I walked the stretch between Grove and your house, up Polk St. Watching my reflection pass in the shop windows, behind me the people images blurred in a city dance step. I stop–gazing, lost in my own impression–washed away, like the image on a Polaroid as it develops, my ghost image attempting to communication. Across the street I hear someone yelling–

“hey Red, Yo! Red.”

In the plate glass I can see the large hump of a man limp running across the street towards me. He recognizes me from the library, I begin to walk like I don’t hear him. My ghost image picking up pace–in the shop windows I become a blur of movement.

“Red, where ya goin’ –you hear me girl- Red!”

For a man with a limp he runs pretty fast my high heeled boots become no match, I resign, turn and face him as though I was just now hearing him calling out to me. Flustered, when I turn, he is only inches away, a fire in his eyes, his face tensed with pain and anger.

“You heard me calling you, that’s rude Red.”

His body is leaning and shoving into mine, his mouth moved and words bellowed out at me in a stream of angry obscenities.

His large hardened belly pushing into me, moving my body with his, before I could even think he shoved me in a doorway with the force of his body combined with the spit and confabulation flying past his lips. I was now reflected in three view–only two visible to me–all visible to him. In the side windows I realized just how big this man is, hovering over me with a power of a crushed life and the streets, his boiling breath inches away, steaming, hot, ugly, lost and empty. His body pressing me further into he doorway, my back forced up against the shop door. Pinning me with his drunken belly, one hand stretches far above me and onto the glass above my head. Still unable to focus on his words that spew out, I see his other hand approaching me. Turning my head, watching as his hand invade, my reflection–now clear. A dirty paw grabs at my thigh, hungry.

“I just wanted to say hi Red, but you wanna just keep on runnin’ pretended you don’t know me. Rude bitch.”

His hand creeps, his bovine stump of a leg, kicks mine apart. Inverted V. Mashed into this reflection, frozen in time– is this mans lingering pose on top of my body. Not my body. His fist jams into my cunt, my jeans like they are not even there. My back pressing against the door, with his strength he lifts my legs off the ground from my pussy, they dangle, my thighs– relentless–not connected-wet cunt consumes this monsters fist of madness and loss. His knuckles grinding into my clit, his anger vibrating his body sending pulsation through him and directly into me. I am his pussy.

Catching glances of the street, there are people–workers, computer geeks mixed with hookers, addicts and their ad men, dusk is turning. Hanging on his fist, my head relinquishes, I watched myself reflected, tensed, jerked and I come. Collapse on his limb. Glaring me directly in the eye, he slides me down the back of the door, allowing my feet to reach solidity. Shoving my full lips one last time–

“you a rude little slut Red, next time just say hi. fuck…bitch…library fuck bitch”

This was originally posted on 08/15/09 on the first Library Vixen site; it was part of a group blogger post. The topic was “reflections.”

I am in the process of going through these older posts, from the first and second LV sites,  and bringing some of them back, now that I feel secure with my web hosting.