She'll Always Think of Me

I found the girl on a street corner downtown. Young. Bleach blonde. Wide eyes and a slow, trusting smile. I invited her up before I even asked her name. She followed me home like she'd follow a cat into an alley. She was untouched. The kind who says she likes to watch but doesn't know what to do with her hands. I put her on the couch, told her I only wanted to talk. Ten minutes in and my fingers were sliding her skirt up. I felt her start to shake when I pushed two inside her. She was so tight the second finger had to work its way in. Her thighs kept closing on my wrist and I kept pushing them apart. Every time she tried to hide her face I dragged her chin up and made her watch. The first time she came her whole body snapped back like a live wire. She stared at me like the feeling had jumped her from the blind side, mouth open, eyes wet, still not sure if it hurt or what the hell it was. She came again on the third round with two fingers inside her and my thumb steady on her clit, pulling the orgasm out of her in small, involuntary pulses. I kept the phone on the table across the couch the whole time. Didn't have to hold it. The shot stayed clean. The light falling sideways across her hip when her knees finally dropped open. You can see the little twitch of her stomach each time she came, the jolt that made her heels slide across the cushions. It's the kind of video people rewind. Once. Then twice. Just to see that look again.