Chapter 2

Bonnie surfaced two weeks after Mona moved in; one day, I opened the door to head off to go to work (this was before Mona learned my CAP score) and this long lean chick got up from where she was sitting on the floor opposite the door and said, "I can't make the rent."

Naturally, I said, "Huh?"

Bonnie clarified things for me, "Mona was my roommate; now that she's living here I can't make the rent. You're Pete, right?"

"Uh, yeah..." I wondered what was next -- a lawsuit?

"Mona says you're pretty nice," Bonnie added, looking me over. I returned the favor. She was a long, tall drink of water in one of those flower-child floor-length skirts and a halter top that, well, seemed undernourished in the cups. The hair was long and blonde -- but a shade dark enough that I didn't think it came from a bottle, especially given the reddish highlights. The face was, well, plain -- a little rabbity with buck teeth and freckles and not enough chin to keep it from being just slightly pouchy. She was about as different from Mona as you could get -- long and narrow everywhere Mona was round.

I continued my sparkling repartee by grunting, "Uh, thanks. MONA!!!"

Mona stuck her head out the door and said, "Oh, hi, Bonnie. Pete, I told you about Bonnie..."

"I remember." That didn't explain why she was here, though. "She says she can't make the rent or something. I, uh, need to go to work." Yeah, I was sprouting feathers, big time -- I did NOT want to get into whatever fight this pair was going to have! I hurried off, wondering if I was going to have to subsidize this Bonnie's rent in order to keep my chubby little main squeeze in my bed where she belonged. Worry was distracting; they could be tearing each other's hair out, the cops could get called, Bonnie might convince Mona to move out (THAT was a worry -- I was already thoroughly addicted), I might have to appear as a witness in Judge Judy's court, -- all kinds of possibilities occurred to me...

Everything but what actually happened.

When I got home -- a touch later than usual, as I'd stopped for a beer to fortify me before heading on home -- Mona met me at the door, dressed in my favorite manner -- which is to say buck naked -- rubbed my crotch and got right to her point, purring, "Pete? Could Bonnie move in with us?"

Caught flat-footed again, I blurted, "Why would you want to do that? Why would you want another woman around? Is she gonna pay?" I couldn't imagine a scenario wherein there was no reduction in my domestic tranquility.

"Sweetie, Bonnie and I go way back -- we've been together for years! THAT won't be a problem..." Mona assured me, while making sure the blood all rushed to my little head, leaving the big one at a disadvantage. She had my cock out, running her little fist up and down it with the confidence of someone thoroughly familiar with the tools of her trade.

"Where will she sleep?" I sputtered. I was NOT giving up my office in the second bedroom!

Mona dimpled. "Why, with us, silly!"

"Won't that cut into...?"

"Oh, no! In fact, she'll help! I can barely keep up -- you're SUCH a stud..."

The first thought that occurred was 'Bullshit!' That was laying it on a bit thick, I thought. Later, I discovered that at any given moment, just about any woman can ride three guys into the ground -- but they tend to take longer to recover than we do, so the next night, while the guy is likely to be fully recharged, she's likely to be looking for the night off. I've discussed Mona's method of handling such things -- and it works, pretty well, three weeks out of the month -- but Mona was approaching that fourth week, when women generally don't generally want anyone playing in the mess. Apparently, that came up somewhere in Bonnie's arguments earlier in the day... "Baby," I blustered, "In my limited experience, women fight over guys..."

"That's when one of them is STEALING," Mona assured me. "We'll be SHARING!"

"And what does Bonnie think of this?" I asked.

"She's fine with it," Mona replied, the undercurrent being, 'of course...' Before I could say anything about wanting to hear this assurance from Bonnie, Mona turned and yelled, "Bonnie!"

Before I could decide whether it was politic to wrestle my erection out of Mona's grasp, Bonnie came around the corner wearing a baby-doll nightie short enough on her to allow me to tell that the drapes matched the carpet. In fact, Bonnie's pubic hair -- such as there was of it -- was more or less straight, flowing in from the sides to a peak at the center that pointed at her clit. Her eyes found my cock and lit up, "Oh, wow! NICE one!" I got the impression that Bonnie had seen a few -- an impression that she proceeded to confirm by going smoothly to her knees and SWALLOWING ME WHOLE!

"HOLY SHIT!" I gasped. Somehow, Bonnie managed to run her tongue over my balls while her nose was in my pubes and the head of my dick was in her throat! A week before, I'd have blown a nut right there, but I was becoming somewhat seasoned; still, I lasted MAYBE ninety seconds while Bonnie took the tip of my dick from her lips to beyond her epiglottis probably thirty times... When I grunted incoherently that I was about to blow, she collected it all in her mouth, then proceeded to play with it, straining it through her teeth and showing it on her tongue before snowballing half of it to Mona. Needless to say, my cock didn't go down...

Bonnie's nipples came up, though, tenting the nightie; she had some serious points, there -- and there was something odd about them... I reached out gingerly -- rings! Bonnie had rings in her nipples!

"You like?" Bonnie grinned like a shark. The aggression level here was totally different than the flower-child persona of the morning. This chick seemed pretty certain of her capabilities... I just nodded. "I do, too," she announced. "I like to have them twisted a little while I fuck. Are you up for that?" I nodded again and found myself being led to my bedroom by my boner.

Bonnie knew ALL about fucking; after stretching me out on my back, she tossed her nightie over her head, revealing some VERY interesting tattoos, and proceeded to ride me cowgirl-style until we were BOTH wasted. Once again, the difference was night and day; sex with Mona tended to be gentle and loving and romantic, but sex with Bonnie was fucking -- hard-edged, get your nut and enjoy it to the max, go to Hell fucking! I learned later that was the way they taught it at the school where Bonnie learned about sex; her brother hung out with bikers, and Bonnie got sucked in to a gang. She'd been a 'seat cover' for a couple of years before things just got too harsh and Bonnie went looking for something more gentle than the kind of rough bastards that liked to gang-bang a bitch until she was wall-eyed. Mona was the other end of the spectrum, soft and cuddly and considerate and most of all, needy -- but she didn't have a dick, and now, after sampling the far side for a couple of years, Bonnie was interested again, particularly if the owner of the dick involved could manage to approach the idea of being a little bit considerate.

I could do that.

Bonnie had some of the damnedest marks left over from her days as a biker bitch; a favorite was on her right butt cheek, where an arrow pointed at her asshole beside the notation, 'Oil weekly.' Dipping Bonnie's ass let you know she'd been 'oiled' DAILY at one point -- and that sphincter of hers remembered EVERY trick! I have to sheepishly admit that I got off on twisting those nipple rings; she would get this look on her face and say, "God! That hurts SOOOO good!"

So Bonnie moved in, too, and I got a bigger bed. The next week, we ran into what COULD have been a complication of that 'down week' issue -- you see, Bonnie and Mona had been living together for years, and as sometimes happens, their cycles matched. Bonnie, however, actually got hornier when she was bleeding -- she claimed it was the 'bitch in heat' effect -- so I learned to fuck it bloody. The texture was a little different; I won't go into details to keep from grossing anyone out.

A couple of days later, the girls were in the kitchen cleaning up after supper, gabbing. I was working at the dining room table -- don't ask why, since I have an office. I had papers scattered here and there, and my desk was already a mess, probably. Anyway, they were providing a background mumble until Mona, suddenly ten decibels louder, says, "Yes! I'm happy! I'm gonna be with Pete until he tells me to go away, then I'm gonna sit outside on the porch and cry for a couple of days and hope he changes his mind! What's wrong with that? I want to have his kids, but with those bugs or lizards or walking toadstools or whatever they are coming, it doesn't seem worth it..."

Thoroughly keyed in, I picked up Bonnie's quieter rejoinder -- one that proved that she was the deep thinker of the pair: "Whiskers, Pussy Cat, despite the fact that Pete says 'Huh?' a lot, he's pretty smart, except for common sense stuff. Did it ever occur to you that he might be smart enough to get picked up? What's his CAP score?"

"Jeez, I dunno..."

"You don't know? You tie up with a guy in a grocery store and you DON'T KNOW his CAP score? What DO you know about him?" Bonnie demanded.

"Everything I need to know!" Mona insisted. "He's sweet and he loves my ass and..."

"Yeah, and he's a soft touch and he's got a nice long cock -- Hell, I love him to death, too -- but what possessed you to just up and go home with a strange guy on the spur of the moment is beyond me!"

"You had to be there!" Mona declared stubbornly. "We just clicked!"

"And you don't know his CAP score..."

"No, Cricket, I don't. It would be rude to ask, anyway!" (I never heard either of these pet names before this particular conversation, but I discovered that they'd been using them for years...)

"Pete..." I jumped a foot, guiltily, and Bonnie smirked a bit before finishing the question, "what's your CAP score?"

"I don't care!" Mona declared staunchly, sticking her head around the door behind Bonnie.

"I know you don't, um, Pussy Cat..." I replied.

"See?" Bonnie insisted, "He's not stupid -- untutored, but not stupid! He didn't call you Whiskers..." Bonnie drew a finger across her upper lip and I got it -- Italian girls sometimes grow a little fur there. Personally, I think it's cute... "But you didn't answer the question, did you?" Her eyes turned calculating.

"It's okay, I love you anyway!" Mona assured me.

I turned to Bonnie. "What about you? Do you love me anyway?"

Bonnie gave me a crooked smile that reminded me just how worldly she was and said, "Sweetheart, you beat the fuck out of just about any guy I ever had sex with -- but if you don't have a five at least, then there is something about you that isn't right. I DO kinda hope it'll be a long time before I find it, but..." She would cover her ass -- it had been burned too many times.

"Would you go with me if I was picked up?" I asked.

Bonnie cocked her head. "Can I be head bitch?" I flicked a look at Mona and Bonnie handled the objection, "Whiskers can't be head bitch -- she's too soft and cuddly."

"She still might be the favorite," I argued. Mona preened.

Bonnie laughed and nodded. "True, but she wouldn't WANT to be head bitch -- too much responsibility."

"Stipulated," I agreed.

Bonnie turned to Mona. "Pack your bag, Pussy Cat! Did you hear that fancy word? Our Petey isn't any three and a half, Hon..." She cocked her head. "C'mon, Pete, quit screwing around..."

Sighing, I reached in my wallet, pulled out my card and handed it to Bonnie. Her eyes bugged. "Fuuuuuck me!" Then she locked eyes with me and added, "Any time!" making sure I realized she was serious. Turning to Mona, she declared, "Pussy Cat, we have a problem! We have to find two more girls that we can put up with so our lover man has a full house!"

Mona blinked. "What?"

Bonnie flipped the card upright so Mona could read it. "Our Petey doesn't get just two girls, Sweetie -- he gets four!"

"You can go?" Mona's eyes glowed -- then her face fell. "You'd take me, wouldn't you?" she asked hesitantly.

"In a heartbeat, if I can," I agreed.

Mona frowned. "Why couldn't you?"

"If they pick me up somewhere and you're not with me..."

"I don't want to lose you!" Mona declared, her face tragic. "I want to go everywhere you go, okay?"

I thought about it. "That might be hard..."

"No," she insisted, "I can do it. I'm sure I can!"

"I dunno. What about the Men's Room?" I challenged.

"I don't care. Please?" She turned those killer eyes on me.

"Don't you have to work?"

"Do I?"

"Don't you have bills?"

"I don't have rent, now..." She eyed me sidelong, realizing THAT could change. "I don't have a car payment."

"I bet you have insurance on that piece of shit," I pointed out.

"If I ride everywhere with you I don't NEED a car!"

"That's a point," I conceded. "Cell phone?"

"It's not a lot..." Mona started picking her fingers.

"Food? Beverages? Clothes? Make-up? Shoes?" I tossed out.

"PLEEEZE!" Mona begged.

'What about you?" I asked Bonnie.

Bonnie shook her head. "I can't be that dependent. What happens if you DON'T get picked up?" She eyed Mona. "I'll carry me so you can carry her."

I rubbed my jaw. "We'll try it."

"YIPPEEE!!!" I ended up on the floor; Mona has plenty of mass low to the ground to tackle me.

Since then, basically, Mona is never more than thirty feet from me -- ever. That started the morning after she discovered my CAP score. She called in to her work and quit her job as a secretary at an auto dealership and she went to work with me. I ended up putting an extra chair in my cube for her. The boss freaked until he discovered that he was getting almost twice as much work from the two of us, and he wasn't paying salary or benefits for Mona; that made it all right. If I wanted to screw Mona in the janitor's closet, it wasn't an inappropriate workplace romance -- she wasn't an employee. Nobody was gonna get sued. We had a hairy couple of days; I thought I was going to have to quit because HR kept threatening to have Mona escorted off the property, but I found a couple of articles on 'The New Workplace' where women committed to a high-CAP individual contributed to the company in exchange for the ability to be close to their 'sponsor' at all times on the Net and the hassle went away. Nowadays, I don't go to the Men's Room alone; Mona shakes the dew off my lily. It's just how it is. Does it bother me? NO! We go shopping. We go to the grocery store. We go to the beauty shop. If I get grumpy about going somewhere, we either DON'T go, or Mona makes sure I'm happy about it. Do I have to draw you a picture? Okay: She gets down on her knees... At this point, there are two other guys in my department with the same deal -- and the girls are basically fighting off female employees to defend their territory, and I'm VERY highly thought of for blazing the trail! Some turkey in the legal department created a 'sexual harassment waiver'; I've got about two dozen signed ones in my desk drawer, with sticky notes attached from the female involved making sure I know all of her contact information -- usually hand-delivered to make sure I can attach a face -- and other body parts -- to the piece of paper.

Of course, the downside is that I've painted a big bulls-eye on my back for Earth First crackpots and other whackos. Bonnie got me a gun -- and when it became evident that she was absolutely serious about it, I went out and got my own -- legally, this time. Between my military background and my CAP score, permitting -- even the concealed weapon kind -- wasn't a problem. Gun laws were going away, for a couple of reasons -- first, there were the infernally stupid; I mean, if we COULD move the whole planet, we would, right? So caterwauling about how if you can't go NOBODY should is just selfish -- and shooting and bombing people to make your point makes you a terrorist. I think terrorists should be used for target practice -- preferably starting at the extremities and working your way inward to the vital areas. High CAP people needed guns to protect themselves from people WITH guns, no sense, and a death wish. Second, it was kind of stupid to limit the individual's right to bear arms when EVERYBODY was going to NEED them in the very near future! Like everything else though, limitations tended to occur as CAP scores dropped below five -- guns don't kill people, flatheads with guns kill people. If you have a three point two CAP and want to train with guns, you go down to the local National Guard Armory and let THEM train you -- and turn the rifle back in to the Arms Room before you leave. It'll have your name on it when the dickheads land... I taught Mona to shoot, but if someone was gonna watch my back, it was gonna be Bonnie; Mona was hopeless. I figured that if I was down and she could see through the tears, the perp -- and several innocent bystanders in his general direction -- would end up dead, but short of that, Mona handled a gun as if it might bite. Bonnie, on the other hand, was a fair shot with a nine millimeter -- and had no compunction about using it. The possibility that she might have appeared on the surveillance video of one or more convenience store robberies occurred to me, but I considered it irrelevant -- Bonnie's bad old days were over.

Bonnie didn't come in to work with us unless we were having a function or something special that might draw a pickup. If we went out to dinner or somewhere public, she contrived to be there, given the increased probability of a pickup. I traded my heap and Mona's piece of shit for a Dodge Charger, figuring we could use more room and four doors, especially since Mona -- and Bonnie, in particular -- were serious about picking their harem mates; if possible, Bonnie rode with us. Bonnie DID show up periodically -- often enough to stifle commentary about my apparent proclivity for collecting short chunky women. She went in with us the second day of the new era -- Mona in the cube -- and when I got called to the boss' office, she had me wait and went in first -- and came out smiling and licking her lips. I arrived thinking I was going to get fired and left after a quick injunction to not 'make a spectacle of yourself.' I suspect that draining his balls drained his indignation. HR took a couple more days to let up, but the boss withdrew his support for anything punitive. A month later, I got a raise 'to help me support the girls.' I guess he figured it was the least he could do, since Mona was filling in for the Help Desk dispatcher, who was on maternity leave -- and doing a noticeably better job -- for free.

I do plenty of late work, and Mona made waiting for those midnight OS updates and reboots a LOT more pleasant -- for everybody -- but it also generated Lucinda. Lucinda worked for the cleaning company; she came in at six or six-thirty and vacuumed and dusted and watered the plants and made sure the dishwasher in the break room ran -- and kept scrupulously to herself.

Mona detected her one evening, though. "She's cute, huh?" she asked, pointing Lucinda out. Now, I'd noticed Lucinda, so I DID have a pre-formed opinion -- Lucinda was cute. She was curvy, somewhere between Mona and Bonnie (more toward Mona's end), a bit closer to being in proportion than Mona, despite being a little hippy and showing modest love handles -- but she had bigger tits. Okay, I admit it, I would stand up to watch her vacuum, so I could have a drop shot down that cleavage -- VERY nice! She was sweet-faced, and one of her hesitant little smiles brought the impression that she knew her place in the presence of a man with it -- something American chicks have been educated away from, in the vast majority of cases. She was in her mid-twenties somewhere and was clearly in the habit of being useful, rather than decorative. "Yeah, real nice," I agreed, figuring either Mona was looking for an excuse to be jealous or it was just commentary.

It was neither. Smelling something that might work out, Mona called Bonnie and Bonnie showed up thirty minutes later -- and the pair of them gave poor Lucinda the third degree somewhere out of my sight. When I stood up from the database migration I'd been doing two hours later, Bonnie braced me with the results: "Pete, Mona and I think you ought to take a look at Lucinda, here."

Making me look stupid apparently ISN'T a fine art -- or maybe Bonnie is just an artist, since she's so adept at it; I blinked and mumbled, "What?"

"Do you know Lucinda?" Bonnie demanded, pointing at the cute little Chiquita in her tank top, hip huggers and sandals, eyeing me with her head down and a hopeful expression on her face.

"Well, we've never been properly introduced..." I stepped up and gingerly put out my hand -- and Lucinda placed hers in it, rather than shaking it.

While I stood there smiling at her and wondering if I was supposed to kiss her hand, Bonnie announced, "Mona and I think she might be an asset to us -- for one thing, she knows who is boss..."

"Asset?"

"You've got two more slots to fill, Hon."

"Uh, I see. She's volunteering? Based on what?"

"Mona and I have talked to her," Bonnie replied calmly.

I was instantly worried. "You didn't tell her anything I'm gonna have to be embarrassed about...?"

Lucinda smiled artlessly and said, "Bonnie (she pronounced it 'Bah Nee') says you have big... cojones..."

"Um, yeah, that's embarrassing," I muttered, grimacing. "What do you think of that?"

"It's a good thing, maybe..." Lucinda opined, her expression serious.

"So what have these two told you?" I asked.

"They say you have the big score and need more women," Lucinda replied.

"And you're... interested?" I asked. It still wasn't clear to me how I'd collected TWO women, let alone how I could be interviewing a third...

"Yes," Lucinda replied simply.

Bonnie stepped in. "Lucinda is from Costa Rica, and she's um, visiting her sister and brother-in-law. The situation isn't, ummm, perfect, if you know what I mean."

"My sister's husband is... not honorable," Lucinda related. "When my sister is not around, he... takes liberties... makes demands... I have tried to speak to my sister of this, but she does not believe me. She says that if these things are happening, I am inviting them. She says I am not a proper sister and becomes angry when I try to..."

"What has he done?" I asked.

"Grabbed my... hooters? Boobies? Tetas..." She hefted her jugs, just to make sure I understood. "He tore my blouse!" Somehow, that seemed to be more important than having her breasts mauled. "He... exposed himself... and grabbed my head and tried to make me suck him."

"I would be looking for a good deal more than that," I noted.

"You are not my sister's husband!" Lucinda replied.

"You understand that if we are not together when I am picked up, I can do nothing about it," I advised.

"Yes," Lucinda nodded.

"The more time we spend together -- especially in public places -- the more likely it is that you will be with me to pick up. Mona spends ALL of her time with me, while Bonnie spends less, but we try to make it quality time." I sighed. "I can't make any promises about being picked up, since I might not be -- but if we seem to do well together, then I promise that if I AM picked up and you are with me, you'll go..."

Lucinda nodded. "This is all I can ask. I would live with you?"

"Uh, yeah..." 'I JUST got a king size bed! What is bigger?' I wondered.

Lucinda, detecting my lukewarm response, insisted, "I will work..."

"That's good," I assured her. "There are already three of us -- I was just wondering about bed size."

"I must leave my sister's house..."

"Of course," I agreed. "We'll work it out."

"There's got to be a test drive," Bonnie interjected.

"Absolutely!" I agreed. "Everything is based on that working out!"

It did. We took her home and Lucinda didn't have Bonnie's experience -- or even Mona's -- but she was energetic and enthusiastic and exotic. She had the brown eyes, but hers held this fire that differed from Mona's. Bonnie taught her that she had a lot to learn about blowjobs (and I managed to hold my nut -- something about being serviced regularly gives you stamina) then I did an inventory of Lucinda's erogenous zones before getting down to serious business. She had the cutest little droopy pussy lips -- and a thick, straight, black bush. Her love handles were matched by a little belly roll that was smaller than Mona's, yet somehow more pronounced, and her breasts were big and soft and tender and sagged just a bit. She wasn't technically a virgin, but she hadn't been around; I took it easy, penetrating her from a position standing beside the bed while she lay on her back with her legs up on either side of my head. That allowed her to press back against me if it seemed like I was getting ahead of her. Once we were settled, she got rapidly enthusiastic -- and VERY vocal. My Spanish isn't good enough to tell you what she was saying, but the tone was clear -- she loved it! Pretty soon I had claw marks on my ass from her goading me to further effort... I did her twenty minutes' worth and through several orgasms (again, stamina induced purely through practice) and when she'd milked me dry, I decided to pass on her ass, while ensuring that she understood that it was coming at a future date. Then Bonnie had Mona check out her lingual skills -- two orgasms worth. You could tell that Mona liked her tongue a lot without getting in anyone's face and asking. By the time the four of us wedged ourselves together to sleep on my crowded king-size bed, the grade reports were in and Lucinda passed.

So the next morning, we took Lucinda home to her sisters to collect her stuff. Hoo Boy, what an altercation! Right from the start, both of them were going at it, hammer and tongs, in LOUD machinegun Spanish -- I couldn't understand a word, but you would probably have had to be on speed to decipher it, anyway, since the syllables were all coming out, "Braaap!" like bursts from a minigun. Add the arm-waving and histrionics and it was quite a show! We were probably lucky that the husband was at work. Lucinda's sister helped her move out -- if you call dumping double armloads of her stuff on the porch 'helping!' I was just as happy that I didn't have to go inside... Mona and I took off for work once it was clear that the place was getting close to being cleared out, leaving Bonnie to help Lucinda settle in.

By evening, they were all set; Bonnie and Lucinda came to meet Mona and I at work and we went out -- something we did more and more often, as it increased our chances of being picked up. Things settled down to a cycle for a while; Mona and I would go off in my car, and Bonnie would drop Lucinda later on her way to her shift at the fast food place where she worked, then we would all go home together about nine when Lucinda got off -- or meet Bonnie at a restaurant somewhere. The only real issue was bed space -- four in a king-size was tight, but the girls realized without me saying anything that I had to have an office, so they developed some kind of rotation among them where one of them took the couch. I didn't ask how they worked it out, realizing without thinking about it that it was probably arcane -- some things you leave to women and don't screw with, you know? That lasted until I got the raise for Mona's productivity; immediately after that, I started getting gentle hints that we needed a bigger place, so we ended up moving to a bigger but less opulent three bedroom place closer to work -- and I started worrying. Even with the raise and the chump change Bonnie and Lucinda were making from their jobs, more money seemed to be going out than coming in -- it wasn't much, but it WAS a steady drain on things. The up side was that now one -- or maybe two -- of my ladies could sleep in a real bed in a separate room and we all had a bit more space. Then, in the fall, Lucinda got laid off -- and I finally realized that when Bonnie had described Lucinda's situation that first night, she had gently hinted that her papers were no good -- and it had gone right over my head...

That would have stopped some people, but Lucinda had a built-in work ethic; she went out stumping the streets in the local neighborhood and got three separate gigs doing regular maid and cleaning work -- days, which helped move dinner to an earlier time. She even managed to find overflow, and passed it to Bonnie, who was soon making better money than the burger joint. Rich folk EXPECTED Lucinda to be an illegal -- it meant they could stiff her on wages compared to a regular domestic from a cleaning service. The two of them put their heads together at some point and bought uniforms of two varieties: the drab grey domestic type and the foxy French jobs in black with the little white aprons and the even littler skirts. Lucinda I wasn't sure about, but I was pretty sure Bonnie was offering blowjobs as an item on her list of domestic services; I didn't ask. We were in the black again -- and, more important, could afford to go out more and be available in public for a pickup. All of us were generally out of work around the same time, too, which let us be out eating or shopping or going to movies or whatever during primetime.

We had little tactics to keep the Earth First whackos from detecting a guy with three women; I would run with one as a couple and the other two would hang together in the immediate vicinity, for instance. A few feet of distance between the pairs in a mall or handling shopping in different aisles made all the difference. If we went to the movie, I sat with my arm around ONE woman, not two -- I could switch at some point without worrying too much. The girls would get up and go to the Ladies' Room and come back to sit in a different configuration without attracting any attention, too. Bonnie was usually the instigator of such techniques, which only firmed her position as 'head bitch.'

That got us through until recently, when some chick from the secretarial pool showed up to drop off one of those 'sexual harassment waivers' and show me that she shaved her pussy by lifting her skirt. Mona looked on, amused, and when I tossed the thing in the drawer after the girl's departure, Mona reached in and dug the stack out and said, "Why don't you ever look at these? You need to fill a fourth slot..."