive older woman.

“Listen, love what you did with your house,” the woman said.

“Well, thank you,” Priscilla smiled.

“How much to do my house?” the woman asked, pointing toward her two bedroom bungalow.

“Let me work up a plan and I’ll get back to you,” Priscilla promised.

While on a break at the Captain’s Table, Priscilla called Chad and asked him what he thought she should charge. Chad helped her construct a working budget; materials, time, travel. His strongest bit of advice, don’t sell it too cheap. Serious customers won’t balk at a reasonable price; not so serious customers will take advantage of a price that’s too low.

“It’s got to be worth your while,” Chad advised. “Oops, got a customer; got to go.”

Priscilla was exhausted when she got home. But she gathered all of her receipts together, using the calculator function on her laptop to work it up. She then went on-line and ‘borrowed’ a contract template as well as an itemized proposal budget.

Dr. Patricia Beard looked at the proposal that Priscilla printed out, pursing her lips. She looked at Priscilla, looked into Priscilla’s unreadable eyes.

“Well, this is a little more than I’d planned to spend,” the university professor finally said.

“That is fine, ma’am,” Priscilla said.

“Wait a minute. That’s it? No negotiating?” Dr. Beard called out when Priscilla started to walk away.

“Dr. Beard, I’m already giving you a ten percent discount; the ‘Good Neighbor’ discount,” Priscilla said. “You say it’s more than you’re willing to spend and it is a little less than I’m willing to take. So, no ma’am, there’s no room for negotiation.”

Two days later, Dr. Beard flagged Priscilla and agreed to Priscilla’s price. Priscilla called Jason and quit her job at The Captain’s Table.

“Fine, bitch, don’t come crying needing a job,” Jason snapped.

Priscilla and Dr. Beard agreed on colors and Priscilla and she signed the contract. With twenty five percent deposit in hand, Priscilla bought the paint she would need.

The next morning, Priscilla woke at five thirty. The air was hot, heavy. The ceiling fan in her bedroom was pushing the hot air around.

Head pounding from the heat, Priscilla sluggishly made her way to the hall thermostat. It read ’87 degrees’ and the vent was not blowing any air, although the AC was set to seventy four degrees.

Priscilla shut the unit off; there was no use running it if it wasn’t blowing cold air. Then she heard a frantic knocking on her front door.

“Yes?” Priscilla called out. “Who is it?”

“Ma’am? It’s Carrie. From next door?” Priscilla heard a thin voice call out.

“Carrie! What the fuck?” Priscilla heard another voice call out from a distance.

“Ma’am, please, Zeke, he seen me,” Carrie called out frantically.

“God damned bitch, told you,” Priscilla heard Zeke’s voice as she fumbled with the dead bolt.

She opened the door and the thin red head from next door rushed in. Priscilla squealed and slammed the door shut just as Zeke rushed up the concrete steps in front of her door.

“God damned bitch; fucking kill you,” Zeke screamed, savagely kicking the door.

“Yes, my neighbor; he’s trying to break into my house,” Priscilla screamed when the 911 operator answered.

“Henry, get your fat ass over here,” Priscilla, and the 911 operator heard.

The door actually shuddered as Henry brought his immense weight against the door.

A police cruiser was only three blocks away and was dispatched to 210 Conway Road. Splintering was heard as Henry again rushed the door. Thankfully, the sound of the cruiser’s sirens caused Zeke and Henry to run to 208 Conway Road.

Carrie Hebert told the two police officers that they’d been without utilities for the past week. That morning, Zeke and Henry had come up with the bright idea to steal the copper from their own air conditioning unit, the unit of 212, 216, and 209 Conway Road. Seeing the small amount of copper that the thefts had actually netted them, they decided to steal the copper from 210 Conway Road as well.

“That why it’s so hot in here?” one officer asked.

“And my water,” Priscilla remembered. “Y’all hooked up a hose to my faucet other day.”

“Ma’am, I swear, I had nothing do with that,” Carrie protested.

The officers radioed in for another cruiser. Zeke and Henry were led from the house in handcuffs. Henry was put into one cruiser, Zeke into the second cruiser. Darlene and Frankie stood, watching everything in stunned fascination.

Robertson’s AC couldn’t send anyone out until Monday. Sighing, Priscilla dressed in bikini, painter’s coveralls and painter’s cap. She then carried everything to 201 Conway Road.

“My, you do believe in getting an early start,” Dr. Beard grumbled when Priscilla began the task of scraping off nearly fifty five years of paint.

“Yes ma’am,” Priscilla said cheerfully, although she didn’t feel very cheerful.

She worked until eleven. Then, dressed in bikini and grubby tennis shoes, Priscilla walked to her home.

Opening the front door of her home, Priscilla gasped when a wave of overheated air rushed her. She quickly grabbed a protein drink and an apple and sat outside.

“Mother, the air conditioning’s out at my house,” Priscilla begged her mother when Carmen answered her phone.

“Oh? Maybe you go to college, you don’t have that problem?” Carmen suggested.

“Mother, what’s college got to do with my AC being out?” Priscilla asked.

“You go to college, they tell you how not to break it,” Carmen suggested.

“Mother, some idiots broke it, stealing the copper out of it,” Priscilla snapped, exasperated with the headstrong woman. “Oh. And they were college students.”

“That’s too bad,” Carmen said, unyielding.

“Good bye Mother,” Priscilla sighed.

By four o’clock, Priscilla had done all she could physically do, but she’d accomplished a good deal thus far. She told Dr. Beard she’d be back in the morning and Dr. Beard did request that it be after eight o’clock.

“I cannot, I am not staying in this house,” Priscilla gasped when she was again buffeted with the overheated air of her home.

She jumped into a cold shower, quickly rinsing the day’s sweat and flakes of paint from her skin. Then she wiggled into bra, panties and half tee shirt and Daisy Duke Shorts. She stuffed a change of clothes, a long tee shirt to sleep in, and red monokini and clean coveralls, Priscilla dashed to the garage.

Backing out of the sweltering garage, Priscilla looked over at 208 Conway Road. If it was that hot in her own home after almost twelve hours without air conditioning, what must it be like next door?

Carrie hadn’t needed to come tell Priscilla what had happened to the air conditioning. She could have let Priscilla be completely unaware of what had happened. But the girl had knocked, tattled on her friends. Priscilla decided she couldn’t leave the girl in the hot rental house.

Priscilla put her car in park and walked across her strip of ground cover then the scrub of dead and dying grass. She reached out to ring the doorbell, then laughed at herself.

“Duh, doorbells don’t work if there’s no electricity,” she said as she knocked on the door.

Frankie opened the door and stared at Priscilla, a slightly vacant smile on his face. He didn’t move when Priscilla asked if Carrie was there.

“Frankie, shit, you letting in all kind mosquitos, oh. It’s you,” Darlene complained.

“Carrie. Is she here?” Priscilla said again. “Does he speak English?”

“Carrie! It’s that Chinese woman!” Darlene screamed into the hot, dark home.

“Chinese, oh! Hey,” Carrie said, stepping to the door. “Frankie, damn it, move, huh?”

“Is he on drugs?” Priscilla asked, nodding toward Frankie.

“Needs to be, huh?” Carrie snapped, glaring at the tall, silent man. “What’s up?”

“I’m going get a motel room; there is no way I can stay in my house,” Priscilla said. “Listen, you, go grab some clothes, come with me.”

Carrie disappeared into the dark interior. Priscilla was used to men leering at her, ogling her flesh, but Frankie’s vacant stare made her nervous.

“Where you going?” Darlene demanded to know as Carrie barged out of the house, carrying a small nylon bag. “Huh? Hey, I’m talking to you, Carrie, I’m talking to you.”

In the small car, Priscilla smelled Carrie’s unwashed body. She could even smell Carrie’s unwashed hair and the smell was close to intolerable.

As Priscilla drove to the Home Comfort Inn, Carrie kept up a non-stop chatter. Priscilla was finding it hard to breathe; Carrie stunk. She just muttered ‘uh huh’ and drove.

In the lobby, the clerk regarded the two young girls with suspicion. Priscilla explained that her air conditioner had been damaged and it would be Monday before it could be fixed. The older woman’s face softened considerably.

“And hot like it is? Bet you was ’bout burn up,” the woman said. “Y’all wanting a king sized bed or two doubles?”

“Doesn’t matter as long as it’s got air conditioning,” Priscilla said.

The clerk showed Priscilla where she’d written ‘106’ inside of the envelope flap for the key cards. Priscilla thanked the woman and led Carrie down the hall.

“She didn’t say what room we in,” Carrie said.

“Because there’s others in the lobby, Carrie,” Priscilla said.

She began to wonder if this was a mistake. Carrie did not shut up. Her mouth ran and ran, and got nowhere. Priscilla was used to peace and quiet. She was used to being able to hear herself think.

“How you know this is the right room?” Carrie asked when Priscilla paused at room 106.

“Don’t,” Priscilla shrugged. “But we got start somewhere, right? This one doesn’t work, we’ll try the next one and the next one until we find the right one.”

Priscilla slid the key card in. When the small light blinked green, she opened the door.

“Wow, on the first try!” Carrie marveled.

“Yes, Mother, I really should go to college,” Priscilla shook her head.

Much to Priscilla’s relief, Carrie asked if she could take a shower; it had been four days since they’d had water at the house. Priscilla agreed and Carrie dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The local news was on and Priscilla lay back on the king sized bed and idly watched the two newscasters, a bland looking man and a bland looking woman, both with too much makeup on, chattering back and forth about their plans for the weekend.

“And Honey Bee, the radio personality from K. I. T. N, the kitten that roars will be at Brick’s Pizzeria on Fontenot Road, showing how to make the perfect cheesecake,” the woman prattled.

“Love cheesecake,” her male co-anchor smiled.

“She’ll be at the Brick’s Pizzeria at two thirty tomorrow afternoon. Its five dollars for a piece of cheesecake and the proceeds will go to the Make a Wish Foundation,” the woman said.

The sportscaster was chattering about the stunning defeat of the Myndee Blue Jays by the Connelly Cougars baseball team when the door of the bathroom opened.

“Sorry,” Carrie said, blushing hotly as she came out in a small camisole top and thong panties. “It’s all I got that’s clean.”

“Sorry about what? It’s cute on you,” Priscilla said.

The top revealed spindly pale arms and shoulders with some light freckling. The hem of the top did not reach the waistband of Carrie’s panties; Priscilla saw that Carrie’s belly was very thin, very pale. Her navel was a slit in Carrie’s concave flesh.

Her breasts were mere bumps in her skimpy top; Priscilla guessed that Carrie probably wore a 28A bra, if she wore a bra at all. In the chilled air of their room, Carrie’s nipples were two bullet points in the top.

Carrie’s legs were long, thin, very pale. They looked almost coltish.

“Now, what you like on your pizza?” Priscilla asked, pulling her cell phone out.

The pizza came while Carrie was drying her hair. Priscilla set the pizza onto the table and grabbed the ice bucket.

“Zeke hates Brick’s; don’t know why; I love their sauce,” Carrie enthused when Priscilla returned. “And thank God they got real Coke; hate Pepsi but that’s all Darlene ever gets.”

Priscilla made a show of looking around the small room. She even lifted a corner of the bed spread and peered underneath the bed.

“Well, don’t see neither one them here so I say we get what we want. What you think?” Priscilla said, grabbing a slice of the pizza.

Carrie laughed, a pretty little tittering laugh. Priscilla poured them each a cupful of the cola and Carrie guzzled the drink down.

Eating and drinking did not stop Carrie’s mouth. And she chattered about nothing of any importance.

Priscilla stopped after the fourth piece. Carrie hesitated, looking at Priscilla.

“Go ahead, Carrie, finish it up,” Priscilla said gently. “Why I got us an extra-large. Figured you’d be pretty hungry.”

“Thank you,” Carrie whispered, a single tear forming.

Carrie finished the pizza and also drank more than half of the bottle of cola. Priscilla idly flipped through the channels; there wasn’t much showing on Friday evenings. She dropped the remote onto the bed and went into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, says they got movies,” Carrie called out.

“Good God; do you ever shut up?” Priscilla smiled.

Seeing the wadded up dirty clothes in the corner, Priscilla shook her head. Priscilla would not call herself a ‘neat freak’ but she did believe in putting her things away. Of the many arguments she and her mother may have had, Priscilla’s untidiness was not one of those.

Priscilla exited the bathroom and saw two blonde women kissing one another, large boobs pressed against large boobs. Carrie gave a guilty squeak.

“They uh, there’s free movies with the room,” Carrie said, trying to locate the remote control. “And this is what was on.”

“Hmm? Oh, okay,” Priscilla nodded and located her pajamas. “You want watch that, that’s fine.”

“My sister’s married. To another woman,” Carrie blurted out as the two blondes on the screen swung into a sixty nine.

“Uh huh,” Priscila said, stripping out of her clothing.

“She even has a baby,” Carrie supplied.

“Your sister?” Priscilla asked, watching the two blonde lesbians licking at each other’s pussies.

The action on the screen was obviously fake; the two lovers barely touched one another with their tongues. Their moans were also obviously manufactured groans of pleasure.

Carrie watched as Priscilla pulled on her long tee shirt. Priscilla tore her eyes from the television and looked at Carrie.

“Uh huh, named him Brad; we had an older brother, brad, but he died,” Carrie said as the scene changed and showed two women using vibrators on one another.

“Oh. Sorry for your loss,” Priscilla said, not knowing what else to say.

“Died way before I was born,” Carrie said, now watching the dildo action. “But uh, what you think about that?”

“Well, like you said, happened before you were born,” Priscilla said, slumping back against her pillows.

“No, no, I mean, about my sister and Gracie being married?” Carrie asked, tearing her eyes away from the television again.

“Well, what do YOU think about it?” Priscilla asked as Carrie peered over her shoulder at her.

“I uh, I don’t know, I mean, it’s kind of weird, you know? I mean, Nancy used be living with this guy, and next thing I know, she’s marrying this woman,” Carrie said, face flaming hotly. “I mean, I didn’t even know she was, you know…”

Carrie mouthed the word ‘gay.’ Priscilla smirked and Carrie turned to look at the television again.

“Well, I mean, does it make you uncomfortable? Does it make you think less of her?” Priscilla pressed. “Your sister being gay?”

“I uh, I don’t know,” Carrie whispered.

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I told you I’m gay?” Priscilla asked.

“Where did that come from?” Priscilla asked herself, noticing Carrie’s body tense. “I’ve never even kissed another woman and I’m telling this girl I’m gay?”

“I uh, I mean, I uh, wait. Are you really?” Carrie stammered.

“Am I?” Priscilla asked herself. “Looking at all the dicks I’ve sucked.”

Carrie again looked away from the television and looked at Priscilla. Priscilla did not look at Carrie; she was staring at the ceiling.

“All the dicks I…and hated every God damned minute of it, even Paul,” Priscilla thought, thinking of the young man she’d almost married.

“I uh, well, I mean…” Carrie said and lapsed into silence.

“Mean, THAT shut you up?” Priscilla almost laughed.

“I, uh, it okay I change this?” Carrie asked almost five minutes later.

“Go ahead; I’m not watching it,” Priscilla said softly.

“Ew, oh gross, God! That’s just wrong,” Carrie exclaimed.

Priscilla looked up in time to see a large breasted red head sucking a black cock. Carrie again brought up the menu. Priscilla watched as the small arrow scrolled upward, highlighting the selections.

“And, wonder…” Carrie said, hitting ‘enter’ when ‘Gang Bang’ was highlighted.

They were just in time to see a large breasted brunette using a strap-on cock on a large breasted blonde. A blond man entered the screen and began to fuck the blonde’s mouth with an incredibly large cock. The brunette pulled her cock from the blonde’s gaping pussy and knee-walked behind the man.

“Ugh! Wonder if that’s why Darlene has that…” Carrie grunted as the brunette began to fuck the blond man’s ass with her large strap-on cock.

Carrie nervously looked over her shoulder at Priscilla. Priscilla simply shrugged and lifted the corner of the bedspread.

“Been a long day for me,” Priscilla said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Carrie agreed.

A moment later, Priscilla heard Carrie say, “And thank you so much.”

“Welcome,” Priscilla mumbled.

When she woke at five thirty, the television was still on. And it was showing lesbian action. Priscilla looked over at Carrie. The red head was sleeping peacefully, face only a few inches away.

They were in a large king sized bed; there was no need for Carrie to be so close to Priscilla. She gave a small smile; Carrie was cute when she was asleep. She knew, most girls objected to the word ‘cute’ but it was appropriate here. Carrie wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t beautiful.

Carrie’s ankle length carrot orange hair framed her pale face. From the light of the television, Priscilla could see just a light smattering of freckles on the girl’s pale cheeks. Her eyes, Priscilla knew, were large, light brown eyes underneath a light orange brow. Her nose was slim, almost pointed. Her cheekbones were high, making those large brown eyes look more expressive when they were opened.

Carrie’s lips were soft, pale pink, kissable lips. Her chin had a slight point to it, again, making the girl’s face cute, very expressive.

“And when you sleeping? That mouth isn’t running a hundred miles an hour,” Priscilla thought, slipping out of the bed.

She stripped off her tee shirt and did her yoga in the small space afforded between bed and wall. The room was lighted by the lesbians performing almost silently on the 32″ television.

After her shower, Priscilla pulled on the red monokini, then slipped on her coveralls. She sat quietly at the small table, watching one blonde fisting an Asian woman’s pussy while a second blonde squatted over the Asian’s face.

“Know what? I am gay,” Priscilla thought, watching the lesbian action.

She resisted the urge to masturbate as the scene changed to show a blonde and a brunette kissing. Either the two women were very good actors, or their affection for one another was genuine. Priscilla found their tender kiss to be far more erotic than much of the other pornography she’d watched so far.

At seven thirty, Priscilla gently woke Carrie. Then wished she hadn’t. Carrie popped up and her mouth began chattering.

“There’s a breakfast in the lobby. After that, I’m going to work,” Priscilla said, actually putting her hand over Carrie’s mouth. “I didn’t know if there was somewhere you wanted me to drop you off or what.”

“Breakfast?” Carrie whooped, bounding out of the bed.

The girl dressed quickly, mouth running non-stop. Priscilla checked that she had the room key and gently guided Carrie from the room.

Carrie loaded up a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, cinnamon rolls and whole wheat toast. Sitting for their meal, Priscilla resisted the urge to clamp her hand over Carrie’s mouth. The girl prattled on about wheat toast, white bread, biscuits, English muffins, cinnamon rolls.

Priscilla dropped Carrie off at 208 Conway, then told Carrie to grab her dirty clothes. She used her remote to open the door of her garage.

“Your dirty clothes. Your clothes. Not Frankie, or Zeke, Or Darlene’s,” Priscilla said firmly. “Just yours.”

Even though she had told Priscilla to start after 8:00 am, Dr. Beard was still grumpy when Priscilla began work at 8:30 am. Priscilla ignored the woman; even at 8:30, it was already quite warm.

“Priscilla?” Priscilla heard Carrie’s voice.

“Yes?” Priscilla asked, fighting hard to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“I, they, they ’bout to evict us; I can put some of my stuff in your garage?” Carrie asked, peering up as Priscilla scraped the old paint from the boards.

“Same as the clothes. Yours. Your stuff. Your stuff, not Frankie’s or…” Priscilla said.

At eleven, Priscilla stopped her work and walked to her house. She found that Carrie had put some boxes into the garage, neatly stacked and out of the way. Her washing machine hummed and gurgled. Her dryer thumped and bumped.

“Tennis shoes make a lot of noise,” Carrie apologized.

“I’m going have a protein drink and an apple; want one?” Priscilla said.

They sat on the front steps; the house was a furnace. As they ate, Priscilla heard all about Zeke and Henry; they were still in jail, they had no money for bail. Darlene was pissed off that Carrie was able to wash her clothes and was demanding that Carrie make Priscilla allow Darlene to wash her own clothes. Darlene also wanted Carrie to make Priscilla give Darlene some space in the garage for her own possessions.

“Know what? Maybe if she’d been a little nicer? But, walking around being a hateful bitch whole time? I don’t think so,” Priscilla snapped, swallowing the last of her apple.

“Then you better put the door down,” Carrie informed Priscilla. “She’s planning sneak some of her stuff in minute you got your back turned.”

“Okay. That’s all your stuff?” Priscilla asked, pointing.

“Yeah, well, except for my bed and, dirty like it is? I really don’t want it,” Carrie agreed.

“Hey! Aw, fuck, bitch! You told her, huh?” Darlene screamed as she heard the garage door going down.

“Told me what?” Priscilla asked, face a blank mask. “She said she’s finished in there so I closed it.”

Carrie followed Priscilla back to 201 Conway. She sat underneath a pecan tree and doodled in her sketch pad while Priscilla worked. At one o’clock, Priscilla stripped out of her sweltering coveralls and continued to work in her skimpy monokini. She was now working along the rear portion of the house so felt no hesitation in removing the coveralls.

Even if she’d been in the front of the house, though, Priscilla would have had no pause in removing the hot coveralls. All of her body that needed to be covered was covered by the swimwear.

At three o’clock, Priscilla was beat. Shrugging into her coveralls again, she did not zip the garment as she herded Carrie to her home again.

Carrie transferred clothes from dryer to garage floor and clothes from washer to dryer.

While Carrie tended to her clothing, Priscilla jumped into her shower. The house was sweltering, stuffy. Priscilla did not dawdle; just washed sweat and paint flakes from her skin, quickly washed her hair.

Priscilla took them to Wedges, for deep fat fried sandwiches. Waiting for a table, Carrie’s mouth ran non-stop. Reading over the menu, Carrie’s mouth ran non-stop. Waiting for their meatball marinara and their Italian Stallion sandwiches, Carrie’s mouth ran non-stop.

The arrival of their sandwiches did not cease the chatter. Priscilla smiled; Carrie’s conversations did not require any input from her, other than ‘uh huh’ and ‘oh.’

“By now, Zeke or Darlene would have been screaming at me to shut up,” Carrie confessed as Priscilla paid the bill.

“Does it work?” Priscilla asked, signing the slip and giving it to the cashier.

“Does what work?” Carrie asked as they turned to leave.

“When they scream at you to shut up,” Priscilla asked, taking Carrie’s very small, very slim hand into her own hand.

“I uh, no, not really,” Carrie said, not objecting to Priscilla’s hand in her own. “I mean, yeah, for about a minute, but then I forget and…”

“Then it really wouldn’t make much sense for me to scream at you, now would it?” Priscilla smiled, unlocking her car door.

“No. Not really,” Carrie admitted, buckling up. “I mean, I try, but then I think of something I need to say and then I’m off again.”

“Uh huh,” Priscilla said and drove to the motel.

Carrie asked if she could take a shower and Priscilla nodded. Carrie was amazed that they had fresh towels and new bars of soap and even new bottles of shampoo. Again, Priscilla just nodded and said ‘uh huh’ as Carrie called out this information.

While Carrie was in the shower, Priscilla stripped down and put on her long tee shirt. The local news didn’t have much of interest; the weekend anchors seemed incapable of saying anything unless it was on the Teleprompters in front of their faces.

After the news broadcast, a syndicated showing of a ‘Friends’ sitcom played. Carrie came out of the bathroom, dressed in her camisole top and panties, her normal sleepwear.

Carrie apparently knew the sitcom, knew the episode; she told Priscilla everything Priscilla had never wanted to know about the sitcom and this particular episode.

After the show ended, Carrie asked if they could change the channel; she didn’t really care for what was coming on next. Priscilla shrugged and slid the remote control to the girl.

There were sixty four channels available, sixty one of those in English. And Carrie found nothing worth watching. It took her nearly ten minutes to scroll through all the selections twice.

“Well, what’d you do? At home, I mean? There wasn’t any television with the electricity off, was there?” Priscilla asked when Carrie started on her third trek through the channels.

“Not much, I mean, I’d draw when I could see, oh! And I read; I have a kindle, my sister’s wife gave it to me, I mean, other than being gay, she’s actually really a very sweet woman, but I need charge it, kind of hard charge it when nothing works, right?” Carrie babbled.

Carrie turned, chattering on about Christmas; what her parents had given her, what her brother gave her. She of course had given everyone paintings she’d drawn herself. It wasn’t like she could go shopping; she had no money most of the time. But a painting, that’s something personal.

Priscilla leaned over and kissed Carrie, hard, on her mouth. She grabbed Carrie in a fierce hug and jammed her tongue into Carrie’s open mouth.

Releasing her kiss, Priscilla brought her hand up and lightly stroked Carrie’s face. Priscilla looked into Carrie’s light brown eyes and saw the surprised, shocked look in the girl’s eyes.

Her second kiss wasn’t as hard and demanding. Priscilla’s fingers continued to lightly stroke Carrie’s face as her lips pushed against Carrie’s lips. When she opened her mouth, Carrie took the opportunity to jam her tongue into Priscilla’s mouth.

“Mm, oh,” Carrie moaned, her small hand reaching up and gently touching Priscilla’s face.

They kissed for several moments. When they broke apart, Priscilla again looked into Carrie’s eyes. Carrie sat, panting slightly. But she did not start to ramble.

Carrie leaned forward and softly kissed Priscilla’s lips. Her small hand continued to stroke Priscilla’s face. Then Carrie’s hand dropped to Priscilla’s throat. From Priscilla’s throat, Carrie’s fingers softly traced along Priscilla’s left shoulder.

“Sometimes?” Carrie whispered, breaking the silence. “I close my eyes, try to see what I can ‘see’ with my fingers. You know, like I’m blind or something.”

“Is that what you’re doing right now?” Priscilla whispered.

“Uh huh,” Carrie whispered.

Carrie’s fingers again touched Priscilla’s cheek. She kissed Priscilla softly, then traced her fingers lightly over Priscilla’s face, Priscilla’s forehead, the ridge of her brow, her eyelids, her nose. Carrie softly kissed Priscilla’s lips again, then continued with her blind exploration of Priscilla’s beautiful face.

When Carrie’s fingers trailed from Pricilla’s ears to Priscilla’s throat, Priscilla moved away. Carrie opened her eyes in surprise and opened her mouth to speak.

Priscilla kissed Carrie’s lips, to silence whatever rambling monologue was about to burst out of Carrie’s mouth. Then Priscilla wiggled out of her tee shirt. Nude, Priscilla picked up Carrie’s hands and placed them where they had been moments earlier. With another kiss, Priscilla shut her eyes.

Carrie smiled, kissed Priscilla’s lips, then closed her own eyes. She again began her blind exploration of Priscilla’s throat and shoulders.

“That’s the difference between boys and women,” Priscilla thought as Carrie’s hands went from shoulders to upper arms.

Anytime she’d exposed her flesh to Paul, or to any other boy she’d dated, fucked, they’d not bothered with throat, or shoulders, or upper arms. Paul’s hands rarely ventured anywhere except to Priscilla’s breasts, her pussy, her ass.

“You work out?” Carrie asked softly, exploring Priscilla’s firm biceps. “Oh! Carrie! Spent whole day watching her do hard work! Never mind, stupid question.”

When Carrie’s hands did reach Priscilla’s breasts, her soft touches had Priscilla panting. Priscilla fought against the urge to touch herself.

“Augh!” Priscilla cried out and shuddered as Carrie’s fingernails raked over her throbbing nipples.

“I know. Sometimes? Can make myself come just by pulling my nips,” Carrie whispered.

Then Priscilla felt Carrie’s lips against her own. She opened her mouth and the two women tasted each other’s tongues. Carrie tugged both of Priscilla’s rock hard nipples, pulling Priscilla’s breasts away from Priscilla’s rib cage.

“Mmph!” Priscilla cried out, Carrie’s mouth muffling her cry of orgasm.

Carrie then sat back and continued to blindly explore Priscilla’s body. Priscilla did shiver slightly as Carrie’s fingers grazed along her ribs; she was ticklish. Carrie smiled and ceased with her exploration of Priscilla’s ribs.

“Mm, oh, you, your skin’s so soft,” Carrie observed as her fingertips rested on Priscilla’s belly.

“Moisturizer,” Priscilla whispered.

Priscilla felt Carrie’s fingers now grazing over the patch of stiff hairs that covered her pubic mound. Carrie’s fingers combed through the sparse black hairs slowly, almost maddeningly slowly.

“Ah, shit!” Priscilla cried out as Carrie’s fingernails raked over her throbbing clitoris.

“You’re beautiful, Priscilla,” Carrie breathed, then was silent again.

“Um, oh God,” Priscilla moaned as Carrie’s fingers left her pussy.

Carrie’s fingers lightly trailed along Priscilla’s upper thigh, over her knee, to her right foot. Then Carrie explored Priscilla’s left leg, from pelvis to the end of her left foot.

“Now me?” Carrie pleaded.

Priscilla wanted to object. She wanted to suggest that Carrie had not explored Priscilla’s back, her buttocks.

Sluggishly, Priscilla did sit up. She helped Carrie wiggle out of her camisole top.

Carrie’s breasts were little more than bumps upon Carrie’s slim chest. Looking at the small mounds, Priscilla thought of two lemon halves. Carrie’s nipples and small areolae were a reddish-pink in color, tightly crinkled, rock hard.

Priscilla kissed Carrie’s lips, then lightly ran her fingers over Carrie’s slim face. She again kissed Carrie, then eased the girl back until Carrie lay flat on the bed. Carrie’s small breasts were now little more than bumps capped with hard nipples.

Priscilla mimicked Carrie’s motions; running her fingers lightly over Carrie’s throat, then shoulders and slim arms. When she came to Carrie’s fingers, Priscilla linked her fingers with Carrie. The two quietly froze in place, fingers intertwined. Then Priscilla leaned and pressed her lips to Carrie’s lips; just a quick brush of Carrie’s lips with her own lips.

Remembering that Carrie liked her small breasts treated roughly, Priscilla did tug and pull Carrie’s nipples. She pulled Carrie’s small bumps into cones away from Carrie’s slim torso.

“Ung, oh God!” Carrie squealed, shaking in orgasm.

Priscilla then released the two hard nubs. Priscilla bent her head and licked softly across each nipple. Then she swiveled her head and thrust her tongue into Carrie’s gasping mouth.

“Oh,” Carrie groaned.

“Too soon say ‘I love you?'” Priscilla thought to herself as she continued her ‘blind’ exploration of Carrie’s slender, almost emaciated frame.

Carrie shifted and giggled as Priscilla’s fingers travelled over Carrie’s ribcage. Priscilla did not tickle the red head, just lightly brushed her fingertips over the soft flesh before shifting to Carrie’s concave belly. Priscilla gently dipped the tip of her finger into Carrie’s miniscule navel before travelling down and finding Carrie’s hard hip bones.

“Yeah, I know, I’m nothing but skin and bones,” Carrie started.

Priscilla bent and kissed Carrie’s mouth, silencing the girl. She smiled and kissed Carrie again before taking her two hands from Carrie’s thin hips to Carrie’s sprigs of coarse carrot orange hair.

“You’re beautiful. You are beautiful, just the way you are,” Priscilla insisted, kissed Carrie again, then concentrated on what sensations her fingertips were receiving.

Carrie’s pubic hairs were stiff, tightly coiled bristles against Priscilla’s fingertips. There was only a few sprigs of the stiff coils covering Carrie’s slight pubic mound; Priscilla felt Carrie’s warm flesh through the sprigs of coarse hairs. Her fingertips found Carrie’s tight crease.

“Augh, oh,” Carrie panted out as Priscilla’s fingers travelled up and down the tight crease.

“Mm, oh,” Priscilla moaned, feeling Carrie’s very wet inner lips beginning to peek through the tight crease.

Priscilla could feel Carrie’s excitement under her fingers. She could also smell Carrie’s excitement; a heavy musk wafted from Carrie’s pubic mound as Priscilla’s fingers danced along the inner lips. Priscilla wanted to open her eyes, wanted to see the wisps of carrot orange hair, see the pale pink lips of Carrie’s pretty little pussy.

Carrie’s thighs were soft, silky smooth underneath Priscilla’s fingertips. Priscilla smiled; she could feel Carrie’s muscles flexing and straining as Carrie rubbed her thin thighs together in need.

Priscilla urged Carrie’s legs apart and knee-danced to kneel between Carrie’s splayed limbs. Priscilla bent forward and blew warm air over Carrie’s overheated crotch. Carrie rewarded Priscilla with a yelp and a whimper of need. Priscilla stuck out her tongue and blindly sought out Carrie’s puffy labia.

“Uh oh God, oh Priscilla,” Carrie cried out as Priscilla’s tongue batted at Carrie’s slick lips.She again brought her mouth to Carrie’s pubic mound and used her thumbs to open the girl’s inner lips.

“Oh, augh, oh my God!” Carrie suddenly keened and Priscilla felt her face become very wet.

Priscilla thrust two fingers into Carrie’s pussy as she batted at Carrie’s small clitoris with her tongue. Priscilla reflected that, other than tasting her own juices on Paul’s cock when she would suck him after their joining, she had never tasted a woman’s essences.

“Mm, you taste so good,” Priscilla moaned, lapping insistently at Carrie’s pussy while she fucked her two fingers in and out of Carrie.

“I, you, augh!” Carrie babbled as another orgasm caused her to shake.

Priscilla sought out Carrie’s G-spot and rubbed while continuing to lap at Carrie’s slick lips. Carrie’s thin legs came together and squeezed Priscilla’s head.

“Oh, ooh, aw God, augh, oh please, please, Priscilla, please stop,” Carrie whined after another forceful orgasm racked her thin body.

Priscilla gave one last lick to Carrie’s pretty little pussy before pulling her fingers from the girl’s click canal. Priscilla wiggled forward until her breasts rubbed against Carrie’s small breast bumps. Priscilla mashed her sparsely furred pussy against Carrie’s sparsely furred pussy. She leaned her head forward and brought her lips to Carrie’s lips.

“Hey,” Priscilla quietly said.

“Hey, oh my God,” Carrie gasped out.

“I love you,” Priscilla softly said.

“Love you too,” Carrie said and wrapped her arms tightly around Priscilla’s torso.

“I love you,” Priscilla repeated, more to herself than to Carrie.

They kissed one more time, then Priscilla rolled off of the slim red head. Carrie rolled onto her side and brought her small hand up to Priscilla’s face. Priscilla turned and saw Carries eyes shining in the dim light of the motel lamp. Softly, Carrie pressed her lips to Priscilla’s lips.

From Priscilla’s lips, Carrie kissed Priscilla’s throat, then shoulder. She continued her downward progress to Priscilla’s breasts. Carrie lightly kissed and nuzzled Priscilla’s flesh before finally taking Priscilla’s left nipple into her mouth.

“Ack!” Priscilla protested as Carrie bit down on the sensitive nub.

Priscilla shuddered in orgasm as Carrie tortured her engorged nipple.

“Oh!” Priscilla panted as Carrie shifted to Priscilla’s right breast. Again, Carrie kissed and nuzzled Priscilla’s flesh, coming closer and closer to Priscilla’s nipple.

“Ack! Damn it!” Priscilla cried out as Carrie bit down on Priscilla’s nipple.

Carrie released Priscilla’s nipple and licked down over Priscilla’s right breast. Her soft tongue licked underneath Priscilla’s breast tasting Priscilla’s sweat. Carrie brought her mouth to Priscilla’s left breast and tasted the underside of Priscilla’s left breast.

Carrie’s fingers danced over Priscilla’s heaving belly and Priscilla fought to control her breath. She could feel Carrie’s long hair and hanks of Carrie’s hair fell onto her golden skin. The hair dragged over Priscilla’s breast, over Priscilla’s belly as Carrie’s lips and tongue approached Priscilla’s patina of dark strands.

“Ack!” Priscilla cried out as Carrie’s tongue dragged over her swollen lips.

Carrie licked up and down Priscilla’s lips, thin fingers resting on Priscilla’s thighs. Priscilla spread her legs wide when Carrie gently urged them apart. Carrie bent her head, bringing her tongue more forcefully against Priscilla’s slick opening. Carrie waggled her tongue from side to side, flickering against Priscilla’s walls.

“Oh my fucking God!” Priscilla cried out when Carrie’s teeth gently nipped at Priscilla’s fat little clitoris.

Carrie licked and fingered Priscilla to a second forceful orgasm before Priscilla firmly pushed Carrie’s head away. Priscilla didn’t think she could withstand another orgasm; her heart was pounding in her chest.

Carrie swiveled to lay down next to Priscilla. Priscilla rolled and pulled Carrie against her and brought her lips to Carrie’s lips.

“You, I, I love you,” Priscilla admitted to Carrie.

“Love you too,” Carrie whispered against Priscilla’s throat.

“God, this is crazy; I must be crazy,” Priscilla thought as she drifted off to sleep.

Sunday morning, Priscilla woke and again stared at Carrie while Carrie slept. Again, Priscilla asked herself how she could be in love with someone she didn’t even know. But as she gazed upon the girl’s face, Priscilla resigned herself to loving the bone thin red head.

“Mm?” Carrie sleepily asked when Priscilla wiggled out of Carrie’s embrace.

Nude, Priscilla positioned herself on the side of the bed nest to the wall and moved from pose to pose. As Priscilla moved, she concentrated on her breathing, trying to clear her mind. But her thoughts kept returning to the red headed beauty that slept nude just a few feet away.

Finally completing her morning exercises, Priscilla stretched out onto the bed. Carrie roused for a moment before slipping back asleep again.

“Ever been to Carlisle’s Sunday brunch?” Priscilla asked, kissing Carrie’s lips.

“Hmm?” Carrie asked sleepily.

“Carlisle’s?” Priscilla asked. “Come on, I feel like celebrating; they have a champagne brunch that’s out of this world.”

“What are we celebrating?” Carrie asked, stretching.

“Being in love,” Priscilla giggled happily.

“Oh, okay,” Carrie giggled, bounding out of the bed.

The twenty nine ninety five per person price tag did give Priscilla a momentary pause. Then she shrugged it off; how often does one fall in love for the first time?

“Oh my God, those omelets!” Carrie was still prattling as they left the exclusive restaurant, stuffed to the gills.

“Omelets nothing! How about that chocolate soufflé?” Priscilla enthused, unlocking her car door.

“Thank you, Priscilla,” Carrie murmured, leaning over the console of the car.

“Welcome, Sweetheart,” Priscilla murmured and accepted Carrie’s soft kiss.

Housekeeping had been to their room; there were fresh towels and soap and shampoo had been replenished. Carrie began to strip out of her clothes and Priscilla followed suit.

As if they’d been lovers for years rather than hours, the two girls swung into a sixty nine position. Carrie seemed to know that her place was underneath; Priscilla was the dominant in their relationship. Priscilla seemed to know to straddle Carrie’s head while bringing her mouth toward Carry’s pussy.

“Mm, oh, yes,” Carrie sighed out loud as Priscilla’s fingers jammed into her wet pussy.

“Mm, God, yes Sweetheart, yes, like that,” Priscilla encouraged as Carrie thrust two slim fingers into Priscilla’s pussy.

Within moments, the two lovers brought each other to orgasm. Priscilla ground her pussy against Carrie’s mouth as she grunted in orgasm.

“Augh, oh Priscilla, what? What are you doing?” Carrie cried out as Priscilla’s mouth left Carrie’s pussy and began to tongue Carrie’s anus.

“Want to taste all of you,” Priscilla panted and resumed licking Carrie’s little rosebud.

“Ack!” Priscilla barked out as Carrie mimicked Priscilla’s actions.

“Augh, Priscilla!” Carrie cried out as Priscilla thrust two fingers into Carrie’s spittle slick rectum.

Mmph!” Carrie cried out in orgasm as Priscilla sucked Carrie’s clitoris into her mouth while three fingers plumbed Carrie’s tight rectum.

“Mmph, ack!” Priscilla barked out as Carrie’s tongue and fingers brought her to another orgasm.

“So, every Sunday going be like this?” Carrie quietly asked, resting her head on Priscilla’s left breast.

“I hope so,” Priscilla said softly. “You mean, you and me just lying in bed, making love? Yeah, I hope so.”

“Good,” Carrie said.

For dinner, Priscilla ordered another Brick’s pizza. Again, four slices was her limit, but Carrie finished off the pizza. Then they lay in the bed, kissing and touching one another.

Monday morning, Priscilla and Carrie packed everything, checking to make sure they left nothing behind. Then Priscilla paid for the room. The male clerk smiled and shook his head as he saw the two girls holding hands as they left the lobby.

“Yep, all the cute ones are either gay or married,” he said to himself.

“Or they crazy as shit,” he mused, thinking of his own red headed girlfriend.

Priscilla labored to finish scraping years of paint from the last side of Dr. Beard’s home. She kept an eye on her own home as she labored; she certainly did not want to miss the Robertson’s AC truck.

Just before eleven o’clock, her phone buzzed with a text message. The message was from Robertson’s, letting Priscilla know that Kyle Bradberry would be there no later than two o’clock. With a nod, Priscilla deduced she and Carrie would be spending another night in the motel.

The Robertson’s van pulled up just as Priscilla and Carrie were finishing their lunch of protein drink and mealy apples. Kyle was a large African-American man with a shaved head and full beard and mustache. He clucked his tongue as he looked at the severely damaged outside unit.

“Ma’am, I’m telling you,” Kyle said, pointing to the damaged parts inside of the unit. “Yeah, we can order the parts; this unit’s what, at least twenty years old, more like thirty years old.”

“I think the man that did the inspection wrote it down,” Priscilla said, unlocking the sliding glass door of her home.

She returned and showed Kyle where the home inspector had written the approximate age to be twenty to twenty five years old. Kyle nodded his head and looked again at the damaged unit.

“And that’s if they can find the parts; I can’t tell you the last time I worked on a Crosley unit,” Kyle said. “Think they mostly make refrigerators now.”

Carrie gasped when Kyle gave Priscilla the price of a new unit. She also gasped when Priscilla asked Kyle if they accepted Master Card.

“I mean, ma’am, you want to, you can get a second opinion. You think I’m just trying sell you a new unit,” Kyle offered.

“How soon can you get a new one in here?” Priscilla cut him off.

“Mm, booked, got the Warrens next, ma’am, I can be out here Thursday morning; that work for you?” Kyle asked, looking at his tablet.

“Going have to,” Priscilla sighed.

“And ma’am, there’s no charge for this trip; we’ll apply the sixty five dollars to the cost of your Carrier,” Kyle said. “By the way, who you work for? I see you’re a painter.”

“Pearl,” Priscilla said. “Pearl Painters.”

“Hmm, not heard of them,” Kyle said as the trio walked through the gate to the front yard.

“They’re pretty new,” Priscilla said.

“Well, get me some of their cards; we do some new construction; in fact, we’re going be putting a unit at the new Carlisle’s on Fontenot Road. When I was out there measuring for the duct work, the general contractor fired their painter. Drunk? That boy was drunk, drunk, drunk.”

“I’ll have some cards when we see you on Thursday,” Priscilla promised.

Tuesday, Priscilla started sanding down the rough spots. Carrie got tired of standing or sitting and watching and grabbed a sanding block and felt along the board and sanded down the spots she could feel. Carrie’s mouth kicked into overdrive and she chattered nonstop while she and Priscilla labored.

“So, why pearl,” Carrie asked as she started feeling along another board.

“Because pearl is the birthstone for the month of June,” Priscilla said, smiling down from the scaffolding. “It’s my favorite.”

“You want, I can do up the cards; take me like a minute. You got a printer? See, over at Office Depot, you can just get the cards; they come like ten to a page and you set up the Avery format and…” Carrie prattled.

“You know what? That. That’s what you can do,” Priscilla stopped and looked at Carrie. “Here; how much you think it’ll be?”

“The cards? No more than twenty, maybe thirty bucks,” Carrie said.

“Okay, here, here’s the keys to the car,” Priscilla dug out her keys and two twenties.

Priscilla continued working, sanding down any rough patches, filling in any holes with putty. She was startled when Carrie popped up, asking for the password to log onto her computer.

“Carrie, it’s got to be like a hundred degrees in the house,” Priscilla said. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

“I got all the windows open,” Carrie responded. “Come on, what’s the password?”

“BD six two seven nine eight, B and D are capitalized,” Priscilla said. “Now, don’t be going on Amazon and ordering me ‘The Anarchist’s Guide To Bomb Making, hear?”

“They even got that?” Carrie asked.

“I don’t know; and you don’t need to be finding out. I love you, but you drive me crazy sometimes,” Priscilla smiled.

They both turned when they heard a scream. Looking at the rental house at 208 Conway, Priscilla and Carrie saw that a police car was in front of the house and two uniformed officers were carrying furniture from the house.

“Mother fucker, that’s mine, you can’t just, where am I supposed put it?” Darlene screamed.

“Oh,” Carrie moaned, watching the eviction of her friends.

“You can work on it later,” Priscilla said softly.

“No, no, I can’t I need to get this done,” Carrie whimpered and scurried back to Priscilla’s house.

Priscilla worked, stripping down to tee shirt and shorts as the sun beat down on her. As she worked, she watched Darlene and the still-vacant Frankie as their possessions were put to the curb.

“Yes, mother, I really should go to college,” Priscilla muttered to herself as Darlene knelt on the street sobbing and Frankie just stood, staring off into space.

“Just as she was finishing that day’s work, Priscilla saw her garage door slowly open. She watched her car back out of the garage, then saw the door slide down. Darlene sat on the curb, looking miserable and Frankie wandered aimlessly along the curb, unsure of where to go.

“Hey Lady, need a ride?” Carrie asked, lowering the window of Priscilla’s car.

“Yeah,” Priscilla smiled, motioning to Carrie to pop the trunk open.

In their motel room, Carrie waited until Priscilla had taken a shower before showing her the business cards she’d designed.

“Since pearls are round, I went with a rounded font style; bold face,” Carrie said, pulling out a sheet of perforated card stock.

“Ah!” Priscilla gasped, seeing a caricature of herself, holding a paintbrush.

The caricature Priscilla had swept the brush along the left hand side of the card, stenciling in Priscilla’s cell phone number. Above the number was Priscilla’s address, and along the top of the card was the name Pearl Painters.

“This is, Carrie, this is even better than I’d ever thought of on my own,” Priscilla admitted.

“You like it?” Carrie gasped, delighted.

“Like it? I love it; I mean, I really love it,” Priscilla said. “Where’d you get the drawing of me?”

“Made it in your Paint Shop Pro, then imported it,” Carrie said. Once you have the outline, dropping in the colors is a snap.”

“The only thing needs to be changed is the address; God, I really don’t want people knowing where we live,” Priscilla said. “Tomorrow? You’re going get us a Post Office box and put that down as our address, okay?”

“Our?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah. We, we’re together, aren’t we?” Priscilla asked. “Now, what you hungry for? I don’t want pizza again.”

“You ever eat at Buddha’s Palace? On Simpson?” Carrie asked.

“Let me dry my hair and…” Priscilla said.

“They do delivery,” Carrie suggested.

“You know the number?” Priscilla asked, digging her Master Card charge card out of her wallet. “Order me the egg drop soup, um, vegetarian spring rolls; get the peanut sauce with that, and um, General Tso. Fried rice. Their steamed rice sucks.”

“And I can get me…” Carrie asked.

Priscilla leaned forward and kissed Carrie’s lips. She held Carrie’s face in her hands and smiled.

“Carrie, get whatever you want. I mean, I’ll share, but you get whatever you want, Sweetheart,” Priscilla assured Carrie.

Carrie’s responding kiss let Priscilla know that Carrie wasn’t used to getting what she wanted. She was used to people dictating to her what she would get. Priscilla combed her fingers through Carrie’s long hair and smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Love you,” Priscilla whispered and kissed Carrie again.

Priscilla dried her hair. The hum and whirr of the noisy appliance drowned out Carrie’s phone conversation. When Priscilla did shut off the hair dryer, a pale Carrie admitted that their bill would be forty seven dollars. Forty six dollars and seventy four cents to be exact.

Forty eight dollars and seventy four cents,” Priscilla corrected, digging some coins out of her purse. “What you want to drink?”

“You’re not mad?” Carrie asked. “I mean, I didn’t think it’d be that high, but I got the egg rolls and they’re…”

“Carrie, I told you, Sweetheart, get whatever you want,” Priscilla assured Carrie and opened the door of the motel room.

After dinner, Priscilla put Carrie onto her belly. Priscilla stretched out on top of Carrie, pressing her into the mattress. She centered her outstretched arms along Carrie’s outstretched arms. She centerd her muscled legs over Carrie’s legs. Her breasts mashed against Carrie’s back, her pussy mashed against Carrie’s bony buttocks.

“I love you. I am in love with you,” Priscilla whispered softly into Carrie’s right ear. “I love being in love with you.”

“I…mmph!” Carrie started to respond but Priscilla swiveled her head and bit down on Carrie’s lower lip.

Priscilla gently released Carrie’s lip and kissed along Carrie’s right cheek until she reached Carrie’s ear. She nibbled lightly on Carrie’s ear lobe, then kissed along Carrie’s throat to Carrie’s shoulders.

“Mm, oh,” Carrie sighed as Priscilla nibbled on Carrie’s right shoulder.

Priscilla lightly raked her fingernails along Carrie’s arms until she reached Carrie’s slim shoulders. Priscilla then lifted her torso and kissed and nibbled on Carrie’s left shoulder. She bit down lightly a she travelled down along Carrie’s shoulder blades and back.

Priscilla traveled down, kissing, lightly biting until she reached Carrie’s slim buttocks. By now, Carrie was moaning and panting lightly, was slowing hunching her pussy against the polyester of the motel bed.

Priscilla was not gentle as she bit down on Carrie’s left buttock. She took great big bites of the taut flesh, leaving little impressions of her teeth where she bit down.

“Oh, Priscilla, that, that’s oh no,” Carrie whined as Priscilla used her hands to push Carrie’s buttocks apart.

Priscilla did not even think about it. She just ran her tongue up and down the small furrow of Carrie’s buttocks until she reached Carrie’s anus. Then she stiffened her tongue and tried to force it into Carrie’s tightly clenched rectum.

Paul had done this once to Priscilla. She’d found the feeling of his tongue tickling her anus to be very pleasurable, tittlating. She had also found the idea of someone lapping at her anus to be ‘dirty’ and ‘nasty’ and had made Paul stop.

“Augh! Oh, Priscilla!” Carrie cried out when Priscilla jammed two fingers into Carrie’s spittle wetted rectum.

“Ach, oh God!” Carrie cried out in orgasm as Priscilla’s thumb mashed against Carrie’s clitoris.

“Oh! Oh Priscilla,” Carrie gasped and moaned when Priscilla then began to kiss and nip at the backs of Carrie’s thighs.

Priscilla kissed and nibbled down the back of Carrie’s legs to where the ankles began. Then she again stretched out, matching Carrie’s position, again mashing Carrie against the firm mattress.

“You’re smushing me,” Carrie lightly complained.

“Aw, poor baby,” Priscilla teased.

Wednesday morning, much of the things that had been carried to the curb in front of the rental house were gone. Neither Carrie nor Priscilla knew if Frankie or Darlene had managed to get friends or family to assist, or if opportunistic passers-by simply helped themselves to the booty.

Thursday, Kyle and a helper installed the new unit. Kyle admired the business cards and promised he’d hand them out to any new construction or other clients of his. He also supplied Priscilla a few of his own business cards and Priscilla promised that Dr. Beard, her current client would get one of his cards.

“I mean, whole time I’m working? Her unit never shuts off,” Priscilla commented.

“Well, as much as you’re charging me,” Dr. Beard complained when Priscilla did hand her Kyle’s business card. “I don’t see how I could afford to call them for any service.”

“Yes ma’am,” Priscilla said, not rising to the woman’s bait.

Arriving home after checking out of the motel, Priscilla and Carrie both let out a sigh of happiness; the air was blowing cold. Carrie then slowly walked from room to room. Priscilla busied herself in the kitchen; those leg quarters looked just about ready to go bad if not cooked immediately.

“Can I set up an easel in your office?” Carrie asked as Pricilla chopped up the last of her onion.

“Of course,” Priscilla agreed. “In fact; I think that room gets the morning sun.”

After dinner, Priscilla happily pulled Carrie into the hall bathroom. With kisses and giggles, Priscilla stripped Carrie out of her long sleeved tee shirt and jeans and panties, then turned to start the whirlpool jets in the tub. Carrie whooped happily and climbed into the tub.

“Home sweet home,” Priscilla sighed, easing herself into the very warm water.

“I oh! Oh! This, augh!” Carrie gasped and shuddered.

“What?” Priscilla asked.

“Feel, feel where my pussy is,” Carrie hissed, pretty eyes shut tight.

Prischilla felt down, across Carrie’s belly to Carrie’s coarse sprigs of pubic hair. She felt the ‘whoosh’ of water escaping from between Carrie’s thing legs.

“That, that’s hitting my hole,” Carrie hissed, shifting slightly to maximize the contact.

Priscilla found an adjacent jet and manipulated her body so that the jet was pummeling against her own anus. Then she caused some water to slosh out of the tub as she rolled to press her pussy against the powerful jet.

“Mm, augh, oh yes,” Priscilla hissed in orgasm.

“How you don’t just sit in this thing all day,” Carrie sighed as she too rolled to press her pussy against her jet.

“Ain’t easy,” Priscilla giggled. “But hey, Momma’s got bills to pay.

With kisses, Priscilla and Carrie sponged each other with Priscilla’s soap. Priscilla had not realized just how much she’d missed using her own oatmeal soap, but now luxuriated in the gentle suds.

“Ooh, yes; got to get that good and clean,” Carrie shuddered as Priscilla dragged her fluffy washcloth over Carrie’s slit.

“And now…” Priscilla said, pushing the drain lever up with her toe.

“Aw,” Carrie whined as the water receded.

Priscilla dried Carrie with a large towel, then pulled Carrie into her bedroom. Laying Carrie down in the center of the queen sized bed, Priscilla found her tube of oatmeal and honey moisturizer.

“”Oh,” Carrie moaned as Priscilla began to massage the lotion into Carrie’s neck and shoulders.

Carrie was nearly asleep when Priscilla ently rolled Carrie over. Sluggishly, Carrie complained but her complaints ceased when Priscilla began to massage the lotion into Carrie’s shoulders and arms.

Priscilla left the sleeping girl and walked, nude into her garage. She emptied her bag into the washing machine and started the machine. Carrie was still slumbering when Priscilla returned. Her complaints began again when Priscilla roused her and demanded that they get underneath the covers.

“I, your bed is nice,” Carrie sleepily stated and was sound asleep again.

“So, how much longer this going take?” Dr. Beard complained Saturday morning when Priscilla began applying the second coat of primer.

“Mm, I’m about two days ahead of schedule,” Priscilla mused, checking her progress so far.

“Well, it sure is taking a long time,” Dr. Beard complained.

“Yes ma’am, doing it right does take a long time,” Priscilla agreed, continuing to work.

“Well, if you’d hire some help, you could do it faster,” Dr. Beard suggested.

“Yes ma’am, and if I hired some help, I’d have to charge more,” Priscilla said, moving to the next level of the scaffolding.

“More than you’re already charging?” Dr. Beard screeched.

“God damn, just how bad are the teachers at that college paid?” Priscilla asked herself as she continued to work at a brisk pace. “Yeah, Mother, I really need to go to college.”

Lunch time, Priscilla found Carrie engrossed in her sketching. She prepared lunch, kissed Carrie and returned to apply the last coat of primer to the rear of the house.

“Monday I’ll start on the blue,” Priscilla told Dr. Beard.

“What? You, we’re supposed to have rain tomorrow,” Dr. Beard said. “You going leave it like this?”

“Ma’am, it’ll be fine,” Priscilla assured the woman.

Arriving home, Priscilla cleaned her paintbrushes and then stripped out of her coveralls. Dressed in black bikini, Priscilla casually walked into her home and announced that she was taking a bath. A nice, long, leisurely bath.

“Be right there,” Carrie whooped from the office.

Priscilla dropped bikini to the floor and turned when a nude Carrie entered the bathroom. She smiled and hugged Carrie.

“You know, I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing you nude,” Priscilla confessed.

“You know how to use an air compressor?” Carrie asked, stepping over the rim of the tub as Priscilla started the taps.

“I uh, what? What does you being naked have to do with…?” Priscilla laughed.

“Guy’s selling a used air compressor on Craig’s, ’bout half the cost of a new one,” Carrie said. “That’s too hot.”

After their bath, Carrie showed Priscilla the listing. Priscilla pondered for all of five seconds; the ad said it had several attachments suitable for painting. She called the man and agreed to his price.

“It’ll fit in my car?” Priscilla asked.

“Ma’am, you give me cash, I’ll bring it to you,” Bruce Thompson agreed.

“And you know how to work this?” Priscilla again asked Carrie as she hurried into clothing. “That guy shows up, hold him here until I get back.”

Instead of making love Sudnay, Carrie stood on the small concrete pad in Priscilla’s back yard and showed Priscilla how to use her new air compressor. Pricilla watched with rapt attention as Carrie easily, efficiently coated an old, weathered piece of plywood, creating a shadow image of herself getting into Priscilla’s claw foot bath tub.

“I want that for over the couch,” Priscilla demanded.

“It’s got bugs in it,” Carrie stated, flipping the old board over and showing Priscilla a few bugs scurrying on the wood.

Carrie then made Priscilla practice painting with the various nozzles.

“That guy even gave you the stuff clean them with,” Carrie said and did begin to clean the nozzles.

“I’m serious; I want a painting like that,” Priscilla said, again flipping the painted board over and displaying the nude portrait of Carrie.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Carrie teased. “Priscilla! Don’t you dare; put that hose down!”

The rain finally did come. Carrie assisted Priscilla in pulling the compressor into the garage. Then, heavy pounding rain overhead, Priscilla and Carrie returned to the bed. Priscilla dug around and found her eight inch dildo.

“MM, oh, oh yes,” Carrie groaned as Priscilla ‘fucked’ her with the rubber phallus.

“Eat my pussy,” Priscilla demanded, squatting over Carrie’s face as she worked the thick dildo in and out of Carrie.

“A rainy Sunday afternoon,” Carrie sighed as the two lovers cuddled after making love.

“Mm hmm,” Priscilla agreed, softly kissing Carrie’s lips.

Monday morning, Priscilla woke, did her exercises then found Carrie in the office, charcoal stick flashing over a canvas mat.

“I’m dying for some eggs and bacon; sound good?” Priscilla asked.

“Uh huh,” Carrie said absently.

Priscilla had to call Carrie twice before Carrie finally joined her. Priscilla smiled and kissed Carrie, then pointed out the charcoal smudge on Carrie’s nose.

“You going use the air compressor?” Carrie asked as she used her toast to sop up the egg yolk.

“Yeah; the wide angle thingie, right?” Priscilla agreed.

“Got tape? And plastic?” Carrie asked.

“Huh? What I neeed that for?” Priscilla asked.

“Cover up the windows and doors and stuff,” Carrie said. “As mean as that woman is? You think she’d let it slide you get paint on her windows?”

“God, what? What are you doing?” Dr. Beard complained as Carrie and Priscilla began taping black plastic garbage bags over her windows and wooden trim.

Ignoring Dr. Beard’s grumpy attitude, Carrie politely told the woman she would have to use her side door for the foreseeable future. Dr. Beard declared that this was unacceptable.

“Ma’am, it is just for the next twenty four to forty eight hours,” Priscilla stated. “Weren’t you the one complaining about how long I’m taking? I’m trying to get this finished up as quickly as I can.”

“Bitch,” Carrie muttered as Dr. Beard slammed the door.

“That. Right there,” Priscilla snapped at Carrie. “Yes, she is difficult. Yes, she is disagreeable. But she is the customer. And the customer is always right. Even when they are wrong.”

Carrie’s eyes filled with tears. Priscilla felt pained, but knew she was right. She stoically continued her work, preparing the front of the house for spraying.

“Okay, and…” Priscilla said, after double checking all of their prep work.

Dr. Beard drove away and Carrie resisted the urge to give the old woman the finger. Priscilla seemed to sense Carrie’s concerted effort and gave Carrie a tight smile.

“Yes, she is a bitch,” Priscilla quietly said. “And, had I known just how demanding she was? I would have added another five, six hundred to the total. But when there is any chance she might hear you? It’s yes ma’am, and no ma’am. Okay?”

“Okay,” Carrie nodded.

Priscilla was amazed at how quickly the first coat went on. While the front dried, she and Carrie prepped the left side of the home. They then coated the side of the home.

“Carrie, I love you, this is fantastic!” Priscilla enthused as they scrambled around to the rear of the home.

By Friday, Priscilla was doing the minor touch up to the trim and to the iron trellis supports on the outside perimeter of Dr. Beard’s carport. Dr. Beard tried to nit-pick when Priscilla handed her the final invoice, tried to find blemishes and errors.

“Well, I’m not sure I like the color of the door; I didn’t think it would be that dark,” Dr. Beard said.

“Ma’am, you’re the one that picked out that color,” Priscilla said, fighting hard against losing patience with the difficult woman.

Mumbling and grumbling, Dr. Beard wrote out a check for the invoice’s total. She flushed when Priscilla reminded her that there was a thirty five dollar charge for any NSF checks.

“Pearl Painters? Who’s, I didn’t hire anyone from there,” Dr. Beard said, now looking at the invoice.

“Yes ma’am, you did. I’m Pearl,” Priscilla smiled.

“You, I thought your name was; what’d that little red headed scarecrow call you?” Dr. Beard asked as Priscilla walked away.

“Calls me ‘Sweetheart,’ and I don’t appreciate you calling her a scarecrow,” Priscilla muttered, walking to her house.

“Mr. Wilson wants hire you to do two sixteen, inside and out,” Carrie informed Priscilla when Priscilla entered the house.

“Carrie, put on some clothes,” Priscilla laughed happily.

“Why? You just going make me take them off again,” Carrie smiled a playful smile. “I’m inside; no one can see me.”

“What’d you tell him?” Priscilla asked, grabbing her purse.

“Told him you’d call him to make an appointment,” Carrie said, handing Priscilla the note.

“Mr. Wilson? Hi, this is Priscilla from Pearl Painters? Hi, my assistant said you’re looking for exterior and interior work on two sixteen Conway Road?”

“See you then, Mr. Wilson,” Priscilla agreed and nodded approval as Carrie appeared, dressed in khakis and a long sleeved blouse.

“What time?” Carrie asked, slipping on her shoes.

Two o’clock,” Priscilla said. “There any of the meatloaf left?”

“Can make us a couple of meatloaf sandwiches; there’s none of the mashed potatoes left,” Carrie said, bustling into the kitchen.

When Priscilla returned from meeting with Francis Wilson, Carrie informed Priscilla that Kyle had called; the general contractor that was building the new Carlisle’s Restaurant needed her like yesterday.

“What happened to your clothes?” Priscilla asked and Carrie gave her an impish grin.

“Okay, Miss Nudie-Rudie, I, we need to hire some painters. Jesus, I didn’t, who in the hell would have known, I need people, now,” Priscilla said.

“I found you another air compressor,” Carrie said, walking into the office. “I’ll get on the employees right now.”

“You found, why do I need another air compressor?” Priscilla asked, following Carrie into the office. “Good God, what are you doing?”

There were five canvases along the office walls. One was a surreal depiction of a female breast, quite distended and distorted, but somehow quite erotic. Another piece of art was what Priscilla had requested; a shaded relief of Carrie climbing into a claw foot tub. The other three, Priscilla wasn’t sure; she thought one was a bright red vagina, but when she drew near, she saw several twisted, bent, broken items scattered into a haphazard triangular fashion. And as she stepped back, she saw that the bent, damaged tuba was a clitoris, the mashed grilled cheese sandwich was the inner labia.

“This, this is what you been sketching?” Priscilla asked as Carrie rapidly typed on the laptop’s keyboard.

“I, no, well, yeah, I mean, I, Dr. Jeannette? She always said she knew I had a voice, a voice inside, one that had passion and tension and rawness but I just never knew what she wanted,” Carrie said, stopping her frantic typing. “And then you and I and I just can’t stop. I start on one, then I need to do something else and…”

“It’s kind of like that mouth of yours,” Priscilla laughed, looking at the random works of art.

“Like how I just can’t shut up!” Carrie gasped, amazed. “Oh my God, oh! That, that’s it! And all it took was someone loving me, oh Priscilla! Oh Sweetheart! Oh I love you so much!”

Priscilla called Jimmy Wright and agreed to meet him at seven the following morning. As she talked on the phone, Carrie finished typing, then grabbed a charcoal stick and began slashing at a sixth canvas.