Freshmen

I took only a dollar from her. I wasn't particularly interested, but still I played along, because I was bored. She was just a punk. A freshman. Her hair dyed in blue and pink. A tattoo hidden on her inner thigh, of a glittering sun that never saw the true light, with all the tongues of fire heating the warmth of her pussy. I was cold, though, when I played with her.

I didn't know why she chose me. Why she chose to curse that morning of mine. Why she would burden me the depths of her despair. But she really got my attention only late in the night, while in the middle of our doggy-fuck, she asked:

"What do you say to the idea of divided love?"

"Spiritual love from the waist up," I replied, "but physical love from the waist down." 

"Yes, can you ever love two, or three, or a dozen?" she mumbled while I continued fucking her from behind. Then smiling and nodding to herself, she declared, "I loved all the men I've slept with. I really do. But I only love Him now."

Her necklace of a cross jiggled as her full white breasts jiggled as my snake jiggled violently inside of her.

I didn't know why, but I let her sleep over in my room. And she woke up screaming from a dream, "Wake up! Wake up my baby!"

She shook and she shook me hard, even when I shouted I was awake.

She showed me her hands full of blood and she smeared them all over my bed. She cried and she wailed, and she said:

"Stop a baby's breath."

And she said:

"Stop a baby's breath."

And she said:

"Please stop my breath."

The morning sun rose in red and gold, and all its rays could not warm my heart as I stared at her body. Her eyes were open and looking out the window. Her mouth was open. But she said nothing.