PART TWO – the Bad Thing

   By the time we got in, Right was already in bed. We all ended up in my room, talking quietly. We'd all been in the hot tub enough times that a shower and bath wasn't critical. Me and him usually sleep naked, a fresh couple still infatuated so go figure. There was the tiniest tick tick tick at the door. I looked at him, he looked back. That was something new. I grabbed a giant T shirt, and he donned some boxers before he went to answer our bedroom door. Which I can't remember the last time that went on. It was Lightning. In her own giant T shirt for a sleeping shirt, and probably underwear.

   She stood there, for all the world looking like a young girl. Abashedly looking down. Asking if she wasn't tired yet, if she could talk to us for a while. Christ. The good kid wants to hang out in mom and dad's room. Why not. She sat in the chair, then I patted the bed. She looked at it, then hopped on. Again resembling to me? A 14 year old girl wants to hang out on the bed and talk with her friends or sisters.

   That was her look. That was her face. That was even her body language. She ended up laying her head back on me, and laying her legs over him. We ended up with her head and neck using my midsection as a pillow, and she goaded him to come closer to me to get her knees comfortably over his stomach. We formed a giant H on the bed. I guess it stood for "Hurry" because it was my bed.

   She talked like a young girl too. The events of the party. How happy she was that Wizzy really liked her after all. Dancing her long dancer's legs and feet over his tummy. Like a little girl, her legs and feet worked on their own and it didn't seem to be a nervous tic. In keeping with the teenager sleepover theme, he did what now seems corny but appropriate.

   "I see Paris, I see France…"

   She suddenly giggled, kicked her legs a little and squealed along with him the last line everyone knew from childhood.

   "You see Lightning's underpants!"

   Yeah, just like a kid would, she laughed longer than the "adults" did at the same joke.

   "Sorry, Wizzy. Hurry said… three dates first. Right?"

   I shrugged and nodded.

   "That's what I did. Assuming you think I'm a good girl."

   Her attention flitted back to Wiz.

   "I don't wanna… make you…"

   "Make me what? Horny?"

   "Well. I was gonna say, something like… make you uncomfortable."

   "Light? I've been checking out your leg and pantie show every morning now, for weeks. Kinda used to it."

   She smiled.

   "I know. You're very nice. You don't… stare. You look away, and you only look when you can get away with it. Thanks. Most guys, would… stare and say something."

   "Hurry would strangle me, dear. I might be in for it now, and just don't know it yet."

   "Wizzy? Thanks."

   "For?"

   "Different things. But, you stuck up for me. Guys don't usually do that. If some guy calls me a whore, they just laugh along with the guy. I mean, I'm standing right there and its like I don't even exist sometimes. You're supposed to wait till the person goes to the bathroom or better yet leaves? To talk shit. No one's ever really done that for me here. I don't think, anyways. It means a lot to me."

   "Its fine dear."

   "Light?"

   "Yes, mom…"

   "Can I ask something?"

   "Its your bed."

   "Does the person that owns the bed, make the rules for that bed?"

   "Um. Sure."

   "When… you go over to a boy's room. Is it… his bed. His rules then?"

   "I guess. Makes sense. Sure. I mean, as far as bed, bed goes? I don't have a lot of rules. A few. Not many. But in general? Yeah. His bed, his rules. Why?"

   "Just curious. Can I ask what those few rules are? That you take with you, even to his bed, his rules. You have no no's."

   "Well. Take some kinda genius like you, to figure out I have a no choo-choo rule?"

   "Chew, chew. No eating in bed? No biting…"

   "No, silly. Choo-choo. I don't pull train."

   "Oh."

   "Nope. One boy at a time. No matter what. And your friend? Doesn't get to watch. He can listen at the door, he can put a… coffee cup to the wall, like everyone else. I'm not making porno's for phones getting out on the internet."

   "That would prevent a lot more than, phone videos leaking out."

   She closed her eyes and swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. It went away quick.

   "Yeah, like I said. Specially you? Not genius work to figure on that rule."

   "No… tag team games."

   "That's where choo-choo comes from. No way."

   "Other rules?"

   "Well. No punching, kicking. Nothing like that. I mean, normal hitting or teasing is fine."

   "Define… normal hitting. Normal teasing. Examples if it helps."

   "Gee whiz. Obvious. Slap my ass, I love it. Pull my hair, if you know how to do it right. Teasing? Pinching, slapping, tickling. Now, within reason. Of course once a guy gets going you get slapped around a little, but that's fun. But, don't punch me, and while a little pimp slap here or there is cute? You're not allowed to mark my face up. I'm real firm on that, too. I mean, this is just standard girl rules, I'm sure."

   "I guess. So, you do set… limits. You set, boundaries. Up front."

   "Oh. Definitely. I just told you my rules."

   "What if, during the course of the… evening. You, get uncomfortable. How do you… stop the festivities."

   "What do you mean?"

   "What if… you get uncomfortable where things are going. How do you stop the ride."

   "The hell would I wanna do that for?"

   "No, or stop."

   "Oh. I get ya. See, that's one I don't have to worry about. All taken care of. Automatic. Built right in."

   "How's that."

   "Well. I don't… you know, date. If I'm coming over? I'm not coming over to play checkers, usually. What am I there for."

   "What does that have to do with dating?"

   "Well… regular girls date. They might wanna fuck? Then again they might not. See how it goes. I don't have to deal with any of that junk. I already know I wanna fuck. Guy knows that's why I'm there. Why the hell would I want him to stop, right in the middle of fucking me? Oh. I know, some girls like to play that… traffic light game. Start, stop. Yellow light? Go again! Hurry, I'm there for… well, it ain't for the coffee. And this protects boys, too. Makes them feel safe."

   "How does this…"

   "Lots of boys are scared of girls, Hurry! What if they think they got the green light, and misread it. But, they don't wanna be shy, or the girl gets outta the mood and leaves. No. They now don't have to worry. I'm worry free. Close the door, light on or off is your business. If you don't punch me or mark my face up… the hell would they have to stop for anyways? Besides. Once guys get going… any half decent fuck can't be stopped anyways. We all know that."

   "Can… I ask something, that might… trigger…"

   "Oh. That stuff. Uh, yeah. Thanks for asking. I think if I know to… get ready? Might go better. Can I ask Wizzy something first?"

   "Yeah. Ask."

   "Well, don't I have to ask Wizzy if I can ask him?"

   "Sure its fine, but ask him anyways."

   "Wizzy…"

   "Yes, dear."

   "Were you joking about teaching rape prevention classes?"

   "Yes and no."

   "Which part is yes, and which part is the no, then."

   "Yes, I taught them. MP thing. No, because we didn't have a row of costumes. No, because I refused to date any of the women."

   "Oh. Shit."

   "Oh shit? Little Lightning, just for you. If you want me to make you wear a costume? I'll rent one. I promise."

   "No, silly… I meant, oh shit, you refuse to date any of the rape prevention girls. Now? I gotta choose. Between? My… highly anticipated… third date? And… getting some prevention class from you. I kinda was thinking… both."

   He sighed.

   "Uh… there's two kinds of rape prevention classes, Light."

   "What's the one kind?"

   "Well. We jokingly called it, how to actually prevent rape class. Obviously a little MP only, in joke thing."

   "What's the other kind."

   "Ugh. Well, we jokingly called that one? How to pretend to prevent rape class."

   "Pretend? To prevent?"

   "There's another in joke we all had. There is a third class. We call that one, how to absolutely, positively, stop all the raping, class."

   "Can… you describe them? I might like one over the other."

   "Well. One is… more of a self defense class. Its supposed to empower the women. To take care of themselves. The joke? Kick, punch, spray class. You're trying to take a bunch of women, who never played a sport, and think they're gonna pull superhero bullshit in some dark alley. Like I said, that's the lets pretend we're gonna prevent rape class."

   "Self defense doesn't work?"

   "Limited usefulness. Mace works great. Tasers can be okay, with training. As far as training women to actually disable big and possibly armed thugs with bad intent? I won't lie to you. Its not a lot of success when it came down to it. And a lot of girls were running around, kind of bragging. I had my class. I can defend myself. Its… just not realistic. Its not got the success numbers to support it. If it was a soccer team? Its, got like one win and about a thousand losses."

   "Hey. The truth matters. And… what's the actually preventing rape class like."

   "I… wouldn't want to offend you, Light."

   "People call me a slut and a whore like I don't matter. I doubt you can offend me. Please?"

   "Oh boy. Actual rape prevention. Now, I understand when people say, it was the victim's fault? That's bullshit. But… when you look at rape statistics, and I mean the cold hard numbers. Read the reports. You start to notice a hell of a lot of similarities. Now, a smart person? Would not want to do those things, that most women that got violently raped, did. Am I right?"

   "Duh. Like, definitely."

   "And? Women that didn't get raped, or… who caught on something was up and got away in the nick of time. You'd want to look at them, and do those things, right?"

   "Big duh."

   "Now, this actually effective class? Gets shut down."

   "You got a class that works a little, and who would want to shut down what works? That's like saying, you want women to get raped more. The hell."

   "God's truth. Everybody likes that the class works. Nobody, just about, likes what the class teaches."

   "Try me."

   "Okay… any woman that was ever raped, and it got investigated? Had her picture taken. At the hospital. You can easily see the stack of photographs of the victims, and draw some quick conclusions."

   "Like?"

   "I'm… uncomfortable telling you, Light."

   "Please? This is, like… important here."

   Big, long, sigh.

   "Well? If I was to tell you, that all the victims just about, wore the color green, you wouldn't want to wear green going out, right?"

   "Duh. No."

   "Yeah. Numbers are numbers. I don't have to explain the why, I point to numbers. Problem is? You look at the victims, and their outfits… almost all of them. Showing a lot of skin. Showing their bellies. Miniskirts, tube tops. You know the ripped jeans? The ones that the girls really rip them up and show off. See through clothing. High heels, sexy hooker boots. Or running around in string bikinis at the beach towns. Sandals pop up a lot too."

   "Oh. I'm not offended. But, I can see where this is going."

   "Light? It ain't me. I can see a girl dressed like that, I don't do it. But… the guys that do it? That, is what the typical victim looks like. Now, girls come and take the class, then they run and call the TV reporters. This is bullshit! We need to teach men not to rape! We’re blaming the victims before it even happens! Which I dig it, it ain't right, you should be allowed to wear anything you want. But… its some law of the jungle."

   "Hurry. He sounds just like the football coach, doesn't he."

   "Yes. You and the football coach? Could have a beer, and agree on this one. Marine drill instructor."

   "Moving right along. Situations. Typical rape location? Dark alley. Abandoned area. Late at night. Parking lots, parking garages. Rapists need privacy. Rapists like dark. Down at the river, railroad tracks. Back roads. In the woods. Once again? Women are allowed to go where they want, when they want! You're teaching that rapists own these places! Women are allowed out late at night! Dressed how they want!"

   "Yeah. It… makes sense."

   "It does."

   "Any other… class tips?"

   "Company you keep. Pack of women? Strength in numbers. Girls that stick together? All make it home. Very, very rare for two or more women to get raped. Almost always, a single girl, alone. Also… the numbers tell us that if you're the only woman somewhere, especially if there's alcohol or drug use involved? You don't want to be the only girl surrounded by boys. So… if you get to a party? Oh, no one's here yet. Come in, we'll get you a beer. Uh uh. I don't care if its your friends you known your whole life, you don't want to be the only girl, at some keg party out in the woods. These are all situations, that victims seem to share."

   "Sounds just like the football coach."

   "Now, wrapping up. Here's the best way to get raped. Dress like a complete slut. Show as much skin and look as fuck-able as possible. Go out by yourself, late at night. Go to all male bars and parties, alone. Walk down dark alleys and explore abandoned buildings, and walk the river and railroad tracks, at night. Dressed for fucking, by yourself. Now… you do the complete opposite of all that? Your odds of getting raped go to near zero, where they should be."

   "Anything else?"

   "Its a long class, sure. Those are the basics."

   "So? Tell me something else."

   "Uh, when you investigate… well, simply anything? Its common after any interview, to ask the person. So, sum them up in one word. What would that one word be. When you investigate rape cases, you get a lot of one word descriptions that start to stand out at you after a while. Not all of them, but its obviously one of more than one trend going on."

   "So? How do a good bit of girls that got raped get described."

   "Loud know it all. A real smart ass. A bitch on wheels. Complete cunt. Insults everyone, particularly men. Bosses everyone around, men and women. Now, its not like sweet wallflowers don't ever have it happen to them sometimes, its just that these descriptions stand out of the crowd. So. To really put it all together? Dress like a hooker, and just be a bossy cunt, while getting drunk and not watching your surroundings. If you were looking for the worst statistics possible? That right there. Now. If you were to do the complete opposite? I think that would be the best statistics you could hope for. Dress normal. Be a little pleasant. Watch where you go alone after dark, if its a lonely place."

   "It makes sense, Wizzy. But, sweet nice girls get it. You said, wallflowers are victims, too."

   "Well. You can classify rapists, different ways. I don't know if these classifications are official, or just what we called them. A stranger rapist. Uh, lady's walking home after dark from work late, gets grabbed and dragged into an alley. That's a stranger rapist, when it happens in a city or bigger area. Those victims? Tend to be… let's just say that clothes and looks, and being alone, seems to be the main similarity. Plenty of wallflowers in that type."

   "And the non stranger kind?"

   "We called it a social rapist. They've probably seen the victim before, but they don't seem to be in their peer group. There has to be a large group of strangers, with typically alcohol involved. This is where we start to notice descriptions of the victim start to pop out a lot more."

   "Can you give me an example? For my first class, Wizzy."

   He sighed. He pinched his nose.

   "I'll give you an example? Sure. No names. It was a huge airbase. Um. Girl worked there. She was in uniform. When the girls are working? They have the same hair and uniform as everyone else. Its the service. The girls go out on the weekend? They, well. A lot of them? They really dress up. Some of them? Really, ah, act up. And some of them? Do both. Do you see where I'm going with this case?"

   Lightning wiggled her lower legs slung over his waist, and calculated. Looking up.

   "Dressed worse than a hooker, really acting like a spoiled cunt."

   "By descriptions, investigating? Yeah. She'd been there, I think three years already. Not just men, women too. Everyone described her as an extra mean, bossy bitch. Now. If a girl got raped that goes out to the bars every weekend? One thing we're looking for, is guys she might have slapped and really put a talking to publicly on them. We're all MPs. If we're going out anyways, we might as well all head for the bars on that end of the base. Talk to people."

   "I hear you. Get suspects. You guys get one?"

   He sighed. Chuckled. Sighed again, pinched his nose again.

   "Some cases? You can't find a suspect. Other cases? Well. Too many suspects. Our joke was a couple weeks in? The suspect pool, is any guy that ever ran across her and got within ten feet of her. We could only rule women out as suspects? Because a man raped her. I know, that's a sick joke, but… its how it was."

   "She was a cunt with a cape on. Super cunt."

   "She was a real piece of work, yeah."

   Lightning giggled.

   "Raped? I'm wondering who in the hell would ever fuck her."

   He now laughed, and it seemed genuine.

   "I'm with you on that one. But, as it turned out… it seemed like she didn't go out without taking someone home to fuck them. Couldn't even call them boyfriends. All one night stands. Don't get me wrong, good looking girl, just… like I said. A real piece of work. Suspect pool? Going by descriptions we get out of her from in the dark, she's drunk, late at night in the parking lot? He was probably some guy in the service, probably under thirty. Basically, nothing to go on."

   Lightning wiggled her legs and asked for more.

   "She get hurt? Or just…"

   "She got hurt. Superficial damage. Her description, guy appeared out of nowhere, and punched her. And again her words? Like a man. She got… what. Broken nose, split lips. Two bad black eyes. Couple cracked ribs. He basically beat her up. She wasn't quite knocked out, but she's out of it and drunk. Then? He did his thing. Oh yeah. When it was over? He cut her hair, with a penknife. Down near the scalp in a lot of places. She had to shave her head, to get her hair even again."

   "I can see it. He beat her up, then raped her. I hope he wore a condom."

   He got really quiet. Little Lightning had to prod him to speak again. When he spoke, he was extra quiet about the next part.

   "Well. No condom needed, when its a beer bottle. You know those little beer bottles? Pony bottle. One of those. It had to be… extracted medically, at the emergency room."

   "He shoved a small beer bottle up her cunt?"

   He got quiet again, she once again had to prod him to keep going. He practically whispered.

   "Yeah. That too. But it had to be medically extracted, from… I'll say the alternate location."

   "Oh."

   Lightning waited a bit.

   "How bad are you gonna yell at me, Wizzy. If I said… she kinda deserved it?"

   "I wouldn't yell at you. I also, wouldn't repeat some of the things all us MPs said, talking about this case, privately. Stolen cell phone? You work that case very little. A violent rape? Well, you work that case harder and longer. We had… off the record things to say to each other, over the investigation. I mean, the more we investigated, the more stories we got? The worse the whole thing got."

   "Hmm. I can see where the men you interviewed that had met her, didn't make her look good."

   "That's the thing, Light. It wasn't just the men. The women who knew her to see her out? That's people that worked at her big bars, and the other female bar patrons? Women hated her, too."

   "Well? What was she like."

   "Well. She basically, never met a guy she didn't slap and insult. Nice looking young kids comes up. Hey, can I buy you a drink? You're a pretty lady. Flip a coin. She either takes the drink, then runs him off, to get the next one? Or. What makes you think I'd let the likes of you, buy me, a drink. You disgust me. I'm good looking enough, I don't have to fuck midgets. Like that."

   "Oh. Really bad when she got drunk. Gotcha."

   "Um. She'd do this from the first drink. This was her normal MO."

   "Holy shit. Oh! Let me guess. Some short guy got her, huh."

   "Um. You might think, but, as it turned out? No. Kinda tall, going by her description. She was, like, 5'8" or 5'9", her description put his chin around her forehead, so. We decided, what. Somewhere just below or above six foot. Honestly, that was only way we could weed out the huge suspect pool. Under thirty, dark hair, 5'11" to 6'2". Hair like a guy in uniform would have. Which, is all of them. Short blonde guys, were all we could eliminate as suspects."

   "Okay. This is the kind of girl you mean, when you say that attitude, figures into the victim getting hurt."

   He pinched that nose first. He was doing that a lot for this conversation.

   "Yeah. I mean, you can't just say it, like, oh you shouldn't have worn that dress. But, as far as asking for it? A case like this, I would call it a worst case scenario, yeah. Now keep in mind. Its one thing for a girl to get too drunk, start slapping guys and being a cunt. It happens. But, we're talking every weekend, for three years straight. Started the moment she walked in, anywhere. Hurry. Honey. You wanna jump in here and help me with this one? Miss psych major, and all."

   "Technically, she was raped. Foreign object counts. He raped her with a small beer bottle, sounds like first vaginally, then anally. But, in layman's terms? He didn't even have sex with her. He basically, just beat her up. When you take the beer bottle out of the equation. Without the foreign object involved? She acted up every weekend, and finally got hurt for it. In a textbook? This is called… a corrective rape. And the cutting her hair short? I have two things to say, about that feature."

   Lightning and him both looked at me, to go ahead.

   "Teenagers and college students cut each other's hair at parties as a prank. It happens. Hair is more important to a woman, obviously. Doesn't hurt a guy to get a crew cut after passing out and someone cuts chunks of his hair off. The one thing that stands out to me? After world war two ended. The French women that were dating the Nazi's that occupied them? The resistance gathered all those women up, and shaved their heads. Publicly. The rest of the populace, cheered it. It was simply to shame them. This case? On the record. The perpetrator felt she had it coming, and that anyone would do what he did, just didn't have the guts to follow through."

   He asked me what about off the record.

   "Off the record? Privately. She was practically asking for it. Any more details of this poster girl for rape victims? Kind of shit she pulled."

   Another nose pinch.

   "Guy was just standing near her, not even talking to her, talking to other people in a crowded bar. She'd slap a guy, for nothing. Out of nowhere. Get the hell away from me. Like that. Mind you, this went on every night, all night. She was rude to other women. Constantly. Barmaids hated her. She'd walk up to a man and a woman, talking. Talk to the guy. Get between them. Girl says anything? Knock her drink out of her hand, toss her drink in her face. Like that. We would get, like, three different kinds of descriptions out of anyone that had ever seen her out. One? Everyone had a story to tell, like this. A good number of people? Would all but laugh and shake their head. But a lot of people? Just, no comment, didn't wanna talk about it. And normally? That might be a mild suspect, but… we had so many of those? We got nowhere. And before either of you suggest that we weren't trying hard enough? We were. If there was a little bit less sympathy for the victim? And I admit, off the record, sure. We were worried that after a taste of getting away with this, it might lead to… it happening again. You know, each victim, less and less deserving of it. This was, about halfway through my 4 year tour. We never saw another MO like this, those next two years. Looked like a one time thing, near as any of us could figure."

   Lightning asked what happened, in the end.

   "The case, it couldn't be solved. Dark hair, six foot or a little taller, carries a little penknife? Can't even guarantee the guy even wore a uniform. Most of the civilian workers, tend to adopt the haircut too. Christ, you're describing half the guys in the service. This was a huge airbase, and tens of thousands of personnel from other branches coming in and shipping back out, for classes and training, constantly. She ended up a complete wreck. Discharged. Under a medical discharge. You know. Cutting her wrists, but never enough to actually bleed to death, then running and wanting help. That kind of thing."

   He paused.

   "We never solved the case. We tried. If anyone knew anything? There was no sympathy for the victim, that became quite clear. But, back to the classes. The self defense class? Was popular, and they kept that. They, kind of canceled the other class. The how to avoid acting like the victims mostly did."

   "They canceled this class? The one that actually worked some."

   "Women that write those… go, girl power… articles? Have this weird idea, we can somehow teach men not to rape. I mean, its a great idea. I'm all for it. But… I'm a little vague on the program details. Yes, I'm being a smart ass. Murder? We've been trying to get people not to kill each other. Not a lot of success there, either. We teach people not to steal, too. Leave your purse on top of your car overnight, let me know how that goes. All these other things? We're taught… common sense ways to limit the possibility. Then magically when it comes to rape? Oh. You can't teach that. Its rude. I say, the MP's say? Fuck rude. Way I explain it? Its just the law of the jungle. I mean, it would be great to teach poisonous snakes not to bite people on the ankle, just for walking near them. Doesn't work so well, you know? Now. You teach people what poisonous snakes look like, to watch where they walk. That? Works some."

   "No. I hear you Wizzy. Its… just being smart. Um. You said there was a positively stopping rape class. What's that one like."

   "Its jokingly called that. The real name of the class? Actually a series of the classes."

   "What are some of them?"

   "The lethal courses. Not… self defense. Deadly force. How to kill people, Lightning. How to kill people… properly. So they die, and stay dead."

   "Oh."

   "Mainly handguns. Knowing how to use them… properly. Owning one? Is not useless, but… training and practice. Would it surprise you to know, every once in a while, sure. We would get a rapist on the loose. Around base. Know what the MP's do?"

   "Patrol?"

   "That. But better… we have a couple of female MP's. They're… not like your average female MP, just like there's one or two female cops, that aren't like the others. They’re wicked with that handgun, they know how to use it, they know when to use it? And most importantly they don't have a problem drilling the motherfuckers. They find one that looks, sorta like… you, or Hurry here? Dress her like a drunken slut, and she walks around at 4am, down every dark alley and abandoned area, she practices acting drunk. She's the bait. When… she gets approached. She's wired, but help can't be too close, or you spook the perpetrator. She says the guy came at her? He gets shot. He's dead, dead guy corroborates her story. Problem fucking solved."

   "That's…"

   "I know. That's real life. I'm sorry. Killing them? It works."

   "How… you heard the basic story. What… was my score against the… class that works."

   "Not good. You want me to lie? Not good. I blame your mother, you were 13 or 14. She should know better."

   They both paused.

   "Want a list?"

   "Yeah."

   "What were you wearing."

   "High heeled black leather boots."

   "And the rest…"

   "Well, actually you saw it."

   "When?"

   She fucking pointed at me.

   "Lightning? I'm not following you. Why are you pointing at Hurry, dear."

   "Her outfit. She borrowed it."

   "Oh. Gotcha. You were wearing a miniskirt and a ripped up shirt, yeah."

   "Not just any miniskirt. That one. That T shirt. You buy them ripped up like that. Its a style."

   I shot him a look, and I focused in like a laser beam on her.

   "Light. What you mean to say, is that you were wearing a denim miniskirt and a ripped up T shirt, identical to the outfit I borrowed. Right?"

   "No. That one."

   "Are you sure?"

   "You went in my closet. It was in a box by itself, in the back. I know it is. Not like I'd forget it, believe you me."

   "I'm… I wore…"

   "Yeah."

   "Why didn't you… "

   "Say anything? I don't know why I kept it. I… take it out once in a while, it makes me sad. Or I cry. I really shouldn't keep it."

   She sighed and rolled her eyes.

   "You? Liked it. He liked it. You said, you had fun in it, you were both making silly smile faces. He's covered in scratches and bite marks. You had fun, at the restaurant! You never wear cute clothes like that! And trust me, I know what it means when a cute outfit like that? Is in the dryer, and didn't need washed. Pffft."

   "Oh my god… Light, I…"

   "It worked, didn't it? You said it yourself, sis. You felt extra sexy. And Wizzy? Bet he couldn't keep his hands off you, huh? Hun… I have more of those tiny mini's, those ripped up shirts. That's what they're for. I mean… same thing happens? Every time I wear an outfit just like that to a boy's house. I can set my watch to it…"

   I buried my face in my hands. He spoke. Go figure.

   "How do you set that watch."

   "Gr-r-r. Room mate's leaving at 4:00? Yeah. Expect me around 4:30… boy opens the door. Man, that's it. No talking, no kissing. You get grabbed, that's by the hair or the wrist… just dragged to that bed, the couch, whatever-s closest. There's no… yes, no, maybe. Bang! You're at the door. Hi, I'm here, room mate gone yet? You blink, you're either bent over the couch, and its getting moved across the floor until it hits the wall, then you really get it… bed? Doggy. Hard doggy… I don't think a boy has ever once stopped to rip the outfit off me, the mini is around your waist, the shirt gets balled up around your neck, and they just go, to, town. You wanna get lucky? That, is a get lucky outfit. Hurry?"

   My face stayed buried.

   "No comment…"

   "Wiz-zy… let me ask some questions now. My turn. Your third date. What did Hurry wear?"

   "Jeans, T shirt. Jogging shoes."

   "I know, woods. How long were you there. Talking, whatever."

   "Oh. Couple hours, less. Maybe."

   "Yeah… she was all concerned. What to talk about. How to do this, when to do that… I tried to tell her. Just let me give you one of my patented and proven, get lucky outfits? You don't have to go through none of that jazz. She wouldn't have had time to get out the driver's seat after parking, you'd have had her right through the driver's window. The wham, the bam, and skip the thank you ma'am… then she could fix her hair, and then? You can eat, and drink, talk… and there's no pressure. You doing this right, you doing that right. You wear a get lucky? Everything you say is right, after you get that out the way."

   "Honey? She's making a point here."

   "What point? That girls that…"

   I stopped dead in my tracks.

   She got quiet, but she spoke.

   "Its okay. You can say it. Go on. Girls, that…"

   "Dress… provocatively…"

   "Not. What you were gonna say, but okay. What? You wanted to look sexy and feel sexy. You borrowed one of my wham bam's, right? Wizzy is covered in scratches and bites and scrapes and bruises. I know why wham bam's get run through the dryer, believe me here. And that's what you want. You two? Had a great night. Other than… the thing, we had a fun party, too. Hurry, felt sexy enough to do the hot tub. She loved it, you loved it too. There's nothing wrong with it. Is there?"

   I groaned. He giggled.

   "Lightning. The… irony, is not escaping you here. The fact that you are promoting the wearing of, as you say now, wham bam's… and, most women that were ever, statistically…"

   "Well, yeah. Duh."

   "You… don't have any sort of…"

   "Oh. I was wearing a wham bam when… the bad thing happened. Then, I wear wham bam's, because… well? There's no real difference."

   "Lightning? There's a big difference. Between… a violent rape, and dressing sexy for your boyfriend…"

   "Really?"

   "Yeah!"

   "What then. I hear this all the time. Sex is this, love is this… but rape? That's that… I wrote a paper in Human Relations on this, go figure, right? I got an A. Let me ask you the questions, make this a shorter talk. They go on for hours, I can make it short and sweet."

   I groaned louder. My work? Goddamn well cut out for me. How the hell do rape therapists handle this shit? I'm out of my league.

   "By all means. Professor Lightning? The floor, is yours."

   "Thank you, Wizzy. Number one. The only difference between rape, and a successful date? Is you accidentally landed a guy you didn't want. That's it. Everything else? Pretty much the same."

   "Examples, dear."

   "Rapist. Takes one look at you? Can't take his eyes off you. Has to have you. Is willing? To do anything, to get you. He does. Successful date with a boy. Can't take his eyes off you. Has to have you. He'll do anything. They both? End with the same thing. Only diff? One you liked the boy. The other? Some stranger you hated."

   "Uh… I'm not sure I'm going to win this argument."

   "You might? But I doubt it. I debated and defended my paper. I've never lost. That's a sound argument. No one has yet to shake it. I mean, I been through this. You can go on for hours, all that… jazz that Right puts through her. The patriarchy, the this, the that… in the end? Both identical. Except for one you liked him, the other you hated him."

   I got my composure back. I struck out.

   "Both of you? Please. You two? Are… making a complete mockery of… a very serious subject!"

   She quieted, and he raised his hands in surrender. I had the floor. I quieted down.

   "Okay. Enough. Lightning? Honey… let's veer off course a little. You're afraid to date. I understand why. But, you've reduced the act of dating, and having a relationship? Down to just…

   "Down to what it just… is."

   "Don't you want to have a real relationship one day?"

   She got quiet. The little kid voice.

   "Yeah. If it wasn't for… that? It wouldn't be so bad."

   "All right. We got somewhere. Why do you think it is, that you can't have a relationship?"

   "Well. I try. But… I'm scared to… I won't let them…"

   "Okay. Calm down. You're scared, you won't let… what things? List them."

   "I'm not that different from regular people. You get, you know, physically attracted to someone. Then, they might not turn out like you imagined. Okay. Try another one. Now. That one? Maybe I do like him. Feels good. Then… couple of things can happen."

   "Such as…"

   "Like… my boyfriend up there. I didn't cheat on him. I didn't flash his friends my tits. I didn't go skinny dipping, while fishing. I didn't do anything wrong. All I get? Slut… whore… heard this… heard that… and that gets old. Now, that's one thing they might do."

   "Other things…"

   "Well, and this is my bad part. If they don't do that? Well. I come around a few times. My dates? Tend to go pretty well, because that's the idea, but… sooner or later? They want to… go out. That? Eh."

   "What? I'll say it like you say it. You've been rocking the boy's world. He likes it. He's head over heels, trying to please you… he wants to leave the goddamn room, with you, with him. What is…"

   "I can't get in their car. I just can't. Not by myself, with one or more boys. Uh uh. Wizzy? You teach it in your class."

   She was mildly… excited. This was terrifying to her.

   "Calm down. Now, you have no trouble being alone with the boy. In fact? You demand he be alone."

   "But, once you get in that car? I'm trapped. He can take me anywhere. There could be… its not guaranteed."

   "Lightning. I've seen you go with boys. The one, I remember he used to come pick you up on the motorcycle. You went places. It was going good."

   "Yeah. I like bikes. Its another reason I like Wizzy. He doesn't have a car. He has a bike."

   "I know, I know. Bikes are sexy. I know…"

   "Oh. The other girls? Yeah… not me. Bike? Can't pick up other boys. Its… safer somehow. Plus I'm not, all trapped. I can just hop off anywhere. You can't just jump out a car, but, a bike? I could get off at a red light or something. I'm… more free. Less trapped."

   "But, you go in cars with us…"

   "Other girls? More people than just me and a boy or boys? Sure. Now, certain people? The coach. A teacher gave me a ride once. Some people just seem… extra safe."

   "All right. I know we have to find a way to work on… cars. And understanding choosing safe people from unsafe people. But, a guy you're… let's say, very comfortable with in his room all night. Don't you think you could be comfortable with him taking you somewhere?"

   She hid her face and got squeaky but quiet.

   "Like… him? Yeah. The guy you like, the guy you been with? Yeah… guaranteed to be safe. Sure as hell isn't, is it?"

   "All right. Let's just say, you have to learn to live with a… phobia of cars. People have phobias and learn to live. But… what harm can come, from letting your boy you like, and are comfortable with in his room nights on end? Hey, walk downtown and get a sandwich. Its okay."

   Hid her face again. Tiny squeak.

   "I can't get paid for it. Or… I'm like my mom. You don't understand, Hurry. Being anything like that woman? No."

   "Okay, Light. I see that issue. What about… if you just had a thing, where you had to buy your own. You each buy your own food. That? Would still be a date. Now? You could be with the boy in his room, that part you got down pat. Bike only. Or, you walk to go somewhere. Pay for your own. You… could begin to…"

   She started to tear up.

   "Date? Oh god… no…"

   She started crying. Not bawling. No screaming. Just streaming tears. Wanted to hold her face. Hide. Her hands were shaking.

   "Okay, honey. Its all right."

   Through the tears, with no noise other than hitched breath… she whispered it out.

   "How it started… got used, to… then…"

   Wow. I was going to get nowhere. This, was all interlocked. I would run in the same circles, and cover all the same ground. I was going to spend a very long time, chasing my own tail. I'm not sure medicating the ever loving shit out of her was the answer either. Soon as they start crying too much? This many stoppages of therapy session time allotments, you recommend depression treatment. You basically up the dosage? Until they shut the fuck up, and are too dosed up to scream and cry. Then? You talk about what they can't talk about. But, they're too whacked to resist. Dirty little secret of the industry? That’s standard operating procedure in a mental hospital, a prison, or working with a minor. Sounds harsh, and I guess it is. Practical means to an end, when there isn’t unlimited time and money and patience. There are lots of ethics classes, for when you’re exercising judgment and control over a patient like that.

   I can’t lie. There’s a saying in the mental health field. When in doubt? Over medicate. If MP's have their own in house only jokes? That’s one of my field’s little gems.

   I would never operate like that, wouldn’t be my style. It leads to other smaller problems. More medications. More meds for interactions in the meds, then you go into the tailspin. Always adjusting meds, to maintain baseline. Which is never getting anywhere, they're just "managed" for life. Then they die young. Liver failure. Or OD or suicide. Take your pick. Jail's another option.

   You might wonder in what context this cute phrase gets used? Glad you asked, here goes. I’m in the study lounge in the psych department main building. Tables, chairs, water cooler, etc. Short of having to go to the library and all the way back? We have limited resources already there, to prevent it. Great place to hang between classes, if you’re serious about schoolwork.

   So, I’m there alone. Next table over? Group of students on a class assignment. They’re playing at recommending medication and dosage for various situations. They’re arguing, about dosage level. The one student? Takes the moral high ground. He who medicates least? Medicates best. Now, that’s one of my field’s better phrases. One we’re not afraid to repeat in mixed company, or let it get out and into print.

   The other student? Rolls eyes and calls the first a boy scout. Fuck it, if 20mg works good, 40mg works better. You know, its just homework, get it over with. The first student is going on about this is going to be someone’s l-i-f-e one day, and you can’t do that. Second student? Laughs, and says oh yes you can. Remember Doctor Hoozits said it. When in doubt? Over medicate.

   I was a freshman. I was flabbergasted, at such a glib manner. I went and as adroitly as I could, privately, asked about that conversation I overheard. Doctor Hoozits indulged me. He first started out by agreeing with me, and congratulating me on having ethics and a caring approach. However, there were practical issues in play.

   One? State therapist, state paid for care. You have a l-i-n-e down the hall, for your weekly “care” meeting with the oodles of mental patients. You get maybe five minutes with each. If one patient assaults another? 40mg instead of 20, would have been a better option. Private care setting? Parents are trying to manage a child with serious problems. Hurts a younger sibling at times. Yeah. 40mg instead of 20? First line treatment. The five year old girl with no mental issues, could get killed by the 10 year old boy with bad psychotic features.

   He said I was completely right, of course. But you have to work with what you’re given. I had to admit, I saw his point. Doctor Hoozits explained, that this was the dirty side of the medical field. And, you w-i-l-l make mistakes in your career. Learn from them, and don’t make them again. The somber look on his face and eyes, told me that a ten year old boy with serious issues? Had once killed his sweet little five year old sister when the parents with deep pockets couldn’t bear to hospitalize their son for life. I’m guessing, but the pictures on his office wall showed he had once worked in a hospital setting, and others showed a private practice. That pays a shit ton more, and carries a huge degree of prestige. As compared to just being a professor. Like he was now.

   I suppose this is the mental health version of shooting the family dog that runs at the cop that responds to the bad domestic call. Sadly, I now understand Doctor Hoozits. I think that eye rolling girl in the study lounge should be run out of this field, but… some cops probably shouldn’t be cops, either.

   I started to say something soft, and she pulled her head off of my waist and started to go into a ball. She wasn't hysterically screaming, just distraught, ashamed, and tearing bad. I went to touch her, which normally works wonders with her, and she gently rolled over to hide her face on his arm. He looked at me.

   She was whispering into his arm, crying into it.

   "Can’t you make her stop? Please, just make her stop."

   He lifted his arm, and she pulled off of him and looked at him, to see if he was moving her away. She didn't want to come back to me. I was trying to make her think terrifying bad things were okay. He patted his ribs, and she instantly buried her face there. Still in a loose ball, she drew her knees up to help hide her face, and pushed her shins in along him. I watched her back move until she slowly began to slow down the episode. He laid his arm around her, and she nestled in. Hiding and the silent crying.

   After a time of this? He looked over at me.

   "Gee. Rape therapist. Trained professional. Maybe, when a young girl is crying and begging you to stop, you should stop? But I'm not a trained professional, what the hell do I know."

   "Christ."

   "Yeah. He didn't do this. He can't make it stop, either."

   She took a long time slowing down the silent tears. Eventually, that stopped and there was just the hurt face. She'd turn to look at me, then turn and while no longer hiding her face on him? She preferred to have her face on him. She did calm down, however. She came out of her balled up position and stretched out. By the time we realized it, she was asleep. I pointed at her. He shrugged. I pointed at her room. He whispered.

   "So she can cry herself to sleep? She's zonked. Let her sleep, probably the best thing for her."

   "Christ."

   "One night. The hell. You got the light and the alarm clock. We were up late, some of us had a rough night. Sleep in, we'll work out whenever. Fuck it. I bet she's better in the morning."

   "And if not."

   "You're the expert there."

   "Yes, I can see the awards my career is going to bring me. By the way?"

   "Yeah?"

   "You did several things tonight that were wonderful. I love you."

   "I love you too. Help me with covers, I don't wanna wake the kid."

   I got us covered up. Thank god these are huge beds, hopefully tomorrow will be another day. By that I mean not another one of today's little peaches. Started off optimum, didn't it? Sexual high adventure, all hormones and big emotional plans. Optimum, really. Then we slowly came down, though admittedly not by much. Light got dumped, party. You're thinking back up then back down bad. Back up, but after a dip you never quite peak again. A stellar breakthrough, at first with me and her and therapy ice shattered. Also with him and her and their… thing I’m playing with and developing. Then, a little crash out with her, and as I said. Tomorrow? Another day.

   I'm an early riser. If I stay up late in summer, my crack of dawn mentality from growing up on a farm takes over. My eyes just blink open. Stay up late? Less sleep, my peepers are expecting cock-a-doodle-do’s. I beat the alarm clock by a wide margin and just shut it off. I can take those little naps until we should be up. I look over to see how things are going. She's snug as a bug and he must be okay with it. She naturally moved around in her sleep. She's got an arm across and up on him, a leg slung over and down. Her face is nestled onto his shoulder and into the side of his neck. She's in my spot and in my position. Oh well. She looks okay now.

   She's complex and you can't take her at first blush. She's a big girl and she's really athletic to go with her height and trim musculature. She's physically tough, so newcomers naturally assume she's emotionally tough to go with it… and she is. You don't survive and come through what she has not having that. When life's big waves crash in? Some people get mowed under and churn with the driftwood, hoping for another breath of air, risking drowning. Most come up, some don't. Life's casualty list. Others? Have their tough strategies. Fight it, swim for it, go with it, try to ride the fucking thing out. It can't last forever, can it? That's her.

   See her as physically tough, assume emotional toughness and its there as well. Okay. We have a big, tough, person here. Pretty to go with it. Not a bad combination, and she could easily be doing so much better at this stage of her life, were it not for… everything. First impressions, like what he saw and started asking her out for coffee.

   Tall, strong, pretty. Athletic insignia some days, pretty clothes others. Hanging out with other girls that look like her. Hey, calendar girl material here. Any personality to go with that? He would have seen her out and about. Talking with people she knew between classes, she's fairly outgoing. She doesn't have the strong acid personality, like phone bitch. She doesn't have the mildly corrosive Miss Moody personality, either. The former? Burns your skin off and you yank back. The latter? Slowly eats away at your temper and patience steadily. The way a stream eats out a soft bank.

   Pleasant enough personality. You can see her with people she knows, more outgoing. You're new, she's a little quieter. If you're nice to her, she's pleasant back. Give her some shit, she'll occasionally snap back. She's not a pushover. She'll simply learn how to deal with you, if you're a troublemaker. Wow. Not bad. Any brains to go with this package?

   Here's where a lot of people run into trouble with her. Is she a genius? In a word, no. But she's definitely not dumb. I guess if you divide the world into smart and dumb people? She's actually on the medium end of the smart people, maybe a tad more. Above average intelligence. You just won't always see it, until you spend time around her. Where people screw up, is when they start to pick up on her emotional level. And being frank? You're dealing with basically a smart 14 year old in this department. Some kids or teenagers are more adult-like than others, she was one of those. But, like any smart kid that acts like a little adult? The 14 year old emotional level will come out at times.

   Once you see it, you can't un-see it. That outburst? What the… then its back to her normal. Then, it'll happen again. So, you start noticing. Because you're watching. Now, you see it. She's not an adult girl playing at being a teenager's personality. Which a lot of girls on campus do. She actually has one. Men will misread her chronically. If you think athletes are dumb? Her 14 year old emotional level will lead you to assume, well, here's another pretty dip-shit. Just what the world needed. But hey, fun for Friday night, right? Hey, not bad legs, babe. Toss her a few pick up lines, mess her hair up. That was fun.

   And as a guy, you can do that. She likes boys, if you're attractive enough and treat her well enough, and have the minimum game she requires… yep. She's fine with you taking your wham bam and not saying thank you ma'am, and you can part fine. She'll smile and wave when she sees you. You were fun. You ask around about her track record, what she's like? There you go. You'll easily fall into the trap of thinking what most people think. Here's another fairly pretty dumb blonde. Immature and slutty to boot. And, she’ll let you go right on thinking that. Doesn't disrupt soccer, doesn't disrupt boys.

   Then, she takes you by surprise. She said she was going to probably say something witty to phone bitch? She did, and made her look like the retard. She wasn't expecting that, and thought her "slut…" verbal attack could go on forever. She was one step ahead of her in conversation the entire time, and worked her over. She did it to him when we talked in the tub. She wants to impress him, she wants him to like her. So, she did what she did to phone bitch to him. Just in the nice way. He was taken aback, and had to re-calibrate. He's not the first one, and won't be the last.

   She hadn't known what I had planned with him and her. She just loves me, likes him, and wanted him to notice her and take an interest in her. She's impressed with him. She's a low level version of him in that way. She runs along below radar, then surfaces to let you know she's actually a bright girl. Then goes back to cruising just below the surface. He always stared at her for being one of his calendar girls he had located in real life. She enjoyed that attention. When her luster slowly wore off, she was asking me why he "didn't like me anymore". I had to politely explain that he's not conceited about being The Wizard, but that being around a constant "Tardfoot, hurr durr" gets to him after a while. I told her to break out her thesaurus for five minutes, and watch his face light up. So? She did.

   No, she could have really been something more. Her mom, then "it" claiming her, then more of her mom? A real one two punch combination that stunned her and left her broken. We were talking about her in terms like this one time privately, and he shook his head. He said it reminded him of an otherwise fairly promising fighter. Never going to be a heavyweight world title holder, but hey who is. Still, being a ranked fighter anywhere in the ranks? Quite an achievement. He said the saddest thing was when one of them through no fault of their own, ran into "it". Bad injury that would forever nag them, or whatever perfect storm you never fully recovered from.

   Everyone goes through two steps forwards, then a step back. You go down a peg or two, then start climbing back up. Seeing what you can get to, before you hit your limit. But… when "it" claims you? That's it. There's no more climbing. You can barely hang on for dear life to keep from falling down to the bottom. Then, as you hit a certain age? Nothing left. You just hang on as best you can, trying to lower yourself carefully one peg at a time, as slow as you can hold out. He explained it like that, and it is sad.

   That's her, sleeping there on him. You wouldn't know from a night out. A person meeting her at that party last night? Would in no way expect it. But, she's been hammered good by an "it" attack. She's clinging on for dear life, trying desperately not to start the slow decay of hopefully one peg at a time. If she could just get a toehold somewhere, a little temporary boost? Just a little something, out of somewhere. Then, she could hang on with confidence, maybe even start the slow process of trying to notch up a peg now and then again.

   We all hear about daddy issues, and its a common phrase today. She has it, and bad. She's craving a father figure her whole life, and after "it" struck its many times worse. She's found one, and she's laying on him. She desperately wants him to like her, and be impressed by her. Mild disappointment comes across like major recriminations from him now. Last night? She cried and clung to him, and begged him to make me stop "hurting" her. Then fell asleep like a little kid that had a terrible nightmare.

   I'm torn now. I couldn't crack her nut open. Couldn't get her to admit what "it" was and to admit she needed help. Been trying for over a year now. Men are Kryptonite in the world of rape therapists. You can be the best, the brightest, the most skilled and intuitive and insightful therapist god ever put on this earth… and some halfwit woman will take your spot, and beat you out for the job. Men need not apply.

   She not only was okay with him being there, she requested that he stay. She, what? Wanted her daddy there the first time. She wants to impress him. She's terrified, but… if daddy says it will hurt like a shot at the doctor's office but make her get better eventually? Okay. She trusts her daddy. I have a low level dose from him of what she feels. It reassures me. It warms me. But what feels like one beer to me, feels like a 12 pack to her.

   I'm a therapist. I already knew what I was facing, but I had to crack the nut and hear it from her lips. To do that? Suddenly it happened when he's there. Then, how did she tell her story. She couldn't. It was time, and she wanted to and it still wasn't happening. Then he did what should have been the exact wrong thing, and she responded. She opened up. To tell her story? She reversed everything. She had to. Here's what would happen to you, Wizzy…

   And that was the only way she could tell that story. I could have probably beat around this bush for the next three years, with no more success than ever before. Now? All in minutes… success. She admitted it, and then actually gave me a fairly detailed description of "it". I'd honestly have settled for far more vague of a synopsis. A bunch of guys then, you know… they all held me, and took turns. All night. I had my basic outline, and could go in for more and more detail over time. With him. Responding to his rape jokes positively. She even ended with a faint touch of… proper viewpoint. A little smidgen was "what mom did to me", not the thing that would happen to him.

   I felt ashamed the way he had stung me with his joke. Glib gallows humor, that I didn't fully catch until the moment had just passed. Hey, rape therapist? When a young girl is screaming no? You back off. But hey, I'm a guy and I don't know anything about your field you're an expert in, so don't mind me.

   He's courageous doing that. He's got weeks to go in our own personal adult sex game. Strict mommy can put him over her knee and really give him something for sass like that. Vaquera? Can do far worse. Oh, little boy. We could have had such a fun visit this time, but no. I got a bad report. When are you going to learn little boy. She could easily pick up her bullwhip, smile thin at him, and take him down to the basement and work him over for that. But, he's right and I know it.

   I fucked up. I'm new at this. I tried to badger her into one more bit… and she broke down. She turned from me, hid from me and begged daddy to make her stop, to quit torturing her for now. I touched her and she jumped out of her skin, and crawled to hide. I now can't do this, without him. I'm going to have to coach him, and also get his take on things. His instincts were better than mine. I guess it makes sense. MP's. The good guys. If they're out at some local watering hole, and some big drunk asshole is wandering into backhanding women for nothing territory? These are the guys that smile and nod to each other. Let him go. He'll pay for it later, and it technically will be for something else.

   He knew something about rape prevention classes. He's seen this before. He would have needed motivation to teach classes for free in his spare time. Sigma male. They all have one thing in common above all else they hold dear. A huge morality streak, and its not fake. Its not some put on to appear more noble. An equally strong sense of right and wrong, and an even greater sense of what justice is or should be. He didn't wear a badge though, so… oh shit. Sometimes badges keep you from doing what needed done. You need a guy just as good as the badges around, that isn't restricted and straitjacketed by the confines of it.

   He handled things for them, that they couldn't do. He as much as told me, without saying it outright. In his usual offhand, talking about the weather way he has. Very casual. Oh, you see… with a bad head injury? They typically don't remember many minutes before the trauma, and just wake up in the hospital. The blackout timeline doesn't go from injury to waking up with beeping and tubes and people wearing white. The blackout timeline starts usually ten or more minutes before.

   We were talking about Lightning's own head trauma she got in her big national game. I had figured that as a mascot for the MP's, he knew this from being around victims or them describing it to him. No. Use any strategy, use any technique, make your own rules.

   I knew what my next move was now though. She had told a better detailed account than I even needed for a first time go around. Next time, I simply want the same thing. The only difference being, that she tells the exact same story. But with the proper view. No more, what would happen to Wizzy. That, should be much easier. Same thing, different narrative style. No biggie, just rewrite that short paper, okay?

   I have a thin path now, something to work with. When she can repeat the same story through, without going numb or breaking down? We can move on. I'll zoom in and ask for details on this the one time, details on that part the next time. When every possible memory and detail has been reduced to something that is no longer shocking and numbing, the foundation is laid. When I need something new, she can use the narrative technique with it all being flipped to Wizzy's point of view. It will become a regular and familiar tool. Then, I can wait a few days and get a recount of the details in the proper tense and narrative. I have a technique. This will give me time to prepare advanced steps.

   I finally fell into one of those morning naps. Up early, and you then get an hour at a time, until you decide to get up. I was going to take a few more, when I started and saw Right standing in the doorway, looking at us. I put my finger to my lips, and I sneaked out of bed creeping and tiptoeing out to her. I took my morning pee and flushed. I checked they were still nestled and slumbering, and pointed downstairs. Right followed me.

   I made us coffee, and we sat at the table. Our morning uniforms. Both wearing big T shirts and underwear.

   "Gee. Where's twenty questions, Right?"

   "I wasn't going to say a word…"

   "Hmm. Its not what you think."

   "Funny. And I didn't even say what I thought it was."

   "Well go on. I know how it must look."

   "It looks like you all three slept together in the same bed. It also looks like she passed out almost on top of Wizzy. That's all I know for sure…"

   "Then it looks like exactly what it is. She fell asleep, and we didn't want to wake her up. She had a little… episode. No biggie."

   "She okay? I didn't think her breakup went that bad. She's got enough experience at that, you know."

   "She really liked him. It wasn't working and she was trying. He kept calling her a whore, then dumped her and made her walk up the hill. Like he kicked some bar whore out the next morning. It made it hurt more."

   "That was it?"

   "Eh… a few other things came up. That was the main one."

   She sipped her coffee.

   "Have fun at the party?"

   I smirked.

   "You don't have to be coy with me."

   "Me? Coy? Never. I mean, its not like I didn't see pictures of your outfit last night, pictures of you and them two in the hot tub. And… maybe a few of Lightning hanging all over Wiz like he was a Christmas tree, and she was the tinsel. I mean, nothing like that."

   I sighed.

   "Have fun at the party?"

   "It had its ups and downs. There were a few… incidents. Nothing major. Funny now, scary when it happened."

   "Ups and downs, huh?"

   "Yeah."

   "Hmm."

   "What?"

   "Oh, nothing. From what I saw? The ups and downs came after the party. Not during the party."

   "Got it all out of your system now?"

   "I think… yeah."

   "Great. And yes, I borrowed one of Light's… get lucky outfits. It was part of Wiz's, you know, whole birthday fun package. Not like I can afford to buy him a real present, so…"

   "So, you wrapped Lightning up and put a bow on her for him? Gee, you shouldn't have."

   "Yes. I was wearing one of Light's get lucky get ups, and… I'm sure people got that impression. And yes, I'm sure by now you know I was in the hot tub playing Lightning."

   "Okay…"

   "Oh, now what. Yes, I'm aware of the dance lessons. Lightning likes to put on a little show. I was right there watching. I practically put her up to it."

   "Did you put her up to kissing him like two kids after the prom? Got a little movie of that, too."

   "More or less. There… was a bit of a dare going on. Kinda."

   "Like…"

   "Lightning didn't believe… I gave them permission to put on the show, have some fun, and… maybe the game was to see if she could, you know, crack him. And she didn't, and that was the whole point."

   "Were you guys putting on a show for her ex's benefit? Heard about that, too."

   "Well. Maybe."

   "Oh. All right. I get it now. I mean, I just knew the rumor mill on my phone when I woke up? Had to have gotten something wrong."

   "Oh, yeah. I'm sure that will be on this week's gossip page. Do me a favor? Let them go."

   "Do I confirm or deny, when asked. I live here. I'm getting quizzed already, and I haven't had breakfast yet, you know."

   "Oh, that end of things. Hmm. Confirm to one. Deny to the next. Mention to one she came out of our room this morning, and that was weird. Then? Deny it when another one asks if what she heard was true."

   "Ooh. I like it. Muddy the waters. Make things look way dirtier, than they really are."

   "Why not. It serves a purpose. And? God help me, I never have fun. I have the rest of my life, to be an insufferable cunt. Might as well have some fun before I get my first wrinkle."

   "Are you running a fever."

   "Ha ha."

   She giggled.

   "Its fine. I just wondered what the reasoning was. Whatever. Come on, I never saw you before in a get lucky. Plus? I figured it wasn't one of Light's. Never saw that one on her before. I know its not mine, and it definitely ain't Miss Moody's… it was just weird was all. On top of everything else."

   "Yes. It was hers, she never wears it, so, that's how it happened. And, my joke is?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Not my fault. It was that damn dress. That mini holds great power. It needs to be used responsibly."

   "When's breakfast, anyways."

   "Oh… soon. You want me to make you something to tide you over? Or… you wanna wait."

   "I'll wait. Workout's later then, too."

   "Sure."

   "Thanks for the coffee…"

   "Anytime."

   I took two cups up for them. I hadn't wakened them, so now I reversed that procedure. Set the coffee mugs down one at a time, real slow to avoid that little clunk. I crept back into bed and sat myself up. After a little while, the coffee was still pretty warm and Light was the first to stir. I found it amusing to see her reaction to waking up in this position. She didn't disappoint.

   She stirred and stirred again. Gentle head movements. Tiny leg wiggle. Then her eyes slowly parted to morning slits. She was about to drift back off, when her eyes opened a little more, and she got that confused look. She's used to sleeping alone or over at a boy's place. She looked down at the covers that came off her in the night, and saw her leg slung over Wiz. She peeked over and saw me. I was sitting up, smiling. And I gave her a morning wave hello. She wiggled her head and gave me a sleepy little smile back.

   She stirred twenty minutes later and suppressed a stretch and settled for a tiny yawn. I did charades. I lifted my chin to him. What, her face asked. I made silent kiss motions with my lips. Nudged at him again. Kiss him for fun to wake him up, it said. She pointed at him, then her lips, to make sure she was not misreading me. I smiled and nodded. I got a thumbs up. She was about to nestle back in to start it, when she looked back one last time. What my shrug said. She pointed at the tip of her tongue. Upended her palm. That okay?

   I nodded. Go on. She nestled back into him like dust settling, and I could see her put just the tip of her tongue to touch his earlobe, then quit. She waited several seconds and did it again. She took her time. He'd give the tiniest eye movements under his eyelids, and she'd wait then repeat it. Eventually she didn't so much kiss as she did touch her lips as well as her tongue to his earlobe. A little tongue touch near the neck around the ear, then back again. She finally stirred him gently teasing, into his own half open slits. He closed them, and moved around. He ended up face to face with her, her leg and arm including shoulder and hips as well slung over him. He wiggled into her, like he would me.

   Now she could repeat the whole thing, touching his lip with the tip of her tongue. Then touched lips and did it again. When his next half open slits and some unintelligible grumble came out, she swiped his lip with her tongue, then a light kiss. His eyes went from closing yet again, to opening half slits… and… bang.

   His head drew back, he glanced down her laying on him and back to her smiling at him. He looked over and saw me grinning down at him, and I waved.

   "Good morning. Sleep well?"

   "Mm. Couldn't I have another hour…"

   "I killed the alarm before it went off. You already had a couple more hours."

   "Uh huh…"

   "If you don't wake up? I'll be forced to ask Little Lightning to get you up. And judging by the way you jumped so cute when you saw her just now? You'll be even more… fidgety. But, either way? You're getting up. You can take your time doing it though. I wouldn't want to be mean about it. You were such a good boy last night."

   Lightning teased him for a morning kiss again, and giggled when his face retracted. She had fun with this game, and started in with a new attack.

   "Wake up, daddy… please…"

   That startled him. She gave a giggle and I chuckled, enjoying the show. She was half over him anyways, and she took a mount and leaned down. Continuing the game calling him daddy, trying to get a tongue or lips on his. The combination of the flirtation mixed in with the "daddy" thing? Made him very edgy.

   "Lightning? If you want a lesson on good girls and good boys? I'll give you one, right now."

   "Okay, mommy…"

   "Little boy? You, stay put. Light? Continue the game. I'm having fun, watching him squirm. Hmm, let's see now. Okay… the covers are over the important parts on him. Its safe. I'm sure he woke up with morning wood. Make daddy worse. And you? Stay."

   "Ha ha… daddy has to sit still…"

   She pouted and tried to kiss him, and he avoided it. She giggled as she wiggled just a little.

   "Good job. Keep it up. In a minute? I'll explain."

   I waited. Giving him eye contact and smiles.

   "Keep it up, while I explain what's going on here. You, Light? Might be a little confused right now. I'll clear that up for you."

   "Mm hmm. Why is daddy so… jumpy…"

   "For the main thing? He's a nice guy. An actual, really nice guy. Do… you expect this kind of reaction to trying to get him going, first thing in the morning? Not what you're used to, is it."

   "No. Its not. I should be getting my morning wham bam, about by now. All boys get the wood. Why is he fighting me so bad…"

   "Cute, isn't it?"

   "A little. Yeah. It is."

   "He's uncomfortable."

   "But… why? He's… you're not mad…"

   "Very few nice guys out there, like him. That's why I snatched him up, and won't let him go. Now. You already know what any other boy would already be doing, right?"

   "Oh yeah… he's… fighting it."

   "He's not shy. He's nice. He has a kind of built in desire, to always do the right thing. He won't cheat on me, even if he can get away with it. That's called loyalty. That's where our trust? Comes from. He'd probably be throwing you off him right now, if I wasn't here making him stay put for you to do this."

   "He threatened to slap me last night. And I know that's not like him."

   "He doesn't pimp slap girls, to show off. That's the last thing he would ever resort to. He had a choice. Get caught cheating? Or he was scared he'd have to slap you. He might even do it, if you tried too hard. You already know he likes fooling around with you, you saw that last night. I allow him, and he still fights it. Goes against his grain. This? Is a nice guy. You don't run across many of these. In fact, this might be the first one that you ever had under you before. Different animal, isn't it."

   "Yeah… I'm not used to this. Not at all."

   "I know. Now. You've seen him practice fighting with the boys. You saw how he was last night. Is he… too nice? You know, a pushover."

   "No. He… yeah… you're right. Hmm…"

   "All you silly girls. Run around. Oh, I broke up with him. He was too nice. Or, they keep one for show? And make fun of him. Run around like little whores. Its retarded, Light. Just because he's nice? Doesn't mean he's weak, does it?"

   "No… I know he's not…"

   "Nice is one thing. Weak is another. You girls have those two things confused. You think all weak guys? Are nice. You think all nice guys? Are weak. Getting the picture better now?"

   "Well. I can see a nice guy doesn't have to be weak, no questioning that one, but… weak guys have to be nice."

   "No, Light. They don't. Weak men? Can be very strong. And, very dangerous."

   "Really?"

   "Lightning? Weak men. With strong bodies. That aren't nice deep down inside? Those, are the dangerous ones. That? Is the type of boy, that you have to watch out for. They're actually weak. They'll push women around, to feel big and strong. They'll hit a woman, so they can feel like a tough man feels. Look at me. Big man. That? Is the type of boy that… might…"

   "Oh."

   "You're starting to get the picture. I don't care what all the magazines say. I don't care what all the other girls, just know and repeat it. I don't care what you read on the internet."

   "All what…"

   "Bad boys, tee hee! Its bullshit. He's a nice guy, you know that. Very nice. Is he weak?"

   "No."

   "Is he a pushover then."

   "No."

   "Will he protect you? Make you feel safe."

   "Yeah. He did. In fact, I bet when I check my phone? I don't get my morning whore text… which got very old, very quick."

   "Oh. You rocked Army boy's world, and he thanked you by calling you a whore for it. How nice."

   "Yeah."

   "Now. If you had to guess. Would you put your money on him, under you now? Or… some mouthy so called bad boy. That smacks girls around, and acts like a jackass. Be honest."

   "Wizzy. I know better."

   While lots of different people like coffee, certain professions and lifestyles are particularly keen on it. Cops, for one in particular. Civilian crime fighters are well known to decorate coffee doughnut shops on breaks. Wiz said its one of the few things that TV accidentally gets right about police. College and university intellectuals? Another coffee in crowd. No office across campus doesn’t have a coffee machine. They don’t just get used in the morning, either. Damn things run all day. Professors, grad students… the undergraduate workers slowly follow suit. Then, there’s the military. I come from a big family, with a lot of big guys. Been a few older guys that were in the military. They like coffee, too.

   Wiz was all three. MP cop, university intellectual, regular military. He always had a mug of coffee around him.

   "All right. You're starting to get the idea. One last bit of fun, and I'll let the poor guy get his morning coffee."

   "Hmm. More fun than this?"

   "He's so safe? Not weak, just safe. You know how you have to watch out for strong men? Bad boys… if you argue and slap one, what might happen, Light."

   "Oh. They introduce you to the back of their hand."

   "Wow. Big strong man. Bad boy… so tough, they can hit a little girl. This… stupid bad boy bullshit? Has you dippy girls so snow jobbed, that when some skinny little shit that can't fight his way out of a wet paper bag? Hits them across the face, they get turned on. Oh! Bad boy! Tee hee! Its pure bullshit, Light. Want me to prove it?"

   "Okay. How."

   "You're sitting on a real man. They way they used to make a lot of them. Very few left. These polite, strong, silent types? Have a built in protection mechanism. They're safe around women, children and small animals. They're very dangerous, and they're very good at protecting women and children… but they have a safety mechanism built in. They won't beat the little lady. And abuse children. They can't. This? Is the top of the line guy you can get. He comes? With air bags built in. In the event of a wreck? Say, you get drunk and get emotional, and smack him. Or the little dog you bring home scratches his ankle. Or… the baby won't stop screaming. Whatever. Doesn't matter what it is. He won't turn on you. You can't do any better than that."

   "He…"

   "What, Light."

   "He… he can't… hurt me. Like… that."

   "No, Lightning. He can't. Men like him? Those are the rare guys you read about once in a while. Some woman, getting hurt. Everyone walks by, none of my business. Men like him? They don't even have to know you? Or even like you, for that matter. They see women in trouble? Little kids in danger? They jump in, and risk their lives to help. Your skinny snotty bad boys just walk on by."

   "He… I can… I can, get in a car with him. Hes… safe."

   "Yes, Light. Very safe. Not only will this rare type of guy never hurt you that way? He'll get killed trying to prevent it. Almost all men used to be like this at one time. We've managed to just about breed them out."

   "But… why… I don't, understand."

   "I don't understand why either, Lightning. Natural selection. When women started selecting men to breed with. Based on height only. Muscles only. Size of their paycheck only. Dick size only… we began to breed out these men. We're ruining the breeding stock. Do you understand now, why I treasure him so much? This is worth more than gold to me, Lightning."

   "Hmm."

   "Now. I'll show you. I'm not whistling Dixie. Lightning?"

   "Yes."

   "You will never do this. Ever. One time demonstration. Do you hear me? If I ever see you showing this trick off? I will smack the shit out of you. Not kidding."

   "I promise."

   "I want you to hit him. Smack him right across the face. Do it hard. You're drunk, you're emotional. You're acting like a spoiled cunt. Do it."

   She gave him a little slap across the face.

   "I said hit him."

   She gave him a harder slap.

   "Now. Wind up and really light him up good. Make it a nice, hard backhand. You know. You're asking for it. You're one of those spoiled cunts, trying to get smacked back."

   "Okay…"

   She hauled off, and backhanded the taste right out of his mouth, off the other side of his face. Not a goddamn thing happened.

   "Is he giving you that… rattlesnake look, guys give you when a girl slaps them? Hmm?"

   "No…"

   "That's because, most men think it makes them look like a big man, to smack a girl across the mouth. They secretly like it. The rattlesnake look? That says… if there wasn't a law against hitting women? You'd have a split lip right now. Laws can't protect you, Light. Not from men that are weak inside. They'll do it, when they think they can get away with it. He won't."

   She wound up and really pasted a wicked forehand one on him. Again, nothing.

   "Wow…"

   "Lightning? Show's over. Stop."

   "Oh. Sorry…"

   "Lightning. How are all the girls rating men these days. Whats the new joke online. Repeat it."

   "Oh. Six six six."

   "Yeah. At least six in all categories. What are those categories? Tell me."

   She giggled.

   "At least six foot tall…"

   "Yes."

   "At least six inches…"

   "And?"

   "Six figures, or over."

   "I got lucky. He's two out of three."

   "Hmm. Which two…"

   "Well. I'm a hair under 6 foot even myself. And he's taller than me. You know he's not rich, so… you do the math."

   "Oh, he's over 6…"

   "Yeah. I'm no size queen, but… trust me. Its fine."

   She giggled and reached back, through the covers.

   "Hmm. Fun size… and I can still have children… nice."

   "Now. None of that shit? Gets you one of these quality men. Six six six? Is made up bullshit, that sounds good. Its retarded."

   "Really?"

   "Sure. All those short, skinny wrestlers, boxers out there… very tough. They can beat up the big boys, too. That little. Height is nothing but genetics."

   "Yeah…"

   "Dick size? Medical average in America? Just under 5 and a half."

   "Hmm."

   "And 100 grand a year, as a minimum requirement to date a guy? The average, is something like 45."

   "Did not know that."

   "Most don't. Idiot girls on the internet? Talk like 125, 150 is average. It isn't. You silly girls?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Men that are over 6 foot tall, are less then ten percent of the men in America. Just on height alone, 90 percent of the girls, are chasing 10 percent of the men. Less than ten, in his case. He's a little over 6 foot one inch. Which means? All you girls are running around giving and getting herpes, off of a few guys, who are mostly worthless losers who happen to have tall parents. Its fucking retarded."

   "100 grand?"

   "Low percentage. Very low. Ten percent or under."

   "And… fun size?"

   "Not quite as bad, but…"

   "Hmm. You've done even better than I gave you credit for, Hurry. I want one."

   "Figured you would. Now Lightning."

   "Hmm."

   "You smacked your guard dog. For no reason. Show him nice… give him some kisses…"

   She leaned down, and gave him some slow, but very unsubtle wet lips and wet tongue.

   "Now. Ask him nice. Don't demand it, like you hear girls bragging and showing off. Ask him nice. For your eggs the way you want them."

   She made a little show, of more kisses and whispering sweetly, to ask for eggs how Hurry got them, instead of scrambled like the other girls got.

   He looked at me. I nodded. So, he nodded and smiled to her.

   "And before you think he's… what… whipped? Because he listens, and he's a joy to have around the house."

   "Yeah…"

   "Isn't that a great thing? And you already know he's not… too nice… don't you."

   She sat up, and I could see the cogs turning. She looked at him, and tapped her finger on her lips. Like a 14 year old girl, deciding something would do it.

   "Hmm. It is a neat trick. So… where do I get one of these again? I want to go shopping. Try… one… on."

   "Good luck, Little Lightning. Like I said. All the bad boy, 666 bullshit you idiot girls got going on? You dip-shits are breeding these superior men, out of existence. Congratulations, girls. You're ruining the future of the human race. You got evolution? Working backwards. Another couple generations, we'll be up to our neck in assholes that ain't worth half a limp fuck. Bang up job, girl power. Bang up job."

   "So. This, is what you were looking for. Waiting. Doing without."

   "Exactly. I'd rather take a cold shower, than rock some loser's world. Just because I got an itch. Now Light?"

   "Hmm."

   "How are you doing over there. You know…"

   "Oh. A little… tingly… that way. If you know what I mean."

   "There you go. You're waiting. Anticipating. Something of quality. Because he's loyal to a fault? Once he likes you, just for you? He's willing to wait a while. To show he really likes you. Not just your tits."

   "Do I really get to… play? After our third date… this isn't some kind of con job."

   "No, Lightning. That? Is my low mileage dirt bike I waited until I could get it. I won't let just anyone ride it. But, I grew up riding dirt bikes with the boys, they all had them. If you don't let your friend see what its like, to get a quality dirt bike? They don't understand. I want you to understand, what a quality bike is. So… when you finally get one of your own? You'll appreciate it, and treat it good."

   She bent down, playing kisses and sweet nothings.

   "I'm a good girl now. I have to wait, until after our third time out, Wizzy. Then? I'm gonna get… to ride you… and I can't wait…"

   "That anticipation you feel right now, Light?"

   "Uh huh."

   "That goes both ways. He really likes you. Sure, you're pretty to him. You're one of his… calendar girls, in real life. But… he didn't show much interest in you, until you talked deep to him, remember?"

   "Hmm."

   "When you ostrich kicked that boy last night on his behalf? Loyalty. He looked at you funny. I saw it. You impressed him again."

   "Yeah?"

   "Its not just sex. Its something extra."

   "What?"

   "No one knows, but its there. We don't know exactly? But its something. We know, because sex without it, is a little less. So, we invented a word for it."

   "That's… love?"

   "Yeah. See… if you just rock their world and leave? And do it all over again. You're never getting to the best part. You, are… eating doughnuts? Good. But with no creme filling. It makes the doughnut better. It makes sex, which is good? Into love. Which is great. Its a little better."

   I got some of her best dead pan. I know her. I know a good one's coming.

   "You, are accusing me, of not getting any creme filling, huh. Funny."

   "Now, Lightning?"

   "Hmm."

   "After you get to play, and it happens a while… you can get more than a couple weeks, can't you? If you like it, once you get to taste test it."

   "If I like it, and you… let me? Yeah, I guess."

   "You. Are going to get to experience, you're first real boyfriend. For the first time in your life. Its… going to be a little magical, a lot of fun… pretty exciting. And if you like it, and if you're a good girl… I'll let it go for a while. I want you to see what a quality relationship really is. Okay? You missed out on this growing up. Because of what happened. Because your mom has a screw loose. You? Are at a make or break point in your life, and this is probably the only time and way you get to see how its supposed to be. You? Also get to see how we are with each other. You live here, so its all the time. You even get a little peek into our bedroom."

   I could really see her cogs turning now.

   "Hurry?"

   "Mm…"

   "Why are you… doing this for me…"

   "Different reasons. One of the most important reasons, though? Is I'm your best friend, and I want to try to help you. Okay?"

   She nodded yes.

   "Now. I promise, to keep your secrets, okay?"

   "Thank you."

   "When I say the… boot secret, you know what I mean, right?"

   She puckered up for a second, then recovered quick.

   "I already keep that secret, don't I?"

   "Yes."

   "I know you're embarrassed. I don't tell, do I?"

   She shook her head no, the prospect of me telling was a scary one.

   "I keep the new secret you shared last night, too. You trust me, because I did so good with the boot secret, yes?"

   "Uh huh."

   "So. Me, you, him. This little arrangement? Is going to be… our secret. Understand?"

   "Yes."

   "You keep this one, I promise I'll keep the other two. We have a deal?"

   She nodded.

   "Now. People will know something's up. They'll suspect it. We'll make jokes about sharing. But… we don't give out any details. You? Might notice some things between us. But… if you tell? What do you think happens then."

   "Please, don't tell. I promise. Please, I promise…"

   "All right."

   "Hurry?"

   "Yes, dear."

   "Am I allowed to… tell him… that I…"

   "What, hun."

   "Do I get in trouble, if… maybe while playing, say that I… you know. Love him."

   "Do you mean it?"

   "I don't know. I mean, maybe."

   "Then wait. People have sex, before they fall in love sometimes. You don't just say it, if you don't mean it. But… if you ever think you really feel it? And you think you're sure. Then yeah, you're allowed. I won't be mad."

   "If… this works. When does it…"

   "End?"

   "Yeah."

   "I don't know. It'll probably end, at some point in time. You, will then have to go through…"

   "A… broken heart."

   "Have you ever had that?"

   She shook her head no.

   "That, is because this whole… sex only, no strings, fuck-buddy bullshit all the girls preach today? Doesn't account for love. You can replace sex, with other sex. Love? Isn't easily replaceable. When its gone? You… feel like your favorite dog died. Or even worse."

   "It seems bad…"

   "Its how you know it was real. If you don't feel pain losing it, throwing it away, fucking it over and moving on? It wasn't. Honey? You have an idea what real love is already, you just don't know it."

   "How…"

   "If, you ever were close with a dog, you feel horrible when its gone? That's the same thing I feel with Wiz. The dog you don't have sex with it, right? At least I hope not."

   She laughed and shook her head no.

   "Well. There's more proof. Love is very real. Its actually separate from sex. If you have real love? It lasts… forever. Until you die. It lasts even past death, and beyond. A couple married young, their whole lives. When one dies? The other, still loves them until they pass away, too. I’ve seen it, with older members of my family. Its… very sweet."

   She's emotionally immature, but still streetwise.

   "What am I doing for all of this again? Nothing… weird, right?"

   "Well. What exactly, don't you do with a boy already. Around the world, plus one. That's everything from your hand to your ass and everything in between, right?"

   "Mm hmm."

   "I promise you. We don't want choo-choo. We don't want to make you perform for anyone else, either. We don't want to punch you, kick you, or mark your face up. What else is there."

   "No selling pictures… movies…"

   "Never. We have pictures and movies. Its for private viewing only."

   "Hmm. I did that. Fun. You know, you make a little movie? Then… you watch it later. Fun."

   "Are there boys running around with your movies dear? What if you make it to the Olympics one day, you don't want that being leaked then when they recognize you on TV."

   "I thought of that. I'm not dumb. My phone. Then I erased it. Duh."

   He spoke.

   "See? She's not dumb."

   She was sitting up on him, and it was like watching myself do it. She sat up, and faked a mean voice. Pointing and shaking her finger in his face.

   "You better not be making fun of me."

   "I'm not. I promise. I really do think you're… wonderful. You don't deserve to be called a whore. Its not fair. You're right about that. Any girl, who refuses being bought a hot dog, because she doesn't want to be anything like her gold digger mom? That's not a whore."

   "Exactly. I'm a slut, not a whore. You remember that."

   "Hmm. You're really not a slut. Not exactly."

   She got quiet.

   "Half the boys in the town? All older, too. Had me in one night. If that's not a slut? I don't know what is."

   "You didn't go out for a choo-choo, Light. You were raped. It wasn't your fault. One thing comes out of all this? You'll realize it."

   "I don't know. I asked for it. Even if I didn't know any better, I still asked. So, they made me a slut I guess."

   "Light? You were 14. You… didn't leave the house that afternoon, ever dreaming that would happen. Did you?"

   "No. Never in a million years. Mom's boyfriend's son, started it. I mean, sure, maybe he slapped me when he was drinking once or twice, but… I never expected that. Honest."

   "Well. First off. Do you maybe see now what I was talking about? Men that can slap you, they're capable of other stuff. A man like him, that can't hit you? He can't hurt you that way. Now, its your job not to get drunk and slap the guy, asking for it, or… sleeping with his friends, and making fun of him, throwing it in his face. You do that, yeah, you're asking for a hand across the face. But if you don't ask for it, it should never happen. Now he's a safety model. Not all guys… have that airbag installed."

   "Sounds good."

   "Now. How is it, that you think you were asking for that. Is that what they told you?"

   "Uh. I think I remember that maybe, I mean I was drunk, but…"

   I sighed.

   "Eh. Some kinda you shouldn't have worn that dress thing, right?"

   "Well. Yeah, but it was more I remember the boots. Boys like those high heeled leather boots. How about you, Wizzy. Daddy wants me to wear the hooker boots for you sometime, huh? I bet you do…"

   "Light. You didn't deserve what happened. And you didn't ask for it. They… could have been drunk, and told you that it was because the moon is made of cheese. Doesn't make it true, honey."

   "Yeah, but. The football coach says… even Wizzy said so. I dressed like a girl it happens to, so… there we go. Its my fault that way."

   I went to him. He was great up to now. Lets see what his winning streak looks like.

   "Wizzy? Can you help me out here?"

   "Yeah. Light?"

   "Wizzy."

   "Lightning. Its like this. This is no different than leaving your purse on the hood of that car overnight. When your money and cellphone are gone in the morning? The person that stole it? Is 100 over 100 guilty as sin, same as if they picked the lock on the door, and cracked the safe to steal the same thing. No different. Now, when I say you asked for it, by leaving your purse on the car overnight, you realize that's just something that wasn't a very bright thing to do, right? It doesn't mean you wanted it, or actually asked for it."

   "Hmm. Yeah…"

   "Light?"

   "Yeah Wizzy."

   "Let me ask you some questions. See, I ran with the Military Police guys. I have some experience, with… motive, and figuring out what was going on. You know? Mind if I try it."

   "I have to talk to the police, huh?"

   "Yeah."

   She giggled and shook her hair, and held her wrists out to him, smiling.

   "Then where's the cuffs… don't you wanna… interrogate me, hmm?"

   "Save that for our third date, hun. You're here of your own free will."

   "Pooh. Go on."

   "You said, your mom used to buy you… rich lady clothes. Did you look older, when you were younger? Example. I bet you were tall for your age. With the right hair, clothes, makeup and jewelry? I bet you passed for an older girl. Bet when you were 14, you could fool a 16 or 17 year old boy you were older. Am I right."

   "Oh yeah. I was a dancer. Older girls, get done up younger. Younger girls, get made up to look older. Normal. But yeah. I always could pass a couple years more than I was. Like you said, I was tall."

   "All right. So, you're 12. You look older, and your mom was priming you, buying you… nice dresses and stockings. Maybe some cheap pearls. Making you look… like an older girl. That came from money. To learn to attract…"

   "Boys with money."

   "Right. Now, she was training you? To be a dancer. Dressing you up to look all classy. Now… when was the switch?"

   "What switch."

   "Your mom started buying you… hooker boots, wham bam mini's… ripped up look at my tits and tummy shirts… when did that shit start? Because your mom switched from my daughter has class, she deserves that kind of boy… and went more for…"

   "The slut look."

   "Yeah. Bet there was a hairstyle change. Different make up. The works."

   "Hmm. Yeah. It would attract boys for me. Mom wanted me to have… experience with boys. For when I was older."

   "Yeah. So, what age did this… classy look, turn into the slutty look? Hmm? Ballpark it."

   "Oh… late 12, early 13… maybe 13-ish… somewhere in there."

   "Now. Did you go on dates with boys, back in the classy rich girl days?"

   "Well. When you're 10 or 12, your big date is more like… getting dropped at the roller skating rink, you know."

   "Normal. But, car dates started. When was that switch."

   "Oh… mom said I needed more… experience with boys. So I could get a head start on the other girls. Know what I was doing with handling men, she called it. Hmm. I guess… around the time I started being bought the sexier clothes."

   "And Light… you were tall for your age. Had those dancer's legs. Bet as a 12 year old, you could snag dates with 16 year old boys. Boys that drove a car. Right?"

   "Oh… pffft. Whole point there. Boy drives a nice car? Better boy. Ask anyone, boys and girls both know you want a boy with a nicer car."

   "So, what does a 12 year old girl, know about how much a car is worth. To judge. How do you know a good car. Mom taught you?"

   "Yeah. Sports cars are nice. Not older, trashy ones. Nice ones. And nice cars, too."

   "Nice cars?"

   "Mercedes, BMW? Great. Cadillac, Lincoln? Good. Ford, Chevy? Pooh."

   I stepped in.

   "Honey. We already know her mom was training her to be a gold digger, so she could scratch for nuggets with the best of them. This, we know."

   "You sure that's where I'm going. Hmm?"

   "Uh. I was. Continue."

   "Now Lightning. Switching from roller rink, to car dating. That's a big step. You told me, your mom didn't require you to be home early. You were allowed late, on car dates. Go to parties. Whatever."

   "Yeah. Other girls? Pretty jealous of me. Those were pretty good days, Wiz. Mom bought me clothes the other girls couldn't get bought. I was allowed to car date. Stay out late. I was allowed to have a couple drinks, but not get sloshed and get into trouble. Man. I was… you know. Pretty damn popular."

   "Oh, I bet you were. I think we established before, your mom wasn't exactly a stickler for birth control, was she?"

   "No. The opposite, really. Mom didn't believe in it, it was wrong. And… I was going to have kids some day anyways, so if it happened it wasn't a bad thing. But, no abortions. My mom wasn't all bad, she didn't believe in killing babies. And, well… make sure if it does happen? That's why you only date quality boys."

   I was beginning to follow his logic train now.

   "And your mom taught you how to pick boys with quality. Like quality cars."

   "Well, yeah. She taught me which dads had the good jobs. You can tell by the uniforms they wore to work. By the house and car."

   "So. Most parents, put an age limit on how old the boy is. What age of boy were you allowed to date?"

   "Oh. Girls like older boys, Wizzy. My friends were all jealous, too. It was bad, I know it now, but back then? I'm young, I'm dressing sexy and living large. Driven around in expensive sports cars, going to older kids parties…"

   "Yeah. I get that. How old?"

   "Well, no real age limit, really. Mom always said, you can't put a number on love and marriage. Plenty of women have a husband older than they are. Its normal."

   "When you're older? Yeah, ten years its common. Expected, even. But you're what. 12, 13. How… old… were these boys taking you to the older kids parties, Light."

   "Oh. No age limit."

   "Over 18."

   "Usually, yeah. Boy ain't going to college? Starts working at the good job, where his dad works. At 18. Wizzy… his own new sports car, brand new? Making money like the guys with the nice houses and families in town made? No wife and kids?"

   "Okay. Prime gold digging training program, I get that. Any of these boys… over 21?"

   "Well, I mean…"

   "You mean what?"

   "They can buy beer, Wizzy. Big deal when you're young, you know. Man, you know how much weight I swung at school? My friends could just about order beer, bottles, what they wanted. I could get it. I was the girl to know, trust me. Not like I was a drug dealer, but… I could score a bag of schwag. You smoke with us. You know how it is."

   I was really starting to follow his logic train. Wow.

   "Now for the big one, Light. This last boy. You know the one I mean."

   She went from happy, remembering being the girl you had to know, to… feeling like dirt.

   "Yeah…"

   "Your mom ever date the fathers of those other boys?"

   "Oh. They were all married, boys had moms. I mean, maybe she dated a few casually on the side, but… its not the end of the world, you know. Single mom gets lonely. It happens."

   "Oh. I'm sure it did. Now, back to this… last guy."

   She sighed.

   "Uh huh…"

   "Your mom dated him. He was divorced. She could slide right into the picture, huh?"

   "Yeah. Mom wanted a quality older guy at her age too, Wizzy."

   "Now. These other boys. You dated the boy, and your mom helped you pick them out. For quality control."

   "Yep. Wizzy? I'm well aware, I was raised and trained a gold digger. I know it. Please quit reminding me, would you? You're… making me feel… cheap."

   "Bear with me, Little Lightning. Its on your mom, not you, dear. Now, this last time. That boy. Did your mom date his dad first?"

   "Oh. I never thought about it. Yeah."

   "This guy, he owned a business. He put other guys into his good jobs. This guy was loaded."

   "Oh yeah. Trust me. He was."

   "Now… one other little detail. Maybe one more. Stay with me. I know its painful, but. Try. Okay? You can be brave for me? Try to stay."

   She shook her head yes, sitting up on him. Like I do. It was uncanny.

   "You mentioned, that boy used to slap you a couple times. When he was drinking. The other older boys slap you around?"

   "Well. No. Just him. I mean, other than that? He was okay."

   "He had the reputation, that he put his hands on girls, didn't he?"

   "I guess. Not trying to sound like I'm kissing your ass Wizzy, but, not all the boys out there are as nice as you are."

   "I know honey. And thank you. Now… back to free with hands boy. How old was he again?"

   "20, 21… ish. Something like that."

   "Uh huh. I'm going to look into my crystal ball, Lightning. He didn't date a lot. I mean, not like a kid that rich should have, right?"

   "Well. How much should a kid that age, dad owns a big company, date?"

   "Line of sports cars and Mercedes and BMW's outside?"

   "Yeah. Mom was very happy. Her gold digger meter was pegged."

   "Oh, I'm sure mom was ecstatic. Now… you were a dancer. Good at it. Looked older than you were. Mom dressed you in hooker boots and wham bam skirts, show my tits and tummy shirts. Big hair do… the works."

   "Hey. Boys like it. Blame them. If boys would have responded to the classy girl look? Well…"

   "I bet he had you dance for him, didn't he? For him and his friends."

   "Sure. Boys always did like to watch me dance, Wizzy. Its the whole point of being good at it."

   "Yeah. I'm sure you danced around the campfire, at the keg parties, with the other older boys. Sure… but… this was a little different, wasn't it?"

   "Eh. Little more audience, sure."

   "Where did this take place? These little parties he threw. Had his buddies over to watch you dance, dressed like that. Light? Come on. You went this far. Tell the nice, friendly Military Policeman about it. You can do it."

   "All right. Maybe it was a little more… you know… bump and grind. Than real dancing. Sure. Young boys, drinking. I mean, go figure."

   I was catching his drift. I was getting pissed. He kept me quiet with a look.

   "Bet the boys had a line of coke, here and there. Rich kids."

   "Eh. Sure."

   "I'm sure they gave you a little bit here and there."

   "Tried it a few times. Sure."

   "That's fine. Kids do what others are doing, around them. Its an environment thing. Now. One last thing, Light. You okay?"

   She was quiet. She nodded her head.

   "You said, and I quote. You were allowed to drink, just not shit loads. Couple drinks. Loosen up. But, your mom taught her 12 year old to drink responsibly."

   "Yeah."

   "Question. The day… it happened. And stay with me."

   She whispered.

   "Okay…"

   "You drank, your couple normal drinks, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "But… you got trashed. It was out of the ordinary."

   "Hot day."

   "Yeah. I remember, you said that they said, and I quote. Its hot out. You're sweating a lot. Let us help you off with those clothes. Stay with me honey, I'm almost done."

   She started to get a few tears, but… stayed sitting up on him.

   "If you started coming around… they put a mouthful of drink in your mouth. Held your mouth so you had to swallow, to breathe."

   She teared more, but silent. Sobbing now.

   "Come down here honey… shh. Its going to be okay, daddy promises… shh."

   She was still sitting on his hips, now crying into his neck. Sobbing quietly. Her chest was heaving, but fairly quiet. She locked her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. He continued to shush into her ear. He does this to me, when I want a slow ride. I call it his sugar daddy routine. Kinda hot when you're in the mood for it. It was perverse in some small way, that he was using it now to calm her, and keep her with him. He had her on the ragged edge of losing it, but was fighting for something, trying desperately to get that one, last, fish. What was it?

   "Shh."

   She nodded, sobbing into his neck. I heard him whisper sweetly into her ear.

   "Its okay, honey. Its all right, to tell. No one can hurt you any more. Its all gone, Light… just tell me honey, tell daddy the truth. How many times did this really happen… go on. How many times did you have a couple drinks, and it was like that."

   She held her hand up, because she was sobbing and couldn't talk. Five fingers if you counted the thumb. Then she closed into a fist, and flashed again. Then wiggled the hand. Something like ten times or more, guessing.

   "That's a good girl. Now, its gonna get better, okay? You told the truth, and no one else will ever know, its gonna be fine. Now, you can start to get better with mommy over there, okay? Shh… you just had to tell her, because what you tell her, goes away eventually. If you held it back, she couldn't make it better… now? You're gonna be all right… shh."

   "Daddy's very proud of you, honey. Do you know that? Shh. You're a very brave girl. I'm very proud."

   He sat a little propped up, pillows behind his head, and she stayed there a little while. Sitting on him but now no longer in control. The quiet sobbing took her. She occasionally dug in with her knees and shins, like she was going to get somewhere, other than tighter into him. When not, she tended to hang her knees and ankles loose, or to tuck them in tight to his lower body. She would not loosen her death clutch she had around his neck for love nor money.

   Odd phrase for me to use there, I guess. For love nor money. Love was something she knew little of, if anything. She was sparking and trying figure out what the hell that even was. Sex was love, love was sex. Rape and regular date sex? Same thing. They were functionally equivalent. Money, she knew about. Because her gold digging mommy had taught her all about that. Money was what made her mom's world go around. Odd. For love nor money. One she knew nothing about; the other? More than she ever wanted to.

   It took her a long time to quit digging her knees and shins into the bedclothes. Trying to propel her body somewhere. More into the safe space I would assume, into the daddy. Safer. She finally sobbed herself out, and her periodic faux propulsion slowly ebbed and faded. Into still trying, and failing. Her streams of tears slowed with it. She now regained a little sob-soaked speech power and used it. Into his tear wet neck.

   "Please don't tell."

   He said he wouldn't. Just me, him, and herself. And even that was just for work, because there was simply no other way to make it all go away. If not for needing that, we would just forget it. When we were done dispelling the bad things, though. We would just forget it then. But it would all get better now.

   She begged him not tell, to please keep her secret. She begged for no police, no interviews, no one could ever know. Please. He shushed her, told her there would be no cops, nothing like that. Ever. He said that wasn't a problem at all. She complained that now he knew how dirty she was, he wouldn't want her. He shushed her, told her that wasn't the case. He couldn't wait for her third date, it was the single most thing that he was looking forward to. He assured her, how smart and beautiful and strong and brave she really was. How much everyone here loved her. Him, me. Her roomies too. The team as a whole, loved her, needed her. Only a few girls were jealous of her, that was all. And they couldn't hurt her either. Hurry made bad things go away. That's what she did.

   I'm sitting there fuming. I'm supposed to be the rape therapist, learning my trade's craft in Psych major classes. He's sitting here dragging the real story out of her in one go. I noticed, the numb thing went away. It was now replaced with the breakdown. The more typical response when they came clean and upped the goods. She must have known she was holding back before, telling a partial to get closer to the real story. Fooling with the odd narrative method. It had gotten her close enough. It brought out the real truth she always tried to bury up again, like unearthing a decaying corpse in her mind. She went numb, realizing this thing had to be dug up. But this time, she broke down because the foul and unclean thing was shown the light of day. It could be dismissed now.

   I'm… not fuming mad, am I? I feel hot, like I would be though. Then I thought about the damn haunted denim mini. Oh shit. I had liked it. It had called to me. Put me on, I'll make you feel good. And it had. I pranced and strutted for my boyfriend and for complete strangers. Loved the feeling of having dirty leers on me. It felt so good, so seductive to be the thing in the room that every boy and man wanted to possess.

   I had worn it to the party. I had enjoyed strutting it there. Enjoyed under its spell the eyes around me, as I went down to panties, like Lightning would and did. Into the hot tub. Let everyone see your goods, the denim devil whispered to me. Boys like it. Fuck me, I even had boots on, like she had when it was last used. Different boots, farm slut boots instead of hooker heeled black leather ones. But boys liked boots, and we all knew it. I had enjoyed being used like a complete slut, a complete whore… and loved every second of it. Restrained, practically fucked almost to death. It was that damn denim mini. It was evil.

   When I was done being restrained and fucked half to death, I had went about insane and fucked him almost to death, and he had loved it too. I rendered him helpless, and fucked him mercilessly and relentlessly. He then begged for more as well, just as I had.

   I suddenly realized I wasn't mad he was outdoing me at my own rape counselor job I had appointed myself to. I was hot skin to the touch, because I felt ill. Sick, or… oh Christ. Images of the picture he had painted, drawing it out of her. And it went on ten times? Or more, she had lost track. At least one time, the last time? She had remembered a good bit of it. That had to be the worst one. The others, happened while she was out of it. But that one… she would know, she would smell, she would hear, and feel… everything.

   Half the small town? Jesus. And she knew. The boys and young men around town, all pointed and laughed at… the whore. The rest of her life, she was doomed if she stayed there. She would be considered the foulest and most unclean girl imaginable to sit next to, let alone have and keep. And she came here. Now, a treasured soccer goddess. With golden feet, acrobatic skills and grace. Dancer's skill and grace. She was a star now, and she was ashamed of what she had been made into when young. He took one look at her, and couldn't believe his luck. He got to ask one of his calendar girls out, in real life. Being not taken up on his coffee line? Was enough. He had gotten to see her, speak to her, maybe touch her hand.

   I was the consummate good girl. She gravitated to me. I was bigger, stronger, and protective. When some big bull dyke had started cornering her and touching her against her will, no wonder she had frozen in something beyond fear. That… evil thing? Its followed me here, where I could be happy for once.

   She knew who he was, he was Toot. He was my nicest guy ever that I talked about. She felt like she was foul and unclean, and broken. She knew I wanted him, she knew something I would like about him, and she told me. She passed from ruining him, so I could have my once a year thing I wanted.

   No wonder she was so impressed with him. He told her how beautiful and amazing she was. He politely ended people calling her a whore. He had claimed her, never once ever knowing her in the biblical sense. Made her feel decent and clean. Over his physical infatuation, she likely marveled at how his interest went down slightly when she acted like a dumb blonde with Right every day. When she carried on with straight up free sex with any boy that took her fancy. Then, when she showed him she had some intellect and insight? He fell all over her again. He liked her for something other than her dancer's legs, that had gotten her inadvertently into so much of a horrible mess.

   On top of it, he was slightly older, moralistic and protective. She loved that, no doubt. He could keep bad things away, like I did. She had her surrogate mommy and daddy. The evil mommy had been replaced with a young good one, only a year or so older than her. The missing daddy was replaced by him, four years older or thereabouts to me, so five more to her.

   I can't imagine having that much self loathing and self hate inside me. Oh god, sick was an understatement. Another attack of a little movie of what went on, that she remembered. I ran holding my mouth, sweating hot beads of rancid perspiration forming on my forehead. I gripped the toilet, thank god I keep it pristine and sterilized. I tucked my head down into the bowl, on my knees praying to it. Hugging it for all I had as the dizziness came, then… I retched and purged. The coffee came up. That ran out quick. Foam, stomach acid and stuff like that I would imagine, too. But it kept convulsing and heaving. It was like I could taste my ass coming up in the back of my throat. Then the dry heaves, that slowly subsided.

   Oh, I'm the consummate rape victim interviewer, ain't I? I can't get the story out of her. No men allowed on this job site? Yet without this one, we'd still be playing ring around the Rosie. Christ, I can't even stomach hearing and imagining it all, and he's not only able to get it out of her? He had to have been guessing parts of it, like a… well, like someone who…

   Like someone who had been around Military Police on a big base for four years. He taught rape prevention, as a free service, he volunteered. He had heard this shit before. He had some idea how to get it out of her. He had the stomach for hearing this shit, and telling her it was all right. Good lord, I almost sent him away the first time I tried, I wouldn't have even got the weird narrative one time story that preceded this… abomination coming to light. I kept yelling at him to quit making jokes. But it had worked.

   Not only was I wholly incompetent at this? I was getting in the way and trying my damnedest to prevent it from happening. Because I was going by textbook rote. Like a good girl. He had spent four years near enough the trenches, that he knew what was in them. He had that big morality streak, and that big sense of justice. When he saw this filth before? He had first tried to prevent it, then…

   When you get a bad enough head injury? The blackout timeline starts ten minutes or more, before the head injury, and lasts until they wake up in the emergency room. He was the trained fighter, that didn't have a badge and oaths holding him back. He had heard and seen, from them, from being around… and from the classes. Yeah, he had gone out and a few really bad people had no doubt ended up face down in a pool of their own blood. Concussions so bad, they literally didn't even know who or what had taken them down.

   Well thank god there was someone out there now and then doing it. God himself knows the system itself sure isn't working. The system? Don't make me hurl my guts out again. Who in their right goddamn mind, could stomach even calling it a "system" even as a goddamn sick joke. System my ass. Its a random collection of shit, the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing. And when it does? Its so they can wash each other, that's all.

   Who in the hell could claim its a "system", when it works against itself so much. All we all hear about, shouted from the rooftops, on the TV and cable, on the radio, on the internet. Girl power. All these wonderful and selfless poor and hardworking single mommies. I don't need no man, I don't need no man. Oh really? The truth is right there. In black and white. By any metric you choose, single moms produce offspring that fail to perform as good as kids with dual parents. And its not just their performance, its their quality of life. They love to show you that one success, they won't speak about the 19 failures for every "success".

   Take Little Lightning's story. Her true and complete and unexpurgated story. Man, they and that's whoever they really are? Oh boy, they would "spin" that story until it whirled faster than a gyroscope balancing itself on a pencil point, seemingly defying all reason and gravity. They would emphasize, again and again, hammering the point home. That Little Lightning, Little Miss two Feet, the pride of one of the biggest university's ladies soccer team, in one of if not the toughest division to be found.

   Look how tall, strong, and proud she is. Look how much harder than everyone else she works. Self starter, she made a name for herself in a big high school, and led her team in the super bowl all stars game the year she graduated. Got knocked out senseless, while scoring the winning goal she'll never remember. Scholarship to a top academic and athletic university. Getting her degree. Why, she's strong, pretty, smart, loyal, dedicated, giving of herself. All from a single mother led household. What awesome parenting this must have been, right? Sure. How else can it be explained. Why, a great single mom is better than any two good parents, no other explanation. Her mom didn't need no man, and look what a star she is now. So, you don't need no man either. Get rid of of him, and churn out the next Little Lightning, the next Little Miss Two Feet, the next big star.

   She's leading her team on a charge through her division, and look at her go. Cue those clips, that show her sweating profusely. That hungry, driven look we all know her for. Her streaking in a blur up field, getting there sometimes before the damn ball makes it. Single mommies make these! Play that dramatic music, as they show slow motion action clips of her off the ground, one timing impossible angled shots so thin there's barely room for the ball to make it to the net. Team mates carrying her off the field. Show interview clips of her being asked what she thinks her team's chances are this year, not to be bridesmaids yet again in the finals. That the stats are showing they might even be favored to finally take home their big win.

   The coach, explaining how her famous knocked out national final game goal video clip, got her noticed and recruited. How her fame from that clip, has driven recruiting up so now he has the best talent just like her coming to him, he's not going around hat in hand begging for the stars to come here. The more she wins, the more her team wins, the more girls just like her want to come and get a chance to play beside her. If they get another national back to back title, how its starting to look like a setup for a dynasty in the making, a chance to dominate and clear out their division and become the powerhouse they once were twenty years back. This girl is one of several who put them back on the map, damn it.

   Then, they'll once again make sure you didn't possibly miss the most important thing of all, that she came from a broken home, from a small town, where one of those wonderful single mommies made this… uberfrau.

   If you even gave them the true story? They'll edit out everything that doesn't support the narrative. They'll spin that motherfucker until the moon surely, is made out of cheese. And whatever cheese company pays the highest advertising bucks to produce the little feel good documentary? That's the kind of cheese the goddamn moon's made out of, simple as that.

   I could tell you it all makes me want to puke? But I already did. They'll casually skip right over the fact that her own single mother was the biggest gold digging whore, that god ever saw fit to grace her state with. I'm sure she's competitive in the national standings, when you adjust for local economies, to normalize the stats. No, I'm sure that ounce for ounce? Her mom, stacks up against all comers in her gold digging division, and gives a good showing for her abilities. If there was such a thing as the gold digging whore's super bowl? Her cunt single mother stands a decent chance of finally getting the recognition she deserves. And to take home the solid gold trophy ring to show off her stellar achievement. With surely a cock engraved on one side, and a dollar sign embossed on the other.

   If they only knew about the last time she saw her mother before leaving for her scholarship never to return. Here's what I really think of you mom. She kicked her half to death with her prized soccer spikes. Thanks for pimping me out, until I finally got ran through by half the young men in town, thank the lord it was a small town or my cock odometer would have rolled over. Those long legs, working her madam mother over. Like an ostrich, trying to kick a lion to death. Because lions will eat their young. That's what she did, her mother ate her and shit her out.

   After several days, and the police never showed up? She was free. She went about her life, broken, and went as best she could to carve something out for herself. Guess mommy was too smart and realized that if the police got involved because her daughter almost kicked her to death? Lots more about the "why" were going to come out. Fuck it, let my little meal ticket go. I got enough out of her already, begone. Because if you won't dance and fuck to get me paid for sitting on my worthless ass? I have no further use for you.

   Ah, if you made them tell that part of the story? The mother would be some kind of did what I had to do to survive heroine, oh poor me. If only alimony and child support were higher, why, then I wouldn't have had to pimp my daughter out to make ends meet, oh woe is poor little me. I've gone through how many husbands, and its tough I tell you. Sniffle and dab a tear with a tissue for the camera, playing the heartstrings music in the background.

   The whole situation? Makes me want to shit and puke in a bucket, and launch it in a big enema up the mother's gold digging daughter pimping ass. Hook a fucking hose up to that ass, so that when it all shoots out? It goes into the mother's mouth and into her gullet. And just keeps going and cycling through, again and again. Because that's what a mother like that deserves. The young men in that town? Need to be flayed alive, slowly, in town center. With a crowd drawn so they can see what they get, if they try this shit.

   Paying to fuck a woman, I kind of understand. I don't condone it? But I grasp the concept. But… lining up half the town's young men, to watch her dance, buy cocaine and drinks, then form a line boys. Drop your cash in the bucket, and go to town. Come one, come all.

   No, they knew what they were doing was reprehensible. How young she was, and that just made their dicks harder. She's passed out and helpless, that just made them wetter. They should be fed their own genitalia, before being flayed. She was 14. I'd ask where the parents are? I know! Dad was gotten rid of years back. He must have had a spine and some morals. And dear old mom? Counting the cash. Hey, we need to up the number of gangbangers turning out? We're down 3 percent this week. Need a little more eyeliner on my firstborn to up the income. Mommy needs some new expensive shoes, you know.

   Now, you have the gall to call this a system? A system of… what? You gonna sit there and tell me, with a straight face… that not one single cop in town, didn't think something was up? Where the fuck was CYS. They crawl up the ass of parents with a microscope, for nothing. Same house, finding nothing, over and over again. Shit like this going down? Not a CYS agent in sight. You can't tell me not one neighbor suspected something.

   The lawyer that organized the gag order payment to the mother, after signing off on the cop's "investigation"? He needs set on fire, right along with everyone else. He made money off that poor girl's ass just like the mother. He got his cut. The cops? Mom's signing off on this. What the ever loving fuck. I'm sure all those young men, who paid for their time in her holes… went on to just be the very best pillars of the community the town ever saw. I'm sure they're just great prizes to behold for their ongoing contributions to the women unfortunate enough to marry them, and the kids screwed up raised by them. I'm sure the values and morals they pass on to their replacement generation? Are the very best.

   Oh god. I almost made it out the bathroom, and I have to puke again. I know there's nothing left but ass hairs to conjure up, as I turn inside out again. I'm dry heaving so bad, it hurts. I found the miniskirt and ripped up shirt. I wanted to look pretty. I wore it and pranced around, and my boyfriend loved it. So did everyone in the town I ate at and shopped in. At least poor Lightning was raised into that situation, I strutted around like a strumpet willingly, and loved it. She was brainwashed into it, then physically forced to continue as long as possible before she took one ass kicking after another to punish her for wanting to better herself and play sports instead.

   What kind of daughter won't take half the town's young cocks in every hole, to help her mommy not have to go to work and earn a living. What kind of a daughter are you, that you'd rather be a sports star, and try to earn a scholarship to make something out of yourself. I'll teach you to win, I'll kick the shit out of you again to show you what I think of you making better life decisions than I ever did.

   This is what can happen only when the father is gotten rid of. Drunken halfwits playing father would have put a stop to this shit-show, the minute it got started. You think my daughter is going on car dates with men old enough to legally buy beer, 13 years old, dressed like a hooker, staying out all night? Woman, have you lost your ever loving mind? Here, let me introduce you to the back of my hand, bitch.

   Maybe that's what some of the men that get drunk and backhand the little lady, are doing it for. I like to think that big welder would have done it. That was his daughter.

   Sweet mercy finally arrives. Last rites now. Just a few more dry heaves, and the… okay… I might be done. I wiped my mouth with water from the sink. Drank and spit to flush the taste out. I walked back into the bedroom, to enjoy the show. She hasn't moved from her riding position. Occasional tears still coming, almost no sobs though. Anything will do for a daddy. Here's one. He showed me warmth and kindness and basic human decency. I can't let this one get away.

   If you turn your back on a decent daddy for ten seconds? They're gone. Then, I know what happens without him around. I got it good now, I’m not letting this one float away. He should be getting a hard on from this, his calendar girl is fucking riding him tight. She won't let go. Her sleeping T shirt is ridden up over her panties, which are are near his cock. Only a sheet between dick and panties. I'm sure he's as shriveled up as he can get. He just looks at me.

   "Feel better?"

   "Technically, yeah. Uh… what do we do now?"

   "What. I don't get horsewhipped for making suggestions?"

   "Not with our daughter in the bedroom, honey. Show some parenting. What would we be teaching her."

   "Ha ha ha. Suggestion number one? Leave me here, to gently rock the baby to sleep. I guess I got this for now. We might be coming in for a landing soon."

   "What… do I do, you think?"

   "Well? Entertain kid number two. So she doesn't walk in here again, and see this, would you? Take your keys, and lock the door behind you."

   "What… should I tell her."

   "Well, let's ball the truth up and toss that out the fucking window. Pretty much anything else is better."

   "Yeah. Well. Daughter number two is waiting patiently for her breakfast. I'm not exactly mom of the year myself, I fed her coffee for a late breakfast. I'll feed her, and see if I can get anything to stay down in me."

   "Maybe, get her out of the house, go work out. In case she cuts loose again. I'm not the expert you are on that prediction."

   "Best guess? This is… looks like some kind of a state of shock, profound depression, some kind of temporary fugue state. I think it'll pass. Shouldn't take forever."

   "Is it risking anything, not to have medical care?"

   "Eh. They'd just sedate her. Ride it out."

   "You have a little hand cash. Enough to take daughter number two into town? Pizza for late breakfast, at lunchtime."

   "Yeah."

   "Best option. I'm trying not to think where number three is, and what the hell she's up to, and with who."

   "Lord only knows. I… don't feel up to running in the summer heat. Not fair to ask number two to run, while I stand around and shout do more laps."

   "Yeah. Pizza for lunchtime breakfast. Go."

   "I'll tell her Light came down with some kind of a flu bug or something. Sudden thing."

   "Any lie is better than the truth."

   "You need anything?"

   "Uh… if I get her in for a landing? You said they'd sedate her. Home remedy for sedation, to take the edge off her nervous shock…"

   "She's not a big drinker. Small juice glass of room temperature brandy. Follow that up with a joint about as big around as your dick."

   "Can I get a prescription for that?"

   "Shit's on the nightstand. I'll bring the brandy up and leave it before I go."

   I turned to leave.

   "Hey…"

   "Yeah?"

   "Put some pants on, before you go into town?"

   "Oh. Good call…"

   I went out and took the other remaining "daughter" for breakfast, and some junk store shopping. When I got back, I left number two watching TV and went back to my room, where ostensibly Wiz was seeing to Light. While she was sick with her sudden flu. That left the image of a girl puking and dizzy, hence the needed care in a closed room. Somehow? That image I provided, gave Right the idea that it somehow "explained" her talking to us late and not feeling well and in so doing, fell asleep and we didn't want to wake her.

   Anything but the god's truth was preferable to it.

   I was prepared for anything as I went back in, and locked the door once I was inside. Light had during the intervening period discovered that Wizzy would not, in fact, float away if she let go of him. She was humming to herself, like a little kid. One hand out and on his midsection, her knees to her ankles up against him. Otherwise in a more or less loose curled up fetal position. I asked if it was okay to touch her as I got onto the bed to join them. She nodded. I laid down behind her and hugged her. She had regained the power of speech, and though it was dull and blank it was a welcome sign.

   "I didn't… fuck him while you were gone."

   "Thanks. Its fine if you did though."

   "Its not fair."

   "I know its not fair what happened to you, dear. Not at all."

   "No. Not fair. You and Wizzy taking care of me."

   "Its fine, Light. This will pass."

   "I'm a little better."

   "That's good."

   "What did I screw up today, I wonder."

   "Oh. You didn't screw anything up. You? Haven't done a thing wrong. Nothing is your fault, in my book. It shouldn't be at all your fault, in your own book, either. I'd say forgive yourself? But, there's nothing to forgive."

   "I still shouldn't have wore the dress. There's that. It makes them do it. Which is okay, as long as you wear it for the right guy. You… need to promise me, Hurry. Don't… let this stop you. From wearing a… get lucky. If its for him? Its… a good thing. The same thing that's bad? Is good. Just like rape is bad, and sex is good, but they're both the same."

   "I'm gonna burn that damn dress."

   "I have more. Its fine."

   She made a forced, stale giggle come out.

   "Mom buys me plenty. Closet's full of them. More? Just get delivered. Hell, I bought them, when you think about it. I can give them to whoever I want. Take any one you want, anytime you want. I don't care. I wish you could wear my shoes. I have some cute ones. You'd look hot in some of my boots, Hurry. I saw you in the farm girl boots. I'm sure of it."

   Talking about cute clothes? Safe subject. She's a young kid, talking clothes is her hand touching home base. Talking clothing, is hiding under the covers, where the scary monster can't get you.

   "Hmm. What kind of boots for me, you think?"

   "Uh. Six inch fuck me heels, those high leather ones, up to the knees or over? You'd look hot as fuck. You're taller than me, and you got those legs. Your calves are big enough to shape them out, and your thighs? Out the top? Yeah… you'd walk around, looking 6 foot 6… those muscles… I bet Wizzy would just drop to his knees when you walked in with a wham bam and those bad bitches on. Something that showed your tummy muscles? Mm. He'd beg you to spit on him, I guarantee it."

   "Yeah. I'll look into those."

   "Or…"

   "Yeah?"

   "Elf boots."

   "Huh?"

   "Thin heels, even flats. High leather, but soft suede. He'd love those, too."

   "And the wham bam."

   "Fuck yeah. You'd be the man-eater you always wanted to be."

   "We'll look at boots on the internet for fun when you're feeling better one day."

   "Is this… getting better? Cause I felt better, when I was still all fucked up, to tell you the truth you know."

   I sighed.

   "My daddy? Got hurt once. Wrenched his back. Working. Something real heavy. Went to the chiropractor. Every time he went, twice a week? He hurt from the adjustment. But it hurt a little less, every week. Couple months later? Adjustments felt better and better. That's how this will go. Every session? This… gets less and less, till it goes away. Then? Sessions get better and better."

   "And… I can start not being… 14?"

   "Yeah. By the time you graduate? You'll be… 17, pushing 18. Then? No one will know. I think you were an adult 14, so… an adult 18, will be a sight to behold. You… pull it off damn well, working 14 for all its worth. Lots of people can't tell."

   "I feel bad. Using you, like this. Its not fair to you."

   "Its fair."

   "How could it be?"

   "I'm… kind of using you, dear."

   "How. What do I do for you…"

   "I feel like… I'm using you, to get my ring. You and Right both. I'm not good enough to play up there full time and get it? And you two can. So, I need you."

   "Hmm. So, its a little bit fair?"

   "Its a lot fair."

   "Don't sweat it."

   "What…"

   "Don't sweat using me for that. Its fine."

   "Well, thanks."

   "It doesn't hurt. Mom? Used me, and it hurt. You using me, your way? Feels good. And it gets me a ring too."

   She whispered.

   "Use me all you want. Everyone else does. All I'm good for."

   He shushed her.

   "You shouldn't talk like that."

   "Okay. Wizzy?"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "Was… that love?"

   "What."

   "What we did. You… made me feel better. We didn't fuck. So… that makes it, what isn't sex, is love because its left over. Right, Hurry?"

   "For your first description? Yeah, that's a good one. Want another example?"

   "Sure."

   "Sex. Is when you… make yourself feel better. Right?"

   "Yeah. Feels good."

   "Well… its love? When it makes you feel better, only when you know you're making the other person feel better. Then, they do it back the same way. They make themselves feel better, by making you feel better. You each do for the other, not for yourselves."

   "Hmm. But, if sex makes me feel good, and he's having the same sex making himself feel better… both feel better. Isn't that the same thing?"

   "Its… sort of the same? But trust me, love is better. The first time you make yourself feel better, only by making the other person feel better? You'll feel it. And you'll never want to go back, to just sex."

   "Wizzy?"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "Did… it make you feel better, to make me calm down?"

   "Uh… well, let's see here. Seeing you like that? Makes me feel, kind of a pain in my stomach. Like I'm being stabbed, and the knife is being twisted around. Then, when I got you calmed down? Yeah, it made me feel better. Because… the pain, of seeing you go through that? Went away."

   "Aw. You loved me. Just a little bit, then."

   "Yeah, Light. I did."

   "Thanks."

   "You get some brandy and some smoke into her?"

   "Yeah. Couple fingers of brandy. I did it the way she's used to."

   "Which is?"

   "She's out of it. So? I just poured it into her mouth, and held her nose. It went down. It really does work."

   "Stop it!"

   "Its… a little funny. Let him go."

   "I'm gonna let him go all right, I gonna let him go and beat him with a stick, he keeps saying shit like that."

   "You can't beat people with a stick, for making someone feel better, Hurry. My mom used to kick me for trying to be good. You can't do that."

   "I know."

   "God. I wish my mom would just die already. I'd kill her, but if I have to go to jail for it, then she wins. Only reason that bitch sucks air, I swear I could do it. I know I could."

   "Light?"

   "Yeah, Wizzy."

   "You? Don't have to hurt your mother. Or that rich guy, or his asshole son. Even though they deserve to be hurt, for what they did."

   "Why… I can't, but what if I could, why shouldn't I."

   "Because… people like that? They take care of themselves."

   "They… hurt themselves?"

   "In a way? Yeah, they do."

   "Really…"

   "Oh yeah. You know Buddhism? Karma."

   "Not really."

   "See, I was raised with a religion. A religion that says, that people are all basically good. That they want to do the right thing, if only everyone tried… and… I don't believe all people are good. Your mom, for instance."

   "Yeah. What about her."

   "To me? She's bad. So bad, she's just plain evil. An evil person. Now, my religion I grew up with? Says, its not my place to judge. I have to forgive and forget, and let people like her keep fucking everyone over, because some piece of paper says so. Well… I ended up believing in Karma."

   "Tell me about it."

   "Oh, I will. See, this makes more sense. Everyone, is neither good nor evil. They just… are. You have a choice, every time you do anything, to do good or to do bad. You just know right from wrong, and I can't see any way your mom could figure she was doing anything right, anything good. Same goes for the rich guy and his son. They know they're doing bad, doing wrong. I'm just sure of it."

   "When does Karma kick in?"

   "Well. You pour out energy. Every day, every way, everything you do. Whatever you throw out there, it comes back on you. Double. Now… if you do good things most of the time? Then, more good things come back to you. I can prove this works."

   "Okay."

   "See. You're going to get better. You're going to wanna work out. You… will want to run farther and faster, than ever before, right?"

   "Probably."

   "Now, that's going to make your legs hurt, your feet hurt. Even your shoulders are going to hurt, from the way you jump and kick, and land on the ground. Sore, right?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "Now. You know what I'm gonna do for you?"

   "What…"

   "I'm gonna do for you? What I do for Hurry here."

   "Bang me silly?"

   "No. I'm going to do another thing I do for her. She likes it, more than me banging her, I think."

   "What's that… sounds like it must be great…"

   "Well. I get her in the tub after she works out? And… I rub her shoulders. I rub her legs, I rub her feet. I… file all her nails and use a stone on her. Then? I put her on a towel, and I give her a full body rubdown. With hot liniment, then oil, the works."

   "Oh. She talked about that. She… kinda brags…"

   "Yeah. Well… if she allows?"

   "Hmm."

   "I'm gonna do that for you, too."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. You get to lay next to her, and you can talk about whatever girl shit girls talk about, while the spa guy gives them that. Now… I do that… I'm putting good karma out, right?"

   "Oh. That, would be, like… awesome karma…"

   "Right. So, one day, when someone does something good for me? That, is my positive energy, my good karma, coming home to me. I attract good karma, by putting good karma out. Doesn't mean I get all good karma all day every day. But over time, I put more good karma out, I should tend to get more back."

   "I like that. It sounds nice. The rubdown, and karma too."

   "Now. Bad karma? It works the same way. Imagine someone ran around, punching people in the nose. That's their thing. Hi. Punch in the nose. Hello. Punch in the nose. Goodbye? Nose punch. Now… one day? Someone comes along and wants to punch someone in the nose. Guess who they're gonna do it to? The guy that puts that bad karma out, attracts the bad karma back. Usually double. You put good karma out? You get twice as much good karma back. You put bad karma out? You get twice as much bad karma back. That's how the universe works. Pretty simple."

   "So. My mom, the guy, his son. Someone will just come along, and they'll get their bad karma one day."

   "Oh. Definitely. I promise it'll happen. I'm just sure of it. Because that's how the universe works. It will happen eventually. See, they did what they did? Because they figured they could do whatever they wanted, to a sweet but helpless 14 year old girl. That's… horrible karma to throw out there. Man, when that kind of karma finally comes back on them double? They'll be done for. One day, they'll screw around, like they always do. And… they'll piss off the wrong person. And when that day comes. Karma comes home to roost."

   "I don't know what I did, but I must have put some really bad karma out. Cause I got a lot of bad karma came in."

   "No. You're not a bad person, Light. When I decided I wanted a sports girl? You were one of the first girls I kept asking out for coffee. In fact, I kept asking you more times than any of the others."

   "Why?"

   "Why you, or why more times."

   "Both. I guess."

   He winked at me.

   "Because. I saw you standing, where you sports girls all stand, before you go to class? At that long railing."

   "Yeah…"

   "I'd see you, and always go… wow. Just look at that. Those incredible legs, that pretty face. That tight tummy. So, I got the nerve up to ask. And I kept asking, for a long time. You always said no? But… you were one of the only ones that were nice about it. You had this little smile. Like a Mona Lisa smile. And you'd have nice excuses. You weren't mean about it, like almost all the others. And… a lot of the others? They weren't happy just saying no. Or even saying it rude. They went out of their way, to make fun of me, just for being nice. Horrible people. I can't believe they look so pretty, because they're ugly, really. But, seeing you smile? Getting to talk to you? Really made my day. Every time."

   "Really?"

   "Definitely."

   He winked again, then twice more.

   "You know, if Hurry wasn't around? Say something happened to her."

   "Hey!"

   "You stay out of this, something happened to you."

   "Hmm. What happened to me?"

   "I don't know. Say you got ran over by a truck tomorrow."

   "Great day I'm having tomorrow. Thanks. But go ahead…"

   "Anyways, you know what I would do? When I was done, mourning and all."

   "What."

   "I'd come right to you. Because you? Are just like Hurry. You're tall, and strong. Really pretty. And you're just all good karma. I've never seen you be mean or bad. I'd want you, if she was gone."

   "Really?"

   "Definitely."

   "What would you do with me, then. You don't have a plan."

   "I know exactly what I'd do."

   "What…"

   "I'd finish my undergrad degree. Then? grad school. They'd pay me to teach computer classes. They'd give me a townhouse. Then? I'd move you in. No rent, no electric. My paycheck? I'd take you out for a fancy dinner, I guess once a week."

   "Aw. No one's ever done anything like that for me. I'm… just not worth all that."

   "Well. That's what I'd do."

   "You'd be ashamed of me. You know what people would say."

   "I don't care. I'd feel like the luckiest guy in the world. And? You'd deserve it."

   "For what?"

   "For being a good person. It would be your good karma coming back to you, twice over. Your good karma? Is overdue."

   "My karma? Seems to be in the… no zip sorting bin at the post office. For a while."

   "Yeah. You'll get that good karma, eventually. And? I'm certain the universe will do its thing. See? The thing about karma. Good or bad, whatever you got coming. The longer it takes to come in? The stronger it is. Now. Take your good karma… its gonna be huge good karma one day. I'm just sure of it. And theirs? I bet its huge bad karma. Its overdue. Karma? Collects interest, daily. It adds up over time. So don't worry. One day, they'll manage to piss off just the right person, and the universe will mop the floor with them. You just keep being a good person like you are, and you'll end up fine. I'm sure of it."

   "Hurry?"

   "Yeah, hun."

   "Am I really allowed to get a… rubdown, next to you?"

   "Yeah, Light. Just like on TV. We'll gossip. And, have a snack? And tell him where to rub next. Its what he does for me after I work out. And I'm going to share it with you."

   "Wow."

   "Wow what?"

   "Well… two wow. Wow one? Just thinking about being rubbed down, after workouts? Makes me want to… moan. In a good way. And wow two… I feel better. Not like, completely regular, but…"

   "Well. That's good. So… do you just feel better, as in you don't feel sick any more? Or, do you feel better… meaning by that… you feel a tiny bit less…"

   She looked down, spoke quiet. Really quiet.

   "Dirty? Like I'm, some kind of… human garbage? Human garbage can…"

   "If that's what… it… feel's like? Okay. Do you feel a little bit less like, some kind of human garbage can?"

   She thought about it. Wouldn't look up.

   "Uh, yeah. Maybe a tiny bit… less."

   "I'm not an expert with a doctor in front of my name. I just have classes, and read textbooks. I'm being taught, and I'm learning. But… what you just did. What just happened. Its supposed to get a little bit better, every time. You've been scared to play a certain game, and you just played it. You get less butterflies before every game. Eventually, the butterflies will turn into excitement. Then every game, you'll be a little bit more excited."

   He weighed in.

   "You're not garbage, Light. Far from it. You're not some garbage can, either. Your mother? She's garbage. Not you."

   She looked up. Spoke more normal.

   "I feel a little bit, yeah, less bad. But, its replaced by something else, I think. I feel… guilty."

   I kept quiet, he does fine at this, I'm surprised.

   "What do you have to be guilty about?"

   "I… just do. I feel like, I don't deserve to have good things. Hell. You two? Should have kissed and made out in bed. You're a couple. You love each other. Instead? You had to have a sleepover, with your fucked up 14 year old daughter, basically. I feel guilty. Ashamed. Hurry says she's going to… share her boyfriend with me. So, I can see what a good relationship is supposed to look like. Sound like. Feel like. I feel like I don't deserve that."

   He had her sit in the chair, and stood behind her.

   "Do I have your permission. To touch you."

   "Sure. Look, I don't have that, thing I guess. Someone like me, wouldn't want touched? I get that. I don't have that. Its fine."

   He rubbed her shoulders. Light at first, then gradually harder. Then her neck. He worked it up harder and harder, until he was being forceful. Making the skin red, bringing blood into the skin and muscles. She said it felt good. From her reaction and expressions and body language, it not only felt good physically, she also liked it in some other obvious way. In between light "ooh" and "aah" anyone gives off for a good, hard massage that hits the spot… she tried to tell him that it felt good, that she appreciated it. That she would try to pay him back, make him feel good. That she was looking forward to it. He kept trying to shush her.

   "You don't… owe me. You don't have to pay me back."

   "But… I want to."

   "Light? You don't always have to… pay, or trade? To get things. Do I look forward to… after a third date with you? Yeah. Physically, very much. A girl that looked a lot like you? Was on my calendar for years. Obviously, I can't wait, that way."

   "Good."

   "Another part of me? Feels bad. Doesn't want to."

   "I don't… blame you. Your friend. I dated a little. He got to think of me as… garbage. Real quick. Some people? Good people, I guess. Its like they can smell it on me. Or, sense it. I understand that."

   He kept the massage up, which kept her going and didn't allow her to shrink down. It kept her in the conversation, and active.

   "That's not it with me. Not at all."

   "If you say so. Then how is it, with you then. If its not like that. It might be like that, and you just don't realize it. That you can't smell garbage, but… you sense it."

   "No. I know better. Its not that. And I know what it is."

   "So? Tell me."

   "I feel… guilty. Like, I'm… creepy. Taking advantage. There's something about… I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. The way? You know how a 20 year old boy, dating a 14 year old? Most boys couldn't wait to get a young, cute girl. They follow them around, they're… easier to impress. I always felt… guilty doing that. I feel like, I'm violating them somehow. Like, I'm taking advantage of someone who doesn't know any better yet."

   "Wow. Every guy likes to date teenyboppers. And the girls? Hell, young girls love older guys. We get this silly smile on our faces. You have a car, and you can get beer. Wow. Our friends? All impressed. We? Can score, with older boys. Yeah, baby. You weren't taking advantage. You were giving the girl what she wanted. Don't feel guilty. Just enjoy it. Wow. You passed up more teenyboppers than you could have had? You missed out, Wizzy."

   "Well. I was in high school. You know I was the show boyfriend. Those girls were using me. All the girls seemed to do that then. The young girls? It was like they hadn't figured out how to do it right, like the older girls did. So, I felt like I was taking advantage of them. It felt creepy."

   "Hmm. I get it. You feel creepy. Because now you know I'm a young girl inside an older girl's body, is that it? You're not taking advantage of me."

   "Well. I always saw… life's little games. For what they are. To me? That game seemed to boil down into this. I'm older, I got a car, I can get beer. You want to be seen by your young friends? With an older guy, in a car? Impress them? Well… you know what you have to do to get it. Get in little girl. I can get beer. Then? No one says it, but the girl just knows. She's expected to put out. To get rode around, to be able to impress the other girls. To get the six pack when he drops her back off. On some level? Its just wrong."

   "Hmm. You really are a nice guy. Most guys don't feel guilty. They feel lucky when they find one. Not guilty. Wizzy? This is where that too nice thing comes in. I don't mean it as the shot most people mean it as. But, when you were too nice like that? You missed out. On what everyone else gets. And you know you wanted that cute 14 year old girl to come with you. Make you feel like a big man. Right?"

   "Sure. That's where the… guilt creeps in."

   "Don't feel guilt for that. I was that 14 year old girl. When we can get an older boy? God, we feel ten feet tall. We just brag, our girl friends are all jealous, and all impressed. You weren't stopping us from getting taken advantage of, because we weren't old enough to know better, Wizzy. You were actually? Making a 14 year old girl feel rejected. Left out. Shit, I ain't cute enough for him. Damn. I thought he was nice, thought he'd appreciate it? He's all stuck up, and wants better. Fuck."

   He kept up the massage.

   "So, that's it then? Its not that you smell garbage on me… you feel like you're taking advantage."

   "Yeah."

   "Well, that makes me feel better. Thanks."

   More massage, and little punches to the back of the neck.

   "You don't have to put out, to get beer. You can get all the beer you want."

   "Hurry? I guess you're going to have to yell at him, to sit still. So I can get my hands on him, and get started. I figure once he starts liking it, that'll go away."

   I winked at him. She had her eyes closed, rolling her head around, enjoying her neck time.

   "We'll tie him down, if we have to."

   She giggled.

   "This is a new one for me. I never had to tie one down, to let me get my hands on him."

   He looked at me, rolled his eyes, and blushed.

   "So, don't feel bad Wizzy. You're the one doing me the favor, really. You know what's really funny?"

   "Hmm."

   "Like your friend. Came time for, you know, the fun part. I try to be good at it. Hell, for me that's all I know about how to make the guy happy. The happier I tried to make him? The more he thought I was… garbage. Which is where its funny. You know the real story, Wizzy. All that? Didn't make me… better at making a guy feel good. Young girl, out with older boys. Just kind of… laid there. And they liked it, I guess. Then… I definitely just laid there. Out of it, drunk. No… I had to teach myself, learn how to make a guy feel good, like I do now. Its not a sign of me being… dirt. Its actually, in my case? A sign that I try not to be dirt anymore."

   "I guess that actually makes sense."

   "If anyone got anything out of all that, Wiz? I never saw a dime of it. Mom did. I guess I just laid there. Maybe that's why, now, here? I wanna do it right, do it better. For free. They do say, you only get what you pay for. Nope. My idea, like I told phone whore's boy. 900 dollar phone, for what was probably a weak ass blowjob? Pffft. Go around the world twice and then some. You try to buy me a drink for it, I'll throw it in your face. Maybe for girls like her, like lots of girls that use it to get stuff? They're the whores. Its their job. That's their paycheck. Bunch of maids, and they can't even clean the house. I'll clean your house spic and span, for free. Won't even take payment if you offered it, I'm offended."

   "Light? That's the part where I like you more. That's real morality. If they knew, they'd think they're so much better. Really, they ain't. I meant what I said. If Hurry was gone, I wouldn't be the least bit ashamed, to do what I said."

   She tapped his wrist, to thank him.

   "Plus? You're a cheap date. There's that."

   I shot him a look, but it got her laughing. It showed she really had fully "returned". She was feeling more of herself. When her neck massage was done, she looked better.

   "Mm. Thanks, Wizzy. Feels great. Honestly? I feel like I don't know what to do with myself. Can't think of a single time I ever got my neck rubbed, it wasn't just leading to something. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof."

   "Cold shower?"

   She laughed again.

   "Make my nipples hard. Defeats the whole purpose."

   We all laughed.

   "Wizzy. You want the truth? As I see it."

   "Sure."

   "The whole too nice thing. Look. Here's how it breaks down. A guy that's, nice. Or, raised to be nice. He's taught to be polite, say this and that. You know what I mean. It's been drilled into his head."

   "Sure."

   "Yeah. I think the problem is. They finally land a girl, thinks his shy routine is cute. And it is cute, it really can be. Girl gets alone with him. I been with these guys. Lots of guys I thought we're gonna… you know, go to fun time? Some didn't, they stand there. I'm like… all that talk, all that game they had. Where is it? Poof, gone."

   She had his attention.

   "What did you do about it."

   "I ended up leaving. Then? I went back. I realized, all the other girls just leave. Not his fault. He doesn't know. So? I sat him down. We talked. Turns out? His buddies had been… you know, educating him. How to… score. I found out, talking. Which was a new thing for me, alone in a boy's room, trust me here. He had a couple girls in high school, he was no virgin. But, he didn't know. No one told him. Or, he thought they were just bragging, or playing big man. I don't know. I explained to him. We came from cavemen. I'm? The cave-woman. You drag me onto that bed by my hair? And you do it. You don't take no for an answer. Girls like it."

   "What did he say."

   "Oh. He was fed full of all that… stuff you hear and read these days. You need permission, you need consent. He was taught in health class. You stop. Before every single thing you do, you stop and you make sure you have her consent. Before moving on. Christ almighty. I don't know what girls like that, I don't. Talked to plenty of girls, none of them wanted that either. In fact, none of us girls? Can figure out where that shit came from. Sure wasn't any regular girl made it up. We figure, had to be some… 88 year old nun somewhere."

   "Girls want caveman."

   "Yeah. Now, being nice up until… game time? Fine. But when the game starts? Play ball, play hard. I explained it to him. He was… it wasn't working."

   "You left?"

   "Oh. No. I got on top of him. I started smacking him around. I was laughing. I told him… wrestle me down, hold me down… and go caveman. He finally did. Actually great, once I gave him the idea. Next time I stopped over? Whole different guy. His balls dropped, he had confidence… or whatever you call it. Fixed him. Kid gets laid now."

   "And… what do you think other girls do in that situation."

   "I think some leave. I think… others have learned that this? Is the perfect show boyfriend. Then, I think… well, I know… he pays for dates, loans money, buys presents. That's what they use him for… and they go out…"

   "Tee hee! I like bad boys. Tee hee!"

   She laughed.

   "Yeah. Hurry here? She thinks that's just wrong. I do too. Look. Most kids, you tell them they aren't allowed to drink a beer. They know adults drink beer, they can't wait. Now, most kids will have a beer, first time some kid snags a case off a stack of cases from a party, and the adults don't miss it. But? Always some that won't. This? Is no different. I think most girls, most boys… understand. This? Is just another beer is bad lecture. They know to snicker, and run out and do it. But, I think people like Hurry? People like you? For some reason, you don't get the memo all the other kids got."

   "What do you mean."

   "Well. You were the show boyfriend, in high school. Anything sound familiar, that kid I talked about?"

   "Yeah."

   "There you go. That's how you got sent down that road. Now. In the service. The cute Latinas, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "How did that change."

   "Well. First one? I was… nice. We were done. She asked. Now do I get the good stuff? She made a motion with her fist… I uh, I got the idea."

   "Oh. Better from then on, huh?"

   "I felt funny at first. I was always waiting for that… shit, I'm in trouble this time. Too rough… but? They never said anything, they just seemed happier. So. I learned."

   "Good. And now Hurry. Raised the good girl."

   "Yeah."

   "You don't have to run around with a different guy every month. But… fun to be a bad girl with your guy, right?"

   "Yeah. It is."

   "Christ I felt bad. You… did what you did for me. Saved me from going back. I felt guilty. Going out, you're at home all the time. You finally found a guy? And Miss Moody sport-fucked him. Like you deserved that."

   "Thanks for telling me."

   "Sorry. If it didn't come up, happen again. I'd of let it go. But… after he was gone, and she got the nerve up to tell you she sport-fucked him? I realized. You… saved my life, basically. And you sit at home all year, waiting for the right guy, that you really like. I just didn't want it happening again. And Wizzy?"

   "Yeah."

   "I knew who you were. I knew this one here, little miss goody two shoes farm girl… had her eye on you for a while. I would have gone out for coffee. And if you ended up being too nice? I know how to fix that. I'm just telling you. I didn't squirm out of coffee, because I didn't like you. Wizzy? I already knew."

   "About what?"

   "About… you just play nice. I mean. I didn't know exactly what, but… I knew something weird was going on. I was at that party. I saw that football player messing with you. You played it off. Nice, too nice, whatever we call it. But… I also saw you go up to him later, and pull him off to the side? And say something. Pointed at Bubbly. Then? A whole different football player after that. Now. I naturally thought, Bubbly was sticking up for you. Hey, go talk to Bubbly, and he set the asshole straight. I mentioned something like that to Bubbly? He laughed, he was all drunk. He said? It ain't like that at all. So, I knew something was up. I just didn't know what. But… if Bubbly didn't stick up for you, and it ain't like that? What was left."

   "Honey? Lightning…"

   "Yeah. I know. I get it."

   I sighed.

   "Light?"

   "Yeah Hurry."

   "I'm realizing something."

   "What's that. How fucked up I really am? You need another couple years, to get my shit together?"

   "No. When the other girls. Call me Mizz Two Parents, they mean it as a cut."

   "Oh, that. Fuck that. They're just cunts."

   "I know that. But… in some way? They're right."

   "How?"

   "I… you know I grew up on a farm. You think, I'm just a farmer's daughter. I wear jeans and T shirts. I get my hands dirty. I clean up horse shit for my horse. I carry hay bales with the guys. Remember that one girl, called me a farm slut?"

   "Yeah. We should have beat up her boyfriend. He was a sissy-pants."

   "Well. I never realized it. Wizzy here? He explained it to me. I never knew. There's a lot of acres. We move a lot of animals in and out. Daddy had farmhands. I never knew. I'm… some kind of… farm princess. I grew up thinking. I'm this down to earth, feet on the ground, head screwed on right… farmer's daughter. I'm not one of those other girls. Some spoiled princess. But… I am. I feel guilty."

   "What's there to feel guilty about? You grew up doing work. So you didn't grow up a spoiled brat. It worked."

   "I guess. I feel spoiled right now, though."

   "Why?"

   "I had a… daddy. A good mom. And… if anyone would have ever tried, to… oh god. My dad would have went nuts. I was starting to, not hate him, but… the whole thing. Where he has to mess with Wizzy. And if Wizzy takes it? He looks like a wuss, and my dad talks more shit. And if Wizzy doesn't take it? Then he's an asshole. And if dad smacks him around? That ain't right. And if Wiz smacks him around, like he might be able to? Once again, Wiz's an asshole to my dad. It ain't fair to Wiz. But… my daddy being like that? It ain't a bad thing. It… there's a reason for it. To prevent…"

   "Yeah. Hurry? Wiz? You both had a mom, and a dad. I mean, those are the two people that actually made you, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "Sure."

   "I think you're the only two in this townhouse. My mom got rid of my dad, and went through more. And she's shit as far as being a mother goes. You can see where that got me. Now… Miss Moody? She only got a single mom. She ain't no prize. But at least her mom wasn't half as bad as mine. At least she had something. That leaves Right. She has a dad now, but… it's not her real dad, its the second or third one."

   "So what's the point."

   "Decent mom, the real dad. Both of you. And? You're the only two in this damn townhouse, that's got your feet on the ground and your head screwed on right. Getting your education, only dating enough to find the right person. I guess that's how its supposed to be. Then, going down the line. I'm actually the worst, because of… well, we know why now. But… Miss Moody? No dad. And she's a piece of work. Then Right. Half decent mom, third guy playing dad. She ain't perfect, but doing better next to you. Hell. If I owned a company, and wanted to know what my employees would really act like? I don't need their background, I wanna know about the parents. All I'd wanna know, if the mom was half decent, and that was the real dad. Probably be a better indicator of a good person, than their own background check. Maybe we should start doing background checks on the parents, not on the people."

   Wiz piped up.

   "Honey?"

   "Yeah."

   "I don't hate your dad. I just don't wanna go through the shit-show, and there's nothing good coming out of it. I'm honestly, trying to keep from… being put into a situation where I might have to put my hands on him. But… big bully dad or not? He kept bad things away from you. I don't hate him. I don't wanna be around him or anything, but… if I had extra money. I'd send him a bottle of expensive jack or whatever he likes to drink, then he can walk around like a big man. He did his job. In the service? You don't have to like a guy, to respect him."

   We sat around for a little while before he asked her something else.

   "Light? Is there a chance I could ask you… something small. But I don't want to run the risk of, you know."

   "Oh. I think. Maybe. Depending, I guess."

   "Its about your mother."

   Her voice got small. Her body language instantly changed. She went from starting to look at us normally, to staring at the ground again. Her feet went together and she clapped her knees together. She didn't go to pieces, she just went from the girl that had been crawling back out of her shell, to looking like a small girl all weak and scared. She whispered to the ground.

   "What."

   "In your own words. You told me, your mom would… kick the shit out of you. For instance. You were forced to have dinner. With the rich guy and his asshole kid. You acted up, about the whole thing. You said your mom would take you away from the table, kick the shit out of you then drag you back to the table. To shut up and finish dinner."

   "Yeah. She did."

   "I know this is painful. I'm sorry. When you say, kick the shit out of you. Is that just a phrase, or…"

   "You wanna know what and how."

   "I honestly don't want to. I need to though. If you think you can."

   "She… I'd get slapped a couple times. Yelled at. Kinda normal stuff, I guess. Then… she would… kick me around."

   "Actually kick you."

   "Yeah…"

   "So. You would get yelled at, slapped a few times. But the main thing was, you got kicked around the room."

   She nodded.

   "When she kicked you. You can kind of… more of put your shoe on something, and push it. Or, you can actually kick it. Like a kickball. Which kind of kick."

   "Oh. Both, really. Some of each. Back and forth."

   "All right. And, where did she kick you. Wherever was handy, or… did she seem to have a sort of target in mind."

   "Um… mostly my stomach. I guess."

   "She kick your face. Mark your face up."

   "No. Never. Just… mostly… stomach."

   "Anywhere else?"

   "Well, you said sort of kick. Push with your foot."

   "Yeah."

   "That… she would, kind of shove me around like that. Around the floor. Yelling. Then, after a while… in the stomach again."

   "So. You got yelled at, slapped a few times. Then she throws you down, knocks you down. You get kicked in the stomach, once, couple times. Then you get yelled at, while she pushes you around with her foot. Until the next stomach kicks. That's how it goes. Till its done. That about it?"

   She nodded.

   "Do you need a break."

   She shook her head no.

   "All right. I'm going to say… it. And when I say it, we all know what I mean, right?"

   She sniffled and nodded yes.

   "You were allowed to have a couple drinks with a guy."

   She nodded.

   "Then you had sex. With that last boy."

   Nod.

   "Sometimes, you must have had too much. You woke up later. You realized, you still had sex with him. Right?"

   Nod.

   "Then. There was that last time. It was different."

   Nod and sniffles.

   "All right. Then you eventually got taken home. Late. Your mom was mad. You got kicked around on the front porch."

   Nod. More sniffles.

   "Did it happen again after that?"

   She shook her head no.

   "You ever get kicked around by mom, for drinking before that?"

   Shook her head no.

   "Only that last time. And she was real mad. Maybe more than usual."

   Nodded yes.

   "It didn't happen again. But, your mom was different. Always mad. Always kicking you."

   Nodded and sniffled.

   "And… you refused to go back for dinner. No more dates. Nothing. Probably got kicked for that, a lot."

   Nodded and sniffled a whole lot.

   "You quit dancing, and you started playing soccer."

   Slightly better. Nodded, but no sniffles.

   "You were good at it. And the better you performed, it was like the more you got kicked around."

   "Yeah."

   "You won your scholarship."

   "Oh yeah."

   "Then. You realized, you were bigger now. You were leaving. Never coming back. So, you kicked mom around."

   "Yeah."

   "Like she did you? Same way back."

   "No."

   "Less. Couple goodbye kicks."

   "No."

   "Worse."

   "Oh… yeah."

   "Stomach?"

   "Everywhere."

   "What kind of shoes did you have on."

   "Spikes. Game shoes."

   "Think you broke ribs?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "Face? Head?"

   "Yep. Like a soccer ball."

   "She cough up any blood?"

   "Some."

   "Her face, head swell up."

   "Yeah."

   "You think she pissed herself?"

   "I know she did. I could see the puddle. I kicked her for not going potty, make tinkle."

   "Did you stop then?"

   "No."

   "Do you think she shit herself?"

   "I could smell it. I kicked her for that, too. You're old enough to know go potty, make poomers, mom."

   "How long did this take."

   "I don't know. A while."

   "You yell at her. Tell her why."

   "You really wanna know?"

   "Not really. But I have to."

   "I love you mom… over and over."

   "I could see that. Its fine."

   "I took breaks. You wanna see me dance? I danced. Then told her how much I loved her? Then I showed her. It took a while."

   "She lived."

   "A ghost doesn't buy the clothes."

   "Cops come?"

   "I was on my way out. Someone came and got her."

   "You said you put her in the hospital. Did you just assume that? Or, you knew."

   "News. Internet. When the cops never came? Looked it up in the library computer."

   Her body language was a small parade. Starting to talk about her mom and "it", had made her small. Eyes down. Tiny voice. Feet and knees together. She went from short answers, to nods and shakes, then added sniffles. When he got to the first mention of soccer? Sniffles went away. Speech came back. By the time he got to having her describe how she said goodbye to dear old mom? She was coming back and could talk. She actually looked like a cross between a little numb, and a little scary by this point. I know that face. That's her game face.

   He continued after a short break, during which she was silent. No more sniffles. Just clipped speech. She talked at the floor, but the little kid was gone. No more feet together, knees together. The Lightning I knew. Feet wide, knees apart. Elbows on legs, forearms and wrists dangling easily. Confident, ready.

   "You all right to talk?"

   She shrugged.

   "How did you get, from home to the University."

   "Bus."

   "You walk from the bus station to the campus?"

   "Yeah."

   "How long did it take to pack, after saying goodbye to mom."

   "Bags packed. I was ready. Just… said my goodbyes and my I love you's? Picked up the bags… and left."

   "You planned it."

   "Sure."

   "Your spikes, your legs. Would have been covered in blood."

   "I wiped the spikes off at the bus station, in the bathroom. In the sink. I changed my pants and socks before I left."

   "Anyone at the bus station… say anything? Notice."

   "No. Don't think so."

   "You said bags. Plural. How many bags?"

   "Two gear bags. One in each hand. Backpack. Small shoulder bag."

   "You had money saved up, I guess."

   "Not much. Cleaned mom's purse out. Nice little wad. That ain't stealing. I made that money, not her. I took it. Least she could do."

   "You walk directly to the bus station?"

   "Yes."

   "Been back since?"

   "Never."

   "Have you ever told anyone else this? Hinted at it. Anything. Even suspect you ever did, maybe drinking. Made a joke, anything."

   "Never."

   "Do you want some free advice?"

   "Sure."

   "I don't blame you for what you did. I want you to know that. When a person is putting out bad karma? You just gave her some back. The universe is fine with that. Never feel bad. She got what she deserved. She deserved more, but you were nice about it."

   "Okay."

   "One more question? Then the rest of my advice. I want you to estimate time. How long do you think, from the moment your mom first knew something was up? To the time you saw her head swelled up. Best estimate."

   "My bags were packed, by the door. I said I forgot something. When I got close? I tripped her, and started kicking her. I guess… she would have known it was going bad from the time I tripped her. I'd say… five minutes? Till the head was… didn't really look like her anymore."

   "Fine. Will you take this free advice?"

   "Sure."

   "Your mother? Probably doesn't know what happened. With bad head trauma, and that's what you described. There's a complete blackout. Thing is, the blackout doesn't start at the injury. The blackout starts way before. Ten minutes, twenty minutes. All your mother probably knows? I woke up in the hospital. She might suspect you did it? Or that you had someone else do it? But I don't think she would really know. If she did suspect, she didn't tell the police, or… you would have known. You cleaned the cash out of her purse. Police? With nothing else… probably think it was a theft. I also doubt your mother was very interested in you talking to anyone, to try to explain why. And if I were you? I would never, ever… hint, joke, or mention this to anyone, as long as you live."

   "Way ahead of you. It was just for… therapy."

   "All good."

   I whispered something in his ear.

   "Light? Last thing, honey."

   "Yeah."

   "When you arrived on campus. Check the place out. You had… parents. Who were those people?"

   "Truth?"

   "If you want."

   "That was my assistant coach. His wife. I… they send you plane tickets, once you're under heavy recruitment. I wanted to look like the other kids. I was over 18. I signed my own scholarship. But, when we came for the recruitment tour? I just wanted to be like the other kids. I could at least pretend. I did."

   "Do they know… anything?"

   "What do they know. They know… hell, what everyone else knows about me in town. What I am. And that I'm good at soccer after that. I was 14. Last year of junior high? Junior high girls soccer. Ended up starting before that last year there ended. Last three years, senior high team. Started every year. Got recruited. I used to concentrate on dancing and boys. Around 14? Soccer and schoolwork. Then? Here I am."

   "Thanks. And, I meant what I said. I'd never mention it to anyone else. For obvious reasons. Sorry I had to ask this."

   "Hey. I'm… more or less okay. I'm not going to curl up and cry, I don't think."

   "All right. Can I ask about the party last night? You think that will… trigger you?"

   "I don't think. Ask."

   "When that drunk kid was bothering me. When you got out of the hot tub, and…"

   "When I let him know how much I liked meeting him in my own special way. Yeah."

   "Were you… what do you think would have happened, if other people hadn't of been there."

   "Oh. You mean, do I think I would have… mothered him."

   "Yeah."

   "Nope. I'm a girl. I need that, hello kick in the nuts. Then? Just a friendly little, mother daughter talk kind of thing."

   "Can I ask why you did it?"

   "Truth?"

   "Sure. If you can."

   "I can. Were you going to let him go? Without a reminder not to do that again."

   "He's drunk. I try to… that's the last way I solve things. Not the first thing, not the first thing I try."

   "Yeah. Figured that. I really like Hurry. You too. I enjoy seeing you two together. I don't wanna make Hurry mad? But… I didn't like it. Not one bit."

   "And… when I was talking to your boyfriend, and talking my Army buddies down. You were getting closer to him. I saw it. That's why I took you away just when I did. You were planning another friendly mother daughter talk, right?"

   "Ex boyfriend. He called me a whore. All the time. And yeah. Another mother daughter little chat."

   "Because… you were mad at him."

   "That. And… I saw Hurry had a beer bottle she picked up. If I take him out. Maybe she gets one with the beer bottle. Odds? Getting better. And, by that time? Hurry… let me… let me pretend you were my boyfriend, too. Talked about maybe more. I liked it. I liked it a lot."

   "Okay. We're done. Thank you. Am I allowed to touch you?"

   She looked up for the first time.

   "You're allowed to do anything you think won't get you in trouble with Hurry. So, yeah."

   He walked around behind her sitting on the chair. Rubbed her shoulders, and her neck some more. Relaxed her.

   "When Hurry… now you did…"

   "You like it. Turns you on. She told me. I hope you liked it."

   He ended the little neck and shoulders treatment, with his arms around her from behind. He all but whispered into her neck, but just loud enough for me to hear it.

   "Loved it actually."

   "I guess if you wanna show me how much you loved it? It'll have to wait for our third date to be over. I mean, if you can talk after I'm done with you and all. I do tend to tucker a boy out. Kinda my thing."

   "I can't wait."

   "Same here. And it feels weird? Waiting. But… its something new."

   He gave her some mild to moderate neck and shoulders while he mentioned the next thing.

   "Light? If you don't mind, and if you do? Just say something. I’d like to talk to Hurry. We'll leave you here, if you think you'll be all right. We're not talking shit on you, you have my word. Think of it as… military police investigator dude? Wants a one on one, with your therapist. Are you okay with that?"

   "Its my choice?"

   "It is."

   "Okay. Question."

   "Anything…"

   "Who do the military police work for."

   "In this rare instance? The… former military police dude, has been hired by the therapist. To work on her behalf and help her. And, since the therapist works for, and answers only to you? I answer to the therapist. Which means I answer to you as well, just through her."

   "Okay."

   "A word, therapist girl?"

   We went outside my room, and went into actually Lightning's room. Where we could have a quick word, if we kept our voices low for privacy.

   He looked at me, and I just looked back at him. I shrugged, and he waited until I spoke.

   "I don't know how the hell you just did what you did, but…"

   "Am I in trouble?"

   "Hmm. If you want to be in trouble, for fun, because I now owe you big? Yeah. Big, big trouble. Other than that? Thanks."

   "That's a load off. Now. Jokes aside. Please tell me you have a much clearer picture of what was going on."

   "Oh… holy shit. How in the hell, did you know to fish around, and there was more. Lots more."

   "Anytime its bad. And I mean real bad. The perpetrator… even when they’re confessing? They can't just dump it. They start. Then you stay with them, and each time they give you more… more… until you get the whole story."

   "She's the victim. Not some perpetrator."

   "Doesn't matter that way. Its real bad, she couldn't tell it all in one dump. She gave us a once over, then… you heard it. Now? You got a better picture of what actually went on."

   "Do I ever. Holy shit."

   I squinted at him.

   "How did you know there was more?"

   "Uh. I picked up a few things that stood out. Had a few hunches. Knew a few things. It all added up. Now. You do understand the significance of… a few drinks does nothing one time, suddenly she can't handle her liquor the next, right."

   "They… got her blackout drunk for… big nights."

   "No. Notice. Same couple drinks, does nothing much. Suddenly? It goes bonkers."

   "Slipped a mickey?"

   "Date rape drug. Understand now?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Now. All the other times. She suddenly has her couple drinks, and remembers nothing. But the last time. You understand the significance of that? Remember, it ended after the last time. And? Her mom was pissed."

   "That… confuses me. You know something."

   "I do. They got used to a certain drug that normally does works perfect. But… certain common things a person might eat or drink? Can counteract the effects. That last time? She had one of those things. Typically? They're still incapacitated. They appear the same to the people using it. But… they remember and see? Everything."

   "What drug would counteract it? Vitamins?"

   "I think I know. Surprisingly common."

   "You know far too much about… date rape drugs. Can I look forward to waking up in handcuffs, being violated?"

   "Not unless you want that sort of thing."

   "Hmm. Do you have a… coherent plot line to give me? The outline."

   "Yeah. Dancer girl. Gold digger mom. Tall for her age, passes for older. Boys like watching her dance."

   "I got that much."

   "Next step. Mom’s obviously living on… welfare, child support. Alimony. Each husband, gets her better alimony. Goes by income."

   "Got that much. Standard gold digger operating manual."

   "Yeah. Then? Suddenly… we switch from rich girl clothes, to… hooker outfits. Starts pushing car dates with as old of kids as she can. No rubbers. Jesus doesn't like rubbers. Plot line here?"

   "Just tell me."

   "Two parts. Part one. Kid. Driving pricey new car. Sports car, or luxury sedan. Dad has the cash."

   "She's bait… for her to… date dad."

   "She dates the rich dad, with disposable income. On the side. The mistress. Then, she has leverage to ask for stuff. Not to tell the wife. My guess."

   "Okay. Why the change?"

   "The other plan? Get her pregnant. To… a kid with a rich dad. The child support would be good, double the welfare. Rich dad would stop at nothing to take care of… his grand kid. Her, and her teenage daughter? Would have a nice safety net."

   "Okay. What changed."

   "She wasn't finding single dads. Which is what she wanted. Did you notice, she sent her out. Allowed to drink. Allowed out with 20 year old's at keg parties. Dressed like a hooker, to dance for the boys?"

   "Mom had her asking for it."

   "Yeah. Then? Mom found her the perfect boyfriend."

   "The rich guy. Divorced. Megabucks."

   "Yeah. Now, this time? Mom moved in first, and was making daddy happy. But, daddy had a son. That had issues dating."

   "Okay…"

   "Why would the son of the richest guy around, decent looking. Have any trouble dating? Hmm?"

   "He… likes to get drunk and slap girls."

   "You're not reading between the lines. He gets drunk, and…"

   "Date rapes them. The girls all know."

   "The older girls know. Not a 14 year old."

   "Mom wants her to date the kid… keeps her sort of with the dad…"

   "More to it, than that."

   "What?"

   "Mom dressed her as a hooker. He had his 14 year old girlfriend. Who dresses like a hooker for date night, as the mother dressed her, trying to get her pregnant. Dancing… for… his… friends. She admitted, bump and grind. Which, is Latin for…"

   "He had her play stripper dancer. For everybody. Garage, warehouse."

   "Uh huh. He was charging admission. Speakeasy selling booze. Cocaine sales, too. Hot dancer girl, was icing on the cake."

   "Holy shit. I see that. What happened?"

   "I'm thinking. You're already selling cocaine. Speakeasy. Stripper dancing. What's left?"

   "Oh… you say it."

   "He gets her a couple drinks. Date rape drug in it. She gets fucked by everybody, all night. Money per head. Guys are drunk. You seen how she moves. Picture her in a wham bam and hooker boots, working a pole. Young, looks older. No… they lined the fuck up, for a piece of that."

   "She wakes up. Must have had a few extra drinks… my boyfriend fucked me, which he does anyways."

   "Notice how he routinely smacks girls around?"

   "Yeah…"

   "After a couple dates, getting cracked is routine. Hey… dance! She dances."

   "Yeah. I get that."

   "He's not just having fun in a one car garage. This? Was a business. Underage illegal bar. Dancer. Coke for sale. Now? Prostitute. Hey guys? Drunk, coked up. Hundred bucks? I can make that girl? The one that drives you crazy? I can make that happen."

   "Yeah… mother?"

   "Oh. Forgot. You might wonder the significance of how all of a sudden, mom started kicking her around, concentrating on the stomach."

   "Yeah. You spent a lot of time on that."

   "Its how you beat a whore. You can't mark the face up. You can't mark her ass up. Few bruises on the tummy? Fine. Daughter complains? Uh uh. Mommy can handle it."

   "Oh…"

   "She says one word, at dinner at the rich guys house? She's taken into the back room. Kicked around until she shuts up and flies right. Agrees to the next date. Then? Gets dragged back to the table, to show she's learned her lesson."

   "Dad… in on it?"

   "He can't not know what's going on. Kid's pushing coke for dad."

   "Dad… is a business man."

   "Every small town? Has some so called business man… who thinks he can do what he wants. Its not mafia, but… the joke is they call it… little mafia. Town only."

   "Hmm. Mister Big. Explains why his kid could slap girls around, and make them put out. Cops are cooperating."

   "On the payroll. Any small town with this? The locals are the best money can buy. Cops? Probably got free coke… free ones with girls… standard. Chief? Gets a cut."

   "Everything was going fine. They were making money. Added a dancer to the cocaine and under the table booze sales. Now… prostitution. Special nights only."

   "They lined the boys up, on a schedule. Mark my words on it. Remember what she said. 12 to 14 hours. Drove around. All night. That last one? She… remembered. She had something that let her see and hear, and remember."

   "Wait. That, was the night her mom was mad."

   "Kicked her around the front porch. Mom was mad, the money train was ending. Daughter knows, game's over."

   "Wow. I see your plot line now. I knew the mom was bad, but…"

   "She pimped her daughter out, when she wouldn't get pregnant to the right guy quick enough."

   "How in the hell, do you know how to beat an underage whore, so it works and the johns don't mind."

   He just stared at me.

   "You puked."

   "Hell yeah… just… imagining what that night's memory was. It…"

   "I taught the rape prevention classes. I puked a couple times. I'm the guy that feels creepy, banging a teenybopper. Which is just standard fun, and the girls even like it. What do you think, hearing violent gang rape stories out of the screaming and crying victim's mouth was like for me. You get used to it. You don't puke anymore."

   "She escaped."

   "She did. Her mom was so mad, she lost her cash cow…"

   "She kicked her around, like a red headed stepchild, every time she won a game."

   "Yeah. Until? One fine day."

   "I'm leaving. Hey, mom? I love you."

   "Yeah. Good for her."

   "I'm glad it ended."

   "Oh. You ain't ready for the best part."

   "There's more?"

   "She wasn't the first girl. She won't be the last. Right now, this very second? I go to that town. Hit the bars… flash some cash… I like to have fun… there's a speakeasy. For after hours. Most small towns have one. Cops get their cut. Hell, my town had one. There's a new and maybe improved or not as good but passable… Little Lightning. Same thing, new girl."

   "This is all… routine to you…"

   "The fun of being associated with the cops, intimately. Working with rape victims. The rehabilitated hookers? Run through rape classes. Between the MP's, and those girls, and the rape victims… I puked until I couldn't puke anymore. You get over it. Yeah… its standard operating procedure. You get one girl out of the life? Two more get into it. Some pimps? Buy illegal Latinas. One or two girls I dated? Had been one. What you hear? Makes you want to…"

   "Yeah. So, what do we do?"

   "Like I told her. One day, people like that? Run across the right person… and… they get theirs."

   "And who is that guy?"

   "Oh. Whoever. You never know. Karma is a bitch. They attract it. They'll piss off the right divorced dad, eventually. A guy who has nothing to lose."

   "Not you."

   "You know me, hun. I avoid conflict, until it comes to my front door. Even then? I wait until there's no other option. Here? I have options."

   "What are these options."

   "Military police."

   "In Texas. This is the Midwest."

   "MP's are federal. They can call state police… FBI… find a sympathetic ear. Someone who wants to hear my very true but off the record story. Pointed in the right direction, where a beautiful sting is lined up, waiting for them. Local mafia rich business owner. Speakeasy, cocaine sales, prostitution, rape, underage rape… dirty cops and chief. Find the right guy with a hard on wants to make a name for himself? You get somewhere."

   "You think you can make this happen?"

   "I make some calls. I ask a few favors in. I start the process. In the end? I go meet someone. Give them the whole story, off the books. They know where to look to find their big case. They can call my credentials, my MP's, to back me up as a credible source. I say its true, its true. Other badges are asked, say it? Yeah. They'll trust it."

   "I…"

   "Can you help her? Now, that you have the true story."

   "Hmm. I wondered about you."

   "What."

   "How in the hell you guessed she was raped, without a word from me."

   "You wonder why I didn't want to be an MP? Or… just go to college, get my degree. Look for a decent girlfriend. I can't deal with all that. Not for a living."

   "But… you can do it. This one last time?"

   He looked towards her room, then back to me.

   "One time. For a hobby. Sure. Conditions."

   "Name them."

   "You can… fix her?"

   "I think so. Now that I know what actually happened? Yeah. She'll… start growing again, so to speak."

   "Another condition."

   "Name it."

   "One day. I'm going to get a good email, or phone call back. You know, the right one. I'm going to have to leave. For a meeting. Then? Go find the next contact… tell him. You get the idea. It will take as long as it takes. I'll drive my bike around."

   "You asking for permission to leave? To set it up, meet the right people, meeting by meeting."

   "Yeah. When I leave? Its a secret. This is off the books. I'm handing undercover cops, once I find the right ones? Stuff they need pointed to, in the right direction. Cover story? Hunting trip. Something like that. You'll know to not question my story."

   "Oh. Permission granted. If you can get people to help shut this shit down from happening all over again."

   "Its been happening. Off and on, for five years now. Last thing."

   "Name it."

   "I need the target. When you go over this real story, again and again. Get the town name. Then get the name of the business, the rich guy owns. Get his name, the kid's name, the mother's name. Another time? Near the end… you get what the business is. You put all that information? Aside. For me. And one more thing."

   "That? Done. What else."

   "I want that miniskirt. Don't burn it. Put it back somewhere. In the end? I'm going to leave it. As my calling card."

   "Oh. Ha ha. You remember this? Suck it."

   "Something like that. Put it back. Now… are you going to let Lightning give you a different wham bam and ripped up shirt?"

   "You want me to have a get lucky outfit."

   "I do. The fact it was that same mini aside? Was that not hot?"

   "In time, in another wham bam? Sure. I owe you."

   "No. I owe you. Just take care of her."

   "My conditions."

   "Name them. Whatever you want."

   "You? Have to be there for therapy sessions. This didn't happen, a hundred times, until you were there. Then? You got the first story. Then? You got the real story. I obviously need you. Every session."

   "Done. Bring a puke bucket."

   "For you or me?"

   "Me, you, her… whoever needs it."

   "This is disgusting."

   "Its… real life. It ain't pretty. Its out there. Its why we teach our daughters? What not to do, what they're not allowed to do… then? They go and do it. Naturally."

   "Speaking of daughters. I'm getting worried. About Miss Moody. She's been gone too long. No texts or phone calls lately."

   "Last call or text, went well."

   "I thought so. When you coming home. We miss you."

   "Answer?"

   "I'll be home when I'm home. Its summer."

   "She done this before?"

   "Sort of. Yeah. Maybe this is a new record, but… yeah."

   "We call the parents, or… we contact the police. Missing persons."

   "If she's holed up with some… guy on probation? I don't wanna fuck her shit up, fuck his shit up. Cops."

   "Its your daughter. Its you, head of household. You say when? We do it. You say wait? We wait."

   "Every day, it gets a little more…"

   "Yeah. I don't really miss her, but…"

   "Okay. Is she an asshole? Yes. But… she's our asshole."

   "You call what day, is one day too many. You know her. Your daughter. Are we ready, to…"

   "Are we done with…"

   "Interrogating the victim? Yes. You need anything?"

   "Need? No. Want…"

   "What do we do."

   "Just… normal time. Make sure she's on an even keel."

   "Let's go."

   Little Lightning was doing, all things considered? Stellar. Was she 100 percent herself? Hell no. But, an outsider would just think she had gotten a bad grade on a quiz, a minor tiff with a friend, like that. Me, him, Light and Right too, we all spent the day together. Light and Right even developed or I should say redeveloped, their "Hurr Durr" back and forth.

   "Now. Right? Why did I walk home, myself. Where were you. I thought, and correct me if I'm wrong here… we were done, and we’re both breaking up. I finally got called a whore one too many times. And you?"

   "I got called a serving wench. Which is better than a whore."

   "Oh yeah. A serving slave? So… much better."

   "Still. I wanted to see if I could… salvage things any."

   "Oh yeah. What did you manage to salvage, huh?"

   "I… made burgers again. For everyone."

   "Yeah. Because you and your feminist shit. Making burgers, being called a serving wench, fetching beers on command. That's, like, so much up your alley."

   "Odd you put it like that. As a serving wench? I did get… up my something. Before I left."

   "Up your what?"

   "Why waste one more time, to remember my guy by."

   "And, what do you remember."

   "Turns out serving wenches? Are good for more than fetching beers."

   "This ought to be good. What else are they good for."

   "I might have had… bum fun. Before I left. For good. I was right behind you, just… a few hours later. That's all."

   "Sounds like you were fetching beers, and he was right behind you."

   "Maybe he was. But? I backed you up, just a little late. I was home asleep, before you got in."

   "Sounds like you backed up into him. Just saying."

   "I wanted something memorable. To remember him by. Sue me."

   "Oh. All that talk about feminist stuff, and you stayed behind to what? Make burgers for a house full of Army boys. Liked getting called a serving wench. Fetching beers. And get banged in your ass. Oh, the modern independent woman, she strikes a blow. Me? I got tired of getting called a whore."

   "You? Are just jealous, you didn't get bum fun."

   "I can get all the bum fun I want. And? So can your ex fag, I might add."

   "You leave him out of this!"

   "Okay. But, his boyfriend's cock? Stays in his ass. Just saying."

   Me and my boyfriend? We're used to listening to this, but you kind of learn to tune it out. You tune in now and again, and you hear something to chuckle over. Then? You tune back out again. Right ended up going over to another girl's townhouse. Me and Light and him decided to go for a walk. We stopped on the trail, and we were gabbing. I ended up reminding her about her promise, about keeping secrets. She smirked, and reminded me. I hold the greater secrets on her, than the reverse.

   I ended up goading them into another high school make out session. I was having fun, and I ended up grabbing his wrists, and hauling them back against a tree while he was standing in front of it. I had his wrists in tow, and reached for my trusty key chain. I dangled it at her, and he couldn't see. I ended up trying out the thumb cuffs in real life, and pretended to walk away, while Lightning stayed and enjoyed a make out session with a "captive" boy. Is french kissing first or second base? I forget. They circled their base for a while.

   Then it was more fun. We threatened to leave him there, and anything else we could think of. In the end, I couldn't barely pry her off him, thumbs locked behind his tree. I assured her that "good girls" are allowed to kiss as long as they feel like it, it was fine. And, rest assured I took my turns kissing him as well. No set schedule. He got whichever of us he got, although it was continuous.

   I left her alone with him, and decided to walk back to the townhouse. I left him there with his thumbs secured behind his tree, and the blonde girl he liked kissing him like a teenager while she roamed hands around. I was introducing her slowly to enjoying little things I knew he would like. Right now, he was having fun. I was just sure of it. How couldn't he be. My thumb cuffs had been in my jeans pocket, and I had a couple of bandannas under them. S and M in a jeans pocket, you could find them in my jeans and not give them a second thought.

   I blindfolded him to hear 14 year old laughter and squealing at her fun she got to have. She teased him with her tongue and lips. Whispering whatever naughty sweet nothings in his ear between wet lips and exploring tongue. I didn't have to show her biting the neck, she already knew that one. She looked at me like I had discovered something, right. I whispered something in her ear, out of his earshot. She nodded before I left.

   I didn't even think of it, my hands just automatically checked the mailbox. Typical junk mail, and a small brown box. Huh. I took it in with me while I got what I went back to get. Oh. My new belt and buckle. With my name on it. I was initially disappointed, but oh well. It was supposed to have my team number on the buckle, my name Hurry on the belt, embossed. It was reversed. My team number up and down the leather, Hurry on the big silver buckle.

   I could hear nothing as I came down the path retracing my steps. Walking off the path to where a captive boy was being "forced" to enjoy an extended make out session, I eventually saw them before I heard them. I handed her the champagne bottle, and she giggled. I slipped her the little bottle of baby oil, too. I rearranged him on the tree. Getting his face to the tree, blindfolded and redoing the thumb cuffs was a simple procedure. Some neck biting made it easy. Once I was done, I showed her the second and third bandanna. I shoved one in, and knotted the second to hold it in securely.

   She got to kiss his neck from behind, as she teased him. How he couldn't have a birthday, and not get his birthday spanking. I was going to wait on this, so his butt would have no marks for her to see, for me to explain. In the low light, in the woods at night? No explanation needed. Now, any marks he had were covered up, or were caused by us. I had just broken the ice on restraining him for naughty fun. Now, I was breaking the ice on naughtier fun.

   I handed her what was normally my own cowgirl belt. Thick, heavy grain leather. The big, shiny buckle almost forming a handle to keep your hand from sliding off. I had been working the leather on my new one all the slow walk back. It was a brand new thick leather belt, about the same as mine. Just new, so stiffer. She giggled as we lined up to surprise him. I had whispered to her, we would each take a crack for each birthday swat. He got twice as many.

   I took my first one, then she took hers. I had lined up and taken a full arcing backhand, nice and long. Nice and hard. She had taken a forehand from her side. Not a lot of power. I told her that one didn't count. We would do that one over. So, we did. I took an even more careful line up, and twisted and wrapped back around to deliver a good one. I held my palm out to her. She shrugged and wound up and gave him a much better one. I quietly said "one".

   We worked through his 24 swats, then the last one "to grow on". Don't know who invented that one. Someone with a secret naughty compulsion like mine, I suppose. An excuse to get that one extra smack in. When we were done, she whispered sweet nothings in his ear, before I whispered in her ear. She "relayed" it to him. She asked if he had birthday smacks last year. He shook his head. She giggled, and said we had to fix that, too. We repeated it, with us switched positions. Now I took forehand shots, and she had the backhand side. She had seen how to do it, seen and heard how much harder full backhands could be. She imitated me doing it. Lining up, twisting and arcing around to get momentum and speed up.

   She got into her fun new game. Novelty. When it came time to take a break, she knew to tease him without being told. She had giggled before his birthday spanking. How on the bare butt was the only way to fly for a thing like this, you know. She didn't need any prompting to tease him after. Asking if it had hurt, if she had done it right. I put her hand on it so she could feel the warmth. She ran her hands over the warm cheeks, and even swatted with her hand with some giggling. She glanced nervously at me, I shrugged and waved her on. She shrugged back, giggled, and smacked him with her bare hands some for fun.

   She had her own shtick for the tickling. The story her friend had told her about what he had done. How he normally was such a nice guy, but scaring and hurting her friend was definitely not going to fly. How we decided to fix him from being mean. He wasn't going anywhere, thumb cuffed facing his tree. I wrapped a belt around his knees and secured it. No kicking. Blindfolded and securely gagged, he was helpless. We took turns tickling him, and did it together. Little rape clinic, without realizing it. She kept looking to me, for when to stop. I kept waving her on. When she upended her palms to me, questioning me silently? I took my finger and ran it down from the corner of her eye slightly. I wanted some tears. She nodded and went back to work in earnest. She whispered sweet nothings in his ear, while she finished him off in one long session.

   I wonder if she got off on doing something to a boy against his will. Now getting muffled screams and tears out of him. Fun sex game, misplaced revenge, therapy? I couldn't know. She had her own version of "the speech". After all, this was her game. She was helping me ostensibly, she had done this before and I hadn't. How she had heard about more than just the tickling, she knew what he had done to me after. Now? Just like the tickling, she was going to take care of that, too. She lubed up the champagne bottle with some baby oil, and I rubbed my hands and wiped it around where it needed to be close to. The little rabbit hole. New bunny playing with its friends. New hole to play hide and seek in.

   Just like belt spanking, just like tickling, she looked over to me for cue. How much, how hard, how fast? I waved her off with a wave of my hand every time until I touched my finger to her eye again. Tears. I buckled the belt around his waist, and put her hand on it for a handle. She got the idea, and I left her to it. She needed no further prompting. Her sweet little nothings in his ear, got less sweet and more demanding, then downright mean.

   I whispered to her that I wanted one last bit of fun out of this. I let him go, and got him dressed. She was standing there. Crossed arms, demanding look. She wanted him to apologize, and it better be good. Nothing was good enough, naturally. I pushed down on his shoulder, and it didn't take a lot to get him on the ground. I do it all the time alone with him. She had a way with a boy down on the ground, didn't she. That was where she could be powerful. She shoved him with her shoe several times, while demanding a better apology. She winked at me on the sly, and rolled her eyes.

   I rolled a joint, after I cuffed him back on his tree for more kissing. It was all her now. I lit the joint and took a few drags, then handed it to her. When she was done with her first few hits, she kissed him a few shotguns. We went around slowly until it was done. I let her have some more make out fun. I put the extra belt, the champagne bottle, the baby oil into the little bag I had brought from my trip back. My smallest beach bag.

   I was quite proud of myself, as the three of us walked back hand in hand down the path. I had so far kept my secret I shared with him, which meant I kept his secret too. For now. I had introduced some of it innocently enough to her, and got her playing with him. I know he had fun, she just doesn't know how much. I gently reminded her about her keeping secrets, to make sure I kept mine. The quick look I got back on her face told me all I needed to know, then it vanished and she was 14 again.

   We went back, and I put my beach bag away. Other than stopping all holding hands, nothing further was required to switch us over from having a bit of introductory threesome mommy sharing fun, over to what we also were. A girl, her boyfriend, and her roomie bestie that went along for the walk with us. Right was watching some comedy on TV when we got back. She asked Light if she was still sick, and she said she was feeling better. He made us rice, meat, vegetables… one of his Chinese dishes. He used to work in a Chinese restaurant, and can whip these things up with nearly any kind of meat and any vegetables.

   We all picked a movie. Light always goes last. She's being polite. That way when she picks Wizard of Oz, anyone that's sick of it can wander off. I wanted a romantic comedy. He wanted an action movie. Right went off to her room, when Light wiggled the DVD case at her. I was starting to understand the special significance the movie held for her now.

   Things can go from black and white, to color in an instant. One minute you could be home in the dreary black and white. In a flash, you could be living in a world of color. Wicked witches sometimes got a house dropped on them… or kicked almost to death, similar thing I guess. One character wanted desperately to be brave, instead of always hiding and scared. The cowardly lion. Long legged ostriches are built for speed, but they can suddenly turn on a dime and kick a lion to death, surprising everyone. She was part cowardly lion that way. Cowardly ostrich in her own movie?

   The outside world of color, did certainly have flying monkeys. You just didn't always hear the scary music to warn you. The flying monkeys really could rip a person into pieces, someone did have to happen along and put them back together. She was part tin man. Quit dancing and rusty. Escaping to the university? She got oiled up and could move around once more, and enjoy it again. The scarecrow wanted a brain, she was getting a degree in Human Relations. A subject that held fascination for her. She didn't have magic ruby slippers, but she did get golden soccer spikes. They had powerful magic too. They transformed her. Gave her power over her enemies, and took her in a flash when she learned how they worked, to someplace she'd much rather be.

   The tin man wanted most of all? A heart. To understand love, and be able to both give it and receive it back. I guess I was her good witch, and I replaced the bad witch. A good mommy to replace the bad mommy.

   I guess Wiz? Was some weird combination in this fucked up retelling of the classic. He was a sigma male. He worked behind the curtains, and no one knew what all magic he could work. But unlike the original Wizard, he was the opposite. Instead of playing powerful man behind the curtains, he played the polite quiet guy out in the open. He was also going to try to pull the curtains back on the guy and his son, that thought they had everyone impressed and cow-tailed and scared, and reveal them to be what they actually were. Not much.

   Just about anyone else? Grew up around them. Like any seemingly powerful bully, you just "knew" who they were, and what they were allowed to do. Which was, of course, naturally whatever the hell they wanted. He knew the truth. Big, mean, jacked up gorillas? If you knew how, and weren't afraid… you could walk right up to them and rip them off their feet and toss them around, and stun them. Then finish them off when they had the wind knocked out of them, laying suddenly helpless at your feet.

   Money? Meant nothing to him. He couldn't be bought off. He was slick. They'd never see him coming. No big alpha male coming to town to confront them. Some guy that would stand out from the crowd. If he checked things out? Just some quiet, polite guy passing through. Seeing the world after the service, a few bucks in his pocket. Nothing to be scared of. Just another sheep to fleece some wool off of.

   I just had to give the tin girl a heart.

   During the movie, we were alone after Right left. She had seen the movie too often. She no longer teased Light, there was no point. Didn't get a rise out of her, it wasn't even fun to razz her. Light did her customary show. A few dance moves in time with the action on the screen. As a child, dancing? She might well have put on some little show for the parents. So they could see the dancing lessons going somewhere. The girls that were good, could all move in synchronized and choreographed time.

   They would be all dressed up like dancers, in cute lighthearted versions of characters. Young girls would appear older. They would move slinky, performing. Older men would get that slight charge they would enjoy. Their hair and makeup the dance instructor prepared and oversaw and worked on? Would do its job. One girl would of course be taller, and appear even older, more easily. She would have a little more snap and precision than the others her age. She would be slightly more desirable than the other young ones around her. The instructor might even arrange them according to that. Tallest in the middle. The one that danced better? Out front.

   The little star.

   She would learn to like putting on a show, getting the attention. Her mother would see this. A gold digger, would wonder how to best use this. After a few years of these little shows? It would be easy. Dress her up sexy, and get her dating. She already was primed to do her thing. She enjoyed the limelight, dancing for boys. The sexy clothes would seem like the sort of things you put on dancers. A little too small, a little too revealing. But hey, that's the idea.

   When her daughter never got pregnant to some older kid, with a dad with a great job? Her plan went awry. No increased welfare money and benefits rolling in from a single teenage mom, into a single divorced mom's house. The boys she picked for her and nudged her onto? She enjoyed. Nice sports car daddy had, nice luxury sedan daddy had. But, she couldn't get more than being a side piece for these married men. Then, she finally hit pay dirt on her own. Trashy plaything for the single rich guy. Son that had trouble dating, but had an even better set of cars to run around in. Too perfect to pass up.

   When they had an idea to make money? To give the gold digger a way to make money off her little girl? Pffft.

   I had to have a little bit of mommy sharing fun. We did a few bong rips during Light's movie. I had him stand in front of me, and wanted to see if there were any marks. Me and Light sat next to each other, while I had him stand in front of me while we "had a little peek". 24 plus one to grow on? Is 25. With two mommy's, its 50. Repeated? 100.

   She got to giggle, seeing 100 hard belt strokes. It more than covered up anything else that was already present beforehand. She couldn't help a few hand swats, after I giggled and took a few. I owned something. I proved I owned it, by sharing it. I kept our secret, and also had our kind of fun with a new play partner. He had a strict mommy already. Now he had a young sweet one, too.

   When the movie was over, she talked to us some. Then? She did what she had done in the shower room. Flashed her normally unseen intelligence and insight. She stopped her little couple dance moves she was enjoying for us, and pointed at herself.

   "You guys know, why most of my tops always show off my tummy?"

   We didn't answer.

   "I know. Show off the goods, like all the girls do if they can. Hey, I'm a serious sports girl. I know mine's tight. Probably think that's why. Its not."

   We didn't say a word. I'm a therapist. Let them go.

   "I spent four years playing soccer. Last thing I wanted? Was boys looking at me. Girls looking and pointing at the slut. The whore. I wore regular T shirts. I dressed for four years, like you do Hurry. Mostly sweatpants. Big, loose T shirts."

   We kept silent.

   "Even if I wanted to show off my nice flat tummy? I couldn't. I always had those bruises there. Be just one more thing, for everyone to point at. So yeah. Its my thing now. I'm… free. Boys like seeing the goods, some girls are jealous. And I don't care what people think or say. Got over being pointed at and made fun of? A long time ago."

   Silence is golden.

   "But? That's why. Look. No more bruises. I escaped. I'm free. I can prove it."

   Nothing.

   "A lot of people think dancing is silly. Or just for fun. It can be silly. It can be just for fun. But… it can be serious. It can be a job, or even a good one. If you do it long enough, and you're good enough? You teach, and get to be a choreographer. Its like going from being a sports star, and making it to being a coach now. You teach the new ones, you get to make up the playbook."

   "Here. I'll show you…"

   She went to internet on the remote, and searched and found girls dancing in little videos they put up. She selected one finally. Several girls on sand somewhere. One girl out front, the rest in a wedge fanning out on either side of her. They were doing their routine they liked. Bunch of jump and what I call "ghetto dancing". Imitating the girls in the rap videos with all the moves.

   "That's not real dancing. I call that monkey dancing. Monkey see, monkey do. That girl in front, look at that face. She thinks she's the best one, the one that really has it. Eh. Not bad for an amateur. The others? They're all happy the girl picked them to be in her little show. Looks to me? Like part of some cheer-leading squad. But? Let's look at it again. In slow motion…"

   She could now pause it, speed it up or slow it down, when she took over with her phone controls.

   "See? Look at their feet. They're not hitting the ground at the same time. Everyone is completely out of time…"

   "Now? Look at the angles of the legs, the arm angles. Everyone is supposed to have the same angle."

   "And the girl out front? She's the lead. She needs to be doing what they all do, perfect. But… now and again? She's supposed to be doing the mirror image of it. To stand out. She doesn't know that, there's no choreographer. This is just a bunch of girls picking up moves, stringing them together at random. Practicing them to do them as fast as they can, they think fast is automatically better. Amateurs."

   "They just watched a bunch of hip hop videos, and… monkey see, monkey do. If they wanted to even try to impress me? They should be doing it slower, but in perfect time, at least. Then watching the videos as they work on it, over time. Getting those arm and leg angles to match up."

   "That girl out front, the leader? She should be watching them practice. Starting and stopping them. Showing them all those random angles are off. She doesn't know any better, she never took a single week of dance lessons. Or she'd know."

   "It takes a long time to do it right. A lot of practice, to even begin to bring the speed up. You practice with a metronome, like a musician. You slow it way down, until everyone knows the individual moves down pat. The leader, the choreographer? Can now see which order to put the moves in. Which ones get their feet and legs ready to smoothly go to the next one. You notice how at full speed, sometimes they sort of have it, its smooth? Then there’s a kind of a shudder. That's a move to move, that's unnatural."

   "You either rearrange the moves, to prevent that. Or? You stop and change up. Go into something surprising. Some slow twisting. Different girls doing slow spins in opposite directions. Then? You can slam back into the main routine. And everyone should finish in some different pose. Bang, on point. Like suddenly hitting pause. I mean, I'm sure boys like beating off to this one? But… its just monkey see, monkey do."

   "Something like this…"

   She did some of their moves. Stopped, started a couple times.

   "There. This one… to this one. That's a mismatch."

   She did it again, this time the stutter went away.

   She now ran through it again, and suddenly stopped. Went to slow spinning, first one way and back… then snapped back into what she had just worked out.

   She did it a final time… smooth and into the slow spins for the change up… then back into it, and… bang! Into a pose. Arms out, fingers splayed and pointed. One foot planted, the other cocked and toes on point from the knee bent.

   "Now. Tell me. That's not better?"

   We agreed it was.

   "What. A minute or two, to get that. Imagine if those girls would let me coach them. Make them work out slow, to a metronome. Do some simple change up, they could all get easy. Bring the metronome up slowly, over weeks. Blow a whistle, show them time. In time. Show them the angle's off, on playback. Imagine when it was all put together. An actual little show. This video would be ten times better. Than this… monkey dancing shit."

   "I wouldn't even be in this movie. That girl out front? She's still in front. That's where she wants to be, those girls buy it. If the leader, would let me tell her what to do? The rest would follow her. Agree they do need a coach. But this? Eh."

   "These are the kinds of girls that think they're the stars when they go out dancing. They're the ones I show up. I'm not even a pro or anything. Imagine if a real professional dancer showed up. Makes me, look like one of these."

   We ended up having some leftover Chinese, some cold soft drink to wash it down with. Headed up to bed. She followed us in. We sat and talked some. I couldn't help asking.

   "Why soccer, Light. Big high school. I bet they had a dance team. You'd have been a star there, too."

   "Yeah. Just what I wanted. Everyone looking and pointing. There, that one? She's a whore. No way. The cheer-leading squad wanted me, pretty bad. You know, real dancer, real training? Once again… no way. There. That one? You think she's good? That's the token whore cheerleader. The little outfits, everyone looking. Uh uh. Sports. When I tried out for the last year of junior high girls soccer? Coach liked me at tryouts. Hundred yard dash? Go figure. He said they just had to teach me how to handle a ball. Then how to shoot. Speed, agility? I had that from dancing for years."

   "Remember. My dance name was Sky. I could get air. Dance leaps, come from a couple things. One is just speed. You only have so many steps to get up to full speed. Then its how high you can jump. Dad's best gift to me? My legs. Running track was just so I could get the stamina I'd need. I was decent in the 100 yard dash. Then, the coach liked me for the long jump, and the high jump. I honestly wasn't serious about girls track. It was just a workout to me."

   "So. If you ever wondered how you see my head come up out of the pack up there, going up to get that head ball, to get possession? That's a long jump. Combined with a dancer's leap, to get that air. Now. When you see me going up, and getting my feet up to catch the ball and take a one time shot? Watch people doing the high jump, on the track team. You'll suddenly see it, now that I told you. Coming down though, I don't have a big mat to land on. That's all dancing again."

   "The… assistant coach? He worked with me, half of every practice. I worked for hours, by myself. All year long. Just… go find a big flat wall, and practice. I made chalk marks, to hit. All the other girls were… doing the normal thing. That's what I did. Got me out of the house, away from you know who."

   "Everyone else? Finding places to make out, drink beer. I had a little broken down garage. Used to be a service station where they sold gas, fixed cars. The old kind. That got replaced by the big gas chains. I practiced in there. You wonder how I got fast? I did it for hours. When I'd kick into the corner, the ball shot back on a new… line. I learned to kick it back, and get that… pinball thing going. Juggle. See how long I could keep it up. Faster corner pinball practice. Hit my chalk marks when I wanted to. Switch walls, switch corners. All I ever did. Sometimes, I didn't even come home on weekends. Just stayed there all night, doing that. I ran a lot, too. When summer was over, and it came time to try out for the big high school team? I was ready."

   "It… got kinda like dancing. Just by myself. I had two big corners, one little corner. One big long wall, two shorter side walls, and one little wall. A tiny bit of wall, between the two garage doors. I could spin around and one time it right onto that little wall between the doors. After some fast pinball out of a corner."

   "I could jump, like dancing? But hit the ball. Make it go where I wanted. Hit an old can, my target. From anywhere in the garage. There were a couple little windows out. I could hit those by the end of the summer, after a wall return, after a corner pinball… from anywhere. I don't know how Right learned it, but… once I came here and found her? That's how I was able to do it."

   "Power? I was always… mad. I learned to stay mad, but… to control it. I can't explain it, jumping and one timing the ball into a shot, but… you can't watch it. Its just a blur. You… feel it. Once you get it a few times? You know what you're trying to do. Dancing? That's how you see me whirl away, back and forth. I just learned how to do it with the ball, that's all. I'm really, just dancing."

   "I ran through the trees, with the ball. Hit trees I chalk marked. Avoid trees I marked for that. Until I could dart around like a nut. After school, till late. Every weekday, every weeknight. Every holiday. Day, night. Hot, cold. Rain, shine. Snow, ice. Whatever. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Even Valentine's day. I always skipped school for that one."

   "No… boys?"

   "You know what boys want the town whore? Virgins. Or boys that were shy and barely knew how to talk to girls. Hey. Town whore. Go to her. You imagine what its like, being the older girl, some young virgin comes up to. On the sly. Trying to give me all his grass cutting money he saved up? Begging me. Better yet, boys would come and walk and talk with me. Try being nice. Like I don't know what they figure. Might have, but… they wouldn't walk and talk with me, out in the open. Where the town could see them with me."

   "There's always popular girls. With cool boyfriends? Nice cars. They wanted to try me out. Pffft. Like Daddy's nice car is the way to get me in it. I could have had all their boys, on the side if I wanted. No way. I was just the town whore, I must be easy. Well? Not only wasn't I easy… I was impossible."

   "I spent four years like that. Only reason I concentrated on schoolwork? So I could try to get a scholarship. I knew I didn't have the grades to get an academic scholarship, had to be for sports. And I had to be a star, to get that."

   "You know how I prepare the night before a game? I'll show you…"

   She brought back the jeans with the bloody legs. It wasn't dark paint.

   "These? Were under the wham bam and the ripped up shirt you borrowed. Night before a game? I put these, and the denim mini, and the ripped up shirt over a chair… and just stare at them. All night. Till I get tired. I wake up, and stare at them some more. Getting pissed. Controlling it. Then? I'm ready. And yeah. I treat practice, like a real game. A scrimmage or a preseason game? Like a big game. And a real game? Like its the last game of the nationals. I'm all worked up and pissed off. I have no way to let it out. I've learned to bottle it up, save it, and that's the only way I can let it out."

   "Once I won that big game, and woke up in the hospital. Found out I actually won. Hell. I thought we were tied, all I knew. Mom had her own version of… soccer practice. But, I got my scholarship offers. Coach and assistant coach had to tell me which one I should take. I wanted the biggest, most famous school? But… one that was slipped, from what it once was, for their girls soccer team. My coaches said they'd treat me the best. That's this school. The rest of the story? You already know, Hurry."

   "So? That's how I got to be who I am. I need some time with boys. I can't get into their cars they love to show off. What every other girl likes? I hate. You may have noticed, I only got into my ex's cool truck? When Right was with me. Only went fishing and camping, because there were lots of other people with me. Movie date? Double date with her and her guy, or not at all."

   "So? I pick one, and go to their room. I get what I need. They? Get what they need, or what they like. Then, it ends. When I don't like them as much after getting to know them. When they want to take me out, and I can't take anything. Or, when they don't want to be seen with the slut, the whore, for anything else other than that. Its over. When I need it again? There's plenty more where that one came from."

   He asked her.

   "Lightning?"

   "Yeah, Wizzy."

   "I want one piece of information, but don't worry. I'm pretty sure this one won't trigger anything."

   "Wizzy? I mean this more than one way. Whatever you want. Take that for all its worth. And? You like little puns, cute phrases, right?"

   "Sure."

   "Then what I just said? You… can take it any way you want it."

   "You ever drink cranberry juice? I have a little crystal ball, and it says… you once drank it. Like… a lot of it. Maybe had a gallon jug of it, and hammered the stuff down."

   "Wizzy? You… really are a wizard sometimes. Someone gave you just the right nickname, you know that? And you really must have a crystal ball. How in the hell, did you know that."

   "Oh. Just a hunch."

   "Yeah. By the gallon."

   "Care to tell me why? You don't have to. Its enough I know now."

   "I have no idea, how in the hell you know that, but… yeah."

   "Well…"

   "I was reading a, what she calls… Retards Monthly magazine. Cranberry juice. It was magical stuff. Its supposed to really clean your system out. Has all kinds of health benefits. Special vitamins, special minerals. Antioxidants that just attack bad stuff and take them away. There was a health kick years back. Flushing. Cranberry juice? Just flushed you out. Cleans you. Supposed to make you… feel like new again. Like magic. So? Yeah. Back then, I figured what the hell. Sure, I could use a little magic. In fact, I could use a whole lot of… magic. I was a filthy, dirty whore. Human garbage. I wanted my… magical cleaning."

   "You're saying, you drank a gallon of the stuff?"

   "Mom had a cranberry kick. Women read those magazines. The latest health fad. Hey, drink this stuff. Makes you healthy. That's mom. Don't need to work, don't need to exercise. Just drink something, and all done. Easy. So yeah, there were a couple gallons in the fridge. I read an article. The stuff was there by the gallon. Tried it, for a while."

   "Did it work?"

   "Well. Funny you ask. That was right around the time… well, you know what time. The last time. In fact, I liked pretending I was getting my magical cleaning so much? I was a young girl. Silly pretend fun. My drink? I wanted… vodka and cranberry juice. A little bit of vodka, a lot of cranberry juice. I only get a couple drinks. Girl drink, tastes really good for a mixed drink."

   "Sounds okay."

   "Then? I went from thinking I was a filthy, dirty whore. To knowing I really was. And figured out I was the town's garbage can. My ass, my pussy, my mouth? Garbage cans. And me? I'm the garbage. So no, it didn't… work. Kinda, the exact opposite of what I wanted. Nope. Didn't work at all. I learned real quick, too. No such thing in this world, as magic."

   "You okay Lightning? I didn't… trigger you?"

   She had her hard game face on now.

   "You see me crying?"

   "No."

   "Then I'm okay."

   "All right. Thanks."

   "Hey Wizzy…"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "Another little… play on words for you."

   "Sure."

   She paused, so he wouldn't miss her little word play.

   "You done with me now?"

   "Sure."

   "Glad you had fun. That makes one of us."

   He sighed.

   "Light? Could you do me a favor?"

   "Any, thing, you, want."

   He sighed again.

   "We're not talking about you, we're not making fun. Maybe you could take those… jeans, and the outfit back? To the box, where they belong. For game day. And give us a minute, would you?"

   "You even want me back?"

   "Yes, Light. I want you back. This is just… therapist to cop talk. I promise. Couple minutes, then I promise you, I want you back."

   She went off and took the evil clothes away, all of them. Back into the box, in the back of the closet. Her own little hurt locker. Taken out to make her mad, and remind her.

   When she was gone, I just looked at him.

   "The hell just happened?"

   "I… proved my theory. About the date rape drug that was used. Proof positive, as surely as I took the drink and had it tested."

   "How? And how the hell did you just know she drank lots of cranberry juice. And… all magically, right around… the last time, the worst time ever for her. What…"

   He was quiet.

   "I know which date rape drug they used. GBH I think, or GHB. Whatever. But, that's the one. Definitely."

   "What do these things have to do with one another. I feel like I'm playing the kids game in the comics page. I have to figure out what's the same and what's different in the two little pictures that look identical. I ain't finding the last two."

   "GBH. It used to be legal. Just an industrial chemical. A couple drops? The original dance drug. All the dance clubs would have it around. You get all warm and fuzzy and loose, and you really enjoy dancing all night. Every so often, you take a drop or two, stay in the fun zone."

   "More drops…"

   "Yeah. Date rape. They black out, they get confused. But? They do anything you suggest. They don't remember a thing. Why have a passed out drunk chick, that's not half as much fun… as a girl awake, doing whatever you say. Then? You add a couple drops, to keep them there, or… get your quickie in. Too easy. When they come out of it? They're just… they don't know a thing. If you're drinking, its the perfect cover. Hey, you had a couple drinks. Guess it hit you."

   "A girl knows…"

   "What. She went around the world? Yeah. The guy used to slap her. He made her do what he wanted. I'm sure that was a normal date with him. Its why the older girls knew to stay away from him. Couple drinks with him, he slaps you and does what he wants. Spoiled rich guy's kid. He ran out of girls, quick."

   "That's one of the two things in the pictures, left. Last one?"

   "She's right about one thing. Cranberry juice? Worked her magic, and just like she wished for, pretending. Cranberry juice? Is the antidote, kind of. For that date rape drug. A girl drinks a lot of cranberry juice? A lot… she stays awake through the date rape drug. Oh, she'll look the same. A little confused, a little out of it… still listening to whatever you say, but… they come out of it and were awake the whole time. They saw it all, they heard it all. They can tell the cops? Everything."

   "Wow."

   "That was the last time. She knew. The magic cleaning agent? Ironically, worked. It put a stop to it. Mom? Wasn't kicking her for getting drunk. She was kicking her, because she wasn't supposed to remember. It was supposed, to be perfect. The money train just ended. I just proved she was date rape drugged. I just proved what drug was used. I just proved? Mom knew all along. Mom got what she could. Kid wanted cops. Mom got the rich guy? To kick up the cash. To agree to sign it away. Guy’s rich. I'm sure mom got a bundle."

   "Some magic wand."

   "Its a red juice. Instead of ruby slippers that made it stop? Ruby red drink. Weird, huh."

   "Holy shit…"

   He went and got her. Brought her in by the hand, assuring her he wanted her in here with us. We talked about other things, until she started getting tired. She got up, to go to her own room. He told her she didn't have to go. If she wanted to stay, that was fine. She looked at me, I nodded.

   Its Lightning. She was comfortable in her underwear in the hot tub at the party. She didn't think anything about kicking her shoes off, losing her socks. Jeans off, shirt off. Just underwear. She got under the covers, and asked if she was allowed to sleep on him again.

   "I got a better idea."

   "What?"

   "You get on the outside. Put him in the middle."

   She just rolled over him, and he went in the middle.

   I shoved the bandanna in, and knotted the other one to make it secure.

   "This should keep him quiet. Worked last time."

   I thumb cuffed him. Mentioned she could kiss him all over, if she wanted to. She did. While she was having her fun, I showed her the champagne bottle. She rolled her eyes and smiled. She watched me use an alcohol wipe girls use to take makeup and things like that off on it. She was giggling with her eyes watching me, knowing what was coming.

   "Anything I need to know, about your game you taught me earlier?"

   "Nope. Just…"

   She rubbed her fingers together. Lube.

   "How much can I…"

   "Pffft. Go to town, now."

   She kept kissing him, and slung her leg over his. She had him on his side. She got a hold of the thumb cuffs, and slowly worked his hands out of the way, up onto his hip where she could keep them secure. She kissed him, held him. I went to town. I asked her questions, made sure I was "doing it right". She waved me off. After a while, I rolled him over. I kissed him. I held his hands out of the way. Her turn. I pulled the covers back, and showed her. He was hard. She giggled.

   "I know. You wouldn't think it. But… yeah."

   We switched a couple times. I got her into the spirit of things. Whispering dirty nothings into his ear. Teasing him about it.

   "Hmm. I was only joking about running a rape clinic down in my room, you could send him down for a lesson. Now? You can. If he needs a little reminder from time to time… I'll handle it."

   "You hear that? I might just take her up on it. Might be good therapy for her, you know. Let her get it out of her system. You okay with this, Light?"

   "Hey. It was my dirty game I told you about. If you think its fun…"

   I started tickling him while she raped him. Then we switched. Eventually though, the fun had to end some time. I showed her his interest meter, and let her check him out some.

   "Hmm. Perfect. You know… fun size."

   Eventually, I went down on him. I told her to make it hurt while I did it. Seemed like she did. She had to take a good hold of his thumb cuffs while she gave it to him. I took my time, mouth only. When he finally finished, I slowly undid the gag and let his mouth go. She giggled because she suspected what I was up to. I kissed him and fed him his mess. She made the joke that boys will do it, and they won't tell. They're too embarrassed.

   I let him go finally. Put his boxers on him. He fell asleep up against me. Her right behind him, arm and leg slung over him. I put the light out and set the alarm clock.

   "Can I talk a little?"

   We both assured her it was fine.

   "You have no idea, how… embarrassing this is. To, have to tell people."

   He was quiet.

   "I know."

   "Its why I never… I mean, I tried to get… help. You're under 18? Your mom owns you. If mom says no? Then it didn't happen. She made it up, to cover up for her going out and getting drunk? Then, that's how it is. But…"

   "But what, hun."

   "I definitely know how people could… you know. Do away with themselves. Trust me, I thought about it. How's the best way, but that's not me. I wanted to… you know. Win. Make it."

   "Well. You made it."

   "About a year or a little more in? I didn't have to fight… wanting to take the garbage out, and the garbage was me. I knew I'd make it. Spent the summer practicing. Every day, every night."

   "Night?"

   "Oh. Yeah. In the dark? Can't explain it. I learned to kick the ball, and… not lose it coming back. Over time? I didn't have to look anymore, I could do it all by feel. Its harder in the dark, but over four years…"

   "Guess that explains a lot."

   "I guess you're right, Hurry."

   "About what."

   "Someone knows. I trust you, and Wizzy. I didn't think it would feel good to talk about it, but… maybe it does. I thought I just had to learn to talk about it, didn't really believe you, that it makes it better."

   "The basic process? Is fairly standardized. Works for lots of trauma."

   "Its funny. The whole town knew. It was no secret. Couldn't talk to anyone about it though. I escaped, get here. Wow. No one knows. Thought I was done. Thought I had it licked. Four years, learning how to keep it bottled up. Getting used to it. Didn't know, I was stuck. At 14."

   "Yeah. You wouldn't. Years later, every year goes by like that, stuck? It gets a little more obvious."

   "You knew, though."

   "I knew something was wrong. That much was obvious. Mostly, from psych classes. Most people, wouldn't put two and two together. They go different ways. A lot of girls? Never want touched. You kind of went the other way. Covered it right up."

   "Well. Four years. Another year here. The whole idea, was to cover it up. Live with it. When I escaped? I thought it was over. Then… I couldn't go on a date. I got mad if the boy bought me the tiniest little thing. I've got the worst phobia about getting into a car with a boy alone. Very few people, are okay. Like the coach."

   "Your coach? He's a father figure to you. Once you feel safe with him. And… Wiz here. He makes you feel safe too, right?"

   "Yeah. He… at the party? He was able to, make me feel… normal. If that makes sense."

   She giggled in the dark.

   "What…"

   "Oh, nothing. Just a joke. If I'd have known this was what therapy would be like? Been there a long time ago, you know? Pffft."

   "That is funny. Might not be quite as funny to Wiz right this second, but…"

   We both laughed. Then she quit.

   "Aw. That was so mean. Wizzy, are you okay?"

   "I'm fine dear."

   "Well, I'm sorry I gave your girlfriend… dirty girl ideas, and she had fun with one of them. Poor guy. You were a good sport about it."

   "Aw. I chalk it up to naughty fun."

   "Well, yeah. You read stuff, you hear stuff. You try it. You sure you're okay, you got to try… bum fun."

   "Only hurts the first time, right?"

   We both laughed. She was sweet again.

   "Aw. That was mean, I'm sorry. I'm not mean. I try not to be, anyways. I guess a lot of girls… would hate all boys, right? I was like that for four years. I had to break out of that. Once the first, you know, trip to a boy's room went okay. I knew I still liked boys, thank god. And, I was scared of sex for those four years, that was all right too."

   "I'm trying to identify the issues. You need to set out goals for therapy. You interested in what they are for now?"

   "Mm. Sure."

   "One. You get slowly more used to talking about it. Until there's no bad reactions. But other than that?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Issue. You can't go on a date. I have to work on that. You have to slowly… learn its okay to go on a date. I mean, that's obvious. So you can go on, to have a normal life. And win completely. I'll try to figure out, exercises. Where you slowly get used to the idea."

   "Yeah. I get that."

   "Issue. Sex and love? Related, definitely. But, there's something more than just sex, you need to understand that."

   "Yeah. Good."

   "Issue. Cars. I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life, phobia of cars and a boy. How could you have a normal relationship. Your own husband can't drive you in a car. Jesus. Working in an office? Sometimes, you have to go somewhere."

   "Another good one."

   "Issue. You didn't turn to girls. You don't hate boys. But… you view boys as just for sex. There can be more there. There can be a normal, healthy relationship."

   "Okay."

   "Issue. A lot of girls, who went through what you did? If they still like boys, they kind of… have like a tractor beam, to the wrong kind of guys. I want you to learn how to figure out nice guys, from bad guys. There's lots of little clues. And as you already found out? Nice guys, are not all weaklings and pushovers. Some of the nicest guys? Are some of the toughest. I want to erase this stupid bad boy myth."

   "Yeah. You're right, I see it with Wizzy. Is this stuff gonna, be hard, take forever?"

   "I have three years, if I need it. Should take less, unless I run into a sticky one."

   "Hurry?"

   "Hmm…"

   "Were you really that mad at Wizzy?"

   "Oh. Not really. A lot more of a fun game to play, than I was actually mad. That was… more or less? Just an excuse to try out a… new bad girl game, really."

   "Yeah. I kinda figured that. Just checking, making sure."

   "No dear. I love him. I'm not really mad at him, and want to hurt him. Wizzy? Tell her its okay."

   "No way. Light? Can I start sleeping in your room now? I'm scared of my girlfriend. I want a nice girl, not a bad one."

   We all giggled. This was getting silly, but it was fun. I think we all felt a little bit like… 14 year old's, having a sleepover? Weird. Her emotional immaturity, was sort of fun and infectious, in some way.

   "Wizzy. I'm not all that sure what you heard about me. I'm called a lot of things, but a good girl? Isn't one of them. I think you're safer with her. Remember. I'm the one who gave her the idea to have champagne fun, you know."

   "Hmm. And the belt idea? That was probably you're idea too, huh?"

   She giggled, and so did I.

   "Actually? That was her idea. It was your birthday. Birthday spanking, seemed appropriate."

   "Great. I'm not safe with either one of you. And now I have to sleep between two bad girls. I'm calling the police. Where's the phone…"

   We all giggled. I feigned being mad.

   "No one's sleeping. Damn it. And you? Got to finish. I didn't. Lightning? Do you care if I…"

   "Oh. You want me to go? Sure. Get some."

   "You don't have to go. Not after what we did tonight, its okay. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel… weird."

   "Two guys? No way. But… get finished. I don't mind."

   I got my hand behind his head, and gently guided him under the covers.

   "Yeah, you know what you need to do… don't you…"

   She giggled.

   "Is he any good at that?"

   "Oh… yeah… uh huh… mm…"

   I tried to keep quiet, but, I ended up needing a bed sheet sandwich. After a while, Light remarked about it in the dark.

   "Shit. He must be okay at it."

   "Mm… hmm…"

   "Is he still breathing?"

   "Yeah-h-h…"

   After a while longer, she couldn't keep it in.

   "Wow. I think you beat my record on that…"

   "Huh… ah, ah… hour…"

   "What."

   "Ah, ah… this…"

   "An hour?"

   "Mm… hmm… more…"

   "Oh. Do I get that, too?"

   "Yeah-h-h…"

   When I was finally done, I all but wiped off with his face. After enough time went by, she joked about it.

   "Great."

   "What."

   "Now I can't sleep…"

   "Oh. Hun? We have a guest. Do something about that."

   "Hmm. Third date isn't here."

   "Well… third base. No home runs."

   They kissed, he used kissing to keep her as quiet as he could, while he fingered her off. Judging by the panting, she must have grabbed his wrist and wanted a second go around. I eventually heard her muffled bed sheet sandwich. It ended after a while.

   "Oh. That's better…"

   "Hmm. Think you can sleep now?"

   "Oh yeah. Thanks."

   "I don't think he has any problem with it. Do you dear."

   "Oh no. Please don't. I need the police. Whatever will I do now."

   "I'll show you what you're gonna do now."

   She giggled when in the dark, I obviously shoved his head under the covers and made noises. When I was done I pushed him over, and had him finger her again. Instead of finishing, we went back and forth for a while. She asked if it was okay, to make him do what she wanted. I told her it was fine. I heard her whisper something in his ear. I wondered what it was, until I followed his arm down, and figured it out by feel in the dark.

   She had him put a finger in each hole. So, when it was my turn again, I just told him audibly I expected it now too. When I gave him back to her, I told him to do it again, she obviously liked it.

   When we both decided we had enough, I asked her if it was rude now on our part. Perhaps we should finish him off. I reminded her, that third base was fine. Just no home runs until after the third date. We took turns handing him off to each other, so to speak. After a while, I got the champagne bottle out, and when one of us had matters in her own hand? The other handled that.

   I went and got a cleaning glove before he was finished. He'd already finished once, so I had time. Fuck it. Its dark. I pulled the bedclothes off, and asked her for her panties. She had no objections. I rolled mine up with hers, and rammed them into his mouth. I held them in with my hand, firm. We took turns, hands and bottle, hands and bottle. No covers, both of us with hands on him. Sharing him, having fun.

   I eventually told him that since he thought it was fine to put a finger up inside girls like that? Well… I made sure she knew what I was doing with the glove and had her give me some baby oil. She giggled through the whole procedure. I gave her a running commentary on one finger… two fingers… and so on. She got to finish him off with her hands and baby oil.

   When we were done, we left him in the middle. I was drifting off to sleep, when I heard her talk again. It was a sleepier voice, though.

   "Hmm. Its kinda funny hearing him joke about the police."

   "Why, dear."

   "Remember when I said, half the boys in town?"

   "Yeah."

   She sighed.

   "That last time. I remembered. I realized, what was going on all the other times. Every time I ever… had too much to drink? What was going on. But, that last time. All those faces. Its a small town. I knew all those faces."

   "Christ."

   "Well. He didn't live there. Or he would of probably had a turn too. Everyone else sure did. Guys I'd went on dates with. Their friends. Guys I knew from parties before."

   "Um. You said because he was joking about calling the police, dear."

   "Oh. Small town. One of them, too. The young cop was one of them. You can imagine when I went into the police station one day, and realized I recognized his face, too. That's how it was. I'd see a face, going about my life? I could close my eyes, and see it there. I remembered it."

   "Did the young cop shit himself when you came in and tried to tell."

   "Maybe for a second. He just said… you're a minor. I have to call your mom. Then? Here comes mother of the year. She actually smacked me a couple times, right in the police station. Oh, sorry. She stayed out all night, came home drunk as a skunk. She's been making this stupid story up, to try to cover it up. She actually made me apologize to the cop at the counter, and yanked me out of there. I got kicked around pretty good, for that trick."

   "I tried to tell a guidance counselor? She had to call my mom. She's concerned, you have to hear this, ma'am. My mom explained it to her, the same way she did to the cops. She had a pretty good sounding story. Not the first time kids make something up for attention. I got kicked around when she took me out of school for that. I learned quick. Well, pretty quick."

   "Cops? One of them was there. Mom. Guidance counselor? Oh, kids and their stories. Mom. Next thing you know? Lawyer. Gag order. Mom got paid. Signed away at the police station on my "accusation". Right in front of the young cop who was there. Then I got the shit kicked out of me at home, right after she got paid, and I was humiliated right in front of one of the cops who did it. That? Was a fun mother daughter night, telling you."

   "Everyone was either there, and in on it? Or… believed the mom story. And no matter what, I got kicked all over the house for trying to say a word, to anybody."

   "I learned. Mom? Can do whatever she wants, and no one can do a thing about it. Bunch of young guys in town? Like her doing it. You wonder why I didn't call CYS? Pffft. Either they buy the whole mom story. Or? They stick me in the same place they stick kids that rape and kill people. Did you know, that if they have to take the kid off of abusive parents, they stick you in the same kid jail, where they house the criminal kids? Yeah."

   "I guess I didn't learn quick. But, quick enough. Nothing I can do about it. Just… shut the fuck up, and pretend like it didn't happen. Because that's what mom's doing, that's what the whole town is doing. If you open your mouth again? You know what's going to happen. You get kicked all over the living room floor again."

   "If I came home and cried, because boys and girls knew, and were making fun of me? I got kicked around the living room floor again. You just… shut the fuck up, you never talk about it. Everyone is allowed to point and laugh and call me anything they want."

   "I mean, it kinda works. Sort of. You can… almost pretend it didn't happen. Not really, of course. But… kinda."

   I sighed.

   "When you hear people say… you have to learn to forget about it. That's what they mean. You don't actually forget, but, you learn not to dwell on it. In your case? Getting kicked around, helped with that. You hear about denial? People convincing themselves it didn't happen. Same thing. You know it did, but… you pretend it didn't."

   "Well. Getting kicked around? Speeds the whole… process up."

   He asked.

   "Did you try to fight your mom back? I realize you were young, it wouldn't work, but…"

   "Maybe once or twice. Another thing I learned quick. You can't fight back. You can't get away. You're… just trapped. You just, have to deal with it. You don't have an option. Took me four years to escape. Its like, I didn't do anything wrong. Everyone else did. But, I got sent to jail for it. Four years, to be the fall guy. Fall girl, I guess. There's another play on words for you, Wizzy. I'm the fall girl."

   I cut back in.

   "There's four options. Fight or flight, everyone knows. There's also, freeze and flop. Freeze? You just freeze up. Flop? You, just go limp."

   She waited a little bit.

   "I was flop. When you're getting kicked across the living room floor? You flop. Hurts less. If you freeze up? That's what I was doing at first. Hurts more. You go limp, you kinda go with it just right. Hurts less. I… learned to sort of move with it, kinda. Make it look like it hurt more than it did. There's a pun, huh? I was a real flop."

   We didn't laugh.

   "It was a little funny."

   He said something.

   "The way you describe, going with it? That's how you take a punch. You can block it. You can avoid it. But, if your opponent's fast enough, its going to touch you. You can what they call slip the punch. You have just enough reaction time that it glances off, and skids off. No real damage, and you can stay in the fight a lot longer. You saw me doing it, practicing. I cover up, and let them go. I slip the punches. They punch themselves out, they're not doing any real serious damage. Then? I'm fresh, and I can come at them full steam, and they're tuckered out. Guy that taught me, called it turtle-ling up. But… if the guy's fast enough? You can't slip the punch. You now have no choice, to last it out… but knowing how to take a punch. Taking a punch, isn't just letting them hit you. You can't get out of the way, so… you go back with it. Takes all the sting out of it. That's how I can outlast a big, fast boxer."

   She added.

   "Yeah. I learned how to do that. Move just right. Mom thinks she hurt me, but… it hurts less than she thinks. I flop, and I take the kick. Got kinda good at it, to tell you the truth."

   He sighed.

   "Just about that whole damn town, you know what would fix it up good? A small tactical nuke."

   "Let me get the coach and the assistant coach out. Couple others. Then? I'll punch the button for you."

   "I'm afraid to ask, the fuck is this little experiment in utopia named? I know what state you're from. What little town. So I know where to never try to raise a family there."

   "Oh. Swellsville. Ain't that a kick? Oops. Good one… ain't, that, a, kick? Ha… but yeah. Called Swellsville."

   "Nice name. Like calling a fat guy slim. Whoever invented it, would of named it Shittsville, if he knew what it was gonna turn into."

   She giggled.

   "How about Kicksville? You can get your kicks? On route 66."

   "Swellsville, is on 66?"

   "No. Its actually a turn off, of state route 14. But, get your kicks, on route 14? Just doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it."

   "Swellsville. Great."

   "You know what its named for?"

   "Someone thought it was going to be a great place, I guess."

   "No. In water, a swell is a little wave. Just a swell. Looks like the water just, kind of has a wide bump."

   "Okay…"

   "Well. On land though. Same thing. See, this is the Midwest. Flatland. You climb a fence post? You can actually see 40 miles away. Its that goddamn flat. When it rains and its that flat… you see these tiny bumps here and there. One inch, is enough to shed water."

   "All right."

   "In flatland, that's a swell. A tiny rise in the ground. Well, the town was built on a big swell. We're about one inch up from everything around us. When it rains? We're the only town around, that doesn't flood from a little rain. So? People noticed, that area was the only place that wouldn't flood ten seconds after it rains. So, you build a town there. Swellsville. Sign says population 880. I have no idea if that's accurate or not. Might seem bigger, there's other stuff around, but… its outside of Swellsville town limits. My practice garage, my trees I practiced there? Outside town. Doesn't take long to walk there. If you ever go through? Old garage isn't hard to find. I bet you'll see my chalk marks. I'll never set foot in the place, ever. Swellsville? Is Hellsville, to me."

   "You know? Me and my bike ever going through… pretty sure I'd rather get wet, than stop there. Just saying."

   "I'd say Swellsville can suck a fart outta my ass? But, if any guy lived there and was into that, he probably already did."

   "Light? You have a very cute little ass. I would."

   She giggled.

   "Really? Go on… show me. Hurry, is that third base?"

   "It ain't a home run. Oh, go on…"

   I could hear him smooching quietly.

   "Hmm. He's actually… kissing my ass."

   "No, sounds like he's kissing your cheeks. Just wait."

   "For what---"

   "Oh. Ah, that… tickles… ah…"

   "Yeah it does."

   "Oh my god…"

   "Oh gee… you? Are bad…"

   "Hmm. Honey, did you do it right? If he didn't do it good enough, I'll make him do it the right way…"

   "He… didn't just kiss it. He… you know. He… french-ed it. Bad…"

   "Still think he's… too nice?"

   "Oh no. He's… very bad…"

   "Give her some more, sounds like she likes it…"

   "Oh Jesus… this… ah, ah…"

   After a while it stopped. Then, I heard mild complaining. Faux complaining, actually.

   "No. Way. You? Are not. Stop it. I know where your mouth just was. Hey. I mean it, stop. Oh, okay. You know what? I'll fix you…"

   I wondered what she was gonna do, what she was doing.

   "Now. There."

   I heard kissing.

   "Hmm. Sounds like you didn't put up that much of a fight on it, Light."

   "I just made it… even…"

   "You…"

   She giggled.

   "You two are something else."

   "Hmm. So, after my third date. What… won't he do."

   "Not much I'm aware of. I'm running out of new stuff."

   "Hmm. I'll have to get… on the internet. I'll find… something, I'm sure."

   "Yeah. God bless the internet."

   I decided to have some fun with him.

   "So, little boy. You gonna tell on us? Or… do we have to keep you quiet, hmm?"

   "I might keep quiet."

   "You gonna call the cops? Tell them what the bad girls did to you?"

   "They'll probably ask for your phone numbers. I'd rather keep you two to myself, I think."

   "I don't know, Light. What's a good way to keep him quiet. Teach him not to tell."

   "Hmm. Kick him around some. That always works. Or so I've heard, I wouldn't know, myself."

   "Yeah. Better safe than sorry…"

   I had fun getting him out and on the floor. I got her in on it. We were standing in the dark bedroom. He gave us faux "complaining". We were touching him in the stomach or anywhere else with our feet, taking turns. Light giggled. Shoving him gently with one of her golden feet. Her two favorite moves, were to either shove gently on a cheek? Or step, although gently, on the small of his back. While she "warned" him about telling.

   I had her sit on the edge of the bed next to me. I was pretend mad, and made him do "kisses" and promise not to tell, or he got kicked around. She giggled.

   "Hey. Me too!"

   "You heard her. Kisses. Promises."

   She giggled.

   "Yeah, make it good."

   We sat there and "decided" if we believed him or not. She got up, and gave him a couple of gentle shoves with her foot, moving him around some. Then sat back down again.

   "Maybe. Definitely maybe."

   We got more kisses, more promises.

   "Okay. I buy it."

   She giggled as we all got back into bed. I said I'm actually tired. I think they kissed some more, but the next time my eyes opened, they were asleep. He was into me, and she was around him from behind. I didn't wake up again until the alarm. Soft music on low volume had covered all the soft talk and anything else we had done all night, and kept us asleep as well. I woke up to the soft music, and beat the alarm.

   I gently shook her awake, and whispered to her.

   "Twenty minutes to the alarm. I don't mind, but… you wanna sneak into your room, to avoid Right? When the alarm goes off, I'll come wake you up for breakfast."

   She smiled and nodded. She smiled and rubbed his head, and kissed his hair gently. She put her panties on, picked up her clothes and shoes, and peeked out the door after opening it like a burglar. She smiled and gave me a thumbs up, and crept to her room. I woke him up by shoving him gently until he roused. He looked around, and at me.

   "I sent her back to her room. So Right doesn't know. Don't worry. She'll be back soon. Hmm. And did you have fun?"

   He smiled, sheepishly.

   "Yeah, I figured as much. Go on. Get as dressed for breakfast as much as you think you need to be."

   "I need pants. I'm afraid to get a stiff-y in front of Right."

   "Well, get ready. When the alarm goes off? I'm going to get Light up."

   "When did she leave?"

   "I sent her to her room a little bit ago."

   "I slept good. Did she…"

   "Yes, she slept. She seems fine."

   His face fell slightly.

   "The way she describes stuff. Christ."

   "Yeah. It would almost be too fantastic to believe, but… like your damn cranberry juice…"

   "Yeah. Even the little stuff? Too much to be a coincidence. My opinion, anyways."

   "Same here. I'm no expert, but… I don't think she's lying. I mean, if she made it up, for attention?"

   "No. She'd have talked before now. We had to drag it out of her with a grappling hook. Then, once you start getting it… she keeps coming with it, bit by bit."

   "Yeah. How's that square up with your… MP experience."

   "A victim. You finally get them talking. Then, you get the rest out of them. Then? They give more details. They should add up. When you're getting the truth? Everything falls into place. Makes a bit of sense. Even if its strange? It makes logical sense. The whole story? Makes a strange logic. Any player you look at in her story? You can imagine you're that person. What would they want, what would they be after. How could they go about it. It all makes sense."

   "I wish it didn't make sense."

   "I know. Same here. Oh, and one more thing?"

   "Yeah."

   "When you're… detailing. Get the name of that young cop. You know the one. I'd like to put him on the radar of… someone."

   "Yeah. What's with that story about the mother, signing her right to prosecute away? Is that even legal."

   "I'm no expert. But… paying money, admitting no fault. Gag order on the settlement? Pretty common. Rich people settle their… shenanigans like that all the time. As far as the mother signing off on the complaint? Yeah. Mother, no father. Mother has full custody… yeah. She speaks for the child, legally. You know, it doesn't even have to be 100 over 100 legal kosher. The mother gets her cash, she keeps the kid quiet. She waves off accusations. Kid knows better. It would float. Like a 14 year old would know to seek higher authority. State police, FBI. The fuck you expect outta a 14 year old girl."

   "A scratch of innocence."

   "Yeah. I'm honestly amazed she never snapped. She just… ate it, took it. Suicide, would have made sense. She admitted it looked good, first year. I could see that. Then? She… hardened up. Shut down. Learned the best physical way to accept her mother kicking her around. Even that, that's the perfect description of taking a punch, here taking a kick. You go limp, and roll back with it. You quickly learn how to time it. Its how I learned how to take a punch, when the guy's too fast for me. Down to the last little detail, she has no business knowing? I gotta say, I believe her."

   "I'm the same. Did you notice she's settling down, describing little stuff about it? Always with you present. You? Have to be there, when I try therapy. She likes you, she wants to impress you. Reminds me? Of a 14 year old with a huge crush on an older boy. And… you're the daddy figure, too."

   "That part's a little creepy feeling, but…"

   "Oh. You're getting over it, huh? You poor thing, how do you do it."

   "Ha ha. You hear how she talks about herself? I'm garbage. My holes, all three of them? Town garbage cans. Christ…"

   "Fairly typical self hate, self blame. Common across the board from rape trauma victims."

   "What do you think about the… way she picked up her soccer skills. Does that square?"

   "Eh. She was a dancer. Agility, poise, balance, grace. She wouldn't be the first dancer to get into another sport, and excel at it. And, the way she can take shots, shit's happening fast… her description of cornering the ball, using both feet to corner it. I can't picture doing it, but… it would explain her speed and accuracy. And learning to do it fast, in the dark, over time? I guess… yeah."

   He shook his head.

   "Four years. To change your life. To be dedicated, driven. To learn to do what should be impossible."

   "You changed and became a new person four years later."

   "That's what I'm thinking."

   He threw sweatpants on over his boxers. I got underwear and my big T shirt back on. By the time the clock went off, I went and got the girls both up. It was common for me to yell at them to meet me for breakfast. Lightning peeked out, and trotted down to our room.

   I let her sit with me on the bed after closing the door. I got him in front of me, and made him turn around.

   "I wanna see this… my new belt has my team number on it…"

   I giggled as I tugged his sweatpants and boxers down. She covered her mouth with her hand. He had my team number stamped on him in marks, all over his backside. She ran her fingers, then her hands over it.

   "You can feel the numbers…"

   "Hmm. I own him now. He wears my number, just like my clothes."

   "I can't believe you two."

   "What. We're having fun. Did you have fun?"

   She nodded sheepishly, smiling. As always, like a kid.

   "So. Is he gonna keep his mouth shut? Or… do we need to kick him around some more."

   "I think he knows what's best for him… don't you…"

   I wrangled him down, and got my knees over his shoulders.

   "This is how I like it…"

   I showed her how I liked to kiss him, knees over his shoulders.

   "Hmm. Do I get a turn?"

   He went over, and she did it too. Her long legs down his back, her knees slung over his shoulders, touching his neck. She kissed differently than I did. I had way more of a hard press, probing tongue method. She had a lighter, darting gentle tongue approach. A gentle opening and closing of her lips around the whole affair. He had to learn how to kiss her, to do it her way.

   "Breakfast…"

   She looked up.

   "One minute. I'm making sure about my damn eggs…"

   She went back at it another minute or two. Whispering about her eggs, how she got them like I got them. First she'd ask in the whisper, then the delicate little mouth would open and close slowly, the wet lips scraping his. The little tongue would dart and flick while her head wiggled ever so slowly in and out of time. Then she would whisper to him, to tell her how she got her eggs. He would gaze into her eyes, and say "over easy". Then she would repeat it all over again. After a couple of minutes, she did it all again. But, this time it was how Right got scrambled or she had to make it herself. Because she wasn't as important to him as I was, as she was. Was this not correct? The lips opened and closed and scraped, the tongue darted and flicked. Another couple minutes. The last minute, was the same thing but both data items together. Eggs were coming over easy, and why. Because she had risen in importance to match me, and surpass Right.

   I sat and watched this performance. I crossed my legs, put my chin onto my palm, my elbow supported by my knee. She looked over once a minute, grinning sheepishly, shrugging and going back to it. When she was done he got some more "free" kisses. No working and answering, and mixed in with neck bites and licks, back to kisses. When she was done she smiled like a Cheshire cat. His face on hers in her hug, her knees still over his shoulders and long legs wiggling down his back. She looked over at me, shrugging and smiling.

   "I guess I'm ready for breakfast now, Hurry…"

   I was smiling and watching still. She wondered why.

   "What…"

   "First off? You have great technique. I kinda grab him and get rough and make him kiss me more. You, have a different way. And he likes it, I can tell. Look at him, you got him all hypnotized now. He's just putty in your hands… aren't you, little boy."

   She just said "Mm hmm…" and nodded her head a couple times, slowly. His five o'clock shadow scraping her cheek gently as she did, then dragging his head nodding along with hers. He was agreeing despite her getting his head nodding, I could see it in his eyes glazing over. I knew that look. I batted my eyes once and smiled, my permission and his lack of any recriminations.

   "So, you can pretty much get anything you want right now, and all you care about is your eggs?"

   "Yep. That's it."

   She was positively beaming. The little 14 year old girl had conquered daddy, as surely as mommy had already done it. Her golden prize? Her eggs, and any way she said now. Like I got them. Eyes twinkling in amusement and desire, sparkling.

   "You, don't think you should ask for anything better, while you got him in your little trance…"

   She got a furrowed brow, a slight look of confusion.

   "Uh, nope."

   "Why…"

   She closed her eyes.

   "I might be a slut, but I'm no whore. Eggs are important to me, but they don't cost anything. Why, am I supposed to ask for a 900 dollar phone now… cause I don't want one. All I want's my damn eggs. What's so bad about that…"

   "Shh. Nothing. Its fine. I didn't say it was bad, I was just curious."

   She sounded slightly concerned, and it seemed genuine.

   "Why. Am I still a good girl, if I ask for something? You said. Last night, you said."

   "Easy. You're still a very good girl. You didn't do anything bad. You ran circles around third base. No home runs. We both did. Its fine. But, what did I say…"

   This was the 14 year old emotional development baring itself. This was what people saw and thought she was acting like a dip, trying to make herself cuter and therefore more manipulative. I knew better. This was her captivating innocence and young girl charm, if you knew what and why. He wasn't annoyed anymore; he was mesmerized. She was making him feel like a 14 year old boy again, and it was powerfully intoxicating. She wasn't talking house payments and car payments and fur coats and diamonds. She could work him for anything right now? And all she would ask for, was eggs how she said. I was about to get 14 year old relationship logic and values, and its what I was interested in.

   "You said I had issues. That I had to learn to take little presents. I don't want paid. I'm not a whore. Why can't I have my eggs how I want them. Why isn't that all right. I asked nice."

   "Its fine, honey. I didn't say there was anything wrong. I'm just curious. That's all. And you're right, by the way. You're asking for a little… relationship present. You're not demanding it, you're asking nice. Its… very sweet. Are eggs really that important to you?"

   The smile came back, she was relieved. Her mouth opened and closed some more, her tongue darted some. Then she was back to me once again.

   "Oh, yeah. You know about the eggs."

   "What…"

   "Oh, come on. You, head of household. Coach's pet. This is your… special boyfriend. We all know it. We're not allowed to so much as look at him too long the wrong way, and if we wiggle past him one too many times, we might get Hurricane-d. You allow him to be my boyfriend too, right?"

   "Mm hmm…"

   "Well? You, get your eggs any special way you say. We? All get scrambled, or omelet. Or we can make it our self. Me and Right, we tried. We tried whining. We tried begging. We tried prime whining. We tried everything, see who could get it. He won't budge. Well… now I'm important at breakfast. Now I get my eggs, just how I want them. I? Get asked. Then? I can say. And Right? Gets scrambled, or she can make her own. But I'm… important now. Just like you. And Right? Isn't. And I'm not a whore, it doesn't cost anything. Its perfect."

   "Wow. Its fine, dear. And you're right. Your boyfriend should do little nice things for you. And you're nice back to him for it. Its… a very normal relationship, trading back and forth kind of thing. I just wasn't aware of the… political ramifications of the egg making at breakfast, that's all."

   "Oh, yeah. I'm… gonna gloat a little. Is that… I'm still a good girl, if I gloat, just a little?"

   "Hmm. Sure. Question, dear. Two questions, really."

   "Question one."

   "One. How are you going to explain, special eggs? To Right."

   "I don't know. Wizzy, is really bright. He'll come up with something. Won't you, Wizzy. You'll make it okay?"

   He looked at me, I batted my permission eyes that it was fine.

   "I'm sure I can come up with something. Can't very well live up to my name of the Wizard, if I can't even come up with an excuse to make eggs I guess."

   "Hmm. Fine."

   "There we go. Question two?"

   "While you have him… hypnotized and in your power… can I make a suggestion?"

   "Oh. Sure."

   "Why don't you have him ask you to go out on your second date now. You have to get a second date, to get to a third date, right? If you had fun last night circling third base, imagine what kind of fun you get to have when you're allowed to get home runs and… trips around the world, you know?"

   "You… really think I should? Okay…"

   I smiled.

   "I'd make him beg. Just a little. Show how bad he wants it."

   She smiled, and gave a little shiver. Imagining it. This was 14 year old heaven. Her crush likes her and wants her right back, and she knows it and he knows she knows. She's giddy with boundless joy. I'm smiling, I can close my eyes and go back to 14 again. Getting my first make out pool boyfriend, getting towel snaps. Eggs made her way, are her towel snaps. Her naughty compulsion? Is just demanding… eggs? Okay. Maybe all girls have a compulsion, and mine is dirty. She's less dirty than me? Christ almighty. She went back to her special way of asking, and really put her back into it. The lips, the tongue, the eye contact, the teasing nature of it. The promise of things to come, when she flicked her tongue more now. The wetter lips closing and opening. Like a fish, but sexy.

   "Do you want to ask me out on a second date, huh?"

   He did. He started asking, between her ministrations.

   "Maybe. Beg…"

   Back to it.

   "I don't know… maybe. Beg."

   And whispered begging and pleading came out of him. She stopped again, beaming more than ever, eyes alight in anticipation and contentment and looked back at me. Her legs dancing slowly on his back. The 14 year old was very happy now.

   I smiled at him.

   "You. Kisses, and begging. Now. Make it good."

   She got his hands on her ankles and little kisses, then little licks. Begging, would she go on another date with him. She covered her face with her hands, then peeked over at me smiling.

   "I thought… boys at your feet, was just a phrase."

   She giggled and enjoyed it. She kept looking at me, for when. I nodded.

   She stood up, and watched him do it some more. Then she snapped her fingers, smiling. He looked up at her.

   "Yes."

   "Great. Can we get breakfast now?"

   She looked back at me. Nodding.

   "All right. Breakfast. Both of you. Go. Shoo…"

   I locked my door and followed everyone down after we took turns with morning bathroom pit stops. Right was already sitting at the breakfast table, waiting on us. I got coffee started while he concentrated on morning meat before eggs.

   We all had coffee, around the time eggs were going to get started. He doled out coffee into mugs, I got milk and sugar out, and orange juice into little glasses all around.

   "Honey?"

   "You know how I like them."

   "All right…"

   I got over easy, on buttered toast. Meat on the side. Instant grits had replaced hash brows temporarily with our athletic order at the store.

   "Lightning?"

   Oh, god. She mused over it.

   "Hmm. I want what Hurry's having."

   "Oh, all right. Fine…"

   Right looked like she had suddenly woke up in the wrong townhouse, then went back to her coffee. Egg politics. Shocking developments. Full report on the developing situation, at the noon news. Egg gate. Light got hers just like mine. Just a little gloating. Okay, more than a little. But silent gloating, which is way better.

   "That leaves you, little one. Scrambled, or… have you finally decided to be a big girl, and learn how to make eggs. So you don't starve, if me and Hurry ever move out one day."

   "Gee. Scrambled is fine."

   "Yeah… best to save your energy for working out."

   "Can I at least get an omelet."

   "Yeah, sure."

   "Great…"

   It was all I could do, not to start laughing. He had his back to us making breakfast, he had it easier.

   "All right. I'll bite. Why is Lightning suddenly an egg bitch, and I'm still picking shit with the chickens."

   Light shrugged and smiled. Wizzy to the rescue.

   "Right?"

   "That's me."

   "I'm sure you noticed that me and Hurry are spending time with Lightning. Its not like you think, and you're not being punished. Hurry is learning to do therapy. Right… did you have fun growing up at home?"

   "It was all right."

   "Well, Light didn't have as much fun as you did. We're trying to make her feel better, and Hurry's trying to learn how to do her thing for her degree better. If you could try to understand, it would be a great help."

   "Fine."

   That was back to him. To Light?

   "Oh, I'm just rocking my eggs. Egg bitch."

   "Tardfoot gets an om-lette… tardfoot gets an om-lette… I get over, easy… I get over, easy…"

   "Oh, shut up already. The only thing over easy? Is you."

   "Hmm. You were the serving wench, who went over easy, the way you described it…"

   "Shut up. Little Miss Two Holes."

   "Yeah right. Look at me. I'm a modern woman. I'm fighting the patriarchy. What do you want on your burger. Can I run and get you another beer? Is it cold enough? Okay, I'm gonna bend way-y-y over, and get you another beer. Now, don't slip anything in my bum, when I do it, okay? Oh! My! What is that! There's something in my bum! What is that?"

   "Oh can it. Your can has seen more action than the bathroom at the bus station, and you know it."

   "Yeah. Just like your faggot boyfriend."

   "He was bi, and you know he was hot."

   "Gee. Hot guy, making his boyfriend jealous with you. Wow. I'd brag about that one…"

   "Will you shut your egg hole already. Like only eggs go in there anyways."

   "Sometimes."

   "Pffft. Like, all the time."

   "Jealous… maybe I'm a good girl now. You never know."

   "A good girl? You better get some more coffee in with the eggs, because you need to wake up. You, are still dreaming."

   "Good-er than you. Some wing girl you are. Oh, I'm supposed to be backing up my wing. But wait, I can get it in the bum. Bum, wing, bum, wing… bum! Pffft."

   "Oh, shut up."

   "Oh, my! It went… right in! My last boyfriend taught me how to do that, like, so good!"

   "Oh, stick an egg in it, before it goes in another hole. Egg bitch."

   "Jeal-ous… jeal-ous…"

   "Shut up…"

   I clapped them quiet.

   "Girls. Girls. Do we have to do this through the whole breakfast? Maybe me and Wiz wanna talk some too. Jesus. Wiz?"

   "Yeah. I could have stayed in the service. Getting to work on a multi million dollar computer network. Working with the MP's. Could be there right now. Cashing in my GI bill I wasn't using. Maybe buying a cool bike or sports car. But oh no. I had to go to college. Get my education. Do something important with my life. Here I am, making eggs. Listening to this. I mean, why would I have wanted to stay anyways. I could be up to my neck in cute Latinas? Be all important. But oh no… I have to hear all about the eggs. Its much better, trust me. Oh, if my MP buddies could see me now…"

   We all giggled at his fake complaining. Light was amused.

   "Wizzy. Do the… MP voice."

   "Ma'am? I need to see your license, registration, and your underwear, please."

   The girls giggled.

   "No, Wizzy. The scary one…"

   "You lazy whores don't start cleaning your plates?!?! I'm going to pull your eyeballs out and skull fuck you! Move, it! Move, it! Chew!"

   They both giggled.

   Right tried to get the upper hand with her best friend teasing.

   "Eye sockets, about the only cherry holes you have left now, right?"

   "Shut up. Like you're a basket of fresh cherries."

   "Look who's talking. Not exactly cherry juice on your rag once a month either."

   He talked to his plate, as if it were talking back.

   "Don't ever get married Wiz. Why's that? Because then you have to deal with teenagers. It'll kill you. Why, that's great advice guys. Thanks. And? Here I sit… dealing with teenagers at the kitchen table… glad I took their advice…"

   Right punched him in the shoulder gently.

   "Oh, shut up. You love us, and you know you do."

   "Yes. I'm just teasing. I love you all equally. I just love Hurry a little more equally than all of you, that's all."

   "Hmm. That's better."

   "Glad you're happy."

   Lightning went and put her dishes in the sink and rinsed them off with hot tap water carefully. Right was aghast.

   "What the hell. Normally we're lucky you don't hide the dirty plates."

   "Hmm. I told you, I'm a good girl now. And good girls? Rinse their plates. Mm…"

   And? She stuck her tongue out at Right. Jesus.

   "Oh yeah. Rinse your plate off, and cherries pop out all over you. Yep. It works just like that."

   Lightning smiled and all but danced to the stairs to go up and get changed into her workout clothes. Right sipped the rest of her coffee with us finishing up.

   "Well? How's it going…"

   "What, dear. How's what going."

   "Well? You're… doing therapy or whatever, using her as a… psych project, right?"

   "Well, yeah. Its going fine, I guess. I'm new at it. My first… client, really."

   "Well, are you making her feel better about getting raped?"

   "What makes you think that, hun?"

   "I'm majoring in basket weaving, so I can make my 2.5 without studying 8 hours every night. I'm not stupid."

   "Why… would you assume that, anyways."

   "She can't get into a car with a boy. Why do you think we double dated the Army boys? So she could go out on dates for once. Why else would a young girl be afraid to get into a car with a boy? Not like she has a limp from a bad car wreck, so. Duh."

   "She's your friend."

   "She's my best friend. Are you helping her?"

   "Does everybody think this?"

   "No. Just me. Because I live with her. Because I noticed the car thing. And no, I never said a word to the other girls. She has enough to deal with. So, I hope you can… fix her up. Never keep a boyfriend the way she's going. I feel bad. She wants one, too."

   "She's doing very well. And I didn't say that's what it was, it could be anything. That's your assumption. Client therapist confidentiality is sacred."

   "Well. Whatever it is. Good luck."

   "Thanks. You wish her good luck, or me."

   "Both. If she could help herself, wouldn't she have already done it."

   "I guess."

   "We're working out?"

   "We plan on it."

   "Amen."

   I helped him get the kitchen squared away, and we went upstairs. I locked the door, and couldn't help just a couple minutes of fetch. I know its silly, but I missed it. I'm pretty sure he did too. But I know what's in my head, and I have to guess and read what's going on in his. And anyone else. With a shorter game of naked fetch than I was wanting, I burned most of my time getting dressed. Which of course by that I mean? He dressed me. Another of my favorite things in our normal morning routine. I was about to get my spikes laced up, when I heard the ticking at the door. I jerked my head at him to get the door. Not like we don't both know who it is.

   It was Lightning. She said Right was already downstairs waiting, she was going down with us. She set her bag at the top of the steps and came in. He closed the door behind her. Locking it was natural and automatic for either of us.

   "Well? Don't just stand there. Come on…"

   He came back over, and started lacing up my spikes. I smiled at her, and patted the seat on the bed next to me as I scooted over to make sure she had half the space. She sat and stared at him taking my spikes back off, and readjusting them just so, then tightening up the laces. Watching me for how tight was perfect, and I nodded and he went to it. She was still in her bare feet, and had her practice socks in one hand, and a pair of her spikes in the other. He did the other one the same way. Off and back on, then the slow tightening up, working up the laces. My nod, his final work. Then I put them down. He looked at me, and I shrugged.

   "So finish it."

   Ankles held sweet, and a little kiss on each lace. Ritual. I slung my knees over his shoulders, and got some morning kissing in. Definitely not my normal amount, but enough to tide me over. Abbreviated ritual is better than no ritual.

   "He dresses me every morning. Before practice."

   "I see."

   "I like it. You? Why don't you ask her out on a second date again. Make sure she still wants to go. Then? Help her finish getting dressed."

   I gave him a final couple seconds of morning kiss, and he went over to her. He repeated asking her out, and she agreed quickly. He put her socks on her carefully, and adjusted them just so, the same way he did for me every morning. First one then the other. She got another asking out, and she agreed again. He then got a spike on. Showed her how he loosened all the laces, and saw if she liked an adjustment like I did, before starting to tighten them one row at a time, working up and snugging it, and lacing up. He asked if it felt good, or if she wanted to adjust the procedure. She shook her head no, and he moved on to the next spike the same way. Then a final little kiss on each lace.

   He thanked her for agreeing to go out with him again, and she tugged her finger up into the air. She smiled at me and slung her legs over his shoulders, then got some morning kissing in. Then we all went down and had a normal morning workout. Normal for what we did, maybe, but not how we did it. I told him to run us to death a little. So? He did. After a break on the little cement wall, we all stretched out again. Me and him stretch out together, and the girls do it for each other. Holding legs, pushing legs.

   He's interested in the morning run mainly. If I'm alone, he works out with me. With us here, he still did it. But he's more of a team manager than a player. He feeds us balls, retrieves them and feeds us again. He lets me direct him to help out other ways now. He's great practice for the pushing and shoving and jostling of ball keeping and ball stealing. Boys are stronger than girls, and its great practice for all of us. We're supposed to use skill and stealth and speed to overcome raw power. If I start "cheating" and using my size and strength advantage over these two, and it comes naturally, he's the cure for that and I can recognize it and stop it.

   He's no bolt of lightning, he's a long distance runner not a sprinter. So he's great for them to practice screens on. I work on clearing back and forth with him more, after I lose effectiveness trying to keep up with them at what they're good at. Me and him play "fullbacks" guarding an empty tiny practice net, and they can screen and run and gun, coming in on us. It was our longest and hardest self-practice yet. Preseason camp will get here one day eventually. Everyone wonders what Little Miss Moody is into. Its more of a joke to those two, less of a joke to me and him.

   When practice finally broke up, we took another light run. Lightning got to practice "jetting", or jogging tired and putting on her bursts of speed. Right has the same jets built in, but they're not adjusted to the same thrust level. She's not Little Lightning to the team and her little world she stars in for nothing. He can run us all to death, and the longer the distance? The more he can set pace and eat us slowly until we gas out and die. The shorter, the more advantage Lightning has over him. After a long practice, his long distance running is still there. She wants to keep "jetting" him and trying to hold pace.

   I finally gave up, he went for more pace laps. Right stopped with me. Substitute coach said practice was over. Light stopped with us, too. She quit with us, then I saw the look on her face. That flash of intensity, and she was off like a shot. A streak and a blur that caught up to him, then tried to pass him and hold that pace he had. She went laps with him. Trying to get in front of him. Ruining his pace, by forcing him to sprint with her. She started jostling him, so he started jostling her back.

   I went and got me and Right cold cans. To watch the show. She's up to some of the tricks I taught her. Shouldering the person trying to run with you. Stepping on or near their spikes, so you get to trip them by "accident". Incidental contact, we all know its a sick joke. He started doing it back to her. Which makes her leap and go back into her run to avoid it. I smiled, pointing at the extra laps. Right shook her head, then smiled. We got done mopping our foreheads with the ice cold cans, then opened them and toasted the show.

   When they finally got done, he was sweating as much as we normally do. She's giggling and heaving, sweat pouring off of her like a sprinkler system activated. We handed her a can, and him as well. Her heaving subsided eventually, and she got near him.

   "Come on, you. They're dead."

   She dragged him back onto the big yard, and showed him what to do. She put him in a spot, and gave him the ball. Another ball was her mark. He can't "clear" the ball until she hits that mark. He does? He cheated, and he's in for a lecture. I know this game. Fullbacks are getting practice clearing around the skill and speed players charging in. The skill and speed players, are trying to stop it. They can get a big steal when they pull it off, and the nets right there behind them. A goalie that might not fully expect such a quick turn of events.

   She sprints in on him, adjusting her approach angle seemingly at random. He can't clear until she hits her mark, and she's trying to block it and get the rebound and pounce. Then, she jogs to get the ball, punts it to him, and you do it again. She knows he has one, big leg. It gives her a slight advantage. She's also gotten fearless at this somewhere along the line. After several clears around her, some quite close? She finally surprised him. The jets came on unexpectedly, she cut a sudden angle at the last second and leaped.

   The ball caught her in the core and her body wrapped around it in mid air a little. She's running in the air as she hits the ground and almost ran him over. One of those dime turns, like my barrel horse can do. Digging in and whirling, then cutting back and over, with a bicycle kick that hit the tiny practice net. She walked back near him and stood over him, arms crossed. Then gave him the ball and jogged back to do it again.

   I finally gave up and went and stood to return his clears, so she didn't have to jog and get the ball as far every time to keep it up. I had my breathing back. The longer this game goes on, the more it favors her. She has access to the grit and determination normally reserved for only the truly twisted and demented. I thought I had run it out of her. I was wrong.

   She got several more. The shoulders caught the clear. One off her knee that damn near went in on a one time pinball. The clearing strength coming off of her well aimed knee made for a hell of a goal shot. The practice net is a tiny bullseye, a real goal is huge. Then, it finally happened. She caught a big clearing shot right in the face. She was close, she had been going for a head shot. You don't get the top of the forehead down though, you eat a big hard leather ball and see stars.

   She came down sliding on her back, weak. Looking around confused. He's all concerned, and she shook her head and got up and ran unsteady after the loose ball. Then? She wants to do it again. She's lost steam, she's running on fumes, and she almost got knocked clean out. I came jogging up and called it quits.

   This is how she practices. You can imagine how she plays. Right had long since begged off. Instead of showering here, she's off to Lida's. She has an extra set of practice clothes in her bag, and there's the hot tub there, as well as a shower identical to ours. Lida and her girls were finishing up a jog when we were getting started. I promised to call her for lunch, she said she'll eat there. I promised to call her for dinner, and she agreed. I think she's giving us time for Lightning and her therapy. Or, she knows Light will be quiet after this. Or both. Or hell, neither, I can't really read minds. It only seems that way when I pick up on something and I'm correct about it.

   Lightning wants my approval, and at soccer she has it implicitly. She has more ability than I could ever dream of. She also has extra reserves of determination and a desire to work herself more than everyone else. So her greater ability gets an added layer of wind and toughness over it. Her adrenaline is gone now, she's tired and sore, and she's walking stiff. She's smiling and won't let anyone give her a shoulder to lean on.

   She spent years alone, and right before that wished she'd been alone. Anyone that should have been in her corner, was there waiting for their chance to use her to their own ends, then kick her for her contribution. Literally. After it was over, anyone she saw was something to be suspicious of. You take the handout offered? There's a price to be paid for accepting it, and you might not want to pay it, or even be able to afford it. Better to kick the offering away and do your own thing. Its safer.

   She headed on slow and unsteady feet for the fridge. Another can of cold stuff. He ran and got it for her, and opened it and put it in her hand. She smiled and nodded. I guided her upstairs. She wanted a nap, and I guided her into our room. She's forgotten about her little perk. Great, it'll be a nice little surprise for her. I sat her down on the foot of the bed, and she laid back and closed her eyes. I got undressed normally. Which is to say, he did it for me. I laid back next to her while he unlaced my spikes, and did everything for me. I gave a mock groan when he took my fingers and pulled me up, and onto my feet to handle what he couldn't with me laying down. She's watching and I shrugged back.

   She yanked her spike back on impulse when he took hold of her ankle, then slowly gave it back to him. He told her its all right, that I was there and wouldn't let him hurt her, and its not that he would anyways. She smiled and nodded gently and let him. She watched him with bemused and exhausted interest as he slowly undressed her, and piled her used practice outfit into its own pile just like mine.

   She smiled at me and gave her own fake groan when he helped her up to finish her off, then let her gently back by her fingers to lay next to me, smiling. She rolled her eyes and bashfully said she's glad she's not being taken advantage of, because she's too sore and tired to resist.

   "You. Practice clothes. Washer. Her room? You're allowed this one time without me in there. Get her clothes laying on the floor, and run them through the wash with these. Then get the shower ready. Shoo."

   He came back and handed us towels. He took my hand and helped me up off the bed. Then he gave her his hand, and waited for her to take it.

   "What are you doing to me, hmm? You're bad…"

   She wrapped her towel around her waist. Showing her tits is no sin in her little world. Hell, not like I hide from anyone in this house. I just held mine loose in front of me. He had extra towels and washrags piled up, everything. Water was ran, and just temporarily stopped off. He shoved the stop over and we helped each other in. We shower together all year long for practice and games. Hardly a big deal. She's picked up my habit of leaning against the wall, and letting the hot water fall over her. There's a big giant light fixture, that would illuminate a small airport. There's also a small fan light in that fixture, and he had that on for a more subdued night light kind of effect. Its what I like.

   She looked over, and was surprised to see me leaning against the wall, grinning. I was getting soaped up. I stuck my tongue out in glee when I lifted one foot then the other. Like a horse being cared for. She gave a little start when she felt him begin soaping her up, but I patted her hand and she stayed. Nervous horse. Not used to being treated this well. First trained badly, then abused. Then neglected and left to pasture herself with no guidance or help. Left to fend off danger and figure out for herself how to stay alive and kicking. Now, back with proper owners, she's still nervous and tending to herself. She finally lifted one foot, then the other, imitating me. I rubbed her wet blonde mane, and she was fine from then on out.

   Her half closed eyes watched as I got the soap rubbed in. Then it was her turn. She started but calmed herself for it. Then he turned the hot water stop off, and rinsed me. Then her. Then I got the body scrub, the one with the grit, water stopped again. He held it towards her, and she reached for the bottle… and he shook his head. He did it for her. He rubbed the exfoliating grit into me, all over. Then her. She was lifting her feet like I did, it was normal for him.

   Then I got the loofah all over, then it was her turn. Then water stop off, and carefully rubbed and rinsed. She didn't start when her turn came. Then, I got oiled up for moisturizing, water stopped. Then it was her turn. He took turns rubbing the oil into us, back and forth. Then finally, water stop off again and we got the oil rubbed off under hot water. I moved aside a little, and let him get his quick guy bath and rinse. She pointed at the big brush, and I told him to scratch her back. She wiggled under the back brush, like a horse getting the same. Jesus.

   She watched with heightened interest when I got shampooed, and rinsed off with the hand wand. Then moisturizer in my hair, and he brushed it back for me. She was waiting on hers.

   "I normally get just a wee bit more care in here, if you can guess. After your third date? Well. That's your business if you wanna have more fun with the shower worker, you know. Why do you think I like this day spa so much, anyways."

   We leaned into the hot water and got rubbed some more. He went and dried off, and I took her by the hand and had her watch me get toweled off, leaning back on the big sink. She liked the idea when it was her turn. We gabbed a little, giggling and elbowing each other, while he checked the tub temperature. When it was down to temperature? Instead of getting in with me, he helped me into my normal spot then held her hand to help her in. She sat in front of me, and settled down.

   "Hot tub, Light. You're fine. You? Extra towels on the bed, then come back."

   He came back, and she watched as I gave him my hands, then my feet one at a time and got filed. I got another careful brushing my moisturized hair back. She liked that when it was her turn. Then I lifted her ankle with mine, and he started on her. We got filed, heels stoned. Loofah-ed more. Then? The shoulders and neck rub. The leg and foot rub. She cooed and laid back on me, finally gassed out and no longer nervous at the pampering. He went back to filing her more and some stoning. Back to neck and shoulder, foot and leg.

   When we were done, I let the jets run more. He tidied up some of the bathroom, and I heard the clothes go from the washer to the dryer.

   "Extra towels on the bed, dear. We're plus one."

   He took his sweet old time, and I got to make a little gab with her. When we were done, we both got another toweling off, and she was smiling and amused for it. I walked her into the bedroom, and I laid down on the towels, off to one side. I patted the bed next to me. Like a pet, she crawled up and laid face down next to me.

   He took turns with the rubdown and massage. Working in turns. She hid her face and giggled, then squealed with delight. She finally got used to it, and laid there for the rougher work. The rabbit punching, the harder kneading. We rolled over to get the rest, back and forth. By the time the hot liniment oil came, she was smiling with half closed eyes.

   "Is this love?"

   I smiled.

   "You getting laid?"

   "No."

   "Well then… do the math."

   "You get this…"

   "Every workout? Sure."

   "Oh god…"

   "Imagine this in preseason camp?"

   "Ah…"

   "After big games…"

   "Oh."

   "Yeah."

   "I wondered what you were bragging about, your spa package."

   "Uh huh. And now you know."

   By the time he asked what hurt, I wiggled my legs. I got the hot and cold rub on them. She said the same, but her shoulder she landed on after she stopped the clearing ball with her face. He did her legs carefully, then her shoulder she indicated.

   By the time he laid down next to me, to gab some… she was out cold. He went and got the clothes out of the dryer when it buzzed. He brought my clothes back in and put them away, and folded hers in a neat little pile. He looked at me, there really wasn't a lot of room for him to take a nap. I didn't want to disturb her. She had fallen asleep sort of splayed out, which ate up extra room.

   "Okay. Just this once? You can go and take a quick nap in her bed."

   "I'm not trying to be a smart ass. I wanna get that up front, on this one."

   "Go."

   "I'm never going to be in her bed again…"

   "No. You probably will be. Question though."

   "Sure."

   "Its her. How much sleeping do you plan on getting."

   "You make a valid point. Question back."

   "Yeah."

   "Where's the trampoline out front buried at. When she's coming in like that…"

   I smiled.

   "She… runs fast, gets going. She can get some air. Surprised, huh?"

   "Oh yeah. Scared the shit out of me. I didn't expect that."

   "That's why she liked it. We can't help it, we know she can do it. Your reaction? More typical of another team's player. The ball, her mark? She knows her distance. Normally on a clear play? Everyone has to get back. That's what the fullback's used to. She makes an instant decision. If she estimates she's inside her mark, and we're down or even…"

   "Oh. Yeah. Uh, why only when you're down or even?"

   "Prima donna wing stars? Play up. Cherry picking. They save their energy, waiting to get feeds clearing up. She doesn't. She has the wind to go back and forth. Up and back. She's fast, and enough of a ball handler and ball steal-er? To raise hell in the midfield. But, it also puts us down by one, down on our end. Maybe I get burned getting back, playing up, she's up there… we're now down by two, we just set up a fast break for the enemy. But if we're down or even, and she has a chance. Its a trick that only works so many times. Save it for when it counts."

   "I get it."

   "You gonna come watch me play?"

   "Yeah."

   "Wait till you see her play."

   I came back and didn't really nap. A series of catnaps, if anything. He already got her some ibuprofen for her headache. She never lost consciousness. I let her sleep. When she started stirring, I went and got him. I thought he was asleep, but he was just listening to her old music player in some wireless headphones he found with them. Everyone switched to phones for that years ago. She likes it. Must be some nostalgia I don't get.

   We were there when she stirred enough she woke up. I smoothed her hair some.

   "How's your head, dear."

   "Hmm. Okay. Better I guess."

   "Well, that's good."

   "Yeah. Boys complain about other stuff, than that, really."

   Took me and him a second to get it, then she giggled.

   "So. One minute I'm getting oiled up and massaged. Next thing I know, I wake up to everyone staring at me, watching me sleep. Did you guys sell tickets?"

   "I took a nap right here. He took a catnap on your bed. You looked like you were waking up, so, I went and got him."

   She yawned and stretched her arms and legs.

   "What are we doing. Determines how I dress."

   "If your head is okay, thought you might wanna go… out with Wizzy."

   "Oh. Wizzy? My head, is fine. So I've heard, anyways."

   He giggled.

   "I washed your practice clothes. And this stuff. Or, do you want something else."

   "Hmm. Go get what you want to see me in. I'll wear it. Anything you find in my room? Fits. Grab what you like."

   He went and was back quick. Tossed it on the foot of the bed.

   "This is a joke, right?"

   "You said whatever I wanted to see you in. This is it."

   Sweatpants and a big practice T shirt.

   "I was expecting you to come back with a wham bam, and a get lucky shirt."

   He shrugged.

   "I like sports girls. They were on my calendars. So believe it or not? This… more or less does what the wham bam and the get lucky does for me."

   She giggled.

   "Exactly the same?"

   "Well. Close. Very close."

   "Okay. I basically sent you to get the wham bam and get lucky… you? Come back with the cold shower. But I'll wear it."

   He stood at the foot of the bed.

   "Hurry wears that all the time. Its more or less, her get lucky."

   "I guess. I'm used to dressing in front of Hurry. Locker room thing. If you wanna watch, I'm not known for my shyness."

   "He's going to dress you, hun."

   "Oh…"

   She knee walked down to the foot of the bed, dangling the towel down the front of her she clutched at about her neck. Didn't hide much. For her, she's being demure, I'm sure. I scooted her over and sat next to her.

   "I'll share, but I go first."

   "Bitch."

   And she giggled and winked.

   She watched me get dressed. Saw me have him hold up socks and underwear, and I nodded at choices. Then he put them on me. How I held my feet out while he adjusted them carefully. Held my white cotton panties out for me to step into, and carefully brought them up, and adjusted them flat and even. Put my T shirt on for me, then I stood up and stepped into the jeans. Then he laced up my jogging shoes one at a time. I shrugged and upended my palms at her.

   "Like I said. I like it."

   She got her turn down socks adjusted, then bloused and turned down, one at a time. She stepped into her waiting white cotton panties he had grabbed out of her sock and underwear drawer. She noted that there were "other choices" he might not have noticed in there. He assured her he had seen them, but these were what he decided on, given the choice. She shrugged and nodded.

   "You know my rule, Hurry. Whatever the boy wants. Cold shower, and middle aged mom underwear? Fine."

   She stepped into the sweatpants, then sat down and leaned into the T shirt. He dragged down her sweatpants, to which she said "now we're talking"… then he brought the sweatpants elastic band back up, adjusted the tucked T shirt to blouse out a little. Tied the drawstring shut, bowed it… and patted it and kissed it reverently.

   He laced her shoes on one at a time, then got dressed himself. I made "wardrobe selections" he went for. Jeans and T shirt. I let him pick a pair of my hikers out, if he didn't want the service boots he wore a lot with jeans and work pants. He asked Lightning what she wanted, and she said the combats went with his Military Police T shirt. Then she said he forgot something, and she wanted it. She snapped her fingers in front of her.

   "Unless you gotta go first. Bitch, and all."

   She had winked.

   "No. Go ahead. Date night."

   She got her knees over his shoulders, and worked his mouth for a little bit. She did kiss totally different than I did. I've described it to you before, right? I grab him and kiss him. I start it, I hold him firmly for it, I do it how I want. I pull back and restart on my schedule. He just melts when he feels me apply pressure. My head goes to the right, he reacts and goes left. I switch tilt, he reacts. I guess I lead and he follows.

   I'm watching her. This is a different thing, altogether. She doesn't grab and hold. She dangles her wrists loose over his shoulders. She entices, she doesn't trap. I hold firm, like he's gonna squirm away. She expects him to want to stay. I plant my lips for a firm seal, and my tongue probes. Hers? Her mouth sort of opens and closes, light scraping lips, light tongue darts. I hold him and rape him with my tongue. She invites him in for a snack.

   She looked over, and saw me staring.

   "Am I doing it wrong…"

   "No. Just… different."

   "How do you kiss? I never watched you, to really notice."

   "He seems to like it."

   "I'm sure he does. Let me see how nice girls kiss, then."

   He came over, I swung my legs up over, and did mine. I looked over to see her once over.

   "Well?"

   "I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

   "What?"

   "You… kiss like a boy. I'm watching him, and he just melts. Never seen that. You're mad…"

   "No."

   I thought about it. I grew up around boy friends. Not boyfriends, there's a difference. When we were young, one of the boys scored his first make out. Because someone has to be first. All the boys crowded around to hear the tale of the first boy in their group to get a real make out, more than just a quick peck for being "cute". I'm a girl, and I'm listening too. This is as much news to me as it is to all of them.

   I got to hear the tale of helping Suzie McFarmslut carry bales, when it seemed like they were just moving them to the other side of the loft, and for no real reason. Other than to be there. Convenient. His older brother had told him you just "grab" the girl. You sort of "make" her, but… not really. She sort of "lets" you "make" her. His older brother added, that it has to be firm, and "with authority". She might push a little. Now, she pushed too much, you let her go. You made a mistake. If she has to ask? You were fucking up. If you get slapped? Well, it happens.

   Never realized it. I followed this advice my first time. Wow. Handsome towel snap boy at the pool, stolen away with me in that dirty cement storage room. I snapped his ass with a wet towel? Then taught him to make out on these rules. Christ, he went to his next girl expecting to be held and mouth raped.

   "Its how I've always done it. I don't get complaints."

   "That's because they're lucky to get air. You're diving for a pearl. Its a boy's mouth, not a wild clam."

   "So, how do you do it."

   "My first kiss? Real one. Birthday party. At the roller skating rink. There was cake, and ice cream. And, these cupcakes. Too much icing. We got cupcakes, and… he takes a bite. I sort of clean the icing off. Gently. Its on his lips, and the tip of his tongue. Then? I take a bite. He does it. That's how I learned to kiss and make out. That's how I do it. I don't get complaints either."

   "I was told, do it like you mean it. Grab them and do it, or someone else will beat you to the prize. If you don't get slapped or punched, you did it right."

   "Wow."

   "What?"

   "You really did hang out with all boys on dirt bikes. Pretty sure, that's what boys tell each other. We're girls. We get grabbed. I learned to do the icing tasting, so I can get a nice one going, between the grab and go kind."

   I asked him.

   "Do you think I kiss like a boy?"

   "Uh… how the hell would I even know how a boy kisses. If a girl I like is on my face? Not worried about how it goes down, honestly. My only rule I was taught?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Don't stop. If they really want you to stop? They'll push hard, or slap. But, if you stop and run your yap? You're just giving them a chance to say no. Don't stop kissing unless they actually resist, until you get some clothes off. Then, you're home free."

   "I wanna try hers."

   "Fuck it. I wanna rape you with my tongue, like she does."

   We switched off. We were both doing I guess humorous imitations of the other, trying to do what we saw. He said they felt different. She shrugged, and asked if he wanted her to show me. I shoveled my hand at him, and I leaned in to look. She reached out to grab the back of my head.

   I wasn't even thinking. Like a boy leaning in to kiss another farm boy unexpectedly? Instinct. I grabbed her by the throat and held her back. I didn't even realize my hand had pressure on her throat, and I had my hand drawn back like I was going to hit her. Like the time I put a job on some girl in the showers, who touched my shoulder the wrong way when I got a late shower and so did she. My first couple weeks at college playing. She slipped in the shower and blood went down the drain. Poor Light. She's not a little girl, but her hands went to my wrist and I dropped her and put my hands in the air between us, palms out. Time out. Flag on the play. I heard a whistle. It all happened so fast.

   "You get a yellow card on that one, Light. Illegal contact."

   "You get a red card, Hurry. Instigating a fight on the field."

   "Don't do that, Light. What do you think is going on here."

   "You asked me to show you how I kiss. My god. You leaned in."

   "I'm sharing him with you. We're not dating."

   "Don't hit me, but… we're sharing a boy. Its part of the… show."

   "You mean, you…"

   "Huh? No! Me and Right shared that boy, that weekend. Everyone knows that. Yeah, we kissed a few times. Little show between… action takes. Boy can't be ready for 48 hours straight, you know. We didn't fuck for him, just a couple kisses to make him… ready. Hell, you asked me to show you. I didn't think it was a big deal. Bad girls share a boy? You kiss a few times. No biggie."

   "Oh."

   "You okay now?"

   "Yeah."

   "Gee. You're the girl who kept Bootsie away from me."

   "I was starting to think you liked… Bootsie just wasn't your… type."

   "Hurry. No girl is my type. I like boys."

   "All right. Sorry, I…"

   "I guess I should have warned you, then."

   "What do you think I indicated him for?"

   "Telling him to watch? Its what its for."

   "Oh. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

   "No. But… I'm glad he was here."

   I paused.

   "I'm sorry. Do it again. Now I know, its okay."

   "You're sure this time…"

   "Yeah."

   "Fucking cock tease…"

   I had to wait. I wasn't expecting that, and I burst into laughter. Nervous but genuine laughing.

   "Okay. Go on…"

   I leaned in, and she gently batted my hands away.

   "No hands. You don't grab. After you can do it, you lay your wrists on my shoulders…"

   I closed my eyes, and she kissed me, like she did him. Her lips, and her tongue. Felt smaller than I expected. Weaker. I was doing what she was doing, in short order. Then, she put my wrists to dangle up on her shoulders, and did it some more. Then, we started and stopped a few times, then quit.

   "You okay, Hurry?"

   "Yeah. You?"

   "Hey… I'm not the one putting my dukes up. We're here to kiss, not fight."

   "Sorry. I wasn't raised that kind of farm girl. I needed a warning, that's all. I'm fine."

   "Really. You handcuffed your boyfriend to a tree, and belted your team number all over his ass like you were branding a cow on your ranch. I don't know how I got the idea what kind of farm girl you are."

   "Oh. That. Just… trying to be bad for him."

   "Okay. I'm just… doing the same thing."

   "Really. I'm okay, Light. Sorry I…"

   "Its fine. My turn?"

   "Your turn… what?"

   "Your turn to show me. How you do it."

   So, I reached over. She flinched, but I was expecting that. I reached further back than my eyes expected. She jumped into my waiting hand, and I pulled her in. Her hands pushed on my midsection, and I sealed up, and… dove for a pearl. Like I do to him. Once she quit pushing on me, I moved, started, stopped, restarted like I wanted. I had her hair and controlled her like a horse. When I was done, I let her go.

   "Well?"

   "Wow. That, was…"

   "Bad?"

   "No, just… forceful."

   I shrugged.

   "No one ever complained."

   "I'm not. I was ready for something like that. But wow."

   "Well. Now you know."

   "Well. That was your… edited for TV kiss. Show me the good stuff."

   "Hmm?"

   "Your… passionate kiss. Like you give him."

   "You show me yours."

   "I just did. The boy rapes my mouth if he starts it. If I get to start it and keep it going? That's what I do. But you? I'm pretty sure you have an R version. Don't you."

   "You want that?"

   "Sure. Might as well see it, after all this."

   "All right…"

   I grabbed her, and did it again. This time, I had the back of her hair and controlled her again. I started, stopped. Gave her some eye contact and went back in. She wanted the R version, so… I whipped her back on the bed, rolled up over her hips, and pinned her wrists. I pinned her head with my mouth. I did what I felt like, what I wanted. How I did it to him, when I'm getting revved up. When she "gave up", I gathered her up in my arms and kept it up, a tight seal. I made her take my tongue. The bigger, badder bunny forced herself on her little bunny friend. When I rolled over and put her on top? She was still in my arms. She had to lay on me when I made her, and could only sit up as far as I let her. I rolled back onto her and gave it to her good, before I let her go. The last bit I held her by the back of her hair, and some firm grip on her chin. Just like I do to him.

   When I sat up on her and let her go, I wiped the back of my hand across my wet mouth, and was still staring down at her. I played with her shirt I had inadvertently pulled up some, idly, and asked her.

   "Well?"

   "Wow. Am… I allowed up now?"

   "In a little bit. I like eye contact. He gets this, too."

   "I bet he likes it."

   "I don't exactly get complaints…"

   "You sure he's not scared to complain?"

   I got the giggles, and got off her, and helped her up with my hand, and pulled her up sitting next to me.

   "Holy… shit…"

   I shrugged.

   "That bad? I figured, I'm a big girl. I kiss big."

   "Where did you learn that? That, was no tasting icing from the cupcakes."

   I shrugged.

   "No one taught me. My first make out boyfriend? Kid at the pool I thought was handsome. He wanted to kiss a girl, I wanted to kiss a boy. We… made out all summer. No lessons. I learned on the job. He never complained. He always came back for more. Its how I did it after that. I've had boyfriends."

   "Mind if I make an observation?"

   "Okay."

   "You've had… what… two boyfriends. He's number two. Since you hit college."

   "Yeah."

   "But you liked other boys."

   "Well, yeah. Never went anywhere, though. Since here? Just… pre-med, which Little Miss Moody sport-fucked, and… now him."

   "Never went anywhere. You hung out, though."

   "Yeah."

   "You made out some, it ended. Before it got to the fireworks."

   "Yeah, Light. There another kind of it didn't work out, I don't know about?"

   "Wizzy, does she scare you?"

   "Oh. She's not scary. I don't think so. She's… intense. I like it. You know how you ride the big roller coaster?"

   "Yeah…"

   "That's her. If it wasn't a little scary? You'd want your money back. Or, ride a different ride."

   "You like to ride the Hurricane."

   He shrugged.

   "Best ride in the park. Not like I'd know, but. Once you ride the big scary roller coaster, the other ones are like kiddie park."

   "Christ. You're just all boy, aren't you."

   "I ran with the MP's, Light. They don't fuck around. I like direct. Some guy doesn't like you handling his gun without asking? He doesn't drop hints. He doesn't play games so you figure it out, have to read his mind. Hey buddy? My thing, ask before you pick my piece up. You go… okay. Thanks for telling me. Then you know."

   "That's what she's like."

   "Yeah. No fucking games. I don't have to read her mind. None of this… oh, if I have to tell you, it isn't the same. Then? Its all… we need to communicate. Here, let's play this stupid magazine article game, to learn to communicate, be closer. Next day? Oh, if I have to tell you, its not right. Fuck that puppy shit. She tells me. Like the MP's tell you. Then? We both know. Cool. I tell her. She knows. Its called communicating. Not… communicating, is playing guessing games, and expecting the other person to… I don't know… read your fucking mind, to be your goddamn soul mate or some cosmic bullshit they made up for a dippy girl movie. We communicate by talking. One talks, the other listens. We make compromises. Whatever. And yeah… she either fucks me? Or fucks me back. I love the ride. Its intense."

   "Do… guys like that?"

   "I guess. Light, we sit around. Guys, I mean. Wondering what the fuck is going on. Do you girls, sit around coming up with ways to… oh, we have to be mysterious and difficult, so boys have some kind of challenge? Maybe a little bit's fun, but… its fucking annoying. We don't like that in girls. We put up with it. Example. Had a buddy in the service. He likes to go hiking. Got a hiking girl. Cool. Year and a half in? Finds out, she only pretended to like hiking. Because you're supposed to like what he likes, to get in with him. He wasted a year and a half of his life, and this could have been handled on the first date. They met at a 'meet people to go hiking with' party, for Christ's sake. She was just there, to get a guy. He was there to meet a girl, but… a girl that hikes! Get my point about games?"

   "Yeah. And you… like me?"

   "Yeah. You're like her, in a soft way. You're direct. You're honest. You don't want money and prizes, you just like the guy. You? Remind me of the skips a generation thing. You know, both parents are neat freaks? Kid wants to be messy when they move out. Something new. Kid marries a messy partner. So their kid? Turns out to be a neat freak. The cycle repeats, and flip flops every generation. Your parents are alcoholics? You don't drink much. Your parents are churchgoing teetotalers? You like to drink. You? You're mom was a gold digger. So, you hate that. I like it about you. Soft version of Hurry. Direct, and honest. Its refreshing."

   "And you like a tall, strong girl."

   "I do. You're tall. You're strong. And you're very tough. You're a survivor. I don't know I would have survived what you did, and came out the other end one tenth as together as you are."

   "I'm a basket case. I'm a fucked up 14 year old, in a 19 year old girl's body. I'm damaged goods."

   "You're one of the toughest girls I ever met. Light? Tough, that's boys or girls. It isn't about who's the tallest, the strongest. Its about what you can take, and not fall apart. You? Someone drops a nuclear bomb on Swellsville? You'd be the only one crawling out of the wreckage a week later, without food and water. I'm… kind of in awe about you."

   "Hurry? You… aren't what I expected."

   "How?"

   "I thought… you were shy, unsure about boys. Wanted to be… bad girl lessons. You're bold. You're strong. Not just physically, either. And you, Wizzy. You come off if someone doesn't know you, as… you know how. Then? You're the original tough guy. And still very sweet. You guys? Are both… kind of scary, but very sweet and safe at the same time. I feel like I should be scared of both of you? But… you make me feel warm and safe. And… people I'm not scared of? I think sometimes, I need to be."

   I let him go next.

   "So. Little Lightning. Now that I got you dressed, in what I think is one of your sexiest outfits. Where… do you want to go. Second date. I begged you, and you finally gave in and said yes."

   "Hurry? I'm supposed to be taking… good girl lessons. You're a good girl. How am I doing."

   "Wonderful. Me and Wiz? We agreed to meet at a party, and hit it off. Kind of like you did. If you're wondering about our second date…"

   "Yeah… I wanna do it, like you did."

   "We met at the cafe. Not the coffeehouse. The place with all the side dishes."

   "Yeah."

   "My girlfriend works there. I… get all the side dishes I want, when its busy. No main courses. You guys, have a couple hours to get there, and… Light? Won't cost a dime. He won't be spending a nickel on you."

   "Hmm. Then what am I learning."

   "Well. I can't expect you to confront every phobia in one day, like throwing a person that can't swim into the deep end. That's a retarded thing to do. One phobia at a time."

   "Well… if he's not buying me… then…"

   "Car?"

   She didn't go white, but she closed her eyes and swallowed a lump in her throat. She whispered when her eyes were coming open.

   "You said you'd… chaperon."

   "Light? Are you scared to be alone with him?"

   "No. He makes me feel safe. And… he comes with… air bags."

   "Yes. He does. If… he drove you down the hill to town, and a few blocks to the side dishes. What is it, realistically, you think will happen to you? You'll get food."

   "I'm scared."

   "I know. Do you think you can do it?"

   Little voice.

   "Maybe."

   "Light? Let's see if you can sit in the car. Without the car moving. Just sit in it. Okay?"

   We went out, and I unlocked the car. I kept the keys, and showed her I had them.

   "See if you can sit in the passenger seat, Light. I have the keys. Car's not moving without them."

   She was positively terrified to get in the car, by herself. I could see her heart beating out of her chest, and she was sweating. It took her a while to calm down some. When she said he could maybe try to get in the driver's seat, his hand barely opened the door and cracked it, and she jumped in her seat. He froze.

   "Light? You okay."

   She laughed nervous.

   "No."

   It took ten whole minutes to get him oozed into the driver's seat, and she was clutching onto anything to hold onto for dear life. I had to go around to her window, and touch her, and rattle the keys so she knew the car couldn't move. It took another fifteen minutes, to get the door lightly closed. If he slammed it, she might have a heart attack. I felt her neck. Christ. She was trying to breathe deep and slow, and it wasn't working. She might hyperventilate any second. She started breathing like a childbirth class. Little panting.

   I got him out of the driver's seat, and handed her the keys.

   "Light? You turn the key. The car will start."

   She could do that. When we tried him getting in slowly, she went away. She held onto things, and froze. This wasn't flop, this was freeze. Like when Bootsie tried to corner her and make her be touched. This was the same reaction. If she kept her eyes closed, he could sit in the car with it running. The door closing gently, made her jump horribly.

   She panted, and childbirth panted… then went back to sweating and holding on, and freezing. She wouldn't open her eyes for anything.

   "We don't have to do this, honey."

   "Can… he just drive around the parking lot? Wizzy, you promise me, you won't just… take off?"

   "Light? I won’t leave sight of Hurry. If you open your eyes, I can point to her. I won't even use the whole parking lot."

   "Just fucking do it already."

   She froze, she clenched her eyes shut. She panted. She went white. Sweat poured off her forehead. He just made a three point turn and reversed back into the same stall.

   "Take a peek honey."

   She covered her face, and peeked out of her fingers, and saw me standing on the other side of the car, because all he did was turn around and back into the same stall.

   "Do it again."

   He did the same thing, and when she peeked… I was there at her window again. Predictably.

   "Again."

   She knew which window I would be at.

   "Again."

   I was back on her side.

   "Park at Lida's townhouse."

   "If you're sure."

   "Hell no, I'm not sure. Do it anyways."

   He drove the number of stalls down to park at Lida's townhouse. She could peek out of her fingers and I waved at her from down the way. She hid her face for the return "trip", and when she peeked again, I was standing there.

   She started breathing a little deeper. She wasn't as white.

   They did this a lot. She got used to looking around and seeing where I was. When she got back from her "trips", she was starting to smile. Nervous smile and laughter, but it was better. She wanted to try a longer trip. He took her to the next townhouse row over. When she got back, she excitedly told me all about it. How she was scared to peek because she knew I wouldn't be there, but he showed her the hot tub up in the distance. That was like seeing me, some kind of substitute home base, that was safe. When she opened her fingers and peeked again, there I was.

   He did this more, and as long as he didn't park in any of the boy's townhouse athletic rows, she was fine. This took over an hour, and now she thought maybe she could go to get food. I called my friend, and she knows who Wiz is and has seen me with Lightning before. Wiz has money on him just in case, but she said they were busy, it was fine. I told her to call when they got there.

   Light called me all excited when she got out at the place, she was about to go in. Reminded me of a toddler all excited to go for a car ride, just down the street to visit the neighbors. She called me from the table, she called me from the bathroom. She called me on the ride back after a long time there, enjoying the fruits of her labor. Which for her, was considerable. She asked if it was okay she kept her eyes shut and hid her face in her hands, I told her it was fine as long as she was going to be okay. We could work on opening eyes later. After all, she doesn't hide her face when me or even the coach drives her somewhere.

   I had been watching TV, and decided it would be best if I was there when she peeked in our parking stall out front. She was all excited, it reminded me of a little kid's first trip to the mall or something similar to that situation. She came in, and was dancing around. She asked me if she was in trouble, because she kissed Wizzy there. I told her that was fine. She needed a shower. She was covered in dried, nervous sweat. The pungent kind, that smells of nervousness and fear. I let him give her a quick shower, and run her clothes through the washer.

   She laid on my bed like a little 14 year old girl. In a fresh pair of white cotton panties and her big sleeping T shirt. In between me and him. Still excited, talking about her big adventure. Her fingers either laced behind her head, or excitedly talking with her hands and gesticulating. Every detail. What she ate, why she wanted it. What was her favorite. Her long legs and feet moved, again like a little girl can't sit still, ants in her pants.

   When she made out standing outside before she left, she admitted to me that she kissed him "like I would have", and it was exciting and different. And? She felt silly doing it like that, but she didn't think I was silly for doing it that way. She didn't want me to think she was making fun of me, it was just different for her.

   When she calmed down some, her legs and feet kept dancing but she quieted down a bit. Then, she rolled over and hugged me for all she was worth. Thanked me, and rolled back. Calmer now, she asked how she did.

   "You did wonderful dear."

   "Really? I know I'm a spaz about this."

   He spoke.

   "Lightning? I thought you were very brave. You were more scared than a person has a right to be scared? And you did it. Reminds me of my first bar fight, with the MP's. I was like, oh shit, here we go. This? Is not good."

   "Hmm. How did that go, Wizzy."

   "Well. It went scary. A bunch of big drunk guys. Razzing a couple of the boys. There's… tension in the air. You just know shit's about to go down, long before it starts. The looks. The glances. The comments. You can just tell something ain't right. You know its coming."

   "You guys didn't leave?"

   "That's just it. MP's even off duty? You can't let people see you turn tail and run. Lose all respect for all the MP's. Even if you get the shit kicked out of you? They have to stay. Sucks, actually. Honey? I can fight, and I'm telling you that running is smarter than standing there. But? We couldn't."

   "Wow. How did it go?"

   "Well. I'd been… practicing fighting for a long time with them. That was my first time in a free for all like that. I was scared shit-less. Then butterflies. Then… once it got going, it really wasn't that bad."

   "A free for all bar fight, with… real Army tough guys all around, and it wasn't that bad?"

   "Aw. I was used to fighting practice with the MP's and the instructors all the time by that point. As it turns out? All those big, scary drunk guys?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Really ain't that tough. They're mostly slow. They throw punches like… little kids on the playground. They have beer muscles. The big guys? Are either tall fat guys, or… all show and no go guys that lift weights, and never learned how to actually fight. Honestly, the toughest guy there? Was this little guy, motherfucker boxed or something. Little son of a bitch was quick."

   "Oh. He got you, huh?"

   "A few times. Boxer, though. I got him off his feet, he flopped around like a fish out of water. It was weird. When it was over, we left… all those big, scary guys I was scared and nervous of, my whole life growing up?"

   "Yeah."

   "Bunch of pussies, if you know how to fight."

   "Was still exciting though, right?"

   "Yeah. The first time, is scary and exciting. Then? It gets old. Its just the same guys, all over again. Not the same guys, but…"

   "I know what you mean. Like a different game. Different team, but… same thing all over."

   "Yeah. You know what the thing about fighting, I mean being able to fight, really is?"

   "What…"

   "You would think, that being a… tough guy or whatever, would keep people from messing with you. I mean, the MP's? Everyone knows what they are. Not a good idea."

   "Why then?"

   "People knowing you're supposed to be a fighter? They want to try it. Hey, I was in a fight with… they come looking for it. See if they can do it. Out to impress everyone. They want to make a name for themselves. So, ironically? Being able to fight? In a way, causes more problems than it stops. I get in less fights, being Toot. Than I ever did, being… the guy that ran with the MP's. People just wanna bark at Toot. He tells them the retarded shit they wanna hear, and it passes. With the MP's? Everyone knew, and they insist on trying it."

   "You like being Toot better? Than the MP guy. Cute Latinas buying you drinks."

   "Yeah, Light. Had it different ways, and I like Toot best."

   "Wow. Lots of me in there."

   "How?"

   "Well. I was scared of my… bar fight. My big ride, my car date. On the way back? It was better. My next time, I won't be half as scared."

   "Well, that's good."

   "That's great. And, now you got me thinking…"

   "About what, hun."

   "Well. I started out one way. I turned into… not good. Now? I'm supposed to be some kind of… legendary bad girl or some stupid shit. Hurry? Asking me advice, on boys. Like I'm the expert. I'm lucky I figured out a way to spend time with some. I'm not really a bad girl. I'm a hot goddamn mess, is what I am. I made it to… wherever I'm at. Now? I'm wondering what its like to be… like Hurry is. One guy a year. Serious, not a fuck-buddy. You? Changed and got to see how the other half lives, and came back. Turned out you liked what you started as, better in a lot of ways. I wonder if I'll make it to be… a nice girl. Like Hurry is. And… what I'll decide is better."

   "Only you know that, Light. I can tell you this, though."

   "What…"

   "I'm… started out… A. Became B. What you see now? Its A plus B. You see A, if you don't know me. B's there. Only if you really know me. Now, its out and I'm managing it. I wouldn't want people knowing I'm the… MP guy. But, since I've been Toot for 2 years? Its okay, I guess. You… might end up a healthy mix of all the things you've tried and been."

   "Well. I know I don't want any of… you know what in there. I didn't like being the town garbage can."

   "No. You didn't. But… lots of girls insist. I can wear what I want. I can go where I want. That's the law. Watch me. You? Know what's out there."

   "Hmm. I still wear a wham bam and a get lucky. I need my head examined, by someone better qualified than Hurry here. I'm a fucking hot mess."

   "Yeah. You wear that dress. But… you go to the party where you know people. You avoid that townhouse where the girls all… join the kitchen table club. You know better. When you went to the bar? You went with a pack of girls. You girls make sure no one strays, and you know where they end up if they do. You're streetwise about it."

   "I guess."

   Her legs and feet kept lightly and slowly rolling. Like a 14 year old girl, all nervous energy.

   "So. I did good, Hurry?"

   "Yeah."

   "Am… I allowed, to…"

   "What, hun."

   "Can, I switch places with Wizzy?"

   "If you wanna lay on that side, ask him. I doubt he'd mind."

   "Oh. I meant… can I, you know. Put Wizzy. In the middle."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. That oh."

   "Wizzy? I think Lightning wants you to… notice her."

   "There was some guy at the side dish place. He kept looking at me. I could tell. Wizzy made him quit."

   "Oh. I didn't know you had trouble."

   "Not like that. I saw Wizzy notice. He just smiled over at the guy, and the next time he looked? He quit."

   "How did that feel, dear."

   "Weird. I mean, I like being checked out. But. Look at my outfit I was in. I was in a cold shower, not a wham bam and a get lucky. He was still staring. Then? I liked it, but… I was with Wizzy. Then? He made the guy quit staring, without even trying. That? Felt good."

   "Why, dear."

   "Well. I was with him. Other guys, let people look at me. Say stuff. He didn't. He made me feel… safe. And nice. You're not allowed to call me a whore, when I'm with Wizzy. Even my Army ex. Mister you're a whore, you're a whore. Wizzy made him quit, at the party. Did I tell you he texted me?"

   "No. How did that go. He can't say it, so he texted it I guess."

   "Uh uh. He apologized. Said he was sorry, for making fun of me. I didn't really do anything. It was his fault, for hearing stuff. Like that."

   "You liked that?"

   "It was okay. I guess. But, its not like it counts. Not for real."

   "How's that?"

   "Well, duh. Does it count if a boy says he likes you, if someone had to make him say it? Nope. Same thing. It wasn't his idea to be sorry. If Wizzy hadn't… talked to him, and let people think I was his girlfriend? Same shit would be going on. I mean, its still better this way. Not like I like hearing it."

   "Think he'll try to make up with you?"

   "Apologizing is… okay. I don't want a hassle. But no. I'll be happier when he starts… mixing, with the soccer girls, and all that."

   "Why."

   "Duh. Then? He can find out what a whore really is. Like me and you don't both know how that game's gonna go."

   "And how's that. Other than the obvious."

   "Duh. Those girls don't count. You're the only reason girls on the team started being nice to me. Then, I play. Yeah. But… just like it doesn't count when you have to make a boy say he likes you? Very few of those girls… count. But now? Ha. They, get to fight over my scraps. When I have to hear about the mixer? I'll just be like… yeah, that's nice. Been there. Done that. That one? Will put it in your bum. Whatever. Hope you like being called a… serving wench."

   "You're not going to the barracks girls soccer mixers?"

   "For what? I'm not interested in fucking my way through the barracks. I'm not one of his… uniform girls like he whines about."

   "What about Right?"

   "Oh. I had a word. She's not real interested in that either. The mixers, or… going through the barracks like a smoker going through a pack of smokes. Even she laughed. Now? Those bitches can fight over her scraps, too. Been there, done that. Have fun."

   "You girls aren't going to any of those mixers at all?"

   "Well, I'm going but I'm not staying late. I wanna go like you go a lot of times. Go. Say hello and goodbye. Come home. I want pig roast though, just not staying and watching the hookups. I'll hear all about it the next day anyways. Not like I'm missing anything."

   "But… boys, dear."

   "Oh. I had a football player. I had a wrestler. I had a swim team guy. Did you notice, I started finding other guys after those?"

   "Hmm. You don't know what you want, and that's normal. But, you're starting to see, I think, what you don't want. And I think? That's a sign you're… don't take this the wrong way, hun. Growing up."

   "Wow. I didn't realize, until you said it. It hurt, but… you were right. Once I saw it, what you said? I couldn't not see it. I'm okay with it now. I mean, I don't like it, don't get me wrong, but… I mean, I'm still a hot mess, I know that much. But… at least I know why. What and how. Its like… knowing you can't eat sugar. Before you know you got sugar? You wonder why you get tired, you wonder why you feel funny when you eat too much. Once you know though, at least you know. You know to watch it. You have some idea, how to fix it."

   "You know, honey."

   "What?"

   "You could… grow. Emotionally. At any rate. It might be… a year every year. You might grow two years the first year. You never know."

   "Wow. That, would be… like… so cool."

   "I know."

   "How do you put up with me? It must be like… I would feel, having to baby sit a 10 year old."

   "Well. Any 10 year old? Would be a pain in your ass. But… if it was your little sister, and you loved her. It would be different, right?"

   "Oh. Yeah…"

   "Well? You're like my little sister. You don't annoy me. Not really. When you do better? Like today. I feel ten feet tall. You went on a real car date honey. Now, just don't run out and go on car dates with bad-boy retards, and I'll be twenty feel tall."

   "Oh. I won't. Hey!"

   "What."

   "You said, you feel good. Because you made me feel good."

   "Yes, dear."

   She hugged me.

   "That means you love me. You told me that."

   "Yes. It does mean I love you. Like a sister."

   "Wow. I'd say I wish I had a sister? But… would of just been someone else for… you know."

   "I know what you mean."

   "That's love too, huh?"

   "What."

   "When… you love someone. When they hurt? You hurt."

   "Yep."

   "Then… I'm glad I didn't have a sister. It would have hurt more, to see her get hurt. She'd of been younger than me, would of been worse on her. And, her big sister would of been the town garbage can. That would have sucked for her."

   "You're unstuck, dear. I can hear it."

   "What do you mean."

   "You got over your phobia. You went on a real date. And I can hear it in how you're talking. You're… questioning things. Analyzing things. Figuring things out. I told you. Once you let it out, and let someone in, that you trust? You start to grow again. You're not stuck. Like a CD player, that skips. Its bumped, the song can finish now."

   "Wow."

   "Are you happy?"

   "Best feeling in the world."

   "Great."

   "Hurry?"

   "Yes, dear."

   "Can… Wizzy go in the middle now?"

   She giggled.

   "Honey? Would you please notice her?"

   "I'm noticing you, Lightning. Trust me."

   "Don't you have to be in the middle?"

   "I don't think so. No law says so. Unless Hurry says so."

   "Hmm. Well… what are we allowed to do then?"

   "No home runs."

   "I know. I have to wait for the third date. I wanna wait. I wish there was something we could do, before… bases."

   "Like what?"

   "Anything."

   I had to give them ideas.

   "Honey? Why don't you let her rummage through your footlocker. I had fun doing it. Maybe she'd have fun too. Its something before… bases."

   She liked that idea. 14 year old's hate to be bored. They like novelty.

   "Okay. Then… can I show Wizzy something about dancing?"

   "Ask Wizzy, dear."

   "Well? Can I?"

   "Sure. I'd be honored. Come on. I'll show you my old life. Wanna see yourself on my calendar?"

   "I'm not on your calendars…"

   "Actually? You are. Hurry is, too. Come on. I'll show you why I think both of you two are some of the prettiest girls on this whole campus…"

   She liked his MP uniform they gave him. His other uniforms, too. He let her try on his MP uniform. It was big and bulky on her, so he rolled up the cuffs. Wearing it, and beaming… he showed her other stuff. Then, the stack of calendars.

   "Wow. You… really like girls like us. You don't just say that."

   "Here. I'll show you… you. The girl, that when I saw you, standing at the railing every day? It was exciting to have you smile and tell me no coffee. Because I got to talk to you."

   "Wow… that's what I look like to you?"

   He nodded.

   "Show me Hurry!"

   "Well. Here's your other one…"

   "Soccer! Okay… that one's Hurry. With light skin, but…"

   "This one, balancing the ball perfect, just standing there? I figure, that's her… Little Lightning. She… knocks other girls out of the way, for her to score. These are her… Light and Right, I guess."

   "Hmm. Does Hurry have another one? Like I had two… but, I'm more the pole vaulter, huh?"

   "Yeah. I close my eyes and open them? That's you. Here's Hurry's other ones…"

   "Oh, yeah. Hmm. You crushed on… rodeo, and horse girls. Farm girls, huh?"

   "I did. Now? I have one."

   "And, your pole vault girl."

   "Yep."

   "Wow. They do all look like Hurry. The jeans, the cowgirl boots. Jesus. I can't believe it, these girls are doing rodeo stuff."

   "Here. This one? Reminds me of her, somehow. Look, she's driving bulls around, in this little photo."

   "Wow. Hurry?"

   "Yes, dear."

   "Can you do stuff like this?"

   "Some of it, yeah. I used to. Grew up on a real farm, ranch thing. I drove bulls, just like that one. I know the picture you're looking at. And the girls on the barrel calendar? I used to barrel race. I have the same outfit as those girls, at home."

   "You actually… looked like this?"

   "Yeah. Like asking a football player, if he looked like the guys on the football calendar. Of course."

   "You have the… leather pants over the jeans?"

   "Yes. They're called chaps."

   "The… metal spikes, like the cowboys in the movies."

   "Those? Are called spurs. More than one set, actually. They're all sized? To fit my boots you see me wear. I have the cowgirl hat, more than one actually. All farm kids have the hats. I have… the entire outfit. Its not a costume, like our uniforms we wear on game day. Its all… practical stuff. For riding, for working around animals. I have the entire thing you see there."

   "Wow. These girls all look… so…"

   "So, what dear."

   "I don't know. Not mean, just… not strong, just… well, like you are."

   "Like I am what?"

   "Well. When you showed me how you kiss? Like… that. Whatever that is."

   "Mean boy kissers, huh?"

   "I guess. Hmm…"

   "What, dear. Yes, I have western shirts like they wear."

   "No… you worked moving animals around? And did barrels like these ones?"

   "Yeah. All the time."

   "You had whips, then."

   "Uh, yeah. Its a farm, ranch, horse thing dear. Just like you have soccer spikes, because you play soccer? Yeah. I have a bunch of whips."

   "Hmm. You, like… use them, and stuff?"

   "Well. You use your soccer spikes, don't you?"

   "Yeah."

   "Well then, yes."

   "You better be careful, Wizzy."

   "Why, dear?"

   "You piss her off, she'll probably… whip you, like a horse."

   "Now Light? That, isn't a bad idea, is it now. I could probably cure Wizzy's sass mouth he gets sometimes that way, couldn't I."

   "Ha. You're in trouble now, Wizzy."

   "Great. I already have her team number tattooed on my ass cheeks. Next thing you know, I'm gonna get branded, like one of these baby cows."

   "Light? I can rope those young cows, like you see on the rodeo calendar. Not in champion time, like those girls do it, but… I did that in real life, at the right time of year."

   "Ha. She's gonna tie you up, and brand you like her cow, Wizzy."

   "Little Lightning? Maybe you should quit giving her ideas."

   "Okay… can we leave the calendars out?"

   "I guess. If you want. Here, here's the other one. The fighting girls. I liked them, too."

   She flipped through, and stopped on bloody hands and shins girl. She read her bio, and was shocked.

   "When Hurry threw Miss Moody around, for putting on a show, without permission? Made me think of her. Then… when you kicked that drunk kid around? And were about to do it to your ex, to protect me both times? It made me think of you, Light."

   "Hmm. Well, which calendars get out, and… which page?"

   "Pole vault, cause that's you. And… I'm noticing you right now. And… you can pick a Hurry girl. A rodeo one, I guess."

   Lightning left two calendars out, pole vault and a rodeo girl.

   "There. Perfect."

   "All right. You want the uniform on?"

   "No. I can't dance in it. You promised, I could dance with you a little."

   They put everything away, except for the old calendars they left out. Lightning explained he was the "tree".

   "See. You're the tree. Like a Christmas tree. By yourself, you're okay. But, you put tinsel on the tree. That's me, the girl dancer, in certain kinds of show dancing. You know how a rich lady wears that fur fox wrapped around her shoulders? That's me. I'm the fur that makes you, look fantastic and classy."

   "Really. You watching, Hurry? I'm going to be classy now."

   "Oh. This, I gotta see."

   "Okay. You see this all the time. The guys, all in a line. One girl dancing around them. Or, with one guy. The guys don't do tons. The girl or the girls? Do all the stuff. Watch."

   "You, stand, like… this. There. Now… I'm? Going to be here. This? Is my home pose."

   She had her hands on his chest, her legs posed, one hip off and leg cocked. She had the head back, face turning around thing, down perfect.

   "Now. I'm going to turn, you just hold my fingers loose. Looks like you're twirling me? I'm doing it. I go out like this, then…"

   She ended with one of those dramatic poses at the end of him twirling her out.

   "Now, I come back in… to home pose. Or, better, I do a mirror home pose. To mix it up, but you know what to expect. So… now I twirl out the other way…"

   She ended arms out, hip cocked to the other side.

   Now she sped up, and went from home pose, twirled out and posed, twirled back in to mirrored home pose. Then twirled out to the other stretched out hand, and back in again.

   "See? You look, to the audience? Like you're really… handling me. You… make me do this. That's the look, you're selling. You? Would be in a tuxedo, top hat. Walking cane. You don't have to do much. Just… march in place would be enough. I get some home poses, a couple different twirl out end poses. Shift them around, you switch your cane when you switch twirling hands? Voila. Done. The rest? Is your face, your… attitude you project. I'm the tinsel, I'm the fox fur. I really do all the work. It just looks like you're making me do it, and handling me like your… floozy you bought. Its an act."

   "I can dance, honey."

   "You do know, she's not going to be happy… until she gets you out dancing one time, right? What do you think the slow dancing lessons were for. Or are you retarded, dear."

   "Oh."