Man has played hooky from nature. His successful evasion is his tragedy—EM Cioran
That night I dreamt about a girl named Cory Castor. Not a dream, but I laid up in my bed with this half-remembered event from my childhood where a bunch of us were in this storage closet off the school's library. And I dared Cory to take off her clothes. And she did it, the little bitch, she took everything off..peeled off her shirt and she didn't even have any titties. Peeled off her jeans and peeled off them white little panties and I got a look at what is still one of the most beautiful things I know: a little girl's pussy. Doesn't have to be a little girl's. But a girl's, a woman's, pussy—especially one with cute lips and no hair and nothing sticking out—just a nice slit up the middle—that's how I like 'em.
But actually I like more than one kind of pussy. I like Anna's type—I call it the thin pink slug. You can see her pinprick of a pussy hole and then a slightly squiggly line and then that precious little clit.
I sat up in bed and thought about Anna's pussy. And I'll be honest, I thought about cutting it out of her so I could keep it. That was majorly on my mind. It like a shell—on a beach—you like to take a few of them home with you to remember how beautiful the world is.
And your collection of shells reminds you how much fun it is to be at the beach and they remind you to go to the beautiful places on the Earth as often as possible because someday you're going to die.
I grabbed my iPad and loaded up Anna's video library and yeah I had videos of her eating my shit and drinking my piss and me shooting cum into her eye. And I even had video of her cumming silently when she wasn't supposed to when we were watching me give little dead girls their last wish—when they got shot in the head and shot up their pussies causing them to die from internal bleeding and Anna couldn't help herself from cumming watching all those victims that had come before her. And even though I had all that, I also had all this footage of Anna's face—watching me sideways as I fucked her or looking at me skeptically as I came into the crate in the morning, around from the back to the front of the chair where she could see me. Just the look on her face as she wondered whether I was going rape her that morning was so precious to me.
I wish I could be inside her pussy—feel what it was like to be her when I was raping her. I mean she felt like she was getting used to me.
I hated to kill her—I hate to kill anyone smart.
And she was.
She wasn't no Einstein—but neither am I. You know? And decent conversation is hard to find.
Especially in Pain, South Dakota. Who am I gonna talk to? Betsy of Betsy's Diner? Ol' Samson?
And that's how I spent almost all night watching video of Anna talking to me, looking at me, and before I knew it I had cum all over my iPad just looking at Anna's face.
I went to the crate and unlocked it.
I took Anna's clothes out and tossed them on her legs.
I undid the clamps on her legs and wrists.
"Get up."
I shook her.
"Miss Miller. It's time to go."
Anna turned over, sexy, clothed in only her skin.
"Is it time to die yet?"
"Forget about dying, ok—just get dressed."
She didn't look excited. Her excitement had died long ago.
I threw her panties at her.
"Put your fucking panties on. I washed everything."
"You washed my panties?"
"Yeah and I jerked off all over 'em, too—just get dressed!"
So she pulls on her panties and her jeans.
"And put on your fucking nipple rings, too. Here—your earrings."
And she pulls on that white t-shirt with the blue stars over her nipples.
"Get your Skechers on we'e going to breakfast."
"Is that some euphemism for I'm your breakfast and you're going to eat my dead body?"
"No. It means we're going to breakfast."
"I'm allowed to get out of the chair?"
"You don't have to ask me what to do anymore. Just get your Skechers on we're going to breakfast, ok?"
Anna slid down off the chair.
"Ok," she says. "I don't understand what we're doing."
"What we're doing," I say, "is a new phase in our relationship. It's called: you don't have to stay in the chair anymore but please don't do anything crazy like run to the motherfucking police."
"And then what?"
"And then we have breakfast."
"And then what?"
"Then you go back to Pennsylvania and you can work in the hoagie shop or you can stay with me."
"And we'll do what?"
"I'm about to show you."
"Well what are we waiting for?"
"For you to get your Skechers on."
"I'm sorry. I just woke up."
"Anna. It's ok. You don't have to apologize."
"You're not going to punish me?"
"For what?"
"For not being able to get my fucking Skechers on!"
I kneel at her feet and zip the shoes' zippers for her.
"There. Are you ready? We're kind of on a schedule."
Anna rubs her wrists. They've been locked in clamps for 30 days.
"Where are we going for breakfast? The rock field?"
"No. We're going to Betsy's Diner. Run by the one and only Betsy Langton. It's in town, remember? It's where we met."
Anna kicks me.
"Yeah I know where we met."
"So we kinda have to go."
"What's the hurry in getting to Betsy's?"
"I have a very special breakfast planned for you."
"At Betsy's."
"Yes."
"Are you gonna have your Glock with you?"
"Yes!!"
"Ok, I see. So I'm free but if I try to run, you've got six little friends and they can all run faster than I can."
"Six little friends..?"
"It's from Dusk Till Dawn? Hello?!"
"Oh right. Six little friends."
I look at my clip.
"Look I got waaay more than six little friends in this clip and none of them are running after you. I just wanna have some coffee and French toast. Can we please go?"
Anna stands up and I motion with the Glock for her to exit the crate.
"Where's my bag?"
"It's in the fucking truck. I never touched it. It's where you left it."
"We are not going to Betsy's for coffee and French toast. I may be from Lehighton, PA but I'm not stupid."
"Well breakfast will be a benefit, then—and you're right, we're not going for breakfast."
"For what then?"
"I'll show you when we get there now would you please get in the fucking truck? I might have failed to mention this but we're on an extremely delicate timetable right now."
Anna laughs.
"You're the only person I've ever met for whom getting French toast at a shitty diner happens on 'an extremely delicate timetable.' "
"I know it's not clear to you, Anna, but right now my life hangs in a delicate kind of balance that unless you've traveled to a very specific country on the face of this Earth or done a very specific kind of research, there's no way you could possibly understand."
Anna looks at me over the top of the truck and laughs.
"Ok 007, why don't you explain it to me on the way."
And she gets in the truck.