Becoming Kitty Read online

  “Well, guys like to see them.”

  She snorted. “No man is going to see my underwear until I get married.”

  “You're a virgin?” I asked.

  “Of course! Do you know how many diseases you can catch from sex!? Not to mention the risk of getting pregnant!”

  “Yeah, but it's kind of fun,” I said with a grin.

  She snorted and shook her head, them marched out of the room.

  Well, maybe I could work on her, I thought.

  There were other doors in the hall but she didn't volunteer to show me what was in them. Instead she climbed back up the stairs, and went to the garage, and we unloaded the rest of my clothes. After that she took me upstairs to show me around.

  The hallway where the stairs were was divided by them. On the other side was the master bedroom, which she didn't show me. The hall was at right angles to the rest of the floor. The house was narrow but very long.

  I could see the front door to my right, past the dining room and living room. To the left was the kitchen and then, I guess, what they call a family room. It was all kind of open, except for one wall separating the kitchen from the dining room. The high, vaulted ceiling sloped to the right about fifteen feet up.

  Erin took me past the kitchen, with its granite counters and stainless steel appliances, through the family room, where there was a big screen on the wall, to the big glass doors leading out back. There was a deck here, and an in ground pool, then past that, lots of trees.

  “This is nice,” I said.

  “It's peaceful and quiet too,” Erin said. “We don't get traffic sounds.”

  Graveyards were peaceful too, I thought.

  I went back downstairs to finish setting up my room, unpacking my laptop and putting it on the bare wooden desk, setting up my speakers, then aligning all my makeup and perfume on the dresser top.

  Erin came in while I was putting my clothes away. Several dresser drawers were open as I tossed different types of clothes into them, and she frowned as she looked at my open lingerie drawer. She picked out a thong and the matching lacy half-bra clipped to it and shook her head.

  “Why would you wear stuff like this?”

  “Because I look hot in them,” I said.

  “But who's going to see them?”

  I smirked and she flushed a little. “You shouldn't be showing people your underwear.”

  I laughed at that.

  “God, how old are you again?”

  “I'm eighteen!”

  “Really? You act more like you're thirteen.”

  And look like it, I almost added, given her short size and skinny body. But I didn't want to start a really nasty fight.

  “I don't find it necessary to show off my body to men,” she huffed.

  Again, I bit my tongue. “I'm not showing off my body. I like looking sexy and feeling sexy. Even if no guy is going to see my underwear I feel better knowing I'm wearing sexy things.”

  “Why should that matter? You value is based on your intelligence, your skills, your education, your personality, on how good a person you are, not on how hot you are.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You went to high school?”

  “Obviously!”

  I shrugged. “Those are all nice, but if you're not hot you were a nobody at my school.”

  “Don't you see how wrong that is?!”

  “Wrong and right don't enter into it. That's the way it is.”

  Kathleen entered the room then.

  “Getting unpacked all right?”

  “Uh huh,” I said as Erin showed her the flaming pink underwear.

  “If that's what she wants to wear that's up to her,” Kathy said.

  “Yup,” I said.

  “And I fully understand that you're simply responding to the sexual messages society is sending you. Whether it's music videos, magazines, television, movies or even advertising, the message is that you should look hot and be sexy.”

  “Which I am,” I said, just a bit smugly.

  “It's unfortunate you didn't have a woman around to counter those messages while you were growing up and point out what's really important.”

  “Like a nice personality?” I said dryly. “Yeah, okay. Lots of girls with nice personalities are sitting home Friday and Saturday nights watching TV while I'm out dancing. And anyway, who says you can't be hot and still have a nice personality?”

  “No one. But if you value yourself on how sexy you are it distorts your self image.”

  “My self image is fine,” I said.

  “Your self image is based on you being a sex kitten.”

  “And I'm a hot sex kitten,” I said.

  “Don't you want to be more than a blonde sex kitten?”

  I shrugged. “I don't know. I haven't thought of anything I want to do in life. Being a sex kitten sounds pretty good, actually. Everyone will want me and buy me drinks and take me dancing! Probably some guy will even marry me.”

  “Men want to marry a full formed woman, not just a sex toy,” she said.

  I laughed. “Men are walking penises,” I said. “They look for hot first. If there's no hot, they don't care about your personality.”

  “They can be,” she said. “If they're shallow. Just like women can only look for men who are hot, and not care if they're kind and sensitive and intelligent.”

  I rolled my eyes at that one.

  “Like my father? The guy you dumped?”

  “Your father was kind and sensitive and intelligent – .”

  “Guess that wasn't that important,” I said.

  “He and I split up for entirely separate reasons which are none of your business, but being hot had nothing to do with it.”

  I shrugged.

  “Now, rules of the house,” she said firmly.

  I sighed and turned to look at her, arms folded beneath my breasts.

  “First, you don't go anywhere without telling me where, and telling me when you'll be expected back. Second, you clean up any mess you make. We're not your maids. Third, no noise that bothers us. Fourth.”

  “Geeze, write it down,” I said.

  “Fourth, no going in other people's rooms without permission. That includes not going into the unfinished part of the basement over there.”

  She pointed down the hall and to the right.

  “That's where the furnace, the HVAC system, the water heater, the electrical stuff, and other systems are. That's where I store things. None of it needs blonde fingers on it.”

  I frowned at that turn of phrase.

  “Fine,” I said. “I have no interest in that junk anyway.”

  “Fifth, you will observe the proprieties of a young lady while living in this house.”

  “Huh?”

  “That means you will not curse, or smoke, or have men over, and will not walk around in your underwear – or less.”

  “Darn, because I was so looking forward to walking around naked,” I said.

  “It also means you will act with sensitivity to others, and will not be rude, crass, argumentative or insulting.”

  I sighed.

  “That includes rolling your eyes.”

  “Yes, Sir!” I said, saluting.

  “You will also assume your share of the chores needed to keep this house need and well-maintained,” she said.

  I groaned at that, but I couldn't really seriously argue against it. My father had pretty much let me get away with doing almost nothing, but I didn't think I'd be able to wrap Kathleen around my little finger the way I usually had daddy.

  “We will discuss possible work assignments once you've settled in. You're a healthy young woman. I'm sure there is a lot of things you could be doing rather than sitting around the house doing Facebook or watching TV or whatever it is you're used to.”

  “I like dancing,” I said sarcastically.

  “There is a strip club up on the highway. Perhaps after you turn eighteen you can apply.”

  I glared at her. “You're the one wit
h the stripper pole, lady.”

  “It's not a stripper pole!” Erin exclaimed.

  “Hush, Erin,” her mother said. “It's not substantially different, but the purpose to which it is put is.”

  “You swing around the pole. Seems the same to me,” I said.

  “If you're lucky, Erin will demonstrate what a great form of exercise pole dancing is, Sierra. Maybe she can work on helping you tone up your flabby arms and thighs.”

  “My arms and thighs are not flabby!” I said indignantly.

  Erin snorted as her mother left.

  “Well they're not!”

  “Want to arm wrestle?” she said, putting her elbow on the desk and holding her hand up.

  I was tempted, just to show up the scrawny little twerp, but I was also wary. What if she really was strong because of that pole dancing thing? And besides, even if these two only used it for exercise, I kind of wanted to try the pole dancing thing myself. That would be hot and sexy!

  “How often do you do this pole dancing thing?” I asked.

  “Every day. Want to see?”

  We wandered up the hall and into the exercise room. She turned on the music and closed the door so as to not bother her mom then went to the pole and leapt upward. She spun around and twisted back up and about in a way which had my jaw dropping. I mean, wow!

  “Wow!” I said. “You are so good!”

  And I would look so hot doing that!

  “Show me!”

  “You wouldn't be able to do moves like that yet. Your arms are probably pretty weak.”

  She was unfortunately right. I tried leaping up, grabbing the pole and pulling myself up, but it was so hard! Neither my hands nor my arms were up to it, nor was I able to clamp my thighs tightly around the bar enough to help.

  It was kind of embarrassing to be so totally surpassed by this little twerp, especially at something which, let's face it, was something hot and sexy. And even if it was 'pole dancing' it was still dancing! And I loved dancing.

  She led me over to the exercise machine and showed me how to sit on the attached bench, and grip padded bars and then use them to work on both my arm and chest muscles, then on the lower bars for legs. I was determined, too. I wanted to be able to swing around that damn pole like she did!

  Just doing the exercises for a little bit left me sore and groaning, though. I mean, I wasn't out of shape. My favorite activity was dancing, but I wasn't used to using my upper body except for some chest muscle toning exercises I did for my breasts, and I wasn't used to working my legs in the same way.

  “You have to do it every day,” she said.

  Well, I have the time, so why not. Toning up my body was a worthy objective. It would make me even hotter, after all.

  I just didn't tell her that.

  *

  Living with Kathleen and Erin had its friction, of course. Especially since she was just as bossy as I remembered. Erin was two months older than me, but I still thought of her as way younger, for some reason. So it was hard to take her seriously.

  I was surprised that she could drive, for example, when she said she was taking the pickup to a volunteer place so she could deliver meals to old people. She invited me to come along and of course, I said no. Why the hell would I volunteer for something like that!?

  Jeeze, what a goody two shoes!

  A few days after moving in Kathleen I had my eighteenth birthday. She made me promise not to drink, which was so much bullshit, but I did it. Then Jared picked me up in his Corvette and we drove back downtown and had a wild blowout with my friends.

  Well of course I'd be drinking! It was my eighteenth freaking birthday!

  So what if technically you weren't allowed to drink till twenty one? Nobody paid any attention to that! And since I was tall and blonde and hot and had fake ID that sort of thing had never given me any issues.

  Somewhere during the bar hopping me and Jared made out in his car, which was awkward given the lack of leg room, but hey, if there's a will, there's a way! We wound up angling the drivers seat back and then I straddled him and gave him a terrific ride which had his eyes bugging out!

  I loved making guys turn into silly putty!

  I was supposed to be 'home' by two, but it was closer to four before he dropped me off just up the lane. I was hoping to sneak in quietly, and had even left my basement window open for that purpose. I was a bit... not drunk, maybe, not entirely, but... uhm, happy.

  Hey, I was a fucking adult!

  It was freaking dark, though those trees. I managed to make my way around to the side, only to find the damn window closed and locked.

  “Fuck!” I hissed.

  So then I tried the front door, only to find the dead bolt on. What the fuck!? That bitch! She wanted me to have to ring the door so she'd wake up and find me smelling of booze! Fucking lawyer bitch!

  Maybe I was a bit drunk. But then again, going skinny-dipping wasn't really that bad an idea. There was some moon to see by, and going skinny-dipping was always fun – and a bit hot. I stripped off my dress, high heels, stockings and lingerie, then slipped into the pool.

  It always feels kind of sexy sliding through the water naked, and I slid under water, opening my mouth to fill it with water, then spurting it out like a whale surfacing. Ha! Let the bitch smell alcohol on me now!

  I swam a few laps, doing the same thing several times, enjoying myself and, like I said, feeling kind of daring and sexy being naked outside in the water like I was.

  Then there was this huge wash of bright lights that dazzled and blinded me! I dove under water almost instinctively, shaking my head, then when I surfaced I squinted, trying to block the floodlights from hitting my eyes.

  Kathleen was standing there in a housecoat, arms folded across her chest, glaring down at me.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “What do you think you're doing, Sierra?”

  “Having a fucking swim! Is that a federal crime!? Geeze!”

  “You were supposed to be home by two. And you're naked.”

  “Duh,” I muttered.

  I climbed out of the pool, a little embarrassed, well, more than a little, but determined to brazen my way through it. Hey, I was proud of my body! And I was sure not going to cringe and squeal like an embarrassed little girl and try to cover myself with my arms! No way was I going to give her that much satisfaction!

  So I forced myself to stand up straight, and even reached up and back to my hair, gripping it and twisting the water out – and incidentally, arching my back.

  Yeah, how do you like my breasts, bitch? I bet you wish yours were as big and firm, I thought.

  “A proper lady does not wander around naked,” she said with a flinty eyed stare.

  “So I'm not a proper fucking lady. So fucking what?”

  “And a proper lady does not talk like a sailor!”

  “Well, I just got out of the water,” I said, snickering like that was funny.

  She looked me up and down. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Nope!” I said.

  “Get inside, get dressed and go to bed. We'll speak of this further in the morning!” she snapped.

  “Yes, sir!” I said, sort of clicking my heels together and saluting.

  “You're not funny, Sierra!”

  “I'm funny to me. And by the way, I sleep naked.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “What? Is there a rule about that?”

  “Not if you're an animal.”

  “You're such a prig,” I said. “I'm amazed you even have a daughter. I bet you got divorced because men wanted to have sex with you and see you naked.”

  “Go to bed!”

  “Okay,” I said, marching past her to the now open back door.

  I couldn't help turning, though. “And I had sex tonight! I can have sex any time I want!”

  “Any animal can,” she said. “Including blonde sluts!”

  “Jealous?”

  “Go!”

  Chapter Three
r />   Okay, so I was in some trouble. But honestly, I didn't see what I'd done as being particularly wrong. Who doesn't get drunk on their eighteenth birthday? Unless they're a Mormon or something.

  But Kathleen was icy for days after, and kept calling me “the blonde” or bringing up blondes, as in “Even blondes have to do chores” or “just because you're blonde doesn't mean you can't work” or, “don't think being a blonde gets you out of acting responsibly” as if “blonde” was some sort of description which went beyond my hair color.

  I continued my new exercise regime, even though my muscles were feeling kind of sore. Erin was nicer than her mom, at least, though she was still a prissy girl about a lot of stuff. Like a week later she agreed to show me a few introductory moves on the pole so of course, I wore my gray yoga pants and a short, midriff baring tank top.

  “Those pants are pretty tight,” she said with disapproval.

  “They're exercise pants!” I said. “And there's no men around to see anyway!”

  She shrugged and nodded. She, of course, was wearing shorts, and I don't mean tight shorts or short shorts. They were the kind of shorts middle school kids wore to gym class. She also wore a full sized t-shirt tucked into her shorts. Ugh! Ugh!

  Anyway, she demonstrated some fairly simple moves, like how to grab the pole up high and then twist your body around it. You held on and threw your legs forward and around so you swung halfway around the pole. I could do that, though not with the ease she could.

  The yoga pants proved to be an issue, though, when she tried to show me how to grip the pole with my legs, because when I tried I slid right since the fabric just wouldn't grip.

  “Maybe you should wear something else next time,” she said with a bit of an I-told-you-so smirk.

  “I wouldn't leave that open to her,” Kathleen said from the doorway.

  We turned and she frowned at us. “Being blonde, she'll probably decide on a thong and a tiny bikini top.”

  Then she turned and left!

  Bitch!

  “Your mom can be a real bitch.”

  And you know what she did!? She slapped my ass hard! It stung and made me yelp and leap.

  “Don't speak like that about my mother!” she snapped.