My Second Piece of Ass Ch. 05

"Laura, tell me what happened." I pleaded with her. My eyes were filled with tears. I wanted to touch her, to comfort her but she wouldn't let me near her.

"Her name was Karen, she had a drug problem. I didn't know..."

I left the room. It was 10 a.m. on Sunday morning, the 28th. We would have Monday together. I knew she would want to go back to work on Tuesday, the 30th. Our time together was so short and I had ruined it. But I had to know who had done this to her. Someone, I decided, had put a cigarette out on her butt. Never in my life had I felt sadder. Never in my life had I felt such rage.

She wouldn't eat. I was not very hungry either. I went for a walk and bought a newspaper and ice cream. When I stepped back into the house Laura was in the kitchen, wearing the kimono. She let me dry her hair.

She wanted to be held but when I tried to kiss her she pulled away, saying "whores don't kiss, we just fuck." I held her there in the kitchen for a long time. Later, I brushed her hair. She smiled, "that's nice," she said.

We had some ice cream and went back to the bed room. The sheets were damp from where she had lain on the bed. She stripped me of my clothes and had me lay face down on the damp sheets. She rubbed my arms and my back and my legs, humming softly. I was almost asleep when she whacked me on the butt, signaling for me to turn over.

She had removed the kimono. She lay on top of me, her cheek next to mine, her tits flat against my chest.

"I was being a whore," she began. "This morning when I said I would do anything for you I was being a whore. You'll take me to work on Tuesday morning before you leave. Forget what I said. I was being a whore, telling you to tell me what I should do. I was saying those things to give you reason to come back to me. Forget those things, please don't remember me being a whore."

"You were not being a whore. Those things you said were all true. You said them from the heart," I said, holding her small body to me, feeling her tears on my cheek.

She kissed me and we made love, gently.

I suggested we go someplace for dinner but she wouldn't hear of it, saying we had to eat the perishables I had bought or throw them out as she didn't want them to spoil in the refrigerator. I cooked and got her to eat but not enough to put on any weight.

We laid together on the bed and talked. I answered her questions about my childhood but when I wanted to know about her life as a child she turned sullen, saying only that, as far as her family was concerned, she no longer existed. She as much as told me that was the reason she had made me co-owner of her bank accounts. She trusted no one else.

She read passages to me from Romeo and Juliet and from Macbeth, pausing to smile and place her hand on my cheek to empathize a her favorite lines. We made love and she slept peacefully most of the night.

She wouldn't let me see the scar. She rejected my advances when I tried to place her in a doggy style position. She began to wear the white cotton panties under the kimono.

Monday went much the same. Knowing it was our last day together we clung to one another. I watched her closely when she read from the book, looking for a sign that she was trying to tell me something, that the passages she chose had a deeper meaning. When she removed the kimono, the cotton panties were missing. We made love.

Before we went to sleep, we fucked, abandoning sweetness and light, making gut wrenching, slapping, sounds. We changed positions, we rolled from one end of the bed to the other, growling, laughing and generally having a good time, trying our best to make it a memorable fuck. She wore the panties in the shower.

Laura spent a fitful night. At one point she kicked me so hard I fell out of the bed. She reached for me and awoke when she discovered I was on the floor. I was picking myself up when I felt her land on top of me. "I'm so sorry, are you all right?" We remained that way, on the wooden floor, her on top of me, for what seemed like hours.

She made me stop at the end of the street, saying she would walk the rest of the way. With a final kiss, I watched her walk toward the large house, which I vaguely recalled as being the brothel where we had met nearly two years before. She wore the same loose fitting shorts and top with white sneakers. She didn't look back until she got to the door. Even with the dark shades covering her eyes, I could tell that she was crying. I was crying too.

I stripped the bed and cleaned out the refrigerator. Looking around, I gave the house one final check, wondering if I would ever see it again. I replaced the key on the rose trellis and drove away.

The first time I had to stop for gas I found a note in my wallet. "In case you need money," the note said. The note was attached to one of the temporary checks the bank had supplied.

"That girl from Arizona called," my mother told me one morning after I had been out late the night before. "Laura, is that her name? She seems nice, she was happy to hear that you made the trip without any trouble. She wanted to know if you were having a good time. I told her you were, was that all right? She won't keep calling, will she?"

The following week we talked for 15 minutes. "Am I being a whore? Calling you like this?" I told her not to be silly, to please call again. "Randy," she said before ending the call, "Karen was my sister, the folks blamed me for not taking better care of her."

Laura was melancholy the last time she called. "It was a weekend date, I was being a whore, I did it for the money. He wanted my back door. I told him no, that it was special. He got mad but I didn't give it to him Randy, I didn't. He was drunk and..."

"Who was it?" I screamed. "Who is it?"

"I deserved it Randy, I was being a whore and I didn't give him what he wanted," her voice was breaking.

"I'm going to take you to see a doctor."

She didn't say anything.

"Laura, did you hear me? I'm going to take you to see a doctor."

"You are my R & R," she murmured. I could tell that she was shedding tears, tears of joy.

The first thing I noticed when I let myself in the back door was the telephone on kitchen wall.

{to be continued. Chapter 6, Randy comes home again.}