PTSD; The Vietnam Vet and The Prostitute
He picked me up on a street in New Bedford not known to be a hot spot for hookers. I was walking home in the south end, in a well lit area, and he just offered to give me a ride. "It's very late out, you should not be walking alone," he said almost like a parent would.
"It's very late out, you shouldn't be picking up stray chicks who might rob you," I said and took out a cigarette. "For all you know, I could have a knife and I could be dangerous! Mind if I smoke?"
He took a smoke from his pocket, put it in his mouth, reached over with his lighter, eyes still on the road, lit my smoke and then lit his own.
"Dangerous... I don't think so. Look at you. I could snap you in two with one hand. A knife wouldn't even be a threat in hands that tiny."
"hahaha," I giggled and took a long drag, the window rolled down slightly, letting in the cold late autumn air. The ocean air, scented with salt and seagull shit, fresh fish and rotting corpses.
"I'm a hooker," I said bluntly. I took a detour from the usual 'hey, are you a cop' crap, because it was obvious this guy wasn't. I got fairly good, if not scientific, in determining sting operations. I had not once been busted, and this was not about to be the exception.
The blinker went on as he pulled over to a parking spot. His hands were both on the steering wheel, tightly. He turned to look at me, his face both hopeful and angry. "Are you joking?"
"Nope. I was just heading home," I replied and smiled at him. I expected a lecture. I wanted one, because I liked to debate my choices. The best debate I'd had was the time I got picked up hitch-hiking by a priest, but that's a whole other story.
"No kidding. Are you a cop?" he asked, and I laughed at the irony.
"Well, in Connecticut I may have been, technically, but I wasn't on the books," I said, and then looked at his reaction.
"Oh, really? Are you on drugs?" he asked.
"Nope. Are you?" I asked back.
"No, only prescription ones. Are you a man?" he asked.
"No. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?"
He burst into laughter. "You look like jail bait. How old are you?"
"Eighteen. You?"
He cringed. "Old enough to be your father, if not your grandfather. Jesus."
A cop car pulled along side of his car. He rolled down the window to talk to the cop in the passenger's side.
"Everything o.k., Joe?" the cop said, eyeing me and nodding his head towards me.
"Everything is just fine. Just start the shift?" Joe said and then reached down under his seat to get an envelope. "Here, those photos you wanted," he said, and handed the cop the small flat package.
"Thanks," the cop said, rolled up his window, and off they went, to fight crime, to pester street walkers, to find the good weed sellers for a cut.
"So," Joe continued, as the cop car in the distance put on the flashing lights and sped away to some unknown emergency, "are you done for the night and just need a ride home?"
"Well, that's up to you. Are you done for your night and in need of some company?"
Joe put his hand on my chin and turned my face to look at his eyes. Something about his touch sent warm floaties through my body, and even though his face was haggard and worn, and his large framed body almost frightening in dominance, I wanted to jump in his lap and smother his big miss-shaped nose and fat cheeks with kisses.
"I don't have much money. I don't think I can afford what you probably charge," Joe said.
"How much do you have?" I inquired. Quite frankly, Joe could have said he had two one dollar bills and sixteen cents in change, and I'm fairly sure I would have said 'yep, that will do.'
"Fifty bucks," Joe said, and then looked away, somewhat embarrassed.
"I could use forty bucks, Joe. I wouldn't mind doing some things to you with my mouth," I said, and again watched for his reaction.
"Ok, something is wrong with you," Joe said and then added, "I just told you I had fifty bucks, and you're going to leave me with ten bucks? What kind of hooker are you? You could have gotten the whole fifty." Joe looked baffled.
"Well, it's not my usual price, but I don't want to take all of your money. Besides, you look like you could use a little companionship right now, and I wouldn't mind a night cap," I said in a seductive voice, although there was no need to entice Joe, we both were fairly smitten with each other on a basic human level, and somewhat curious about each other, although neither of us knew why. Sometimes things just click like that.
"Something is wrong with you," Joe said again.
"Nah, nothing's wrong with me, Joe" I said defensively, and kinda pouted, but then gave Joe the evil grin of the eyes. A sort of dare... let me suck your cock, Joe. I dare you to let me.
"Ok, something is different with you," Joe offered as an alternative.
"Ok, that's fair enough," I replied.
"Hell, I'm already hard just making the deal," Joe said and put the blinker on left and headed back onto the road. "Is my place ok, or do you have a place we can go?" Joe asked.
"Your place is fine," I replied.
"Ok, but don't make fun of the mess, I didn't know I'd have any company over," Joe said and we drove towards the New Bedford harbor, to a small studio apartment building that Joe said was part of the historical society's tour of the city. "They are proud of this building, it used to be a famous whaling captain's home, but has been split up into nice sized studio apartments, mostly rented by old vets like myself."
We walked up the large front steps, the years of walking up and down had created a small dip in each step of thick slate. The front porch had chairs on it, and worn end tables, ashtrays on each one. A large potted tree was at one end of the porch, and on the other end of the porch, a large sculpture of a man in fisherman's gear, carved from wood, but so old it looked like stone.
Joe opened the large front door, and heat blew out, escaping past us like warm ghosts.
A few doors opened in the hallway we walked down towards Joe's space, and occupants greeted Joe. Then quizzical glances were given to me, and then sly grins. Some winks. And quietly re-shut doors.
I hadn't noticed, but Joe was holding my hand, protectively, during this walk down the hall. I hadn't noticed until he let go, to unlock his door, and I noticed because I missed his big, warm hand holding mine. I knew, before I even entered his space, that Joe would become a regular customer. And I knew, and I know Joe knew, too, that we were going to learn a lot from each other.
The room was typical for most single men; clothes strewn everywhere, pile of dishes in the small kitchen sink area, pizza boxes, an unmade bed, and a large cat that didn't move from the small couch, but did raise its head to look at Joe. Upon seeing me, the cat licked its paw and then sniffed the air. Sensing nothing, it curled back into a sleepy position and drifted back to slumber.
"Wow, Joe, this place needs a good organizing and cleaning," I said and laughed.
"Yeh, the maid won't be here until next century," Joe laughed back, and then asked me if I wanted something to drink. "I only have soda and juices, no booze."
"Got a Dr. Pepper in there, by any chance?" I asked as Joe stood in front of the small apartment-sized refridgerator.
"Will a Coke do?" Joe asked, and handed me a can as I said "Yep."
We sat on the bed and drank our sodas, my eyes taking in the layout of the room, asking Joe questions about the maps on the wall. "Well, I do a little photography around town, and need to know the streets like the back of my hand."
"So those were really pictures you gave to that cop?" I asked.
"Yep, they were. What did you think I gave him?" Joe said with a grin.
"I thought he was your bookie," I said and then laughed again.
"HAHA, no, no, no. I don't gamble. They were pictures of some well known drug dealers. I help out with that kind of stuff over at the force, I got some great pictures of some loads coming off the boats a few years back, it helps the boys out if they know who is who in town," Joe said and then took a drink of his soda, and I could see his mind wondering if he should have said what he'd just said.
"Your secret is safe with me, Joe. I hope you play it safe, that's some dangerous crap to get involved in," I said, and then wondered why Joe would be involved in such a thing.
Almost as if he'd read my mind, Joe said "Well, I lost a brother some years ago to heroin addiction, and I know about the dangers."
I got up to put my soda can down on the circular table not far from the bed. Without asking, I took Joe's can from him and put his can on the table with mine. As I stood there, I took off my long black jacket and lay it on the chair at the table. Joe looked at me and smiled. I took my shirt over my head, and lay that on top of my jacket. Joe smiled bigger, and his eyes went over my body in a glance that made his face light up. I had no bra on.
I put my hands up to my breasts and gave Joe a sexy, teasing look. As I walked towards the bed, I think he whimpered, but it may have been the cat. I took Joe's head and placed his face between my nipples and his beard and mustache tickled me senseless. He brought his hands up to my arms, ran them up to my wrists, brought my body back a few steps and said "Hey... what is your name?"
"Capri!" I said and gasped that during our entire conversations in the car, during our walk from the car to the door, and while inside his place... it had never been mentioned. I rarely got asked my name while working the streets. I rarely offered it, either. But I did notice a trend... those who did ask usually saw me more than once. And I felt so happy that Joe asked, because of that trend.
"Capri, Capri. Like the island."
"Like the pants, too, yep."
"Not your real name," Joe said.
"Yep. Not my real name."
"What is your real name," Joe asked, and pulled me towards him, his lips taking a nipple and gently squeezing.
"Renee," I said in a whisper, and then a breath of air pushed between my lips in a cooing sound. "But everyone calls me Capri, it's not my *hooker name*," I added, and then got on my knees in front of Joe.
My hands went to his jeans and undid the belt buckle. I rubbed the underside of his left thigh and pulled off his shoe, then his right shoe. Joe stood up and unzipped his pants and pulled them off as I leaned back to give him room. His hardon was very, very, very noticeable. As I looked up at it, although this may have been an illusion, but with Joe standing up, it seemed to be bigger than the length of my head.
I got a little nervous, because it appeared that the monster in his pants was as big as Joe's deep voice and large hands. And now with it so soon to be released from the cage of his boxer shorts, I was happy I was kneeling to catch it, because my knees would have buckled had I been standing.
With my fingers at the waistband, I pulled the undergarment out and around Joe's penis. And the head nearly poked me in the eye. Joe sat down again on the bed, and I raised my body up to his, my breasts running along his upper thighs, my mouth taking him in, just the tip, and stayed there a second to gage Joe's reaction. Looking up at him, I saw he was watching me, and he said "I am not going to last long at all here."
I took the rest of his long shaft into my mouth, my hand taking his balls firmly and giving them a serious grip, and then I felt Joe lay back further on the bed, his hand reaching for a pillow to put under his head. As he looked down at me, I brought my mouth up and kissed the head of his cock and smiled. I then immediately went back to sucking him, mainly focussing on the upper half portion, because that seemed to please Joe the most intensely. He took my hand and wrapped it around the bottom portion of his shaft, and following his direction, I kept a good rythym of mouth and hand, and felt Joe's body go very tight under me as my mouth got touched with the warmness of his sweet cum.
*editor's note*: condoms are being left out of this story, because although they were used for all sexual play between Joe and I (except for one time, but this wasn't it), I feel the story is better without condoms.
Joe sighed loudly. "That was the best thing I ever bought for forty bucks." He rose to look at me.
"Why, thank ya, Joe," I said and cuddled up to him on the bed. We lay there quietly, our legs rubbing against each other. It was comfortable, the bed had a lot of sheets on it, much more than a top and bottom sheet. Blankets were half falling off the sides, some were at the top of the bed. Many pillows with mismatched pillow cases, various sizes... it was a bed that beckoned you to just relax.
And laying there, without speaking, we somehow drifted off to sleep.
I awoke from a dream, and Joe seemed to be having a bad one. It was his yell that awoke me, along with the movements of his legs. Was he running in his dream?
"Egg, you've got to GO FASTER!"
'Egg?' I thought to myself... maybe a nickname?
"NO!" Joe said as his face contorted and he went into a fetal position and covered his head with his arms and hands. Then, just soft crying. Not knowing what exactly to do, I just lay near him and got as close to him as I could, just to be there for him, my arm around his shoulder and upper arm.
He awoke a few minutes later. Reaching inside the bedside end-table, he took out a small vial of medication, popped one in his mouth, tooks a sip of a ginger-ale that must have tasted room temperature, and as he lay back down on the pillow near me, he saw my open eyes. "Sorry about that, I have nightmares sometimes. Nothing to worry about."
I touched his forehead, it was covered in sweat. "It's ok, Joe. I have bad dreams sometimes, too. But yours must be very scary. I'm so sorry."
"I'm ok. Hey, do you want to go home? Or do you want to just sleep here for the night? I can drive you home if you want to go, I really won't mind at all if you'd feel more comfortable in your own bed," he asked politely.
"I'm very comfortable here, Joe. I'll stay if you don't mind a hooker sleeping in your bed with you," I replied.
He smiled. We hugged and fell back asleep.
The dirty windows with no curtains let in a stream of sunshine that fell directly on my eyelids at six a.m.
I looked around the bed for Joe. He was gone. I leaned over the bed and looked under it... shoe boxes, porn magazines, a rolled up pair of socks with dust all over them, a cat-toy mouse with one felt eye that sorta dangled, the other one missing.
Sitting up, I wondered if he'd gone to get coffee. But I could smell coffee. Looking around, I saw a coffee pot to the left of the small stove top, and the steam rose from it, dancing around in the drafts let in by the large window, shimmering from the sun's light. I got up and walked closer, and saw the mug Joe must have taken his first wake-up gulp from. Filling the sink with hot water and some dish soap, I embarked on cleaning the place up a bit.
Walking around Joe's place, waiting for him to return, picking up glasses, plates and forks along the way to add to my batch of dishes to be cleaned, I saw the envelope on the table, marked:
To: Renee, yes, you, the hooker in my bed
I chuckled and opened it. Inside was $60.oo along with a small note.
Dear Renee,
I had to leave for some errands. Won't be back until mid afternoon. I left an extra 20 for a cab so you can get home. Please feel free to steal anything you want in my house, but know the guys in the hall will not let you leave with my television or stereo. Thanks for last night.
Yours,
Joe
As I washed the dishes, I wondered what to do with all the clothes scattered about the place. Some seemed clean, others were dirty, and some it was very hard to tell. As I looked around while scrubbing a pan that had fossilized remnants of ravioli in it, I saw two large empty boxes and figured I'd just do my best to put the definite clean ones inside one box, and the definite dirty ones in the other.
I put on some music and my socks glided on Joe's linoleum floors. Reaching behind his fridge for the broom, I suddenly felt as if I was being watched.
"Meow," said the cat.
I jumped and said "AAAAAAAAAAHHHyikes!", startled by the cat, which seemed to almost smirk at me as I held onto the broom for dear life. "Do you need some food and water?" I said, and looked at the cat dishes near a door, and they were full and clean. "Nope, you don't, you're all set," I said and put the broom resting near the sink as I wiped the counters and table top before sweeping the room.
After about two hours, the place looked very nice, for a bachelor pad. I went to call a cab, satisfied with my surprise for Joe, but as I picked up the phone I noticed some shelving that had tons of books on it. Figuring I could just dust and organize those before I left, I put the phone down and got a facecloth and dampened it. As I headed towards the shelves, the phone rang. I stopped and looked at the phone, and then, I don't know why, I looked at the cat.
"Meow," said the cat.
"Well, I'm not answering it. Nobody knows I'm here," I said to the cat.
The cat licked its paw.
:::ring:::
"Doesn't Joe have an answering machine?" I asked the cat.
:::ring:::
The cat meowed again, and I wondered if maybe it was Joe calling to see if the hooker in his bed had left.
:::ring:::
I picked up the phone. The caller had hung up. Sitting in a chair at the table, I took a sip of tea I'd made with a teabag I'd found in Joe's silverware drawer. I rarely drank coffee, but I did like the smell it gave to the small place.
I put the facecloth on the kitchen counter, folded neatly, and called a cab. I figured that at some point fate would lead me back to Joe's space, and I'd clean his bookshelf then.
As I stood outside on the porch waiting for my cab, two old guys sat playing chess at one of the small tables. I watched as they played, so seriously, but with soft spoken jabs and eye rolls. As my cab pulled up, I said "Have a good day, gentlemen," and they looked up at me with smiles that bordered on a line somewhere between cordial and devious.
"You, too, young lady," said the gray haired one closest to the steps, and he gave me a little once over with his eyes.
"Thanks, I will," said the other one, as he took his opponent's rook.
"Four bucks even," the cab driver said as I handed him a five dollar bill.
"Keep the change," I said as I headed to my friends' apartment building I'd been staying at in the spare bedroom for a few months. I didn't see Harold's car out front, Maggie's husband, he worked the night shift and should have been home by now. Then I remembered it was his day off, and he probably went out for an all-nighter game of poker with the boys. As I opened the door, Maggie came running up to me.
"Oh my god, thank god, oh god, you aren't dead!" she exclaimed and then she smacked me upside the head. "Don't EVER do that again, call if you are going to stay out all night, for god's sake, I was crying this morning when you weren't here, I thought you'd gotten stabbed to death or gang raped, my god, anything can happen," she babbled on as she continued to smack me upside the head. I grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers and then the palm and then went to her wrists.
"Don't get all frisky with me now, I am SO pissed off at you, my god, you don't even know how scared I was, you not being here, for God's sake, you can't just make a phonecall to let me know you are ok?"
I looked at her and her lips were just so full and enraged, covered in spittle from yelling at me... I wanted to just grab her and kiss her.
"Don't look at me like that, oh my God, sex does not make everything better, not this time, damn you, Capri, you can't freak me out not knowing what to do, worrying about you like that," Maggie went on until I finally grabbed her, pushed her the rest of the way into the front room, kicked the door shut with my foot and brought her down on the couch, smothering her face in kisses. She belted me hard with her hand on my ear, I heard a little high-pitched zinging noise somewhere far away in my head. I took her hand and bit her pinky finger, hard, and then started sucking it slowly.
"Oh god..." Maggie purred and started kissing me back.
Maggie's nightshirt was a white cotton piece with little half moons all over it in yellow. Her breasts, even as she lay there below me on the couch, were so full and breathtaking. I took my teeth and raised her nightshirt up past her slender legs and white panties, until I could see her bra-less beauty, her nipples getting larger and more awake before my eyes. As I brought my mouth down to take one into my lips, the door opened and in walked Harold.
"You fucking whore. I thought we made a deal not to do shit like this unless I was here?" Harold said as Maggie flew up, and hurridly brought her nightshirt back down, stretching it past her knees.
"Maggie, can I talk to Harold a minute alone?" I said calmly, and Maggie ran to their bedroom and shut the door.
"I mean it, Capri, no one-on-one stuff," Harold demanded.
"Well, I was willing to do that, Harry, your way, but since you tried to fuck me while Maggie was at work, I thought the rules had changed. It should go both ways, outta fairness to Maggie. And me."
Harold glared at me. "You haven't told her, have you?"
I stared at him, contemplating pausing a long while to torment the creep my friend had ended up with, using his own fears of losing Maggie. "No. I have not told her. And, I won't, and I wasn't going to fuck Maggie, I was going to do the same thing you had tried to do to me. I was just going to *try to*, but not do it. I would have said the same thing I said to you. We should not do this, because the deal is, all three of us or nothing. Right? Your rules, right?"
Harold looked like he was going to punch me in the face. "You don't like me, do you," he said and his face got redder than hell and he looked dangerous.
"No, I don't, Harold. But, Maggie does. And I just wanted to stay in the spare bedroom and pay you two rent. You slipped in the sex shit and because I had been with Maggie before, I didn't mind the setup. But you went behind my friend's back and tried to fuck me that afternoon, and I don't think that's honest or fair. Not to Maggie, not to me."
"Fuck you, you god damn whore," Harold said in a very evil, quiet voice. "I want you out of here by tonight."
"Ok. No problem," I said and went to my bedroom.
As I began emptying the drawers of my clothes, placing them in the duffle bags I'd come with, I felt no sadness, no anger. I felt a pleading... a pleading for better times, calmer life, and not just for me.
I knew life sometimes had these kind of moments, I knew these moments well, and I knew that I would get through this one as it was not the most impossible situation I'd been in. In fact, it was quite tame in comparison to a thousand other moments.
Tote bags and plastic personal item holders, an old gray backpack, and poetry. I found myself putting my face to the pads of paper, to sheets of unlined white, to smell the pen and ink and old trees. I breathed in that smell deep, and let it promise me the things I knew I could attain, and even the ones I doubted. The peace washed over me, the words I'd written through the years, some pages so old and worn, the edges felt more like cotton sheets than paper.
I sat on the bed with most everything packed; it never took long to get ready to leave, from anywhere. I held the pen in my mouth and ran my hand over the blank notebook page. I heard something smash out in the kitchen, and then I heard Harold cuss, just the word 'FUCK' and then I heard a door open and shut, loudly, and seconds later, another door open, quietly.
I heard Maggie gathering the pieces of a broken glass or plate with a broom. I wanted to walk out there and tell her not to pick up after him, not to clean his world for him, because he was not a good man, and his lies would eventually catch up with him, and Maggie...
...and you can't sweep up lies and dump them in garbage cans, bag them up and put them at the side of the road, like it never happened. You shouldn't, Maggie, you shouldn't be with someone like this when you are so trusting and kind. You should be with a man who would love you enough to not break your dishes and your heart.
But I knew saying these things to Maggie would only confuse her already mixed up mind on matters of Harold. And I knew if I told her these things, she would leave him, and blame it on me on days she was alone, nights she could not fall asleep. She'd have to make her own choices, based on things she already did know about Harold, and not on those she did not. She'd have to be strong through her own being, and not through mine, or leaving Harold would just lead to another Harold.
So, I just wrote my promises to her, my hopes for her, my goodbyes to her, on the paper. In poetry that to this day I can not read with my eyes without feeling my heart burn for Maggie. I knew Maggie had such strength, such wonder and a fierce sense of herself... she would one day figure out her life and her own needs, and I would be there if at that moment in her life she found me again.
I put the notebook in the backpack and went out to get the phone to make some calls to find a place to stay. Maggie sat at the kitchen table, her hands stretched out, her head tilted left, the eye on the side of her face just looking at the fish tank. Bubbles from the filter pooling around the tip of a fake plant, fish swimming by casually, merrily bumping into each other for fish-kisses. I took the phone and brought the long cord into the bedroom with me, closing the door.
As I started to dial my friend Kevin's number, Maggie walked into the room softly. I hung the phone up and looked at her. "Don't go," she said.
"Maggie, I'm not leaving town, I'll be around, we can go out to eat next week, meet for tea at the doughnut shop, after Harold cools down," I replied.
"I need you here, Capri. I can't stay in this without you here," Maggie said, her hands going to her mouth either to stop the words, or to help pull the words out all the way.
"Maggie, you've got to make those choices without me. You can't make me responsible for such big choices. Take time to figure it all out, for you, not because of me," I said.
Maggie knelt in front of me at the foot of the bed, leaned forward and put her head in my lap. I stroked her hair, dark brown shoulder length, it felt cool to the touch and silky. We stayed like that for moments untouched by the entire world. The earth may have been twisting and turning, Harry was somewhere out there on the streets twisting and turning himself, but both of our bodies and minds were one, and we were calmed by the peaceful touch of each other.
"I need to dye my roots before I go, do you need a shower or the bathroom anytime soon?" I asked Maggie, as she pushed her head deeper into my lap, between my legs. I wanted to be with her, but I knew the odds of a sensual goodbye being ruined by Harold was far too high to risk. I'd rather hold on to the thought of her hair in my hands, her beautiful face in my lap, as our parting.
But Maggie had other plans, despite the risks.
As I put the blond hair dye onto the darker roots at my scalp, Maggie walked into the bathroom looking daring.
"You are not going into the shower with me, Maggie, so you can get that thought right out of your head," I said teasingly.
"Oh, yes I am. I'll have to," Maggie said, and put a strand of her hair out to me. "Dye it. Just this strip. Your color," she spoke like a rebel.
"Are you out of your mind?" I asked, but I admit, I liked the idea.
"Just one strip of blond," Maggie said, demandingly, and held out the hair so close to my face it touched it softly and tickled.
"Ok, but half that," I said, and took the hair into my plastic gloved hands, divided it in half with my fingers, and spread the blond dye into it. Maggie had a devious, mischeivous grin on her face. I did, too, but it had an undertone of worry at the corners. "Oh boy, Maggie, I hope you know what you're doing," I said flatly.
"I do," Maggie said.
We set the kitchen timer to twenty five minutes and sat at the table drinking tea together. As the bing-bing-bing of the timer went off, Maggie got up, put the bolt locks and chain locks up on both doors into the apartment, and we went to wash the hair dye out of each other's hair.
The plastic showercurtain was a pale pink, and the dim lighting in the bathroom created a soft glow to Maggie's skin as she and I stood there under the beating water, my head tilted back to rinse quickly the hair coloring. Once done, I took Maggie by the waist and turned her directly under the showerhead, the large streak of blond hair far more visible than I'd have thought it would come out in virgin hair.
"Maggie, it's blonder than heck," I said.
"Good," she smiled, her eyes closed, her face lifted up to allow the water an angle that went from the very top of her forehead to the ends of her long hair.
"I thought it would come out more red than blond, you've never had dye in your hair before, but this took and it's going to look even lighter when your hair is dry," I said softly, as I inspected the swath of hair in my fingertips.
"Good," Maggie said again, and her smile became a smirk.
"Maggie," I started a thought and then, because the thought just seemed too long to explain, I took my hands up her sides, her warm wet skin sliding them up to breasts that my hands cupped perfectly with nipples that played between the small creases between my fingers.
"Maggie," I said again, in a lower voice, and whenever I said her name, her knees bent a little and her body moved a little closer to mine.
"Maggie, I'm going to fuck you goodbye," I said into her ear, and her mouth went open and her body trembled, but I took my finger and slid it inside her because I knew she thought she couldn't take it much longer, and then I slid out and her face begged me to do it again, to do it more. To give her more, and so I did. With one hand I took her cheek and kissed her slowly, and my other hand with two, then three, then four fingers that Maggie kept leaning down into, her legs parting slightly, her streak of blond hair over her face, damp upon her lips as she pushed it away and cried to me that she was going to cum.