Under the Stone Arch Bridge (Part 2)

The club that she worked at allowed her to drink and smoke on the job, which she loved; however, the other drugs were mostly off limits, at least off of their lips and out of their minds.

She could not dance the stage in the poor lighting for the locals without a few hits, a couple lines, and a few pills, or shots of whatever clear or brown liquid was sitting by the mirror in the dressing room, plus the aforementioned.

She puffed her cigarette into the mirror, as she watched herself she imagined her self-love kissing its death.  As she watched the devil appeared in the smoke, subtly at first.  Outlines of facial features, almost.  Pen and paper in hand, looking for a buyer.  She looked closer, the figure vanished into the same smoke it was conceived in.

She peered back at the mirror, back at her reflection.  Her face was hiding much, but she was beautiful, if only, when she smiled, she had very little trouble holding up her act.  She never put it on anyone for fear of being exploited.  Her innocence was lost and had been for some time, she knew this and didn’t mind.

Her reckless endangerment was something that turned her on.  Like the time she had sex in a public area under a bridge in a cave in the middle of the day, well an entrance to a cave; he came early and she got upset and left.  He cut his hand on a broken bottle, some sort of sippin’ whisky.  She pulled her blue-green striped panties up and buttoned her pants, finished her Redbull, and walked unsatisfied to the car.  She drove a shitty Nissan Stanza, light blue in color, and she enjoyed the freedom it afforded.  The most reliable pile of shit car one could imagine.  She drove stick, because only real women drove stick she thought.  The power and control it gave her to maneuver what could automatically be done and be considered nothing at all made her feel god-like.

The man she had brought had turned into a boy; he was injured holding his hand up as if she was his mommy.  The blood dried fast and did not need for much attention.  He was injured at her dissatisfaction.

She looked and turned away, as she leaned her hips and breasts into her car.  Her shirt was untidy and hung slightly amiss, the top of her breast was exposed, same as her smile as she took account in the rearview.  Her pants were snug, she noticed her zipper was down, she thought about pulling it up but she left it down because she had nothing to hide at the moment.  Because she was proud of her misfortune.

Her friend; her latest sex partner, had seen it all before.  He had seen it all the night they had met:

She was on the street tripping on some form of Molly and he was drunk, they made snide remarks and ended up hand in hand walking towards her friend’s loft.  Her friend answered the door naked and sweating, she got this boy and her friend a beer and a condom.  The girl’s friend was blond, busty, and annoying, which worked out perfect for any douchebag she brought home.  She was disgusted, walked in and climbed her friends ladder to a shelf of a room with the boy she had just met.  They chatted, had sex, and she rubbed it into her tummy and ate the leftovers, all the while she looked him directly in the eyes.  Sexy looks; sex appeal, and the banter of challenge.

That was how this friendship had started.  She doubted anything would come of it as he requested and typed in her number.  She dropped him off a block from his house and they became close friends.


She crushed the Redbull can as she waited for this boy to run from her car.  She dropped him off a block away from his house again and thought of how violated she felt.  She had one wish only:  No cumming inside, never ever.  He had failed this time.  She thought of seamen as a vampire; once inside it was free to take control of her and change her mind, only to drain her completely of blood and leave her for dead in the end.  Even with protection, she felt the latex was insufficient as protection from mind control.  Yeah.  She disliked the idea, but she craved it.  Possibly it was from her anti-depressants, possibly it was because she was a 20 something horny girl, well 22, she didn’t know.  She didn’t care much either.

The manufacturer of Prozac must had been making millions by this time.


She had brought him over some time later to straddle and tease him.  She told him he could not resist.  She told him she wanted to fuck.  He did not give in and she thought he was full of it.  She had her friend drive him home.   

He may have actually been a friend.


The winter touched her in a way that made her leave potential lovers on the side of the road as she passed.  She just had to keep dancing to pay the bills and make her family closer.

She just had to dance because they loved what they saw and didn’t care about what the cost was for her.

She was Sadie and this was how she lived.


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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