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Archive name: abandon.txt (Mdom/FF, lesbian, inc, v) 
Authors name: Matthew Steele (matt2670@aol.com)
Story title : Abandoned

--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2001. As the author, I claim all rights under 
international copyright laws. This work is not intended 
for sale, but please feel free to post this story to 
other archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and 
text intact. Revision to the text (such as the basis 
for another story) is acceptable as long as the 
original author is given credit and the resulting story 
is distributed free of charge. Any commercial use of 
this work is expressly forbidden without the written 
permission of the author. 
--------------------------------------------------------

Abandoned (Mdom/FF, lesbian, inc, v) 
by Matthew Steele (matt2670@aol.com)

*

Mary Beth knows a breakup with her boyfriend is 
imminent. She just doesn't expect it tonight, in the 
middle of the park, in the middle of the night. She is 
left stranded in nothing but her panties and tennis 
shoes with miles and miles to walk. Worse, she fears 
for the safety of her lover Holly, who is pregnant and 
vulnerable. Is she next on the boyfriends list? 
 
*

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray 
any person living or dead, nor any known situation. 
This story contains themes of lesbian sex, incest, 
mental cruelty, attempted rape, and reckless 
endangerment. It is meant for adults only and is not to 
be read by persons under the age of 18, or the legal 
age in the county/state/country in which the reader 
resides. 

If you would like a Microsoft Word or WordPerfect 
version of this story (a much better read), please 
contact me at matt2670@aol.com.


Old Baltimore Road. Two-ten A.M.

Like a welcome but unreliable companion, the full moon 
rode Mary Beth's right shoulder, bathing the landscape 
and the roadway ahead in milky iridescence. Just as 
fast, however, before she could break into a loping 
run, the light evaporated again, the moon swallowed 
behind scud clouds driven on a strong, southeasterly 
wind. If she weren't so afraid of falling, she'd run 
anyway. But with nothing on but panties and her shoes, 
a headlong plunge would be disastrous. 

She keeps away from the shoulder, afraid of another 
twisted ankle. A quarter mile behind is the overpass 
for I-270, still very much within earshot. A heavy 
truck rolls across and the sound reaches Mary Beth 
seconds later; she snaps fearfully around. She hates 
that bridge, especially what lurks beneath. To get 
away, Mary Beth propels her feet quickly along, 
sneakers whispering on the dark pavement. She prays no 
one will come along, but if someone does, she also 
prays to distinguish that sound from the highway noise 
behind. 

Dunk set a deadline of 3:00 a.m. and there is still a 
mile and a half to go. He allowed two hours to the 
rendezvous; no more, no less. Arrive before, he said, 
or after, and he would leave. 

It's in the mid-seventies, humid, but Mary Beth clamps 
her arms across her chest like a frozen refugee. She 
has joked about stripping nude in weather like this; 
the damp, turgid air turns clothing into slippery 
containers, underwear to sodden traps. Tonight she'd 
pay for the privilege of cling. Mosquitoes have a field 
day with her blood.

Her nightmare began one hour before, in Black Hill 
Regional Park. The official closing time was sundown, 
but Dunk--never without a friend in need--had long ago 
obtained a key to the front gate. In return, a lucky 
park employee got steered to some really good dope. 
Dunk was a Montgomery County policeman. 

Secluded in the woods and the quiet night, Mary Beth 
often found herself treated to hi-grade cocaine, plied 
with her favorite wine, and then made love to on a 
blanket beneath the stars. She loved this, loved 
falling asleep in Dunk's arms, to awaken hours later to 
the drone of insects and the brilliant stars overhead. 
Sometimes they slept until dawn, awakening to 
approaching daylight and the sound of trucks. A most 
romantic way to start your morning.

Tonight they had parked in the secluded, so-called Back 
Picnic area (so-called because there wasn't a picnic 
table in sight.) The park itself was secluded, the 
sixty acres tucked neatly between Boyds to the north, 
Germantown to the south, and Route 28 to the west. The 
only entrance was on Old Baltimore Road. A twenty-acre 
lake was the park's centerpiece, where sometimes she 
and Dunk canoed and occasionally went fishing. 

There was fishing of a sort tonight. 

"God damn it!" Dunk threw his left arm outward, across 
the empty lot. "I won't let you toss away five years, 
just like that." 

Straight-backed on the seat, arms folded, Mary Beth was 
determined not to let violence erupt again. They had 
been on the outs for weeks, their relationship 
deteriorating further each day. Dunk had twice lost 
control in the past week. She now sported a bruise over 
her right ear; finger marks about both biceps, and her 
neck ached from a slap, which rocked her head around. 

Keeping her voice low and controlled, she said, "Don't 
make me out as the bad guy, Dunk. I didn't ask for 
this."

"Bull shit," he said. "You like it as much as me." He 
cut her off. "You like it a hell of a lot more than me. 
Fucking dyke!" 

Her mouth fell open. "Suddenly you're calling me names? 
Like I wanted a bisexual affair? I never even suggested 
it! Not once! You cooked up the whole thing without any 
concern for either of our feelings. Now it's out of 
control and you want to shift the blame. Well I got 
news for you, asshole! Next time ask!" 

Dunk tightened with anger. His eyes became slits, and 
when his hands clenched, Mary Beth moved away. 

Derisively, he said, "Like you would have ever said 
yes! Just like you said yes to my other idea!"

"Wait a minute!" Mary Beth dropped her arms. Let a girl 
make one mistake and she pays for it forever. "We 
talked about this a hundred times. I gave you my 
reasons, and you agreed."

A year before, Dunk and Mary Beth double-dated with 
another couple, David Ray and Pattie Kensington. Both 
were police officers. They spent Saturday night 
downtown, hopping bars, drinking and dancing until 2:00 
a.m. Because it was closer and no one was sober, they 
went back to David's place in Adelphi. There the 
partying resumed, this time with everyone but Mary Beth 
cooking on cocaine. She stuck to wine and marijuana. By 
three-thirty a.m., when the trouble began, the four 
were wasted. 

"I'll be right back," Pattie slurred, wobbling into the 
bedroom. She returned in cutoff jeans and a cropped 
tee-shirt. Her breasts, though small, held the t-shirt 
away far enough to show the bottom portion of her bare 
breasts. Her nipples made points in the material. When 
she joined them on the floor, leaning back against the 
couch, she might as well have worn nothing at all.

Using her Visa card, Mary Beth diced the remaining 
powder into semi-straight lines. This time everyone 
partook. They continued their ribald game of strip 
truth-or-dare. 

The first wrong answer saw Pattie flashing her breasts; 
the next and she removed her top. Titillated by her own 
bravado, she dared Mary Beth right back, even though 
Dunk had posed the question. Mary Beth found herself 
without a shirt and, moments later, without pants. The 
guys, pop-eyed and inflamed, egged the girls on until 
Mary Beth caught fire. They quickly dared each out of 
their clothing. 

Naked on the floor, Mary Beth rocked first with Pattie, 
then with the two guys, a very smashed Pattie cheering 
from the sidelines. It was Mary Beth's only encounter 
with multiple partners--or another girl. Dunk wanted 
more.

For a time, neither spoke. Dunk's cigarette burned 
nearly to his knuckles before he flicked it out. Ten 
feet away, the butt exploded in a fountain of sparks. 
He reached for another, offered the pack to Mary Beth 
first, who shook her head. Smoke billowed and joined 
the fog already lining the truck's roof. 

Opting for a less hostile approach, Dunk said, "Holly 
seems to really love you. How you handling that?"

Mary Beth was uncomfortable even considering Holly and 
Dunk in the same thought. The dome light was on, and 
while she formulated an answer, a small black moth 
fluttered in past her nose and beat itself against the 
fixture. She batted it out the window, where the moth 
fluttered undecidedly before flying away. The moon 
continued to play hide-and-seek with the landscape. She 
shrugged.

"Ask me something else."

Suddenly, a noise impinged on Mary Beth's awareness. 
Jerked back to the present, she whipped around, 
cursing. She had done the one thing she could not--
ignored the road behind. Growing brighter by the 
second, a fluorescing glow reflected eerily on the 
overhead lines and the thick air above the hill. Heart 
trip-hammering, Mary Beth searched desperately for 
cover. In a stroke of luck, the moon chose that moment 
to escape the clouds and she spotted a driveway ahead. 
Her joy was short-lived. Fifty feet distant, it was too 
far to reach, even if she ran. 

On her right was a fifteen-foot embankment, a thin line 
of brush and runt trees lining the top. The other side 
was a solid tangle of growth, impenetrable--suicide 
with her bare skin. She sprang for the hill, started 
climbing. 

The vehicle was closer.

Clambering up the wet slope, grabbing tufts of grass, 
she lost an inch for every two she gained. Twice she 
lost her footing entirely, the second time smacking 
down on her bare chest and emitting a mortified howl. 
With the vehicle just seconds away, Mary Beth made 
herself slow down; find toeholds and protrusions that 
held, then scaled the remaining ten feet without 
falling. She dove headlong for a low bush, threw 
herself flat to the ground, scrambling behind it for 
better protection. 

Headlights crested the hill. 

For an eternity, an impossibly bright glare spotlighted 
Mary Beth. Her skin and every follicle on it shown. 
Flattening into the damp, she keened lowly and covered 
her head, praying. She had to be seen--she could not 
imagine not. 

The vehicle passed.

It was a full sized custom van, radiating a high whine 
of country music, the engine a thumping bass. Randy 
Travis lamented his lost girlfriend. It climbed the 
next hill and disappeared over it, still loud, still 
trailing music, reappearing a quarter mile further on. 
The tail lights grew dim, disappeared entirely around a 
long turn in the road. Mary Beth shuddered and gasped, 
tried to catch her breath.

After a time she rose onto her hands and knees, 
discovered a cricket pinching her left breast. Somehow 
she fought the impulse to scream. Knocking the cricket 
off, she collapsed back to the ground, cradled her head 
on her forearms and began to cry. She was going 
nowhere. 

Dunk, Holly, and Approaching Bad Times

Although Holly was Dunk's niece and Mary Beth his 
girlfriend, the two had little in common; they shared 
no friends. Despite working at Lakeforest Mall, the 
girls knew each other only is passing. 

A recent high school graduate, Holly cashiered at the 
J.C.Penny, part-time since tenth grade, now considered 
casual full time; she wanted permanent full time status 
and full company benefits. A short, thin brunette with 
shoulder length hair, Holly was attractive, though not 
enough to merit undo attention. She was the youngest of 
four children, and shared with her three brothers and 
one sister the same dark hair and pallid complexion of 
her father.

Unlike the beautiful and lithesome Mary Beth, Holly had 
struggled all her life: with her weight, her 
complexion, with a traumatic lack of confidence. Her 
middle and high school years were a misery; friendless 
with boys, alternating between pudgy and razor thin, 
she either binge-ate or suffered bouts of anorexia. 
Dieting was a career. 

Things changed late in her senior year. Recently 
transferred from Prince George's County, Louis Dell was 
a good looking, athletically built, honor's student. He 
took both advanced placement calculus and computer 
programming, carried the fourth highest grade point 
average in the state. He was also black.

One morning Louis offered to help the struggling Holly 
with an overdue assignment. She haltingly agreed, then 
kept her eyes everywhere but on his eyes, at one point 
nearly retching from anxiety.

The assignment got a B+, her best mark of the semester.

For Louis, seeing beyond the fragile, acne-plagued 
teenager, to the fresh-faced girl beneath was 
elementary. His patience and unexpected determination 
set Holly free, for the first time replacing mindless 
depression with sudden hope, loneliness with a measure 
of acceptance. They became an item, then a couple. 
Louis was her first love, the recipient of her 
virginity, and though he moved away to Los Angeles at 
the end of the summer, Holly's life remained in 
equilibrium. 

Even her bra size stabilized.

Set apart from the common by a bizarre mixture of 
Scandinavian blond, Polish Jew, and certified demonic 
bitch (her own words), the blue-eyed Mary Beth bore 
sharp features and a provocative mouth, a long graceful 
neck, breasts that erupted from her chest like 
miniature volcanoes. (Often to her chagrin and 
embarrassment.) Spun silver hair hung to the middle of 
her back. And as she liked to say, the sharpness of her 
tongue was matched only by the meanness of her spirit. 

Mary Beth was twenty-one, an assistant manager at 
Victoria's Secret. It was the only job she had ever 
held. She loved the work--and the image of working at 
"VS"--but the driving force in her life was hunger for 
advancement, not narcissism. Her dream since childhood 
was becoming a freelance fashion photographer. Toward 
this goal she had completed two photography courses at 
Montgomery College. A third was planned for the fall. 
Both her instructors advised Mary Beth that a 
background in women's lingerie certainly couldn't hurt. 

Dunk to his friends since high school, where his 
exploits on the varsity basketball team were legend, 
Tom McDonald had four older brothers and an older 
sister, Elaine. Three of the four brothers were county 
policemen, the other a Deputy State's Attorney. Eleven 
years separated Dunk from his next oldest brother, 
Frank McDonald, Holly's father. Words between them 
often erupted into violence. 

The trouble had its genesis in Dunk's teenage years, 
centering on Holly's mother, Kathleen. Separated from 
Holly's dad for nearly a year, lonely and dejected, 
Kathleen took Dunk as a lover. Thirteen at the time, at 
the mercy of his uncontrollable hormonal rush and 
terrible judgment, Dunk let himself fall in love. They 
slept together twelve times over the summer, often in 
Frank's own bed and never with protection. Kathleen 
became pregnant. She aborted the child before the third 
month. 

Hostility between Frank and Dunk McDonald became a 
predatory monster.

For Mary Beth, the trouble began on Holly's eighteenth 
birthday. It was over the Memorial Day weekend, and 
Mary Beth, doubtful of Dunk's plan to have Holly out 
for a night on the town, considered the beach and a 
badly needed tan more important. But as Dunk so 
eloquently put it, drinking yourself to death could be 
hellish fun. Especially for Holly, dumped just two 
weeks before. Mary Beth gave in. 

A police officer, Dunk had access to some of the best 
fake ID's on the market. A week before her eighteenth 
birthday, Holly came home to discover she was now 
twenty-one, not seventeen as she had previously 
thought. Holly was thrilled. Among her and her friends, 
even a bad ID was priceless. 

On Friday night, Holly arrived up at Dunk's place at 
seven o'clock sharp--accompanied by a new Louis. He was 
a white boy this time, a year older than Holly, less 
attractive than her previous two boyfriends, but with 
some of the charisma of Louis Bell. Obviously 
intelligent and charming, Louis still suffered the 
characteristic stagger-step and frozen tongue of 
meeting Mary Beth the first time. His eyes could not 
leave her chest.

Mary Beth wore a clingy satin dress with a plunging 
back and scoop neckline, meant to be worn braless, 
which she did. Purchased the week before at DKNY, she 
now seriously regretted her choice. The lack of a 
brasierre, and any support it offered, was glaringly 
obvious to anyone who looked. 

Outmatched in figure but not in taste, Holly wore a 
sequined blue dress, thin straps holding the front 
loosely over her small breasts. Stiletto heels made her 
nearly as tall as Mary Beth. Like Mary Beth, she was 
also braless. Between the two men, Louis verged on 
apoplexy and not even Dunk could look away.

They dined in Georgetown, Dunk having reservations at a 
French restaurant on M Street. Mary Beth indulged in 
steak and lobster tail, afterward feeling straight-
jacketed in her tight dress. Holly and Louis both chose 
Filet Mignon, Dunk a T-bone steak. They ordered two 
bottles of Chianti with dinner--no one asked Holly or 
Louis for ID. 

At Club Outrageous, Holly and Louis danced for two 
solid hours, leaving Mary Beth to wonder at their 
energy. The new couple obviously clicked; Louis didn't 
object to Holly grinding against his crotch, nor Holly 
the hand on her rear end while dancing slow. Neither 
seemed in need of alcohol; the relationship boiled on 
its own. 

Given the benefits of speed, Mary Beth grew quite 
energetic herself, Dunk doing his best to increase its 
effects. During slow numbers his attentions made Mary 
Beth not only aroused, but carnal. He slid the straps 
off her shoulders, Mary Beth made no attempt to put 
them back. Only her close contact with Dunk's chest 
kept the dress in place, and then not always. Twice she 
covered a bare breast.

At eleven o'clock they deserted Club Outrageous in 
search of new action. Mary Beth was so desperately 
aroused by then, had it not been for Holly and Louis, 
she would have mounted Dunk the instant he closed his 
door. For a time she actually hated Holly and her 
friend. 

Before leaving the parking lot, Dunk produced a 
quarter-ounce of cocaine, and Mary Beth a compact. 
Cleaning the mirror, she poured two lines and 
straightened them with her Visa card, taking the first 
hit herself. Louis was shocked; Holly excited. Neither 
had done cocaine before. Passing her the compact, Mary 
Beth showed Holly how to partake. Their fingertips 
momentarily brushed, and when their eyes met over the 
mirror, a spark of attraction flew. Both girls flinched 
away, suddenly embarrassed. 

After making sure everyone was high, Mary Beth cleaned 
the remaining coke with her fingertip, rubbed it into 
Dunk's gums. The rest went back into a secret 
compartment under the dash. 

Driving cross-town to Foggy Bottom, they hit Club 
Heaven & Hell, danced to rocking 80's music, grinding 
until last call by which time Mary Beth was ready to 
drop. This was her first serious bar-hopping in over a 
year and Mary Beth was amazed how much stamina it took-
-and how little she now had. Only the cocaine and the 
constant arousal kept her awake. 

Twice in the last hour, Dunk had brought her to orgasm. 
Their last slow dance together, his cocaine-fueled 
erection invaded the front of her dress; Mary Beth rode 
it with her groin. Back at the table, while Holly and 
Louis performed their own foreplay on the floor, his 
finger inside her caused Mary Beth near panic. Her hair 
was a wreck across her forehead, her chest ached, her 
eyes cocaine glazed. A treacherous spin commandeered 
her head. All she wanted was to melt into her seat and 
die. 

When they arrived back at the apartment at three a.m., 
Mary Beth didn't care what Holly and Louis did--she was 
going to bed. With the assistance of Dunk's arm, she 
made it upstairs to the front door and inside the 
apartment, after which Dunk left to chauffeur Holly and 
Louis home. This seemingly innocent act set in motion a 
chain of events, which in the end, left Mary Beth 
fighting for her life.

Old Baltimore Road. Two-Fifteen a.m.

Mary Beth made herself get up. She shook terribly; her 
knees were Jello. Her heart beat against her chest wall 
like a deep bass drum. It was difficult to breath.

She discovered grass and small twigs covered her from 
collar bone to toe, making her itch fiercely. She wiped 
her breasts, then her stomach and legs, then her 
skinned knees. She rubbed the stiffness and ache from 
her shriveled nipples, covered her chest with folded 
arms. Shivering, she cursed Dunk for the ten-thousandth 
time. Then she looked at her watch. It was 2:20 A.M.

Her first two steps on the slick hillside broke free, 
and Mary Beth quickly backed. Instead, she elected to 
walk along the edge, toward the driveway, a deviant 
part of her mind conjuring images she'd rather not see. 

Had she been seen, would the driver attempt to help, as 
the naive part of her insisted? Or use the opportunity 
to knock off a great piece of ass? Remembering the 
blare of country music, the thundering redneck exhaust, 
she rather thought the latter. 

The hill shallowed to five feet at the driveway, a safe 
climb down. Ever so briefly, Mary Beth considered 
approaching the farmhouse, just visible in the 
moonlight at the top of the drive. A grouping of 
rundown, ramshackle buildings, this was a scarier 
option than continuing. She moved back to the center of 
the road, and hurried on.

After a hundred feet, the road bridged a small steam, 
starting a gradual climb up the other side. Corn fields 
bordered either side. Mary Beth hated corn. Not only 
because of her deadly allergy to corn silk, but those 
stupid Children of the Corn movies turned the rustling 
stalks and leaves into a thousand stalking rapists.

There was a soft cawing and gooseflesh erupted across 
her shoulders and arms. Her nipples hardened and 
shriveled simultaneously, making her clutch at herself 
desperately. This only added to her chill, however, and 
soon her chattering teeth echoed back unnervingly from 
the corn. She squeezed closed her eyes and 
concentrating on revenge, navigated the road by sense 
of touch.

You want me to do What?

It took a full year for the results of their night on 
the town to manifest themselves. To her credit, Mary 
Beth sensed something wrong the next morning, but her 
hangover and general surliness made observation 
difficult. She let it pass. 

Dunk had not come home.

This in itself was unusual; Dunk recovered fast from 
impairment, even faster from bad judgment. Mary Beth 
accepted it at face value, however, when he claimed 
that driving back was too much. He had crashed on his 
father's couch. The McDonald home was less than a mile 
from Holly's.

But, there were other signs as well. His moodiness she 
put down to the unseasonable heat and humidity, which 
Dunk detested, and problems on the job. He was up for 
promotion to corporal, a promotion that politics was 
threatening to torpedo. This left him constantly on 
edge. Harder to deal with was the sudden inattention, 
totally out of character for Dunk, an inattentiveness 
bordering on latitude when they made love. He was 
somewhere else entirely. This, more than anything else, 
brought Mary Beth and Holly together.

 Properly introduced and aware of their underlying 
sexual tension, Mary Beth and Holly quickly became 
friends. They lunched together at work, went shopping, 
caught the occasional movie, conspired on the phone. 
They fought and made up. Holly gained some much needed 
confidence--easy, accompanied by a stunning 
Scandinavian blond--and Mary Beth insight into other 
people's woes. 

Just before her nineteenth birthday, Holly dumped the 
too possessive Louis for a stretch of casual dating, 
moved out on her own. This was something her father did 
everything to discourage--short of shackling Holly to 
her bed. She also became hopelessly inflamed with Mary 
Beth, something which Mary Beth was not immune too 
herself. She navigated this underlying sexual current, 
letting it steer her into uncharted but exciting new 
territory. Mary Beth discovered herself observing 
Holly; her small round breasts; the way her rear end 
blended effortlessly into the small waist; the way she 
sometimes looked up from beneath her hair as though 
shocked to find herself not alone. Sitting beside her 
in the car or from across the table, Mary Beth often 
wanted to reach out and touch Holly's hand. She never 
did. 

Their relationship changed disastrously on Wednesday, 
June 3rd. 

The day was unseasonably warm for June and Dunk, 
needing a break from the monotony, phoned Mary Beth at 
work and suggested dinner and movie. Mary Beth was both 
elated and distraught. If there were one serious 
weakness Mary Beth suffered, it was this insatiable 
craving for sex one time a month. Hormonally rushed, 
plagued by the need all day, she felt haunted by 
everything that might trip her up, keep her from being 
seduced. And Mary Beth needed seriously to be seduced.

"How about a drink?" Dunk suggested. They had just left 
the theater.

 Undecided, Mary Beth fastened her seat belt. She 
looked at her reflection in the glass, at the slow rise 
and fall of her chest, the tick of a vein in her neck. 
Her insides quaked and she clasped her hands in her lap 
to keep them from shaking. She wanted only to go home. 

"I want to show you something," she said. Sliding his 
hand beneath her pink top, she placed it on her left 
breast. Dunk's eyes widened. 

"Mary Beth--"

"I have something on you'll really like," she said.

Dunk fought back a grin. "I believe you." He squeezed 
her breast gently. "You're not desperate, are you?"

"A little." She joined his hand with her own, then 
unlatched her brasierre. 

"Mary Beth." It was ten o'clock; arc-sodium lights 
bathed the parking lot in amber sunlight. "I appreciate 
the intent," he said, "but you can't wait 'till we get 
home?"

Mary Beth guided his hand onto her bare breast. The 
nipple turned hard beneath his palm. . "Take it off for 
me?"

Dunk blinked. "Your bra?" Mary Beth nodded. Dunk said, 
"I'll take everything off if you like."

Mary Beth smiled. "The bra will do for now."

Leaning forward, she raised both arms enough for Dunk 
to effect the removal. This was foreplay for them, a 
ritual first practiced in her mother's Buick when Mary 
Beth was sixteen years old. Dunk had perfected it in 
the intervening years. They had not practiced it in a 
long time, however, one more sign of their cooling 
relationship.

"I think Mary Beth's impassioned tonight," Dunk said. 
He slipped the strap off her left shoulder, out the arm 
of her shirt. To free herself, Mary Beth drew the arm 
inside.

"I am very impassioned," she agreed. 

Dunk slipped the bra strap back inside, kissed Mary 
Beth, removed the strap from her right shoulder. "I 
can't remember the last time we did this," he said. He 
was becoming excited.

"I can." 

It was almost a year ago to the day, returning from 
Ocean City. Mary Beth had let Dunk undress her while 
they drove, not only her brassiere, but her top as 
well. Refusing to give in, she cruised the twenty five-
mile stretch between Georgetown and Denton, Delaware, 
the windows down and the sun roof open, hair flying 
free and wild. Oncoming lights showed hard on her bare 
chest. Even in the dark, Mary Beth knew dozens of 
people saw. Only at Denton, when they passed a Delaware 
State Trooper and his brake lights flashed on, had Mary 
Beth relented. Her brasierre was later used tying Mary 
Beth to the headboard. 

Dunk fingered one of the silky cups. "This is new," he 
said.

Mary Beth grinned. "Very."

"And sexy." Holding the brasierre by the straps, he 
placed the cups over Mary Beth's breasts. "Very sexy." 

"I will," she said, slowly.

"Will what? Wear it outside?"

"Let you put it back on."

Dunk considered. Nothing was beyond Mary Beth during 
her time. He was about to suggest they head home when 
Mary Beth crossed her arms and without hesitation, 
raised the top over her head. Lips quivering with 
suppressed laughter, she sat there, bare-chested. 

Dunk muttered, "Jesus Christ."

Despite her show of bravado, Mary Beth rapidly blushed. 
Her nipples, hard and very large, stood out like 
fingertips. "Anytime," she whispered, offering her bare 
arms. "Unless you want people staring all night."

And people were staring. The couple in the next car 
were twisted in their seats, straining to see. The 
girl's eyes were big around as silver dollars. Beyond 
them two boys in a black Camaro had, like sexual radar, 
instantly detected Mary Beth's bare breasts. Both were 
staring open-mouthed.

Dunk was momentarily speechless. 

"Dunk?" 

Hurriedly, Dunk fumbled the bra into place. "You are 
such a--"

"Tease?" She said, struggling to re-snap the catch. Her 
heart rate had soared, breathing was labored. The catch 
refused to close. 

"Tart came to mind." Pushing away her fingers, Dunk got 
the snap closed, then assisted her into the top. His 
own face was a cherry red. "Satisfied?"

"They're all looking, aren't they?" She dared not turn 
around.

"Every one of them."

From the roots of her hair to the center of her chest, 
color blazed. "Can we go now?" she said. 

Dunk twisted the ignition and put the shifter in gear. 
"Wouldn't like to, maybe pose for some candid shots?"

Staring straight ahead, Mary Beth began to laugh. "I am 
so embarrassed!"

Dunk pointed the Bronco toward the exit, and their 
audience, turning to watch, began to cheer and wave. 
The two boys in the black Camaro spontaneously broke 
out clapping. Mary Beth listened to their ribald shouts 
as they turned into the street. 

"Hurry up!" she insisted.

Dunk accelerated quickly to sixty miles an hour and 
together they laughed, all the way home.

Just before ten o'clock, Mary Beth was in the kitchen 
alone, a platter of cheese and crackers half made, 
selecting a wine. Her tummy was fretful, the way it got 
before sex. Gooseflesh fled up and down both arms. She 
had difficulty removing the cork.

"Let me show you how that's done." Arms encircled Mary 
Beth's waist. "The trick is never to force it," he 
said, impinging his erection between Mary Beth's 
buttocks. Placing one hand over the bottle's neck, the 
other over her hand, Dunk guided the tip into the cork, 
twisted it slowly in. Mary Beth shivered. "Usually the 
cork is tight, so you need to slowly work it back and 
forth."

Blood pounded her temples and rang in her ears. "I know 
how to remove a cork!" Mary Beth croaked. Releasing the 
bottle, she turned within his embrace, snaked her arms 
around his neck and kissed him fiercely. A small 
intense disturbance swirled in her gut, grew swiftly, 
threatened to become a tropical storm. Lifting both 
legs, she clamped them about his middle; Dunk set her 
on the counter.

"You have no chance of salvaging your underwear," he 
said. Her top came off, dropped to the floor. He tore 
apart her brassiere. Attacking her bare breasts, Dunk 
sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down, made Mary 
Beth jump. Then his mouth found the curvature of her 
neck, the notch between her collar bones, her 
shoulders. Mary Beth experienced a first small orgasm, 
barely in the kiloton range. 

"I want you in the bedroom," she whispered. "Now!"

 He picked her up and, riding his hips, carried Mary 
Beth through the apartment. Crossing the living room, a 
wink of lost memory flashed by and Mary Beth saw 
herself the morning of Holly's party. Exhausted, burned 
out on coke, she staggered from the front door and out 
of her heels, out of her dress. "Go!" she had yelled, 
banging closed the door as Dunk left to take Holly and 
Louis home. 

Have me all you want in the morning. Just leave me 
alone tonight!

She crossed in front of the open patio curtains, 
wearing nothing but fatigue and her panties. Louis, 
outside leaning against the car, catch her movement and 
looked up. She remembered his shocked expression, 
quickly darting eyes, her whorish grin. She first 
flipped back her hair, then removed her panties and let 
them drop. Twiddling her fingers salaciously, she then 
sailed away into her bedroom, collapsed on the bed and 
masturbated for an hour with lust. She finally fell 
asleep at four o'clock, hand between her thighs, a 
finger inside.

She awoke that way in the morning.

"I didn't finish removing the cork," Dunk said. 

"Fuck the cork!" Gluing her mouth to his, caring not 
about the open patio curtains, or the two skateboarders 
outside, she extended her right arm and middle finger 
in greeting and rode Dunk into the bedroom. 

The seduction went very well.

It was sometime after one o'clock. On her stomach, the 
air cool and dry on her skin, Mary Beth felt movement 
and raised her head. Dunk was on her left, awake and 
staring past her. Confused, she followed his gaze--and 
nearly suffered heart-stroke.

"Jesus!"

Holly, nude also except for her panties, was at the 
foot of the bed. One knee on the mattress, eyes wide, 
holding the covers aloft, she seemed caught in freeze-
frame. 

Mary Beth bolted away, pulling the covers around her, 
running hard up against Dunk. They would have gone off 
the bed had Dunk not grabbed the headboard. 

"Calm down!" He put both arms around her chest.

"Calm down! Are you crazy?"

Holly remained frozen, hand clutching the bed sheets, 
eyes startled like a frightened doe. She slid her knee 
down. "Dunk?"

Mary Beth got herself covered. Her head darted back and 
forth. "What is she doing here?"	

"Getting in bed with you," Dunk said.

"Are you crazy?" Then idiotically, "What for?"

Dunk almost laughed. "She wants to make love to you."

Mary Beth jerked. "The hell she does!"

Sensing the true level of disaster, Holly backed away, 
dropping the covers and covering her small breasts. On 
one elbow, Dunk motioned her to come back. Holly shook 
her head.

"Come on. You can't stop now."

Holly backed away farther. Her voice cracked. "I 
can't," she said. "This is wrong."

Dumbfounded, Mary Beth lay and stared.

"You knew she'd freak out," Dunk said. "It's to be 
expected. Now come back here and let's make this work"

Holly was becoming unhinged. "No," she whimpered, 
looking back at the door.

Angrily, Mary Beth sat up and struck Dunk violently in 
the ribs. "You asshole! Tell her to get out before I 
break her goddamned neck!" 

"Mary Beth!" Holly was in tears, voice breaking 
completely. "Please!"

"Get the fuck out!"

Holly spun and crashed into the right doorjamb. 
Bounding off, she stumbled back to grab her clothes, 
then ran down the hallway. "I'm sorry!" she called 
back, sobbing

"Jesus godammit!" Dunk threw back the sheets. Mary Beth 
grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going!"

He tore his arm away. "To get her back."

"The fuck you are!" Mary Beth leaped out of the bed. 
Blocking his path, she hissed, "I want that tramp out 
of this house right now. You even think--"

Dunk exploded: "Damn it, Mary Beth! Shut up!" He flung 
her aside. "This wasn't her idea!" He stormed out the 
door, chased down the hallway after the retreating 
girl. 

Mary Beth, flustered, confounded and angry, rubbed her 
bruised arms. "Fuck you!" She went to the bedroom door, 
heard Holly sobbing. 

"Please let me go." 

Dunk pleaded angrily back. "We talked about this. You 
said you could handle it."

"I can't! All right! Now leave me alone!"

 Mary Beth cursed again. 

"I can't believe you talked me into this!" Holly 
appeared momentarily at the end of the hall, hopping on 
one foot, pants tangled about the other. Tears poured 
down both cheeks. "I must be fucking crazy! I must be 
out of my mind!" She fell heavily against a dining room 
chair. "Owww!" 

Mary Beth had had enough. Grabbing her robe, she flung 
it about herself and cinched the belt, went to confront 
them both. Holly looked ready to run.

"Please, Mary Beth! Just let me go." Her chest, 
splattered by falling teardrops, heaved. She hiccupped 
loudly. Wiping her nose, she fumbled into her blue 
brassiere.

Some part of Mary Beth's mind registered that Holly's 
breasts were tipped by dime-sized, mahogany colored 
aureoles. "I don't know which one of you is worse," she 
said, hotly. She crossed her arms, mouth in a deep 
scowl. "Dunk I'd expect. You I never would."

Holly yanked on her shirt, tucked it halfway in. 
"Please. Just let me go."

Mary Beth leaned forward and, unable to stop herself, 
mind screaming at full volume to say nothing else, said 
very clearly: "You are a fucking cunt."

There was a silence. Then, a thoroughly devastated 
Holly fled the room, loosing both shoes in the small 
foyer trying to open the door. She did not stop to 
retrieve them.

Hating herself, knowing she had just destroyed the best 
friend--maybe the only friend--she had ever had, Mary 
Beth stared savagely at her boyfriend, then turned and 
went back to the bedroom

With wall-shattering strength, the door slammed shut.

Old Baltimore Road. Two-twenty A.M.

Her skinned knees burned, and the grass-itch made Mary 
Beth want to climb right out of her skin. She looked 
back continually. The road was narrower than it had 
been, unevenly paved, offering less concealment. The 
dank smell of corn, growing right up against the sides 
of the road, made her nose and eyes water; her skin 
crawled. 

In the ninth grade, during her third period gym class, 
someone snuck into the girl's locker room and sprinkled 
Mary Beth's brassiere and panties with fiberglass dust, 
shaken most of it back out to conceal the act. Five 
minutes into her next class, Mary Beth began to itch. 
First it was beneath her brassiere, which she 
discreetly scratched through the front of her blouse, 
then her crotch, which she could not. The reaction grew 
devastatingly severe. To the amazement of teacher and 
classmates alike (save perhaps one), the fourteen-year 
old bolted from her desk and out the door, dashing to 
the nearest bathroom. Before of a startled Mrs. 
Chambers, her math teacher, and two other students, 
Mary Beth tore off her blouse and brassiere and doused 
her breasts with cold water. Seconds later it was her 
crotch area. Her misery lasted for weeks. No one was 
ever caught.

This was what corn silk did to her. 

If she inadvertently touched the fine tassels and did 
not immediately wash, the welts came up within minutes. 
Even a few strands left on a boiled ear of corn created 
mouth-sores. Obviously, she wanted to avoid the corn.	

She had covered roughly half the distance to Route 355. 
Though not physically demanding, the trek wore on her 
mentally. She worried Dunk might or might not be ahead, 
and how she would deal with it in either case. This was 
beyond the bounds of forgivable behavior; her fury at 
seeing him might send Mary Beth over the edge. If he 
weren't there--well that was a whole different thing to 
worry about.

If only she hadn't--

Mary Beth stopped dead in her tracks.

"Don't you think that," she said. "Don't you even let 
it into your mind."

The day after her fax paus, Holly missed work. She 
missed the following day also. She didn't answer her 
pages nor did she answer the phone. Finally, Mary Beth 
went to her apartment and pounded on the door. There 
was neither an answer, nor a brown Toyota Celica in the 
parking lot.

Friday morning, Mary Beth planted herself outside 
Holly's father's house in Gaithersburg. When Holly came 
out just before ten, she followed her to work. 

She confronted Holly getting out of the car.

"Oh, God." Holly backed up, holding the Toyota's door 
before her like a shield. "Please--I don't want to 
fight." She looked around the parking lot for escape.

Mary Beth shook her head. "I'm not here to fight. I 
want to apologize."

Holly blinked, uncomprehending. Her voice was cautious. 
"What?"

Mary Beth said, "I had no right calling you what I did. 
It was cruel. And not true. I wanted to rip out my 
tongue afterwards." 

Holly shifted uncomfortably. 

"I know Dunk put you up to it, the son of a bitch. I'm 
just surprised it took so long." Mary Beth forced 
herself to say the next: "You're screwing him, aren't 
you?"

Holly slowly nodded. Her eyes teared.

"Godammit." 

Holly whispered, "Please don't hate me, Mary Beth. I 
hate myself enough." She wiped her eyes, though her 
tears out paced any attempt to wipe them away. "You 
have no idea what doing that was like. I said no so 
often I finally said yes just to shut him up." She 
coughed, began to sob. "I didn't think I'd go through 
with it. I am such a fool."

Mary Beth gave in. Stepping forward, she placed a hand 
over Holly's. "I'm not blaming you," she said. "No. I 
am blaming you. You could have told me what was going 
on, warned me, instead of letting me wake up to an 
ambush. That was low. Not to mention screwing my 
boyfriend behind my back for God knows how long!" She 
was angering again. She stepped back.

"I'm sorry!" Holly cried. "I really am!" The misery in 
her voice doused Mary Beth's anger. "I don't know what 
to do."

Mary Beth vacillated. Finally, she asked: "How long?"

Holly said nothing, only shook her head.

Mary Beth took a guess. "Your birthday, wasn't it. The 
night we went downtown."

"I'm sorry."

Mary Beth compressed her lips. "Over a year." 

A Jeep Wrangler containing three guys passed behind 
them and honked. Mary Beth unthinkingly threw up her 
middle finger, not turning to look. The guys howled 
back in appreciation. She said, "I don't want to stand 
here airing our laundry. Let's go inside." 

Holly wiped her eyes. The sobbing had lessened. "I have 
to work," she said.

Mary Beth looked at her watch. "Lunch then. What time 
do you go?"

Holly tried to think through her confusion. "Two 
o'clock, probably. I'll call." 

Mary Beth nodded. Adjusting her purse with an air of 
finality, she left Holly alone. Holly, still crying, 
looked distractedly around the lot, hiccupped taking a 
breath, then got her purse from the front seat and went 
inside.

They ate at Ruby Tuesday's on the second floor. Mary 
Beth had a salad, Holly as well. They said little 
before the meal, each wrestling with her own thoughts. 
When they did converse, their words remained carefully 
neutral. Sipping a fresh coffee afterward, Mary Beth 
finally broached the subject.

"How did it start?"

Holly stopped in mid-sip. Her hand trembled. She put 
down the cup. "That night. When he took me home. Us 
home, I mean." 

Mary Beth had forgotten the striptease across the 
living room, and falling asleep naked on the bed. "I 
was wrecked," she said. "Passed out. Dunk never home." 
She swirled her coffee, added more cream. "He told me 
he slept on his father's couch."

Holly shook her head. The waiter approached, and she 
placed her hand over the cup. Her stomach was a 
minefield, waiting only a careless step. "It was 
totally unexpected, I can tell you that. I never for a 
minute imagined."

Mary Beth sighed. "Most things with Dunk are 
unimagined."

Holly said, "I've learned that. The hard way."

Mary Beth put down her cup, folded her hands in a chin 
rest. "Was it spontaneous? Or a seduction?"

Holly turned red. "It's all so stupid, Mary Beth. Dad 
wasn't home, and Mom was sound asleep. We were down in 
the rec-room. I had on that stupid blue dress, and like 
I really needed it, Dunk gave me more dope. If Louis 
were there it wouldn't have happened." Gloomily, she 
swirled her coffee. "Dunk took him home first and of 
course, I thought nothing of inviting Dunk in. Which I 
shouldn't have, because I was already wasted. We were 
at the coffee table, sniffing coke, and I let him do 
one thing, then another, and then it all just came 
apart."

Mary Beth cursed silently. "He should never have done 
that. Not to his niece." She braced herself for what 
she had to say. "It was no accident, Holly. Dunk never 
does anything by accident. If he had any thought about 
screwing you at all, it was a full blown plan. He 
doesn't jump at opportunities. And he doesn't leave 
anything to chance." She leaned forward. "He's had more 
opportunity to cheat on me than sesame seeds on a Big 
Mac. He revels in it. Tells me when he's been hit on, 
what he did or didn't say, how he brushed them off." 
She paused. "Also when he scores." 

Holly's eyes widened. 

Mary Beth looked at her coffee. "There's nothing in it 
for him, that's the only reason I put up with it. He 
doesn't see them again. I don't think he even has fun." 
She looked around for the waiter. "It's the challenge, 
I guess. Stalking us like game."

Holly took a shuddering breath. "That's exactly how I 
feel. Game." 

Mary Beth momentarily touched Holly's hand. "Beat 
yourself up all you want. You had no more choice than a 
package of ground beef being picked over in a store."

Holly laughed. "Gee, that's flattering." She held 
herself in a loose clutch. "It wasn't--you know--
completely one-sided." She looked carefully at her 
coffee. "I was drunk and high on the coke--I'd never 
really had such a good time." She shrugged. "When Dunk 
started his move, either I didn't believe it, or I told 
myself it was just tease. Then his hand was inside my 
dress, and my dress came down--" She sat quietly a 
moment. "Then I couldn't stop."

Both girls were quiet. The waiter returned and refilled 
their cups and Mary Beth stirred in cream and a packet 
of Sweet 'N Low. She raised the cup to her lips. "Why 
did you go on?"

Holly shifted uncomfortably. In a low voice, she said, 
"I tried not to. Honest I did. The first month I was 
okay. He called a lot, and tried to see me, but Dad I 
think helped keep him away. Then there was Louis." Her 
words tailed off. "I feel like Linda Tripp."

Mary Beth smiled. "You should. What about your father? 
He doesn't suspect?"

Holly turned white. "God, no!" White showed around her 
pupils. "He'd kill me if he did. He'd kill us both!"

Mary Beth said, "It's hard keeping it a secret forever. 
It takes only one angry phone call or a jealous 
friend."

Holly misunderstood. "I never meant to betray you, Mary 
Beth. Honestly. I only said yes because my resolve 
finally gave out." She listlessly stirred the coffee. 
"I know how stupid this sounds, but I spent the last 
ten years hiding from my acne and the way I looked, and 
suddenly I was born into another person. At least 
that's how it felt." She sighed. "This is no excuse, 
but I couldn't say no. No meant going back to the way I 
was, and I couldn't do that." Her voice was barely 
audible. "I don't expect you to understand."

The waiter, sensing his tip depended upon discretion, 
determined neither wanted more coffee, laid the check 
between the two women and slipped away. 

"I was so embarrassed," Mary Beth said, finally. 
"Especially after making love and realizing what he 
planned. I wanted to cry. No! I wanted to throw him out 
a window!"

Holly laughed. "I'd like to do that myself!" She made a 
swooshing motion with her hands. 

"I wanted to pay someone to take naked photo's of you 
and put them all over the web."

Holly's grin turned crooked. "You could ask my brother. 
I'm sure he'd share."

It was Mary Beth's turn to laugh. "I might do that. He 
home?"

Holly began to relax. "Looking at them right now, I'm 
sure. Or sharing them with his friends."

Mary Beth laughed, forgot her anger. The girl across 
the table was the same Holly she had known before: 
loving, compassionate, funny. Her sense of betrayal 
eased.

"I want to ask you something."

Holly waited.

"Have you ever been with another woman?" 

Holly's eyes grew wide. "No. Of course not."

Mary Beth inclined her head. "We should do it, just to 
get even." 

Holly covered her mouth. "Mary Beth!" Then: "You're not 
serious?"

"I am."

"But--"

"You were willing last night."

Holly stared. "That's different. I--"

Mary Beth finished her words. "--was acting under 
duress?"

Holly wrung her napkin. 

Mary Beth suddenly realized it was the opposite answer 
Holly feared. "Say yes, Holly."

Air seemed to rush into Holly's lungs. She started to 
laugh. "I don't know whether to be happy or terrified. 
I'd never have the courage to ask myself." A telltale 
shudder ran through her. "Thank you."

Feeling rather a bully, Mary Beth replied: "You're 
welcome." 

"When?"

"Tonight?"

"Tonight?" 

"Um."

"What about Dunk?"

"What about him?"

"You don't--"

Mary Beth shook her head. 

"What if he wants to be there?" Holly said.

"Sorry. Men not allowed."

Holly looked dubious. 

Mary Beth leaned close. "He started this Holly, not us. 
If things don't go quite the way he expected, he has 
nothing to say." 

Holly nodded, though still looked unconvinced. "What 
time?"

Mary Beth said, "Right after work. We'll do dinner, 
maybe a movie. There's a new Harrison Ford movie I'd 
really love to see." Holly nodded, and Mary Beth said, 
"Your place? Six? That gives me time to shower and 
change."

Mary Beth paid the check and as they prepared to leave, 
had an impulsive--and very real--desire to kiss Holly 
right there. They exchanged a hug outside the 
restaurant. Holly walked quickly away. Watching her, 
Mary Beth was aware that anyone looking could guess the 
truth. She didn't care. Thinking of Holly later that 
night brought a silly grin to her face. Squashing it, 
she turned and headed away.

Black Hill Park. Sometime after Midnight.

Their conversation, once it resumed talking, 
deteriorated quickly. Most of his questions Mary Beth 
deflected either with a shrug or a grunt, but Dunk was 
nothing if not persistent. She was just as determined 
not to be bullied.

"You can't pretend not to love her," Dunk said. "I feel 
it every time we kiss. You might as well be New York."

Mary Beth remembered having that feeling herself. She 
said, "This isn't about Holly. It's about you and me." 
She made a slicing gesture with her hand. "You and me 
here; Holly over there. You treat her like shit anyway, 
so why do you care?"

"Jesus. How can you say that?" He shifted to face her. 
"I've given Holly everything she wanted. A new car, 
freedom from her father--"

"A baby."

Dunk stiffened. "That's off limits," he said, hotly. "I 
won't take blame for her pregnancy."

Mary Beth laughed contemptuously. "You fucked her! If 
that's not to blame, I don't know what is!"

Measuring his words, Dunk said, "She was supposed to be 
on the pill. I took her at her word. How was I supposed 
to know she was lying?"

Mary Beth spun and poked him in the chest. "Godammit! 
She was not lying! She showed me the pack, and it was 
up-to-date. Every day used!" She sat back against the 
door. "Birth control pills are not flawless, Dunk. 
Especially the low dose ones. You should have used a 
condom."

Dunk threw up his hands. "Everyone has unprotected 
sex!" he exclaimed. "We do it all the time." 

"That's exactly my point!" she yelled. "I've only been 
on the pill for five months! Five fucking months! Five 
years I went through constant fear I'd get pregnant! 
And you--you selfish bastard--think you'd use a condom! 
Hell no! Leave it up to me. Well I got news for you. 
Diaphragms suck! Shields suck! Everything else sucks!"

Dunk lit another cigarette. He blew smoke, looked out 
the window. His right forefinger tapped the wheel.

In a more reasonable tone, Mary Beth said: "Dunk, she's 
a kid. A sheltered kid. She's been under her dad's 
thumb so long she has a dent in her backside. Once you 
put your hands on her, she might as well have sold 
herself to the devil." She touched his forearm. "She 
worships the ground you walk on and you just don't 
care."

He gave her a weary look. "I offered to pay for an 
abortion, Mary Beth. What else can I do?"

"She doesn't want an abortion, Dunk. She wants your 
support."

"I'm her uncle, Mary Beth," he said, anger returning. 
"If the department found out, I'd get canned. Worse, 
I'd get prosecuted. Incest is a felony in Maryland, you 
know? Think I don't want to go to jail?" He shook his 
head. "Abortion is the only option." 

Mary Beth said, "She's a devout Catholic. With or 
without you, she's having the baby." She laughed 
derisively. "She thinks it's her punishment. Why, God 
only knows. It wasn't her that spit in God's face."

Dunk's right hand fisted, and Mary Beth sat back, 
braced against the seat. Nothing happened. He let out a 
slow breath, let the hand settle back in his lap, said, 
"Then she raises the kid herself." 

"She doesn't have the money," Mary Beth rejoined. "She 
barely makes the rent."

"Get a roommate."

"She has a roommate."

"Get another one."

Exhausted, Mary Beth looked out the window. She still 
loved Dunk--though she hated him as well--and wanted 
very much to resolve their dilemma. Before Holly, Dunk 
was the only person she had ever wanted or really cared 
about. Now it was threatened. And despite their current 
problems, breaking off the relationship was the last 
thing Mary Beth wanted. 

Suddenly Dunk said: "I want to make love. Can we do 
that?"

It had been two weeks since their last sex. It had not 
been good. To her surprise, Mary Beth said, "I would 
love to."

Spreading the blanket across a small island of grass, 
they removed their shoes and Mary Beth flexed her toes 
in the wet grass. Dunk held her from behind, slowly 
kissed the nape of her neck, her shoulders, bringing 
Mary Beth to arousal. He lifted the front of her shirt 
and unsnapped her brassiere, took her breasts in his 
hands. He caressed her nipples into erection. 

"You still love me, right?" Mary Beth asked, needing 
assurance. 

"You know I do. I just hope it goes both ways."

He removed her shirt and brassiere, let them drop to 
the blanket. Mary Beth turned in his arms, placed her 
arms around his neck. 

"I love you. You know I love you." She kissed him, 
raised onto her toes and let him unbuckle her shorts. 
She stepped out of them as they fell. "I have to know 
we can work this out," she said. "Holly included."

Dunk placed his forehead against hers. "Can we leave 
this till morning?"

"We can. But, I need to know you'll be with me in the 
morning."

Encircling her waist, drawing her close, he whispered, 
"Our problems can be worked out, Mary Beth. Holly 
included."

Dunk removed her panties and lowered her to the ground. 
He was almost brutal in his entry; his lovemaking 
intense. Mary Beth, desperately in need of affection, 
responded in kind, struggling beneath him like an 
overmatched wrestling partner, legs struggling but 
never finding purchase. Finally, she planted her feet 
and fought him with hips alone, thrusting, lips and 
tongue in a feverish dance. They exploded together, a 
fury of sound that startled nearby activity into 
submission. Gasping air and emitting muffled shrieks, 
her orgasm roared along like a steam locomotive. Mary 
Beth rode it until her energy was spent, finally 
collapsed like a bridge failing under too much weight. 
Only then, like inhabitants of an air-raid shelter 
emerging after the all-clear, did the night-sounds 
resume.

Dunk covered them both with the blanket and, as Mary 
Beth slipped away to exhausted sleep, convinced things 
would work out, stared into the lowering clouds. 

Mary Beth could never have guessed what Dunk planned. 

Dinner--and Something More--at Eight

At seven o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang. Holly was 
still dressing and threw on her robe, cinching it as 
she crossed the living room. Her whole body trembled, 
though invisibly, and her teeth begged to chatter. 
Checking the peep-hole, she unlatched the bolt and let 
Mary Beth in. 

"Hi." Terrific greeting, said her wistful smile. 

Mary Beth smiled. She wore a simple denim shorts-
overall outfit over a white top, with open-toe white 
sandals and a hip purse. Her hair, back in a long 
ponytail, brushed lightly across her shoulder blades. 
Holly closed and locked the door. 

For the briefest of seconds the friends just stood, 
looking embarrassed, then Holly led Mary Beth back into 
the apartment. They stood quiet again in the living 
room and, seeking diversion, Mary Beth focused on a 
mahogany china cabinet with crystal-paned doors. 

"This is new," she said, running her fingers along the 
burnished wood. It sat behind the dining room set and 
table service she had helped Holly pick out. (She had 
also lent five hundred dollars toward their purchase.) 
The cabinet was much finer quality than the other 
furniture, and old. 

"It's my mom's. Or was my mom's. My grandmother's, 
actually."

Mary Beth looked around. "Your dad must be in a 
trance," she said, remembering his obdurate attitude 
toward Holly moving out.

"He's coming around." Holly put thumb and forefinger 
together and shook her hand. "A little," she said, 
smiling. Both girls laughed. The gesture was from the 
last movie they had watched together, Starman, where a 
spaced out alien in the guise of Jeff Bridges had 
charmed them both into tears. "Want something to 
drink?"

Mary Beth nodded. "Thanks." 

While Holly went to fix iced tea, Mary Beth found 
something soft for them to listen to. Fingering the 
small collection of CD's, she settled on Luther Van 
Dross. An odd choice, Dunk might have said, but one she 
and Holly both liked. She inserted the disk and went to 
the kitchen.

In the doorway she stopped. 

Holly was at the counter, slicing a lemon, back to Mary 
Beth. Mary Beth watched, struggling with her emotions. 
Her sexual North Pole had always pointed up, wandering 
no more than a few degrees off center, certainly never 
enough to consider sex with another girl. Even after 
Pattie Kensington. Now it had flip-flopped one hundred 
and eighty degrees and all she could think about was 
sex with another girl. Holly. 

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

Holly turned around.

"How long have you had feelings for me?"

Holly flushed. "Sexual feelings?"

"Yes."

Holly fiddled with the knife. "Almost forever." She 
blushed harder. "It started right after my eighteenth 
birthday party, I guess. We began lunching and seeing 
each other--" she rolled a cut-in-half lemon between 
her fingertips "--and before I knew it, I was hooked. 
That was before I had strong feelings for Dunk." She 
looked away. "If I ever really did."

Mary Beth moved to the counter, a few steps away. "I 
lied when I said I had never been with another girl," 
she said.

Holly looked at the lemon. "Dunk told me."

"You also know I'm not a lesbian."

Holly looked up from beneath her hair. "You're saying I 
am?"

Mary Beth moved immediately forward. "No! God, no." She 
placed her hands on Holly's forearms, spoke softly. 
"I'm afraid you think this is just a sex thing, or a 
payback to Dunk."

"Isn't it?"

Mary Beth flinched. "Not for me." A vacuum threatened 
to collapse her chest. "If that's what you think..." 
She stepped away, but Holly caught her hand.

"I don't! Not even a little bit." She was breathing 
hard, eyes liquid. "I was afraid you thought that." She 
shivered once, and her voice was husky. "I want it to 
be about you and me." 

Mary Beth touched Holly's cheek and the girl's drew 
closer together, silence a buffer between them. They 
both wanted the kiss, understood the other knew it, but 
the moment passed. Awkwardly, Holly backed away. "I 
should get dressed."

Mary Beth followed her to the bedroom door, where she 
waited. 

The room was small and airily decorated in pastels. Two 
walls were covered in wallpaper; the others painted. 
The furnishings were few: a small, double-size bed 
brought from home and covered in a pink and yellow 
comforter, an end table holding a yellow-shaded lamp. 
There was also a rocking chair, a bureau, and a full 
length mirror hanging opposite the vanity. The one 
decoration, a small floral arrangement they had found 
together at a flea market, hung over the bed.

"I told Dunk I'd be late tonight." Mary Beth said.

Holly had removed her robe, picked up a blue satin top 
off the bed, and undecidedly begun to dress. She 
paused. "What did he say to that?"

"How late is late?"

Holly laughed, quickly sobered. "Does he know?" she 
asked.

Mary Beth shrugged. "I alluded to it. Let him sit and 
stew."

Holly fastened the upper three buttons on her top. Mary 
Beth thought Holly adorable--pixyish even--in her new 
underwear and outfit. Her hair, freshly cut and styled 
that afternoon, added to the palpable sense of 
embarrassment between them. Then her eyes fixed on the 
bed and Mary Beth got a jolt of reality.

Oh my! Am I really doing this?

Holly caught both her eye and her reaction. Taking a 
deep breath, she said: "I'd feel a whole lot better if 
you'd just kiss me, Mary Beth." Her eyes were silver 
dollars, and she trembled lightly. The sides of her 
half-buttoned shirt, clutched to her chest in an effort 
to stop shaking, fluttered like butterfly wings. "That 
sounds stupid, I know, but--" 

Mary Beth stepped away from the door. "No it doesn't. 
Not at all." 

"Louis--the first Louis--always said to get the kiss 
over with first. If you liked the person. That way you 
don't worry about it all night long."

Mary Beth moved to her side. "I can't tell you how 
often my tongue tied on a first date. Boy's act like 
they're having a brain hemorrhage. Me too, sometimes."

Holly leaned forward, and Mary Beth kissed her gently.

"Yes," Mary Beth said, pulling back. They both laughed. 
"That I definitely like." 

They kissed again, this time moving closer, Mary Beth 
spreading the partly unbuttoned blouse and touching 
Holly's waist. Their mouths opened to find each other's 
tongue, letting them dance together. Haltingly and 
awkward, they gravitated like a pair of misaligned 
magnets, unsure whether to join or to fall apart. After 
a moment, they parted. 

Holly grinned. Her teeth chattered lightly, and her 
face was a cardinal red. Mary Beth's left hand touched 
her forearm, the other was inside her shirt, touching 
lightly beneath her breast. Her heart thundered like a 
stampede of cattle. "Wow." 

For a time they just stared, eyes locked, feeling the 
thump of their beating hearts. Then Mary Beth said, 
"Would you like to--" indicating the bed.

"Oh, God, yes!" Holly leaped forward, arms wrapping 
around Mary Beth's neck. They locked together, falling 
backwards onto the bed, mouths never parting though 
both girls laughed. Holly straddled Mary Beth's waist, 
sat lightly upon her as they kissed. 

"My God!" Holly laughed.

"I know, I know." 

Fumbling with Mary Beth's shoulder straps, Holly found 
her blouse undone and pushed back over her shoulders. 
She struggled out of it and then fought Mary Beth for 
control of her straps.

"No fair! " She smacked Mary Beth's hands away. "I want 
to do that!" 

They struggled more, broke into giggles, then Mary Beth 
commandeered Holly's mouth and the struggle was 
forgotten.

"Mary Beth--" 

"I know. It's okay."

Kissing lightly along Holly's jaw, Mary Beth followed 
it back to her ear, where she gently began to suck. 
Holly shuddered. Then her fingers ran lightly along 
Holly's side to her right breast, folded around it, and 
Holly shuddered again. The fit was perfect. 

"I like that," Holly sighed. Then, as her nipple turned 
between two fingers, becoming erect, "I like that even 
more."

Suddenly, Mary Beth's hand rose and came down with a 
resounding slap.

"Ow!" Holly rubbed her stinging cheek. "What was that 
for?" 

"This bra is from VS!" Mary Beth accused, fingering the 
strap. "Where'd you get it?"

With a grimace, Holly said: "Montgomery Mall. Last 
weekend." 

"You bought it from someone else?" 

Holly laughed and said, "It's the same pair I had on 
the other night." Mary Beth had in fact, noticed. "You 
were in for a surprise as it was. Besides, I was 
scared."

"It's not like I would have known."

"I would have."

Mary Beth kissed her again, hard, inserting her tongue 
deeply. "You're forgiven," she said, kissed the curve 
of Holly's neck. She lowered the brassierre's straps, 
then the cups, exposing small brown nipples and 
aureole. A moment later, Holly's left nipple was in her 
mouth.

"Mary Beth!"

Mary Beth drew as much of Holly in as she could, making 
Holly shudder, unsnapped the brassiere and removed it.

Holly momentarily stiffened, relaxed when Mary Beth 
encircled her neck with the bra and laughingly drew her 
close. 

Holly pushed back her hair. "This is so strange."

Mary Beth kissed her again. "It's gonna get stranger."

"Was it like this before?"

"With Pattie? Not at all." She gave a brief narrative 
of her experience.

"You were okay afterward?" 

"Not like this."

Holly sat up, placed Mary Beth's hands over her 
breasts, squeezed them tightly. Her chest rose and fell 
with slow, deep breaths. Both felt a low burning. From 
the way Holly's flush reached low into her chest, 
ignition was very close. 

Mary Beth said, "If we don't stop, we'll never get off 
this bed."

Holly placed her hands over Mary Beth's breasts, 
squeezed them gently. "What's so bad about that?" 

"Nothing. Except I'm starving, and I have to pee. And I 
want a little girl-talk before I rip you apart!"

They degenerated into helpless laughter. 

Holly reluctantly stood, replaced her brassiere. Mary 
Beth refastened the one strap Holly had gotten loose 
and, putting her arms about Holly's neck, said: "We'll 
resume this when we get home."

"One condition," Holly said.

"What's that?"

"I get to stay on top!"



Black Hill Park. One A.M.	

Mary Beth awoke to find Dunk up and dressed. At the 
truck, he appeared to be folding and placing her 
clothes on the back seat. He motioned her to get up. 

Mary Beth wrapped the blanket around herself instead 
and sat, crooking her finger suggestively.

"No," Dunk said, walking over and taking her hand. 
"Time to go." 

He drew her erect, and Mary Beth released the blanket 
and let it fall away. Clasping her hands behind her 
back, she said: "We don't have to, you know. You can 
make love to me again, and I won't tell."

He grinned, and Mary Beth felt a sudden chill. Was that 
malice in his grin, a low glee? Or just a trick of the 
milky light? She looked again at the Bronco. Why had he 
folded her clothes? 

Alarm bells began to sound. 

"What's going on?" she demanded.

Dunk picked up the blanket, folded and placed it atop 
her clothes.

"Dunk?"

He said, "Know what I think?"

Mary Beth tried to edge around him but he shut the 
door.

"I think you and Holly are two halves of the same 
coin."

She crossed her arms, suddenly aware of the oppressive 
dark and eerie stillness. "What are you talking about?" 

"Remember we talked about what I'd do if you left me?"

"Dunk, this isn't funny. Give me back my clothes."

"What did I say?"

"Dunk--"

"I said, if you ever tried to break it off, I'd make 
you walk out of here naked. Didn't I?"

Mary Beth became very still. "Stop this and give me--"

"You agreed," he said, cutting her off.

A moth fluttered against her nose and Mary Beth slapped 
it away with fright. "You can't be serious!"

He said, lightly, "I never said it had to be another 
guy." 

Mary Beth was truly angered now. And frightened. She 
stepped forward, pointed at the recently covered grass. 
"Did I miss something? What was that we just did?" 

The grin reappeared. "Last dinner for the condemned." 
He bounced the car keys in his hand, backed against the 
door. "You and Holl are this close to being a matched 
pair, leaving me a third party." He opened the door. 
"Know what happens to third parties in a romance?"

"If you don't stop this and give me my clothes--"

Suddenly, he placed a hand against Mary Beth's chest 
and pushed. "Hey!" Startled, she tumbled backwards, 
tripping over her own feet, landing flat on her back, 
legs akimbo. 

Dunk got in the Bronco, shut the door.

"Dunk!"

Struggling back to a sitting position, Mary Beth jumped 
up, promptly lost her footing and did a one-eighty. 
Regaining her balance, she ran to the passenger side 
door. It was too late. Dunk had already pressed the 
lock. He grinned at her in triumph.

"Bye Mary Beth." 

She stood there in shock, panting, pounding the glass. 
Dunk only laughed. Running around the other side--again 
losing her footing--she smacked the driver's window 
with both hands.

"What the fuck are you doing!" 

"I told you," he said through the glass. "Coming in 
last."

He started the engine, and Mary Beth's heart went right 
to her throat. She jumped around to the Bronco's front 
end and planted her hands on the hood. 

"Oh, no! You're not leaving me this way!" 

Dunk threw the Bronco in reverse, shot backward over 
the curb. Skidding up the small incline sideways, he 
ran over the bordering shrubs, coming up against a 
small pine. Mary Beth plunged to the ground, slapping 
both hands to the pavement. Skinning knuckles on both 
hands, she cried out in pain. Then the truck was by her 
and accelerating across the lot.

"Dunk!"

She kneeled in disbelief, showered by clogs of earth 
and small stones thrown off by the tires. Then she took 
off after him at a run. Where the parking lot hooked to 
the left, the Bronco slowed; Rolling down the window, 
Dunk held something aloft, something white; waved it 
tauntingly. In the weak moonlight Mary Beth saw it was 
her panties. He began to move slowly forward, but when 
Mary Beth reached the bumper, he jumped the gas and the 
Bronco leapt forward again. 

"Give me back my clothes!" 

"Three-fifteen!" he yelled, giving her the rendezvous 
point.

Mary Beth yelled: "You bastard! You can't do this!"

"No?" He gunned the car forward again. "Who's standing 
there naked?"

Mary Beth ran, but no sooner had she reached the 
Bronco's rear end than Dunk floored it again. The 
Bronco shot forward, slowing at the top of the lot, 
where again it made a left-hand turn. He tossed out her 
panties, followed by her shoes and socks. Honking 
merrily, he floored the accelerator and the Bronco was 
gone. 

Nearly hysterical with rage, Mary Beth ran to where her 
panties and shoes lay and past them, taking the ninety-
degree turn at full speed. Her feet, already battered 
by stones and broken glass, slipped on a patch of loose 
scree and she almost fell. The tip of her small left 
toe skinned raw. (Although she wouldn't know this until 
later). Cutting across an island, she nearly fell 
again, finally slowed. She arrived just in time to see 
the Bronco disappear onto the park road. Huffing, she 
stood a minute, then jogged to the end of the lot, 
watched the Bronco's tail lights flashed once brightly, 
then disappear behind an intervening hill. 

Mary Beth was alone. 

Bubbly and a Little Talk		

The drive to Zio's restaurant was anticlimactic. They 
chatted about nothing material, staying instead with 
simple girl-talk. Despite Mary Beth's earlier claim, 
she was not hungry. Her stomach was a golf ball-size 
knot, pitted just as badly with holes. Once there; 
however, the almost carnal smell of Italian cooking 
turned both girls ravenously hungry. They ordered a 
deluxe, deep dish pizza. 

"I've been on a diet longer than I've been alive," Mary 
Beth laughed, breaking a bread stick in half. Butter 
basted and covered with seasoning, it was more calories 
than she had consumed in two days. "I was conceived on 
a diet." 

Holly showed her fake ID, and the waitress opened the 
bottle of Chianti, filled their glasses, and placed the 
bottle in an ice-filled tub. 

Holly took a sip. "What in the world for? You have, 
maybe, half a gram of fat on your entire body."

Mary Beth held up five fingers, pinched her middle. 
"This is what I need to loose, minimum. I've gained ten 
in the last two months, and I can't stand it. Ever 
since he discovered cooking, Dunk feeds me constantly." 

Holly interleaved her fingers, rested her chin on them, 
said, "Has anyone ever mentioned the word perfect to 
you?"

Mary Beth cheesed. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's 
said all day." She attacked another bread stick. "If I 
don't stop, I'll look like my mother." 	

Holly fiddled with her blouse. "I already look like my 
mother."

Mary Beth snorted. "Well, I'm not kissing her."

The pizza came, and both girls stared, more in horror 
than wonder. Twenty inches across, chunk-cut tomatoes 
and peppers lay under the bubbling skin, while huge 
chunks of sliced pepperoni and salami sank through the 
sauce like foundering ships. The waitress laughed and 
deftly sliced the pizza into eight equal slices, then 
sixteen when Mary Beth looked at her with doubt.

"Jesus Christ," Holly said, rubbing her lips.

"I can't even eat one, much less half this!" Mary Beth 
barked laughter. "My diet!"

Holly touched the edge of the pan. "Ow!"

"It's hot," the waitress warned, unnecessarily. "Watch 
out." She laid a stack of napkins beside each plate, 
refilled their water glasses, then slipped away.

The girls dug in.

"Fuck my diet!" Mary Beth skewered two slices, pulled 
them onto her plate. Thick tentacles clung back to the 
circular monster like chains. "Fuck your diet too."

Holly tried to sever a piece, attacked it with her 
knife. "I'm on a diet?"

"You are now."

Holly sawed cheese unsuccessfully, said, "Then I might 
as well enjoy it."

After a few mouthfuls, Holly swirled her Chianti and 
said, "Sometimes I think Dunk is insane. No, I mean 
really insane." Mary Beth gave her a you just 
discovered that? look. "This drug thing, for instance." 
She glanced around, lowered her voice. "He makes fifty 
something a year, Mary Beth, what's he doing selling 
drugs? He knows it's not worth, it seems to make it 
more fun." 

"He's a thrill freak," Mary Beth said. "Always has 
been."

"I know, but he's gonna get caught. They always get 
caught. And cops don't do well in jail."

Mary Beth toyed with her fork, winding and unwinding 
whorls of cheese. She said, "Last winter two cops at 
his station got busted on a drug sting. Two more from 
the main precinct in Rockville. They tried to sell it 
out of state, which is a federal crime. Dunk wasn't 
involved in this one directly--they lifted it from the 
Police Properties room in Rockville--but he did hold it 
as a favor. For one of his buddies, quote-unquote. 
Three kilos." Mary Beth shook her head. 

"The night after he gave it back, his buddy and one of 
the Rockville cops drove down to Manassas, tried to 
sell it to an FBI agent. It could have led right back 
to him." She looked up, sighed. "Know what he said? He 
should have sold it himself. Had a buyer lined up in 
Baltimore, only needed to cut himself in. The reason he 
didn't was because the Rockville cops were sloppy. He 
was more pissed about losing the sale than almost 
getting caught." She pointed her fork. "Now that's 
Dunk!"

Holly shook her head. 

"I stopped doing it. You should too."

Holly's stopped in mid-bite. "What?"

"Coke."

Holly's eyes widened slightly; she looked away. "I 
have" 

"Good."

Changing the subject, Holly said, "He always gets what 
he wants. How can you stand that?"

Mary Beth drained half her glass of wine. "Trick with 
Dunk is to be just as bull-headed as he is. Or just as 
crazy. Which I wasn't until lately, but now I am. Bull-
headed, I mean. Letting a man set the rules goes 
against to my nature--the original cast-iron bitch, 
remember?" She laughed. "With Dunk it's a struggle just 
keeping my identity. He takes a pick here and a pinch 
there, until you feel like a purple bruise."

"Or a punching bag."

"That too." Mary Beth refilled her glass, topped off 
Holly's, which she had barely touched. "Come on! We're 
supposed to be enjoying ourselves!" 

Holly grinned wryly. "I'm already enjoying myself."

Mary Beth observed her over the rim of her glass. "Are 
you?"

Holly briefly touched her hand. "Almost as much as 
earlier."

Color crept into Mary Beth's face, a healthy, radiant 
color that made Holly smile. 

"What are you going to do?"

The slight widening returned to Holly's eyes. "About 
what?"

"Dunk."

"I'm gonna stop seeing him, of course. You had to ask?"

Mary Beth cupped the glass in her hands, looked at her 
friend thoughtfully. "Is there something else?"

Holly twiddled her fork. "No. Why?"

"You seem bothered. By something other than Dunk."

"Other than us?"

"That shouldn't bother you at all."

Holly continued to twirl the fork. "I'm fine."

Mary Beth let it go. "Okay then!" She tore loose 
another wedge of pizza, dismembered the clinging 
tendrils, and said, "Let's finish this feast and make 
like a tree and bark!" They laughed, and Mary Beth 
leaned forward. "I want to show you my underwear," she 
whispered.

Holly could only grin foolishly and blush.

Black Hill Park. One-thirty A.M.

Mary Beth sat down. Pebbles dug her rear end, but she 
hardly noticed. Her anger was an unlanced boil, 
suppurating, gradually giving way to fear in the 
darkness. For a time she just sat and shook her head, 
cursing Dunk. She cursed the darkness. She cursed the 
peek-a-boo moon. Thinking it a cold, dispassionate eye, 
she wonders what any intelligence behind it thought of 
her situation. 

She had been through scrapes, but never like this. 
Crouching on the floorboard of his truck in rush hour 
traffic, giving Dunk head, or stripping to her skin at 
Seneca Valley High School the night of her five-year 
reunion, posing before of her old locker while Dunk 
snapped photographs was a Sunday school lesson compared 
to this. She considers this an episode of madness, as 
far beyond those things as a dented fender is to a 
head-on collision between trains. 

It was insanity. 

It was also the end of their relationship, even if he 
came back.

Which he would not.

She spent a further minute catching her breath, then 
got up. Her tail was a pin cushion, peppered with 
stones. She carefully brushed it off. Her skinned toes 
ached and when she lifted her left foot, Mary Beth was 
not surprised to find blood. Disgusted, she hobbled 
back to her clothing. 

What if he had left me nothing? she asked.

He very nearly did.

She picked up her panties, shook them out and carefully 
slid them on. The socks were probably an afterthought; 
one for which she was extremely thankful. Getting the 
canvas and leather of her Nike's past her injured toes 
would be hell. Just tying the shoelaces made her wince. 

She crossed her arms, shivered a bit, and watched the 
light-starved parking lot disappear entirely. She could 
not even see the road. The moon, her second tormentor, 
was a splotch on the overcast. She looked around. 

Woods enclosed her on three sides, dangerously close. 
Night's sounds, usually a comfort, were now spooky and 
unnatural, too often seeming to come from all 
directions at once. Something screeched in the darkness 
to her left, making Mary Beth jump. It took flight and 
emerged from the tree line, skimming silently over the 
parking lot, a huge owl with a five-foot wingspan. She 
could just make out its shape against the trees. 

She forced herself to calm. Consider the options, Mary 
Beth. The park had telephones located throughout: at 
all the larger buildings and restrooms, from any of 
which she could place a call. The closest, she guessed, 
was at the main parking lot, down by the lake, but this 
was in the opposite direction, and besides, it was the 
lake and Mary Beth would not go near the lake. Another 
hung on the restroom in the next picnic area over and 
that was the direction she needed to go.

Make the call how? 

"Shit!"

She had no purse and no change! She tried to remember 
if dialing locally were possible without change, then 
decided "O" got the operator regardless. Worse came to 
worse, she'd dial 911. She started walking. 

Reaching the park road, Mary Beth checked her watch. 
One-fifteen. The road wound down and to her left, 
disappearing into a low gap behind a stand of trees. 
The moon was out, sneaking between clouds, and 
illuminated the gap just enough to reinforce its 
spookiness. Shivering, she walked out to the middle of 
the road, and descended, keeping a sharp ear and a 
sharper eye. 

Halfway down, the moon disappeared again. Mary Beth was 
plunged into darkness. Movements, stealthily soft, 
sounded from her right and Mary Beth slowed and then 
froze. She looked straight ahead, petrified, until a 
branch sounded a low snap, cracked again louder, and 
then she jumped and nearly ran. Only the sudden 
emergence of a doe with two fawns at the edge of the 
road--themselves startled--kept Mary Beth from 
screaming. 

She went down and through the low area, started up the 
next hill. Fifty yards further on was the outline of 
another parking lot--the picnic area. She left the park 
road and cut through the grass, climbed a small hill, 
avoiding the dense, towering pine trees like monstrous 
Christmas trees inhabiting the park. Even this slight 
of a rise was treacherous. Twice she lost her footing, 
both times barely catching herself on her fingertips. 
At the top, she stumbled in a depression and nearly 
fell again, realizing with alarm it was the opening of 
some animal's den. Angry scratching sent her scurrying 
away.

 At the restrooms she stopped. A tall wooden fence 
surrounded the entrance, and Mary Beth gave it a wide 
berth, fearing the darkness behind. She circled the 
building to the front, saw the telephone huddled 
between two huge dark shapes. It nearly set her running 
until she recognized them as soda machines. 

Her relief was short lived.

Picking up the receiver and placing it against one ear, 
she was distraught to hear no dial tone, only dead 
silence. She tried the operator, but nothing happened, 
and pushing buttons at random drew the same response. 	

No! she pleaded. This can't be! It had to work! 

She looked then at the metallic cord, dangling loose 
from the handset, found it cut at the box. Screaming, 
she fired the handset against the wall, only to have it 
bounce back and strike her on the chest. She screamed a 
second time, snatched up the phone and hurled it back 
against the wall. This time she dodged barely in time. 
The tip of the severed cord flicked her right ear in 
passing

"Son of a bitch!"

Then it became ugly. Venting her rage against the coin 
box, Mary Beth beat it mercilessly with the receiver 
with both hands, until the end shattered and she was 
peppered with broken plastic and wire. She threw the 
remains into the woods and stomped angrily away. 

Further Bad News

On the way back to Holly's apartment, Mary Beth learned 
more of the story. 

"The morning after, I was completely freaked out. Not 
only had I slept with my uncle, but I hadn't used 
protection." 

Mary Beth nodded. That feeling she understood.	

"I'd been on the pill for about a year, the year 
before," Holly said, "but that was more to control my 
cycle than anything else. I'm so irregular, sometimes I 
skip three months at a time. But, it caused too many 
problems. Sometimes I'd bleed between, sometimes I'd 
have irregular heartbeats and stomach problems."

"What about now?"

"Now it's okay. I take the low dosage pill." She turned 
to Mary Beth, looking uncertain. "I don't entirely 
trust them."

"And Dunk doesn't like condoms," Mary Beth warned, 
before realizing this was unnecessary. "I guess that's 
kind of late."

"Kinda." Holly looked straight ahead. "I might be 
pregnant."

Mary Beth wrenched the wheel. "What?"

Holly just looked straight ahead.

"Are you sure?"

"Not completely. I haven't bought a test kit. 
But...pretty much."

Mary Beth was confounded. And jealous. She concentrated 
on the road.

"I counted back, and I was ovulating the last time we 
did it," Holly said. "I'm more than two weeks late." 

"Oh, Holly."

Holly's voice cracked. "I don't know what to do."

Mary Beth was silent. It started to rain, tiny buck 
shots of water peppering the windshield and quickly 
expanding to a flood. She turned on the wipers. "I 
wondered why you didn't drink any wine." She looked 
sideways at Holly, at her reflection in the window. 
Tear's shown in Holly's eyes. "I've used the test 
myself," she admitted. "and this is too early, I think. 
The instructions say fourteen days or more. Better 
three weeks." 

"I'm almost that now."

Mary Beth said, "Does Dunk know?"

Holly shook her head. "No, and I don't think he's going 
to like it."

Mary Beth agreed, though she didn't say. "It may be 
nothing more than stress, Holl. Stress whacks you worse 
than anything else." She laughed, bitterly. "I can 
vouch for that. I've sweated a late period lots of 
times."

Holly looked over, bit her lip. "I'm scared."

"I guess so. I'm not suggesting one, but have you--"

"No!" Holly said, quickly, looking again out the 
windshield. She relented. "It's not like I haven't 
thought about it. I've thought it a lot."

The downpour had worsened, almost to the point of 
rendering vision impossible. Mary Beth cursed softly 
and turned the wipers on high. 

"Have you ever--" Holly let the question dangle.

"Once. I was eighteen."

Holly blinked at the revelation. She turned away. 
"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Mary Beth shook her head. "It's okay, really. I just 
wish I'd had someone I could confide in."

Holly touched Mary Beth's hand. "Dunk wasn't--"

"Supportive?" Mary Beth laughed derisively. "Like a 
total stranger. Shit, I got more support from my 
father's rabbi than I got from him."

Holly placed her hand over Mary Beth's, inter linking 
their fingers. Mary Beth gripped it tightly.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know."

"Are you seriously considering having it?"

"I don't know."

Mary Beth felt the misery behind Holly's words, 
remembered her own. You never forgot the horror. 

"Bastard. Sometimes I really hate him."

Holly's offered a lopsided grin. "Me too." 

They were almost back to the apartment when Mary Beth 
pulled over. "I want you to promise me something," she 
said, taking Holly's hand and gripping it between her 
own. "If you make the decision, I don't want you to 
tell Dunk."

"Why?"

"Because he's a coward. It was my fault when I got 
pregnant, he said; no responsibility at all. Left me 
alone in the decision. Twisted that to his advantage 
when he wanted, saying I was weak. As far as I'm 
concerned, he doesn't deserve to know."

Holly nodded slowly, eyes wet. Softly, she said, 
"That's the hardest thing. Knowing he won't care." 
Tears tracked down her cheeks. "I was raised Catholic, 
Mary Beth, and even though I'm not a very good one, I 
still believe in the sanctity of life. I feel condemned 
even thinking about an abortion." She broke down 
sobbing, collapsed into Mary Beth's arms. "What am I 
going to do?"

Mary Beth held her tightly, stroking her hair, trying 
to find the proper words. She cried as well. Passing 
vehicles threw sheets of water against the car, and a 
light membrane of fog developing over the windows gave 
them privacy. "Whatever decision you make," she said, 
swallowing hard, "I'll support you." Holly continued to 
sob. "I could even move in, go to class with you. Be 
your birth partner." She laughed, clearing her throat. 
"You don't have to go it alone." 

Holly hiccupped loudly, laughed also. She drew back, 
looked into Mary Beth's eyes, and a moment later they 
kissed. Their intense need shocked both. 

"Did you mean that?" Holly asked.

Mary Beth kissed her again. "Every word."

"Then let's go home."



Black Hill Park. One forty-five A.M.


Tramping away from the restroom and its destroyed 
phone, Mary Beth found herself in another parking lot. 
It was something of a shortcut, she discovered, putting 
her nearer the park road than had she backtracked. 

The lake was ahead, shimmering softly under a slight 
breeze, newly constructed houses beyond the opposite 
shore silhouetted against the night sky. All the 
windows were dark; the houses coldly deserted. 

Mary Beth's fear of lake sides--any body of water at 
night--was well earned. On a warm summer night at her 
parent's lakeside cabin in the Catskill's, three local 
boys, all in their early teens--one of whom Mary Beth 
thought she knew well and liked--convinced her to take 
a stroll along the lakefront. Once alone and out of 
earshot, however, they forced her into the woods to a 
small clearing, where a pair of blankets was spread. 
They stripped her naked, then had rough and 
unaccomplished sex with Mary Beth for two hours. 
Afterward, showing forethought, the boys lead Mary 
Beth, nude and shivering, to the lakeside, made her 
wade into the cold water and wash off. Any evidence was 
destroyed. She was even force to perform a makeshift 
douche, using a discarded plastic soda bottle. 

Mary Beth never told of the rape, but she never 
recovered from it either. 

To her left was the two-tiered main parking lot, the 
length of two football fields, below her the boathouse 
and docks. The metal pier groaned softly in the still 
air; she heard the clank of one aluminum canoe bumping 
another. Something swift and silent darted through the 
air above her, racing out over the water to swoop and 
soar, then darting back just as quickly. Bats, Mary 
Beth thought, and shivered.

Pay phones were at the boathouse below and at the 
restrooms just visible in the moonlight at the end on 
the main parking lot. Mary Beth had not the patience to 
walk two hundred yards to a phone she knew seldom 
worked; neither would she approach the lake. Merely 
seeing the shimmering water was enough. She cursed 
softly and continued along the parking lot to the main 
road. 

It amazed Mary Beth how much energy she expended in a 
mindless rage. She ached throughout her entire upper 
body, wrists and shoulders the worst. Climbing the 
grade, she rubbed them distractedly. At the top of the 
hill was the residence/office of the Park 
Superintendent, which Dunk had pointed out on a number 
of occasions, saying how lucky it was they no longer 
stayed overnight, due to budget cutbacks. She wondered 
if she'd have the courage to knock if someone were 
there. 

The house and small office were as dark and deserted as 
everything else in the park.

Fifty feet ahead, the park road looped back on itself, 
where Mary Beth would have arrived had she followed it 
instead of detouring to the restroom. She passed the 
intersection and followed the road down a long shallow 
hill, passing the maintenance yards. For a moment she 
went to stand before the gate, looking for anything of 
use, specifically a park vehicle that might have keys. 
But the gate was shackled with a huge padlock and 
chain, shaking it, the gate barely moved. Worse, the 
top was strung with three lines of barbed wire, canted 
outward. Mary Beth walked away.

The moon graced her with ten seconds of unprecedented 
company, and ahead, Mary Beth saw the gate house. 
Manned during the first two seasons by volunteers and 
occasionally a park ranger, it fell victim to budget 
cuts also, standing empty and boarded up ever since. 
Planted at the top of the hill on a long island, no 
bigger than a shed, it was still a welcome sight. She 
was halfway out. 

Mary Beth quickened her stride, quickened it more when 
movement sounded on her left. Something small and 
lumbering--she guessed a groundhog--flickered in her 
peripheral vision, but darting a look in that direction 
revealed nothing at all. The shape had vanished. 

Like armor plating, gooseflesh rose on her shoulders 
and arms.

She passed the cutoff leading to the lake's shallow, 
swampy east end. A ranger station was along this road, 
at the dead end, a restored barn complete with twin 
silos and fenced pastures for the park's horses. She 
considered it, but had no guarantee anyone was at the 
station overnight. Besides, it meant crossing the lake 
over an earthen dam, and that she would not do. She 
hurried past. 

The gate house was boarded up, the only door padlocked, 
window covered inside with a plywood sheet. She walked 
around the side, banged on the cashier's window, 
struggled with the padlock holding it down. It was 
hopeless. If there were a working phone inside, it 
might as well be in Russia.

It was 1:50 a.m. She was wasting time. 

Starting away from the house, Mary Beth suddenly froze. 
One hundred feet ahead was a dark shape (another 
person?), still as herself, standing on the end of the 
island. Her heart gave a solid flip. 

A ranger? Dunk? Some fool jogging through the park? 

How about someone ready to rape her?

"Hello?" she called.

There was no answer, no movement. She was ready to run.

"Dunk, is that you?" 

The moon suddenly peeked, and Mary Beth saw the shape 
was a telephone stand, what she had mistaken for a 
man's chest the distinctive winged enclosure. A 
metallic cord looped out the front. 

Please God! Please let it work! She ran the fifty feet 
to the stand.

Someone had shattered both the mouthpiece and the 
speaker, leaving the innards of thin wires and plastic 
looking like viscera. 

Dunk. It had to have been Dunk.

The bastard.

"Great! Just fucking great!" 

A boiling mix of despair and rage welled up, which Mary 
Beth fought off. "Not again," she said, letting the 
receiver drop. She walked away, the spiral metal cord 
creaking slowly behind her as the handset pendulumed to 
a stop.

Other than a commotion high in the treetops halfway 
there, the half-mile distance from gate house to park 
entrance was uneventful. She stuck to the middle of the 
road, was incredibly grateful to see the gate. An 
elongated X, formed from tubular steel frames joined in 
the middle, it hung from posts either side of the road. 
She climbed the middle, where it was lowest, both hands 
on the coupling holding herself aloft as she stepped 
carefully down on the other. She went past the big 
wooden sign to the edge of Old Baltimore Road, where 
Mary Beth's relief changed to apprehension. 

At the bottom of the hill Mary Beth saw the great dark 
mass of a structure, lost in a darker pool of 
blackness: The I-270 overpass. Old Baltimore Road 
disappeared beneath it the same way light sucked down a 
Black Hole. She unconsciously took a step backward. 

I'm not going down there, she thought. Not in a million 
years. She looked back at the park, at the wooden park 
sign, thought, I'd rather sit here until morning and 
take my chances. 

A vehicle crossed the bridge, a lengthy eighteen 
wheeler, light from its headlights defining the side 
rails. It was the only light visible. No overhead lamps 
were mounted on the bridge at all. Mary Beth walked to 
the middle of the road, looked down the hill in the 
opposite direction, found a well of darkness equaling 
that under the bridge. Houses lay up the road, she 
knew, maybe half a mile, but she considered braving 
that unknown as scary as the one under the bridge.

"Mother fucker," she whispered. 

Halfway down, darkness gave way to a heavy gloom as a 
section of the moon snuck through. It revealed the deck 
and heavy concrete pilings, so many legs of an enormous 
beast. Where the pilings met the ground, the embankment 
rose at a steep angle merging into absolute blackness 
beneath the bridge. She stopped dead. 

Jesus, Mary Beth. There could be homeless under there. 

She had seen this on the news, witnessed it herself. 
Just last year someone had committed a double murder 
under the Connecticut Avenue bridge downtown, a 
homicide over pocket change. And that was a homeless 
person killing other homeless. For Mary Beth, walking 
under that bridge in her present condition--any 
condition at all--was signing her own death warrant. 

They could be watching you now.

Mary Beth scrambled to the side of the road.

The moon appeared for several moments, proposing a 
solution. On her right was a hopeless screen of 
brambles and trees, but the hillside opposite, though 
steep, was relatively clear of brush. As far as Mary 
Beth could see, there was no fence or other obstruction 
separating her from the bridge. 

She would cross the bridge, rather than go under. 

Just to be cautious, she walked twenty feet back along 
the shoulder, choosing a spot on the opposite hillside 
with promising handholds. She crossed the road and, 
picking her way carefully, started up the hill. The 
loose scree made noise enough in her own ears to rouse 
lurkers under the next bridge. She lost her footing 
only once, gained the top and discovered what she had 
missed from below--luckily, or she may not have 
attempted the climb at all.

There was a fence. 

Set fifteen feet back from the edge of the hill, hidden 
from the road, the fence ran along the bottom of the 
second embankment to the bridge. She walked up to it 
and looked up the twelve-foot height, at the triple run 
of barbed wire along the top. Her heart sank. The fence 
disappeared into the underbrush at the other end. There 
was no telling how deep it went. 

Mary Beth felt despair.

She felt hatred for Dunk.

She felt rage.

Grasping the fence with both hands, Mary Beth yanked to 
test it, then stuck the toe of her right shoe into one 
of the diamond shaped links. She stopped. Something had 
rattled. Walking the fence to the side of the bridge, 
she discovered someone had formed a gate, a triangular 
opening four feet high and three wide--and gone to 
lengths to hide it. It attached to the steel post and 
along the narrow strip of metal at the bottom via a 
series of twisted steel ties. The gate was probably not 
even visible from above. 

Her friends from under the bridge. 

Mary Beth looked down at the road with new fear.

Twisting one of the ties experimentally, Mary Beth 
snapped back her hand. Snipped by heavy cutters, the 
severed tips were razor sharp. She stuck two fingertips 
in her mouth, then, with great care, undid the twist at 
the bottom of the pole, spread the ends and removed it. 
She undid the one above, then the remaining half dozen, 
then the eight along the bottom. With greater care, she 
pulled the flap open and, curling it back, used two of 
the ties to secure it to the fence. Then she froze.

Pebbles skittered down the face of the hill below. She 
heard a scraping footstep.

Mary Beth ducked through the opening, managing to catch 
only a swatch of hair, which she yanked loose, and 
hurriedly undid the two twists and pulled the fence 
closed. She secured it in place in just two places 
before scrambling madly the rest of the way up the 
embankment. Grabbing the top of barrier wall, she 
clambered atop it, skinning both knees, and lay panting 
against the cold steel railing. 

Then she heard a voice.

"I'm tellin ya, someone's up dare."

Muddled from too much booze and too few teeth, the 
voice was barely understandable. Mary Beth became 
absolutely rigid. 

"You're crazy," someone answered. This voice was 
younger but just as rough. It sounded as though he 
spoke through a mouthful of tobacco. 

Someone rattled the fence. 

"I jest fixed this yesterday," the older voice said. 
Mary Beth felt the speaker staring upward, searching 
the hill. "Someone's been true."

The younger man cursed. "Of course someone's been 
through! That's what it's there for." 

Wire scraped against concrete. 

"What are you doing?"

"Tyin' it back."

The younger man grunted. "Why?"

"I'm goin up to see."

Mary Beth looked frantically around: Other than the 
jersey wall, fifty feet away in the bridge's center, 
there was no shelter. 

The younger man complained. "Come on godammit! I want 
to go to bed!"

The first man grunted unintelligibly, and Mary Beth 
slid sideways on the rough concrete, straddled the 
steel rail, dropped down on the other side. No traffic 
approached from her left, but headlights were visible 
on the other side of the highway, heading north. They 
were distant, more than a mile away, but just as she 
prepared to bolt across the road, a rumble arose, 
growing in volume alarmingly fast; within seconds a 
big-rig eighteen wheeler thundered past, throwing her 
back on her tail and almost making her scream. 

Jesus Christ! She'd nearly been run down!

Right past the bridge trees grew up to the very 
shoulder, spilling halfway to the roadway's edge; 
oncoming traffic was blocked until the last moment. 
Running in a crouch, Mary Beth searched for a break, 
found the hillside treacherous and falling 
precipitously away wherever she looked. Finally, there 
was a small break that was not a death wish in waiting. 
Mary Beth ducked between two trees, clambered sideways 
down the hill and wrapped her arms around one of the 
trunks as though it were a lifesaver.

"See anything?" It was the younger man

"Nuh." 

Mary Beth heard a low grunt, heavy feet thudding down 
onto the bridge, then another low grunt and a string of 
curses.

"Shut up!" 

"Godammit, I fell!"

"I know ya fell. Shut up." Shuffling footsteps came 
nearer. "Who da hell's out dare?" the old man called.

Mary Beth held her breath.

"Natan? Dat you?"

No! It is not Natan! 

The footsteps grew closer, and Mary Beth released her 
hold on the trunk, slid further down, clutched a small 
bush with terrified hands 

"I know you out dare," the man said. "I warned you 
'bout cummin round here at night." He was less than ten 
feet away, shaking the limbs and moving in and out of 
the brush. Mary Beth prepared to let go. She prepared 
to beg for mercy. She prepared to die.

"I fine one-a you fuckers out here and I gonna--"

The man was suddenly visible, illuminated, cast into 
darkness on the opposite side, like a quarter moon. 
Tires roared on pavement and Mary Beth heard the drum 
of a diesel engine. Then an air horn ripped the air: 
"BLANNNNNT! BLANNNNNT--BLANNNNNT!" Shaking the ground 
and everything else as it thundered past, the truck 
blasted its horn continuously. The man stumbled 
sideways, fell into a crouch, then tumbled onto his 
side. He rolled into the bushes.

The truck rumbled on south, its rear array of lights 
angrily flashing. The driver honked one last time.

"Jesus Christ, Edmund!" The second man came running up. 
Bushy haired and bearded--they both were bushy-haired 
and bearded--he dropped to one knee and grabbed the 
fallen man's shoulder. "You all right?"

The old man shook him angrily off. He tried to sit up, 
fell in a loose bundle onto his other side. The younger 
man helped him sit, retrieved the old man's dilapidated 
cap.

"You fucking moron. That truck had your name written 
all over it." He helped the old man to his feet. 
"What's the matter with you?"

"Get off me," the old man barked. He brushed himself 
off. "I saw da fuckin' thing."

The second man snickered. "Yeah! And he saw you too!" 
He brushed off the old man's back. "Fuckin' moron."

Grumbling, and with a noticeable limp, the old man 
walked away. He looked back one last time at the bridge 
railing, eyes glinting through the thick facial growth; 
Mary Beth ducked back. He climbed carefully onto the 
abutment, over the railing, and lowered himself down 
the other side. The second man never looked back. Once 
Mary Beth could no longer heard their movements or the 
heated complaints of the old man, she released her 
breath and began to sob.

Partnering

Back at the apartment, Holly completed the iced tea she 
had earlier begun, while Mary Beth looked for a new CD. 
This time she chose Jane Monehite's Never-Neverland. 
Setting the volume to low, she went and stood at the 
kitchen door while Monehite's deep-throated soprano 
filled the room behind her. The words left her mouth 
before she could think to stop them. 

"I want you to stop seeing Dunk, one way or the other."

Holly turned around. She nodded slowly. "I had already 
decided that."

Mary Beth touched her fingertips to her mouth. Her 
emotions were all over the place. "It's not just for 
the reason's I said earlier, either. I don't want to 
share you." 

Holly eyes were liquid. "I have to share you."

"I know," Mary Beth said. "I don't know what to do 
about that."

A tear spilled from Holly's right eye. "I'm not asking 
you to break up," she said. "Three days ago you and 
Dunk were happy. Well, you were happy. Then comes along 
Holly and an A-bomb goes off in everyone's life. I 
can't understand why you don't hate me."

Mary Beth went in and took Holly in an embrace; Holly 
clung to her like an orphaned child. "I need you more 
than I can believe," Mary Beth said. "I don't know if 
it's love--" she laughed and wiped away tears "--or if 
I'm having an emotional breakdown. I want to hold you 
and touch you and tear off your clothes." She kissed 
the bridge of Holly's nose. "I want to make love to you 
like tomorrow is the Rapture." 

Holly sobbed uncontrollably, for the baby, for the 
decision she had to make, for the confusion Mary Beth 
knew plagued her mind. She poured out the end-story of 
her seduction.

Following that first night, she had neither seen nor 
talked to Dunk for a week. Except for work, she never 
left the house. She felt terrified. Someone else 
answered the phone. If it were for Holly, unless it was 
another girl, she refused to talk. Conversation with 
her parents was torture. 

They would find out. 

Her father would find out. 

She would get killed.

She went so far as to call a cousin in Ohio and arrange 
to come visit her should things go terribly wrong. But 
Dunk was not to be denied. The following Saturday night 
he convinced Holly to talk, then to go out to dinner, 
then for drink. Two hours later they were in bed. 

"This went on for a year," Holly said, blowing her nose 
on a paper towel. "Every chance he got." She looked at 
Mary Beth, miserably. "We got. I was no innocent 
partner. About a month ago I let slip how I felt about 
you--it wasn't even intentional, he caught me doodling 
your name on a pad--and right away I was in trouble."

Mary Beth guided Holly out of the kitchen to the living 
room. They sat on the couch, Holly's legs over Mary 
Beth's and holding her hands. 

"After that it was every time we talked, every time we 
made love. Finally, just to shut him up, I said yes." 
She touched Mary Beth's face. "I wanted to be with, 
Mary Beth, but not like that. Not for him."

They held each other tightly, neither wanting to speak.

Finally, Holly said, "I wish you would stay." 

Mary Beth stroked her hair. "I wish I could too."

"What am I going to do?" Holly sat up. "I can't afford 
a baby. I can't afford the rent!" Teardrops blazed a 
new path down either cheek. "Dunk helps pay it, and 
once I tell him he'll stop."

Mary Beth gripped and massaged Holly's hands. "It's 
okay. I'll help."

Holly took a stuttering breath. "Am I making the right 
choice? About the baby?" 

Mary Beth's stomach tightened. Like she was qualified 
to offer advice. "You decide what you have to, Holl. 
I'll help you either way." She wiped tears from Holly's 
glistening cheeks. "I'd be a great step-mom, though. We 
can pick out furniture, paint the den; I'll even help 
you try on clothes."

Holly brightened, grinned bravely. "You will?" 

"Absolutely." She kissed the tip of Holly's nose. 
"You're gonna be cute pregnant. A regular little 
blimp."

Holly laughed, encircled herself with her arms, 
inflated her cheeks.

"I meant that in a nice way," Mary Beth said.

"You won't mind me fat?"

"Not my little girl."

Holly rubbed her nose. "I won't have an abortion, Mary 
Beth. I can't."

"I know."

"No matter what."

"I know."

"I don't want money from Dunk, either. Nothing."

Mary Beth lifted Holly's face and kissed her. "You're a 
trooper, kid. You really are."

"You knew it all along, didn't you."

Solemnly, Mary Beth smiled. 

Holly placed her hands protectively over the suspected 
new life, said, "I think it's a girl."

"It better be."

"Why?"

"Because we don't want another Tom McDonald."

Sometime after midnight, Mary Beth allowed herself a 
stretch. Holly lay asleep beside her, angelic looking 
with dark hair masking half her face. Toothache, the 
Tabby cat, lay camped out atop Holly's bureau on a 
folded towel, limbs tucked beneath, watching. Mary Beth 
extended her hand, and the cat jumped down, sprang onto 
the bed and offered her face to be scratched. Holly 
didn't stir. 

"I think I love your owner," Mary Beth whispered. She 
looked at her recumbent partner, smoothed her hair. 
"What do you think about that?" 

The cat purred.

Mary Beth touched Holly's cheek, brushed aside a lock 
of hair, tucked it behind Holly's ear. There was a 
small scar on the lobe and another just below the cleft 
of Holly's jaw; Mary Beth touched them both, 
tentatively. There were four piercings in her left ear. 
Only the lowermost was filled, however--a tiny diamond 
stud, simple and sweet, which Mary Beth had given Holly 
on her nineteenth birthday.

"I really want you," she whispered. "Child. Dunk. 
Whatever."

Holly moaned, crossed her arms loosely over her chest, 
not enough to hide her breasts. Tiny hairs sprouted 
along the edges of the small aureole and Mary Beth 
touched one with her fingertip, let her finger glide 
down to Holly's stomach, bulging slightly from her 
position. If there was a new life growing there, it was 
much too soon to see. She smoothed Holly's hair and 
covered her with the blanket.

Their fingers had explored and discovered each other 
tonight, lifting them into mutual ecstasy. Performing 
oral sex on Pattie Kensington left Mary Beth feeling 
vulgar and corrupted, even as she performed it. Holly 
made her feel like a queen. She kissed Holly's cheek. 

"Please stay," Holly murmured.

Again, Mary Beth kissed her cheek. "Did I wake you?"

Holly stirred and moaned softly; Mary Beth realized she 
was still asleep.

"I'll stay if you wake up and make love to me one more 
time." 

Holly stirred, brushed away hair. "Please."

Mary Beth blew softly in her ear. 

"What?" Holly opened her eyes. 

It was all the encouragement Mary Beth required. 

Taking Holly into her arms, she performed an oral 
ballet with her tongue. She sought Holly's right breast 
with her mouth, sucked the nipple; Holly turned them 
both on their sides. Running her fingertips along the 
curvature of Holly's spine, she played over the 
vertebrae peaks and valleys, slid a leg between Holly's 
legs and caressed her genitals with her thigh. Holly 
stiffened and moaned.

"So soon?"

Holly jumped, grasped Mary Beth's arms. "What are you 
doing to me?" she gasped. Then she moved within Mary 
Beth's arms, fluid, a living wave, fingers seeking the 
private spot between Mary Beth's legs and entering it. 
Her touch was answered in kind. Mary Beth kissed the 
hollow of her throat, bestowed Holly with kisses. Soon 
they experienced a simultaneous orgasm, rode it like a 
mounting breaker, cresting and rolling down the other 
side. Their bodies surfed. 

Faces buried against one another's necks, the girls 
cried out convulsively, clinging together as though 
letting go was suicide. They made no intelligible 
words, only sounds--lover's sounds, the sound of union.

Exhaustion overtook the lovers and they slept.

Mary Beth did not go home.


Old Baltimore Road. Two oh-five A.M.


Getting herself under control, Mary Beth climbed 
carefully to the roadway. She remained in a crouch, 
listening for the two men or any approaching vehicle. 
After a full two minutes she rose and ventured to the 
highway's edge, far enough to see past the overhanging 
trees. No lights approached. The opposite lanes were 
empty as well, the closest approaching vehicle miles 
away. She had to go now. 

Darting onto the roadway, praying not to trip over her 
own feet, Mary Beth raced to the concrete barrier. It 
was higher than it had appeared, chest height. It took 
three tries to struggle over. She dropped to the other 
side.

The approaching vehicle was coming much faster than 
Mary Beth had thought. It was close enough now to 
perceive the periphery of yellow lights--another big 
rig. And more lights followed behind. Rushing to the 
far side of the bridge, Mary Beth looked over the 
railing, saw below a culvert, five feet deep. She 
vaulted the rail, dropped to the bottom with a thud, 
landing on her feet but falling immediately back onto 
her rear end and palms. She felt her panties rip. 
Wasting no time to recover her breath, she ran down the 
culvert's sloped bottom, away from the bridge, away 
from Baltimore Road. Twenty feet ahead it ended at a 
drainage grate. 

The sides were packed rock, held in place by wire 
screen. Finding what handholds she could, Mary Beth 
scrambled halfway up the side. She slid pell-mell back 
down again just as the eighteen-wheeler thundered by 
overhead, the bridge groaning beneath its weight. 

"Jesus Christ, Mary Beth!" 

She had nearly climbed into the driver's line of sight. 

"Be stupid why don't you." 

A rush of vehicles went by, followed by a lone 
straggler, then silence. Mary Beth heard and saw 
nothing. She ascended the slope, more carefully this 
time, stopping just below the edge to peek out. She was 
fifteen feet below road level. 

Still she heard nothing.

Climbing out, she followed the culvert back toward the 
bridge, then descended the hillside, blocked at the 
bottom by another fence. She followed it parallel to 
the road and fifty feet further on the fence died out 
against a hill. The partial web of fencing between the 
last pole and the hillside was missing entirely, and 
Mary Beth slid effortlessly through. 

Making her way carefully down the remaining twenty feet 
of embankment to the side of the road, Mary Beth walked 
hurriedly away, looking constantly back. She could 
still be seen. A minute later, twisting her ankle, she 
nearly went into a panic before walking it off. She 
then switched to the pavement's center and remained 
there. 

She hoped Dunk was waiting ahead.


Old Baltimore Road. Two twenty-five A.M.


Mary Beth saw lights ahead, perhaps a quarter-mile 
distant. It was the housing development, which 
continued nearly all the way to Route 355. Relief swept 
through her like a cleansing breath. She was almost 
home

Then Mary Beth stopped.

Another vehicle was coming. 

Cursing, she looked around. No lights were yet visible, 
but Mary Beth heard the sound of tread on pavement, 
knew it came from ahead. The fields had thinned 
somewhat. On her left was a semi-circular recess twenty 
feet deep and she hurried to the shoulder, climbed the 
slight incline into the open space, and made her way 
across. She turned sideways at the corn, passed between 
two of the rows, cringed when leaves tickled her skin. 
Each touch was a potential disaster. She covered her 
breasts. 

But there was another problem. The corn barely reached 
her head. 

Squatting, she turned parallel to the rows, discovered 
not even this was enough. In the approaching light she 
was a perfect reflector. She backed further away, duck-
walking, until backing any more meant certain contact 
with the silk. She held her breath and waited for the 
car to pass. It blew by at high speed, waving the 
closer rows of corn with its blow back.

She waited a full two minutes, then carefully stood up. 
It had been a passenger car this time, a sedan, 
possible blue, possibly a Buick. The tire roar ebbed, 
becoming just a whisper, then fading entirely. She 
moved sideways out of the corn, checking herself as she 
stood in the open half-circle. She thought it just 
possible that none of the silk had touched her. She'd 
find out soon find out.

The first house was on the right, a two story split 
level. A pickup truck sat in the driveway, also a 
police cruiser, and seeing it, Mary Beth hurried on 
past to the next house. Here the road, illuminated by 
bright orange arc-sodium lamps, punctuating the 
darkness like intermittent circular oasis, widened. 
Mary Beth stood within one now, and it seemed like 
daylight. Dangerously exposed, she stepped off the 
pavement entirely and into the front yard. 

The first two blocks were uneventful. Crossing the 
second intersection, however, Mary Beth froze as a dog 
began to howl. She tried to locate the direction but 
could not. Barking seemed to come from everywhere. 
Panicked nearly to the point of running, she forced 
close her eyes and remained still, listening more 
intently. 

Did it come from the front? To her right? The backyard 
of the next house? 

She hoped it was locked up, for if not, Mary Beth was 
in big trouble. 

Hurrying into the shadows beneath a tree, she huddled 
down and waited for the barking to subside. The barking 
continued, however, though erratically, and Mary Beth 
went on.

A chain link fence enclosed the next property, also the 
yard after, and Mary Beth run along it for fifty feet, 
darting beneath the nearest tree, a pine. She clutched 
the trunk, panting. The dog, excited by her flight, 
barked ferociously, an invitation for other dogs to 
join in. The cacophony became an echoing chorus. 

A door opened across the street

"Whoever the fuck's out there," an angry voice called, 
"I called the cops and this time I'll make sure they 
lock your asses up! Got that, you fucking kids!"

Mary Beth shrank against the trunk. Just what she 
needed: A shit-load of cops!

Ten feet behind her was a pair of oaks, big ones, 
affording better protection than the small pine. She 
crept backward, keeping the pine between herself and 
the road, unable to tell where exactly the bellower 
was, other than across the street. She reached the 
closer tree, slid behind it and peeked out. The man was 
now visible, standing on his front stoop, screen door 
in hand. The light above showed him dressed in pajamas 
beneath a white robe. As Mary Beth watched, the man 
returned inside, arguing loudly with someone unseen. 
The screen door slammed shut and there was more 
arguing, then a woman in appeared in a yellow robe, 
arms crossed and angry, closed the front door. The 
porch light went out.

"Thank God for you, missus," Mary Beth whispered. She 
looked upward, nodded in thanks again. "And you. Thank 
you so very much." She offered a silent prayer.

The dog had calmed somewhat, was now barking only 
sporadically. The other dogs had stooped. Tiptoeing 
away from the oak, she entered the next intersection, 
stole across it to the opposite side. She took cover 
behind another big three. The dog remained silent. 

The next two yards were fenced and again Mary Beth 
walked the road. She hurried along, putting distance 
between herself and these latest antagonists. She left 
the newer, more densely populated part of the 
development for another, older section. The street 
lights here came farther apart, so did the houses. She 
was just approaching a construction site on the right 
side of the road when suddenly there were tires. 

"Fuck!"

She was in trouble. 

There were no trees within fifty feet big enough to 
hide her, not even a bush; she had run out of cover a 
hundred feet back. The only shelter lay across the 
road, in the construction site, where high mounds of 
earth lay before long, cylindrical concrete sewer 
pipes. Fear gripped her as headlights rounded a turn 
several hundred feet ahead, and she realized this was 
her only out. Mary Beth ran diagonally across the 
street toward the closest pile of dirt, scrambled 
behind it and was immediately ankle deep in muck.

"Oh, Christ!" 

The ground here was a mire. Between the pile of dirt 
and the trench for the sewer pipes were dozens of boot-
prints, some deep as half a foot. A large diameter PVC 
pipe protruded from the trench, coupled to a gasoline 
engine pump. In typically male fashion, water was 
drained from the cut directly onto the ground, away 
from the concrete tubes but destroying the ground 
between the trench and the piles of dirt. Cursing, Mary 
Beth leaned against the mound and pulled one, then the 
other foot free, loosing her left shoe to suction. 
There was no choice but to sit on the pile's loose side 
and pry out her shoe. 

When the vehicle was less than a hundred feet away, 
Mary Beth realized her position offered only partial 
concealment--the mound was exactly parallel to the 
road, possibly even canted slightly on the other end.

She was in their line of sight.

Scrambling halfway up the hill, Mary Beth sidestepped 
along the pile to the far end, sneaking around the 
corner. The width here was sufficient to protect her, 
as long as she stayed hugged to the side. She grit her 
teeth and pressed herself against the dirt, releasing a 
small avalanche of pebbles and dirt. A moment later the 
car whizzed by and Mary Beth scrambled back around the 
corner.

Had they seen?

The answer was a screech of burning rubber as the car 
slammed to a halt. Mary Beth lost her footing and slid 
back into the mud, looked around in a panic. The car's 
back end projected from behind the next mound, smoke 
drifting about it in a cloud, straddling the 
centerline. It looked as though it were dropped there. 
Then she heard voices.

"Man, you're nuts. I didn't see anything."

"I'm telling you," yelled a younger, more excited 
voice. "I saw a girl!"

Mary Beth froze solid. Without knowing it she had 
dropped flat to the pile of dirt, grinding her bare 
skin into its face. She didn't move, didn't even 
breathe. Both car doors opened.

"This is the stupidest thing I ever heard. She was 
naked?"

"I don't know," said the younger man. "I saw a bare leg 
and a foot and part of her ass. It looked bare. Right 
there at the side of the hill. See! She could be behind 
it!"

The older man scoffed. "It was a deer for Christ sakes. 
We see 'em all the time."

"You think I don't know a deer when I see one? I'm 
telling you, it was a chick"

The voices grew louder, and Mary Beth, with no 
conscious thought, began moving along the pile. The 
trench behind her, five feet across, cut off flight in 
that direction. Even then there was nowhere to go. The 
small field beyond the trench ended abruptly in woods, 
fifty feet away. 

They were almost at the mound. Their footsteps left 
pavement and crunched on broken earth just as Mary Beth 
slipped around the opposite end.

"And just what," asked the older voice, "are you 
planning to do if we do find a girl?"

 The second man laughed. "Are you kidding? I'm gonna 
fuck 'er, of course."

Every square inch of Mary Beth's skin went cold. Moving 
with panic-driven stealth, she edged around to the 
mound's far side and got down.

Scornfully, the older man laughed. "Right! You gonna 
skin her and dress her afterwards?"

"Fuck no," the other man answered. In a terrifyingly 
level voice, one that petrified Mary Beth's to the 
core, he said: "I'll bury her in the fucking trench."

Only a savage biting down on her tongue kept Mary Beth 
from crying out. 

"Jesus Christ!" It was the older man. "What the fuck is 
this?" 

Mary Beth heard the squelch of mud. 

"Godammit, Mark! Look at this shit!" There was a loud 
sucking pop as the man withdrew a foot. "These are 
fucking brand-new!"

Mark cursed, and next came the sound of a small 
avalanche as one of the two men scaled the mound's 
side. "Look!" Mark yelled, excitedly. "Look there!" He 
had found Mary Beth's footprints.

Mary Beth looked frantically for escape. The road from 
this point on was unbroken until around the next curve, 
and she had no idea if there were any more houses. She 
thought not. The other side was a semi-open field, 
littered with trees, wild bushes and high weeds. Could 
she hide? Running was a trap. It had to be the field. 

"I find a girl back here," raged the older man, "I'm 
gonna kill her just to get even! Before you fuck her."

There was more loosely falling earth and then: "Look at 
this. All these others are boot-prints. These here? 
Tennis shoes. They go right up the side."

"What's that prove. It coulda been a kid."

Mark cursed. "It weren't no kid."

"Then where is she, huh?"

Mary Beth was two feet into the road and ready for a 
dash to the other side, when more lights appeared in 
the distance. Another car! Panicked, she momentarily 
froze, head shooting back and forth between the mound 
and the approaching lights. The vehicle was still 
beyond the curve, headlights flicking off and on behind 
the trees, but not for long. She whimpered helplessly, 
then did the one thing she could least afford. Twisting 
to run, she stumbled over her left ankle and fell.

"Oof!"

"Shit!" It was the older man. "A car's coming!"

"But what was that? I heard a noise."

"You heard squat."

Rolling onto her stomach, Mary Beth pushed off in a 
handspring, jumping upright. Half limping, half-
hopping, she scuttled back to the end of the mound, 
ducked behind it. An instant later she heard a 
scuffling from the mound's other end and then the slap 
of shoes on pavement.

"There it is! Fuck!"

"So what?"

"So what! So my car's fuckin out in the middle of the 
road and you don't think someone will remember that?" 
Mary Beth heard running feet. "Get behind the mound!"

This was it. She was trapped. The vehicle approaching 
had her right in its lights, and neither side of the 
mound was safe. She looked desperately at the open 
trench, desperation telling her it was a grave--panic 
screaming it was her only chance. The man called Mark 
cursed loudly, kicked loose a foot-full of dirt, and 
came around the mound. 

"The keys! Where's the fucking keys?"

Mark cursed again, and Mary Beth heard him pounding his 
pockets, turning them out.

"I don't know!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, man! You gotta have them!"

"I don't!"

There's was the scuffle of shoes of pavement, then 
Mark's angry cry: "Here!"

Mary Beth heard him throw, heard the keys hit the road.

"Fuck!"

She took off. 

The trench was cordoned off with two loops of yellow 
tape on wooden stakes, and Mary Beth ducked under them, 
scooting her butt to the edge and hanging over her 
legs. She pivoted over the edge, supporting herself on 
her hands, lowered onto her forearms. The wall was 
smooth and slick, straight up down to the bottom. There 
was no purchase for her toes. Whispering a miserable, 
"Fuck!" she lowered herself until her feet hit water, 
then went in when she extended fully.

The trench was flooded, and she did not reach the 
bottom.

She almost screamed--then saw the gray-black outline of 
the PVC pipe to her left, knew she could climb out. She 
let go, dropping into water up to her knees. 

"Fuck-fuck-fuck!" 

The older man had started the car, and Mary Beth heard 
it roll away. Mark scuffled behind the mound, then 
evidently scaled it as Mary Beth had done earlier, 
dislodging earth. He was hiding at the mound's end. 
Looking at the pitch black water, Mary Beth put down 
one hand and felt the bottom--sickeningly thick mud. 
She took an experimental step; suction threatened to 
dislodge her shoe. She cursed silently.

Headlights from the approaching vehicle suddenly 
flickered and danced on the trench's upper lip, 
strengthened, then walked from one end to the other as 
the vehicle passed. Tires sang on pavement. Over its 
passing, Mary Beth heard Mark scuttle to the backside 
of the mound and she sat down, heart beating a staccato 
tattoo. She scooped two handfuls of the gloppy bottom 
and began smearing it over her upper body. She held her 
breath, but the putrid smell got no easier to bear. 
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she lumped the muck 
onto her hair and worked it in, plastering it against 
here neck and shoulders. Then she covered her face. She 
sobbed silently.

Mark was down off the mound. "Bring the flashlight!" he 
called in a hushed shout.

Mary Beth's head shook back and forth.

She was not getting out of this alive. They would rape 
and kill her.

From some distance away the older man called back. 
"Hold on." The was a muffled thud as the trunk opened. 
"I'm not sure I got one."

Mary Beth moved cautiously through the water, toward 
the drain pipe, raising and lowering herself on her 
hands.

"I saw it yesterday!" Mark called. 

"Where?"

"In the fucking trunk!"

After a moment's silence, the older man answered, voice 
low and disgusted and dangerously angry: "We took your 
car yesterday, Mark."

"Oh, shit. Well look anyway."

A moment later the trunk slammed closed. "It ain't 
here."

Mark cursed in frustration. "She's not here, she must 
be in the trench." Footsteps echoed on pavement as the 
older man crossed the road.

"What are you doing now?"

Mark stood just above her, silhouetted against the sky.

"What about--"

"Forget it! I'm not getting stuck in this mud!"

"But--"

Feet approached the far end of the trench.

"She wouldn't go in there, anyway."

"Why not?"

Mary Beth, submerged in the filthy water up to her 
nose, slid behind the pipe. 

The older man didn't answer.

"How deep is this fucker?" Mark said.

Mark was drunk. They were both drunk.

"How the fuck should I know?"

"They have to get below the freeze line. What's that? 
Three feet?"

"You fucking moron. Whydn't ya just jump down and see 
for yourself."

Mark cursed. "There's a footprint here," he said, 
squatting where Mary Beth had gone in. He moved the 
tape. "Look at this." Dirt fell beside and on Mary 
Beth's head. 

The older man was thoroughly disgusted. He suddenly 
rushed to where Mark stooped. There was a loud scuffle. 
Mark yelled, "What the--" and a shower of stone and 
dirt pounded down on Mary Beth's head. Holding her 
breath, she slid all the way under. 

When she resurfaced thirty seconds later, the men were 
gone.

Old Baltimore Road. Two fifty-five A.M.

Somewhere above was an airplane. The sound of its 
engine grew steadily louder, and the sound, impinging 
on her consciousness, brought Mary Beth around. She 
looked up and saw its lights overhead, remaining in 
sight for a few seconds before disappearing on the lip 
of the trench. Not wanting to loose this one piece of 
hard reality, Mary Beth sat up, strained to listen. The 
engine grew dim, eventually faded, leaving Mary Beth 
again alone. It didn't matter. She was back in control.

She had not heard the two men leave, nor was there 
evidence they actually had. They could be sitting 
patiently on the mound of dirt. Mary Beth didn't care. 
She doubted either would show much interest in raping 
her now. Not the way she looked.

Dunking her hair, Mary Beth washed out the bulk of the 
muck. Not all of it came out; leaving her hair 
sickeningly slicked. Cupping handfuls of water, she 
then carefully doused her face, washed clean her neck, 
shoulders and chest. She made no effort to keep quiet. 
Raising up, she went onto her knees first, then, using 
the wall as support, staggered erect. She dripped mud 
and muddy water. Her shoes were instantly moored. 

Shaking like someone with palsy, Mary Beth tried to 
disengage her right foot; it came free from the shoe. 
Bending down, she pried the Nike loose, repeated the 
action with her left foot, then tied the laces together 
and hung the shoes over her neck. 

She could not stop crying.

The moon was out, casting light enough to more closely 
inspect the pipe. Three inches in diameter, it came 
down the wall in three separate lengths, sleeved end to 
end. One joint was at chest level, the second four feet 
up. At the top was a ninety-degree elbow where the pipe 
left the trench and connected to the pump. Inspecting 
the lower joint, she found a quarter inch ledge of 
plastic on which to grasp. 

"Here goes nothing," she said.

Clasping it with both hands, she gave the pipe a tug. 
Then a harder tug. Rigid, it barely moved. Finally, a 
stroke of luck! Sobbing with hope now as well as 
despair, Mary Beth tried to climb. On her fifth try she 
was angry enough to call the pipe names: "Bitch! I am 
going to rip your fucking heart out when I get out!" 
She smacked the pipe open-palmed, then tried strangling 
it. She started to laugh.

"Dunk!" She began splashing around in a circle, the way 
Jennifer Love-Hewitt did in I Know What You Did Last 
Summer. "I am going to kill you, you fucker!"

She screamed this at the top of her lungs.

Wrapping her entire body around the pipe, Mary Beth 
snaked far enough up to clasp the lower joint with her 
knees. It hurt terribly. Panting, remaining still for a 
moment, she released her right hand and made a grab for 
the upper joint. She was a foot shy. "Shit!" she 
screamed as she nearly lost her hold. She raised up 
from her knees, got enough distance to grab the joint 
and shouted first in triumph--then terror--as her 
fingers came loose and her entire body swung right into 
the trench wall. Only a severed root sticking out of 
the side, which she somehow caught with her toes, kept 
Mary Beth from plunging back to the bottom. She clung 
to the pipe as though it went right to hell.

After a time, she tried again. Stabilizing herself on 
the root, she got a thumb and forefinger around the 
upper joint, forced herself up. She let go of the pipe 
with her right hand and threw it over the elbow, then 
hauled herself up, getting her forearm over the side of 
the trench. She hung there a moment, panting, then let 
go of her toehold, swung her knee up and over the edge. 
She clung there, exhausted, unable to move.

The drain pipe shifted.

"Noooo!"

Grabbing the nearest stake, she released the pipe just 
as it disconnected from the pump. It went over the 
edge, nearly taking her with it. Clinging by the 
slimmest hold by her right knee and the wobbly stake, 
she hissed, "No-no-no-no-no!" and with panic-driven 
strength hauled herself over the edge. She collapsed 
onto her side against the stakes, scooting her hips 
away from the edge lest she loose balance. Her head 
swirled, and lights popped in her eyes with flashbulb 
frenzy; she nearly passed out.

She had lost her shoes.

Old Baltimore Road. Three Ten A.M.

The mud made walking hell. 

She went alongside the mound, in her stocking feet and 
stepped onto the tarmac--right onto a pointed stone. 

"Ouch!"

Fucking Dunk! 

Fucking shoes! 

Fucking deadline! 

She was not hurrying.

Hair beating against the nape of her neck and hanging 
in tendrils over her forehead, Mary Beth trudged to the 
middle of the road, walking bowlegged. Her arms ached, 
and her knees ached. Every muscle and skin cell on her 
body ached. Everything else ached too. She stank like 
an open sewer. Mud ground between her butt cheeks like 
sandpaper and her eyes burned like twin yellow flames. 
She swallowed, and it hurt. She felt the start of a 
yeast infection. 

"Fuck!"

She passed beneath a street lamp and ignored the 
glaring orange light. Anyone saw her--tough. The moon 
rode a suddenly empty sky, directing its milk white 
luminescence onto Mary Beth' skin, turning the caked 
mud and slime into leprous sores.

I feel like a leper.

Ahead, woods closed to within a dozen feet of the road 
on either side, and Mary Beth realized she had less 
than a quarter mile to go. Somehow, she convinced her 
legs to go faster. 

Then she heard a noise.

"What?" 

The words came out of her unbidden, like water through 
a cracked pipe. 

She turned completely around, heard the rustle again. 
Something in the woods.

Mary Beth broke into a run, heart jumping to panic 
speed. A crashing came from behind and to her right and 
sent her darting to the opposite side of the road.

"DUNK!"

She ran flat out, every muscle pumping. A light pole 
appeared ahead, impossibly far, and Mary Beth screamed 
again. 

"DUNK! DUNK HELP! DUUUUUNK!"

A car was beneath the pole, facing toward her, not 
Dunk's white Bronco but a dark compact. 

Was it brown? A Toyota? Could it be?

"HOLLYYYY! HOLLY HELP!" She waived once frantically 
then stopped when it threw her off balance. Sprinting 
for everything she was worth, Mary Beth darted back to 
the other side of the road, ignoring the sudden clatter 
of hooves on the tarmac behind as something big and 
dark and loping with giant strides disappeared into the 
opposite woods. More hooves clattered and Mary Beth 
knew it was deer but could not stop her panic.

"HOOOLLYYYYY!"

Fifty feet from the car, the driver's door opened, and 
a head popped up. 

"Mary Beth?"

"HOOOLLYYYYY HELP!"

Suddenly headlights erupted, throwing Mary Beth into 
brutal relief; she heard Holly gasp.

"Mary Beth!"

Then she was twenty feet away and then ten, and then 
Holly was around the front of the car and just 
beginning to run when Mary Beth slammed into her arms.

"Mary Beth! Oh-my-God! Oh-my-God, Mary Beth!"

Mary Beth collapsed to her knees, Holly barely able to 
keep her off the road. "Oh thank God! Oh thank God it's 
you!" 

Holly looked frantically around. "What in the name of 
God happened?" She jerked at a sudden noise from the 
woods, and half dragged, half carried Mary Beth around 
the side of the car. Mary Beth could barely breath.

"I--I--" Mary Beth erupted in a spasm of coughing.

"Get in!" She shoved Mary Beth through the driver's 
side door and across to the other seat, more on her 
chest and stomach than hands and knees. Mary Beth 
disintegrated into the seat.

Holly slammed the door and locked it. "Where is Dunk?" 

Mary Beth shook her head. "Don't know," she panted. 
"Don't care." She flung herself into Holly's arms. "Oh, 
God. Oh, my God, Holly!" 

Holly held Mary Beth away, inspected her with bulging 
eyes. "Are you all right?"

Mary Beth swung her head. "Yes. No." She bear-hugged 
Holly again. "Can we get out of here? Please!"

Holly twisted the key in the ignition and jammed the 
lever into drive. She floored the accelerator, 
expelling twin rockets of dirt from the back end. The 
Toyota grabbed pavement and staggered around in a half 
circle, Holly only righting it at the last instant. 
They shot through the stop sign and onto the main road.

"Drive!" Mary Beth screamed, seeing lights suddenly 
behind. "Faster! Please!"

Holly floored the accelerator. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere! Just away from here!" 

Holly banked left at the first intersection, bottoming 
out on a depression in the road, cried when the driver 
behind blared his horn. The other car kept going.

Mary Beth turned around and collapsed into her seat. 
"Thank God!"

Holly continued at breakneck speed up the narrow road, 
slowed approaching the light at Route 27. She ran it on 
red, turned left toward home. Her eyes were huge and 
her mouth agape.

"What did he tell you?" Mary Beth said. She banged the 
door lock down.

"Only that I was to wait for you there at three 
o'clock. I thought--Jesus God, Mary Beth. Are you 
okay?"

Mary Beth sighed painfully. "I am now." Leaning across 
the console, she hugged Holly and dug her face into her 
neck. She began to sob. "Take me home. Please take me 
home, okay?"

Holly nodded.

Mary Beth raised her head, whispered, "I will never 
leave you, not as long as I fucking live."

Holly looked at the film of sweat and mud caking Mary 
Beth's face, the slime matting her hair like grease on 
a rolled cable, and slowly smiled. She kissed Mary Beth 
deeply. Then, pregnant, shaken and elated, she took 
Mary Beth home.

The End

If you would like to make a comment or want a Microsoft 
Word or Wordperfect version of this story (a much 
better read), please contact me at matt2670@aol.com.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 14