I’d stopped at the Interstate rest area to piss and get a Coke.  I was sipping the first of that Coke standing by my car when she walked by.  She was petite enough that I first thought the long-haired, bedraggled woman was a teenager.  Then she got closer and I saw differently.  She had that feral look of someone homeless or more likely on the run.


“You want a ride?” I asked.  Until this day I have no idea why I asked since being that forward wasn’t like me, at least any more.


She jumped when I spoke, so it took a few seconds before she said anything in reply.  “Where you goin’?”


“Upstate,” I said as precisely as I could answer her.


She thought about it for a moment, then said “Okay” and opened my back door, throwing her beat-up old knapsack on the back seat like she owned the car.  “You leaving soon?”


I smiled and said, “Your wish is my command.”  I climbed in and placed my Coke in the cup holder.  She got in the passenger side and immediately eyed the opened soda.  “Have some if you want,” I said, “or would you want your own?”


She picked up the can and drained the rest of it in one long gulp.  With a belch, she said, “Sorry, I was thirsty.”  What could I do but chuckle?


I drove off in silence, taking every chance I had to sneak a glance her way, trying to get a measure of this anxious, disheveled young woman and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.  Her dirty blond hair was quite unruly.  Her good-sized tits weren’t hidden well by the oversize t-shirt.  Her jeans told a tale of an ass a little too skinny for my taste, but I knew I’d never do just that—taste it.  Of course she was checking me out too.


After a few miles I said, “You got a name?”


She looked at me cautiously, but said “I’m Maggie, named after my grandma.”


“I’m Dylan, supposedly named after Bob.” 


She had no clue.


I said, “Do you know where you’re going, or does it matter?”


“I guess it really doesn’t matter, as long as it’s farther away.”


 “It’s not my business why, but I reckon I do get to ask one question.  You’re not running away from the law, are you?”


“You know what, Mister, that’s not the question I thought you’d ask, so you’re not on my shit list.”


“Considering I’m giving you a ride, I figure I should have immunity from being on that list.”


She smiled and said, “Okay, but don’t think you’re getting anything.”


“Don’t worry.  I’ll respect your honor, young lady.”


In the ensuing miles, I tried to get her to open up about why she was running, but she stayed quiet.  In turn, I told her all about me; how I lost my job and was heading north in speculation of getting work. Why I told her about my failed marriage and the subsequent divorce was beyond me.  What I didn’t tell her was how a day in Iraq really changed my life.  I certainly wouldn’t impress her with my military tales of woe anyway.


An hour later I broached the subject of her destination once more.  “You know, sooner or later you have to tell me where you’re going.”


“I honestly don’t know, so I’ll go as far as you’re going.  Is that okay?”


I told her it was fine, but as I grew hungry and tired of driving, I mentioned stopping at a motel.  Point blank, I asked what she was going to do, adding “I don’t have much money.  I’m assuming you ain’t got any money yourself, so I can spring for a cheap meal but only one motel room.  If you want to stay with me, I’ll sleep on the floor.”


She looked at me as she had before.  “You aren’t thinking about me having to pay you back, are you?”


“No lady, I’m not thinking sex.  No payback.  I’m just tired and cranky and I’d feel better if I got back on the road in the morning with a decent night’s sleep.”  I wasn’t about to tell her why I wasn’t thinking about sex.


We stopped in the next town, finding an okay chain motel across the street from a Denny’s.  I bought us each a little supper, which she ate quietly, picking at it first before wolfing it down, though she did thank me for it.  I tried to get her to talk about what she was running from, but she remained tight-lipped on the subject.  I checked into the motel, but kept “the wife” in the car and out of sight, though the night manager probably couldn’t have cared.


The room was plain but clean, and the AC worked just fine even if it made too much noise.  We had two double beds so I asked her if she wanted the one closest to the john.  She gave it some thought, probably weighing the pros and cons of where the dirty old man who gave her a ride would be.  “Sure, I’ll take that one,” she finally replied.


“You can shower first if you want,” I said.


This woman didn’t answer even the simplest of questions without figuring out all the ramifications of her decision, but after several pregnant seconds she said, “Sure.”


I flicked on the TV and settled on a news station, though why I needed bad news was beyond my understanding.  I pondered my own decision to give the woman a ride.  If she yelled rape I’d be screwed for sure, so I definitely was at some risk here.  I was a dumb-ass for feeling sorry for her.  Maybe that’s what will be on my tombstone someday: “Here lies a dumb-ass.” 


I nearly leapt out of my socks when she came out of the shower wearing only a towel around her bottom half.  She had the nicest tits I ever saw, standing up firm and high (as Bob Seger sang about) topped by beautiful puffy nipples.  I shouldn’t have been looking but couldn’t stop myself.


“Whoa, lady, what are you trying to prove?”


“I didn’t bring anything in there to put on, so turn around if you don’t wanna see.”  I did just that, turned around until she threw on an oversized tee, which I guess was to be her nightdress.


“Oh boy, Maggie.  I guess we got that out of the way,” I said to her.


“What do you mean?  Finding out if I could get you going?”  She laughed, and then said “At least now I know you ain’t gay, the way you looked at ’em.”


I shook my head and didn’t take the bait.  Instead, I showered.  We watched TV for a while.  She kept asking me if we could watch a pay-per-view movie.  I told her I couldn’t afford it.


We were tucked into our beds, her with her thin nightshirt and me with nothing on by then (I always slept in the nude and that’s how I slipped into bed when she wasn’t looking).  


With the lights out, she said, barely above a whisper “Thanks, Dylan.  You’re a nice man to give me a ride and pay for food and letting me stay with you tonight.”


I had difficulty falling asleep, though whether it was her presence or my usual discomfort in a new bed in a different motel room I couldn’t tell.  Eventually I slept.  Sometime during the night I came awake quickly when I felt someone spooning behind me with an arm around my waist.  When I jumped, Maggie awoke with an equal start, though hers was groggier than mine.


“What are you doing?” I asked.


She pouted and said, “I had a nightmare and I was a little cold, and you were right there…”


I chuckled but lay back down on the bed.  “You shouldn’t have done that.”


Up on one elbow, she asked, “Why don’t you try something with me?  I’d let you, you know.”


Since I was naked under the covers, I nervously wondered if she’d checked out my equipment when she came into my bed.  “Like I told you before, I’m not going to.  You’re running away from something bad, I figure, and you don’t need an old dude making a pass at you.”


“‘Making a pass,’ man, is that lame.  You mean ‘fuck’ or ‘hook up’ don’t you?”


“You sure are making things hard for me, you know.  Lying next to me with only that big ol’ t-shirt between us.”


“Are you?  Hard, that is?” she said as she reached to touch my cock under the covers.  I stopped her.


“Let’s call a truce, okay?” I said.  “You can sleep with me in this bed but no touching and no sex, alright?”  She nodded, and then I wondered what sort of abuse she may be running from, and how it affected her potentially promiscuous sexuality.  I didn’t sleep much, feeling her body heat as she clung to me, snoring ever so lightly.


Morning came much too quickly.  She tested me by waiting for me to get out of bed first, of course now knowing that I slept naked.  I told her not to look but that was a waste of breath.  When she saw me she gasped, “Oh my” before averting her eyes.  After I pulled on my pants she tentatively asked what had happened.


“I took two rounds from a sniper in Iraq.  The second one made me half the man I used to be.”


“I’m sorry,” she said.


“Not your fault.  In fact I don’t blame anybody.  In some ways I’m luckier than most since the guy wasn’t as good a shot as our guys were.”


“What I’m apologizing for is making jokes about you getting hard.”  After a pregnant pause she asked, “Can you…?”


“Sometimes.  Not everything works but sometimes I can get by.”


“But your…”


“That causes problems too,” I said and left the subject of my no-longer-existent balls to die as they did.


After that we got ready in silence.  I looked into my wallet as if I were staring into the abyss.  Since I didn’t have much cash left, maybe an abyss was a good metaphor.  Throwing financial caution to the wind, I sprang for breakfast at Denny’s.  Later, I checked out and we hit the road once more.  I waited a few miles before asking Maggie again what she wished to do.


“Can I stay with you, Dylan?  When we get to where you’re going I can get a job and help pay my way.”


“Maggie, sweetheart, you can’t stay with me.  I’m asking for trouble harboring you like I am…running away from whatever.  And it’s not like I have anything stable lined up either.”


As we climbed into my car, she finally said, “You’re not ‘harboring’ me.  It’s not like I’m a criminal or whatever.  I…I…just need to get away from…”  She didn’t finish.


“From who?  Maggie, please tell me who or what you’re running from.  Please.”


She began crying as I started the car.  I didn’t wait, for how would I know she would tell me the truth anyway.  I must have driven five miles before she said, almost in a whisper, “My husband.”  I cast a quick glance over at her but didn’t say anything.  Another mile went by and then she said, “I thought it was all part of being a good wife, like I did stuff wrong and deserved to be punished for it.”


 Now that she started talking, it all flowed out. 


“When I got married I knew shit about sex.  I mean, all my teen years I heard how much fun it was and how good it felt.  All I ever felt was pain.  I let guys do it and got nothing out of it.  Then I met Jacob and he treated me so differently, so special.  I even had an orgasm one night with him and it scared me since I didn’t even know what one was supposed to feel like.  How pathetic is that?  Anyway, he proposed and we eloped.  Then I found out what real pain was like.  He had expectations of what a ‘good wife’ was, and they weren’t anything I ever saw in real life.  He’d hit me any time I didn’t live up to his wifely expectations.  He took perverse pleasure in pinching my nipples and choking me.  He wanted to have sex…you know…back there…and it hurt so much, then the next time I got so afraid that when he put it in my cunt I was so dry it hurt me just as much.  He laughed and said that pleasing her husband was all a wife should expect from sex, and when I told him it hurt he told me I didn’t know what hurt really was.  Before I knew what was happening he pulled a box cutter thing out and cut me all around …my…cunt.  He wouldn’t let me go to the hospital, so I stopped the blood the best I could while thinking about how I could run away.  I didn’t have any money of my own but I had to leave.  Maybe it was too little too late.  What hope do I have, especially if he finds me?  He’s obsessed like that.”


The ensuing silence was deafening.


“It’s never too late for anything, Maggie.  Maybe I’m a livin’ example of that.”  She looked at me quizzically, so I explained, “You might not think to look at me but because of my…wounds…I was so much into drugs I lost everything.  You might say I’m into reinventing myself now.”


“So I guess in your own way you’re running too.”  After a few more miles, she once again asked if she could stay with me.  “I don’t know where else to go, or like, what I’m gonna do.”


I told her I’d think about it


When we reached the upstate town that had become my hope’s destination, I drove to my friend’s house.  Billy was the person who told me about jobs and new beginnings, and saying I could stay with him while I got my feet on the ground.  Maggie certainly wasn’t in the equation.


Billy welcomed me warmly but when I asked about Maggie, he surprised me.  Instead of any reservations, he looked like he wanted to rape her right there in his foyer.  Now I was the one with reservations.  Billy showed me my room.  There was no other spare bedroom.  Billy left us alone to stow our meager belongings, so Maggie and I discussed the reality of the sleeping arrangements.


When I told her I’d sleep on the floor, she said, “Don’t be silly.  We can like sleep together without it being sex, right?  Just like last night at the motel.  No touching, just sleeping.”


“But Billy’ll think we are…having sex I mean.”


“Who cares?  Does it matter to you what Billy thinks?  I mean, I saw how he looked at me.  If he thinks we’ve hooked up then he probably will leave me alone.”


She had a point, but that wasn’t my reluctance.  Did I want her to see me naked again?


Billy fed us while explaining about the jobs I should apply for the following day.  I asked about a job for Maggie, and he made a few suggestions.  As delicately as I could, I obliquely asked if anonymity would be an issue at the places he suggested.  He mentioned a local restaurant that would easily hire Maggie and keep her employment an under-the-table deal.  That would work out well, since no paper trail would exist for her husband to use in finding her.  In conversation we explained to Maggie how we’d met and became friends.  In turn, Billy probed to find out how Maggie and I ended up together.


It was very awkward going to bed with Maggie.  I didn’t want to expose myself to her, so unlike every other night I slept in my boxers.  For her part, she was even more nonchalant about toplessness in front of me than she’d been at the motel.  I told her to keep covered and she simply smiled.  Wearing only modest cotton bikini panties and nothing else, she climbed in next to me in bed.


“How come you don’t try something with me?” she whispered behind me, practically in my ear.


I didn’t want to face her so I turned over only enough so I was lying on my back.  “It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive, because I do.  It’s that I don’t think it’s the right thing for either of us.  You’ve got fresh emotional wounds from the abuse, and I’m basically old enough to be your father.”


“And you have wounds of your own.  How did you put it?  Things may not work like they’re supposed to?”


“Ah…yes…but that’s my problem.”


My more immediate problem was having her tits pressed up against me and having the natural reaction, although my reaction was painful.


“Do you want me?” she asked.


“You’re a special lady, I can see that but with me it’s not always what I want.”


“What do you mean?  Did what happened to you…you know…down there make it hurt to get hard?”


“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said.


She pressed closer and said, “I told you about what he did to me.  Do you want to see it?”


I didn’t answer but that didn’t matter.   She was determined to show me anyway.  She threw the covers aside and unceremoniously removed her panties.  She didn’t have a pussy.  Instead it looked like raw meat with a slash down the middle.  I looked, and all I could say was “I’m so sorry.”


“You didn’t do anything to be sorry about.  Now, I’m sure that what happened to you in the Iraq isn’t as bad as this.”


“It really is,” I said.  “You’re not a man so you wouldn’t understand.”


“Don’t give me that shit…you sound like my fucking husband.”


“I’m not.  And if you don’t know that by now then I better sleep on the floor.”


It was her turn to apologize.  “You’re right, you’re NOT my husband.  You’re the sweetest man in the world, who helped me without immediately wanting to fuck me.”  She paused, and then she grabbed my head and planted her moist lips on mine.  We kissed forever until coming up for air, I said, “You don’t have to repay me, you know?”


In a rather hoarse voice, she said, “This isn’t repayment.”


I may be damaged goods but I still knew how to love a woman.  I threw all my reservations aside and kissed her body all over, exploring every inch of her.  I sucked on neglected nipples that once had been pinched.  I kissed her neck that had once been choked.  I licked her belly that had once been punched.  I nibbled on her pussy that had once been abused beyond any amount of reason.  When my tongue found her clit she gasped, and I instinctually knew it wasn’t pain.  That’s when I knew I had to do my best for her regardless of the cost.


This oral variable of sex was foreign to her.  At one point she whispered “When are you going to…”


I whispered back, “I already am.”  I kept kissing and nibbling all over her body before asking her if she liked what I was doing.


“Oh yes,” she murmured.  She may as well have been a virgin based on how she was reacting.  I needed to go slowly.  That’s what she needed so badly, tenderness, not more abuse that amounted to rape.


When I returned to her clit, I sucked and nibbled until she exploded.  She didn’t necessarily scream (it was more of a yelp) as the orgasm surprised her even more than it surprised me by its suddenness. 


“Wow!” she exclaimed as she was coming down from her orgasmic high.  “It never felt like THAT.”


“It’s just what the doctor ordered,” I said.


She looked at my strange looking cock as it tried like hell to get stiff, and said “Aren’t you gonna put it in me?”


I held her face between my hands, saying “I’m okay.  I wanted to let you know that sex with me isn’t about what I want.  Do you understand?”


She nodded but I didn’t think she got it yet.  She had a sex-life of abuse to overcome.  When she began crying, I held her in my arms and let her sob.  Eventually she whispered “Dylan, you’re too nice to me.  I don’t get it, like, why you gave me a ride, why you helped me.  Because of, you know…what happened…I know you didn’t give me a ride and everything else for sex.”


“You know, you’re like an angel who appeared to this beat-down man, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than make love to you as many times as the Good Lord is willing to let me.  But, that’s the thing, in my book it’s called makin’ love for a reason.  It should be special and not just getting your rocks off.” 


The look in her eyes was magic, and maybe I wasn’t blowing smoke talking about love like I did.  She’d gotten to my heart in the past two days, and no matter what happened next she may be there a bit forever.


“I can try to make you feel good, you know,” she said.  She must have seen the look on my face, for she added quickly “You have to trust me, Dylan.  I had that peek of you, and I promise that just like you made me feel all I want is for you to feel good too.  I’ll try real hard, but even if I can’t I want you to know that you’re not ‘half a man’ no matter what parts are damaged or missing.


She went down there and slid my aching, misshaped unit between her tender, quivering lips.  I wasn’t expecting a pro, and she wasn’t one.  She only had one ‘teacher’ and that was her damned beast of a husband.


I moaned a few ‘coaching’ tips as she tried to suck on my distorted stump of a dick.  After the sniper’s bullet tore part of it away, the head looked inconsistent with the rest of me.  I wouldn’t tell Maggie that this was my first blow job since returning home from the Middle East.


Nothing happened for a while but she obliviously kept at it until a few nerve endings fired and I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.  I didn’t understand the biology, but it seemed even without just about all of my testicles I still could ejaculate something, however pitiful the usual output.


I murmured, “You’re getting somewhere.”  She knew something was stirring but even with its promise I sensed it wouldn’t be enough.


She pulled her mouth away and said, “Wasn’t I doing it right?”


I pulled her up to me and buried my face between her marvelous breasts, saying “You were doing it better than a lot of women I used to know before…”


She moaned, probably because of where I was warmly nestled.  She eventually said, “Maybe it would be better…inside me.”


I couldn’t foresee the answer to that but it sure did sound like it was worth a try.  I lay down next to her in a sixty-nine position and eased her trembling legs apart with my chin.  She remained deliciously wet from my earlier ministrations but then again I thought that no woman could have too much oral arousal.  In the meantime she stroked my pitiful cock until it stirred once more


I licked and probed her, and this time it didn’t take long at all.  “Oh my Godddddddddd!” she proclaimed as she climaxed so splendidly.


Looking up at her I whispered “See, nothing’s wrong with you.  For what he did to you he should rot in hell.”


“Please, can you do it?  Put it in me!” she begged.


Not having a condom was the least of my worries—I most certainly wasn’t shooting live ammunition.  Wide eyed, she lay on her back and spread her quivering thighs for me.  Even with all her raw scars she was the prettiest sight I’d seen in a very long time.


In some miraculous way my dick was thicker and firmer than it has been since I was shot.  When I slid into her and she sighed I felt like I was on top of the world, not just on top of a pretty, young woman.


I forced myself to go slowly, and let me tell you that wasn’t an easy feat.  She kept her eyes closed, and I wondered if she was dreaming of how her marriage bed was supposed to have been.  Against my will I started going faster and that’s when her eyes flew open and we made eye contact.  Her mouth was open too.  She made noise like a newborn kitten until it grew louder and louder toward the ultimate release, one that had been denied her by the louse she married.


She cried out my name at the moment we both came.


Yes, that’s right.  I felt the spasms and knew I’d actually ejaculated something, volume be damned.


We slept like that, all entwined.  It’d been a long time since I literally slept with a woman, and this young lady sure felt nice in my arms.


Billy had coffee going before we awoke.  What happened between us last night was still a blur, a new taste to be chewed on and savored, so when I climbed into the shower and she suddenly joined me, I was as dumbstruck as a pimply teenager.  She took the soap and washed me all over.  When my dick made a feeble attempt to respond she smiled and told me she loved what I’d done and as far as she was concerned I had no reason to be ashamed of what I’d been left with.


Without boring you with all the details, Maggie and I both were successful in landing jobs.  Billy allowed us to stay with him a few more weeks until we pooled enough to rent a small apartment in town.  I know Billy lusted after her and wanted to know more, but bless his heart he didn’t push it.  When we got the keys to the apartment, he even talked a friend of his into giving us some old furniture, so all we had to buy immediately was bedding and linen.  We scraped by.


The first night in our new place, Maggie came to me wearing the oversized t-shirt she’d had on that night in the motel and nothing else.  “Remember, Dylan?”


“How could I not remember,” I said.  “You are so damned pretty, girl, I still don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”


She helped me out of my clothes, saying “You’re not so bad for an old man.”


I said, “I ain’t that old,” and she laughed.  It was a sweet sound; once heard I wasn’t sure I could live without it.


She straddled me and we made love.  Early on she’d grown attached to doggie style, probably to keep the focus away from our scars and to avoid eye contact.  I’ve worked to convince her otherwise.  Both of us learned to accept what fate sent our way.  It wasn’t our fault we were wounded.  Yet the fickle finger of fate (as the old comedy TV show declared) could also bring two needy, lonely people together.


Maggie didn’t so much ride me with up and down motions but instead made circular movements with her hips that made the most of the contact between our damaged organs.  It worked.


“Oh yes…oh, yes…oh, yes…oh…yesssssssssssssss!” she bellowed as the orgasm swept her away.  I pretended to cum to please her.  In my case simply getting hard enough to fuck was a huge challenge.


She said, “Now it’s a home,” like maybe we christened the apartment with our lovemaking.


I’d be foolish to think her invisible, psychological scars were eradicated.  Maggie would turn inwards every once in a while and I learned to keep my distance as she worked out the inner turmoil.  I knew it wasn’t me she was conflicted with.  After all, her sadistic husband was still out there, presumably looking for her.  We paid close attention to the news outlets and the web, but never saw anything about her disappearance, though that didn’t mean she wasn’t an official missing person.


She said one day, “Do you think they ever, like looked for me at all?”


“I can’t speak for your husband but I bet your family has, sweetheart,” was all I could say.


I’ve always been sort of a loner, but I sensed the isolation was getting to Maggie.  One day I asked her.  “I wish I knew how to make you happier without also putting you in harm’s way.”


“You’ve done everything you can for me,” she said.  “Dylan, honey, I can’t ever repay you for helping me out like you have.”


I loved how she called me honey.  “You have,” I said before we kissed.  When she felt the stirring in my crotch she suggested the bedroom.  I was in awe of her newfound easy arousal.  I’m far from being a psychologist, but I take pride in knowing my role in her recovery.  Like mine the psychological scars—her invisible wounds—were still there, some buried deeper than others.  Sharing a bed meant I shared the aftermath of her nightmares, and her, mine. 


There were no nightmares this evening, only precious love.  She told me how she’d grown to like being on top, so that’s how we did it most times.  Like today, I’d lay back and watch her marvelous body swing, sway and bounce.  Being on top, in other words being in control distanced her from memories of her husband’s abuse, at least to my simple mind.  Under the onslaught of his relentless sadism Maggie had no control whatsoever.  That’s why when we had sex, I let her lead.  I’d watch how her eyes weren’t completely closed, how they rolled back in the sockets until she began the tell-tale shaking signaling the onset of her orgasm, and her mouth flew open in a muted scream.


Invariably, if I could that’s when I would ejaculate.  Her pulsating vagina drew my meager offering from me.  She seemed to have dodged a bullet, since we lived together for over two years without anyone finding her.


As the pain and memories peeled away, she became bolder and more experimental with sex, to the point there were times I couldn’t keep up with her.  I thought she finally enjoyed sex for what it was, and not encumbered by memories and scars of abuse.  When one time she asked me to choke her for a heightened orgasm, it was me who had to overcome reluctance, having heard her stories of what her husband did to her.  She had to beg me to be more firm.  When she came though, it was with such intensity her entire body shivered for more than a minute, and she nearly passed out from the orgasm, not from being choked.


We had a decent life going.  We didn’t have much money, our jobs weren’t anything to brag about, yet she seemed to be happy with me and that’s all I could ask for.


You might say it was inevitable.  You might say I was delusional in thinking that we had a future together.


She met Barry.


Barry had taken a job where Maggie worked.  Like Maggie he was in his twenties, with youthful exuberance and a focused wildness that I couldn’t match in a million years.  He came into town on a Harley and told everyone he wanted to see the country before he ever settled down.  Maggie may have fallen for him anyway, but that was the same time we saw the article in a downstate newspaper.  It was about missing persons, and Maggie was featured.  The pictures of a younger woman, full of the promise of a full life ahead of her and not yet wounded may not have looked like she did today but she couldn’t take any chances.  She started bugging me about moving.


One day she came home real late and was particularly aglow.  Without any jealousy or rancor I asked her if she’d been with Barry.  She sheepishly admitted it.  That’s when I made the most painful decision of my pitiful life.  I told her it was okay.


“You shouldn’t be stuck with an old dude like me.  That’s no future for you.  Barry seems like a fine young man, and you need to get out of here, at least until you’re safe.  If you like him as I think you do, go with him when he leaves, okay?”


“I love you Dylan,” she said with tears in her eyes.  “I never thought I’d ever love anyone, but you did more for me than I ever deserved.”


“Don’t say that, sweetheart.  You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.  You’re the one who gave me so much these past few years.”


She tried to make a joke of it, saying how else would I have gotten some good young pussy, but her heart wasn’t into the teasing.  We made love for the last time that night.  I’d never fucked a woman like that before, more R-rated movie sex than X-rated.  Our orgasms were mixed with tears and we never let go of each other all night.


We made a pack of her meager things.  Barry didn’t know how to act or what to say when he picked her up the next morning, knowing that the girl he had obviously laid had been living with me.  I helped tie her stuff to his on the Harley.  Words wouldn’t have meant much anyway, so all we did was kiss before she climbed on behind her new man.


Finally, over the muted rumble of the V-Twin, she said, “I’ll always love you, Dylan.  More than you’ll ever know.”


I didn’t say anything, simply pointing to my heart, where she would always be.


After they rode off, I never saw her again.  I believed the beast known as her husband would’ve found her by now if he’d really tried, so I thought she was safe, wherever she was.  I moved to another town for a better job soon after she left, so if she wrote to me I wouldn’t have had a way to get it, which was probably for the best.


My dreams were of a young woman, a runaway who repaid me not with sex, but with love.  Although my dreams were often accompanied by an erection, however painful, I never felt like half a man again.


“Wherever you are Maggie,” I said to the wind one day, “you’ll always be with me.”


The End



This is a story for faithful ASSTR readers, culled from my Kamilla Murphy collection

Kamilla Murphy's Amazon Author's Page