Found In the Trash

Tick, tock, my cock is ready for you around the clock. One, two, three, four, is that you at my door? I hear the knocks and I giddily race to release the locks. When open, at the door you gawk.

"I'm not here for your cock; we need to talk." You say, and that you need your space, and I am only filler. Then my heart fell to the floor, and you walked out the door that final day.

You have found your own place, and won't see me anymore, or even call. I don't understand. My feelings smart, as I had given you my heart. New lingerie for you, of lace, I go to return to the store within the mall, but it is you I want to replace. Women stand inches apart, appearing beautiful and smart. They seem to taunt me. I feel out of place, viler, mauled, and poor.

Pages of days, weeks, and months fall off the calendar to the floor, and because of my insecurities, I have stalled in my core. In a depression my heartbeat slows and falls; my will to live be a slowing clock, as the grave seems to call: with every second hand tock it gets louder more.

I walk the street to a local show, feeling my age, losing my stock. Resting against a wall, I stop. I wonder how to turn the page and restart the clock. I hear a voice. It is a vocal call. It is coming from behind the wall. I scrape. I climb. It's a woman that I find.

She is bound and gagged; to my surprise, I heard her through the entire filter. Found, bagged, injured and hurt, but alive: She will survive, I surmise and tell her. Releasing her from the restraints, "fucking assholes," from her mouth, she spurt.

"Are you okay?" I ask with candor.

Enraged, "I've been raped," she blurts and exclaims.

I think to myself, my thoughts slipping out of my mouth. "What can I do? What can I say?"

Hearing my words, she looks into my gaze, simply to say, "It's happened before; I'll be okay, but sore. I just need a place to stay. It's what they do when they want to play, but don't want to pay any more. " Explaining with a pout.

I listened in a daze, and then offered her my place, and explained my help was not for trade or sale. She wept, but did not wail, as she accepted with grace. Then I helped her from where she lay and wiped the tears from her face. For my hand, she reached and kept.

I was thoroughly amazed as she rose. She straightened her skirt, pulling the hem down below the top of her torn hose. She was tall. Her legs were lean. Even bruised she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Worthy of prose, was she in every pose.

Upright and standing her eyes met mine. I could see that she was broke, but my heart was now fine. It had just needed a poke. As we walked, we began to talk after sometime. When she spoke, she expressed the desire for a new start. It was beginning to seem the clock was reset; it was her heart with which I was impressed. We conversed about our lives and what changes we'd make if we got a do over. We were seriously planning a life make-over, discussing a design to make the best of the rest of our time. At the landing below the door, I said, "Welcome home.", and drew her tight before leading her in to spend the night.

I gave her a towel, and showed her the bath; I told her she was welcome to anything I have, and need not ask. She gave me a smile and not a scowl, and then retreat for a shower or possibly a bath.

I put on some water to boil, with the stove on high power, and readied the couch. I was taken to give her my bed, as a place for her to lay her head. Then I steeped the tea in the pouch. She joined me in the kitchen wrapped in a blanket after a long while. Noticing a gift wrapped box on the counter, "What is that?" She asked with a smile.

My heart felt heavy; my feelings trapped and bound up, but I received her question as a plea, and began to speak up, recounting the past. I could feel my chest begin to heave; I told her, "Lingerie: for my last... a relationship, I was having trouble getting passed." I needed a pause; I needed a break. I needed a cause. Finding a couple of cups, I poured us some tea.

She took the box being intrigued, and saying, "Let me see. I have nothing on, and nothing to wear." I cringed hearing the paper tear, and then she lift the top and stole a peek. Then her eyes shift back to me. I could read in her face that she liked the lace. "I will try it on." She was saying, taking retreat behind the blanket's span and sit on the love seat by the divan.

She emerged, stunningly beautiful with the outfit adorned. Beset by her physique, I saw my new found love, not a professional companion, not a whore. She was a treasure that I could only adore. I reached out to touch her. Her hair was still wet. I pulled her close and we fell in love as our lips first met. Restoring our hearts, our bodies sweat.