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 Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 5:37 pm
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 7:07 pm
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 8:23 pm
hmmm, interesting next part... I wonder who she might be with... and as for money... I seriously need to start one of those.... and he doesn't have a bad mind for good places to travel!
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 8:24 pm
I thought you'd think so.
Yes, we WONDER who she's with >.>
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 8:39 pm
KirbyVictorious I thought you'd think so. Yes, we WONDER who she's with >.> well... write more! so we find out razz
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 8:40 pm
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 10:30 pm
I freaking love you Kirby.
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 10:39 pm
Yay! heart
What'd I write? whee
~~~
Guess what guys? From now on, almost all the time: PRESENT TENSE.
I love it. ><
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 11:39 pm
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 11:46 pm
ONE IN THE MORNING!!!!!
This next section, I must be careful I think. Very explicit. To abrdge, or not to abridge?
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2008 1:21 am
Yeah, it was pretty unabridged. I could have been worse.
Let me remind you all that I am a virgin in every since, even astrologically, so anything inaccurate is ignorance on my part, and anything accurate isn't from real experience. I just have too much time on my hands.
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2008 10:58 pm
AGGHH DON'T LEAVE US IN THE MIDDLE OF A SENTENCE KIRBY
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2008 11:34 pm
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2008 11:36 pm
He wakes up on Janine’s chest, feeling heavy from exhaustion but light and free and ecstatic from sex. She is breathing deeply; he thinks she has fallen asleep as well. He skims his nose across her skin, breathing in a scent he found there: it smelled like perfume, some kind of flower. A clean, sweet fragrance.
He feels a strange, wild emotion rise in him; he stretches his head up, tilts it back, and kisses her neck. He shifts, kisses harder; she stirs, opens her eyes. Smiles.
“I’m awake, lover boy, I’ve been awake….”
He rests on her chest again, enjoying the way her voice sounds that way.
“Not too bad, I guess,” she concludes. “B minus.”
“Can I come back tomorrow?” he asks her.
“Well, I don’t know. Who’s paying here?”
He blinks; in all of this, he had forgotten that she was a prostitute. Oops. “So I can?”
“Sure, lover boy, if you have the money and the time.”
He smiles. He’s a bit cold, so he pulls the blanket up to her waist. He traces a finger across her abdomen.
“You’re amazing, Janine.”
“No, I’m a whore. There’s a big difference.”
“I mean…not what you can do. That’s amazing too…but I mean the way you are. YOU’RE amazing.”
“You’re just saying that because I sexed you up.”
“Not at all.” He turns his head; kisses her chest. “Thank you, Janine….”
Her heart melts, he thinks. “Don’t mention it,” she says modestly. “It’s about time you learned these things. How old are you?”
“32. What about you?”
“28.”
He nods. He had had trouble placing her age.
“Janine, may we try again?” he asks her politely.
She laughs at him. “Better not, lover boy, it’s past two…I have to pick Nina up at three. But I tell you what,” she adds reflectively, sitting up, “I don’t mind giving you another b*****b…what do you say?”
He wanted one, yes; but instead, he smiles and shakes his head. “I’d prefer a kiss,” he tells her.
She obliges. They make out as time seems to stop; and it turns out that they have enough time to get all the way to third base after all.
He has been there for almost six hours. Janine allows him to help her dress; as he is snapping her bra for her, he carefully, with a soft kiss on her neck, slides three hundred dollars into the left cup. Then, before Janine can object, he slides on her shirt, turns her carefully around, and hugs and kisses her as if they’ll be parted for months. She is dazes and bewildered as she says goodbye.
David leaves the apartment building with a siren song in his heart and a whistled tune floating behind him in the breeze.
~~~
Honestly, he wants very much to go with her to pick up her daughter. He wants to see Nina, yes; he wants to know if she looks like Janine. He is doubtful and fearful of the alternative.
But also, he wants to get to know Janine better. He wants to be part of both halves of her tangled life. He wants to be able to help her. He wants to be there for her.
But he knows, somehow, that he has to take it slow. He realizes deep in his heart that she is unused to this kind of relationship, and is still trying to work it out. In a very female way, she is trying to decipher her heart. He will give her some more time.
He muses. How many times has Janine walked down the street and faced discrimination for what she is? How many sneers, hostile glances, gropes and peeks and catcalls had she suffered from all these years? How many jobs had been taken from her--how many times has she been refused the basic human right of respect?
They didn’t know anything, these people. They didn’t know that she doesn’t choose this, and it isn’t easy. They don’t know how it tears her apart--someone as independent and fierce as her, letting a man take total control of her, taking the chance that he will hurt her, knowing that he didn’t care. That, David empathizes, would hurt more than anything; looking into someone’s eyes during sex and seeing that they don’t give a damn about you, they don’t care enough for you to give you just a little bit of affection.
He knows what that feels like. He remembers his first girlfriend, who couldn’t love him enough to stay. He remembers the next girlfriend, in college, her eyes unfocused from all the booze as she demands things from him that make him feel dirty and despicable. All the girlfriends after that, who based their relationship off of sex.
He remembers his last girlfriend, of just a few years ago. For once, he had a real courtship; no hormones got in the way. Her name was Noreen; he called her Rena, his Rena, and she was wonderful. She called him Dave, which no one ever had before; she had been heartbroken before him, needing someone to love and to love her after her fiancée ended their engagement because he fell in love with someone else. They had met at David’s bar; she had loved his playing. She appreciated David’s devotion; she liked his old-fashioned attitude immensely. And soon appreciation became more.
They went on dates. Saw movies and plays together. Rena often stayed at the bar and listened to him play, cheering for him every time he changed songs. He loved the attention she gave him; he felt like he mattered. He tried to do the same for her, walking her home from her job at an office, taking her on walks through Central Park.
One night, Rena was nervous as he walked her home from the bar. She wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. She was not nervous in the ******** way. She kept smiling to herself, turning away; and her hands were shaking.
When they reached her apartment, she asked David if he would like to come up. He accepted. She flirted with him; he could see that she had had one or two drinks, for courage. He knew what she’s doing. He allowed her to seduce him, wondering all the while if she would be more understanding than the others before.
They had sex. It wasn’t very good.
Rena acted differently after that; she wasn’t so openly affectionate and sentimental. She didn’t let him take her on as many dates as before. She made excuses.
In what he now sees as a desperate effort, she seduced him four more times. The results weren’t much better. Even David gets little pleasure out of it.
In the morning, after the last time, she sat on the bed with her back to him and told him she wanted to break up. She said that if she was going to get this serious with a man, and even go so far as to consider marriage, then she would need to be able to have kids with him. She was pretty certain that that wouldn’t happen with David.
David left. Those words--considering marriage--deeply hurt him. She had been thinking of marrying him…he had wanted to ask, and she would have said yes…but he had ruined it.
He didn’t even look for another girlfriend after that. Not until Janine.
The world, he muses, is cruel to the brokenhearted.
~~~
David returns the next day at ten. Again, he is considering flowers; but he rejects that idea. Janine needs her emotional space.
He has another 300 bucks in his wallet, even though he knows that she’ll need to get back to work today and won’t have time to give him her entire day. But then, he wonders, will she? He IS paying her. And Janine, he knows, never gives anyone their money back.
She isn’t on the curb. But it’s Tuesday, she should be. He decides to wait for her.
Around him, New York progresses as it usually does on a Tuesday morning. Everything is slow and casual; no one is rushing to get to work anymore. The streets are, relatively, empty. You still can’t jaywalk without fearing for your life, though.
David muses that it’s been a week since he met Janine. Has it really been only a week? It seems like so much longer. It feels like a lifetime to him.
His thoughts drift; and then he is disturbed by footsteps as someone walks out of the apartment lobby. He swivels around; but it isn’t Janine. It is a tall, thin man with a smile on his face and a disheveled shirt.
David’s heart sinks. He waits.
As he suspects, Janine soon comes out, wearing tiny shorts and a tight shirt. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail. She starts when she sees him.
“Hey, lover boy.” She smiles; it is not half-genuine, like yesterday, but mostly forced. He worries. “Back again?”
He nods. Glances after the man. Janine raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say, Well, what did you expect?
“C’mon up, then.” She sounds tired. He follows her, waiting until they are in her room to take her hand.
“What happened, Janine?” he asks her at once.
“What do you mean?” She strips off her t-shirt, pushes her bra strap back into place, and sits, slumping a little, on the bed.
“You look unhappy.” He sits beside her. “And hurt. Did he hurt you?”
“Good God, lover boy, you’re obsessed,” she mutters. “Define hurt.”
“Are you in pain anywhere?” This is urgent to him, priority. He won’t back off.
Janine shifts; makes a face. “My v****a’s sore,” she finally says, in her blunt way. “Happens.”
He carefully notes this, frowning. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Only my feelings,” she sighs.
“What did he do?”
“Chill, lover boy. He just said things he didn’t mean, is all. Guys say anything when they’re riled up. I really shouldn’t be upset about these things.” She scowls at herself. “He says the same things every time. You’d think it’d get old.”
David holds her hand in both of his, softly stroking the back. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, and means it.
“Sorry doesn’t get the bills paid,” she sighs. “You ready, lover boy? This is gonna be tricky with clothes on.”
She is teasing. He shakes his head. “You rest first,” he insists.
She blinks. He is always surprising her. She is unused to this; she doesn’t know how to react. For the first time David can see through her ruses, know how vulnerable she was underneath it all.
She reacts in a very Janine-like way. She slides onto his lap, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him hard. He senses the fakeness behind it.
“C’mon, lover boy,” she whispers into his ear. “What about those lessons of yours?” She presses herself closer, moves herself just a few inches to a more provocative position. Tempting him.
He can’t stand this. He pulls them apart. He can’t express his emotions with words; instead he takes her face very gently in his hands and kisses her as slowly and softly as he can pace himself to be. She takes his lead, responding to the kiss with equivalent actions, but it still doesn’t feel right.
“Janine,” he whispers to her, holding her close; he closed his eyes and lost himself in the warm sensation of touching a woman, almost forgotten after so long. “If I give you 300, will you let me stay all day and just look at you?”
David has become much better at saying what he needs to say. Even so, Janine takes it the wrong way. She sighs.
“Again, lover boy? All right…whatever you like….”
He despises it when she says that.
She takes his hands and places them on her back, over the back of her bra. When he doesn’t do what she expected him to, she reaches back and unfastens it herself, throwing it aside. She places his hands on her breasts. Kisses his neck. He is powerless to her, really. He feels her up, just like she expects him to, and enjoys the feeling of her lips on his neck.
She moves her hands to her shorts. He lets her undress herself, then tug off his clothes as well. But then he stops her.
“Janine…can we take it easy today?”
She pauses. “What?”
He knows now that the best way to get her to stop is to say it’s for his own best interest, not hers. “I’m kind of tired today. Late night.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? How’s that?”
“I work at a bar, it doesn’t close until real late…do you mind if I just rest?”
She stares levelly at him. Flat and blunt, as is her way. “I don’t believe you,” she informs him. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” he insists.
She sighs. “Well, it’s whatever you want…you’re one of the strangest I ever met, lover boy.” She laughs. Lays down. The covers on the bed are askew; she stretches herself out, kicking them aside. “If you don’t want to ******** me, that’s fine. I can still make you happy.”
He doesn’t doubt it. He lays beside her. She moves closer to him, too close; her hands brush against his legs, and he decides to speak up before he loses control.
“Janine. No.”
She withdraws a bit, stares at him.
“Why don’t you just take a break?” he asks her, trying to sound polite and friendly. “We can do that later, if you want.”
She sighs. “I don’t understand you, lover boy.” She takes her hands back. Hugs her pillow; watches him expectantly.
He pulls the covers over them. Settles down, facing her.
“Didn’t you want a peep show?” she asks him, sounding a little sarcastic.
“Your face is more beautiful than the rest of you,” he tells her truthfully. “To me.”
She scowls. “I find that very insulting.”
“Don’t…you have lovely eyes,” he tells her.
She turns them away from him. “You’re crazy, lover boy….”
He doesn’t know what to say.
She smiles. “I’ve only ever met one like you…and he was just a kid.” She closes her eyes.
“What happened?”
She frowns, her eyes still closed. “Why are you so interested in my personal life, lover boy?”
“I want to know about you.” So I can help you, he doesn’t add. He tacks on something of a low blow. “I’m paying, aren’t I?”
She sighs heavily. “That’s true.” She falls silent.
“Please, Janine?” he begs her. “I love your voice….”
She laughs. Thinks.
“You really want to know all this?”
“Absolutely.”
She nods.
Then she tells him her stories.
~~~
Janine was twenty-four. She worked in a nightclub, as a waitress and occasional stripper. The boss there kept her as an alternate for his favorite, Mary Ann, an innocent-looking blonde. Both of them were expected to keep him entertained when he was around, all night if they had to. He was generous with his money, and knew his way around the body of a woman. Mary Ann followed him around everywhere he went.
Janine liked her job. No one there was a hypocrite. The basest human urges were exposed and left uncovered; they knew she was a whore, and loved her for it. She performed, collected her money, advertised. Gave her address and hours, winked, strode teasingly away. She got plenty of clients.
Nina was three. Janine left her every evening with a babysitter, a tired woman in her fifties who napped all day and watched television to keep herself awake at night. She was afraid of the dark, so she stayed up until the sun rose. She was perfect for the job, and Janine paid her as best as she could.
One day Janine was waiting for a client, sitting at her vanity and fixing her makeup. Someone knocked on the front door. She adjusted her black dress, the neckline plunging, the hem very short, and affixed a smile to her face. She opened the door.
On the threshold stood a young boy, just a teenager. She was surprised; she stared at him, asked him what he needed. He looked sick with nerves; his face was a pale, pasty white. He couldn’t answer her; instead, he held out a hundred-dollar bill.
Janine looked and saw a group of teenage boys trying to hide at the foot of the stairs. She understood what was happening. She let the boy in, locking the door behind her. From the other side, she heard catcalls, and a loud whoop. The boy had his mouth clamped shut, and looked sicker than ever.
She took him to the bedroom. Turned to face him. You want two hours? she asks him. Fifty an hour is her trademark. He nods shakily, sits on the bed.
Janine had her doubts; she would never screw anyone under eighteen if she can afford to refuse the money. She asked him how old he was. He replied, with a significant stutter, that he had just turned eighteen yesterday. Janine congratulated him; he nodded, unable to speak. He stared at her breasts instead of at her face.
Janine asked him for his driver’s license, inspected it. He was overage. She complimented the picture, to be nice.
The boy burst out, suddenly, with a small anecdote; he said that his best friends in the whole world had saved up a hundred dollars for him for his birthday, they had worked really hard to give him a good present. He said that it was his only birthday present, an envelope with a hundred-dollar bill and Janine’s address. He said they’d be disappointed if it went to waste. Then he stared at her chest again and said that she was hot.
She laughed. She understood; she got this sometimes. But never had anyone been this nervous around her. It was an interesting change. She didn’t want to flirt with him too hard, in case he got too scared; instead, she sat beside him.
She asked him, what do you want to do?
He was obviously raised to be polite. He turned paler instead of flushing, looked away, and gestured wordlessly at her chest.
She knew what he meant. She stood up, pulled off her dress, very slowly. Trying to seduce a nervous man, she knows, is like trying to persuade a small animal out of its home. If you move too quickly or make any sudden moves or noises, it will bolt or play dead.
She let the dress fall, knelt on the bed in her underwear, leaning toward the boy. Asked him if he wanted to take her bra off for her. He nodded, fumbled with the hooks, pulled it free. Stared.
Janine didn’t know if he just wanted to look or if he wanted more; so she waited. The boy was still nervous; he half-stammered a broken request. Of course, Janine replied.
He felt her up. Played with her chest. She let him go, liked this a lot better than trying to please older, bolder men. She found it amusing that for the longest time, all he wanted to do was feel her breasts. He liked her perfume. He told her she was hot at least ten times.
His hands drifted to her waist, skimming over her skin. He swallowed. Was nervous again.
Janine asked him if he WANTED to do it. He nodded. Looked sick.
She decided to take it slow. She pulled off his shirt. He sat shivering like a deer before headlights. He glanced at her panties; he was absolutely frightened of her. She saw that, and left them on. Instead, she slid his jeans down a few inches and leaned over.
She knew what young men wanted. She knew what their fantasies were. They wanted to stick their cocks everywhere except where they were supposed to be. They had wet dreams about girls with breasts like basketballs playing with them, kissing them. They were still in the transition between masturbation and real sex, and that was just how they were.
Janine knows he doesn’t want cuddling and making out. He wants a b*****b, and he gets one. She discreetly unwraps a condom when he’s not looking, wondering if he’ll be daring enough.
He would. Somewhere between orgasms he found the courage to reach for her panties. She let him take them off. Then she slipped the condom on and laid down, flat on her back.
The everywhere-but-where-it-belonged thing prevailed, but eventually, with her encouragement, he got around to the real deal, instead of all the sexed up (pardon the pun), kinky tricks he got from the internet and television and his weird little friends. She faked a few orgasms for him, to make him feel better about himself; then withdrew. His time was up.
She joked that she’d made him a man. He kissed her briefly on the lips, like it had been a date. Then he left. She didn’t see him again; she was too expensive for him. On his next birthday, he probably got a motorcycle.
~~~
“He was cute,” Janine smiles. “You remind me of him.”
“I guess so.” David wonders if this is a good thing. “Damn,” she whispers to herself. “There were some strange ones….”
“Which was the strangest?” he inquires.
She tells him without beating around the bush this time.
~~~
Janine was twenty-seven. Nina was six. She had quit her job at the strip club when she moved to the dingy apartment 303; someone had broken into their apartment while she was at work. While Nina, four, was at the babysitters, Janine stopped by the apartment to change, and the man attacked her. Janine had fought at first, and screamed, but then she stopped; she realized that if the police came, Nina would be gone and she would be arrested for prostitution. She let him ******** her; then he knocked her unconscious and left.
She decided to view it as theft rather than rape. She feared for Nina, and moved to a new place. It was too far to continue with her old job, and anyway that was where all the trouble had come from--her advertising--so she realized that she would either have to rent a separate place, or be careful.
So she was careful.
She did get the occasional knock on her door; if Nina wasn’t home, she answered it. The knocks were usually from clients who came frequently, or who had heard about her from someone.
One day, she opened the door, and a little boy was there--or he seemed little to her. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen. She wasn’t even sure if he had hit puberty yet.
He was trembling. There were three other boys, older than him, lingering just out of sight. He held a few crumpled twenties in his fist. She could see by his face that this was no birthday present, no juvenile excursion. This boy was under an ultimatum: Do this or die.
She greeted him, placed a hand on his shoulder and led him inside. She could feel him practically vibrating beneath her hand. She took him to the bedroom, sat him on the bed. He literally whimpered in terror.
This, she could tell, was an innocent boy, as of yet untainted by the knowledge or performance of sex. He was a virgin in every way. It would be just sick to do anything more than hold his hand.
She knelt on the floor, looking up at him. He really was small. She began to doubt her estimation of thirteen; he looked ten.
“What are you here for?” she asked him.
He trembled as he pointed out the door. He told her, in many stuttering starts and halts, in a broken accent she didn’t recognize, that those boys outside were bullies, and were going to tease him and beat him up forever if he didn’t do a dare for them. This was the dare; they wanted him--the boy blushed here--to tell them how good she was. But he didn’t know anything about…and he didn’t want to….
Janine was certain now; this was the kind of boy who jumped if you so much as said “sex”. She felt sorry for him, the poor little thing.
She took his hand and gave it a motherly squeeze. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she told him.
She meant “hurt” to mean “********,” but the boy took it as assurance that sex didn’t hurt. He looked like he was about to cry; he was sniffling now, even.
“Please, miss…um….” The boy looked desperately toward the door. “Can I go now? Please?”
“Won’t they bully you again?” she asked him.
He nodded; and he really did start to cry. “But I’m scared,” he pleads with her. “I wanna go home….”
Janine felt terrible for the poor boy; she thought for a moment, wondering how she could help him. The solution, when it came, was fairly obvious.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
“Justin,” he answered.
“Well, I’m Janine.” She formally shook his hand; he shook back, but when he stopped, she didn’t let go. “What if I had a way for you to show those bullies who’s boss, without doing anything scary?”
Justin, eyes wide, nodded. Janine smiled.
“It’s easy. All you have to do is stay here for about an hour, then tell them you did what they said. What do you say?”
Gratitude flowed out of Justin’s every pore. “Thank you miss, um,” he told her; he looked like he wanted to kiss her. “Miss Janin!”
She smiled, didn’t want to correct him. “You can just wait here, Justin,” she says, sitting next to him on the bed. “I’ll keep you company.”
Justin shifted away from her; he was very adorable, so she preferred to assume that he was just being polite instead of trying to back away from her.
She made small talk. He chatted willingly enough to her now that he wasn’t frightened out of his mind. She found out, between the lines, about his sad little life: he was eleven, after all. His mom was dead. His dad worked two jobs. He was picked on a lot at school because of his funny accent and being poor. He had nightmares and talked in his sleep and he had to take care of his younger brother and sisters and for him, life was hard. It would have been hard for anyone.
He ended up crying again; Janine hugged him close to her, rubbing his back. She couldn’t find the words to say, so she put it all in that hug; she didn’t let him go, and he didn’t let her go--even when he wasn’t crying anymore--until Janine saw the clock and knew that it had been more than an hour since he had come.
She smiled at him; then she told him what to do as she prepared him for his sojourn outside. She mussed his hair, took his shirt from him and twisted it up until it was wrinkled and creased, and told him to put it on inside out. Under her instructions, giggling all the time--he thought it was like a dress-up game--he took off one sock and stuffed it discreetly in his pocket, then untied both his shoes. He half-unzipped the fly of his jeans. And for a final touch, Janine dabbed a damp rag around his face and neck and applied a fresh coat of red lipstick before leaving lip marks on his neck.
He gave her a fierce hug, then pasted a sloppy grin on his face and marched outside. Janine was busy messing herself up as well as she listened at the door. She tossed her dress aside, pulled one of her bra straps down, and wrapped herself messily in a towel; she messed up her hair, splashed water on her face, and smeared her lipstick with her hand. Outside, she heard gasps and cries of admiration, and Justin saying in his squeaky voice, “Yep! Miss Janin is great! She’s fantastic!”
They pressed him for details, but he didn’t know what they were talking about; instead of answering, he said what Janine had instructed him to: “No way, guys, I never kiss and tell!”
He sounded so excited and elated. Janine was grinning as she stepped outside. Immediately the teenage boys, sixteen and seventeen, besieged her with flirtatious innuendos and twenty-dollar bills. But she shook her head, wiping the smile off her face.
“Sorry, boys,” she sighed. “I’ll never enjoy another teenager for the rest of my life, not with your friend Justin on my mind. How can I settle for anything less?”
The boys stared at her, then at Justin; Janine winked at him, and he grinned. They waved goodbye; Janine watched, listening to the echoes on the stairwell as the boys pointed out all the little “mess-ups” in Justin’s outfit, and helped him get rid of the evidence.
She hoped that he found the money sitting in his pocket; he deserved it.
She hoped, with all her heart, that that boy would have a better life after that.
~~~
Janine finishes her story and sighs. “Men always break my heart,” she says to herself. “Even the little ones.”
“That was really nice, what you did,” David tells her.
She scowls. “I don’t need anyone telling me if what I’ve done is right or wrong, lover boy.”
He nods. Shuts up.
She closes her eyes and is lost in thought.
“Janine?” he asks her. Bottles up the courage.
“Mm?”
“Can you tell me….” He hesitates. “How you lost your virginity?”
Her eyes snap open. She glares with pure hatred at the ceiling. “That is none of your business,” she hisses.
He draws back, alarmed. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Her eyes close again. She takes several deep breaths. Then opens them again.
“I didn’t mean to snap,” she sort-of-apologizes. “It’s just…personal. How did you lose yours?”
He tells her all about his first girlfriend. She shakes her head at the end and lets out a slow breath.
“What a b***h.”
“I really loved her.” He is not defending or agreeing; he is stating.
“I’m so sorry, lover boy,” she says. “You didn’t deserve that.”
He doesn’t know what to say. So he follows his feelings for once. The dirty ones. He slides his hand carefully up her arm. “Are you feeling better?”
She sighs. “I’m fine now.”
It is the subtle admittance that she wasn’t fine before that convinces him she’s telling the truth. He rubs his hand across her shoulder, down her back.
“Do you feel like it, Janine?” he asks her quietly.
For answer, she kicks the covers off of them, rolls over, and straddles him. He starts to kiss her, and the instruction begins again.
She doesn’t answer his question, but it’s as close as she can get.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 8:30 am
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