8 Mile

"No ma'am I'm really not," I said. "I'm probably worse than you thought I was at first, much worse. If you want... I mean I know that you're worried about the cops and those guys you said were following you. My uhm... Escape has four wheel drive. I could drive you somewhere that you felt safe ..."

"That's too nice of you. I mean for an axe murdering perverted Pirate," she smiled. "I... Uhm ..."

I looked at her. I knew she wanted to ask me something. I also knew it was going to be hard for her to do. I remembered then that of all the homeless people I ran into, she had never actually asked for money. Perhaps that was why I always gave it to her. Whatever she was about to ask would hurt her.

"I don't suppose there's any way that I could stay here...just for tonight...?" her voice trailed off as she asked.

"You're going to hate me," I said.

"Oh no," she said cheerfully. "You fed me. Gave me money twice in one day, you let me have a shower and wash my hair; you even washed and dried my clothes. I could never hate you. I understand. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't let a stranger spend the night in my house either. For all you know I could be the axe murderer that you think you are."

"There IS a way," I said quietly. Her eyes looked up.

"You want me to sleep in the garage or in the car so you'd be safe from me, right?" she asked with hope in her eyes. "I'd be happy to do th..."

"I'd want you to sleep with me," I said.

"Oh!" she said suddenly.

"Look, I'm sorry I said it," I told her. "But ever since I walked in on you, I've been thinking about it."

"I couldn't do that," she said. "I'm homeless. By next week, I'll probably stink again. But I'm not a whore. Here's your money back."

"Keep the money," I spat. "The money was a gift. It had nothing to do with... With what I just offered. I'm sorry I proposed it. It's... I was out of line. You're the first woman I've been attracted to since my wi... In a long time."

For a moment, that seemed like hours, neither if us said anything.

"Forgive me for that," I said. "My offer to drive you someplace still stands."

"Could you... " she began. "Could we go into Detroit?"

"Of course," I said. "The people in this city hate the homeless. You're not in style anymore."

I grabbed a jacket out of the closet and noticed the heavy parka that I never wore. I grabbed that as well and handed it to her.

"Wha... I... " she sputtered.

"You need it more than I do," I said. She looked at me as if she just couldn't figure me out. I opened the door and pushed my way out of the screen door. The snow had piled up over the bottom of the door.

"Stay here," I ordered. I fought my way through the snow, creating a set of footsteps that I could use to get through the above the ankle deep snow. It was still coming down heavily, and the wind was blowing in a swirling pattern. I started the heat in the car, cursing myself for not having a remote starter installed.

I went back to the porch trying to stay in the footsteps I had made in the first trip.

I opened the door and picked her up. She weighed next to nothing. She looked at me but didn't say anything. She was really hard to read.

Halfway to the car, she tapped me on the shoulder. She pointed back to the house. I turned around and went back. I put her down on the porch and looked at her.

"Did you forget something?" I asked.

"I'll do it," she said. "If you let me stay until morning, you can fuck me."

I was shocked. Truthfully, I didn't want to send her out in that storm either. But I'd been kind of embarrassed and angry about her refusing me. I guess I'd thought that she'd have jumped at the chance to be with me.

But maybe it was just me projecting my lust onto her.

"But you have to let me stay the whole night," she said. "You just don't get to kick me out if it isn't good or not what you expected. I'm not a professional. And except for those guys who raped me, I haven't done it in a very long time."

She looked at me then, and I felt like the world's biggest, most heartless, asshole. There were two long lines of tears running down her face, and her every word sounded as if it was chiseled from her very soul.

"I don't want to anymore," I said.

"Yeah, you do," she said with tears still running down her cheeks. I went back out in the snow to turn my car off.

As I fought my way out through the snow and wind and then back inside the warm refuge of my house, I was locked in a battle of conflicting emotions and sentiments.

On one hand, I wanted sex and badly; it had been a long time. It was strange because everything was out of whack. There were all kinds of women, both in my neighborhood and at work, who had been flirting with me and making not so subtle hints, for more than a year.

There was a woman right across the street from me, she was a friend of Sharon's who hadn't even waited a month after her FRIEND had left before letting me know she was available.

She was built like Sharon too, a tall slightly thick woman with giant boobs. She started asking me to come over to help her fix things and always ended up showing me a lot of cleavage.

So why was my dick so hard from looking at a short thin woman with boobs on the average to small side?

I don't know why, but I felt like she owed it to me. I knew it was wrong to think that way, but I did.

On the other hand, she already altered my thinking. She had become a person to me and as much as I hated women, I kind of liked having her around. There was absolutely no way I was going to send her back out in this weather, no matter what.

I went back inside of the house, ready to figure out some way of letting her stay without seeming to be a wimp.

My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I opened the door. She was standing there naked and looking everywhere but at me.

Without a word, I scooped her up in my arms and ran up the stairs with her. I dropped her on my bed and stripped off my clothes.

"Promise me that I can stay until morning," she said as I tugged my pants down.

"I promise you not only that, but that I'll take you wherever you want to go," I said. "I'll even take you to more than one place so you can find a place where you feel comfortable."

"Alright," she said, her voice was resigned to what was about to happen. There was no joy in her voice. There were no signs of arousal or even curiosity. This was a case where she was letting me have what I wanted so badly so she could have safety for a night. I should have felt bad about it, but I didn't.

She looked as if she was about to give up her life to save her child. I laughed at that, and her mouth tightened even more.

"Roll over on your stomach," I said with lust filling my voice. I grabbed a bottle of lotion from my dresser, and her eyes got huge.

"Not back there," she said in a frightened voice. "Can't we do it the regular way?"

"I..." was all that I was able to say before she cut me off.

"Okay, please try not to hurt me," she said sadly. She rolled over onto her stomach. I sat down on the bed next to her and opened the lotion.

"Back in a second," I said.

"I can hardly wait," she said sarcastically.

I went to the kitchen and microwaved the bottle for a few seconds. When I returned to the bedroom, she was just as I'd left her. I looked at her skin. It was very pale, and she had freckles in interesting places. I took the top off of the bottle and poured some of the warm lotion into my hands. I gently began rubbing the warm lotion into the skin of her neck and shoulders.

She let out a huge sigh and all the muscles in her back rippled involuntarily. I continued gently to rub. My hands traced her spine moving outwards along her shoulders and flanks.

Her feet wiggled, and her breathing was elevated. My hands circled her narrow waist. I moved lower and stroked the amazingly soft globes of her ass.

As I moved lower all of the tension oozed out of her, and she relaxed. I went down her long legs, taking my time. I lotioned every square inch of skin. By the time I reached her feet, she was barely able to remain still. I caressed each toe and rolled her, over so she was lying on her back. I worked my way up the front of her legs.

Her thick forest of red pubic hair was a surprise. I rubbed lotion there too. I gently outlined her labia, avoiding her clit. I moved past it and up to her tummy. Her abdominal area sank inwards outlining taut muscles.

I kissed her tummy, and she gasped. I was sure I smelled a hint of her feminine perfume. I continued to move upwards until I encountered the swellings of her breasts.

I gently stroked them, staying away from her nipples. The tension on her face was gone, replaced with curiosity. As I had worked my way up her body, I had covered it with mine.

I was on top of her. Every sense I had was inflamed. I very slowly moved my hand back to her nether regions. I traced a line directly for that mound of wild hair.

When my fingers reached that bushy thicket, they found it damp. I stroked it with a finger and felt how sopping wet the rubbery lips had become.

I gently pushed the tip of my finger into her vestibule and realized that we had a problem. The inside of her was the warmest thing I had ever felt.

"Just do it, already," she said between clenched teeth.

I got the idea that although she wasn't fully onboard for what was about to happen, she was resigned to it and thought that the reward was worth the unpleasantness of the experience.

So as gently as I could I tried to ease my way in. I felt as giddy as a schoolboy. It was the warmest, tightest pussy I had ever been in. I gasped out in pure pleasure from the sensory overload.

At first, it was like forcing a hotdog into a jar of honey. It was tight, sweet, and sticky. My wife had never felt like that. As I continued and we sped up, it got easier, but it still felt as good. I believe she was just producing more lubricating fluids.

I was moaning and fucking her harder. Every time the base of my dick nudged against her pelvis, it was like an explosion of nerve endings. It was the best sex I had ever had until I looked down and noticed that she was only panting from the pressure of my body slamming into hers.

She was biting her lip as if she was in pain. I stopped immediately, but it was too late. I came with so much force that it felt like a fire hose let go in a balloon. She clearly felt it, and her face tightened even more.

As I removed my dick, a trail of sperm oozed out of her. She just stared at me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I lost control. It felt sooo good. And I... I thought you were enjoying it too."

She just continued to stare at me. It felt like forever before she said anything. She wiped her tears and looked at me.

"You really thought that I was enjoying being raped?" she asked. Her voice wasn't angry. Again, she just sounded resigned to her fate.

"Am I going to sleep here?" she asked.

"If you want," I said. "I'm really sorry. It's been a long time for me ... And you're so pretty and ..."

"So if I was ugly you wouldn't have raped me?" she asked.

"I didn't think about it like that," I said. "I thought we had an agreement. I thought it was just a deal between two consenting adults. I thought that you had something that I wanted, and I gave you something you wanted in exchange."

"Yeah, okay, keep thinking about it that way," she said. "Goodnight."

* * * * * *

Betty

I awoke twice. The first time I awoke, I noticed that during the night, he and I had moved closer to each other in the huge soft bed. I say both because we were in the center of the bed, and he had one of his arms around me.

There are several ways to wrap an arm around someone. One is to hold onto their arm to make sure they don't get up or leave without your knowledge. That's usually the way you do it if you don't trust the person and want to make sure they don't attack you, sneak away, or damage or steal anything.

Another way is simply to hold onto a body part. Like holding onto a woman's ass or breast to show that you own her either as a lover or as a whore you've rented for more than a night.

The way he did it was different. He wrapped his arms completely around me. He held me against his body protectively. It was like I was precious to him.

He was warm and he smelled good. I felt like shit. I wondered how I had managed to fuck my life up so badly.

That was easy. Men and their lies.

I had fallen for their shit twice and where had it gotten me? I'm a forty-eight-year-old homeless woman with nothing but the clothes on her back. I have a son out there somewhere that I haven't seen in five years. He was probably just like his father, another good-for-nothing liar.

This time I'd be the one giving out the shit. This guy felt different. But you can never tell. He was soft though. I almost felt bad about the way the previous night had been.

It had been a con game from the beginning. When he had burst into the bathroom and saw me naked, I knew I had something.

I know what I look like. There are a lot of guys who don't like redheads. The pale skin, the freckles, the inability to tan are all big turn-offs for them. Come on, the all American dream girl is a, tan, blue eyed blond with large breasts. I have none of these qualities.

But there are some men who are turned on by redheads. And when I looked into his eyes the previous night. I saw that he may not be a redhead lover, but he was turned on by me.

As gruff as he was, he was really nice. He washed my clothes. He fed me. He even gave me a safe place to sleep for a while. When he brought me that blanket and pillow, I almost cried.

I figured that with a very full belly for the first time in ages, plus the warmth and a couple of hours of good sleep in a safe place, I could survive the night.

I watched him from under the blanket. He was a handsome man. He was kind and he clearly liked me. I began to wonder what I could do to extend my stay. I decided that I would offer to sleep with him in exchange for a place to stay the night out of that hellish storm.

I'm not a whore. But I've had as much sex as the average woman. For the most part, I can take it or leave it. I've been with two men during my lifetime. I had a child with the first one. I'm nowhere near a virgin, but except for the real rape a few weeks ago, I haven't had sex in nearly four years.

My plan was to leave stay outside for as long as I could and then come back, knock on his door and make my, pussy for a night inside, offer.

Of course, he derailed my plan. First off, he stuck more money than I'd had at one time in years in the pocket of my worn-out jeans. Then he offered to drive me to someplace safe. And not only someplace safe but somewhere that I was safe and comfortable.

Maybe I should have just been honest and told him the truth. I felt safe and comfortable where I was.

The worst part of course, even worse than pretending that I was somehow insulted by him asking me to do what I was trying to come up with a way to offer him, was the sex.

I have never had anything like it. The man had played me like a fucking piano. He was so loving and so caring. He massaged me and made love to every inch of my body. He had me on fire.

My plan had been to pretend that I didn't like it, but I was ready to start begging him to fuck me. So, in character, I told him to do it, already. It was perfect. It was all I could do not to start thrusting my pussy back at him.

I had the best feeling ever. I wanted to let it all hang out. I wanted to scream to high heaven when I came, but I hid it behind a mask of indifference.

It felt so good that I didn't care when he came inside of me. I just used that extremely hurt face. And of course it worked on him. A healthy dose of guilt is a good thing for a man to have.

So when I woke up that first time and felt his arm around me, real tears rolled down my cheek. I knew that he was the kind of man who looked beyond a person's situation and saw the person. I wanted him to see ME. But my lies and my games had probably ruined that.

I pulled his arm even tighter around me and drifted back to sleep to enjoy whatever time I had left with him.

The second time I awoke, I was alone. I smelled food cooking. It was funny; I could sometimes go for days, eating only once a day, but after less than a day with this guy, and I was always hungry.

I went down the stairs, with a new mindset. I didn't bother getting dressed. I wanted to see how he'd react. He surprised me.

"Your robe is hanging on the edge of the bed," he said. "And your clothes are on the sofa where you left them. Come sit down and have breakfast with me. I need to make another deal with you."

Inside I was happy. I figured maybe I'd get more time out of it. He'd made eggs, bacon, and waffles. I loaded all of them on my plate.

As I sat down, he looked away from me. He was trying not to look at my body, but he also couldn't look into my eyes.

"I know that after last night, you have no reason to trust me," he said. "I also know that I promised you a ride to wherever you wanted to go first thing in the morning, but I'm gonna have to wait a while before I take you. There's a lot of snow out there, and I have to help my neighbors get their cars out."

"Okay," I said.

"The city plows the streets but not our driveways, so we have to..." He began. "Did you say okay?" I nodded.

"Thanks," he said. There was so much warmth in his voice. And he was only thanking ME for letting HIM go out and help other people. It was so strange. He seemed to dislike people, but he'd go out of his way to help them at the drop of a hat.

"You can relax or watch TV until I get done," he said. Then he threw on a jacket and heavy gloves, and headed out the door. I leaned back in my chair and noticed that the robe I was wearing smelled like him.

I picked up my plate to put it in the sink as he'd done. There were a lot of dishes in the sink. I noticed then that he had two or three different sets of dishes and glasses.

He also had what appeared to be a functional dishwasher. So I opened the dishwasher and laughed so hard that I fell on my ass. The dishwasher was full of dishes too.

My image of him as the perfect man had dimmed a little bit. When I'd noticed before that he had so many dishes, I'd thought that maybe he entertained a lot. Or maybe he had that damn decorating and fashion gene that a lot of gay men had. I knew he wasn't gay after what he'd done to me the night before, but straight men could enjoy decorating too.

But none of those things was true. He was a typical guy. He probably just went through dishes until he ran out of them. Then he'd wash them. Or... He'd just buy more dishes, hence the number of different sets of dishes.

He probably thought they were all the same too. Seeing that flaw in his perfection only made me like him even more.

The dishwasher was over-stuffed. The dishes wouldn't get clean if I ran it like that. So I took some of them out and found the dishwasher tabs under the sink. I started a load and cleared the ones from the sink. It seemed like a mountain of dishes.

He had a double sink. I loved it. I found his dishwashing liquid and filled one side of the sink with hot soapy water. I used the other side for rinsing. I made a mental note that he needed a dish rack for drying his dishes.

As I scrubbed his dishes, I noticed a woman in the next house over doing apparently the same thing. She was older than I was, perhaps sixty or so.

The windows if the two houses lined up so we could see each other. She smiled and waved, and I did the same. A feeling of immense pleasure went through me. I imagined what it would be like to stay in that house for a while.