He came and said. “I want to tell you something.”I said, “I know. Please don’t. I don’t want to be in a relationship and all.” He said, “Relationship? I don’t want what that shit, I wanted to say that I want to fuck you.” I was shocked. He was looking into my eyes as if he was already doing it. In the shock, I didn’t say anything and just sat there.He slowly started describing to me how he wanted to fuck me, the ways he wanted to do it. He said everything about how he wanted to slap my ass and push his cock inside my ‘cute face’. After 15 minutes of detailed explanation, he stopped. I was sweating and lost my voice. I didn’t know what to do.He got up and said nothing. He asked for my number. After a few seconds, I just said it. I gave him my number. For months we just had chats. Whenever he wanted me he messaged me what all he wanted to do to me. I would just listen. Then we started calling. His sexual talks made me lose myself.He convinced me to masturbate and I did that. I knew I. I came over for Sunday breakfast every year since I was eight and while everybody else dinned on waffles and English muffins we dined on scrapple and grits over in the corner. ‘I stopped makin’ extra ever since you…well…but I have some more in the fridge.’ I smiled and followed her swinging mane of hair into the sun filled country kitchen. ‘You’ve remodeled.’ I said taking in the shiny new countertops laden with food and sturdy, straight new cabinets. Outside came sounds of dish clanging and pleasant conversation. I thought I heard Joel’s laugh but I pushed it away. Nevertheless, I was hoping to God no one came in for more eggs. My stomach had this sick feeling to it, like I’d throw up at any minute. ”Bout time innit?’ she said sashaying to her industrial like range. ‘I liked the lopsided look.’ I remarked. It was kind of an out-of-body experience talking to her, being in this house. Like I wasn’t really here, but was watching. Like a dream everything was going too good. It.
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