Shirley's Dilemma

"Yeah," Norma said, "Good luck with that. Mine is only half dried and I think it's about two sizes smaller. I hope to God I can get into it. You may be better off just wearing it wet. At least it will fit. It stinks like hell either way. Just wring it out and hang it."

Room service came at half-past eleven and brought towels and bars of soap. The women took their time showering and dressing in their damp, pungent clothing. Without combs or brushes, they both put their long hair up in wet, stringy pony tails, as the small hair dryer had overheated and stopped working after Norma had given it a workout, attempting to dry her dress.

Both women left the room at around one o'clock and Norma, embarrassed in her too tight, too short dress, smelling like piss, went to the front office to settle the overtime charge on the bill. And home she went.

When she arrived at home, Francee called the number Shirley left on her phone and got dumped into the voice mailbox that had not been set up. She ripped off her stinking dress, threw it into the trash, and, naked, sat down at her kitchen table and bawled her eyes out.

After a good cry, she once again jumped into the shower and, this time, scrubbed herself down really well, washing, conditioning and drying her hair. She made certain all the makeup was removed from her face and gave herself a facial. Dressed now in her big fluffy robe, she again called the burner phone number. Again, she reached a voice mailbox that was still not set up. Frustrated, she then called Bud's cell phone. She got his voicemail but did not leave a message. She would wait for them to contact her. Till then, she could only worry about her handbag and its contents.

Francee then attempted to retrieve the photos and videos she had taken of Bud, so she could send them to the phone she had been asked to contact once she got her handbag back. She figured she would show that bitch. Sadly for her, they were nowhere to be found. Her blackmail scheme had been undone.

Norma couldn't find a parking spot any closer than three blocks from her apartment and received looks and cat calls as she took her walk of shame from the car to her apartment. Once she got home, she opted to take a nice, long, hot bath. After having no more success than Francee reaching Shirley's burner phone, she ran the bath and hopped in. For the first time in 24 hours she felt comfortable, but when she thought about her missing handbag she broke down, as Francee had, and cried.

Typically a strong woman, she did not feel very tough. Especially when she thought about the picture of her and Francee making out. Shown to the wrong people, it could derail her plans for the new job with her now new, very conservative employer. And who knows what other pictures and videos they may have taken while she was in a state that she could not remember? She feared it would not be long before she found out what was next. Then the phone rang.

"Norma, it's me." Shirley said. "I got your call, which I guess means you are home. Tell me, have you checked your trunk? Oh, and I will be sending you a couple of texts. Check out the attachments. Be in touch and let me know what you think." And she hung up.

Norma threw on a pair of sweats and ran the three blocks to her car. There in the trunk was a handbag. But it wasn't hers. She took it anyway and did the fast walk back to her apartment, holding the bag to her gut like it was a dead baby. Obviously, this was Francee's bag, but Norma and she had not exchanged contact information, figuring they would never see each other again, having no desire to recall their first and only meeting. She would have to contact Shirley or Bud in order to contact Francee, whose last name she didn't even know.

When she picked up her cell phone to call Shirley, she noticed she had two texts. She figured she'd better check them out before calling. One was a photo and the other a video. The video was of the two women making out, leading to Francee going down on Norma. The photo was of Norma's face between Francee's legs. She immediately dialed the number.

"Had fun, didn't you?" Shirley said. "Like my work?"

"I really just called to get Francee's number. It appears I have her bag and I expect she has mine."

"My bad," said Shirley, "You didn't answer. Do you like my handy work?"

"What do you want, and why would you do what you did?"

"I don't know how you can even ask me that. I'll text you the phone number, but I won't tell her yours, so it's up to you to get in touch with her. First, though, you have to text this cell and promise you will not be pursuing my husband. You stay away from him or you're gonna feel my full fury."

"You can have him. Consider me gone."

"Good. Look for the text. And wish Francee my best."

Shirley never returned Francee's calls. She was going to let Norma take care of the rest. But she texted her a couple more attachments. Her last one said, "I'll bet your principal would love to see these."

Francee attempted to contact her time and time again, but Shirley grew tired of the ringing and shut the burner phone down, broke it in half, and threw it in the trash. Then, feeling pretty darned smug, she strode upstairs and gave her husband the best fuck he'd ever had.