I Count His Dollars

Kindra M. Austin

Another drink! Gin and tonic, don’t mind if I do. And yes, I’ll have a hit of that shit, too. Or three. It helps to ease the pain. See, I like it best when I am numb. He likes it best when I am dumb–pliable. All of his women are manageable. I’m his favorite one.

A menthol ciggie is placed between my booze wet lips, tickled by his rough, yellow fingertips. Now a match ignites. I lean toward the flame and drag a kiss–I hear the red hiss, and loll in my chair. Translucent blue tendrils envelope my head and cling to my hair. I blow smoke rings as he begins things; so eager he is tonight. I was hoping to be number and dumber. Because I don’t want to remember.

He tugs at my panties; I lift my ass, straighten my back, and let him pull the dirty white…

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