Heather Brown: Blow girl

Then I recalled the time after Grandma had died before I had run off with Jeff. I had been just a child, not really knowing what I was doing, but those sexual experiences with Margot's boyfriends had always left me satisfied without getting me involved with anyone. I was so young there was no risk of romantic involvement, the element which always led to personal tragedy.

But I was twenty-two; I could never be a child again. There was no way I could re-create the past. Or was there?

By the time of my next volunteer night at the children's hospital, my cuts and bruises from Perry's attempted rape had almost healed and I looked fairly presentable. I went to work that day, avoiding, of course, the restaurant where I had met Perry, and looked forward to being through for the day so I could go to the hospital.

My floor was quiet when I got there. I signed in and walked alone down the corridor toward a room where the patient was a eighteen-year-old boy named John who had been in an accident on his motorcycle and had struck his head, and was being held for observation. I had made friends with him the last time I had been at the hospital and we were on a first-name basis. I knew from reading his record that his parents were divorced and his mother was working nights, so he would be alone this evening.

From the time I had spent with him the last time I had been on duty I knew that he was the kind of guy who could keep his mouth shut. I could also tell that he was becoming a man by the way he had absent-mindedly fiddled with his cock beneath his bed clothes the last time I had sat on his bed and visited with him.

"All right, Johnny," I whispered in his ear, "fuck my cunt! Make me hot! I like your cock! I'd rather fuck you than do anything else in the world!"

As he wordlessly began pumping his old prick inside my hungry cunt and I thrust back wildly at him, I knew I had found the solution to the problems of my tangled life.