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Design by Nathan Everett

Cover image by Bruce Rolff, ID: 1177901440, licensed from Shutterstock.com

ISBN 978-1-950183-61-6

1
How to F* Up Your Life

I gathered all the papers on the table in front of me and pushed them into the envelope. That was everything. The divorce was final. The house was sold. My will was updated. Even my special instructions for disposition of my ashes and prepaid account with the Neptune Society. There were copies of my most recent bank and IRA statements, my insurance policy, and a sealed envelope with all my account names, numbers, addresses, and passwords. The contract and key to my storage cubicle were there. The little bit that I owned that I wasn’t ready to part with or that I thought my daughter might actually want one day, was in the five by five storage unit. I was free. I pushed the envelope across the table to my daughter.

“I don’t want this,” she said. “It’s like you’re planning to die.” Tears dripped down her cheeks.

“No, sweetheart, I’m planning to live. I’m going to travel—see the world. Start over. You are grown up, now. You’ve got a life of your own. I’m single and don’t need to be tied to one place. Especially here. I’m still young. I might meet someone and live happily ever after,” I laughed. “I’ve earned it. Pick someplace you’d like to visit and I’ll go there. And I don’t expect you to have that envelope sitting on your desk or to sleep with it under your pillow. I’ve already rented a safe deposit box at the bank. Let’s go get your name on it and put this away for safekeeping.”

I smiled and hugged my daughter. She’d been the rock of my world for twenty-four years. Sometimes the thorn in my side. I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She’d done better with her life at this age than I had. When I was twenty-four, I had a seven-year-old child and a loveless marriage I’d been forced into.

We finished the banking business and she walked with me to our cars. Almost identical new Priuses. That had been part of the divorce settlement. We took the price of three new cars off the top of the funds we got from selling the house. I was ready to go.

“Where are you going to go?”

“First star to the left and straight on till morning,” I laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you from wherever I end up tonight and keep you posted every day. I know you prefer text messages, but I won’t be able to stop and answer them when I’m driving. So call. I can talk through that speaker thing.”

“Bluetooth.”

“I know what it’s called. And thanks to you synchronizing my phone, it should be no problem. And don’t forget, there’s Facebook. I’ve always posted stuff there and will upload pictures, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey. Now, you’d better get to your job and I’d better hit the road.”

After three days on the road, I was finally in California. I’m not sure why I chose the Golden State other than the idea of sunshine, beaches, and being 2,000 miles from Fargo Fucking North Dakota seemed like a good combination. Besides, my little Willa was likely to come and visit me here. If I sent her a ticket. It would be a lot cheaper if she drove her new little Prius. I loved getting fifty miles per gallon!

Even adding fifty dollars a night for hotel rooms, it was cheaper than flying.

And speaking of a hotel, I was going for something special. I checked my GPS for instructions and drove up to the fancy place I’d chosen. When I got out of the car, I could hear the ocean. A valet and bellman rushed to me. I had the bellman take my suitcase out of the back and I handed the key fob to the valet. I handed my driver’s license and credit card to the desk clerk. She smiled broadly at me and pulled up my reservation.

“One week, ocean side king room. Non-smoking.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She handed me the keycard and explained where my room was.

“You are all checked in. I hope you find everything to your liking,” she said. “Let me know if there is anything you need… or want.” Oh, my! Was she flirting with me? California was going to take some getting used to.

The bellman insisted that he carry my bag. I could have tipped him there and just taken it, but I let him conduct me to my room, pointing out where breakfast would be served in the morning. He rushed into the room and opened the drapes onto my balcony overlooking the beach. I handed him ten dollars and thanked him. For Pete’s sake! It was only one little bag. He left. California could be expensive, too.

I looked out that hotel window onto paradise. There was more eye candy on the beach than I’d ever seen in one place at one time. I hurriedly changed to swimwear and flip-flops and headed out to survey the terrain.

I was a little self-conscious. The average beach goer seemed to be about my daughter’s age. I had second thoughts about inviting her out to visit me. I got a few long looks, so I guess I’m still holding together pretty well. Face it. I’m more than a few pounds overweight. They probably couldn’t believe I’d invaded their holy land. I snagged a waiter and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. So smooth. I poked myself in the eye with the straw when I started to drink it. Oops. Guess you are supposed to sip it. I wasn’t about to leave my beach chair and expose myself to the sun until I’d finished the first one and ordered the second. I’d lived in the sunless north for forty-two years. Tomorrow, I was certain I’d look like a boiled lobster. What the hell. While I was waiting for my drink, I headed down to the water, waded out a ways and dove in.

The Pacific is not that cold.

Ha! I was pretty sure that I was going to die before I surfaced. My ex would love that! I came up gasping and shaking my head. A Frisbee landed in the water about five feet from me and some guys started waving at me frantically. I scooped it up and sent it back to them, pleased that I got it most of the way there. Would have made it all the way if the wind hadn’t picked it up. Well, they found it anyway. By that time, I was back to my beach chair and umbrella and a fresh LIIT was waiting for me. It went down just as easily as the first. The third slipped away with the setting sun. I staggered back to the hotel and decided which direction my room was. On the way, I ran into the desk clerk. Literally. We both fell down, looked at each other, and started laughing.

“Oh, hey, you!” she said. “I was hoping I’d see you. We’re having a party. You’ll come, won’t you?” Christ! What kind of party was it? That had to be the three drinks talking in my head. Or was it four? She was going to tell me, anyway. “My divorce papers went through. I finally got rid of the bastard! We’re having a celebration.” She leaned in very close to me. “I noticed you have a mark on your hand but no ring. You’re recently divorced, too, aren’t you?” I nodded stupidly and glanced at my ring finger. It would take a while for that mark to go away. “Come and celebrate with me, won’t you? We’ll make it a double divorce celebration. We’re going to be in the Nuesta Senora Room. It’s the second one on the right after the Capistrano Room. Please say you’ll join us.”

“Sure. I’m just going to go shower and change clothes. I’ll be down in an hour,” I said. What was I getting myself into? Hell! I was starting over. There was no reason in the world that I shouldn’t go join the party. I showered, shaved, and dressed to impress. Who was I kidding?

The room was noisy. They didn’t have a band, thank God. I figured the news had come too recently to go out and hire entertainment. There was some pretty good music playing through the speakers in the room though—and occasionally a real dog. I figured that maybe I could meet someone and chase the blues away. Or try to drink them away.

“You came!” she screeched when she saw me walk in. She was a good bit shorter than me and jumped to kiss my cheek. She wrapped an arm around my waist and led me to the bar. “Jimmy says you drank Long Island Iced Tea this afternoon. You want to stay with the same thing or branch out? Jimmy, give us tequila shots. Line them up!” She didn’t wait for an answer from me, but a shot sounded good. I salted my hand and picked up the lime slice. She looked into my eyes and said, “Here we go!” I licked the salt, swallowed the shot, and bit the lime. Oh, shit, that was good!

The second one was better. I lost track after that.

I’m not sure how many times I leaned my head back on the bar, had Jimmy the bartender pour a shot of margarita mix and a shot of tequila in my mouth then shake my head before I swallowed it.

I hadn’t been this plastered since high school. And that didn’t count. What a fucking night that was.

We danced. I couldn’t remember the last time I danced. Everybody danced. We were crazy. Somewhere along the line, she kissed me. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me who kissed her. I had to be the oldest person in the room, drinking and dancing like we were teens.

The sad part was that most of them probably remembered their teens like yesterday. I’d well and thoroughly forgotten mine. She danced with the others, but she kept coming back to me. I don’t know what she saw in me. Maybe she was just tired of the self-absorbed, inane, pretty boys that were constantly after one more dance. One more feel. One more kiss. One more shot of tequila. When I have a drink it’s normally a glass of wine, but they didn’t seem to have any red wine here—just the hard stuff.

It was too much for me. I finally sank into a chair, unable to dance any longer. That was when she sat beside me and lit a joint. We shared the sweet smoke, first passing the reefer and then just passing the smoke. I breathed it directly from her lungs into mine while our tongues tangled.

When I looked up, Jimmy was cleaning up the bar and putting things away and my hand had worked its way under her top to caress a bare breast. A couple was still dancing as if they hadn’t noticed the music had faded out. Lights came on a little brighter and I squinted my eyes at the remains of the party. Her hair hung in tangled curls around her face, coated with sweat.

“Tell me the night isn’t over yet,” she said as she kissed me again. I pulled my room key out and held it up to her.

“Do you remember what my room number is? I’ve forgotten.” We laughed and staggered together out of the party room and up the stairs, falling to our knees laughing on the fifth step. “Isn’t there an elevator in this building?” I asked.

“It isn’t far now,” she whispered. “Here. Put your arm around me and hang on. I’ll get us all the way there.” She pulled my arm around her and held my hand against her breast. I’d never in my life picked up someone. Or had I been picked up? It made no difference. It was a first. She pushed the keycard into the slot and the light turned green. We stumbled through the door and made it as far as the bed, where I fell back, still laughing. I hoped she wasn’t expecting anything. I couldn’t even lift my hand. I was sure it had been two a.m. for the past three hours. “Let me take care of you,” she said, kissing me again. I looked up into her eyes. Dark brown with flecks of gold in them. Witch eyes, my mom would have said. If she’d lived. I kissed her nose and left a trail of kisses across her lovely face.

“Why me?” I asked no one. No one answered.

I helped her get my shirt off. I think I helped. Once she had my shoes off, she pulled my slacks and underwear down together. I could feel her breath across my short hairs. There were partiers even later than us laughing in the hallway. I wondered if they would hear me when I came. I knew I was going to.

Her mouth.

My marriage had been so hopeless, so conservative, so cold. I’d never imagined this. She licked, stroked, sucked and then I was there. All the pain and sorrow washing over me. Twenty-five fucking years. And it was all pouring out of me and I was losing my bearings. I’d never come so hard. I couldn’t catch my breath. Staring at myself in the mirrors on the ceiling. Seeing her between my legs. The room tilted. My life went the other way.

I straightened up looking at her happily drinking me. I clutched at my chest. “He… Hear…” I couldn’t get the words out. My heart. I was only 42. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I reached down and grabbed her hair, dragging her face out of my crotch. She smiled at me, her face glowing with the shimmering light of candles. My head was too heavy to hold up. Everything was fading. The pain in my chest overwhelmed me as my genitals continued to pulse with the strength of my orgasm. I was no longer breathing, though my eyes were open—open and looking into the witch eyes of my executioner.

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” she sang sweetly.

2
Gone to Hell

When the first ray of the sun hit my eyes, I scooted over. When it hit me again, I scooted back into the wall. The next time I rolled over and faced the wall. Why didn’t I close the shades last night? Hell. I wasn’t even sure how I got to bed. I was so drunk. And now I was so hung over.

I hugged the wall and tried to find a cool spot on my pillow to lay my head. You’d think in a hotel this expensive the bed would be a little farther from the wall so you could walk around it. The thought of walking made my stomach turn. If I could stand up, I could make it to the bathroom. I rolled toward the other edge of the narrow bed and nearly fell out before I got my feet under me. The room spun and I lurched out into the hall to get to the bathroom.

I felt better after I puked. I started the shower running and finally turned to face myself in the mirror. Well, I was a little worse for wear. Last night had been… well, I didn’t really remember much. I had slightly dark circles beneath my eyes, but they’d go away. There was something about my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in years, it matched the way I thought about myself. Unless I was actually looking in a mirror, I felt ageless. I still thought of myself as a seventeen-year-old but was trapped in a fat, aging body that didn’t get out much. But the crows’ feet that reminded me of my age on most mornings were gone. Smooth. Skin without a blemish. Dark blue eyes that saw clearly, even through the hung-over haze.

I stepped back and looked down my body. My skin glowed. No wrinkles. No sag. It was young and tan and healthy. My middle-aged stomach was flat and I could actually see the edge of my hipbones. And then I looked down.

“Fuck! Shit! God damn it!”

Come and blood matted my pubic hair. I was terrified. I remembered looking at this sight twenty-five years ago. I was young again. I was seventeen. I knew this bathroom. It wasn’t a hotel. I was home. I remembered that hotel so long ago in the future. I remembered dying. I remembered my lifeless eyes still wide open staring at myself in the mirrored ceiling long after the lights were out. I’d died in the Hotel California.

And here I was, the morning after, back in my family home in Fargo Fucking North Dakota staring at the evidence of last night’s post-prom debauchery. I’d just left this place three days ago, finally getting out of the misery of my forced marriage and leaving the house I’d lived in for forty-two years.

This had to be hell. Condemned to live my life over again, knowing every mistake I’d made, unable to stop it happening again. Why? Why was I damned to hell? I’d been good. I did everything right. I’d already suffered this life.

Fuck! If I was going to be sent back in time to relive my life, why couldn’t it have been to the day before I made the worst mistake of my life? Why the day after? I reflexively clenched my pelvic muscles and felt the pain in my pussy where I knew a tiny life had started last night.

I was seventeen and pregnant.

3
The Morning After the Night Before

I showered, ignoring the headache and lingering drunk. God, what did he give me? I only intended to drink enough to loosen up. Hell. I lost my virginity and didn’t even remember it. All I had was blood on my thighs and a baby in my womb. Fuck! Just like last time.

And like last time, I sought out God. I was still reeling with the effects of alcohol in my bloodstream, but after my shower, I dressed and joined Mom and Dad at the breakfast table. Dad grunted something from behind the comic pages of the Sunday newspaper.

“Out too late last night,” Mom said.

“I tried to be quiet when I came in,” I answered. I hoped I was quiet. I didn’t even remember coming home.

“You didn’t ask for permission to be out last night. Were you with that Carter boy?” Mom demanded. I was pretty sure she was on some kind of drug. The doctor said it was for menopause.

“I’m sorry, Mother. May I have permission to go to the biggest event of the school year, until graduation, that I’ve been planning for four months for? Last night?”

“Watch your mouth, girl. You’ll get it slapped.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I ate my cereal and drank a cup of black coffee, even though it turned my stomach a little. Wasn’t anything going to be different this time through my life? Was I helplessly caught in a repeat of events? What could I do?

When Daddy threw the newspaper down, we got up and followed him to the car. No one said anything else.

Church. I was the only one who had been to prom the night before who was at church this morning. Never miss church. I had a perfect attendance pin for seventeen years of Sunday School. I listened to the preacher talk about the God who had forsaken me. Who had sent me to this hell.

I wasn’t interested in seeing my friends. My memories of last night were sketchy—even the early evening. I’d never really been drunk before, but I didn’t think it would feel this way. I was disconnected from everything. First of all, I was trying to superimpose my stale memories onto my seventeen-year-old self. Shock had slowed all my mental processes. It was hard to reconcile the future I knew with the present I’d tried to forget. Knowing what I had to look forward to gave me a sense of dread that had been missing my first time through. My memories weren’t of last night. They were of twenty-five years ago. What was fresh in my mind from last night was picking up a woman and taking her to my room where I died in the midst of an orgasm. I had to remember what happened back then. Now. I would finally admit to my parents at graduation that I was pregnant. Jesse Carter and I would be married two weeks later. Mother and Daddy would do everything in their power to hide the shame, but it came out every time they looked at me.

Eventually, I would give birth while Jesse was out working on an oil rig. It was the only life we could get and I would raise my child in my parents’ basement. We found a place to move into two years after the baby was born. That was the week they died. It would be the day I found out they’d left everything to my husband. We never packed. Just moved into the master bedroom with my daughter in my former room.

“Let this cup pass from me,” I whispered as I bowed my head at the back of the church. That was what Jesus prayed. And look what it got him. I begged God for answers. I begged him to take me back to my own time. I begged him to let me die and just be dead. I was in hell. I’d suffer through birth, marriage to a bastard, the disapproval of my parents, the shame of my classmates. I’d live in the same house I was born in until the day I finally cut free and divorced him. I’d get a job selling real estate and carefully save as much as I could. I’d push Jesse until he actually made something of his life. Before I ended our marriage, we’d be considered successful, ‘in spite of everything.’ And miserable. I’d be able to recount every time we’d had sex in twenty-five years of marriage. But I’d stick it out for the sake of our daughter.

I looked up at the solemn people with bowed heads as the preacher droned on. Some were praying; others were sleeping. I listened. I listened for God’s voice. I begged him to hear me and give me guidance. All I could hear were my own thoughts. The only future I could see was the one I’d already lived. The look of horror on my boyfriend’s face when I told him I was pregnant. His futile attempt to deny that it was possible. The look of disgust on my father’s face the last time he spoke to me. No, not the day he died—the day I told him I was pregnant. The minister’s lecture during my wedding on the evils of sex before marriage and how it tainted those who couldn’t wait. The high-fives Jesse got for nailing me. Lying alone in the hospital in the agony of childbirth.

And the one glimmer of light in my life: my daughter.

NO!

I almost shouted it in the church. I wouldn’t do this again. I’d kill myself first.

And then what? Wake up to start the whole nightmare over again?

Maybe… just maybe… this was an opportunity to do it right.

All I needed to do was decide what would make it right.

Fuck!

I was a forty-two-year-old woman trapped in my seventeen-year-old body. My head knew all kinds of things jumbled together in a mad chaos of experience and inexperience. I’d spent twenty-five years saying, ‘If I had it to do over again…’ And now here I was. The problem was that my seventeen-year-old self was still subject to seventeen-year-old hormones, conditioned responses, and peer pressure.

Sometime over the past two decades, I’d come to realize that I’d been raped. That realization came slowly as I came to grips with having woken up still partially drunk and not remembering anything that happened. I’d begun by thinking my one little drink had really hit me a lot harder than I thought. Maybe I’d had more than one? How many drinks did it take to knock me out so I couldn’t remember what happened? I just knew I hadn’t had that many.

That left drugs.

When I finally came to that realization, twenty years later, Jesse had laughed at me. “What do you think?” he’d scoffed. “You could have told me you weren’t on the pill.”

‘Date rape’ was still a relatively new term in ’91. There’d been a few articles about it in teen and women’s magazines, but I really didn’t have a concept that I could be drugged into compliance. ‘Roofies’, I learned, were comparably easy to get if you lived near a college campus. We didn’t, but I knew that Jesse and a bunch of his friends had gone to Minneapolis for a party a few weeks ago. Now I wondered how many of my girlfriends had also been drugged into performing sex acts after the prom.

What was worse, though, was that we were—or thought we were—as much to blame as our dates. The girls had taken a little break, though we only had to go to Moorhead to get what we wanted. Condoms. We had every intention of getting laid after the prom. We all had places picked out. We were as excited about sex as any guy. I would have fucked Jesse regardless. I just would have made him wear a condom. But that didn’t make it rape, did it?

Well, it certainly wouldn’t in Fargo, North Dakota. I could just imagine pressing charges against my boyfriend and having all my friends testify that I intended to get laid that night. Like that would improve anything over the last time around.

I wasn’t going to press charges, but I sure wasn’t going to marry the asshole. Not since I knew this time what he did to me. I could crucify him without pressing charges. And while I was at it, I was already pregnant, my reputation would be trashed, so I was going to enjoy life. There were eighty-seven boys in my graduating class. Jesse had told me that he fucked most of my girlfriends before school was out as I was hiding my shame and remaining faithful to him.

Not this time, buster.

“So, did you get nailed by Jesse?” Abby asked as soon as I stepped off the school bus Monday morning. “Spill, girl. How was it?” The last time through I’d denied everything right up until the day I told my parents. I planned to have as many of the high school hunks as I could cram in my pussy this time.

“It was more like getting tacked,” I whispered, holding my thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. Abby gasped and giggled. Now that I’d made the decision, I was going to make the most of it. “And so quick! It’s a wonder he even got it in me before he came. I laid there with my legs spread masturbating so I could get myself off and even that didn’t get him hard again. I sucked, I tugged… I even offered to let him do my ass. Huh-uh. One-time Charlie. He suggested we try again next weekend.”

“Oh my god! And I was going to borrow him!”

“Honey, if you’ve got really low expectations, you can have him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“He served his purpose. My cherry’s gone. Now I’m going shopping for a lover. Auditions are now open,” I said making a lewd gesture. “I want somebody who can fill me.”

Word spreads fast in a small school. Whispers. First the girls. They’d spread the word to their boyfriends. The boyfriends would start laughing at Jesse. Jesse would be lucky if he ever got another date in this town. I, on the other hand, was suddenly a woman of interest. Guys started sniffing around Tuesday morning. I had three offers for ‘dates’ over the weekend. One was even from a freshman. A good-looking one and I took him up on it, even though I was going to have to drive. My parents still insisted I had a ten o’clock curfew anyway, so the fact that I was going out with a fifteen-year-old wasn’t a bad thing.

He wasn’t bad, either. We celebrated the last minute of his virginity together.

“What did you tell people?” Jesse hissed at me in the hallway.

“Tell people? About what?” I said innocently.

“About making love to me.”

“Did we make love? I don’t remember it. Or did you drug and rape me? I probably have told people that you are the least memorable of the five guys I’ve had sex with. Yeah. Count ’em. Five. You’re a stupid oaf, Jesse. I was going to fuck you anyway. You didn’t have to drug me.”

“I’ll deny it. You wanted it. Everyone knows that.”

“What are you going to deny? That you ever had sex with me? That will look good, won’t it? Four other guys have nailed me since prom and they all know I was no virgin. Or are you going to tell people you didn’t drug me? Why don’t you try that one on? See if anyone believes you.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do. What’s the big deal, anyway? Like you said, you were going to give it up anyway.”

“Yes. But I intended to give it to a man. You don’t qualify.”

I turned on my heel and went to my Senior Lit class. Mr. Jenkins smiled at me when I entered the room and I winked at him. Maybe it was because I was wearing my skirts a little shorter and unbuttoning an extra button on my blouses, but more guys were noticing me. Even teachers.

I turned 18 on a Friday and was pretty pleased with myself. There were only two weeks left of school and I had already started packing my things. I’d scraped and saved every penny I could and I’d made some phone calls. From payphones. I didn’t want any record on my parents’ phone bill. The day after I got my diploma, I would be gone without a trace.

Mr. Jenkins handed tests back to us at the end of class and told us all to have a good weekend. I glanced at the paper and saw I’d scored an A+. Beneath the letter grade were the words SAT 800? I started to say no, I’d only scored 745. But he knew that. We’d talked about it.

Oh, my.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my eyelashes. The bell rang and everyone started to move I winked at him and nodded. He smiled.

“Varsity and Grand,” he said. I knew the corner. It was close enough to the main drag that I could be walking to the theater but was still far enough away that there wouldn’t be many people who would see me. I nodded again and stood. He didn’t move so I stood right up against him. “Pack a bag.” I brushed past him and headed for the door.

Allen Jenkins was a hunk. He was only two years out of college and coached the football team. I hoped the important parts were built as well as the rest of him.

“I’m spending the night at Marcie’s,” I said as I prepared to leave on Saturday. I slung a backpack over my shoulder. I’d dressed fairly conservatively so I wouldn’t raise any questions. I was sure they couldn’t tell I was braless. And how would they know there were no panties under my knee-length skirt?

“I don’t like her,” Mother said. “She’s a loose girl.”

“We’re just going to hang out and watch movies. Abby’s coming, too. You like her. It’s two weeks before graduation. They want to celebrate my birthday with me. We just want to be together where there’s no boys,” I said. “They’re so annoying.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you became a teenager,” my father chimed in. “You be back here in time for church.”

“I packed my church clothes. I’ll meet you there,” I said as I walked out the door. He didn’t have time to give me any more grief. They were so self-absorbed that they didn’t notice no one was there to pick me up. I walked down the block and turned toward town.

I’d decided to walk rather than try to catch a ride with someone. It was a big night. I was going to stay out all night, fuck a teacher, and enlist an ally. I didn’t need anyone else knowing what I was doing. I knew Mother wouldn’t call Marcie’s house. It wasn’t really Marcie she didn’t like. It was Marcie’s mom. Marcie’s mom had her eye on Dad. It was a wonder that Dad didn’t volunteer to drive me over there.

4
Get Out of Town

Allen pulled up to the corner. I ran out, jumped into his car, and he sped away. I was certain no one had seen us. I was also certain Allen had done this before. It was too practiced. Too smooth. We crossed the Red River of the North into Moorhead, Minnesota, and he drove straight to the Mercury Hotel. At least he’d chosen a decent place. If we’d gone to Motel 6, I’d have left.

No, I wouldn’t. I’d have fucked him and then left.

He had apparently already checked in and we went straight to his room. No one batted an eye.

“I hope this place has room service,” I said.

“Why is that?”

“Once you see me naked, you aren’t going to want me to get dressed for dinner.”

“I believe you’re being impertinent, little girl. Teacher is going to have to spank you.”

“Uh-uh. No fantasies, Allen. I’m not a little girl and the fact that I happen to be your student in real life is irrelevant. If you need a helpless dumb cheerleader who will give you a blowjob for a better grade, you should have chosen El Sanderson. She needs it and I hear she gives good head.”

“Yeah, she does.” I looked at him and started laughing.

“You are an ace perv. You already did El? I hope she’s getting a good grade out of it.”

“She’s going to graduate. So, what is it that you want?”

“Mmm. That’s better. Sex is a transaction. It’s better to do the bargaining before we get started.”

“That’s pretty mercenary. Are you thinking of becoming a prostitute?”

“Do you mean a streetwalker selling sex for money? No. I might get married one day. It’s the same difference. Sex for a home, security, happiness. Or maybe I’ll just have sex for the pure pleasure of getting my cunt reamed by a guy who knows what he’s doing. You do know what you’re doing, don’t you Allen?”

“I think I fill your requirements. But what is it you really want?”

“I need a little help getting out of town. Not money. Nothing like that. I need to graduate and the next day walk out of my house and leave town. Maybe a lift to Grand Forks. That’s far enough that I can make my own way from there without anyone being the wiser. Even you won’t know where I go from there.”

“And that ‘lift’ is worth having sex with me?”

“Well, the lift and the pure pleasure of getting my cunt reamed by a guy who knows what he’s doing,” I laughed.

“And you’re willing to pay in advance? Most girls would want to wait until I delivered them to Grand Forks.”

“Most girls? Most girls I know couldn’t put together a plan that far in advance. Besides, once we get to Grand Forks, I’ll double your payment.”

“Deal. Now let’s get to the pure pleasure part.”

Fucking A! It was!

I’d always been one of those girls—well, women—who assumed that all the jocks were terrible lovers, only concerned about themselves and not about their women’s pleasure. Well, the only one I had to compare, I’d married. He needed to get his rocks off and I had a pussy. End of story.

Allen wasn’t like that. He was a really great lover. I’d put him right up there next to the fifteen-year-old. Yeah. I’d fucked seven guys in the six weeks since prom and the freshman was the best of the lot. Until Allen.

To start with, Allen kissed.

Sure, I kissed Jesse. I kissed all the guys I’d fucked. But they kissed in order to get to the main attraction. Jesse kissed because that’s when I let him feel my tits. As soon as he had them out of the bra, he quit kissing and started sucking. Allen kissed as if it was the main attraction. Oh, there was touchy feely and a little groping going on, but it was just part of the kiss. I hadn’t worn a bra, so it wasn’t like he had to struggle to get at my tits. But he didn’t stop kissing once he had my bare nipple between his fingers. Even when he discovered I wasn’t wearing panties either, he still kept kissing me. I’d never come with a guy before. He didn’t even have his cock out of his pants before I’d had my first orgasm.

My first orgasm with a man in two lives. In twenty-five years of marriage, the only orgasms I’d ever had were when I was alone and believed I wouldn’t be disturbed. That was tricky with a baby and then a toddler in the house. I don’t think I had a single orgasm from the time my daughter was five and when she left for college. What a wasted life!

Even when he’d diddled me to two comes, Allen didn’t rush things. We paused to catch our breath and I stood up to remove his clothes. My open blouse and unzipped skirt just fell on the floor and I kicked off my shoes. Then I turned my attention to Allen. I pulled his polo shirt up over his head and ran my fingers down his hairy chest, feeling the taut muscles. I was pretty sure that there wasn’t one of the guys on the football team he coached who had muscles like this. And when I got his pants off, I was sure none of them had a cock like this. It stood tall and proud and I did something else I’d never done in two lives: I took it in my mouth.

I knew about blowjobs. El had given detailed instructions on how to give a good one at a sleepover when we were sophomores. I hadn’t been opposed to them, but Jesse couldn’t last long enough for me to get it in my mouth. I’d had his cock out of his pants twice before prom and he spurted in my hand before I could get it in my mouth. None of the other guys had been interested in getting blown if I was willing to spread my legs. And in my other life… well, after I got knocked up, I just wasn’t interested in giving Jesse a blowjob. He’d done enough damage as it was.

I sat Allen on the edge of the bed and truly explored a cock for the first time. I looked at it, touched it, licked it, tasted it. He didn’t come right away, letting me just take my time discovering things like how to keep my teeth off it and how deep I could get it in my mouth without choking. He moaned and lay back on the bed as I sucked, licked, stroked, and bobbed on his cock.

“I’m going to come soon,” he whispered. “I won’t be able to warn you again.”

“Do you want me to stop so you can fuck my pussy?” I asked.

“I want to fuck your pussy, but it’s not a one or the other thing. You didn’t think I’d just come once and that would be it for the night, did you?”

“I might not have been with the right guys so far,” I said. “I’ve never done this before. Just go ahead and come when you are ready.”

“Dumb jocks,” Allen muttered and groaned again as my mouth returned to his cock. I loved the way the skin slid up and down beneath my fingers. I loved the swelling of his cockhead in my mouth before he came. I loved… well, tolerated the taste as his first spurt hit the back of my throat and I swallowed his come. I didn’t fall in love with the flavor like El said we would. It was the power I felt as his come flowed into my mouth. I didn’t even think about spitting it out. I just drank it down. My tummy gave a little rumble.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. I ran to the bathroom and drank a glass of water, rinsing my mouth so it didn’t taste so much like come. I went back to the bed and crawled in beside Allen. He kissed me again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“Give you a blowjob?”

“That, too. You didn’t have to rush off and rinse your mouth before I’d kiss you. I don’t plan to go rinse your taste out of my mouth after I’ve eaten you and then kiss you. The flavors aren’t important. Kissing is.”

“You’re going to eat me?”

“Oh, yes, I certainly am.”

“Was it okay? The blowjob?”

“If I just said it was great, would you believe me?” I shook my head. “Well, it was, so I guess I’ll have to explain. I’ve had a lot of blowjobs. I was fourteen when I got the first one. Jocks get used to having girls do whatever they want them to. I’ve never—well once—been interested in having a permanent relationship. I like teaching seniors in high school. I have every girl’s birthday on my calendar. I know when a girl turns eighteen and she becomes the next target for a one-night affair.”

“Every girl in my class gets the hotel treatment when she turns eighteen?” I gasped. He laughed.

“No. I think about it with all of them. But this year, only about a dozen. The rest were just fantasies but pretty much had their heads up their own asses. Beautiful teenage girls can be just as self-absorbed as jocks. No. I’m not going to tell you who. Suffice it to say that most eighteen-year-olds have no clue about how to give a blowjob. El Sanderson is an exception.”

“She’s been giving them since seventh grade.”

“Not only that, she studied how to give great head. But what you just did… It wasn’t self-absorbed. It was a little stumbling and inexperienced, but you were into it. Like all sex, it helps if both parties are into it. It lets you relax and just enjoy. So, it was great. I felt like you were doing it because you really wanted to be doing it for me. I loved it.”

“How have you managed to stay single?”

“What girl is going to want to marry a guy who they know will fuck as many eighteen-year-olds as he can possibly get away with?”

“I’m eighteen, you know.”

“And we have a long night ahead of us.”

Twenty-five years married and I’d never had a man go down on me. The only time I’d had my pussy eaten was by a woman desk clerk in a hotel. And I died from that. What a fucking waste. Not one of the seven boys I’d had sex with since I got back in this body had even looked at my pussy. Allen did as good and thorough a job exploring me as I’d done with him and he was considerably more expert at it. I came so much I was crying.

And then he just held me.

I could feel that he was hard, but he didn’t try to move between my legs or get me to touch him again or anything. He just held me as my body recovered from the best orgasms I’d had in two lives.

And then he kissed me.

No, he didn’t go rinse his mouth out and I could taste myself on his lips and I didn’t care. He reached for his pants to get a condom.

“What we don’t want are any unplanned pregnancies,” he laughed. I pushed his hand away.

“It’s too late for that.” He jumped away from me. “Don’t panic, Allen. I’m not looking for a baby-daddy. If I was, it would already be done. I’d point out the boy, my parents would have a talk with his parents, and three weeks from today we’d be married. Ain’t gonna happen. Not this time. Just get me out of town the day after graduation and you’ll never hear from me again. That’s our deal. So, if you’d like to feel the skin of your glorious cock soaking in my pussy, just make love to me. This is a night I’m never going to forget.”

He smiled and pulled me to him for another kiss. It was the first time I’d ever come on a man’s cock, too.

Two weeks later, the day after I got my diploma, Allen picked me up in front of my parents’ house at one o’clock in the afternoon. Dad was at work and Mother was at the beauty parlor for her weekly shampoo. Gross. I tossed a suitcase and my backpack in the backseat of his car. I’d been to the bank in the morning, borrowing Mother’s car under the pretense of going to the bank to deposit my graduation gift checks. In reality, I cashed them and closed my accounts, taking $2,100 and some change out of the bank with me.

I rode in silence as we hit I-29 south.

I’d left a letter on the kitchen table. It wasn’t much. Eighteen years in this house plus another twenty-five in my other life, and I was done. I wasn’t really that mad at my parents. They were pretty typical for their generation. I couldn’t think of any of my friends’ parents who I’d rather have had. But I had little feeling left for them. I’d said goodbye to them twenty-two years ago in my other life. I’d adjusted. Even when they died, they considered me a disappointment. So, I simply said that I was sorry I was such a burden to them, but that I was striking out on my own and not to bother looking for me. I’d let them know if I ever wanted to see them again.

Harsh. I didn’t intend to cry.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Allen asked. He reached over and patted my hand. One great night of sex and two pats on my hand and I was ready to fall in love with the man. Maybe that was my second big decision. I wasn’t going to fall for a man just because I was a weak woman who was in trouble. I smiled at him and wiped the tear off my cheek.

“Want and need are two different things. I had an English teacher who taught me to examine the meanings of the words I used. This is what I need to do.”

“Just know that I’m here if you need me,” he said.

“You rented us a room for tonight, didn’t you?” He grinned. “Good. I need you tonight. Tomorrow you’re a free man again.”

“I’ve always been a free man,” he said. “You’re almost enough to make me give that up, though.”

“Really? Did you know Mary Jo turned eighteen yesterday?”

“Really?”

“You knew. I’m pretty sure she’d be interested in a party. You know what else? I’ve seen her in the shower. She shaves. Everything bald.” I saw his cock twitch. I reached over and petted it. He moaned. “You already set it up, didn’t you?”

“How did you get to know me so well so quickly?”

“It’s okay. In a different world—if I wasn’t pregnant—I might try to convince you to keep me. You might even convince me to let you keep your eighteen-year-olds, too. But that’s not the world we live in. Just make love to me tonight like you mean it and I’ll be on my way. Then fuck Mary Jo raw next weekend.”

5
Twins, Vikings, and Gophers

I didn’t have much money, even by 1991 standards. I rode the Greyhound bus from Grand Forks to Minneapolis and arrived about eight at night. Not the best planning. I needed shelter quickly and found a sleazy hotel a block away from the bus station by the simple expedient of having followed a crowd of people that direction. The people I followed wisely kept walking. Thirty-five bucks for a room and they actually asked me if I wanted it all night. The good thing was that there was a White Castle that I’d passed next to the bus station so I ran out and got a sack full and sat in my dingy room crying while I stuffed sliders down my throat. Allen had bought me breakfast in the morning, but I’d been too excited about my adventure to eat much. I regretted that about halfway to the Twin Cities.

I had a feeling I’d regret dinner, as well.

I had a plan, sort of. I needed a place to live and an income. If I could kill both birds with one stone, so much the better. The good thing was that, in spite of my apparent age, I knew the real estate industry pretty well. I’d worn a gold jacket in Fargo for the last ten years of my former life. I knew I could get a real estate license with no difficulty. The problem, of course, was that I was only eighteen. I needed to locate a licensed broker, get him to agree to hire me, take the test, and get my license. The broker might insist that I take the education course instead of studying on my own. That could cost me up to a thousand dollars. I was going to push for self-study and test. That would only cost me a couple hundred. The important thing was to get licensed and get income as quickly as possible.

And I needed a place to live cheap while I was doing all this.

When I’d done my real estate license school in North Dakota, ten years from now, we were given a lot of case studies as well as lectured on the various laws and concepts of qualifying buyers. One case that came up was of a developer in Minneapolis who had renovated an entire neighborhood of apartments. It was a model case of plans changing. The neighborhood went from a homeless drug haven to an upscale yuppie conclave. But in the course of twenty years, the buildings had become worn and the lower class clientele started moving back in. To combat that, the company started doing condo conversions. They had to renovate and update the apartments that they’d spent a ton of money on twenty years earlier. Then they sold the units off.

The whole case was pretty successful. They’d moved the units, but not at the price they were hoping for. And they didn’t maintain the property well afterward. By the time I was snatched out of my 42-year-old body and back twenty-five years, the management company was going out of business and some of the units had been condemned.

I could change that. All I needed to do was start the process ten years earlier. We were in a good real estate market in ’91. I was going to make it better.

Big dreams.

I headed for Loring Properties as soon as I woke up Wednesday morning.

“You advertised for apartment caretakers,” I said as I sat across from the manager. He was purported to be the brains of the outfit, but you wouldn’t guess it by looking at him. He had thick, black-rimmed glasses and wore a mechanic’s blue shirt with the name ‘Jim’ embroidered across the pocket. “I know that I’m young, but I’m capable and devoted. I’m good at cleaning and I can handle most minor home repairs. I’ve even replaced outlets and light switches, unstopped toilets, and shut off gas in an emergency. I don’t have a resume because I just graduated from high school and plan to go to college in the fall.” He looked at me, rocking back and forth a little. It was like he was in a rocking chair, only the chair didn’t move. I’d heard once that was a characteristic of geniuses. They said Bill Gates rocked like that in meetings. I could only hope.

“What are you going to study?”

“Business.”

“How are you paying for college?”

“I plan to get a real estate license.”

“There are no houses for sale around here. You need to go find a place in the suburbs.”

“We’re only two miles from Lake of the Isles and three miles from Uptown. And in three years you are going to want me here close when you start converting apartments to condos,” I said. I just pulled that out of the air and decided this was the time to give him my real plan. He barked out a laugh.

“We have 2,200 units in a five block radius from this location. We’re still renovating and bringing more units online. Why would I want to sell them?”

“Your older units that have been in inventory for over ten years are already showing signs of wear. You can keep renting them with nothing but a coat of paint for five or ten more years, but then the big expenses will start coming in. You’ll need more than repairs. It won’t be as costly as the first round, but you’re amortizing the renovations over thirty years. You’ll still be paying for the first round of renovations ten years after the second round is completed. Wear and tear on leased units is a lot worse than on owned units because homeowners keep their own property up. Renters don’t. If we focus on maintaining the common areas and the neighborhood, we won’t have to drop rent because of deterioration. I promise you, this is the way of the future,” I said. I was putting it all in one breath. I needed to be in this company from the start. I needed to drive the conversions and sell the hell out of them. He kept rocking and staring at me.

“Get your license. I should have a building ready for you to manage before classes start this fall,” he said. I’m sure he saw my face fall.

“I need a place to live,” I said softly. “Now.”

“Where are your things?” he asked. I gave him the name of the motel near the bus station. “You need a place to live. Now.” He motioned me to follow him and I figured, what the hell. I’d slept with high school guys that I liked less. I mean, he was old—at least forty—but I could survive being poked again. He took me to the motel first and waited in his truck while I collected my meagre possessions. I tossed them in the backseat and buckled up.

He took me on a quick tour of Minneapolis, pointing out his various properties. They were mostly old brick, three-story, apartment buildings. Each building had eight units per floor with very little variation. Three or four floors. He pointed out the Nicollet Mall, the IDS building and the Foshay Tower. There was a new bank on Marquette and we drove past the Federal Reserve Building. It was empty. Condemned. I knew they’d save it eventually. Finally, we headed down Hennepin to Uptown and he stopped in front of an apartment building on Dupont.

“This is a building that I bought and developed under the radar, so to speak. In other words, without a permit and with non-union workers. It was in pretty good shape, so everything except the appliances was considered cosmetic. We permitted the appliances.” He led me down a short stairway into the basement. “There’s one unit, though, that is technically illegal. I planned to use it as my private retreat, but I can’t rent it.” He unlocked a door and I stepped into paradise.

“This is beautiful.”

“It’s tiny. Just this room and the bedroom. Bathroom is small. Kitchen is here in the same room as the living room. I shouldn’t have put in the gas fireplace. That’s what killed the deal. It’s all to code, but the city wants $6,000 in permits issued and wants me to tear out the entire end wall so they can inspect the plumbing. We’ve been arguing about it for two years.” He looked at my backpack and my suitcase. There was nothing in the apartment but the appliances. Carpeted floors with cement beneath, but it was well-padded.

“How much would I have to pay to live here?” I squeaked. This was perfect. Perfect!

“You can’t live here. I can’t rent it to you. Here’s the key. I think there is a mattress and some dishes in our storage room. Aside from that, I wouldn’t get too comfortable here. I’ve got a twenty unit building right on Franklin Avenue that should be ready in September. As soon as it is, we’ll make one trip from this apartment, where you don’t live, to your new apartment. Don’t put anything more in here than I can get in one load.” He handed me his business card. “Use this as your address. Don’t have anything sent here. The utilities are on and are billed to the building. No telephone. This unit doesn’t exist.”

“Jim… Thank you,” I said.

“Let’s go get the bare necessities so you can survive. There’s a little grocery store around the corner. You won’t want to buy everything there, but the basics won’t set you back too much. It’s cheaper at Rainbow on Lake Street. You can walk that.”

I lay on the mattress with a sleeping bag I bought at Salvation Army. It was a free room, but I’d spent close to $200 getting basic food and dry goods. Jim had kindly carted me around to the grocery store, Sally’s, and a second hand shop on Lyndale. I was a little scared. I was alone in a big city in an apartment that didn’t exist. I expected that sometime during the night, Jim would come in and claim his payment.

He didn’t.

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I just knew I couldn’t relax until I had found a real estate office I could work from and got my license. With luck, I could have that before school started in the fall.

That was another thing I needed to take care of in the morning.

I’d applied and been accepted to the University of Minnesota. It was a reciprocal college and North Dakotans got in-state tuition. Then my father told me there was no money to waste sending me to Minneapolis to party. If I had to go to school, I could go to the community college and live at home. He was certainly not going to spend good money sending me to school. I could find a husband in Fargo.

I needed to go find out how I could get into classes this fall with no money. I needed to go to college. I’d missed that the first time around. I wasn’t going to miss it this time.

I started shopping for real estate brokers by reading the paper on the bus. I needed to find a sponsor for my real estate license. Without rent to pay, I had enough money to get through a couple months, maybe three if I didn’t eat much. I needed to make some sales.

In my old life, real estate was something to do that would get me out of the house and earn a little money. It had flexible hours. I didn’t need to make a mint, I just wanted to feel like I was contributing something to my own security besides dinner each night. And it wasn’t that I considered that not to be a contribution. Being home when Willa got home from school was important. I helped her with her homework. I took her to school activities. Friends were always welcome and their parents were relieved that there was a safe place for the kids to gather when they were all working extra jobs. Jesse wasn’t usually home, thank God. He stayed in the oil fields as long as there was work to be had. Life was better when he wasn’t home.

And Willa was my pride and joy.

What a name to hang on a cute little baby girl. It was Jesse’s grandmother’s name and I found out after the fact that was what his mother put on the birth certificate. He didn’t even like his grandmother. His mother waylaid the nurse and ‘took care of things’ without me even knowing. Of course, I bowed to the family pressure to honor the old woman.

That was what I always did. Bow to the pressure. That was why I ran away this time. I knew that even with twenty-five years’ extra experience, my eighteen-year-old self would bow to the pressure if I stayed.

So, this time, real estate was an easy thing for me to do. I had experience, even if I couldn’t talk about it. The market was good. I found a listing for a local firm that had a dozen different offices. I chose the one closest to the South Minneapolis neighborhoods that I wanted to work in. First, though, there was the university.

I waited for an hour and fifteen minutes to see an admissions counselor. When I went into the office, she was frazzled and exhausted. She looked like she’d been running a marathon in her jeans and hiking boots. She wore a nice t-shirt with ‘Nirvana’ on it. She was a little shorter than me and thinner. Kind of cute. She looked at me and sighed.

“Big problems or little problems?” she said.

“I got accepted here, but I haven’t chosen any classes because I don’t have any money,” I said. I’d let her figure out if it was a big or little problem.

“Shit. No parental assistance?”

“They won’t even speak to me.”

“Okay. First things first. Let’s enroll you in classes for the fall semester. You won’t have much choice. Got a major?”

“Business.”

“What is with everybody wanting to go into business. Why don’t we have more artists and English majors?”

“I could do that, but I already know the question to the answer.”

“The what?”

“Would you like fries with that?”

She looked at me and started laughing. I figured she was about ten years older than me.

“Look at me. History major and I’m a fucking admissions counselor. Hmm. No money. Business major. Here’s a ground floor opportunity,” she muttered to herself as she ran her finger down the catalog page. “Okay. Fifteen hours. Everything is a required course. Don’t even ask about electives until you’re a junior. Two of these courses are lectures that will have 200 people in them. No one will notice who you are. Sorry about that. The other three courses are basic requirements. You need an English class, statistics, and basic accounting. I don’t have any choices about times.” She entered the data on her computer and printed out a class schedule. “I’m going to walk you over to get your student ID and then we’re going to lunch to talk about your financial situation. Can you afford to eat?” I nodded. “Housing?”

“I’m managing an apartment building in exchange for an apartment.”

“Nice move. But no income.”

“I hope to have my real estate license by fall and be selling.”

“Not a very reliable source of income, but plentiful when it comes in. Come on. Let’s see what we can get you.” She brought a sheaf of papers, including my enrollment forms and my acceptance. We stopped at the registrar’s office and I got my picture taken and laminated to a plastic card.

“Don’t lose it,” the photographer said. “Replacements cost twenty bucks. You need this to check out books from the library, purchase books at the bookstore, get healthcare at the clinic, get into school events, and get a discount at about a million restaurants in town. Everything except McDonald’s. It gets you student tickets for plays, museums, and concerts, too. Your ID is your life. Take care of it.”

We went from there to a triangular building about three blocks away and ordered lunch.

“Order the Riverside Special,” my adviser said. I did. I was surprised when I showed my ID and only paid $2.50 for the plateful of food.

“It’s cheap and it’s filling. You’ll probably eat here four or five times a week. It’s almost cheaper than cooking your own meals. Rice and beans with stir-fried vegetables. If it’s too bland use some of that red sauce on it. Take it easy, it’s really hot.” We dug in and I had to admit that it was pretty good and very filling. While we talked, she leafed through papers and made comments about potential sources for funding.

When we were done with lunch, I had a stack of forms in front of me.

“Fill out every one of those and get them back to me tomorrow. We don’t have much time. Fortunately, you only need about $1,500 a semester. We’ll get you a tuition scholarship and if worse comes to worst, a student loan. I have to get back to work. I trust you can find your way home or wherever. Good luck.” She was gone. I kind of liked her. I wondered what it would be like to have a friend like her. Cool!

Gordon Fiske looked at me with so much lust in his eyes that I considered just undressing to give him a better view. It was pretty disgusting. Not that I considered sex anything more than a means to an end, but the guy was twice my age and wore way too much gold. He had pretty rugged good looks, like most of the Scandinavian men in town. I hate to spout clichés, but when he got excited, he even had the accent. Ya sure, you betcha, ya know? He could have been one of Garrison Keillor’s Norwegian Bachelor Farmers if it weren’t for the fact that one of the pieces of gold was a huge honking wedding band.

“So, in your opinion, what’s the key to a good income in real estate?” he asked. As much as he was salivating over me, he was asking good interview questions. I’d told him that I thought with a little brush-up I could go straight to the exam without having to do the whole real estate school thing. It wasn’t technically required to get a license, though after you got it, you had to have continuing education credits each year.

“Listings,” I answered. He sat back waiting for me to go on. I didn’t. I saw him glance down at my open-collared shirt. God! I wasn’t showing anything, but I somehow wished I’d buttoned that top button.

“That’s your strategy?”

“The listing agent gets half the commission, split with the broker, of course. Listings are easier to get than sales. Once you have a listing, every sales associate in the city is working for you. Sales are hard. You have to find customers and sell them on homes that don’t meet their requirements or fulfill their dreams. I plan to be the top listing agent in this office in three months. Every listing will sell eventually.”

“You can’t just list and abandon it,” he said. He was nodding his head, though. “We’ll need to get a good marketing plan together. Do you know how to read comps?”

“Yes, but you can’t just look at the numbers. Every three-bedroom, two-bath home in a neighborhood isn’t worth the same amount. You have to listen to the owner to determine why they think their home is worth more than all the others. The ideal situation is to find the lowest value home in a high-priced neighborhood. You can really sell the investment value on that.”

“You’re a sharp cookie. Why don’t we go have dinner tonight and talk over some of your strategies?”

“No.” I might have slapped his face and gotten less reaction. “I don’t screw around with the boss. Or anyone else. I’m here for business, not pleasure. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t fuck. I’m not a fun person. I’m here for the money.”

He looked down at his desk and started scribbling some notes. I figured I’d just shut the door on this career. He handed me a form.

“Fill this out and give it to Mattie out front. She’ll generate the paperwork for your sponsorship and I’ll sign it. You should be able to take the test next week. Let’s see if you are as hot as you think you are.”

6
The Elephant in the Room

Things were going well. I had a place to live, a job, a college enrollment. I was still living on my savings, so I was eating instant noodles most of the time, but frankly, my mother’s cooking hadn’t been that much better. I spent forty dollars of my money on a couple decent outfits I found at Goodwill and a vintage clothing store. My youth, combined with the vintage look, gave me a professional image that I cultivated. I’d already brought in my first listing and there was interest.

But I’d intentionally ignored the reason I fled in the first place. I was nearly three months pregnant and I was beginning to feel it. I needed to make the big decision. Was I going to be a single mother, or was I going to the clinic that I’d been past twice. The abortion clinic. I didn’t want to be an eighteen-year-old single mom. I wanted to have a life.

But my sweet angelic daughter had been everything to me. She was smart and funny and happy. How could I rob her of her life before it had begun? I admit that I’d had some help the first time around. My mother and Jesse’s mother, who filed the birth certificate, had been involved from day one. They competed with each other to take the baby. It wasn’t always happy, and there were times I had to compete for my own child. If I chose to give birth now, even that weak support structure wouldn’t be available. I’d be alone.

The questions haunted me around the clock and I knew that I had to make the choice soon. I believed in the right to choose. I believed a young woman in my position should be able to control her own future and terminate an unwanted pregnancy. But I’d met this child. I’d cradled her in my arms and sang lullabies to her. I knew how she turned out. Of course, there was no guarantee that she’d turn out the same raised in a different environment, but she could.

“It’s your choice, you know.”

“Willa?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“What’s going on? How can you be here?”

“The power of dreams. You need to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I would never hurt you, honey.”

“Mom, it’s not my life that’s getting lived over again. It’s yours. You can choose to have an abortion. You were raped. You’re alone. You don’t have the means to support a child. You’ll have to put her in daycare and then work twice as hard to afford that. You believe in abortion under those conditions.”

“I believe in abortion if it weren’t for the fact that I already know you. I’ve known you for twenty-four years. I know what a wonderful and loving young woman you’ll become.”

“You’re only eighteen. The daughter you knew is sitting at home with an envelope containing your will and a list of possessions and bank accounts in front of her mourning having lost her mother. She’ll never be able to tell you about her boyfriend. You’ll never see her get married or have children.”

“That timeline continues? Are you all right?”

“Who knows? I’m just a fetus. I might not even be Jesse’s. You jumped to the conclusion that it was all just like the last time. I could be Allen’s.”

“I know that’s not true. I knew for sure I was pregnant when I was with Allen.”

“That fifteen-year-old freshman? What was his name?”

“Carl. That would be a hoot. But I’d never strap him with my mistake. He’d try to do the right thing and he’s just too young.”

“So were you. I’m just saying that you can’t assume everything is the same as it was the last time you went through this. You already changed that history. You didn’t marry Dad. You didn’t even tell Grandma and Grandpa you were pregnant. You fucked a lot of boys. Got that out of your system?”

“Enough to know they were all pretty much alike. Except Allen, but what a cad. Can you imagine being married to a guy who takes a break every few weeks to pop another eighteen-year-old? He was a great lover, but he’s never going to change. I don’t think I could put up with that.”

“All I’m saying is you get to choose. I might grow up to be the world’s worst kid. I might even be a boy. It’s only your choices you have to live with. Not mine.”

“I love you, Willa. You will always be my baby.”

“About that, Mom. Uh… If you decide to bring me into the world, could you maybe not name me Willa? That was disgusting.”

I sat in the clinic. The doctor had examined me, confirmed I was pregnant and was healthy. Then a nurse came in with a brochure.

“We’re required by law to give you this information and have you sign the consent form before we can proceed. You are over eighteen and don’t know who the father is, so we don’t have to contact your parents or husband. You should, though.”

“My parents don’t even want me, let alone a grandchild,” I said. They’d shown that clearly in my last life. Most of all, they didn’t want the embarrassment. “I don’t really need the brochure. I know what it says. It’s a propaganda pamphlet designed to discourage me. I know it will show pictures of what my baby daughter looks like at this stage. I know when I walk out of here that there will be a line of people waiting outside the clinic chanting ‘murderer.’ I know I will be ashamed of myself for the rest of my life.”

“You really want to go through with it?”

“No. What can I do? I know what this world is like for unwed mothers. It’s going to get worse. Do you think any one of those religious nuts chanting ‘murderer’ would agree to helping me get financial aid? Do you think they are in favor of putting unwed mothers on welfare? They want to save a life. They don’t care what happens to it then.”

“I have to agree about that. Who is here with you to take you home?”

“I took the bus.”

“Um… Do you have someone you can call?”

“No.”

“You’re really alone.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“In more ways than you can imagine,” she sighed. “We can’t do it.”

“Please don’t make me go through this. I signed the consent form. Just do it.”

“We can’t perform the procedure unless we have verified that you have a responsible adult who will get you home and stay with you for twenty-four hours. It’s a medical requirement. We can’t just do it and assume that you will be okay.”

I looked at her hard. She wasn’t bullshitting me. She wasn’t making one last play to prevent me from going through with it. But the result was the same. Unless I found a friend who would sit with me during the procedure and take me home and stay with me for twenty-four hours, I couldn’t have the procedure. And if I left here now, I knew I wouldn’t be back.

I stood up and dropped the gown. The nurse just sat there. I pulled on my panties and jeans. I fastened my bra and pulled it around to settle my boobs into it. I grabbed my t-shirt.

“Are you all right? You need to tell me if you are thinking of hurting yourself. We have counselors here. We can get you help,” the nurse said. “Please don’t leave in despair.”

“Help? Do you have a friend for me? Someone who can drive me home and sit with me for twenty-four hours? Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill myself. I’ve survived the worst day of my life so far. I’m not going to stop now,” I said.

“I wish you were my daughter,” she said.

“Thank you. But you know… If wishes were fishes…” I pulled the shirt over my head, grabbed my purse, and walked out the door. I knew I wouldn’t come back.

“Murderer!”

“Immoral harlot!”

“You should be stoned.”

“You’re going to hell!”

I had determined that I would simply walk past them and go to the bus stop, but that last one got to me. Hell. What was that? I’d heard the preacher’s take on the subject often enough. Like every Sunday for eighteen years. Was I going to hell? I stopped and turned to face the hecklers. They did no one any good that I could think of. They didn’t convince anyone going in and it was too late for anyone going out. How would they know I didn’t have the abortion?

“Are you condemning me to hell?” I asked softly. A woman stepped to the front, apparently today’s spokesperson.

“God condemns you to hell!”

“On what grounds?”

“Immorality, fornication, and murder of one of his precious little ones.”

“Is that like three different hells or do I do all the time in one? Consecutive sentences or concurrent?”

“There is only one hell and one heaven. You will burn in the fires of damnation for eternity.”

“So, it doesn’t really matter then if I continue to sin. I’m going to the same hell for all of them.” I bent to pick up a rock. “Like if I stone you to death, I’m still only going to the same hell, right? I think I’d get a lot of satisfaction out of stoning you.”

“You should beg God’s forgiveness,” the woman said, stepping back.

“Why? So I can be like you? How disgusting. No, I think the world would be much better off without both of us. Do you need to say a prayer or anything?” They were back about fifteen steps now. I dropped the rock and turned away. “Hypocrites. Stephen was willing to be stoned for what he believed.” I walked to the bus stop. Fortunately, I only had to wait a couple minutes for the bus to arrive back. The little mob hadn’t managed to whip themselves up into a frenzy again yet.

7
Shopping Around

I got my first commission check just in time. Freshman orientation was the next day and I had books to buy. My carefully rationed out money was nearly gone. I’d managed to live three months on $2,200. My commission check was for nearly $2,500. I’d made the first hurdle. I also got word from Jim that my new apartment would be ready to move into on Labor Day, the second. I was going to have a home with more than a mattress on the floor and a few kitchen items. I picked up four boxes from the convenience store on the corner and got ready to pack my meager belongings.

Lily, my admissions counselor, managed to get me a tuition waiver. It was odd. There were no scholarships or grants available by the time I’d applied and even student loans were at a premium because of the high default rate. Twelve percent interest. And that was government subsidized! My tuition waiver was good for one term and renewable at the discretion of the provost. Lily advised me that I should start saving for tuition for second term because there was no guarantee that the waiver would be renewed. It would depend not only on my need and performance, but on the needs of other students that came to the attention of the provost.

We’d met frequently during the summer and she asked how my work was going and whether I was earning any money. She’d actually come to freshman orientation intending to front me the money for my textbooks.

“I got paid!” I screamed when I saw her. I’d brought in seven listings for the company over the summer and the first one closed the day before orientation. Lily was impressed.

“You really did it! I’m so proud of you! After orientation, we’ll celebrate with a pizza and a beer.”

“Oh, I can’t drink beer,” I said. She looked at me. I’d had no alcohol since the night I got knocked up.

“I forgot. When I was a student, we could drink 3.2 beer at 19. I was thinking of picking up the pizza and a six-pack and going to my place. You can crash there so you don’t appear in public. I’ll limit you.”

“I… uh… actually don’t drink. I’d love pizza and a Coke, though.” Fuck! Coke was probably just as bad for the baby as alcohol. But I hadn’t had a soft drink in three months. I couldn’t afford it.

“Okay. I’m not a pusher. I know half the students in orientation will be soused by midnight. Things get a little crazy the first week of school,” Lily said. She looked at me a little strangely and then sent me on ahead to my first session.

I attended every session religiously. I didn’t want to get tripped up by some rule or activity I didn’t know about. Over half the sessions were irrelevant. Things like the importance of paying your student loans, how to get a parking permit, student housing, and what gate to use at the football stadium. There were as many parents in the sessions as there were students. I guess they wanted to make sure their kids attended. Most of the kids looked pretty irresponsible. And I guess there were sessions just for parents because precious little junior was eighteen now and parents would not be receiving report cards. Some of them were pissed off.

On the other hand, some sessions were vitally important. Like student healthcare. All I had to do was show up at the student clinic. I hadn’t had a prenatal appointment at all. The only doctor who knew I was pregnant was the guy who examined me and pronounced me pregnant and healthy at the abortion clinic. I was five months now and even dressing in a baggy U of M jersey I bought on sale, I was beginning to show.

If I went to Lily’s house for the night tonight, she was going to figure it out. There was also a good session on campus safety. It scared me. The University of Minnesota main campus is pretty huge. It sprawled on both sides of the Mississippi River and I had classes on both banks. They reminded us that there were predators in every town and to guard ourselves by acting responsibly. There was also a dire threat implied to any potential predator that was in the orientation.

At least there was no rule against going to college while I was pregnant. They’d have thrown me out of high school. I’d be headed for that clinic on Monday right after my last class. I’d have the form with me that allowed me to get coverage for my dependents at almost no cost.

I kept an eye out during the orientation to try to find a roommate. I didn’t want to advertise. I needed to find someone who could use free room in exchange for sharing the cleaning duties in the apartment building when I got too pregnant to haul the vacuum around. I was hoping I’d find someone who would also contribute to childcare. It wasn’t the kind of person who’d just answer an ad for a roommate. I spotted one or two, and chatted them up during breaks like I would a sales associate at a Realtor’s meeting. I always hated the schmoozing part of real estate. I was basically a shy person. Maybe not shy, but private. The person I was looking for was going to be unique. I’d have to share parts of myself I could never share with anyone else.

“Hey, isn’t this sweet?” a guy said, sidling up to me with a soft drink in his hand at break. “No more parents looking over our shoulders. I met some guys who have a place for a big party tonight. Keg and all. And I’ve got a baggie. Want to come with me?”

I stared at him with my eyes reduced to slits. He was in his own world.

“My brother told me what to look for when I came to college. He said the girls in baggy clothes hid killer bodies. I’d like to get to know yours.”

“How about you get lost, instead.”

“Hey! No reason to get all defensive. We’re all here for the same reason, right?”

“To get an education.”

“Yeah. Right. Good luck, bitch,” he sneered and walked away. Guys were such jerks.

“Hi. That dude was pretty clueless.”

“And you?” I said to the next guy who walked up to me.

“This is supposed to be a mixer. I thought I’d try mixing with someone who could protect me if I got in trouble.”

“What?”

“You look like you know a million ways to kill a man with your bare hands.”

I looked at him as frankly as he’d assessed me. Not roommate material. Still a lot of bravado and the fact that his line was more original didn’t mean he wasn’t another predator.

“I do,” I said flatly. “But I’m young. I’ve only used about fifteen of them. You know how it is when you get a favorite.”

“Well, I’m not going to give you the opportunity to try out another,” he said, edging away. “But if you get in a pinch, give me a sign. I’d be happy to help.”

I didn’t think he’d be a danger and I was going to need friends in this life. Wish I’d gotten his name.

“Nice place!” I said. Lily lived in a really nice apartment. Really nice. It was a big loft and though sparsely furnished, it looked out over the city skyline.

“Yeah. It was.”

“Was?”

“I’ve got a month to get out. My roommate decided not to be my roommate any longer. The lease was in her name. I can’t afford a place like this alone. I couldn’t afford a place like this to share on my salary. Nancy just rented me a room. Or a space in her bed. Life sucks sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m eighteen and out alone in the big cruel world,” I laughed.

“And preggers,” Lily said. I caught my breath. “Are you going to be okay with school and a job and your apartment and a baby?”

“Am I showing that much?” I asked.

“I’ve been meeting with you regularly for three months, honey. I know you haven’t been eating that well.”

“You know what they say about the freshman fifteen,” I laughed. The silence was awkward. “Five months,” I sighed.

“Your parents don’t even know, do they,” she stated flatly. “I’ll bet the father doesn’t either.” I just shook my head. Lily moved over to the couch beside me and put her arm around me. I lay my head on her shoulder. It was so comfortable. She had truly become a friend. I relaxed and drifted as she petted my hair. So nice.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

“I should go home,” I sighed.

“Why not just spend the night. I’ll take you in for day two of orientation tomorrow on my way to work.”

“I didn’t really bring anything.”

“I have a toothbrush for you and if you need fresh clothes tomorrow, I’ll run you home on the way to school. We won’t need to leave much earlier. I have to be there the same time you do.”

“Okay,” I sighed. I really didn’t want to move at all. Her embrace was so warm and loving. Her fingers trailed from my hair to my chin causing a little shiver up my spine. She lifted my chin and her lips softly brushed mine.

Oh my!

The only other time I’d ever kissed a girl was that desk clerk just before I died. I was so drunk I didn’t really remember it well. She had her face buried in my pussy as soon as we got to my room. Up to that moment, I’d never even contemplated the idea of being with another woman. But Lily’s lips were so soft and so persistent that I gave myself over to the sensation. Completely.

Lily was ten years older than me. Experienced. She knew what she wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. Sure, I wanted to be loved, but by a woman? It flew in the face of my rigid Baptist upbringing. I’d been told my entire life that homosexuality was a sin. Even in my first life, I paid lip service to marriage equality and gay rights, but secretly thought there was something abnormal about gays and lesbians. I had absolutely no experience with it. And it wasn’t that what Lily was doing didn’t feel good. Oh, God! It felt good. I was just so confused.

“I don’t know what to do, Lily,” I whispered. “I never considered this before. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m not going to push you. I never should have kissed you. I’m sorry. I’m just so irrationally attracted to you. Especially now that I know there’s a little baby growing in here. It makes me feel all protective. But I know you aren’t ready for lesbian sex. You might never be. But I’ll still be here and be your friend,” she said. “Let’s clean up and get ready for bed. I’d love to hold you tonight if you’re okay with that.”

Hold me? Okay? Hell yes! Allen was the only person who had ever held me all night. I was definitely ready for this.

“Lily? Where are you going to live?”

“Oh, I’m apartment shopping. I’ll find something.”

“I’m shopping for a roommate. Are you interested?”

“In moving in with you?”

“Well, maybe not like you think. I looked at the apartment I’m moving to. It’s a one-bedroom, but there’s a small sun room in front. I almost considered using it for my bedroom, but I need a place where I can have the baby with me. But if you want… I mean maybe just for the school year… I’m going to need help. I might not be able to do all the cleaning when I’m really close. And the rent would be free. I just… Lily, I’ve never asked anyone for help before.”

“You don’t have to ask again. When can we see the place?”

“I’m moving in next weekend.”

“I’ll help. If it looks like I could survive there for a while, I could stand to build up my bank account a little. And I don’t mind a little cleaning. I could even watch the baby sometimes. I mean, if you’d like. Even if you aren’t my girlfriend, I could still be your friend, girl.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before, Lily.”

8
Live-In

Jim wasn’t particularly happy when he picked me up on Labor Day to move to my new apartment. I was ready. My things were packed and it all fit in his truck. The little hideaway apartment was spotless. I’d cleaned everything, including under the sink and behind the toilet. I’d even vacuumed the halls outside the apartment to make sure everything was in as good condition as it was when he brought me here almost four months ago.

We rode in silence to my new apartment and he helped me move in my few boxes and the bed. The apartment still smelled of fresh varnish. It was beautiful. It had probably been built in the ’30s. The building consisted of five connected fourplexes that wrapped around the corner so eight units faced west and twelve faced south. The units on the corner were all two-bedroom apartments. All the rest were one-bedroom. It was move-in weekend for the first fourplex completed. I had the top end unit. A couple was moving into the unit on the other side of the landing and I could tell the lower end unit was occupied. The hall was a mess from everyone tracking stuff in on the new carpet.

“Where are the cleaning supplies and vacuum?” I asked. “I need to get right at that hall and stairway.”

“I’ll have them delivered tomorrow,” Jim said. He turned to me. “Is this going to work?”

“It’s wonderful. What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant.”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t need to piss off my benefactor, but he was pissing me off.

“It’s a situation that sometimes occurs when you are drugged and raped. When it happens, a woman has decisions she has to make. They don’t always work out the way she planned, but she makes the decision. This woman is going to have a child and care for her for the next eighteen to twenty years. During that time, she’ll clean halls, sell real estate, and get a college degree. Life is not going to stop because I got plugged.”

“I don’t want to make your life harder. I just want to know that you’ll be capable of surviving and doing the work,” he said. “You might have told me about your condition when you convinced me you could do this.”

“It would just have made it harder for me to convince you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. He pushed his black-framed glasses up on his nose. The thick lenses made his eyes look huge. “You can move back to the other apartment if this proves to be too much. You’ll have five of these halls and stairs to clean at least three times a week. There’s a laundry room to maintain. You need to police the grounds to make sure there is no trash that collects around the building. We have a grounds maintenance crew that comes by to mow the courtyard and trim the bushes, but you need to make sure it stays neat. These apartments rent for $550 a month. You don’t get it free for nothing. It’s work.”

That was a preview of Not This Time. To read the rest purchase the book.

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