Barbie

The last thing I remember is him helping me off the bike and leading me into a motel room. The sun was already up, and whatever they gave me at the hospital that made me feel real good right afterwards, yet knocked me out as soon as we rode away, still hadn’t worn off completely. The afternoon sun is shining bright red through the flimsy curtains on the window and I’m alone in bed, still wearing my red dress, its strap pulling painfully against my bicep. The shower is running and his stuff is all over the room, so I know he didn’t just leave me here again.

But knowing that did nothing to prepare me for seeing him walk out of the bathroom a few moments later, naked as the day his mother gave birth to him, only, well, a lot more grown up than that. If I had to point out a picture of exactly the kind of guy I want coming to me naked in bed, it’d be a picture of him right now.

He’s muscled all over, like I already knew he would be from clinging to him on the back of his bike, only it’s even better in the flesh. His sixpack has add-ons going off to the sides, his arms are all bulges and shapely lines, and his legs, well, they’re strong and powerful enough to support any two people easily. I seriously dislike muscular guys with skinny legs and he’s not presenting any such problem. But while all that is impressive, it’s secondary, because, damn, his dick. I’ve seen my share of dicks, but this one—this one’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. I wanna say it’s beer can-sized, but that wouldn’t quite do it justice. It’s both fat and long, and I’m kinda afraid to even touch it, let alone allow it to get anywhere near my holes, but, damn, do I want it inside me.

My wrist’s not throbbing anymore, and my head’s not hurting either, both of which was a problem when I woke up a couple of minutes ago. And I don’t remember getting up from the bed to stand next to him by the bathroom either.

He snorts more than chuckles as I stop right next to him. “I see you’re finally up.”

“And I see you’re not,” I say with a smile and run my good hand down his chest and his stomach, but he grabs it before I can weigh that beast in my palm to see what I’m really dealing with.

“Take a punch to the face, run for your life all night, but after a good day’s sleep you’re ready for action,” he says. “You’re a good little slut, ain’t you?”

The cold in his eyes washes over my chest, but he’s not wrong. I want what I like and I think we both appreciate that fact.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like me.” I extract my hand from his grip and keep going where I was going.

I gasp as my hand wraps around his dick, and so does he. And that coldness in his eyes isn’t quite so freezing anymore, as I start to slide my palm up and down his shaft that’s rapidly hardening under my touch.

He grabs me by the arms and twirls me around, pushes me against the wall, and the fast movement does make a sharp pain stab through my injured wrist, and a hammer blow go off in my head, but while he’s rough, he’s not too rough. His dick is still in my hand, and it’s fully hard and pulsing now. I forget all the pain again as he yanks up my dress and spreads my legs open with his thigh. I’m not wearing panties because that’s how Brick liked me, and he grins as he notices.

I can see he wants to kiss me as I look at him over my shoulder, and I can feel he wants to ram that huge, throbbing cock into me. It’s all right there in his eyes, which are on fire right now, and in his coiled muscles as he holds me against the wall. Any second now I’m gonna feel that monster I fear inside me. And I can’t wait. I even let go of it and arch my back out towards him, so he can do what he wants. My pussy is already wet and he hasn’t even touched it. This will be one fun trip out to the ocean.

But instead of giving me his dick, he takes a step back and lets me go completely.

“Forget it, you’re too banged up,” he says and this rejection is colder and hurts worse than getting called a slut ten times over.

I turn around and glare at him.

“What? You’re gonna act like that bothers you?” I can’t exactly add, “or is it that you can’t get it up,” because it’s clearly not true, but it’s on the tip of my tongue.

“Stop being such a whore, and get cleaned up,” he says. “I want some dinner.”

“A whore?” I ask hiking my dress down as far as it goes. The pressure rising in my head is making it throb worse and worse. “You can call me a slut all you want. I am that, you knew it when you first saw me, and I own it. But I’m not a whore.”

I can stand being called all sorts of things, but not that. That’s where I draw the line. I’ve never taken money for sex and I never will.

“Calm the fuck down, Barbie, or you’ll make your bruises worse,” he says in an infuriatingly calm voice. It sounds like maybe he means he’s gonna hit me if I don’t, but that makes no sense, since he just refused to fuck me because I’ve got bruises on my face, and he beat up a stranger because he gave me those bruises. But what the fuck do I know about him anyway? I do know his type though, they like to give me bruises, so there’s that.

“I’m not a whore,” I repeat, since I don’t know what else to say.

“Fine, I won’t call you a whore, if it means that much to you,” he says and walks over to the table opposite the bed where his clothes are. “But, I don’t know, maybe you should stop acting like one, if that’s your goal.”

“What do you got against whores anyway?” I say, because I just can’t let it go. He’s really pissing me off with this holier than thou attitude. “I’m sure you’ve been with a couple before.”

He’s already got his boxers on and was about to pull on his jeans, but he freezes in the action and glares at me. “Yeah, too many.”

It’s not a joke or an offhand comment, he really means it, but I don’t know how anyone can be with too many whores. I mean, it’s a choice, isn’t it? But he’s completely serious, that much is plain in his face and in his dead, cold blue eyes right now. I have no idea how that can be, or how a guy like him can care so much about a small thing like fucking whores, since I’ve never met a guy with a big dick that didn’t like to whip it out any chance he got just so he could brag about it later, if nothing else.

He didn’t lie about having issues, because he’s clearly got some of those. And the thing about guys with issues is that you never want to poke too hard at the walls they keep them behind. I learned that the hard way a couple of times over, and I stopped doing it long before today.

“Alright, Ice, I won’t act like too much of a whore. I’ll just toe the line between that and slut,” I say and smile at him then slip into the bathroom before he can say anything.

Whore. Slut. What’s the difference anyway? Yet I sure got worked up about it, and that’s because I don’t want this guy thinking of me as either of those things, for some reason. But he’s gonna, how can he not? I shouldn’t try to change that, because I also don’t want this guy to turn into another Brick on me, or any other guy I was with before him. It’s probably unavoidable in the long run, because they’re all the same, but I want us to have some fun together first. I’m finally free again, and I mean to make the most of it.

* * *

Ice

“You about done with that?” I ask, even though I can clearly see she’s still got more than half of her burger left. I ate mine fast, because the looks we’re getting from the other patrons in this diner are pissing me off.

But who can blame them? Half her face is dark purple, her left eye is drooping shut and her arm is wrapped up in a bandage that’s already not as clean as it was when they put it on at the ER about twelve hours ago. And she’s wearing a tight and short red, evening dress while it’s still light out. A dress, but no panties, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that.

That doesn’t change the fact that she looks like a whore and I look like the guy who beat her up, and no one in here seems to like us being here very much. The waitress keeps giving me nasty looks, as does the middle aged lady at the next table, with her three kids that are making too much noise.

“Does it look like I’m done?” she asks with her mouth full, which is a totally gross sight, but kinda sexy at the same time.

I should’ve fucked her before when she wanted me to. Maybe I’d be in a better mood now. Because that hard-on she gave me isn’t going away no matter what I think about, since anything I think comes right back to her not wearing any panties under that tight dress.

“Eat faster, I wanna get out of here,” I tell her. “Then we can get you some new clothes and something to cover your face with.”

She grins at me. “And then you’ll fuck me? Once my face is covered, I mean?”

She hasn’t stopped acting like a whore since I called her that, and it’s seriously grating on my nerves. I should’ve fucked her. Don’t know why I didn’t. But the way she pounced on was a harsh reminder of those whores Lizard would bring to me in that cramped small room he kept me in. That made me feel even more like an animal than anything else. And I’m afraid they felt it. The memory she brought up was so vivid, I’m having trouble not seeing the twisted face of the last whore I fucked every time I look at Barbie. But thinking about her bare pussy under that short, red dress helps.

“Just hurry up, or else all the stores will be closed,” I tell her.

“Man, you’re bossy.” She puts down her burger and wipes her lips. “I’m done. Do you want the rest?”

I take it and eat it in three bites, while she watches me with eyes wide in mock surprise. But I’m kinda done with her shit for today. I’m too used to being alone with just my own thoughts for company, and I like it fine that way. She just keeps talking and talking and doing weird things. Like right now, she’s reaching down her dress into her bra.

“I mean to pay my own way to the ocean, just so you know,” she says and tosses the money she fished from her bra onto the table.

I look at it and chuckle, which makes the food I’m not done chewing slam up into my nose.

“You’re gonna pay your way to California with forty bucks, Barbie?” I say anyway, trying not to cough. “That won’t even cover gas money to get us out of this state.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll pay you back for everything,” she says. “Just don’t take me for a whore.”

There she goes again. It really bothered her getting called that, but I call it how I see it.

“Alright, Barbie, we’ll figure it out,” I say and wave to the waitress that I want to pay.

“Good, and, yeah, lets get out of here. I don’t like the looks these people are giving us,” she says as she watches the waitress approach. “What’s this ass-backwards town called anyway?”

“Bixby, Missouri,” I tell her as I pull my wallet out from my pocket. But she pays for the food with one of the twenties on the table, and tells the waitress to keep the change before I can do anything about it.

She gets up right after and heads for the door, while I’m still coming up with something clever to say.

It still doesn’t come to me by the time we’re standing on the sidewalk.

I hand her my wallet that I’m still clutching stupidly in my hand.

“Run along and get something to wear,” I tell her and point at the strip mall across the street. “Better get a jacket too.”

“And something to cover my face with, got it,” she says, but doesn’t take the wallet. “Aren’t you gonna come with me to help me pick stuff out?”

I shake my head and force the wallet into her hand. “No, I’m gonna sit out here and enjoy the peace and quiet.”

I’m also gonna enjoy her ass swaying as she heads across the street, which is what she’s doing right now. I really should’ve fucked her before, because right now I seriously want to, and her not returning from this shopping trip is a very real possibility.

She’s something else, this Barbie with the ocean blue eyes who’s never seen the sea. Here she is all chipper and full of energy, cracking jokes left and right, with a banged up face and twenty dollars to her name. And she’s stuck with me, the guy who hasn’t felt joy since the last time I sliced a Spawn’s neck open. She glows brighter than the sun, but I don’t want to bask in her light, I want to put it out. And she doesn’t know what she’s up against here, she wouldn’t be waving to me so happily from across the street if she did. She’d be running away. But I’m done warning her.