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Little bit of Navel

October 19, 2007

Noreen was from Boston and all about little perky cup-cake titties and blue eyes and thick jet-black hair. Pale skin. I had not spent very much time at all with tough little girls like this. Lots of other tough little girls; high-haired greyhounds from the neighborhood, smooth brown babies that lived across the tracks, green-eyed generous Jewish girls, dying for a tough-fuck with a goy-boy from the Golden Gloves. A Mom once, and then her red-headed daughter about a month later. They both knew. They were tough, both of them, like little animals. Noreen. Neat, clean, outspoken, rounded flawless ass, just the right size, just a little too big. Lots of spirit and even more soul, but flawed. When I got close to her, after I decided to ride for a while, I saw it; a thing in her character, a hate-myself-I ain’t good enough thing. A how-dare-you-treat-me that-way thing. And I was steady, always, treating her better than she treated herself. She had a tight, flat belly and just a little bit of navel. She sat on me in her rented room, with the slivered light of the venetian blinds making us into a Zebra, I put my big hands across that plane of her body and I had never gone to that place before. I remember the sensation now, right out loud, after almost thirty years.

From → imagination

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