"I want to fuck you." As she spoke, she wiggled her fingers for emphasis. "I want to put on my strap-on dildo, and fuck you up your ass." She let the words just hang there. They snapped me awake from the dizzying sexual feelings instantly. Instantly, everything had flipped 180 degrees. I realized I was lying down, legs spread and feet up in the air, with fingers up my ass. She wasn't a slut. I realized she had intended this all along to work me towards this moment. I was to be the slut. I felt vulnerable and exposed and shocked, and her lascivious face was too close to mine."I can't," I said lamely."Yes, you can. You already are. Or doesn't this feel good?" She waggled her fingers again."I guess, yeah." You'll have the best orgasm you've ever had." Based on what I'd already felt, that might well be true."I don't know..." Trust me, please." Her expression had softened. I relaxed a little. This wasn't some getting-even-with-all-men thing. I mean, this was still fucking bizarre, and I. People aged quickly in those days, and they wore their sorrow in lines on their faces. In his lap, lay a boy in his late teens. He was skeletal, [dying] with skin that stretched over his jutting bones like canvas. The older man held the boy to his chest, cradling him in his arms. They might have been father and son. The boy was shaking violently with fever, and his chest was heaving with slow, labored breaths. [dying] It was the smoke, the man thought. He’s always had asthma as a kid, and now he just couldn’t breathe the smoke any longer. [dying] That word that no one said anymore had been clawing its way to the front of his mind for a few days now. He traced his fingers across the boy’s tear-streaked face. His eyes were closed, as they usually were these days, and his face was hot to the touch. [dying] There was no other version of the truth. He registered a hand on his shoulder. ‘When he… Passes, [dies] you know what we have to do.’ ‘You’re not going to touch him. You’re not going.
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