The Negro had been waiting for our conversation to stop before he came over. He started working on my boots, and I told him why I was in town. I also ...old him I didn't expect him to believe me, but I had somebody with me he would believe if he would meet me after dark someplace where we could talk. He told me of a place, and we agreed to meet there after it got dark. I paid him a dime, which was double his usual fee for cleaning boots, so he walked away happy. I finished my beer and went back. He pulls at the buttons of my top, struggling to find my breasts through the fabric. Familiar hands graze my nipples and I internally scream. I start to relax into him. Falling against him, melting at his touch, putty in his hands. He pulls my head to the side, kissing my exposed neck. I moan, unconsciously. He knows that my struggle is over. I now know that he won’t hurt me. He’s too caught up in the moment, he’s under my spell as much as I am under his. The magic of touch, the power that sex. More

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