One Safe Place Read Online Free

them. It made me go crazy, and I stroked myself so hard I thought I might yank my skin off. At some point her voice wheezed as her body jerked. She turned over onto her stomach and pulled her panties down just far enough to expose her bubble butt. Seeing the long crease between her ass cheeks made me animalistic. I straddled her ass, and humped her and stroked my hardness. She knew how to seductively move her ass as if she was experienced. She was. She made it clear; I could not put my hardness in her pussy. She kept her hand cupped over her pussy.
    She did offer her asshole. Evita took her other hand and spread her ass for me to see, and I thought about it, but my lack of experience had me confused about what to do. All I knew to do for sure was to masturbate, and so I did, and came for my first time. I groaned to the depths of one of the volcanic mountains nearby while my cum ran down the crease of her ass, and disappeared under her cupped hand covering her pussy.
    That happened after a time I had rescued her. I guess she was rewarding me.
    Every once in a while we crawl in the same bed, like now, and act like an old couple whose sex life is over. But we hold each other as if we had the best orgasms a man and woman have ever experienced.
    I have never tasted her sweetness. She says it will ruin what we have. I have never understood that, but you don’t pressure someone you love…right? After so many years, I never even think about sex with her.
    We don’t have a sad affair concerning us never having had sex; as a matter of fact, she has recited the rap part of Prince’s “Lady Cab Driver” many times:
    â€œThis is for the women, so beautifully complex
    This one’s for love without sex.”
    I always laugh, and think of how I’ve had sex with many other women, and have sex right now with only one, but Evita and I make love in a way that will always be reserved for her, a safe place. She is the one for love with no sex, and I have another for love and sex.
    Damaged goods. In her early twenties, she had a boyfriend, a man much older than her. She wanted out of the relationship; he beat her and cut her from her skin on down to her soul. He broke a wine bottle, sliced her all the way through, and inserted lifelong wickedness into her womanly parts. With the boyfriend passed out in a drunken stupor, and her life slipping away with each pulse of blood pumping out her body, she found the strength to call me. I just happened to be home on a summer college break.
    I arrived to find a dying Evita, brave in spirit, but with an almost lifeless body. Before I arrived, all she could do was wrap her lower body in sheets. The sheets were so bloody, I wanted to remove them and put other clean towels and sheets around her, but she begged me not to. Her boyfriend had mutilated her to the point that she’d rather die than for me to see what he had done.
    I got her to the hospital, and now many years later she is here, living in one of my houses. He sliced one of her breasts, but she made the best of the disfigurement. She had vines tattooed over the long scar, with hearts hanging as the fruit, and blossoming flowers and multicolored flower buds waiting to bloom attached to the vines. One wilting, unopened black rose, with teardrops falling, is tattooed over a scar near her navel. As far as I can tell, the teardrops keep flowing past her waistline; no telling how far the teardrops fall. She lives, but a lot of her heart died years ago.
    Wilted. The ex-boyfriend, God rest his soul. I’m sure I sent him to go live with Satan. His ass is burning now and forever more for killing a part of Evita’s soul. One may ask, “Doesn’t that make you judge and jury?” I believe in justice, but not a justice system set forth in laws put in place by so-called impartial men. Judges, lawyers, and the police have motives different from mine. The money they make from the jobs they create from crime is not