everything falls apart 58 & 59

Precious lowered her Murphy bed and began setting it up.

"I got pregnant in high school. Mitch was a little older. He'd just graduated. He didn't have a great job, but you know. It was enough to get by. I dropped out so we didn't have to pay for daycare. No great loss. School and I did NOT mix, you understand? I was getting nothing out of it. Cinnamon or lavender?"

She held up two candles. I pointed to the purple one, and she began lighting them.

"Anyway, when Sunshine was about 2, there was a street fair on our block. We couldn't afford to pass up free entertainment, so we go down to check it out, right? Well, it was packed. Shoulder to shoulder. That should've been my first clue, right? You get a big enough gathering, sure as shit one of those crosshugging motherfuckers is going to show up. Anyway, at some point Sunshine needed the bathroom, which I was very excited about, because she was just getting the whole potty thing down, so we go off and find one. And while we're in there, Blammo! We come back out, and half the street is gone. In a cloud of smoke. Mitch included. You ask me, if there is a God, he can rot in hell. Right along with all his little suck-up friends."

She took out a sheet of paper and a pen.

"OK, before we start, let me get this out of the way. I know all this cross-promo bullshit is a drag, but it's only three questions and that's it, I swear. Number one: 'On a scale of 1 to 5, 5 being most likely, how likely would you be to purchase the Winchester at a grocery store?"

"1."

"How likely are you to mention this product to family or friends?"

"1."

"Finally, how likely to try other products in the portable cocktail line?"

"I don't know. 2?"

"Yeah, it kinda blew, huh? Alright. See? That was easy."

She got down on her knees and unzipped me. I should've stopped her. She was a young widow, practically still a child, forced to degrade herself for survival, and for her little daughter. I was exploiting her.

But what would taking my dick out of her mouth accomplish? There'd just be another guy coming over later tonight, doing the exact same thing. Countless more after him. Me not fucking her wasn't going to solve anything. If all those other assholes were going to get laid, why not me? At least I'm not fat, or old. I don't have an unbearable odor.

OK, the justifications were pretty lame, but there you have it. Since I already saw myself as the bad guy, I tried to incorporate it into my fantasy. I imagined that I had broken in, killed her husband, and was having my way with her. But it wasn't working. My cock stayed limp, and the rough texture of her tongue began to irritate it. I pulled it in and zipped back up.

"I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well. It's not your fault—you were great. Here."

I handed her a wad of cash. More than I owed, in fact. I wanted to get out of there.

"What the fuck are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing. I'm not pulling anything. You're paid in full."

"Is that what all that bullshit was about? Getting me to talk about my family? So you pay me now, and tomorrow you file a report, turn it all around, make it sound like I MADE you listen to my sob stories. Then I get charged with using a prostitution business as a front for panhandling and they pull my license. Right?"

She had some very angry eyes, and I was frightened. I ran out the door, and she chased after me. The threw my crumpled bills at me.

"You're entitled to a refund. Faggot!"