I’ve caught a few in my time. Some big, some small, the small ones I usually throw back. Too much bone, not enough meat, if you know what I mean. But this last one. She was firm. Nothing but meat on that one.

I found her at the library. She had what I call “the look”. Big-eyed, like she’d seen a ghost. I flashed a fake badge I bought years ago at a flea market. Caught this guy, I said, trying to break into your car. Could you come with me please ma’am.

If they follow you, from there it’s pretty easy. You show ‘em a knife or a gun, let ‘em know you mean business. They’ll do whatever you say, nine out of ten. That sounds pretty bad, I guess. I’m just keeping it real though.

So usually when you catch one, you’ve got a plan. You know what you’re going to do with it. This one I’m telling you about, I took her on a whim.

I got her home, put her in the basement. There’s no toilet down there. I gave her a bucket to use.  I fed her, once, sometimes twice a day. I even brought her upstairs once a week for a shower. I got to watch her of course.

She was like a pet. Like a little pet. Everything was going fine. I went downstairs every night, took the cuff off her ankle. Took off all my clothes, and sat in my brown leather chair. I put her between my legs. That little mouth of hers just working.

Sweet, right? Yeah. It was sweet. Every night I got a blowjob from a pretty young thing, for nothing, for free, and no dinners, no dating. None of that courtship crap.

And maybe it was because I took her on a whim, and didn’t have a plan. But I started thinking about her in a way I shouldn’t. I know. Sounds funny coming from me. You see what I’m saying, though. Plan or no plan, it was up to me to keep her down, keep her in line. To be hard. To not go soft.

But I did. I went soft. It shames me to say it. I started bringing her upstairs. We’d watch a movie. Listen to music. We even danced sometimes.

Sometimes we laid in the dark. Pretended we were looking at stars, in the sky at night.

She was supposed to be like a pet. No. A plaything, a toy. Not a pet. A pet you care about, when they’re sick, or they do something they know they’re not supposed to. They give you that look. You know. It sticks in your throat.

That was the whole fucking point, to not have it stick in my throat. No more Mr. Nice Guy, that tears it, I said. I'm going down to that basement and get a blowjob or handjob or do it to her seventeen different ways, it's my game and my rules and that is what she is here for. Goddammit. That’s why she's here.

Well. I go down there to the basement, and she’s shaking, her face is red and her eyes. She’s making little mewing sounds. I say, what’s wrong, and she says, are you sure you want to know.

I say, yeah. I want to know. And I did. I did want to know. I didn’t want to want to know. But I wanted to know.

Well, she says, and she goes into this long, weepy story. Broken home, father died when she was eight, so on and so forth, blah blah blah and I’m thinking, is there a point here.

I love you, she says.

And I'm thinking, no. She did not say that. She did not just say that.

I mean it, she says. I love you. I get so excited every night, when I hear you coming down the stairs. I love to give you pleasure. She says, I dream sometimes of you and me just holding each other. Snuggling. Cuddling.

Together. Forever. 

I take the cuff off her ankle. I tell her to get dressed. Give her back her clothes.

I put her in the car, and she’s blubbering. She’s acting like she’s blubbering. I didn’t see any tears. I’m just driving, I don’t know where I’m going. Again, I don’t have a plan. It gets ya. Be prepared. Boy Scout motto.

So she's wailing, going on and on, and I figure, well, I'll take her back where I got her. I'll take her back to the library. And we get there and the parking lot’s almost empty. The library closes at nine. It's like, a quarter of, so the lights are still on inside.

I stop the car.

I turn. I look at her.

I say, I’m sor—

Fuck you, she says. Fuck you.

And that was it. That was the last time I saw her. Walking through those doors. I was sure she’d go to the cops. Maybe she did. Maybe they’re just reelin’ me in slow. Every little noise, I’m sure it’s them comin’ to get me.

It’s a hell of a way to live. The funny thing is, sometimes I would go to jail to have her back for five more minutes.

It was right.

It was softer with her here.

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