me inside her. My first thrust forces a sound from her throat that’s meant to be sexy, but puts me in mind of a cow caught up in a breached birth.
Willow laughs in the background, despite her anger.
I bite my lip to keep from sharing the laugh.
Cameron’s short on experience, and her porn star imitation grates on me like Porky Pig reciting Shakespeare. But for no other reason than to piss Willow off further, I pretend I love it. I moan and groan, and thrash about under Cameron and carry on like she’s the lay of my life. Of course, this encourages Cameron, who, bless her heart, starts getting into it. She makes a sudden awkward move and we disengage. Undaunted, she pretends she meant for that to happen, and throws herself on her back, spreads her legs wide and yells, “ Do me, Chris! Do me!”
I scramble to my knees and notice her legs are so long they actually span the king-size bed! I focus on the triangle in the middle, and try to climb aboard, but she bucks her hips repeatedly. After thirty seconds of this bullshit, I press my hand against her lower abdomen and pin her to the bed long enough to get inside her. This time she emits a high-pitched wail and starts chuffing while flailing her long, skinny arms and legs in all directions.
Can you picture this?
It’s like trying to fuck an octopus in a windstorm.
3
Willow’s fallen Asleep, so you can imagine how big her eyes get when she opens them and sees the gun in my hand.
“What the fuck?”
“Time to shower.”
She turns toward Cameron, who’s sitting on the bed, naked, crying softly.
“What happened?”
“He stole our money.”
Willow sees her open handbag on the bed. Her body tenses.
I thumb the hammer back, cocking the pistol.
“Don’t do it,” I say. “You’re the intruder here.”
I motion both women to get up and walk in front of me, into the bathroom. They do, and I turn on the shower and nod at Cameron. She gets in and stands in the center, under the running water. I tell Willow to remove her clothes, but she’s decided to take a stand.
“You’re not gonna shoot me,” she says. “Not in your own bathroom.”
I slap her face full force.
She shrieks.
I slap her again, and she puts her hand up in submission.
“Get your clothes off!” I yell.
When she’s naked, I motion her to join her friend.
If looks could kill, right?
But they can’t, so Willow steps into the shower.
It’s a glass shower with a glass door, and I’m standing three feet from them, with the door propped open behind my back. Willow tries to whisper something to Cameron and I say, “I could kill you both right now.”
They look at each other, sharing a brief moment of terror. Willow’s mouth and legs are trembling. All the defiance she had earlier has leaked out of her like drool from a dying grandparent.
And yet she’s resourceful.
“I need to pee,” she says, figuring to split them up, maybe buy some time to make a plan.
“A drain’s a drain,” I say. “Pee in the shower.”
I point to the facecloth on the shower bench. “Willow, bend over. Cameron, use the facecloth and soap her private area, hard. When you’re done, switch places.”
The women look at each other, and Willow says, “He’s going to kill us.”
Cameron says, “No. He’s just making us get rid of the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Willow says. “He used a condom.”
“Still. There could be DNA. Hair, whatever.”
“Cameron’s right,” I say. “Remove the evidence, and I’ll let you go. You ladies weren’t raped tonight, but I don’t want you claiming you were. Consider it a lesson learned.”
They soap each other down, then turn to look at me.
“Again,” I say. “Harder, deeper. Or I’ll do it myself.”
4
After the women get dressed, I give them back their handbags and say, “I won’t lecture you, but you shouldn’t smoke cigarettes.”
Willow checks her bag.
I hold up the plastic baggies that holds Willow’s cocaine and ground nutmeg. “Looking for these?”
I put them in my pocket and say, “You can’t be stupid enough to lace cocaine with nutmeg. Then again, it was in your purse.” I sigh. “Let’s go, ladies.”
I escort them to the side door and hold it open.
As they pass in front of me, I expect Willow to make a comment like, “This isn’t over,” but she doesn’t. Like Cameron, she’s silent, respectful, eager to leave the house alive.
I watch till they get in Willow’s car before closing and locking the door. Then I pause a moment, turn around, and slide slowly to the floor, grinning wider than a ventriloquist’s dummy.
Unbelievable!
I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but this tops them all!
Did I just fuck two strippers and rob them at gunpoint?
Yes!
Will they come back and try to kill me?
I can only hope so!
Will they tell Bobby Mitchell?
Will he hunt me down and kill me?
I’ve never felt so alive! I’m practically hyperventilating from the excitement. I feel cleansed, energized. And strangely, a sense of relief, like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken their money. But seeing the cocaine in Willow’s purse pissed me off, so I decided to punish them where it hurts.
In the wallet.
I cock my head.
Something’s wrong.
It dawns on me I haven’t heard Willow’s car start up.
I get to my feet and move to the kitchen window that overlooks the driveway.
5
Willow and Cameron.
“Let it go,” Cameron says.
They’re in Willow’s car, in Chris Fowler’s driveway.
