Carol Ch. 13


My phone rang the next morning, insistent, waking me up.

I put it to my ear and said, "Hello?"

When I heard her voice, the whole of last night flooded into my mind. I felt a wave of conflicting emotions, all hitting me at once. Pride at knowing her. Lust, at how wanton she was. Shame, at what I'd put her through. I also felt very tender, like I just wanted to hold her close. The tenderness surprised me most -- I never felt satiated when it came to Carol, and yet, here I was, just looking for someone to snuggle and call my own.

She said, "Hi. It's me. The not-slut."

"How do you feel?"

"Like everything was a dream. Did we really do all that?"


"Fuck," she sighed. "I'm so hung over."

I listened as she started to cry.

"What happened after we parted ways?" I asked.

"After you kicked me out of the cab?" she asked.

"I didn't kick you out."

"I know. I'm sorry. You want to hear what happened. Don't you?"

I said, "You know I do."

"Well, you can come down to the Police station and bail me out."

I got the information from her, got dressed quickly, and caught a cab.

If I'd felt guilt and shame before, I felt more guilty after dealing with the bureaucracy. There is nothing so unfriendly and bleak as trying to figure out the legal system. After questioning uncommunicative policemen behind desks, getting sent to different floors, and filling out some paperwork, I was shown to a waiting room.

Carol was eventually led out. The cop who brought her had his hand on her neck, and he was walking her ahead of him with a straight arm. It was a perp-walk sort of thing -- but also his head was sideways and he was watching her ass as she walked in front of him.

She saw me, and gave a little cry and rushed up to me. They'd given her a little t-shirt, and nothing else. I'd expected a jump-suit at least. She plastered herself against me, hugging me tight, and she felt warm and boneless in my grasp.

"You the boyfriend?" the cop asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I sort of lost track of her last night."

"Found her wandering naked in the streets around Washington Square Park. Nothing on. What we gather, someone slipped her a mickey in a drink."

"Holy shit," I said. "A mickey! And she was naked? She must've had quite a crowd."

The cop stared at me, as if I'd said something wrong. "There was a disturbance, you might say. I won't go into detail, but she'll be tender for a few days. They're not going to press charges on her, since it wasn't her fault. We see this a lot, you know. You should really pay close attention to who she talks to, in bars. You're both too young to be in bars, anyway."

"We'll play it safe from now on, officer," I promised. A date-rape drug, I was thinking, the perfect excuse! And then: Might it have happened? What else could explain her sudden change in behavior?

He stepped back, eyeing her from a better vantage point. With her arms around my neck, she was on the tippy-toes of her bare feet. I guessed her ass was exposed.

He said, "Did you bring a change of clothes for her? She can't keep that shirt."

I hadn't. It actually hadn't occurred to me.

I extricated myself from her embrace and stepped back. She stood there between us, her face down. She had one foot covering the other, her knees pressed against each other. She was the picture of delicious humiliation. I was half turned on, half angry. There were three or four other people in the lounge, waiting, and their eyes were on her. She was immensely interesting, compared to the dull, unadorned walls and institutional setting.

"Give him back his t-shirt."

"Hey, um," the cop stepped back, raising his hands.

In one swift movement, Carol pulled the shirt over her head. As it slid up, her back arched, and her legs spread for balance. It was a natural and unselfconscious movement, but she was completely bare under the shirt. Her as was curved, her waist was slender and rippling with muscles. Her ribs each had their own shadow in the overhead light. Her breasts were large and heavy, and rolled as she held the t-shirt out backwards to the cop. Her stomach was completely without fat. The muscles formed a small, firm V down to the folds of her crotch, from which her little pink clit protruded.

It was like I was seeing her for the first time, all over again, in the antiseptic lighting. I thought again how she went without underwear under her dresses. That highly detailed sex between her legs, full of folds and delicate curves like a nautilus, was always just a few inches of fabric away from the world. But seeing it there, in the stark lights, with the other people in the lounge leaning forward to look at her -- it was like it was all new.

"Miss, you can't do that," said the cop lamely, as he took the t-shirt.

She was covered in hickies and some scrapes. I ogled for a moment, before remembering myself.

I unzipped my parka and held it out to her.

The drawstring at the bottom was pulled tight, and it hung to just below her ass. If she'd wanted, she could have released the drawstring and gotten a few more inches of modesty. And also, she only zipped the zipper halfway up her chest. Though she seemed humbled and out of it, the fact that she didn't completely cover up made me think I knew what she was thinking.

"Oh, sorry about that," she mumbled, still looking at the floor. "I just didn't think it mattered. I mean, the whole fucking city's seen me. I guess this place feels like a doctor's office. They always make me take my clothes off at the doctor's, no matter what... he's a friend of the family. They leave the door open..."

Her voice was so humbled and forlorn that the cop let the matter drop. He said, "Give it some time, it will feel like it never happened."

"Too bad," she muttered, but he didn't catch it.

He said to me, "The detectives have her contact information, if they follow up with the instance. She didn't want to press charges."

"I'll bet it's pretty embarrassing," I explained.

"Mmmm," he said. He backed out of the room, still staring at her legs.

"Thanks for handling her so well," I called.

"You a prostitute?"

Carol and I both turned to the new voice. One of the men, sitting along the wall. He was casually dressed, perhaps forty.

Carol wasn't answering him. She was just staring into his eyes, awaiting anything that came next.

I let her wait for a moment, and then took her hand, and walked her out of the building. She was gentle, barely even willing to speak. She clung to me whenever she got the chance. When men stared, she accepted their stares placidly, as if waiting for something.

I led her into the street and signaled for a cab. She slid in first, the parka sliding up her hips. If she noticed the rapt attention of the driver, she didn't react.

She didn't fix her clothing once. She snuggled against me, and let me play with the zipper on the front while the cab navigated the ebb and flow of traffic. I lowered the zipper a few inches, giving myself (and the driver) something to look at.

"I made it to the park," she said sleepily, her eyes closed. "I was dancing in the middle where the fountain is. Nobody hurt me. But there were a lot of hands, and I remember a whole bunch of cameras."

"You're okay?"

"I'm okay. Will you get me breakfast, and then let me sleep? I'm so tired."


She nodded at the zipper in my hand. "If you want me to be naked, you can unzip that."

"I'm fine," I said.

She stirred again. "I don't care, if you want to unzip it."

"Just rest."

She was quiet, but only for a moment. "I think you ought to unzip it." She glanced pointedly at the back of the driver's head.

If only to quiet her down, I unzipped the parka all the way.

She waited until the next red light. The cab driver couldn't help himself, and turned his head to stare at her. For myself, I just adopted a kooky grin.

She gave him a small smile, and said, "There." And then she finally fell asleep.

She woke when I zipped her back up -- but just the bottom few inches, leaving the rest open. We paused by the deli outside my apartment. She didn't want to go in, she wanted to wait on the sidewalk.

I glanced at her through the window as the deli workers were preparing our order. She looked tasty -- the all but unzipped parka showing the curves of her chest, her legs looking firm and tan in the morning sun. Barefoot. People passed by, staring at her. She met their gazes with a soft, open-mouthed expression, as if they were all her lovers.

She was quite a sight, and even the cashier commented on her. "She yours?"

"Yeah," I said. "You could say that."

"Sort of looks like she's naked," he said.

"She is," I said. "She's just wearing the wind-breaker."

"Lucky man," he said. "These girls, huh? Bring her in sometime."

"I sure will," I said, and left.

* * * * *

In the apartment, my roommates were just getting up. I felt like I'd had a whole day already. They were as groggy as Carol as I led her past them. They were in a frozen pose around the coffee maker, as it gurgled coffee into the urn.

She mumbled, "If you want me to fuck them, I will."

"Later," I said.

We were in the hallway before they reacted. Saul called, "Did I just hear her say she'd fuck us?"

"She's drunk," I shouted back. "Let her rest."

I turned to find her walking to the window. She was on automatic pilot, going through all the motions. Pulling the curtains apart, she faced out the window and unzipped the parka. It slid off her shoulders, and she was again naked as the day she was born. I let my eyes slide over the vast expanse of flawless skin, the curves of her ass, the insides of her knees, the rippling ululation of her spine. (The bruises, the hickies. The phone number...?)

In the broad light, I saw that people had written stuff on her in different pens. A signature on her left breast. A phone number on her inner thigh. A gang sign on her ass. A Taxi Cab sticker on her shoulder. She'd given herself to the city, and it had covered her in graffiti. I liked it. A lot.

She opened the window, and let the cool early-fall air into the room.

Though I pulled out the breakfast, she stayed by the window, until -- "There," she said. It was the same tone of voice she'd had with the cab driver.

"Someone see you?" I asked.

"Yeah. Hi there, little guy. You're a midget to me, from up here!" She waved tiredly.

"Come over here," I said. "You're in a mood."

She turned like an automaton and came to the bed. She didn't notice that I'd left the door to the room open. If she was indeed a 'gift to the world,' then I could surely play along.

She sat indian-style, picking at the food. My horny roommates, more than once, passed by the door, staring in. She didn't notice them.

"Are you still mine?" I asked finally. I really wanted to know. Like her, I'd been operating on habit.

"Mmmm?" She chewed, meeting my eyes. "Yes, honey." Her voice was flat.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm just so tired," she said. Then she smirked. "My jaw hurts. From keeping it open so long? I feel like a big sponge full of cum. Like someone squeezed me out, and used me to mop up the floors of that theater we went to last night."

"Oh." Well, at least we were talking.

"Or," she added. "Like I was spread out on the floor, and I licked every square inch of that place."

"Uh-huh," I said.

"Do you even know what it's like to feel that dirty?"

"No," I said, honestly.

"I feel too dirty to even eat. Like my tongue is too dirty, and the food is getting ruined." She shrugged. "But I need my strength. You know why I need my strength?"


She looked me in the eye. "So we can do it again. After that experience last night, Tyler, nothing I can think of will make me that dirty again. In a few days, I'll probably be all clean. And we'll have to do it all over again."

"If you wish," I said, hesitantly.

"I'm like you wanted me from the start. A big gift to the world." She suddenly teared up again. By this time, I certainly wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. In the past, her tears had all be tears of happiness. She'd never been sad, and cried, in my presence. But after all that had happened, I couldn't be sure.

She continued, "I wasn't sure, but you were right all along. It's as if you've made dozens of girls like me. You went bang, bang, bang, and gave me hoops to jump through. And it was all so right. How did you know?"

"Are you still mine?" I asked again.

She touched her left breast, indicating her heart. "This is yours." She touched her forehead. "This is yours. But this -- " she slid her hand to her lips, then down to her breasts, then down to the split between her legs. She fingered herself, even as Saul passed the open door again. "My body is not mine to give anymore. Is that okay? Is it okay if it belongs to everybody, and not just you, and not just me?"

"Yes, that's okay," I said.

"That's what I figured out last night. In the cab, before I left you? I was wondering if my mind, my special self that loves you -- I was wondering if that spark could just be hidden from the world. If I could walk myself into the world like a robot, and sit in my secret place, and watch the world do whatever the world wanted to do to me." She leaned forward. "Did you jack off to me last night?"

"Yes," I said. If I couldn't contribute to her monologue, the least I could do was be honest. "I imagined I was giving you to strangers, for the stupidest of reasons. And you were fucking and sucking them all."

"Yes," she nodded. "That's it exactly. I feel, finally, like I can be your girlfriend."

I rocked back in shock.

"If you want me," she added meekly.

"Yes! I want you!" I blurted.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she said. "I just couldn't find my zone. I feel... I feel like I've been coming for the last twenty-four hours. I feel like I can't orgasm unless it's dirty. I feel like I want to stay dirty forever."

I just nodded at her. She was certainly in a strange mood. So defenseless, so honest with me I almost felt humbled. She had no barriers put up against me at all. Like I could obliterate her with a few nasty words -- not that I would or could. But she trusted me that much. She was sharing horrible, foundational secrets about herself -- but the secrets were about her surrender. About releasing herself. By completely letting go, she was entering into safety.

If she was cheap, how could she be cheapened?

I was exhaustingly, tidally relieved. She wasn't letting me go, or closing me out. She was bringing me closer. It made me feel like an insect, in a way. And jealous of her openness. What could I do, to feel just as close to her? Can a man even surrender that much? Is there a way? Is there a way for a man to be as large as an ocean, and as small as spark?

She had finished her breakfast, and was just watching me catch up to her.

I reached for her, and she came to me. I had my cock out -- unzipped my jeans, that was it, and she was straddling me, facing the door. I thought, 'fuck it,' and decided not to worry about my roommates. They'd get her soon enough as it was.

She looked down at me from above, and guided my hands to her breasts. I was completely dressed, and she was completely naked. This was the same skin she had walked into the Village last night, the same skin she had uncovered at the police station, and again in the cab. Not even a shower between the adventures of last night, and the naked vision above me then. She smelled fresh, somehow, despite all that.

She had my cock inside her snatch with one wet, muscular grab, and her vaginal muscles milked it tightly. She stared at my eyes, ignoring the footsteps in the hall. My sick roommates, pornoholics all of them, were probably clustered in the doorway behind my head, staring at her rocking on my torso. They were nice guys, but I knew enough not to trust them around any woman in the apartment. They would take what was offered, and then ask for seconds. It was their idea of being polite.

Carol paid them no attention. She rode my cock, rocking her hips, clutching my hands to her breasts. My tired, abused penis had no trouble staying hard. No trouble with anything. It was partly relief, partly sensory overload, but I came hugely. In my mind when I came, was the vision of Carol, detached from herself, throwing the dress into the cab and walking naked into the Village. Yeah, so sue me -- it was hot, in some ways.

When I was done gasping -- and Carol was drawing fluttery breaths as she came down from her own orgasm -- she pulled herself off my cock and knelt with her snatch above my chest.

She glanced at the doorway, and back down at me. I finally arched my head and looked back. The three of them were in the doorway, their mouths agape, all hairy and disheveled.

"Jeez," I moaned. They were so annoying. "Okay, fine!"

"Okay, fine, what?" came Saul's voice.

Carol was staring down at me. I met her eyes, and said, "Okay, fine, fuck her already. Just do me a favor, don't call her Carol anymore. You can call her 'Slut,' or 'Cock-tease.' If there's company, you can call her, 'C.T.'"

She gave a very slight smile, and then said to them, "That's my nickname."

The fools didn't know when they had a good thing. Saul asked, "Does she suck cock?"

"Does a bear poop in the woods?" I returned.

She shifted her weight, and crawled off me. Her breasts bobbed below her for a second, and then she was standing next to the bed. She still looked tired, but now slightly interested. She walked out of the bedroom, her fingers trailing along my arm until she was gone.

My roommates were cavorting around, getting the living room ready, by the sound of it. As I listened, a porno came alive on the VCR. It was strangely calming, listening to the activity out there.

Saul's voice came, "Let me get a finger in there. Oh, yeah. Guys, she is so wet."

"You know what I want to do?" Andy's voice rang out. "I want to put her up, spread-eagled at the window, and fuck her from behind. Yeah! Show the world we have our very own fuck-toy!"

"Will you do that?" asked Saul. "I know it's kind of cliche."

"Yes," came Carol's voice. "I'll do that. Give me all your cliches, I'll do 'em."

"Put your mouth on this," said Fred. Then, a moment later: "Oh, guys. You gotta try her mouth. She's fucking insane on the cock."

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