It was called The Madwoman Upstairs and it was a mystery. She didn’t usually read mysteries, but a friend at school had given it to her. She was tho...oughly hooked, and settled back to read. If she got sleepy, she’d just take a nap.She was still reading when there was a tap at the door. She expected it to be Daddy, and she called, “Come in.” It wasn’t Daddy. It was Bobby.“You still mad at me?” he asked, as his eyes raked over her nude body.“I guess not,” she said. “You were really thoughtless,. ” I’m sure the satellite carrying our call frosted over.“I think he wants to ask me out on a date,” Cinnamon said. “He’s handsome.”“He’s way too old for you, Cinnamon!” I said a little too vehemently. What was I thinking?”“Jealous?” she teased.“No! I’m not interested in Mr. Grant. And I won’t date a client. Now why did he come around?”“He said he was worried about you. Frankly, I’d say you should be worried about him.”“Why?”“He was on crutches.”“What happened?” I was alarmed. Jordan always. Karissa imagined herself back into the massage room, straddling some man on her table just the way Amy had shown her. She was riding him, grinding on his cock. Then she imagined how Amy might come in, might tell her what to do next. On command, Karissa would pull herself out of the man and put her pussy on his face. She would kiss her boss and when she had finished with the man, Amy would fuck her.Karissa imagined Amy coming back to her apartment when Jack wasn't home. Amy would sit her down on. And so, during those next three years, Mary changed tactics, ostensibly kind and charming to me when in the presence of others, but often mean and verbally harassing when in private.When I finally discovered girls and started dating in my sophomore year, her attacks all of a sudden became increasingly shrill. She hated the ease I had with the opposite sex, and would invariably criticize any date I brought home.It was that year when I recognized that there was something wrong with Mary, that I.