Gliding quickly and quietly into the driveway the roadster came to a smooth stop
and I shifted into first before shutting off the motor and popping open the door.
I called her ìthe little red roosterî - the car, I mean, as my wifeís a redhead
and I donít want any confusion. The car is painted in a ruby shade that is much
redder than the more orange tones of Katrinaís long tresses. I clicked the door
shut and got out of my coat. I wanted nothing else to do with business today.

Slinging the jacket over my shoulder I walked across the lush grass of the front
lawn and hopped over the short shrubs bordering the concrete walkway leading to
the steps. The grass was too lush; wasnít Keith supposed to mow this morning?
There was the lawn mower by the Thorsenís garage next door, so Keith must not yet
have mustered sufficient motivation to chew up some greenery.

The walkway was a waste; I never used it. I tried the front door before inserting
the key, and to my surprise I could go right in. I was accustomed to using the
key since Trina was obsessed with the horrible suburban crime stories from
tabloid TV. I shut the door and tossed my jacket over the back of the sofa. I
loosened my tie and thought how wonderful it was to leave so early on a summerís
day. The AC blew a nice breeze from the vents. It was chilly as it moved over my
wet, clinging white shirt.

I wanted to make all the money I could when I was Keithís age. How much more
convenient could it be to cut your next door neighborís yard? Maybe Iíd bring it
up to Tom the next time I saw him, but he wasnít in town much.  Cynthia had her
hands full with Keithís twin sister Laurie (I guess they mustíve really liked
ìThe Partridge Familyî). Laurie had shit for taste in selecting friends since
they inevitably got her into trouble. She was a beautiful girl, and I caught
myself staring at the Thorsenís backyard pool more than once. Unfortunately
Katrina caught me a few times too. I wonder if Katrina ever secretly...

I had been making my way to the kitchen when I heard the cry from upstairs. I
knew as I mounted the stairs that Trina was fucking someone who, even in a
quantum-holographic universe, wasnít me. They hadnít even bothered to shut the
door to the guest bedroom directly to the right at the top of the stairs.

Both were naked and the terry cloth robe heaped on the floor indicated that
Katrina had come from the shower. The bangs above her closed hazel eyes were dry;
I supposed she had blown her hair dry before answering the door (at least I guess
that was the sequence of events). She gripped two posts of the slotted headboard
and the tone of her biceps demonstrated the efficacy of her gym workouts. My
first impulse was to use my workout results to start hammering away at the body
between my wifeís legs, but I hesitated as I watched this figure whose face was
buried in Trinaís auburn muff.

From the shoulder length blond hair down the muscled back to the surprisingly
smooth ass the body had an amazing similarity to a form I had observed very
closely. Even the legs were shapely despite a fine fuzz