Exile
(c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html
Note: This is my story. The names and details have been changed to
protect the privacy of those involved. Some of this account has been
reconstructed from memory, but most of it has been based on a journal I
kept during these years.
This is a sequel to _Wanderings_, which can be found on my asstr.org site:
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/wander/index.html
Chapter Eight - Just a Girl (Ff mmf Mf teen oral anal drugs viol)
Billy was gone when I woke up. Since I was excused from class, I stayed
in bed late, only getting up to wash and dress in time to catch the end
of breakfast. After some toast and a cup of tea, I went back upstairs
and retrieved the money Father Ken had given me, grabbed my coat, and
headed off to the subway to go downtown. I'd have loved to go shopping
for undies on Newbury Street, but the cash I had with me would have only
covered the cost of one or two of those expensive imported bras. When I
emerged from the smelly subway station, I headed for the department
store where I had bought my chemise the week before.
I picked up a couple of soft cup, everyday bras in the Juniors'
department, along with some skimpy string bikini panties, and a camisole
I hoped would satisfy Sister Katherine's order that I wear a bra, in
spirit if not in letter. I also picked up a kimono-style bathrobe, so I
could walk across the hall to the bathroom without getting dressed.
Remembering Father Ken's request that I buy something "special", I
looked around for something racier, but other than a bra and panty set
in scratchy black lace, there was nothing really sexy to be found. I
paid for my purchases and headed back to the street, intending to try
the other big stores downtown. Something down the street caught my eye,
though, a lacy yellow negligee in a window display, the kind of short
babydoll nightie that my mother used to wear. I closed my coat against
the chilly wind that whipped down the street and headed over to get a
closer look.
Other than that nightie, the rest of the items on display looked like
things an older woman would wear, full slips, long nightgowns, girdles
and thick, bullet-shaped bras. Still, there was that short nightie.
Maybe they had it in pink, like my mother's. "Lady Fair" the place was
called. I opened the door and stepped inside.
It was warm in the store, and the place smelled like potpourri with a
hint of mothballs, like one big underwear drawer. A short, older woman
with blue-tinted grey hair and a tape measure draped around her neck
came over. She wore a pink wool cardigan over her grey dress, the
corner of a lace handkerchief peeking from inside the sleeve of her
sweater.
"Hello, darling," she said, pronouncing the words like "Hullo, dollink."
She smiled and looked me up and down.
"Hi," I said.
"Are you here for the fitting?"
"Fitting?"
"Our expert bra fitter comes in twice a week. She's here now. Would
you like a fitting?" She held up the tape measure for effect, holding
it across my breasts as if to measure them.
"Um, okay," I said. I remembered my mother taking me for my first
training bra before she died, to a department store in Miami, the
saleslady making me hold my arms up so she could wrap the measuring tape
around my chest, coming back with a plastic package of three stretchy
cotton bras, how scratchy they felt over my sensitive nipples until they
went through the laundry a few times and softened.
"She's with another customer, but it'll only be a couple of minutes.
Would you like a cup of tea?" the proprietor asked.
"No thank you, ma'am. I'd just like to look around if that's okay," I
said.
"Look! Look all you want, dollink! Let me know if I can help you with
anything," she said. I went over to the rack of nightgowns, looking at
the shortest ones while the fitter attended to the other customer.
Their muffled conversation filtered out from a curtained area in the
back corner of the shop.
I pulled a skimpy pink nightie from the rack, holding it against me and
looking in one of the many mirrors that adorned the walls and columns of
the boutique. Just then the thick curtain parted, revealing two women.
A woman in her early thirties was pulling on a sweater while an older
woman in her fifties, measuring tape around her neck, looked on. The
younger woman got up from a stool and said something to the fitter,
making them both laugh out loud. Then the younger woman reached for her
purse and took something out, pressing it into the fitter's hand. The
fitter stuffed it in her smock before I could see what it was.
"Patricia! My lovely Patricia, what can I get you?" The proprietor
came out from behind her counter, handing the younger woman a hot cup of
tea on a matching saucer.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Pomerantz," Patricia said.
"More tea, Denise?" Mrs. Pomerantz called out to the fitter.
"No thanks, Greta," she said. "My teeth are floating already." This
made Mrs. Pomerantz laugh heartily. As Denise disappeared into a back
room, I leaned over a display case, looking at all the different kinds
of stockings the store sold.
"Miss, miss? What's your name?" Mrs. Pomerantz asked as the fitter
returned from the back room.
"Anne," I said.
"Anne, what a lovely name, Anne. Denise will see you now." Still
carrying the short pink babydoll nightie, I followed Mrs. Pomerantz back
to the curtained area. Patricia smiled at me as I passed by her. She
was quite beautiful, with dark brown hair carefully styled and pale blue
eyes, a small, sharp nose and a chin to match.
"Let me take that," Mrs. Pomerantz said, taking the nightie from my
hands. "Would you like this gift wrapped?"
"No, thanks. It's for me," I said.
"Such a grown-up nightie," she said. "Are you sure...?"
"My mother used to wear one just like it," I said. I didn't have to add
"...before she died." It was in my voice. Mrs. Pomerantz looked so sad
for a second, but then her expression brightened.
"Such an adorable face," she said, reaching out and gently pinching my
cheek the way Ramon's older sisters used to do, back in a happier time
long ago. "You'll look so pretty in this."
"Have a seat and take off your coat, Anne," Denise said, ushering me on
to the stool. I shrugged off my jacket, a hand-me-down from Del, and
draped it over the back of the seat. Denise closed the curtain and told
me to take off my sweater.
"Nice," she said when she saw my bra, one of the ones Julia had bought
for me on Newbury Street. "Expensive."
"It was a gift from a very dear friend," I said. There was something
about Denise that reminded me of Julia, her silver hair, her long
fingers, her graceful neck. Then I realized what it was: her perfume.
As Denise unclasped my bra, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,
imagining that I was with Julia again, a long day of shopping with her,
hoping that when the curtain opened she'd be standing there, sipping tea
with Greta Pomerantz. I felt my nipples stiffen and I began to blush.
"Cold, dear?" Denise said, wrapping her measuring tape under my breasts
and bringing the end around my back.
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
"I'll be quick," she replied, measuring me again with the tape over my
breasts this time. "You're still growing. You're fourteen?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Your mother, was she...big on top?" she asked.
"Not really, ma'am."
"Don't be so formal," she said. "Call me Denise."
"Thank you, ma...um, Denise." She laughed and handed my bra back to me,
helping me into the straps and fastening the clasp behind my back. I
pulled my sweater back on as Denise opened the curtain. My hope that
Julia would be standing there vanished like a ghost.
As Denise and Mrs. Pomerantz pulled different boxes down from the tall
shelves behind the counter, I noticed that Patricia was still browsing
through the racks and hangers, even though she'd already paid for her
purchases. I chose a pair of white lycra bras, lightly underwired and
edged in delicate lace, a pair of cotton soft cup bras like the ones I'd
already bought at the Jordan Marsh store, except of much better quality,
and a sheer black bra. This last item earned a raised eyebrow from Mrs.
Pomerantz, but when I pulled out the two hundred dollar bills to pay for
everything, she threw in matching panties for the lot and a couple of
pairs of nice warm knit tights, all for free. Denise brought me back
behind the curtain to see how the bras fit, adjusting the straps and
making sure the underwires didn't poke me. We swapped the sheer black
bra for a slightly smaller size, but everything fit perfectly otherwise.
"You're a dream to fit, Anne," Denise said. "Some women are no end of
trouble."
"Come back anytime, dollink. Such a cutie you are," Mrs. Pomerantz
said, pinching my cheek again. I couldn't help but smile; her warmth
and her affection were so contagious. I liked this place.
"Thank you so much," I said, picking up my shopping bags and heading to
the door.
"Stay warm, dollink," she called out, waving good-bye. "So adorable," I
heard her say to Denise as I left the store. I started back towards the
subway when I heard someone behind me calling out my name.
"Anne? Anne!" It was Patricia, shopping bags in hand, her cashmere
coat buttoned up against the cold wind.
"Um, Patricia?"
"Trish. Call me Trish," she said, her breath turning to steam in the
chilly air. "Would you like to get some lunch?"
"Um, sure," I said. Toast and tea hadn't been enough for breakfast and
I was hungry again. We walked down the block together towards a coffee
shop. It was packed with the lunchtime business crowd, as was just
about every other place we passed.
"Let's go to my place," she said. "It's not far. I'll make us
something."
"Sure," I said, following her to a cab stand where a lone taxi waited.
We got in and she gave the driver an address, and he shifted into gear
and drove off, threading through a crowd of shoppers and businessmen.
"You're a student?" Trish asked me as the cab passed by the bus station.
I looked around, wondering if I'd see that prostitute who threatened to
kill me that first night in town.
"Sort of," I said, once the block had passed. I didn't know how to say
that I was staying in a shelter for homeless boys. "Are you?"
"Student?" she said. "Not for years. I'm a reporter, the Herald, been
there six months. I was in Des Moines before that and a small town
before that."
"Des Moines? What's that like?"
"Dreadful," she said. She was about to say something else, but the
driver was about to miss the turn on to her block and she had to yell at
him a bit. The cab parked in front of a brownstone on a dead end
street, the end of the block cut off by railroad tracks set below street
level, guarded by a chain link fence.
"We're here," she said. I got out of the taxi and waited while she paid
the driver. Then she led me up a flight of stairs cut from coffee-
colored stone, and through the polished wooden doors of her building.
There were six mailboxes in the lobby, six apartments, two on each floor
of the narrow brownstone. We walked up another flight of stairs to the
second floor, where Trish fished through her purse for another set of
keys. Finding them, she unlocked her apartment door, two above the knob
and one in the middle, set into a square metal plate held by four round
rivets.
It was a nice place, the nicest place I'd seen in Boston so far, other
than the rooms at the Ritz and the Cabots' place on Beacon Hill. No
peeling paint, no water stains on the ceiling. The floor was an expanse
of polished wood, unadorned except for a couple of small rugs. A whole
long wall running the length of the living and dining area and the open
kitchen was brick instead of whitewashed plaster. Past this was a small
hallway that led to the bathroom and a single bedroom.
"I still haven't really furnished this place," Trish said, taking off
her coat and dropping her purse and shopping bags on a black lacquered
dinner table. Other than the table and four chairs, there was a couch
and a glass coffee table, a television and small stereo, and a single
painting, an abstract like the stuff Michael painted, hanging from the
bare brick wall.
"Have a seat and I'll whip up something to eat. Salad okay?"
"Yes, thank you," I said, taking off my coat and putting my things down
next to hers. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Sure," she said, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out an open
bottle of white wine. "Tell you what, why don't you rinse off the
lettuce, okay? It's in the bottom drawer in the fridge."
"I'd be happy to," I said, rolling up the sleeves of my sweater. I
pulled the lettuce out and Trish handed me a colander. As she poured
herself a glass of wine, I began to break off leaves from the head of
lettuce and wash them under the tap.
"Could I have a sip?" I asked.
"I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like a glass?" she said.
"Please."
"Sure thing," she said, reaching into a cabinet for another glass and
pouring some white wine. "A toast, to Mrs. Pomerantz."
"To Mrs. Pomerantz." We clinked our glasses together.
"That was your first time there, wasn't it?" Trish asked as she sliced a
tomato on the carving board set into the counter.
"Yes, it was," I replied, shaking the last drops of water from the
colander.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"No. I lived in Maine for the last year, and Florida before that."
"What brought you to Boston?" Trish asked.
"It's a long story," I said, taking a sip of wine.
"I've got time," she said.
"Don't you have to get back to work or something?"
"Anne, I love my job but every so often I have to take a 'mental health
day', you know? Besides, the Legislature isn't in session until next
week. State House. That's my beat."
"Annie."
"Beg your pardon?" she said.
"You can call me 'Annie'," I said.
"Annie. Lovely. So, tell me, Annie, what brought you to Boston?"
Trish was cutting an onion into thin, nearly transparent slices.
"I ran away."
"You what?" Trish stopped slicing the onion.
I stood in her kitchen, sipping chilled white wine from a nice long-
stemmed glass, and told her about how my mother was killed, how my papi
moved us to Maine. I glossed over a lot of things, mostly about me and
Julia, and when I began to recall how Ramon and the boys died, my eyes
began to mist up and a lump formed in my throat. Trish listened quietly
as I choked back my tears and told her about the foster home, how Mr.
Hubbard tried to rape me in the bathroom, how I sneaked out in the
middle of the night.
"Annie, I'm so sorry," Trish whispered. She tore a piece of paper towel
from the roll over the sink and handed it to me so I could dry my tears.
"It's okay, I'm okay," I said.
"Where are you staying now?" she asked.
"Father Ken took me in."
"Ken Foley? The street priest?"
"Street priest?" I'd never heard that phrase. It sounded rough, like
streetfight or streetwalker.
"His ministry is the street, runaways like you are his flock," Trish
said. "Except I was under the impression that his shelter took in boys
only."
"Girls too," I said, even though I knew I was the only one.
"Interesting," she said, pulling a container of leftover grilled chicken
from the fridge. "Ken's a sweet guy. I met him at a reception at the
Parkman House last fall."
"Father Ken," I corrected her, without even thinking.
"Right, Father Ken. Sorry," she said, pulling the cold chicken breasts
apart with a fork and tossing the pieces into a large stainless steel
bowl along with the lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and some croutons. Trish
grabbed a bottle of dressing from the shelves inside the refrigerator
door. "Vinaigrette okay with you?"
"That's fine," I said. She poured dressing over the salad and began to
toss it with two forks. Then she reached into the cabinet for a couple
of plates and into a drawer for silverware.
"Let's eat," Trish said, bringing the salad and plates over to the
table. "Grab my wine, would you?" I picked up our glasses and brought
them over to the dining table, putting my shopping bags on the floor
next to the couch. Trish loaded my plate with salad and topped off my
glass with the last of the wine. I attacked my salad with gusto; Sister
Bernice wasn't big on serving fresh veggies at the shelter. There were
too many mouths to feed, and it was easier to open a huge institution-
sized can of creamed corn than to serve fresh corn on the cob to a dozen
or so hungry kids.
There was something about the salad, though, something that dredged up a
memory of the summer before. Julia, white wine, the table in her
garden, under the shade of a tree, grilled chicken and salad, bees
buzzing around her flowers.
"Something wrong, Annie? Is the salad okay?" Trish asked, seeing my
distant expression.
"It's fine, really. It's just..."
"Tell me," she said.
"This reminds me of a friend I had last summer," I said, gesturing
towards the salad with my fork. "We used to sit in her garden, eat
lunch, drink wine."
"You miss her?"
"Yes."
"You were lovers?" I hesitated a moment before answering, wondering if
I could confide in this person I'd just met. There was something in her
eyes, though, a softness, sympathy.
"Yes. She passed away late last year." I felt a tear begin its journey
down my cheek.
"Annie, I'm so sorry," Trish said, reaching out for my hand. I felt
ashamed for getting so emotional in front of this woman I barely knew.
She was really sweet to me; I didn't want to burden her with my sorrows.
"I'm sorry...I don't want to...I can't..." I picked up my napkin and
tried to dry my tears.
"Annie. Come," Trish said, getting up from the table and leading me to
the couch. "Lunch can wait. Let it all out, sweetie." We sat together
and she held me while I sobbed, and in between crying jags she blotted
my tears with a tissue. I knew this was coming, ever since I caught the
scent of Julia's perfume when Denise and I were in the fitting room. I
felt like a spinning top, my emotions delicately balanced on a single
point, waiting for the lightest touch to send them wobbling out of
control.
"Tell me about her," Trish whispered. And I did, starting with the day
I first met Julia, when I had stopped to smell the flowers that grew in
her front yard and she suddenly appeared, looking like a ghostly
apparition in a gauzy white dress, how we made love in her garden, in
her bed, the poetry we read to each other, the scent of her hair, the
freckles on her chest. By the time I'd finished painting Julia's
portrait with words, my tears had stopped.
Trish had held me the whole time, stroking my hair, rocking me in her
arms. I lifted my head from her breasts and looked at her, shining blue
eyes misting up as she shared my pain. There was a long, silent moment
as the distance between our lips narrowed, and then we kissed, her soft
lips meeting mine, parting, her tongue seeking mine, touching, the taste
of wine and tears.
"Annie. I can't take advantage..."
"Shhh..." We kissed again, harder this time, passion instead of sorrow.
I cupped her breast through her soft sweater and I felt her hand seeking
mine, burrowing under my sweater and resting on my bra.
"Show me your bedroom," I said.
"Annie, are you sure?"
"Show me," I repeated. Trish smiled and stood up, extending her hand
and leading me into her bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was
sparsely furnished, with just a bed, dresser, and night table. A full
length mirror leaned against the wall, waiting to be mounted inside the
closet door. Trish closed the door behind her and unzipped her long
wool skirt, stepping out of it and then pulling her sweater over her
head. I sat on the edge of the bed, wriggling out of my jeans and
pulling off my sweater.
"Nice," Trish said, running her finger over my bra strap. "Did you buy
that today?"
"No, it was a gift from Julia," I said, unclasping the bra and shrugging
the straps off of my shoulders. Trish took her bra off as well and then
gently pushed me back on to the bed and crawled on top of me. She had
full, round breasts with big brown nipples that stiffened when they
rubbed against mine. As we kissed again, our thighs intertwined,
pressing against each other's cleft. We rolled around on the bed,
kissing, necking, smooching, sucking on each other's lips and tongue as
our hands roamed everywhere.
And then we were head to toe on her big brass bed, skinning off each
other's panties, parting thighs, a gentle kiss and then a probing
tongue. I teased her little pearl from its hiding place, slowly
circling it before touching it directly with my tongue. Trish's head
was buried between my thighs, and I could feel her soft breath on my
nether lips before she touched me with her lips, kissing me, licking me,
pleasing me.
I hadn't come the day before, not with Mr. O'Hare, not with Father Ken,
not with Billy, and I'd been too sore down there to do anything about
it. I felt my pleasure build almost immediately, even before Trish
began to lash my clitoris with her tongue. My thighs began to quiver,
and I had to make a conscious effort not to pin Trish's head between
them as she ate me. I concentrated on her sex, gently nibbling her
swollen clit as I cupped her bottom in my hands. Unlike Sister
Katherine's bony figure, Trish had a bit of flesh on her, not too fat
but not too skinny either, enough to give her a softness that I hadn't
felt in a while. Since Julia.
Trish was close to her release, too, but I came first, all the pent-up
sexual tension in my body coming out in an explosive climax. With her
lips glued to my sex, she lashed my tender clit with her tongue and
probed my slit with her fingers, staying with me even as I thrashed
around on her bed. I hadn't been eaten like that in a long time --
again, since Julia -- and I let her ravish me even after my orgasm
faded, until I felt too sensitive down there and had to make her stop.
"Do me. I'm close," she said, looking up from between my thighs. Her
hair was a mess and her face moist with my juices, a look of pure,
unadulterated lust in her beautiful blue eyes. I kissed her thighs and
returned to her cleft, her thighs beginning to quiver as I kissed and
licked her sex.
"Annie...yes...yes...oh...oh...omigod...ungh!" Now that her mouth
wasn't busy pleasuring me, Trish was free to vocalize her lust. As she
came, she pressed her mouth against my mons and screamed. Even muffled
by my flesh, it seemed loud enough to hear on the street, and it sent a
rather pleasurable feeling through my belly. I held her shuddering
thighs apart and lashed her clit mercilessly, backing off when her
climax seemed about to fade, only to return to it and push her over
another peak. When she finally pulled her sex away from my mouth, her
blue eyes were misting again. She reached for my arm and pulled me up
from between her thighs, a tear of pleasure rolling down her cheekbone.
We kissed again, the taste of our nectar now mixing with the white wine
that lingered on our lips. Trish held me in her arms, caressing me as I
laid my head on her breasts.
"Beautiful Annie," she whispered, gently kissing the top of my head. I
held her tighter and kissed her breast, feeling like a massive weight
had been lifted from my shoulders.
I could have spent all day in Trish's big comfortable bed, her breasts
my pillow, her gentle caress my blanket. After lying quietly for a
while, she tenderly lifted my head and kissed my lips.
"Let's finish lunch, then you can show me the pretty things you bought
today, okay?" she said. We kissed again, and then we got out of bed.
Trish pulled a plush bathrobe from the bedroom closet and handed it to
me.
"Actually, I just bought one today," I said. Trish wrapped her robe
around her and we left the bedroom. I rummaged through my shopping bags
and found my new kimono-style robe, pulling off the sales tags and
slipping it on.
"You missed one," Trish said, kneeling next to me and plucking a small
tag from the hem of my robe. "That's lovely. Where did you find it?"
"Jordan Marsh, in the Juniors department," I said, taking a sip of wine
and sitting down to my half-eaten salad. We talked about clothes while
we ate, mostly I listened to Trish talk about cheap places to shop. She
had a mere fraction of Julia's money, but every bit of her sense of
style, albeit a style more suited for a younger woman. I helped her
clean up afterwards and then we took our shopping bags into her bedroom,
modeling our new purchases for each other. Trish though I looked just
darling in the short pink nightie, and I envied the bra and panty set
she'd picked up at the boutique, a lacy fire-engine red ensemble with
garter belt and red stockings. It was fun, an opportunity to primp,
show off, and, of course, to fondle and caress, fingers grazing across a
bra cup or pantied bottom.
We made love again, Trish slowly pulling my new sheer black panties down
my legs and kissing my sex, bringing me to another climax, not as
intense as the first, but wonderful anyway. I returned the favor,
curling up between her stocking-clad legs and making her scream again.
We lay together, on the edge between afterglow and sleep, until the sun
began to set.
"I have to get back," I said. "They'll be serving dinner soon."
"I wish you could stay," Trish said.
"I'd love that, too."
"Will I see you again?"
I answered her with a kiss. It seemed as if I could always find another
lover, someone with whom I could share my body, my pleasure, but I felt
like I'd found a friend in Trish, and that was as precious as a diamond.
We kissed for a while and then she helped me fold and pack my new
lingerie in the shopping bags. We got dressed quietly in the orange
rays of the setting sun that streamed through her bedroom window. She
walked me out to the apartment door.
"Hang on a sec," Trish said, going to her purse and riffling through it,
coming up with a small white business card. She wrote a number on the
back and handed it to me. "Call me. Anytime. Even if you just want to
have a glass of wine and talk. Okay?"
"Thank you, Trish," I said, putting down my bags and hugging her.
"Take care of yourself, Anne. I'll see you soon."
"Bye." I gave her another kiss, a quick one on the lips before I left.
* * *
The shelter actually wasn't that far away from her place, though it took
me a minute or two to get my bearings. It was even chillier as the sun
fell below the skyline, but soon enough I was back at the shelter, the
familiar sound of steam hissing from the radiators, announcing the heat.
I went up to my room to drop off my things and headed back downstairs
just as dinner was served.
"Where'd you go today?" Manny asked, stuffing a forkful of franks and
beans into his mouth. "I didn't see you in class."
"Shopping," I said, sitting down next to him with my tray. I was still
a bit full from lunch and I just picked at my dinner for a while. The
nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right began to bother me. I
looked around. Someone was missing. Billy was here, sitting at another
table with some boys his age. Father Ken was in the kitchen, talking
with Sister Bernice. It was only after I cleaned off my tray that I
realized Chris was gone.
"Annie! Where are you...?" Manny called after me as I rushed upstairs.
The door to Chris's room was closed. I knocked out of habit before
walking inside. The sheets and pillowcases had been stripped from his
bedding, and all of his things were gone, clothes, comic books, the
baseball he kept on the table by his bed. I sat down on his bed and
picked up his pillow, clutching it to my body the way he used to do,
trying to pick up his boy scent on the striped ticking. The material
was old, yellowing, stained with the tears of a hundred scared boys.
I tried to cry, but I couldn't. I'd purged my sorrows with Trish and I
had no more tears to give for my beautiful, scared, little Chris. I
just sat there on his bed, rocking back and forth with his pillow in my
arms, remembering how happy he'd been when I agreed to be his 'pretend
mommy'.
Manny walked into the room and sat down next to me, putting his arm
around me and pulling me close. I swung my legs up on to the bed and,
still holding the tear-stained pillow, laid my head in Manny's lap. He
leaned over and kissed my cheek before caressing my hair, my shoulder,
my arm.
"He left today after lunch," Manny whispered. "Father Ken took him out
to the lobby. There was a woman waiting and his things were already
packed."
"I've got to talk to Father Ken," I said, lifting my head from his lap.
I kissed the pillow, just once, a kiss for Chris, and put it aside
before getting up from the bed.
"Annie, wait..." Manny called out. But I'd already left the room.
Father Ken was just pouring an after-dinner drink for himself when I
entered his office. He looked startled for a moment -- I hadn't
bothered knocking -- but his composure returned in a split second. He
gestured towards a chair, but I remained standing.
"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Anne?"
"Where did Chris go?" I asked him. I was in the anger stage of loss,
and I had to try my best to conceal my rage.
"Sit down, Anne. Let's talk." His face softened, the sincere look that
made him such a successful counselor, minister, fundraiser, forming on
his face. I took a seat, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my
lap.
"We've managed to place Christopher with a family, an adoptive family,
not a foster home. He's one of the lucky few. It's exceedingly rare
that we find a family willing to accept one of our boys into their home.
You should be happy for him, Anne." Father Ken's words took a moment to
sink in, and I realized that this was the best possible outcome for
Chris. He'd have a real family again, a loving father and mother, not a
fourteen-year-old 'pretend' mother. I felt my eyes begin to well up
with tears, tears I though would never come. Father Ken pushed the box
of tissues on his desk over to me.
"You were close, Anne?" he asked as I dried my eyes.
"He was so scared. He missed his mother so much," I said. My anger had
melted, only the raw feeling of loss remained. "I'd hold him and rock
him in my arms until he'd stop crying."
"Anne," Father Ken said, getting up from behind his desk and coming over
to kneel next to me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and
stroked my teary cheek. "You're an angel, Anne. But Christopher needs
a real home."
I could just nod my head. The lump in my throat was too big, blocking
the words I wanted to say. I wanted to ask Father Ken to hold me, to
rock me in his arms and dry my tears.
"Can I get you something?" he asked. "A drink? Would you like a pill?"
I shook my head. Manny knew what I wanted, just some comfort, a gentle
caress, a tender kiss. All Father Ken had to give me was intoxication,
escape.
"Thank you, Father. I just wanted to know." I got up from the chair
and left his office. I went back up to my room and lay on my bed,
quietly sobbing into my pillow. My feeling of loss was tempered by
shame; I felt selfish for missing Chris now. He was probably sleeping
in a nice warm bed at this moment, with a mother to tuck him in and a
father to read him a bedtime story. Still, even though I'd known him
for just a week, I couldn't help but feel like he'd been torn from my
womb.
Even though I turned down Father Ken's offer of a pill, it was to the
little orange plastic vial he'd given me that I turned. I tapped a few
pills into my palm, painkiller, tranquilizer, sleeping pill, painkiller,
tranquilizer, sleeping pill. I took a painkiller, a Dilaudid,
swallowing it dry. As I laid my head on my pillow, waiting for the
flood of warmth to spread through my body, there was a soft knocking on
the door, and then it opened.
"Annie? Are you okay?" Manny asked. Billy was there with him. I
nodded, my tears already starting to dry up on my eyelashes.
"I'm sorry about Chris," Billy said, standing next to the bed.
"He's in a good home now," I said. "It's all for the best."
"What can we do?" Manny asked. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Just lie with me," I said. "Both of you. Please?" The boys shucked
off their shoes and crawled into bed with me, one on either side,
holding me, gently kissing me.
"He was my little boy," I whispered, right before I fell asleep.
* * *
I woke up early the next morning, still dressed in my jeans and sweater
from the day before, my eyes crusty from dried tears. Manny and Billy
were already gone. It was that quiet time in the shelter, before anyone
was awake, before the sound of traffic began to filter up from the
street. I skinned off my clothes and put on my new kimono, padding
barefoot across the hall to take a shower.
The boys were all still asleep as I went downstairs for breakfast. I
felt dead inside, especially when I passed Chris's empty room, the bare
mattress and the stained pillow. I thought about sitting in there for a
while but I'd only be torturing myself.
Sister Bernice was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I decided
to help her, and she was glad to have an assistant. I was just content
to be doing something that would get my mind off of things, even a
simple task like cracking two dozen eggs and beating them in a chipped
porcelain bowl. She wasn't used to having an assistant in the morning,
and we bumped into each other often as she went from freezer to counter
to stove, my skinny hips bouncing off of her broad bottom.
"I'm sorry, Sister," I said, feeling like I was in her way.
"Nonsense, Anne. I'm happy to have some company this early," she said,
as if she could read my mind. "Are you all right dear? Something
troubling you?"
"I miss Chris," I said, picking a stray bit of eggshell from the bowl.
"He was a darling little boy, an angel," she said. "I miss him, too."
Sister Bernice made me sit down while she prepared her special scrambled
eggs for me, not too runny, not too firm, with some cream cheese added
into the mix. It was delicious, but I began to have a craving for eggs
the way Ramon's sisters would make, fried in oil and served with salsa
and a hot tortilla, fresh from the stove. I thanked Sister Bernice for
her kindness and cleaned my dishes, heading back upstairs to write for a
while just as the shelter's residents began to stir and rub the sleep
from their eyes.
Classes seemed to drag on forever that day. It didn't help that Sister
Josephine never once left the room, so Manny and I couldn't talk or pass
a note, except during lunch. I was feeling a bit better, and I could
tell that he knew this. We held each other's hands under the table
during lunch, and once, during afternoon classes, he reached for my hand
while Sister Josephine's back was turned and gave it a gentle squeeze.
I missed Chris, but I still had Manny and Billy, Sister Katherine, and
even Father Ken, who could sometimes be affectionate after we made love,
though he usually fell asleep. And then there was Trish. Before
dinner, I called the number she'd written on the back of her business
card, but there was no answer, not even a machine. I tried again after
dinner, but still no one picked up the phone.
Manny was sitting on his bed, a baseball mitt in one hand, ball in the
other, trying to work the glove into the proper shape. For a moment, he
could have been Del, who used to sit on his bed the same way, doing the
same thing.
"Hey," he said, looking up.
"Hey," I answered. "Let's get fucked up."
"Let's get Billy, too," Manny said. "He's got some primo hash." We
knocked on Billy's door on the way up to my room. He put aside his
comic book and followed us upstairs, stopping off at the bathroom across
the hall to get a wet towel for the door. Once inside my room, we
pulled the mattress off of the bed and on to the floor and began to
undress, stripping down to our underwear.
While Billy rolled a joint from my stash, sprinkling crumbs of hashish
into the pot, I passed around the Valium and we washed it down with a
pint of rum that Manny had scored the day before. Just as I missed the
taste of eggs and salsa, I missed the smooth sweetness of rum as well.
It was a reminder of a happier time, a golden time. I began to smile as
I remembered those times.
"It's good to see you smile again, Annie," Billy said, lighting the
joint and taking a big hit before passing it to me.
"I was just...nevermind," I said. I couldn't explain; I just kissed
Billy on the cheek, and then Manny, happy to have them with me, glad
that I wasn't alone that night. We finished the joint and had some more
rum before we began to make out, Manny and I locking lips while Billy
kissed and suckled my breasts. Billy had just pulled my panties down my
thighs when I remembered that I had to put in my diaphragm. The boys
watched, fascinated, as I went through the familiar ritual, filling the
latex cap with spermicidal jelly, folding it, and slipping it inside me.
The taste didn't bother Billy, and he ate me out like a champ, making me
quiver and moan on the lumpy mattress while Manny attended to my
breasts. Afterwards, I sucked their hard young cocks, first Billy, then
Manny, until they glistened and throbbed, ready for my pleasure. Manny
lay on his back as I straddled him, guiding his lovely penis inside me,
and then I presented my bottom for Billy, who had already greased his
pole with hand lotion.
With Billy in my ass and Manny's cock in my hungry pussy, we found our
rhythm and fucked slowly, steadily, our heads full of rum, pot, and
Valium. Their hard boycocks pressed against each other inside me, a
delicious friction that brought me to another climax. I pressed my lips
against Manny's, trying not to cry out as I came. Billy clung to my
back, his hands traveling around to my breasts, squeezing them as he
pumped my tender bottom. I felt him twitch inside me, spurting once
before he softened and slipped out, climbing off of my back to wipe off
his messy cock with the wet towel he'd stuffed under the door.
Manny lasted a bit longer, even though I began to hump his hard pole
faster after Billy had pulled out of my ass, but eventually his body
stiffened and he let a quiet gasp escape from his lips as he came.
Unlike Billy, Manny's cock spurted a few times as it twitched inside me,
filling me with his hot boycum. I clenched myself around his softening
cock, trying to milk the last few drops from his fuzzy balls, and then I
collapsed on his chest, satisfied. Billy lay next to us, gently
caressing my back.
We smoked another joint and finished off the rum. I would have loved to
have them both spend the night in my bed, but after our little scare
with Father Kevin, this was just tempting fate, last night
notwithstanding. The boys got dressed and helped me pull the mattress
back on to the bed before leaving.
"Thanks," I said, kissing them both.
"Hey, anything for my sister," Billy said. "Right, bro?"
"Yeah, anything. Anything at all," Manny said. I hugged them both and
then watched them leave before putting my kimono on and heading across
the hall to take a bath.
I was heading back to my room when I heard it. A quiet sobbing, coming
from Chris's room. My heart pounded as I stood there listening,
wondering if I was hallucinating, wondering if he'd returned to the
shelter, his new family rejecting him. I stood outside his door. It
was real, not my imagination, but it sounded different. I knocked on
the door; there was no answer. I knocked again and opened it.
She was young, so terribly young, no older than eight or nine years of
age, lying on the bed in a fetal position, sucking her thumb and crying
into her pillow. I walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching
out to caress her, comfort her. She flinched from my touch, rolling
over on to her other side, her back to me, her body heaving with each
thumb-muffled sob. It was then that I noticed that she'd wet herself.
There was a yellowish stain on the fresh sheets and her panties were
wet.
"Sweetie, honey," I cooed, brushing her red hair from her tear-stained
face. She rolled over again and looked at me. The front of her little
t-shirt was wet, too, but from tears. "Let's get you out of those wet
things, okay?" She looked at me for a second and nodded, her thumb
still firmly clamped between her lips. Such beautiful green eyes, fair
skin, some freckles, but not as many as the red-headed Billy. She sat
up in bed and accepted my embrace, and I rocked her gently in my arms as
her sobbing began to cease.
"Come, let's get you into the bath. Would you like a nice warm bath?"
She nodded again, still silent, still looking as if the tears were about
to start again. I took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom next
door. The tub had just finished draining from my bath, so I sat the
girl down on the toilet seat, rinsed the last suds from the bathtub, and
began to fill it with warm water.
While the tub filled up, I knelt next to the little girl, drying her
tears before helping her out of her t-shirt and wet panties. I let them
soak in some soapy water in the sink while I helped her into the tub.
She was a tiny girl, a scared girl, the last traces of babyfat plumpness
remaining on her little body. As she sat quietly, sucking her thumb, I
gently washed her with a soapy washcloth.
"My name is Annie. What's yours?" She said nothing, didn't even take
her thumb out of her mouth.
"You don't want to tell me your name?" She shook her head.
"Such a pretty girl. I'm sure you have a lovely name to match. Is it
Bertha?" She shook her head again.
"Gladys?" Another silent shake of the head.
"Griselda? I'll bet your name is Griselda," I said, rinsing the soap
from her creamy skin.
"Megan," she said in a raspy voice, a voice that sounded like she'd been
crying for days. "My name is Megan."
"Megan. That's a beautiful name. Come, let's dry you off." I helped
her out of the tub and dried her with a towel, wrapping her up so she
wouldn't catch a chill. Before we returned to her room, I rinsed out
her wet panties and t-shirt and wrung them out, hanging them on a
bathroom hook to dry. I took Megan's hand and led her back to her room.
"Let's take care of this in the morning," I said, stripping the wet
sheet from the mattress. Someone must have anticipated this happening,
as there was a rubberized mattress cover underneath the sheet. I
stripped that off as well and left the soiled bedding on the floor.
There was a little valise on the floor, next to a tattered dress she'd
been wearing before someone put her to bed. I opened the valise and
looked inside. There were some clothes, underwear, a hair brush,
nothing else. I picked out a fresh pair of panties and helped Megan
step into them.
"Do you have these accidents a lot, Megan?" She shook her head, her
thumb back in its usual place.
"Just this once?" She nodded.
"Would you like to sleep in my bed? With me?" She nodded again.
"Okay, baby. Come," I said, holding out my hand. We went to my room,
where the smell of pot and hash lingered. I tucked her into my bed and
took off my kimono. Though I wanted to wear my new nightie, I didn't
want to risk wearing it to bed. Megan might have another "accident"
during the night. Wearing just a pair of cotton panties, I crawled into
bed next to her. Immediately, she snuggled up against my body, her
warmth mingling with my own. She finally pulled her thumb from her
mouth and closed her eyes, resting her head against my shoulder. I gave
her a tender kiss on the cheek and turned out the light.
* * *
"Mommy! Mommmmmmyyyy!!!" Megan was sitting up in bed. It was still
pitch black outside. I turned on the light, and we both began squinting
against the sudden brightness.
"Annie's here, baby," I said, taking her in my arms, holding her
trembling little body. "Annie's here."
"Mommy," she said, softer this time, like it was a special magic word
that would protect her.
"I'm here baby." I didn't want to say that, I didn't want to be a
'pretend' mom again, like with Chris. But it just came out, naturally.
"Annie," she said, in the same quiet voice.
"I'm here baby. I'm here. Just a nightmare, sweetie. You're safe with
me."
"Annie," she said again, clinging to me, hugging me. Her face was wet
but the bed was dry. Just tears, just a few tears. We held each other,
a gentle rocking calming her, reassuring her. Her trembling stopped,
her breathing became regular again.
"I've got to go pee," she said.
"Okay, climb out," I said, pulling the blanket aside.
"Come with me," she said. "Please?"
"Okay, just a second." I put my robe on and led her across the hall.
As she pulled down her panties and sat on the toilet to empty her
bladder, I wrung out her wet undies again and put them back on the hook.
They'd be dry in the morning. Megan wiped herself, pulled her panties
back up, and flushed the toilet. I took her hand and we went back to my
room, to bed.
I was a bit disoriented when I woke up, lingering effects of the drugs
I'd had the night before. It took me a moment to remember who was in
bed next to me.
Megan was fast asleep. She looked so pretty, so angelic as she slept,
no tears, no thumbsucking, no wet panties. I watched her sleep for a
while, not wanting to break the spell, reluctant to wake her up. She
lay on her back, her red hair spilling over the pillow, her legs askew.
Such a pretty little girl. There was something about her flat chest,
tiny brown nipples atop nothing more than small pads of babyfat, that
reminded me of Luci, my best friend from grade school. I wanted to kiss
Megan's little buds, to suckle them, to give her a taste of the pleasure
I felt. Her panties pressed against her babyfat labia, and it was all I
could do to keep from kissing her down there, to make her squirm and
squeal, to make her come.
Too young. She was too young. In a year or two, she'd have the same
curiosity about sex that drove Luci and I to explore each other's
bodies, to find our pleasure. I softly kissed Megan's round little
tummy and wondered where Luci was right now. Probably still in Ohio or
wherever she'd moved with her mother, probably still asleep or getting
ready for school. I wondered if she had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend,
or if she was lonely, if she was thinking about me, wondering where I
was at that moment. I looked out the window, in the direction of what
I thought might be the west, towards Luci, wondering if my thoughts
could travel that far.
"Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get up," I whispered, kissing Megan's
cheek, gently rousing her from her slumber. She opened her beautiful
green eyes and smiled.
"Annie," she said, putting her arms around me. I pulled her tiny body
on top of mine, cupping her little bottom and stroking her hair.
"Good morning, angel. Sleep well?"
"Yes, Annie," she said. I could have laid in bed and held her all day,
but we had to get up, get dressed, get ready for breakfast and
everything after. Megan rubbed her eyes as we got out of bed, and,
after I wrapped my kimono around me, we went into the bathroom to wash
up. Megan's t-shirt and panties were still on the hook behind the door,
dry now, and I took them with me as I led her back to her room to get
dressed.
She followed me to my room and sat on the bed while I changed my panties
and put on my plaid skirt and blouse for class. I wore one of my new
bras, a cotton soft-cup.
Megan sat next to me at breakfast, letting me butter her toast for her.
She sat close to me as if we were joined at the hip. After we finished
eating, Father Ken and Sister Bernice came out of the kitchen and walked
over to our table.
"I see you've met Megan," Father Ken said to me. "Come, Megan. You're
going to spend the day with Sister Bernice while Anne goes to class."
The nun smiled and held out her hand.
"I want to stay with Annie," Megan said.
"Come, dearie. We'll have fun together," Sister Bernice said. Megan
looked up at me; she looked like she was about to start crying again.
"Go with Sister Bernice," I said. "I've got to go to class, but I'll be
back in a couple of hours for lunch. I'll see you then, okay?" Megan
didn't cry, but she got up from the table slowly, reluctantly.
"Do you like to color, Megan?" Sister Bernice asked as she led the
little girl into the kitchen.
"Anything I should know about, Anne?" Father Ken asked.
"I heard her crying last night, so I held her for a while. But she had
wet the bed, so I bathed her and let her sleep with me," I said.
"I noticed that when I went to check on her this morning," he said. "I
figured she might be with you." I began to wonder if Father Ken had
poked his head into my room while we were asleep. He sat down next to
me and leaned over.
"She'll probably be placed with a family very soon," he whispered.
"Enjoy it while it lasts." As he got up and left, that word, "enjoy",
stuck in my head. It was an odd choice of words. What did Father Ken
think went on last night?
As slow as class was the day before, the morning went by quickly, and it
seemed as if I had just finished breakfast when I sat down for lunch.
Megan came bounding out of the kitchen when she saw me sit down to eat
with Billy and Manny, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a big
hug.
"I missed you, Annie," she said. I remembered how just a couple of
hours could seem like a year when you're that age.
"I missed you, too, angel," I said, kissing her forehead.
"I want to show you what I colored," Megan said, bounding back into the
kitchen and returning with a coloring book, the Official Pope Paul VI
Coloring Book. Megan sat between me and Billy, showing me how well
she'd colored in the Vatican's coat-of-arms.
"Let me show you the house," she said, opening the coloring book to a
blank page in the back. It was a typical child's drawing of a house, an
open square, a peaked roof with a chimney, curls of smoke rising past
the sun's simple yellow disk. Inside the open square were stick
figures, one next to a square stove, two smaller ones together, holding
hands.
"That's me, and that's you, and that's Sister Bernice making us
breakfast," she explained.
"What about Billy and Manny?" I said. "Don't you want two strong,
handsome brothers to keep the dragons away?" Megan wrinkled her little
button nose, a gesture of mild disgust. I looked at my two "brothers".
They rolled their eyes in unison.
"It's a lovely house, Megan. We'll live there some day," I said,
leaning over for a kiss on the cheek from my little angel. Megan wasn't
as upset to see me go when lunchtime was over, like she'd been after
breakfast. She seemed to enjoy Sister Bernice's affectionate company.
I watched her bound back into the kitchen before heading back to class.
I was distracted during afternoon class, fantasizing about Megan's
little home, except it was Julia cooking for us instead of Sister
Bernice, and it was Julia's house, her flowers, her garden, her bed. I
thought about the three of us sharing Julia's big four-poster, and I was
holding Megan in my arms while Julia lapped at her puffy labia.
No, no, no. I tried to erase that image from my mind. Too young,
Megan's too young. Too young to understand, too young to comprehend,
too young to feel anything but the love of a mother and father, not the
kind of love I shared with Julia. In my distraction, I didn't hear
Sister Josephine calling on me until she cleared her throat. I managed
to croak out the correct answer, though it was more of a lucky guess.
Even so, I was given an extra assignment for not paying attention to the
lesson.
After classes let out for the day, I went upstairs to do my punishment
assignment, resisting the temptation to go into the kitchen to check up
on Megan. I so badly wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to see her drawing
of the house again, but I was afraid of getting too attached to my
little angel. I knew she'd be gone soon, like Chris, to a loving
family. Besides, she was in good hands with Sister Bernice.
Megan was so happy to see me again. She had a whole new set of crayon
drawings, the two of us on a boat, riding horses, even another house,
this time with stick figures of Billy and Manny. She drew Billy's hair
in the same orange-red hue as her own. The four of us ate dinner
together, and Megan talked a mile a minute, much to the disdain of Billy
and Manny, not that they were known for sparkling dinner conversation.
I was pleased to see the change in Megan's demeanor from the night
before, when she'd been a terrified little girl, unwilling to even tell
me her name.
Megan stopped talking as soon as she saw Father Ken approach. There was
something about him that scared her, cowed her back into silence.
"Megan," he said, holding out his hand. "Come with me, dear."
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Just to my office. To talk. Come," he said. She stood up slowly,
leaving her drawings at the table, giving me a look of fear as Father
Ken led her from the dining room.
"I don't like this," I said. Billy and Manny said nothing, but I could
tell that they were thinking the same thing: Father Ken was going to
give her an "examination".
We were back in my room after dinner, the three of us sitting on the
floor passing around a hash-laced joint, the stack of Megan's drawings
on my lap.
"I don't like it. She's too young for this shit," I said, passing the
joint back to Billy.
"Maybe he'll just look at her, or touch her just a bit," he said. "He
didn't really touch me until the second time." This was brave of Billy;
he didn't like to talk about the things Father Ken and the other priests
did to him. He repressed it all, hid it deep inside. For him to
remember something like this was a bold step.
"I don't like it either," Manny said. "But what can we do?"
"We could go to the police," I said, remembering the scandal that
surrounded the guidance counselor back in Maine, the one who took a
student into a motel. She was seventeen. Ratting out Father Ken would
produce an even bigger shitstorm.
"No, no cops, no way, no how," Manny said. "They just fuck everything
up."
"Then who?" I asked. "Another priest?"
"They're all in on it," Billy said. "Every priest in the city comes
here for a piece."
"Fuck. Then what?" I said. We finished the joint in silence. Worrying
about Megan really killed the mood. I'd wanted to party with Billy and
Manny, to be sandwiched between their smooth young bodies, to come like
I did the night before, to feel their warm semen drip out of me as we
lay together. But little Megan's safety was on all of our minds. I
passed up the offer to smoke another joint and after a while the boys
left to scrounge up something to eat, leaving me alone in my room, alone
with my thoughts.
About an hour later I heard footsteps in the hallway. Hard shoes, not
the sneakers most of the boys wore around the shelter. Then I heard
Megan's door close, and the footsteps receded into the distance. I
counted to 10 and went into the hall, pressing my ear against her door.
Silence.
I knocked twice before going in. Megan was lying on her bed, wearing
just her panties. Her ratty little dress hung over the foot of the bed.
She was curled up on her side, her back to me. I walked over to the bed
and sat next to her.
"Megan? Sweetie? Are you all right?"
"Annie...," she rasped, rolling over and holding out her arms. I hugged
her, kissed her, relieved that she seemed to be safe and unharmed. Her
eyes were red and puffy, and I knew she'd been crying, but she was quiet
now.
"What's this?" I asked, feeling something sticky on her chest. "Lay
back for a second, sweetie." Megan let go of me and I checked her for
bruises, scrapes, any visible sign of abuse. She was fine, but it was
obvious that someone had done something; the stickiness was semen. Most
of it had been wiped off, but some traces remained.
"Let's take a bath, okay?" I said. Megan nodded, and I led her to the
bathroom. While the water ran, I knelt next to her and held her,
wondering what had happened in Father Ken's office. My questions were
partially answered when I helped Megan step out of her panties. Her
smooth little labia were red and tender.
"Does it hurt down there?" I asked her. She nodded, her thumb stuck in
her mouth.
"Did Father Ken touch you there?" Another nod. I checked the
temperature of the water and helped Megan into the tub.
"What else did he do?" I asked her as I soaped up her chest, washing
away the priest's semen.
"He pulled his pee pee out," she said, her voice still hoarse from
crying.
"And then what?"
"He rubbed it on me and then it squirted pee."
"White stuff?" Megan nodded. Remembering this scary incident brought
the tears back. I held her and washed the tears away with a washcloth.
"I won't let him hurt you, baby. I promise," I whispered. She nodded
again and pressed her head against my breasts. After I finished bathing
her and drying her off, I wrapped her in a towel and hustled her back
into my room. Megan climbed into my bed, and I could see the chafing on
her labia as she slid her legs under the blanket.
"Let me see you again, honey," I whispered, pulling the blanket down.
"Does it still hurt?" She nodded her head. I wanted to give her
something, maybe a little piece of a Dilaudid, but I was afraid of the
effect it might have on someone so young. Instead, I reached for the
small bottle of hand lotion I kept next to the bed and squeezed some
into my palm, rubbing it around with my fingers to warm it up.
"Tell me if this hurts, sweetie," I said, gently rubbing her inflamed
labia. She was wary of being touched there again, holding her arms up
in a defensive posture. But I was especially gentle and, as the lotion
soothed her tender area, she relaxed, settling back into my pillow.
"Feel better, Megan?"
"Yes, Annie," she sighed. "Thank you, Annie."
"My poor little angel," I cooed, kissing her belly, her chest, her nose,
her forehead. She closed her eyes and smiled as I rubbed the lotion on
her abused little cunny. I pulled the blanket up over her again and
gave her a tender kiss on the lips, and then I watched her while she
fell asleep.
It was still early in the evening, but I was exhausted from worrying
about Megan and tired from the joints I'd smoked with Billy and Manny.
There was one thing I had to do first, though. I pushed my dresser over
to the door, slowly, quietly, trying not to wake up Megan. It was made
of cheap veneer and almost empty, not heavy enough to block the door. I
pushed it until it was a few inches away from the doorknob, hoping that
if someone did try to enter the room in the middle of the night, the
sound of the knob hitting the dresser would startle the intruder, or, at
the very least, wake us up.
I got undressed and slipped under the covers, putting my arm around
Megan's slumbering form, giving her a light kiss on the cheek before
settling my head on the pillow next to her angelic face.
That night I had the strangest dream. We were on Ramon's boat, Megan
and I, just the two of us, drifting in the middle of the ocean. It was
sunny, but the waves were enormous, towering over the fishing boat and
tossing it up and down. We were huddled in the forward cabin, where Del
and Paco slept, listening to the waves crest and splash against the
hull. The boat reeked of diesel fuel and rotting fish, but somehow I
wasn't sick, despite the heavy seas.
We were wet, our clothes were soaked, and I was helping Megan out of her
dress and underwear, drying her off with a towel that bore a Ritz-
Carlton monogram. Then it was my turn to undress. I was wearing my
long peasant skirt and the wet fabric clung to my legs. After I stepped
out of the wet clothes, I pulled off my panties and looked down: I had a
penis. It was small and smooth like Billy's boycock, devoid of hair. I
looked back up at Megan, who was lying on the cushioned bunk. She
spread her legs and looked up at me with an expression of anticipation,
a strange lust in her eyes.
Without a word between us, I lay on top of her and we began to kiss, not
the motherly kisses I'd given her before, but passionate kisses, intense
kisses, lovers' kisses. Megan looked down between her legs and then
back up at me and she nodded. I pressed my hips forward, feeling my
dream cock press into her folds, inside her, through her cherry. Megan
winced slightly as I tore through her hymen and then she smiled again
and started sucking her thumb. I began to thrust.
Something woke me up, a sharp sound and a loud thump. I sat up in bed
and saw that my door was open slightly. I tried to remember if I had
closed it before I went to sleep. I must have. I always did. I
quietly climbed out of bed and went over to the dresser. There was a
small mark on the side, exactly level with the doorknob. After I closed
the door, I slid the dresser against the door, just to be sure, and went
back to sleep. Whomever it was probably wouldn't come back, or so I
hoped.
I was wide awake, though. I watched Megan sleep peacefully for a while
and then decided to take a sleeping pill. There was a can of flat soda
from the night before, so I washed it down with that. I laid my head
back on the pillow and waited for the pill to take effect.
* * *
We slept undisturbed for the rest of that night. In the morning, I
checked Megan again before she got dressed. The chafing looked better,
but there were a couple of small bruises on the insides of her thighs,
roughly the size of a finger or thumb print. Megan was in a happy mood
that morning, with Father Ken's "examination" the night before a fading
memory.
I didn't share her bright mood that morning. Her bruises lingered on my
mind, especially after I remembered having similar marks on my thighs
after a night with Del. He liked to hold my thighs when we fucked, my
legs resting on his shoulders as he pounded my pussy with his hard cock.
His thumbs would dig into my flesh, something I'd hardly notice in the
heat of our lovemaking, but some faint bruises would show up afterwards.
I'd see them the next morning when I showered. They didn't hurt, and
because I liked it when Del was a little rough, I never said anything to
him about it. But I couldn't bear to see these same bruises on Megan's
creamy skin.
Megan went with Sister Bernice after breakfast. Just like yesterday, I
was distracted during classes, but I managed to pay enough attention to
Sister Josephine to keep from getting hit with another penalty
assignment. Manny kept glancing over at me, his brow furrowed with
worry. When class broke for lunch, he caught up with me as we headed
towards the dining room.
"How is she?" he asked.
"She's okay, but..."
"But what?" I told him how I found her the night before, the dried
semen on her skin, the chafing, the bruises. Manny clenched his teeth
and shook his head as he listened. I could feel his rage, the tightness
in his chest. He kept balling his hands into fists and then relaxing
them.
"Annie, we gotta do something," he said.
"What?" I was at a loss, I couldn't think of who to turn to. Sister
Bernice? Sister Josephine? Trish? Michael? If only I could remember
the name of Julia's law firm. Maybe they could help.
"I dunno. Something," Manny said, still seething.
"Manny, don't do anything stupid. Promise me," I said. When it came
down to it, I really didn't know him all that well. He was a strong
kid, a street kid, and I had no doubt that he could beat the crap out of
Father Ken.
"Yeah, okay. I promise. But if he hurts her again..."
"I know, I know," I said. I pictured myself kicking Father Ken in the
crotch, over and over again.
Megan still wore her sunny disposition as we had lunch together. We sat
with Manny and Billy flanking us, like bodyguards, looking around
between bites to see if Father Ken was near. I felt somewhat safer
having Billy and Manny with us, acting protective, safety in numbers.
I didn't see Father Ken until after lunch. He was waiting by the door
to Sister Josephine's classroom, and he pulled me aside as Manny and the
other boys entered the room.
"Father Steve is coming by tonight," he said. "He'd like to see you
again."
"Okay," I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Father..."
"Did you buy something nice with the money I gave you?" he said, cutting
me off.
"Yes, Father," I replied.
"Good, good. Wear it tonight," he said. "I'll see you after supper."
"Father? I'd like to talk..."
"Sorry, Anne. I've got to run. There's a meeting of the board of
directors and I'm running late. We can talk later."
"Yes, Father," I said. As he turned on his heel and left, I entered the
classroom and took my seat. Manny looked over and shook his head, and I
returned the gesture. Even if Father Ken had the time to talk, I
couldn't think of anything to say other than "You hurt Megan, you
prick". As for sleeping with Father Steve again, I dreaded it, feeling
his clumsy hands on my body, squeezing my breasts and bottom as he
speared me with his fat, stubby penis.
But I had no choice. If I didn't do it, Megan would probably take my
place in Father Ken's bed. I shuddered to think what would happen if
Mr. O'Hare decided she was ready for her First Communion. I'd gladly
sacrifice my body for her, for Billy and Manny, too, for all the boys in
the shelter, whether I knew them or not. I pretty much knew all of
their names by then, Joey, Gregg, Scotty, who everyone called "Scooter",
Marcel, who was the only black child in the shelter, Fat Mario, who
always had a smile for me, Bobby and Lenny, my classmates with Manny,
Billy's friend Max, Barry, the really shy kid with the curly black hair.
Even though almost all of the priests who visited the shelter in the
evenings seemed to prefer boys, giving me a wide berth, I knew that
every time I slept with one it meant that one of the boys would be left
alone that night.
"Manny, do me a big favor," I said, after we'd finished dinner.
"Anything, bonita," he said.
"I've got to see Father Steve tonight in Father Ken's office. I don't
know how long it will take. Could you stay with Megan? Keep her
company in my room until I get back?"
"Sure. No problem," he said. He and Billy followed as I led Megan
upstairs to my room. They stopped off in Manny's room for a minute and
were knocking on my door as I was getting ready to go downstairs to
Father Ken's office. Megan sat on my bed and watched me undress,
exchanging my plaid skirt, white blouse, and cotton underwear for the
sheer black bra and panty set, my shortest skirt, and my tightest
sweater. She was especially curious about my diaphragm, her eyes wide
as she watched me insert it inside my vagina. I didn't know how to
explain it to her without going into the whole sperm and egg thing or
that "When two people love each other a lot..." bullshit. Love had
nothing to do with what I'd be doing that evening.
"Smoke before you go?" Billy asked, pulling a fat joint from his pocket.
I nodded, not wanting to go down there straight. As Billy went to get a
wet towel for the door, I considered taking a Valium or something to
calm my nerves, but it would only keep me from confronting Father Ken.
A bit of pot, that's all I wanted, though a drink would be nice, too.
Before I left, the boys showed me what they had stopped off to get from
Manny's room. Billy had a folding knife, sort of like the one Ramon
wore on the boat, with a dark brown wooden handle stained from sweat and
skin oil. Manny had a collapsible baton made of some shiny black metal,
a rubber handle, and a leather loop at the end. There was a small metal
ball on the other end, the size of a marble, and it looked pretty nasty
as Manny whipped it back and forth.
"Megan's safe with us," Manny said. "No one's gonna take her anywhere."
"No one," Billy repeated.
"Megan, honey. I'll be back in a little while, okay?" I said, sitting
on the bed next to her. She nodded her head and held out her arms for a
hug. I kissed her precious red hair and her peachy cheeks.
* * *
Father Ken was seated behind his desk, but Father Steve was nowhere in
sight. I sat down across from the desk and Father Ken poured me a
drink, bourbon mixed with cola. He pushed it across the table.
"Father Steve is waiting for you," he said, nodding his head in the
direction of the bedroom.
"Yes, Father. Could we...?"
"Did you wear something special?" he asked, cutting me off.
"Yes, Father. Could we talk about...?"
"Let me see."
I put down my drink and raised the front of my sweater so he could see
the sheer black bra, the dark circles of my areolae showing through the
thin material.
"Come here," he said. I got up and walked behind his desk, over to his
chair. He lifted the front of my skirt, exposing the matching panties,
the dark line of my cleft visible through the crotch. He brushed
against my sex with his fingers, a distant look in his eyes.
"Father, I want to talk about Megan," I said quietly.
"I know," he said. "We'll talk later, I promise. He's waiting." He
nodded his head towards the bedroom and let go of my skirt, letting it
fall back over my thighs. "Go."
"Yes, Father." I left his office as he was pouring himself another
drink. The lights in the bedroom were off, but I could make out a shape
on the bed once my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"Andie? Is that you?" Father Steve asked.
"Annie. It's Annie."
"Oh, right. Annie. How are you tonight?"
"Fine, Father." I didn't want to make small talk. I just wanted to get
it over with. I took off my clothes, sweater, skirt, bra, panties, and
climbed into bed with him. Last week he had been tentative, clumsy, but
this time his hand went straight to my breasts, cupping them, kneading
them, not as roughly as before.
"That thing you did with your mouth," Father Steve said. "Do that
again."
"Yes, Father." I sat up and leaned over his belly, taking his stiff
cock and heavy balls in my hands, guiding his fat glans into my mouth,
sinking my lips down his thick shaft. He sighed and ran his hand over
my back, caressing me as I sucked him. He was already hard and
twitching, a drop of precum weeping from the tip of his tool.
"That's enough," he said, tugging at my arm and pulling me back on the
bed. Then he rolled over on top of me, spreading my legs apart with his
knees and stuffing his stubby cock inside me. I wasn't nearly wet
enough for this, but there was enough of my saliva on his penis and it
didn't hurt too much. As he began to thrust, I loosened up a bit,
getting wetter as his glans dragged across the sensitive spot inside my
cunny.
He fucked me slowly, steadily, his bulk pinning me to the bed, nearly
cutting off my breathing. I held his flabby waist, grabbing his "love
handles" as his hips kept up an even rhythm, pushing his plug of a cock
in and out of my slit. I was actually starting to enjoy this. Father
Steve was a little too heavy, but I was reminded of the times that Ramon
would make love to me, how I loved to feel him on top of me, feeling
almost helpless as he pounded my tender pussy.
I felt that familiar tension start to form in my belly, the harbinger of
an orgasm. I tried to move my hips, to feel Father Steve's cock go
deeper inside me, but he was too heavy. I could barely move. He just
kept rocking his hips against mine, his face buried in my hair, his hot
breath against my neck, smelling of bourbon or something. The squeaking
of the bed got louder, faster, and then I felt him hesitate for a
moment, a hitch in the rhythm of his hips right before he came inside
me, a torrent of sperm flowing from his bulbous cockhead, a week's worth
of unrelieved sexual tension flooding my pussy. He grunted once and
rolled off of me, lying on his side, his softening cock laying across
his thigh like a discarded cigar butt.
I sat up and bunched the sheets between my legs, hoping to stem the flow
of semen that leaked from my slit. I hadn't come, and I was close, so
close that I felt dizzy. Maybe Father Ken would lick me like he did the
last time, maybe fuck me, too. Maybe that would make it easier to talk
about Megan. I started to get out of bed, but Father Steve grabbed my
arm.
"We're not done yet," he said. "Get back here."
"Yes, Father," I said. He reached for my breasts again, rougher this
time, pinching my nipples until I began to flinch away from him. The he
put his hand on the back of my head and guided me down to his crotch.
It smelled musty this time, sweaty, damp from the exertion of our last
coupling. I took his flaccid cock in my mouth again, licking and
sucking it until he was hard again, at which point he tugged my arm,
pulling me back up on the bed.
Father Steve mounted me once more, this time pulling my legs up and
holding my thighs in his hands as he pushed his cock into my messy slit.
It was much easier this time, with his penis riding on a slippery carpet
of his own spunk, making obscene squishing sounds as it pistoned in and
out of my sex. He tightened his grip on my thighs and began to fuck me
faster. I knew I'd see bruises in the morning, but I was beyond caring
at this point. Better me than Megan, I thought. Better me than Megan.
My interrupted climax began anew, the tension spreading from my belly to
my thighs. As Father Steve pounded me, I cupped my breasts, circling my
fingers over the nipples he'd pinched, feeling my pleasure spread
through my chest, my legs, centering in my pussy and clit as his thick
shaft slammed inside me. I began to come, letting go of my breasts and
grabbing Father Steve's hips, lifting my bottom from the bed to feel
more of his cock inside me. There was just a nest of wiry pubic hair,
the base of his shaft, scratching my labia with each stroke. If only he
was an inch or two bigger...
Father Steve answered my moans with a grunt, thrusting faster, his fat-
padded pubic bone slamming against my clit, and then he came again,
burying his penis inside me one last time, adding to the river of semen
I felt dripping down my ass crack and pooling on the sheets. He
released my thighs, letting my legs fall to the bed, and without saying
a word he pulled out of me and got up from the bed, wiping off his cock
with a towel and quickly getting dressed.
My pussy began to ache, a soreness I hadn't noticed while we fucked, a
slight throbbing and a feeling of rawness on my labia where his coarse
pubes had scratched me. I bunched up the sheets between my legs again,
listening to the murmur of conversation drifting in from Father Ken's
office. I couldn't make out what they were saying, not complete
sentences, just a phrase or a word or two, "hundred", and "liked it",
"next week" and "morning mass". I thought I heard Father Ken say
"Megan", but it could easily have been the word "naked". Still...
I waited until I heard Father Steve leave, the door to the office
closing behind him, before I gathered my clothes and left the bedroom.
Father Ken was sipping his drink, a small stack of $10 bills stuck into
the corner of the blotter on his desk, money that hadn't been there
before.
"Everything go okay?" Father Ken asked. Not "Are you all right?" or
"How do you feel?". I nodded anyway.
"Good. Come here," he said. I put my clothes down on his desk as he
unzipped his fly, fishing his half-hard cock from his trousers. Father
Ken spread his legs and nodded towards the floor. I knelt before him,
the hard plastic sheet that protected the carpet from his chair making
my knees ache, a thick stream of Father Steve's spunk dripping down my
thigh. I leaned into his crotch and took his cock in my mouth, slowly
sucking it, swirling my tongue over the underside of his shaft. He
leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink as I pleasured him
with my mouth.
Only he wasn't getting hard. He'd twitch a bit, his glans would swell,
but he never got more than half way there. I licked and sucked him as
best as I could, but it just wasn't happening. I pulled his penis from
my mouth and gently squeezed it, to no effect.
"What's wrong?" Father Ken asked.
"You're not...it's not getting hard," I said.
"You must be doing it wrong," he replied, a coldness creeping into his
voice.
"Maybe if you close your eyes and think of Megan," I blurted out,
instantly regretting that I had said this.
Father Ken froze in mid-sip, his face turning red, burning with rage.
His eyes narrowed, he slammed down his drink, and rearing his arm back,
he slapped me hard, right across my cheek. I fell back on the carpet,
landing on my ass, tasting blood where his ring had hit my lip.
"Harlot!" he shouted. It was a word I knew from the Bible, but I'd
never heard anyone use it. Father Ken stood up from his chair, and I
began to back away, crab-crawling backwards, but he reached down and
grabbed my ankle, kneeling between my legs, his cock now hard and as red
as his face.
"Father...no...please..." This only served to stoke his anger. He let
go of one of my legs and unbuckled his trousers, pushing them down
before grabbing me again. I tried to kick back, to struggle, but he was
too big, too strong, too angry. He grabbed my thighs in the same spot
as Father Steve had done and thrust himself inside me, covering me with
his body so I couldn't crawl away. I closed my eyes and tried to be
somewhere else as he stabbed me with his cock, I thought about Megan,
about Manny and Billy, I tried to imagine the boys taking on Father Ken
with knife and baton. From somewhere deep inside me, a prayer I'd heard
at the cathedral, and at the church in Florida during my mother's
funeral, drifted into my consciousness...
"Hail, Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee..."
Father Ken kept slamming into me, forcefully, spitefully, punishing me
with his penis, punishing my impertinence, my disrespect. He moved a
hand from my thigh to my breast, squeezing it until I began to cry out,
tears running down my face.
"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb..."
I kept pushing back at him, grabbing two fistfuls of his chest hair,
hoping to return some of the pain. Father Ken just grunted and swatted
my hands away. I could feel hairs that I'd ripped out on my fingers,
sticky with sweat.
"O virgin Saint Mary, O Mother of God..."
Father Ken let go of my thighs and held my wrists, laying his body on me
and thrusting even faster. I was already sore down there from Father
Steve, and it was getting worse. I tried to clench myself around his
shaft, hoping to make him come and get it over with, but it hurt too
much.
"...now and at all times, and at the hour of our death."
I stopped struggling. I was spent. It was no use fighting him, it was
just too much. I turned my head and closed my eyes, feeling the tears
rolling down my face. Father Ken accepted my surrender, and I felt him
twitch inside me, his glans flaring as he poured his cum into me, adding
to the mess that was already there. I wondered if my diaphragm was
still set in place, thinking that I'd slit my wrists rather than carry
this man's baby in my womb.
He let go of my wrists and got up off of me, pulling his softening cock
out quickly, not wanting to linger inside me. He pulled up his trousers
and returned to his chair, sweeping my clothes off of his desk with the
back of his hand, the same hand he'd slapped me with.
"Go," he said, pouring another drink. I grabbed my clothes and dressed
quickly, my back to him, unwilling to look him in the eye. Without a
word, I left, so sore that I was barely able to walk. I couldn't even
make it up the stairs to the top floor. I had to sit and rest half way,
until the throbbing subsided. My cheek hurt as well, and my lip was
swollen. I sat in the bathroom on the second floor, the one I'd barged
into while Billy was in the bath, holding my thighs together, my head in
my hands.
I wept.
* * *
The pain subsided enough for me to make it the rest of the way, back to
my room, to Megan, to the boys, to the last Dilaudid in the little
orange vial. Manny and Billy looked up as I walked into the room, a
look of horror turning to anger on their faces when they saw my split
lip.
"Annie? What the fuck?" Manny asked, the collapsible baton stuck in his
waistband. He and Billy helped me into bed, and I laid down next to
Megan, who looked even more frightened than she did that first night.
"Could you get me a cold washcloth, please," I said, my swollen lip
making it hard to speak. Billy immediately went across the hall and
came back with a damp washrag. I held it on my lip.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said.
"Who did this to you?" Manny asked. "Father Steve? Father Ken?"
I nodded at the last name, and his expression darkened, his eyes
narrowed with rage. Manny pulled the baton from the waistband of his
pants, flicking it with his wrist so it extended to its full length.
His hand was shaking with barely repressed anger, making the ball end of
the baton quiver.
"I'll kill him," he said, in a quiet, measured tone, just the barest
edge of ire in his voice.
"No, he's pissed right now. He'll kill you," I said. "Manny. Don't.
Please."
Manny tightened his grip on the baton and then he relaxed, taking a deep
breath. Billy was all wound up as well, the folding knife in his hand.
Maybe they both could have taken on Father Ken, but who knew what he had
in his desk? A knife? A gun? Even if it was a fair fight, there would
be hell to pay later. No doubt the police would get involved.
I thought about going to the cops myself, but something Manny had said
stuck in my mind: "They just fuck everything up." I'd be sent back to
Maine for sure, back to the foster home, back to Mr. Hubbard, though
after what I'd just been through that didn't sound so awful.
I sat up and reached for the vial of pills, washing down my last
Dilaudid with a sip of Billy's soda.
"I'm gonna get some ice for your lip," he said. "Should I get Sister
Bernice?"
"No, dude," Manny said. "She can't help."
"Why not?" Billy asked.
"You don't think she's blind to what goes on here?" I said.
"She knows," Manny agreed. "She won't do shit." Billy nodded and went
down to the kitchen, returning with a handful of ice cubes in a
dishtowel, twisted into a compress. I put down the cold washcloth and
held the ice to my lip. The pain began to fade, lip, cheek, breasts,
wrists, thighs, and cunny, as the painkiller took effect. Laying back
on the bed, I put my arm around Megan, who snuggled up against me, tears
in her eyes. She was frightened, scared for me, scared to see me like
this. I promised to protect her and now I felt like I couldn't even
protect myself.
"Help me up," I said, "I've got to take a shower or something." Manny
came over and supported my back as I sat up and swung my legs over the
side of the bed. I probably could have made it into the bathroom under
my own power, but Manny held me up, putting my arm around his neck as
Billy got the door. Megan followed us across the hall to the bathroom,
and as Manny set me down to sit on the toilet seat, Billy wiggled the
faucets, filling the bathtub with warm water.
I had to pee, badly. Megan helped me unzip my skirt and pull it down,
even helping with my panties. They were a mess, the crotch soaked with
semen. As I sat down on the toilet again, she helped me step out of
them, her eyes on the greyish fluid that pooled inside them. I emptied
my bladder, unselfconsciously, wincing at the pain I felt, pain that
penetrated the Dilaudid haze. When I was done, I wiped myself
carefully, lightly. Manny helped me take off my sweater and bra, and
guided me into the bath. I sat down slowly.
Bruises had already begun to form on my thighs, my breasts, my knees.
Without even looking, I knew my ass and tailbone were probably just as
bad, bluish circles with a sickly yellow tint. Megan was right there
with the soap and the washcloth, and she gently washed me, just as I had
done for her.
"Angel," I whispered, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She still had a
frightened look on her face, but now she had a task, a purpose,
something to take her mind off of her fears. Billy helped as well,
lightly scrubbing my back with a soapy washcloth; Manny just stood by
the tub, staring at my bruises, his anger rising and falling like the
tide.
Megan and Billy rinsed me off and, as Manny helped me emerge from the
tub, they carefully dried me off, avoiding all of the bruised places on
my body. Megan ran back to my room to get my kimono, and Manny wrapped
me in it before he helped me back to my room.
"Thank you," I said, sitting down on the bed.
"Anything for you, Annie," he whispered. I tilted my head and he kissed
me, gingerly, touching his lips to mine, kissing the part that wasn't
swollen. I had avoided looking in the mirror when we were in the
bathroom, afraid of what I would see. Megan and Billy came in, carrying
my clothes, which she carefully folded and placed on my dresser.
"Do you want us to stay tonight?" Manny asked.
"No, but thanks. We'll be okay," I said.
"I'll watch her," Megan said, trying to sound as grown-up as she could.
I smiled at her, even though it hurt to do so. My angel.
"Take care of her for us," Manny said, reaching out and playfully
pinching her button nose with his fingers. Megan laughed and swatted at
his hand. Even Billy smiled. I hugged her, kissed the top of her head
as she put her arms around me.
We smoked a last joint before they left, not even bothering to stuff a
wet towel under the door. Let Father Ken bust us. We didn't care. The
boys would have loved to have a chance to take him on. After they went
back to their rooms, Megan helped me push the dresser against the door
and we climbed into bed. She pulled her dress over her head and slipped
under the blanket next to me, putting her arm around me and resting her
head on my shoulder.
"Megan, honey?" I whispered after I turned out the light.
"Annie?"
"I want you to promise me something, angel."
"Okay."
"Listen, this is important, okay?"
"Okay," she said.
"If Father Ken or anyone else touches you again, I want you to scream.
Scream as loud as you can, bite, kick, punch, whatever. But scream,
okay?"
"Scream," she said. "I will. I promise."
"I know you will, baby." I kissed her and closed my eyes, listening to
the sound of her breathing slow as she fell asleep. I wondered what she
dreamed about. She must have had a family at some point, a mother at
least, maybe brothers and sisters, too. I wondered how she ended up
here, what horrible things she might have seen, what abuse she was
subjected to. For the millionth time in the last couple of months I
wished Julia were still alive. She'd help us, she'd know what to do.
Maybe she was watching over us, from heaven, like a guardian angel. I
wished I was in her arms again.
"I love you, angel," I whispered, right before I joined Megan in
Dreamland.
* * *
(c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html