7. Billy
SEVEN
Billy
BILLY BOSTON AND THE PRISONER OF ASS GRABBIN’
Knock, knock, knock.
I throw the wallpaper I just tore into the trash barrel I brought to Donna’s house. I’ve been working here for the past hour, getting the lay of the land. There’s some ugly here, some bad, but the bones are good, as they say.
Donna was supposed to meet me here about an hour ago. I’ve been texting her, but I didn’t call because of the nature of her job, sometimes she has to stay late. I go to the front door and open it. And there she is, slightly out of breath, looking stressed but pretty as ever.
“You don’t have to knock—it’s your house,” I say.
She puts her hands on her hips. “I gave you the keys.”
“Well, I didn’t lock it when I came in here. ”
“Oh. Well. Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it. You want some good news? You look like you could use some good news.”
“I could definitely use some good news.”
“Come on in.” I step down and hold the door open for her as she enters. My hand naturally finds the small of her back to guide her in. Completely unnecessary. But it feels good.
“It still looks like an awful lot of work to me,” she says, her gaze roaming the house.
“Yeah, but let’s focus on the good first. Here.” I hold out my hands, presenting the area I was just working on. “I had a hunch that if I tore back this plasterboard…”
“Shiplap!” Donna says, full of wonder, like she’s a little girl and I just presented her with a unicorn.
“Shiplap,” I confirm with a nod. “Chicks still dig shiplap, right?”
Donna smiles the first smile I’ve seen on her since she got here. I’m gonna make sure it stays. “I can confirm that I will always love me some shiplap.”
“Come on—there’s more.” I place my hand on the small of her back again as I guide her around the house. Yes, it desperately needs a reno. But there are bits and pieces that are unique and kind of amazing. There’s one room stuffed with trash and furniture, but some of the furniture is really great and just needs a polish. And that room was once and will again be a beautiful three-season sunroom.
“It’ll be gorgeous once it’s cleared out and cleaned up,” I say, guiding her to look past the trash to what it could be.
Donna sighs, but this time it’s not stressed. It’s well on its way to relaxed. “I see it. I do.”
“Okay, last thing. Come down to the basement. I got somethin’ wicked awesome to show you.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “But I can see your penis so much better in this light.”
I laugh. “That’s not what I was gonna show you, but now that is definitely happening. Come on.”
I take her hand and lead her to the entrance down to the basement. Because we’re going down steep steps and even when the lights are on it’s dark down there. That’s why. It’s not like I’m some cheeseball who can’t stop touching her.
“There aren’t any birds or blood water or any other crazy-scary stuff down here, is there?” Donna asks, the tension creeping back into her voice.
“I promise there’s a good thing down here. And it’s just a house, Donna.” Most people think Boston is my native accent. It’s not. It’s Cocky. That’s my true native tongue. And that’s how I sound when I say it.
But that’s for her benefit. Because it was strange when I arrived at the house. The air always feels strange and the light never seems like it matches the time of day. I wasn’t exactly excited to explore this basement by myself.
But holding her hand now, I don’t feel any of that. It’s just a basement that’s a little dark and not very airy, like any other basement.
“Billy, I can’t see,” Donna says, and I hear the panic rising in her voice.
“Babe, I got you.” I flip on the lights. “There.”
Donna squints and blinks her eyes a couple of times. It’s still not nearly as bright as upstairs, but when her eyes do adjust, I watch her clock what I wanted to show her. It makes me smile.
“What am I looking at? Is that a cage for a serial killer to keep the women he kidnaps in?”
My smile fades fast. “What? No, it’s a wine cellar.”
“Oh!” Donna says in a much more chipper tone than when she was probably thinking her late patient was a serial killer. She walks into the little space. The racks are completely empty and there are bars everywhere, so I can see why she thought it was a cage. She looks up and down and around, but I can’t read her expression.
I realize I don’t know if she loves wine. I know she likes it. That’s what she drinks at her apartment. It’s what she asked for at the restaurant.
But what’s her favorite? Red or white? Italian, French, Napa Valley? Does she even have a favorite?
Our date was wonderful. A little too wonderful. I’ve never really opened up to a girl like that before. I always told my family there was this one girl but she couldn’t handle me because I was too mysterious, but I’ve never gotten close enough for there to be “one girl.” And it’s not that they wouldn’t want to be with me because I’m too mysterious—those girls have never been interested in me the way I am at home. The Billy that’s relaxed. They want the Billy that they think only exists between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and 4:00 a.m. During a full moon.
Like a werewolf.
So it felt good to tell Donna those things about myself. Even though it wasn’t a real date. I felt like I was really connecting with her. Which is not what I was supposed to feel. Which is why I jumped ship to the neighboring birthday party.
But it has made me curious about getting the same from her since the other night.
I want to know what makes Donna tick. But I’m not teaching her how to date. And nowhere is it written in the bylaws of our no-strings agreement that we can get to know each other as people. So I hid by creating a scene.
I’ve always been good at that. What am I saying? I’m the fucking best at it.
Donna puts her head in her hands and sighs. It’s not the I’m so relaxed and happy that I discovered I’m now the proud owner of a wine cellar sigh. It’s the sigh of someone so tired and stressed, they wouldn’t mind being in a basement cage with a serial killer and put out of their misery.
“So, I guess you aren’t a big fan of wine…” I say, because I don’t know what else I’m allowed to say to her right now.
Donna removes her hands from her face and shakes her head. “No. I love wine. I certainly could use a glass right now.” She places her hands on her hips and stares at the floor, a thousand miles into the Earth. “It was just a long day at work. Which made me late. I was even later because I was speeding.”
I narrow my eyes. “Well, you did it wrong, then.”
She gives me a look. “I mean I got pulled over. And I got a ticket. And I look at this wine cellar and I don’t think, Cool, I have a wine cellar . I think about all the money I don’t have to fill it with nice bottles of wine.”
I want so badly to offer to fill it. And I don’t mean that in the bad dirty joke way either. For real for real. She could have all my money if it would turn that sad sigh into a smile. I know I can’t do that. I know she wouldn’t accept it.
Doesn’t mean I can’t help some other way. “Give me the ticket.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll take care of it, that’s why.”
Donna gives me a disapproving look. “I can afford to pay the speeding ticket. I’m not broke. ”
“I didn’t say I’m going to pay it. I’m gonna take care of it.” I shrug. “I know a guy.”
Donna smiles a smile she clearly can’t help, shaking her head because I’m so charming and surprising. My favorite kind of smile. “Of course you do.”
I motion for her to give it to me, and she fishes the ticket out of her purse and hands it over.
She doesn’t slow her momentum toward me; she wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you.” She tilts her chin up, and I get that kiss I wanted. Easily worth paying the state of Massachusetts a fine if my guy doesn’t come through.
“You’re welcome.”
She gives me one of my other favorite looks. A look that says that kiss is only the start of what she wants from me. “It’s been a long day. What do you say we play instead of working? Something where I don’t have to think about anything. You decide. You’re in charge.”
It’s an easy answer. An easy yes and the guarantee of a good time. Except I don’t say yes. I’ve been addicted to Donna’s body for a while now, needing my hit on a regular basis. But I’m starting to become addicted to helping her. I liked coming to the rescue and fixing her dishwasher. I like that I can take care of this ticket, help her relax, and make the house she inherited something great instead of a burden .
“How about we do both?” I say, and she immediately looks intrigued.
Knock, knock, knock.
I rap my nightstick against the bars of the wine cellar turned prison cell. And when I say nightstick, I do not mean my erection. Although I could absolutely knock on steel with my wood right now.
“On your feet, inmate,” I bark. I’m now wearing blue dress pants, a blue button-down shirt, and I have a fake badge on my chest, real handcuffs hanging from my belt, and I’ve got a billy club. Just happened to have these in the trunk of my car.
My beautiful, indignant prisoner rises from the couch cushion I found. She’s stripped down to plain white cotton panties and a ribbed white cotton tank top. Not because she had it as a costume in her car, but because tomorrow’s her laundry day. Still, they look like prison-issue clothing to me.
I could have stripped her naked. I’m in charge of this prison after all. But then this would have been all role and no play because I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from just skipping to the end and getting inside her. I’m hard enough watching her delicious ass rise, filling out those panties.
When she’s standing in front of me, she folds her arms, which pushes up her tits, making her tank top even tighter and her hard nipples even clearer through the thin fabric. She levels me with a petulant stare. “The fuck do you want?”
“I’m gonna search your cell. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”
She scoffs but then complies, like she’s a hardened criminal who’s done this a thousand times before. She flattens her hands against the back wall, sticking her ass out on purpose.
I open the cell door and stalk inside, my boots making a satisfying, heavy thump with each step. I smack her ass.
“Hey! You can’t do that. I have rights!”
I lean in, pressing my lips against her ear. “Not in here. In here, this ”—I roughly palm her ass—“belongs to me.” Donna’s acting tough, but I hear the little gasp that’s all pleasure.
“Spread your legs,” I order. I tap the insides of both her legs to encourage her to spread them wider, and she does. I take a step back to admire her body, spread out just for me. I literally won the fucking lottery, but that didn’t make me feel anywhere near as lucky as I feel in this moment, taking in this goddess who is now under my lock and key.
And now it is time for me to frisk her. I start with her tits—because why wouldn’t I—massaging them for quite some time, just to be thorough. I move to the ass, because she could be hiding a lot of junk in there—more than just the hot flesh and muscle and fat that drives me out of my goddamn mind. And then a gentle caress of her pussy to make sure there are no weapons in there, aside from the wet warmth and taste that can bring me to my knees. Back to her ass, and then I massage her tits again—because I need to protect myself.
I’m guessing this is not proper procedure, but the whole time Donna’s moaning and my cock, which was already hard, is now threatening to break out of the prison of my dress pants.
“I thought you were here to search my cell. Not me.” Donna’s trying to sound pissed off, but she’s too turned on. No formal acting training.
I take her right wrist, hold it behind her back and lock the cuff around it. “I have to make sure you don’t have anything dangerous on you first. Since you’re such a bad girl.”
I take her left wrist and lock the other cuff on it. Then I grab her arm and spin her around.
“I’m innocent, you jackass,” she exhales. But she stares at me with dangerous, lust-filled eyes.
“The fuck you are,” I growl. I drag her out of the dungeon cellar, her hands cuffed behind her back, in stark contrast to my put-together, powerful frame and costume. Donna’s a strong woman. She has to be, given her job. So it means a lot that she would trust me enough to give me all this power over her. It turns me on, of course. But it also makes me feel something else that I’m not going to think about. Because I already feel like I’m losing control of my feelings while having control over her body.
I bring her to a chair in the middle of the basement. It feels dark and dangerous. But it’s not the house creating that feeling. It’s us, and we’re playing with it.
“Don’t you move,” I growl into her ear.
She shivers but manages to frown up at me. “Fuck you.”
I rise and pretend I’m giving her “cell” the once-over. But of course I’m just staring at my gorgeous jailbird the whole time.
I march back over. Slowly, so she can hear my heavy footsteps but can’t see me. I swing myself around to face her in the chair, towering over her. “You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know.”
“The hell I am,” Donna says with a smirk.
I fist her hair, giving it a gentle yank. A delighted gasp escapes her lips. “Oh yes, you are. By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna be beggin’ me to put you back in that cell.”
“Big talk,” she mutters.
It’s my turn to smirk. I let go of her hair. She’s probably expecting me to spank her. But I go the opposite way. I kiss the spot on her neck that I know drives her wild. My eyes are closed, but I hear her pull at her cuffs. “Not fair,” she whines.
“Don’t care.”
I work my way down, kissing her over her tank top. Lower and lower until I reach her slit, clearly visible through the wet spot on her panties. I kiss it. Once. Twice. Inhale. Breathing in Donna. My prisoner.
I stop pleasuring her with my mouth, suddenly pulling back.
She pulls at her cuffs again.
“You’re gonna tell me what I want to know.”
She doesn’t nod in affirmation. Just bites her bottom lip. Which is good enough for me.
“Where are you from?”
“The moon.”
I pinch a nipple, startling her.
“Jamaica Plain!” she answers again.
“Did I stutter? I didn’t ask where you lived before you got locked up. Where did you grow up?” I look her in the eye. I’m sure my eyes are as hazy with lust as hers are, but I can see her realizing that I’m not asking about the criminal character she’s pretending to be. I’m asking about Donna, my neighbor and no-strings girl.
“That’s against the rules?— ”
I pinch the other nipple.
She squirms, the cuffs preventing her from moving too much in her chair. “I’m from Philadelphia.”
I reward her answer with my mouth to her pussy. If I thought she was wet before, her panties are flooded now. “Why did you move to Boston?” I ask between kisses on her mound, over the very wet cotton.
“Because the guys in Boston are stupid and they’re easy marks,” Donna the criminal quips.
Oh, Donna. Poor Donna. Forced to wear panties and a tank top that’s now property of the Billy Boston Department of Erections. But that means they’re mine to do with as I please.
I grab the left side of her panties, tear, and then rip them. I do the same to the right. I pull the tatters out from under her and ball them up. “These can go in your mouth if you’re not going to answer my questions.”
Donna’s breathing like she’s been running a marathon, even though she’s been chained in a chair for the last few minutes. “I followed my high school boyfriend to Boston for college. It was really hard to leave, because my oma and opa are there and I didn’t want to leave them. But even after my ex left, I decided to stay because I got a lot of good job offers. And because I fell in love with Boston. It was a hard choice, but I made it.”
Boston the city . She fell in love with Boston the city .
“But fuck you,” she adds.
All right. I return to her pussy, all bare and slick. I kiss her clit and place my hands on her thighs, encouraging her to spread wider so I can lick her. With each lick I increase the pressure little by little. And with each lick Donna tilts her pelvis forward just a little bit more. When I can’t press my tongue any harder and she can’t rock forward any farther without falling off the chair, I stiffen my tongue and fuck her with it, as deep as I can go. That’s when Donna cries out. No holding back. No neighbors to worry about.
“Oh God. Oh God. Biiiiiilllyyyy! ” She chants and moans, bucking and thrashing as much as she can in her position. I keep going until she comes all over my face.
Finally I pull back, with a very satisfied grin as I wipe my face, savoring the hard evidence I got out of my little prisoner. I got what I wanted. Donna is limp in the chair, a sated grin on her pretty lips. Lips I intend to put to work.
My smile vanishes as I realize something. Something very distressing and important. “Wait, are you a Philly Lightning fan?”
She nods slowly, her sated grin turning evil.
Oh, hell no.
I pick her up swiftly. She’s been acting pretty tough up until this point, but she lets out a fun little squeal. I sit down in the chair and place her over my knee, spanking her three times.
“Why was it hard to decide to stay in Boston? Philly’s a city for dirtbags.”
“They say the same about you.”
“Yeah, that’s what dirtbags think. They think non-dirtbags are dirtbags to hide from their own dirtbaginess.”
“Fuck you,” she says, but she’s laughing.
I fist her hair and spank her some more.
I ask Donna more questions, spanking her when she’s sassy and rubbing her tits when I like the answer. I learn that she’s an only child and her parents divorced when she was thirteen. She’s always been close to her oma and opa and they’ve always celebrated Oktoberfest. She loves German beer.
I’m beyond horny for her body, but now I’m just as lustful for who she is. I try not to make the interrogation too heavy. So I also get her favorite color—crimson red, which is acceptable because it’s one of the Boston Tomcats team colors—and her dream vacation, which is to see the northern lights in Norway.
When her ass is nice and pink, she begs, “I’ll be good! Please, sir, I’ll suck your cock. No more spanking.”
I’m used to seeing Donna all feisty, so this sudden turn makes me a little nervous, despite hearing the four words any straight man would die to hear this woman say to him. “You remember the safe word?”
She looks back at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course. Did I use it? Did I stutter?” There she is.
That earns her four more swats on her ass, two on each cheek.
“Just for that, the new safe word is the Philly Lightning suck instead of the New York Rebels suck .”
“I mean, those are safe words , but whatever floats your boat.”
I growl and lift her up, throwing her over my shoulder. I quickly search for what I’m looking for and find a blanket that will work. I fold it up and place it on the ground in front of the chair. Then I lower Donna to her feet, but her legs are wobbly from all the pleasure and punishment, so I hang on to her lightly for support. “On your knees, inmate,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
“Yes, sir,” Donna says obediently, making my knees weak. Then she smirks; the little minx knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She drops to her knees on top of the folded blanket, and I take a seat in the chair.
“This would be a lot easier if my hands weren’t cuffed, sir,” she says, leaning to one side and moving her arms to the other side behind her, jangling the cuffs to emphasize her point. She pouts adorably.
“Yeah, probably would be. But we like things hard around here.” I unbuckle my belt, unbutton and unzip my pants, and pull out my aching cock myself. It’s dripping with precum. Donna’s eyes grow wide, and she bites her bottom lip in that way that drives me absolutely insane. “Get to work, inmate.”
Donna licks her lips and kisses the head of my cock. I close my eyes and groan, throwing my head back, the pleasure already almost too much to handle.
“Donna…” I whisper. We forgot to give each other character names, but fuck it.
“Yes, sir? What can I do for you?” She makes clear her question is rhetorical by licking my shaft from base to tip—slowly. So slowly. She’s torturing me now. She’s on her knees, cuffed, and I’m a prisoner to her mouth. When she reaches the tip, she takes me into her mouth. As much as she can. My eyes jolt open and I bolt upright. She starts sucking intensely, deep throating, never letting my cock out of her mouth because she wouldn’t be able to place it back in without the use of her hands. I don’t know how to stop myself from coming in that sweet mouth. I need to be inside her pussy before I do.
“Stop,” I say weakly. She ignores me. “Stop,” I mutter again. She still doesn’t.
I fist her hair, forcing her head back. It’s wicked frustrating to put an end to the pleasure she was giving me, but my cock falls out of her mouth with a satisfying wet pop .
“I said stop, inmate.” My chest is heaving .
She gives me a knowing smile, her lipstick smeared and strands of hair plastered to her forehead. “Did you say your safe words? The Boston Tomcats suck ?”
That does it . I take the scoop of her tank top in my hands and rip it apart, exposing her gorgeous breasts. I take out the condom I put in my pants pocket and stand up, rolling it on in front of her.
“You are my prisoner. Your body is mine. You have no control. And my cock is going in your pussy.”
“Understood, sir,” she says, a wide smile on her face.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across mine. It’s not in character at all, but fuck it. Once the condom is on I sit back down, pull her up onto my lap, and guide her pussy down to my cock. It’s awkward as fuck on the chair, with her hands cuffed. But we make it work. I thrust up into her, and she grinds her hips as I do. She arches back, and I lick and kiss and suck her tits, and we only last a few minutes before we’re both coming.
I cover her mouth with my hand. We’re alone, far away from anyone who could hear her. But I want her to feel like she’s mine, just for a moment. She’s chained up, filled with me, and I’m in control. Which means I’ll take care of her. She screams her pleasure and the frustration of her day into the palm of my hand, and I follow right behind her, chanting her name as my orgasm racks my body .
It takes some time for me to be able to move again. Without making her get up, I manage to pick up the pants from around my ankles, fish the keys out of the pocket, and uncuff her. She was struggling a lot and she wore them for a long time, so there are some pretty serious ligature marks on her wrists. Her tank top’s all torn up; her panties are ripped up on the floor. Did I go too far?
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. And I really am. I feel like I failed her. This is what I do. I take things too far. This is why I’m gonna die alone. I kiss her wrists. And I don’t plan to stop kissing them until those red marks go away.
Donna shakes her head vehemently. “Do. Not. Be. Sorry. Really. That was thrilling. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Still, I kiss her wrists. She is strong. But I was supposed to protect her. “Why are you so into role-play anyway?” I don’t look at her when I ask. Just continue to kiss her wrists.
“Because it’s fun. Right?”
“Is this how you do it with other guys or just me?”
She doesn’t answer, and I didn’t expect her to. I keep kissing her wrists.
“You’re more fun than other guys,” she finally says. “We’re just having fun.”
I look up at her. She looks at me. Her words sounded so certain, but there’s something in her eyes. Like she’s really asking me .
“Yeah. This is fun. Keeps things fun and easy.” I shrug.
The lights start flickering. There’s buzzing and zapping and then they just turn off for a second. Then they come back on, still flickering. Donna’s no longer in a dreamy state. “What the hell?”
And then all of a sudden an old radio that’s in a pile in a corner turns on. There’s static and screeching and then it goes to really loud, creepy classical music. Like that “Something Wicked This Way Comes” song from a Harry Potter movie.
Donna stares at me, wide-eyed and trembling. I can tell she’s so freaked out she can’t even form words.
“Uh. Well. I never got around to giving you the bad news. It seems like the electrical and the plumbing needs work,” I tell her in my native cocky tongue. But I don’t mean it. The electrical panel looked fine when I checked it. It was obviously upgraded. The plumbing looked fine too, for the most part. But it has to be an old-house thing, or I have no idea why this is happening, unless there’s a storm out there all of a sudden.
“Oh. Well…” Donna’s voice rises in panic. “Anyway, I wouldn’t just role-play with anyone. I like role-playing with you. You’re good at it.” She tries to play it off like she isn’t scared, just continuing our conversation from earlier.
I follow her lead. “Oh, yeah, me too. I like doing this with you a lot too.” And though we’re not as relaxed as we were before, it felt better to say that than blowing this off as something that’s no big deal.
“And if you really want to know,” she continues, “I do it because my job is stressful. And sad. And sometimes I just want to get off work and be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have to deal with all the things I deal with every day. While having orgasms. More bang for my buck. You know?”
“Understood.”
And just as suddenly as it turned on, the radio shuts off.
But the damn lights are still flickering.
After a few seconds, Donna laughs. I laugh. We’re both laughing at how totally absurd this situation is, I think.
“So can we start work on this place tomorrow? I got the day off.”
“Sure, yeah. Oh, wait. Shit. My cousin’s niece Piper is flying in from New York tomorrow. I gotta look after her for the day.”
“Oh.” Donna says. “Wait, so she’s not your niece?”
“Nope. She’s my cousin’s wife’s niece. I don’t think there’s a word for that. All I know is we’re not related by blood, which is good because she’s always checking out our butts—me and my cousins—and we have to pretend that she isn’t.”
Donna laughs really hard at that. Which is very strange because it’s not funny. “How do you know? ”
“She’s been checking out our butts since she was, like, thirteen! Do you know how bad kids are at hiding things?”
That just makes her laugh harder. Which is even stranger. I guess she was more freaked out by the radio thing than I was.
She climbs off me and uses the blanket to wipe us both off. “So, is there a butt convention in Boston that I don’t know about? What’s she coming to town for?”
I pull my pants back up and go get Donna’s clothes to bring to her. “Uh, some kind of author thing. She got a ticket to go to a reading or something at Harvard. Her parents and my cousin are busy, so I offered to be her chaperone. She’ll only be here for a few hours after the reading, but I’m not sure what to do with her after. She’s almost seventeen. Should I take her to the zoo? Or one of those tea rooms with those little round French cookies in different colors that girls freak out about?”
Donna starts getting dressed, minus undergarments, and now she’s laughing in a totally different way. Like she’s amused. She’s all glassy eyed when she looks at me. “That is adorable. But more appropriate for a seven-year-old. If she’s almost seventeen and lives in New York and going to author events, then she’s probably pretty mature. I bet she’d enjoy hanging out around Harvard.”
“There are so many college guys’ butts around there, though. I don’t think I can beat up every single one of them if they try to hit on her.”
That makes Donna snort-laugh. Which is very satisfying. Except I wasn’t kidding. And the thing is I’m realizing that I really want Donna to come with me. I think I just really want Donna.
Suddenly the lights stop flickering.
Suddenly I know what I have to do. I can’t just ask Donna out yet because it’ll scare her off. I have to trick Donna into thinking she’s still teaching me how to date someone else when really I’m treating her to dates with me. I’ll learn how to date her , and she’ll figure out eventually that it’s not that scary to be in a real relationship with me. Everybody wins.
The light overhead buzzes and then goes off and on again.
I guess I will have to call in an electrician.
“So listen, I’ve never been alone with Piper and I have no idea what to talk to her about. Since you got the day off tomorrow, why don’t you come with me to hang with her? You can teach me how to behave in case I end up dating a single mom with a teenage daughter. Plus you can help me take on those preppy trust-fund assholes who try to chat her up.” I hold my breath waiting for her response.
I watch a million conflicting microexpressions flicker across her face. Is she flattered? Is she disappointed? Is she offended? I’ve been inside this woman so many times, but I never feel like I can get inside her head.
Finally she says, “Oh. Yeah. I mean, I was just going to do laundry and clean up around here and look at paint colors, but…I have a little less laundry to do now, thanks to you, so…”
“I will purchase replacements for you immediately.”
“Not necessary.”
“They’re standard issue, inmate. I will purchase replacements for you immediately,” I repeat.
She laughs and gives in, and I silently hope that I will have many more opportunities to tear up those replacements again.