The Last Logan

Finally I got to the Logan Sex scene. Good thing, too, because my schedule has me starting a new project Monday for a BIAW (Book In A Week) challenge. Not that I'll finish an entire novel in one week - I know, I've survived, and won, two NANOWRIMO's, but its good to stretch myself. And I've been editing, first Damaged Goods, then Pull My String and now The Last Logan for almost six months. I know editing is a necessary evil, but that's evil with a capital EVIL. True, Last Logan was almost a re-write, between adding new victims, a red herring villain and changing out one sub-plot for another, but still, its not as much fun as a new beginning.

Anyway, here's a snippet of today's work, as Kyle and Beverly finally renew the love after being torn apart for a decade.

Only a thin film of sweat on his muse’s skin revealed her nervousness. A drop beaded just below the hollow of her neck. Rolled down her chest and through the valley between her breasts. His knees trembled as the shining bead of moisture moved down her stomach. As the drop hovered at the delicate curve of her navel he bit his tongue, using the pain to keep focus and prevent himself from dropping to his knees to lick that bead of moisture from her skin.

Her body was demanding. Greedy.

Kyle willingly offered himself to her needs.

Take me.

All of me.

“I want you,” Beverly said. An admission of weakness she no longer feared making. She had been too long without her man.

Too long without love.

He looked at her with the wide, awestruck eyes of a five-year-old surveying a cone of multi-colored cotton candy at the circus.

Beverly felt the moisture on the finger tips she ran her fingers through the field of dark hair covering his chest. The head of his cock strained toward her. Her hands moved to encircle the hot, pulsing flesh. He was motionless. The effort to remain so left him covered in sweat. She traced her fingertips through the sweat-filled field of dark hair covering his chest. Her hand lowered, stroked the length of his manhood. “Kyle. Now.”

He lowered himself on top of her body. This moment, every moment, was perfect. The tension, the loss, the yearning dissolved, driven out by the heat from the flesh that nestled beside her.

Fingers trailed across her lips down to her chin, then ran across the bottom of her chin to her throat. Her head lifted involuntarily, as he kissed the base of her neck. Kyle’s lips were gentle. Asking.

He rolled the ball of his finger over the tip of her nipple, once, twice, before his lips seized her breast, suckling her as she experienced rapture that left her unable to stop the moan that began deep inside her chest.

He lifted his head. “More?”

“Oh, God, yes, Kyle. Don’t you dare stop.”

He moved to her other breast making sure it experienced the same satisfaction as its mate. Then his head moved lower still. Down her ribcage. Down to her bellybutton.

His tongue moved into the indentation, forcing a laugh from her.

“She’s still ticklish,” he said.

Every inch of her body tingled with his touch. Every cell begged for more. She was eighteen again, eighteen and her heart vibrated inside her chest. All of the love, the passion she had once been capable of resounded through her body.

No man’s lips sent the tingle running through her body the way Kyle did. The gentle pressure deepened, leaving her feeling suddenly powerful. How could she feel this powerful when she had no control at all? Not even over her own wildly beating heart?

God how she enjoyed this feeling.

Kyle Logan worthless?

Oh, hell no.

More dillydallying

As I said yesterday I'm exhausted, so of course I began today by cutting the grass. Next year - a service.

I managed the first draft of a short story today - i do a quarterly column in a local journal, and even though the deadlines are three months apart it's deadly. But it has forced me to look at shorter words (they want 400-700) and a year ago I would have sworn I couldn't do anything under forty thousand, so maybe, as my daughter would say, it's all good.

May even have helped me learn query writing, I sent a few out yesterday and have someone interested. Wish my oodles of luck.

I know, I was supposed to work on the Logan sex scene, and I promise to do that tonight.
Pity I have no one right now to practice with.

Odds and Ends

This has been an busy week, probably why I feel exhausted and it's only Wednesday. For the past three days I've been successful in getting up and heading off to the gym. A requirement since I've put on a large number of pounds that I worked hard to eliminate over the last few years. (So large, I refuse to mention a number, lets just say way too much). In addition, I finally sent off queries to agents on two of my novels - not Logan, I'm still working on that, remember? I've queried on Damaged Goods, an interracial novel of romance and suspense, and on Pull My String, a young adult novel geared to appeal to the male reader.

Not that I've abandoned Logan, but while editing that one, I've been working on the query and synopsis for the other two. I'm not certain which was the harder job. But I decided I had them done today, and sent off three queries.

Hence, I'm exhausted.

Anyway, not one to sit back and twiddle my thumbs, it's back to Logan. Another Joy of Sex scene.

Then maybe a little rest, before I begin another marathon next week. I've accepted a challenge to do a BIAW (Book In A Week), or as close to it as I can handle. Add in a deadline for another short-story for the Almanac, a local magazine I have a quarterly column in, and a children's story for my church, all due early in August, and you know I'm not just a writer, I'm a masochist.

Writer's Rules

Today I'm going for something different. Not totally leaving the Logan family - in fact I just finished a scene where the real killer is finally revealed to the reader - but the characters in the story don't know that. They think their troubles are all over.

Hah!

Instead, I'm going to go over the "sure-fire rules for getting your novel published" I heard at a lecture earlier this year. The other day someone on one of the loops I subscribe to brought up the people who never finish their novel, which made me remember this. Today, I accidentally came across the notes for this lecture. The serendipitous (don't you just love that word) nature of that made me decide to post them. So - If you're interested, in no particular order, here are the thirteen sure-fire steps:

1. Start writing your book
2. Keep writing, don't stop - something 9 out of 10 people who start don't do.
3. Make a time commitment to your writing career. Write a realistic goal down, a written goal is easier to stick to.
4. Finish the book you're writing. Don't worry if it's not "great."
5. Start writing book two, while you query agents/publishers about book one.
6. Make a financial commitment to your writing career. Join professional organizations, subscribe to journals like the Writer's Digest, Poets & Writers, The Writer, etc. Attend writer's workshops.
7. Finish book two.
8. Submit book two while you begin working on book three.
9. Make a heart commitment to your writing. You cannot afford to be afraid or worry that your book won't be accepted. Be courageous, create support for yourself. Call yourself a writer.
10. Join a writer's critique group. Get a Critique partner. Yeah Angela!!
11. Finish book three.
12. Start book four while submitting book three.
13. Keep writing, submitting, repeating these steps. The difference between published and non-published is perseverance.

They said it was sure-fire. Nobody ever said it was easy.

Today with The Last Logan

Today was concentrate on the villain day in the Logan universe.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Who will be the next to go?
Let him holler, I won’t let go,
Eeny, meeny, miny, moeHe's darned self-centered, and had been confining his killing to inside the family until he had to kill poor Grace. A young, enthusiastic reporter who found out a little too much - or at least he thought she did, and that was enough to get her killed.

This one I don’t even have to pretend is an accident.
I can use my hands.
The woman shivered. “You don’t have to kill me.”
She is so wrong.
Not because she knows who I am. Just because I can.
I’ve spent too much time keeping people alive. True, that is a powerful feeling. Like being a god.
But only with a small g.
Ending life – that’s real power.
It’s safe to stroke her hair, they can’t lift fingerprints from hair strands. Safe to lean close, smell the fear that overpowers the cloying perfume she’s chosen to wear.
Not safe to be her.
I wonder how Beverly would smell?
“How did you find out?” I admit curiosity. The bitch walked right up to my door. “How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“Then why come here?”
“I just wanted to talk to you. Questions.”
Did I jump the gun? Too bad – for her.Grace will be used to frame poor Travis.
I'm at 250 pages and counting.

The Last Logan - halfway there

Back to the business of killing off characters - this is romantic suspense, right?

I'm at about 230 pages. Dead so far are

Charles, the newest Logan child, age 3 (died before the story started)
William the "badass", the oldest son whose death begins the story
Elizabeth and her unborn child - Old Man Logan's mistress

Still to die,

Grace, newspaper reporter, (currently the killer has her kidnapped)
Lakesia Styles-Logan, Old Man Logan's daughter,
Travis Styles, her half-brother
And, of course Old Man Logan himself.

There has been one attempt on the life of the heroine's daughter. There will be one more at the end.

Today's work got me to the point where the hero Kyle, is telling the heroine, Beverly, that he spent the last ten years in a Texas prison for murder. What he doesn't tell her is that he was framed, by his father and brother. (The Logan's are a truly heart-warming family). “Why Texas?”
Kyle shrugged. “Logan Enterprises has dealings there and my father needed someone to oversee activities. Once there I got bored and became involved in … extracurricular activities.”
He paused, head raised as if he expected something from her. When she remained silent he said, “Aren’t you going to ask?”
Keep calm, girl. Just do your job. Interviewing the hostile was her specialty. Sandy often compared her to his father after a hostile witness in the courtroom. But this was Kyle. He might never have loved her, but he’d never been hostile. “What was the charge?”
“Murder.”
The Earth tilted beneath her feet. She gripped the back of a chair to hold herself upright. “Impossible.”
“Not something I’d lie about, Beverly.”
He’d never been the kind to think being locked inside a jail some badge of honor. Just the man least likely to have a jail’s doors close behind him. She’d imagined Kyle Logan crawling through a desert on hands and knees, her name the last sound falling from his lips. Imagined him in a hot tub surrounded by a dozen glamorous women. But never thought of him imprisoned.
“Who did you kill?”
“Their names – I never knew.”
His hands crossed over his chest. Hands that once wielded a paintbrush with the dexterity of a maestro. Fingers that had curled around a paintbrush, that should be stained with the result of his creativity. That had caressed her skin, sent electric sparks arcing through her, driving her wild with desire.
Those hands killed six people?

She's right to not believe him. Hopefully within the next hundred pages or so she'll get the full story out of him. Before the real killer gets to them all.

The Last Logan - my Villain

And now the villain, Dr. Gary Newman Gary is Kyle’s cousin. After his parents’ deaths he is raised in his uncle’s house and grows up thinking of himself as a Logan. He’s enraged to learn his uncle’s will shortchanges him because the old man wants his 'blood' to inherit. Unless the other heirs die first. Using his skills as a physician to make the deaths look like accidents or suicides he starts eliminating the competition. He kills two of his uncle’s sons, an infant and William. His uncle’s imminent death means he has to work fast. If all the heirs predecease his uncle he gets the jackpot. His hit list includes his uncle’s mistress who is carrying his unborn son, his uncle's illegitimate daughter - and Toni, Beverly’s daughter and Mitchell’s granddaughter. So now you have the background of the major characters. The story is all about Gary eliminating the competition as undetected as possible, and Kyle and Beverly trying to keep Toni alive until they uncover the killer.

Did you notice, Kyle, his uncle's younger son, is not on the hit list? Not that Gary isn't trying to make Kyle's life miserable, but Kyle is not a direct target.

The Last Logan - Hero

As promised, my Hero
Hero - Kyle Logan
Kyle Logan, the ignored younger son of one of the most powerful families in Chicago, is a talented artist who dreams of bringing beauty into the world. Beverly helps him believe that his dreams are worthwhile. He respects Beverly’s skittish nature and her reluctance for sex, until the night his brother, William, dares him to seduce her. Unknown to Kyle, William and his friends witness and videotape the act, then jeer and demand a turn with her. To head them off, Kyle lies and tells his brother that Beverly wasn’t worth the effort. In truth he feels she is worth anything, and he risks the wrath of a brother he knows associates with violent criminals by stealing and destroying the tapes the group made. William threatens Beverly to punish Kyle. Their father, Mitchell Logan, agrees to restrain his older son if Kyle accepts exile that ends with Kyle being framed and sentenced to prison in Texas in place of one of William's criminal friends. Kyle has not been able to paint, or believe in anything since that night. Recently released, Kyle returns for William's funeral and the hope of saying a final goodbye to the girl he was ready to sacrifice anything for.


Tomorrow - My villain.

The Last Logan

I just thought I'd give a little information on my characters in The Last Logan.
Heroine/Protagonist – Beverly Jefferson
Beverly is fueled by a need to be in control of her world. Her father deserts the family when she was six, and her bitter mother ignores her her child. Beverly is left to protect herself from the increasingly persistent attentions of her mother’s string of boyfriends until she wins a college scholarship and escapes. At college she meets Kyle Logan, a young artist from a wealthy family who makes her feel beautiful and valuable. And safe. She loosens her need to control and lets herself relax, trust and fall in love. Until the night she surrenders her virginity and finds herself the star in a video of the event shot by his brother, William. Kyle laughingly tells his brother Beverly hadn’t been worth the effort before he disappears from her life. Weeks later William violently rapes Beverly before agreeing his brother's assessment was right. Ten years Beverly is a highly successful investigative reporter with a nine-year-old daughter, Toni, and a vendetta that leaves her instrumental in uncovering evidence that has William Logan indicted for many of his crimes. All except the one crime that matters most, the rape she has never revealed. Her efforts to make William pay are thwarted when he apparently chooses suicide over imprisonment. As rigid and in control as she appears to the outside world, inside she is still the child who feels hopeless and knows she can't depend on anyone; the girl who knows she wasn't worth the effort.
Tomorrow - The hero, Kyle Logan.

To Kill or Not To Kill

I have this poor, but dedicated reporter for the Messenger, the paper I created for the Last Logan. She's new, just screwed up once, and really wants to do a good job now to make up for her mistake. She's been assigned to check out on a murder suspect, her boss is doing a piece on the victim's family and she's just supposed to get some information at the hotel where the dead woman - Elizabeth, remember her - was found with her wrists slashed in the bathtub. She gets overzealous when she finds information about Travis's location (he's the suspect). Instead of reporting back with her information, she decides to go after him herself. I have two possible scenarios -

First, she ends up encountering the real killer and has to be killed herself. Her body is found in a place/location that further implicates Travis. Travis is eventually killed, a so-called murder-suicide after his sister is brain-dead from a supposed drug overdose they both die and everyone thinks the killing spree is over. It's not - he's just a poor decoy.

Second, she encounters Travis who takes her hostage because he knows the police are after him and he can't let her reveal his location. In a Stockholm like situation she and her captor grow close and she can't believe he's a killer. She helps him cope after his sister overdoses, and helps convince people he isn't the killer.

I'm not sure which way to go. I find I'm not as bloodthirsty as I think I am.

I did kill off Old Man Logan's three-year-old son, does that count?

Last Logan

I know, I was supposed to report back earlier. I have all the excuses under the sun. But at least I've been productive. I killed off Elizabeth, Old Man Logan's mistress, and the villain made it look like a suicide. Even better, I've set up poor Grace, a reporter who works for the heroine, to be killed in a manner that will incriminate Travis, another new character there to distract attention from my real villain. I've put the hero in a position to rescue the heroine's daughter, a move that raises the villain's jealousy AND gets the hero and heroine to stay in the same house for a valid reason. Yippee. Cause with them sleeping under the same roof it's easy to let hormones and nature take it's course - my heroine, Beverly, has already commented on how strong my hero - Kyle's pheromones are. I give it one night, and they'll not only be under the same roof, they'll be in the same bed.

Next up - we need to find Grace's body and have a manhunt for Travis. Oh yes, the hero has to admit he'd spent time in prison for murder. (I just don't know how to do conventional, flawless, billionaire heroes.)

Then I just kill Travis's sister, Kill Travis, give Old Man Logan a heart attack, and let the villain make another try at the heroine's daughter.

All in a day's work. Okay, give me a week or two.

Today's selection from the book -
“One problem with that theory,” Beverly continued. “Elizabeth wasn’t suicidal.”
“And of course, you know because you’re a trained shrink. Or is it voodoo?”
“It’s knowing when a person wants to talk, not die. She told me she could prove the test was wrong.”
“You know, if it was murder, as Janey on the spot you’d be suspect number one.”
“Don’t threaten me, Sandusky.”
“That’s Detective Sandusky.”
“Cold day in hell, Sandusky.”
He gave a mock shiver. “Knew someone had been messing with that damned thermostat.”
Thank God both Sandusky’s had the ability to cut through layers of tension. The elevator opened down the hallway and she saw rival reporters come rushing for the cordoned off area. “Do me a favor, Detective, don’t talk to them, either.” “I don’t talk to anyone.” He winked before stepping back inside Elizabeth’s hotel room.
See you all soon.

Editting the Last Logan

Starting today I'm using this to track - and motivate myself - on my progress. This is my third book, and I'm editing like crazy but getting nowhere. Part of the problem - it's a romantic suspense that wasn't suspenseful enough. So I added three new characters, two victims and a red herring to divert attention from my real villain.

Today I'm working on a scene between the hero and that rat bastard father of his. The father and his older brother had our hero framed for a murder and he's spent ten years in prison. During that time the heroine has suffered, even though his relatives promised him that in return for his compliance she would be protected. He'd returned to threaten his father if he doesn't stop harassing her. There's nothing he can do about the past, but now that he's back he's going to make things as right as possible - even if she hates him because she thinks he abandoned her. eleven pages, over 2000 words. Done, thank God.

Tomorrow's scene - his father's mistress is accused of being unfaithful, she's failed the paternity test and being thrown out. he tries to stand up for her. I'm also hoping to squeeze a meeting in between the hero and his cousin, my secret villain.

Just for kicks, here's a sample from today's edit:

William had laughed. “Son of a bitch. You actually had the balls to fuck with me on your own. Stupid-assed move, but still, I never thought you’d have the guts.”
Gary tried to plead for Kyle. “He shouldn’t have done it, but … come on Willie, he’s your brother.”
Mitchell Logan slammed a fist on his desk. “I told you to give that slut up.”
“She’s not a slut,” Kyle said.
William laughed again. “She fucked you, didn’t she?”
Kyle’s fist slammed into William’s face.

William would not have killed him for that. Not when he knew a better way to hurt his brother. Mitchell had promised to shield Beverly from William’s wrath, and Kyle had agreed to follow orders.
The ultimatum William presented had been deceptively simple. Agree to leave and work for him at the Logan Enterprises branch in southern Texas. William was only twenty five but he already moved in a world of violence. His enemies populated hospital emergency room and morgues. Or disappeared without a trace.
“Did you know what William intended for me?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie.”
Mitchell laughed before moving to the bar along one wall and pouring himself a drink. “Want one?”
“No.”
“No real Logan ever refuses a drink.”
What real father sends his son to rot in prison? “Did you know?”
Mitchell tossed back the drink and poured another. “You stole from your brother. He had a right to pick the punishment.”

Death and whatever

Here's the problem with getting older, you begin to lose friends. And while I may hope to be the last woman standing, three funerals this year - and the year's barely half-way over - is much too much. I know a lot of famous people have died. Heck, I remember little Michael with the big bushy Afro. But we only think we know them. We see them in front of camera's and read about them in gossip columns and magazines and think they're like family. But I'm talking about real people, real friends. First was Bob Moulds and I knew he was sick, but he was supposed to be getting better and he was even getting ready to go back to work and then suddenly he was dead. I remember a big guy who would sit in the corner and make really loud, really stupid jokes and I remember that I wish I knew him better.

And I remember Rochelle Verhassault, but not well enough either. And she was another nice lady who did good things int he church and community and I watched her husband almost break down because she'd been battling cancer for a long time but she too was supposed to be getting better and then ... gone.

And now Tokiko Blaine. At least she wasn't really a surprise, she was in Hospice care at home with her children around her and no one thought she'd get better. The problem is, even though you think you're prepared for a loved one to die, you never really are. My sister died a few years ago and the doctors told us there was no hope. Of course, they'd told us to come and say goodbye a decade earlier when someone shot her, and there was supposed to be no hope, but she eventually got out of ICU, then out of the hospital, married and had a good ten years. But apparently something was still wrong, and she started going downhill and had a year of hell where she even asked me to help her die. This time when they said she had six months they were wrong again.

She barely had six days.

And I was so not ready to hear she was gone. Even though I know she was ready to go. She couldn't talk, or even move, by then. Couldn't ask anyone to help her escape life. Her limbs were curled up. She needed tubes to feed her and tubes to take out the waste. And someone to remember to turn her to keep out bedsores. When they called to say she was dead I felt robbed.

I looked at Tokiko's husband and had that same feeling. He smiled, but you could tell it was painted on. Her son's couldn't make it through their speeches without tears. Her granddaughter tried, but broke down too. One grandson managed to hold it together with a bunch of jokes about her - but you could see how hard he was trying.

For all of them the minister talked about God calling them back home.
And I just kept thinking, he has no right. We still needed them. Wanted them. Loved them.

RWA Nationals or Why I'm not there this year

Here's my top ten - or maybe bottom ten, who knows, reasons why I'm not going to DC for the RWA Nationals in 2009.

10 - I don't want people to see how crappy I am at networking. (Which is almost a pity because I have some email acquaintances this year who might even know my name and network with me.)

9 - The lines for book signings are just too darn long.

8 - I got so many books last year I'm still trying to read through them. The box is cluttering the middle of my den, there's no space for more.

7 - Too many sessions - and all the good ones are at the same time.

6 - I'm exhausted just thinking about the conference.

5 - I've been all over D.C. already, lived there years ago.

4 - I've got deadlines this month.

3 - I so hate flying. And hotels. And traffic jams.

2 - I'm lazy.

1 - I'd rather be writing. (Bet you thought I was going to mention the cost!)

Really, this year I chose to attend a number of regional conferences. I went to Love Is Murder - a Mystery Writers of America conference, The Association of Writing Professionals conference, and Lori Foster's Readers and Writers Gettogether. I'll probably go to RWA National next year. Good luck to anyone who's going, enjoy yourself and happy pitching.

Movie Night

I know. This has nothing to do with writing. But even us writers get to have a little time off.

This weekend I saw one of the worst movies I've ever seen. I'm not a professional critic, but I know when something tanks, and Public Enemy did, big time. Lots of tommy guns, lots of men running and swearing and shooting - it reached the point I didn't know who was who. Worse still, I didn't care. One of he few times I've ever walked out of a movie, but I was too bored to see watch the Lady in Red get him done in.

Anyway, don't tell the theater, but I went in to see he Hangover instead. Not even sophomoric humor, this was too grade school for words - and I loved it. It's a comedy, a detective story, even a bit of a love story. Childish - featuring the future brother-in-law that would make you think twice about joining the family, and a set of impossible adventures that show how wild men can get once their so-called rational minds go to sleep. I defy anyone except the most rigidly straight-laced to not like this movie.

I'm actually looking forward to the sequel.

There's not always an HEA

I'm in the midst of a mid-year funk. I had all kinds of plans for this holiday. After all, my neighborhood has a holiday festival, and Chicago has the Taste of Chicago, and Milwaukee has Summerfest and I'm right in the middle of it all. So my plans included rotating between all three events. Instead, I really fear I won't get to either.

Some of it's my daughter. She's bipolar, twenty, and left home to live with a set of less than reputable friends two years ago. Recently she had a pregnancy scare that turned out to be an STD. I've decided to be hard on this. She's had a hospitalization which I'll have to pay for, and she needs money and I'm going to say no. Unless she agrees to come home, get back into therapy and medication, and get a job. I don't know whether I'm more worried she'll say yes or no. Either way it makes it difficult for me to think about festivals and fun right about now.

As for writing stories with a Happily Ever After - that's a little difficult right now, too. But its my self-appointed job, so I'm going back to work editing The Last Logan, my Romantic Suspense. There, at least, I get to kill people with a clear conscience. And still arrange for the good guys to find love and happiness.

Since my last blog dealt with writing sex scenes, I'm dedicating today's entry to writing the not-sex, or at least the almost sex scene. Pull My String is a story I wrote about a 17 year old boy. By definition that means he's horny - almost constantly. He's got the serious hots for a sixteen year old girl, and she's not about to say no to him. When I described the scene where he decides not to have sex with her to a male friend, he laughed and told me that I write fantasy.

But I believe that it's possible for even a seventeen year old boy with a major hard-on to have empathy, compassion and love in addition to his lust.

My hero, David, really cares about this girl. He wants sex, but he's also concerned when she seems disappointed by his desire. He dares ask her why.

I grab her, pull her back against me until she gets her balance. Hold her so tight that even through the coat she’s gonna feel what I've got waiting for her. Know just how badly she’s wanted. Forget Perry. Forget Trey and the football team and everyone else. Grow as eager for me as I am for her.
She stiffens. Beneath the brown her skin goes from red to gray.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I've got two sisters. A girl says that and she really means A-helluva-lot-you-stupid-male. “Yes, I want you. Why’s that wrong? I’m not Perry, I’m not gonna hurt you. We won’t do anything you don’t like. It’s gonna be good for both of us.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Perry?”
Her head shakes. “Trey.”
Him again? Her body’s so tense she could be posing for a straight-jacket ad. Whoever this joker was she still feels something for him. “Is Trey someone you … lost?”
“Someone I found. We were placed in the same home and I thought it was like having a big brother or something. After three years I’d begun accepting my parents weren’t coming back. So I thought, a big brother would be nice. And when he said I’d like it, I thought, okay.”
Like it? It? I want her to tell me more. I’m afraid she’ll tell me more.
“He said it only hurt because I was dumb and didn’t do it right. That we’d have to practice a lot because that’s what guys wanted from me so I better learn to be good.”
Eight plus three is … eleven? God, Linda’s eleven.
The memory of my first time springs into my head and I fight down a shudder. At thirteen I’d been embarrassed. At eleven I’d have shit my pants in terror.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I don’t mean to sound accusing, but her head jerks as if I’d hit her.
“I finally did. And DCFS took me away.”
Took her away?
Drops of sweat bead on her forehead. “They yanked me out so fast I didn’t have time to pack. Course I didn’t have much, so I didn’t lose much.”
I can barely breathe thinking about how much she did lose. And I want the son of a bitch that raped her. I want his mutilated body on the floor at my feet. I won’t be quick about anything I do to the bastard, either.
“What … what do you want me to do?” How had she held all this inside her so long? I never knew how strong my Mighty Mite really was. “If you want I’ll take you home.”
“Oh no. It’s okay. I’m not a kid anymore. I just thought,” she sighs. “Let’s get inside and … and get busy.”
Big Willie agrees with her. But as we join the slow moving line coiling toward the ticket seller something’s wrong. I want Yolanda. Want her happy to be with me. With me, not just fucking me.
The guy in line in front of us is already halfway inside his date’s pants. Their kiss is hot, loud and wet. As he purchases two tickets for Witch Doctor Zombies his date giggles so wildly I wonder how old she is. “I don’t think I can watch this,” she says.
He pinches her ass as they enter the theater. “I gotcha covered, baby.”
The picture on the wall shows blood dripping from a maniac’s fangs down onto a bikini clad girl screaming at his feet.
“Two,” I tell the old woman behind the glass. “Holiday in Spring.”
She looks surprised. “You sure? That’s PG-13.”
My groin’s so tight I want to yell, but I say, “That’s right where I want to be.”
In a theater full of giggling middle schoolers.
Yolanda’s head rests on my shoulder and I feel her laughing. She looks up. Her eyes glisten in the darkness. That’s worth the uncomfortable chair, my too tight jeans and Willie’s disappointment. We kiss, and the stupid movie doesn’t matter. My arm slides around her shoulders. To hold her tight. To let her know she is wanted. And safe.
She relaxes against my chest.
And it’s all good.

So there it is, the "fantasy" scene where my 17-year-old decides he'd rather show his new girlfriend respect.

Fantasy - God, I hope not.


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