Bambi Eyes

He holds her topless, limp body against him.

Grinning in the half-light. His mouth is like the crescent moon. He kisses her like this is romance. This is romance. Romantic. Her long hair streaming. Girls are so beautiful when they aren’t awake and can’t talk to you. Cuter with her mouth closed.  He wishes she’d keep her eyes open though. Pretty eyes. He’ll make do with this picture.

Of course, she’d wanted it awake too. He just had to make sure she didn’t change her mind halfway through. So many bitches. BITCHES. Did that.
Why do girls always do that? They flirt and swish the hair that smells so good and makes you so...
And then they say no. No. No?

Her skin is so smooth. There are the cutest goose bumps on her arms. It is a little cold in here. Understandable. He rubs his hand against her arm to warm it up. A gentleman. His father raised him to be.

He kisses her.
No.
They kiss passionately.
With her hands in his hair.
Then she walks…
No.
Struts…
No.
Leads him. Seductively.
To the bedroom.
“I want you so bad baby”

She whispers it desperately. Lustfully.
No.
She just says, “I want you.”
No.
She doesn’t speak. Girls are cuter when they
Don’t speak.

He undresses her. Because she wants it. Wanted it before.
He fucks her. Because she wants it. Wanted it before.

He’s sure.

He spoons her after they make love because he’s a gentleman. He hasn’t slept that well in weeks. This isn’t just some girl to jerk off to later.  She’s not like the other ones. He could even marry this one. This one is beautiful.

That mouth. Neck exposed like a deer. He’d call her Bambi. Or is Bambi a stripper name? She has Bambi eyes. When he met her he was sure he saw God in her eyes.

God. What happened. Their sex.

No.
Their love-making.
Out of wedlock unfortunately.
He’d marry her and it wouldn’t matter.
Plus, she’d make the most beautiful mother.  

He didn’t even have the good sense to use a condom. Whoops.

. . . .

Bambi eyes open. Bright. Close. Open. Light in.  Head heavy. Hair in mouth. Body beside. Something wrong.  Eyes close. Head swamp. Body there. Him. Who? Him. What happened? Did we? Sit up.  Something wrong inside. No shirt on.  Exposed! Cover. Breasts. Blushing. Brain.  Has been rolled over. Don’t wake him. Sick.
Head heavy.
Feet floor cold.
Close.
Spinning. Didn’t drink that much. Did we? Open. Stand up. Something wrong inside. What happened? What. What Happened?  Can’t ask him.  Stomach like a swamp creature. Get away from him.  Step. Bathroom sink. Cold water. No. Going to. Chunks hitting toilet water. No. Yellow bowl. Knees cold. Then acid burning throat. Did we? God. Feels like tiny fish bursting through her bloodstream.  Swimming around her body. Bumping. Nibbling. Something inSIDE HER. Maybe it’s just a scream. What. Happened. No. A scream would wake him. Stupid. To scream. No danger. Dirty. Slime inside. A floating head.  Headless woman. Last night? Didn’t drink enough. Still felt drunk. He swept her away. Street sweeper. Cleans the garbage. Calm down. Brought her home. Chivalry was dead. They thought. Dead. She wishes. She was.  Not so. So dizzy she fell down. He scooped up. Pooper-scooper. HA! Can’t remember. Never slept topless before. What is so wRONG? Sex? Big deal. Not. Virgin.

Why so sick? Fish swimming inside. Something wrong inside. Not virgin.
But.
No. Not sex. Fucking never made her feel like. Not sex. No.
Can’t be sure.
Keeps her mouth closed.

Until she learns about

A girl.
A little girl.
Her little girl. Inside.
Girls are cuter with their mouths closed.

She opens hers and screams and screams.

 Painting by Frida Kahlo, "The Wounded Deer", 1946