You grabbed her around that sweetly rounded ass and ran your hands down the back of her legs and tried not to think too long of that alleyway fuck where some cat or a rat scared crap out of you and you came on her dress in a panic. She said about dry cleaning and you pushed her towards a dumpster before running back into the club. The one here with you now--her legs alone were worlds beyond any cheap blond against a dank brick wall.
But sometimes she was in one of her ways and it wasn't just the lady problems like she had a real deep worry she couldn't shake sometimes and it made you listen at least some of the time and that's something she made you good at listening at least you know. You'd listen as long as you could stand it then massage her into a relaxed way as long as you could stand it then you'd have your way. But then that night she wasn't just having that.
* * *
"Do you think I'm as worthless as I think I am?" She asked you as you tried to look semi-professional with your elbows in her back and she stared ahead blankly as you tried to catch her eyes in the mirror of the wardrobe door.
"You ain't worthless baby so long as you're with me," didn't tidy things up.
You'd dealt quite well in the past with this line of questioning and you found the trick was never to hesitate in an answer and to always answer with something that at least appeared to sound positive even if it didn't really mean anything. In fact the less meaning anything had the more likely it was to get her to turn around to you and give you that look that look where she looks at you like you're an Escher carved from Greek marble, and those glorious tits are facing you now and they're just about the third best ones you've been that close to (your mother's a disconcerting second; of course by 1987 standards) and she grabs you tight around the back of your thighs with what little nails she has and pulls you in and in and--after five what you felt were solid reassurances it still was headed nowhere. There was something heavy on her and this was about the time you would normally swap out your cell number and hightail it to Concord for your next best catch. But this time you felt as though it would be worth getting her through this.
You returned forty minutes later with some coke and a small whip fashioned from dried Indian grasses but she had already cried herself to sleep with some NyQuil and pills, and doing lines off your '85 Accord steering wheel on the drive over certainly didn't help your judgment but you felt it was time to bring one of those Portsmouth broads into the mix of things. Another forty minutes and there was a phone call and she was downstairs waiting to be let in and so you moved your girl into the en suite bathtub and fitted her with ear putty because you knew this shit was about to get nasty even with a towel stuffed under the door.
"You ain't worthless baby so long as you're with me," didn't tidy things up.
You'd dealt quite well in the past with this line of questioning and you found the trick was never to hesitate in an answer and to always answer with something that at least appeared to sound positive even if it didn't really mean anything. In fact the less meaning anything had the more likely it was to get her to turn around to you and give you that look that look where she looks at you like you're an Escher carved from Greek marble, and those glorious tits are facing you now and they're just about the third best ones you've been that close to (your mother's a disconcerting second; of course by 1987 standards) and she grabs you tight around the back of your thighs with what little nails she has and pulls you in and in and--after five what you felt were solid reassurances it still was headed nowhere. There was something heavy on her and this was about the time you would normally swap out your cell number and hightail it to Concord for your next best catch. But this time you felt as though it would be worth getting her through this.
You returned forty minutes later with some coke and a small whip fashioned from dried Indian grasses but she had already cried herself to sleep with some NyQuil and pills, and doing lines off your '85 Accord steering wheel on the drive over certainly didn't help your judgment but you felt it was time to bring one of those Portsmouth broads into the mix of things. Another forty minutes and there was a phone call and she was downstairs waiting to be let in and so you moved your girl into the en suite bathtub and fitted her with ear putty because you knew this shit was about to get nasty even with a towel stuffed under the door.
* * *
A little history lesson. Despite the synonymy people like to place between "old timey" and "built to last", houses around your area were more like "built to stand, to an extent". That heritage charm you paid $125 a week for wasn't exactly something you'd want to trial an earthquake on. Or even a moderately heavy winter, though you never found that out.
As you opened up for that radish lipped floozy the door scared off some pigeons holding perch on a ledge of loose granite and it fell all at once and you took a sizable brick to the head as you opened your mouth to speak it was quickly closed again smashing teeth against teeth and the floozy there was an unbelievable terror in her eyes you stepped back and locked the door behind you because if you looked worse than she did just then with your blood spattered on her face globules dangling from thick whorish lashes then there was a real problem and she'd be the last one to do the right thing about any of it.
As you opened up for that radish lipped floozy the door scared off some pigeons holding perch on a ledge of loose granite and it fell all at once and you took a sizable brick to the head as you opened your mouth to speak it was quickly closed again smashing teeth against teeth and the floozy there was an unbelievable terror in her eyes you stepped back and locked the door behind you because if you looked worse than she did just then with your blood spattered on her face globules dangling from thick whorish lashes then there was a real problem and she'd be the last one to do the right thing about any of it.
* * *
Her instant reaction to you being on top of her in the tub a bloodied shambles was compacted by her confusion of not knowing why she was unable to properly hear herself scream. You weren't just injured badly, things had gone into your brain and sometimes you can be lucky because the brain is a big thing, but you certainly could've chanced better in these circumstances since you only had another 30-something seconds to live before you left your girl with a heavy mess to deal with, but she would just stay there under the weight of you, partly from the shock, partly overdosed on sleeping tablets, feeling your phone vibrate in your jeans pocket from the endless calls from some nameless girl outside in the rain.
