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From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Exile - Chapter Eight - Just a Girl (Ff mmf Mf teen oral anal drugs viol)
Date: Fri,  7 Feb 2003 22:10:03 -0500
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Exile
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.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-mirror.org
site: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.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 things 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.

"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-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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