He asked Brenda what size that I wore. I'm sure shecould have guessed, but she told me that he suggested that I come to themotel. Her friend set up an appointment on Wednesday evening for me tocome in for a fitting with one of the maids to help me pick out the rightsize out of the current available inventory.Wednesday finally rolled around. My car was in the shop, but Brenda waswilling to drive me to the motel and drop me off. She told me that Paulwanted me to spend a little bit of time there experiencing thehospitality and he probably wanted to give me the hard sell to convinceme to work there on the weekends. She told me that I should considerthat as she was planning more weekend trips and my maid service wouldn'tbe required at home. She thought it would be a good idea to keep me outof trouble. Paul told Brenda that he would drive me home. I was dressedas a male, but of course had bra and panties on underneath the pinksweatshirt, jeans and sandals.I walked into the office and a. My hands touch her body. My hands, my tortured hands: their broken bones and gouged nail holes that weep slowly to my finger-tips. My breath is on her. Filthy, stale, salty, watery breath. The disgusting breath of rotting fish and seaweed washed onto a stony shore. Foul, disgusting, unearthly breath. Utterly corrupted.My body over hers. My silvery entrails falling, rotten and torn, from my belly. My opened belly, my torn, awful belly. Green and brown and stained and stinking. Entrails seeping blood that has long-ago lost its fight to suck in life-giving oxygen. Dark, dead, heavy, greasy mire. The crimson gash of the knife that opened me turned pale white. Barely flesh. The rip that was once my lovely agate jewel destroyed and open to the blade-scraped bone of my pelvis.She shudders. She cannot stop herself from staring. At my blackened, coral-torn legs, at my shattered feet. She cannot stop herself from staring.I smile. I turn the side of my face to her that still hints at my past.
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