His Little Slut

r, I tried to be quiet

H doesn't know wh

volume control, especial

and Clara was not dealin

ury like a nar

pered, "Your dad's

Fuck

to myself, "Let's

her down in her bed took twenty minutes. Getting her on her

as currently in a similar state in the backseat of the Ub

ed on Clara's bed, I stare

I walked into the bathroom,

alcohol in their systems

h time for what

my party clothes, pungent now with

ell, then

pulled out a fresh towel and

and the stench of the day. I wanted to be fres

before slipping on a nightgown that was a l

wn my skin until the hem br

my own eyes, knowing that this was the point of no return,

ghts, the cuts and bruises to my ego that I'd had to endure, t

and the white-hot rag

kind of body and face that men couldn't seem to resist, and coupled with th

darkness, the distant glow of the sodium streetlights made the shado

e, a set of rooms I'd only been in

aking dinner. It was eighth grade, and Clara wanted

er's underwear drawer and fished out a massive, purple dildo, giggl

anded on a wastebasket and the pair of tie

een out of t

would have recognized this for what it was –

s, I sai

riendship, I knew better than t

e knob of this forbidden

adjust to the gloom. The door latch gave a quiet 'cli

, George Coleman lay asleep on his back, a

watching the slow, regular

eside him, gently pulling back the

ked when I noticed the insiste

we can help h

ers around him when his hand

o you think