Chapter 1 - When Does a Guest Become a Pest?

All good things come to an end, eventually. I was trying to be philosophical. Young adult house mates come and go, even when you are good fuck buddies.,

Ann and I had lived together for two years. At first we were friends in different bedrooms. Then we became frequent sex partners. Friendship had its benefits. Then, not so frequent. Ann's bi-sexual bed partner selections gradually transitioned more toward females. Then she moved in with Kendra. Sigh.

After Ann moved out, we were still close friends and confidants. We scouted sex partners for each other and still had some awesome sex together.

My life was better than it could have been. When your live-in friend with benefits moves out it could be tough on your sex life. In this case our buddy fuck sex thing didn't entirely stop. Friends with benefits just got a new venue or two. We still got together for a friendly encounter, but we knew our future wasn't together.

It was cool, we were still fuck buddies. We just both liked girls. Ann still sent guy biased girls my way, and Ann still liked an occasional dicking. We just couldn't help each other out morning and evening like we had been used to doing. When your fuck buddy is just down the hall, masturbation doesn't make much sense. Sigh. Hello Rosie.

Our other sex partners helped pick up the slack too. Ann had Kendra and a slew of females eager to explore. I spent most of my time with two women friends, Laura and Susan, who lived together in the same house. My affair with the two women began as a revenge fuck, but, that's another story. (Friday Five O'clock Club)

I decided to separate housing economics from romantics. Wouldn't it be less complicated that way? Maybe a guy might be an easier housemate. It would be simpler, no sex or romance complications. I like women and simply have no interest in guys. I invited a fellow engineering classmate to share my townhouse. Steve was easy going; we had worked on a class project together and got along well. We wouldn't even cross paths very often, as we both spend so much time in school and with women friends. We would be phantom housemates, a simple and straightforward housing arrangement. It worked for a while.

Yes, it worked but ... Softhearted Steve got caught in a clever ask. His very steady woman friend, Bonnie, has a cousin named Molly. Molly finally got fed up with her no account abusive boyfriend and mouthed off. It was a strategic error on her part. She should have moved out, and then told him what she thought.

He beat the crap out of her and destroyed her phone. When she fled their apartment, she drove away in her car with a black eye, busted lip, bruises, and her laptop bag. Sadly this wasn't the only bad thing that ever happened to Molly. She seemed to collect loser boyfriends.

On the good side she was away from her most recent abusive jerk. On the downside the pinhead had stolen her money, destroyed her clothes, and trashed her reputation at the restaurant/bar where they both worked. On the plus side, she found a safe couch to crash on with her cousin, Bonnie.

On the downside, Molly turned out to be a bad thing for Steve's sex life. Molly camping on her Cousin Bonnie's couch cramped everyone's style.

Not only did Molly's presence on the couch simply crowd Bonnie's home and love life. Molly is a downer. A real doom cloud. Worse, Steve can't get Bonnie away from her. At first, Bonnie tried to cheer up Molly. That got old real fast, mainly because it didn't work. Now Bonnie won't fuck.

"Molly might hear us," she whispered. Both she and Steve became sexually frustrated grumps, sleeping in the same bed wanting but not having sex.

I caught bits of the story as Steve and I crossed paths in our townhouse. We always had enough time to share a few beers, a little weed and to catch up on personal news. Now Steve really needed to blow off steam from his frustration. It became a frequent complaint. Steve would randomly say, "Fuck, I gotta get laid."

Steve can't even get Bonnie to leave the apartment for a quickie. "It's like an infectious depression." Steve complained. Bonnie never liked to stay over in Steve's bed in our low rent slum townhouse. Bonnie thought it was too slummy. Yeah, OK. The neighborhood was the pits, but inside was a good, clean, cheap place to live. It was perfect for an engineering student. Anyway, the venue argument with Bonnie was not winnable, so Steve quit trying. It was impossible to get Bonnie in the mood, Molly was always there.

It was especially irritating to Steve when I was obviously getting it on. The evidence was walking around the house. Fuck buddy, Ann, still came over to do laundry and get her ashes hauled. Laura and Susan often shared my bedroom. We didn't ever try to conceal what we were doing; it was often very noisy sex. Yet, Steve and I never discussed my sex life. It wasn't his business and I didn't want to rub it in Steve's face.

Bonnie was frustrated too. Her itch needed scratching. Bonnie was motivated.

She hatched a plot to get Molly gone from her couch. Bonnie didn't want to go to Steve's place but it was perfectly fine for Molly. Bonnie said to Steve, "Look, with a phantom housemate like Dave and an empty third bedroom Molly can move into your back bedroom."

The reasoning went on, Molly was no threat to Bonnie, and Steve since Steve would be in Bonnie's bed. Molly would have 'more space'. Anyway, it would get Molly off Bonnie's couch. Bonnie could go back to getting her toes curled regularly without an audience. After all she argued, "Dave is hardly ever there, the third guest bedroom is open, it has a mattress..." the push was on. Steve caved. After all, Steve's almost always at Bonnie's apartment. Now he could be in her bed all the time.

Molly was moving.

I came home after a long weekend with Laura and Susan to find a strange woman in my living room.

"What the fuck? Who are you? How did you get in here?" I asked. Though I'd heard the sad tale, I'd never met Molly.

"I'm Molly, Bonnie's cousin. Steve gave me the key. He said it would be alright." Molly has landed, fait accompli.

Her face was kind of cute, but she looked like your basic homeless person. Molly sat on the couch with legs crossed in lotus position her knees poked through her raggedy jeans and one shoulder poked up through the neck hole of her oversized sweat shirt. Her hair was greasy and matted. There was a distinctly bad smell in the room, like ripe garbage or nasty laundry. I was shocked and mad. There she was in the middle of my couch. A mess, but kind of cute in the face.

I went into the kitchen, looked around, and got even more pissed. I counted to ten then went back into the living room to tell Molly she had to leave.

Standing in front of her I was ready to let loose, start yelling and then throw her out. Molly looked so small, as she cringed in front of me. I guess she could tell I was mad. When she looked up, there was fear in her face.

I was shocked again and now mad at myself. I don't ever hurt women. It shamed me and hurt to see her fearful of me.

Turning on my heel, I ran up to my bedroom. Behind the closed door I called Steve.

Barely able to control my voice I started as a whisper but wound up shouting into the phone. "Steve, what the fuck? This fucking Molly woman has moved into the back fucking bedroom. She says you gave her a key!" I was yelling so loud I barely needed a phone for Steve to hear me.