Ruined Read Free Page B

placed my purse on the table.
    “Yeah, I saw him. He went outside. I heard a motorcycle start, so I suppose he left.”
    “Do you know him?” I asked, starting to stand from my seat.
    “No. I don’t know him, I know of him. My dad knows him. He goes to my uncle’s shop to have his motorcycle worked on. My dad has talked about him before. He’s normally gone for the summer from what they say. He’s some weird doctor. He went to college, Medical school, graduated, and then his mom died. He bought a shitty motorcycle and travels around the country. He lives in a shitty house over by Bel Aire. I heard them talking about him just the other day.”
    “I want to fuck him. I want to fuck him until he can’t even think. He. Makes. Me. Wet. That guy just….Jesus, Heather did you see him?” I asked, now standing.
    “Girl, sit down. Sometimes I wonder about you. You just need to get a boyfriend. This jumping from guy to guy has got to stop. And he’s old. That’s kind of gross,” she finished her beer and raised her hand to the waiter as she set down the bottle.
    “If you fucked older guys, you’d understand. Boys will always treat you like shit, Heather. Men will treat you the way they treat you, but you almost always know what’s going to happen, they don’t make up ridiculous lies just to get in your pants. They will tell you from the beginning what they want. And you get to choose if it’s what you want or not,” I began to sit as I was finishing my sentence.
    “Girl, you crack me up,” Heather took a drink, and continued, “You talk like you’re educated, which you are. Good for you. But I always thought, and kinda hoped, that when you went to college, you’d quit cussing. You say fuck and cock and cum more than any man I have ever met, and you always shave. It’s because a man raised you, isn’t it?”
    I don’t know that I actually will ever know the real story, but I know what I was told. It may be what happened, it may not be. When I was about one year old, my mother left. I was an only child, and was left to be raised by my father. My father, for my entire life, never remarried. He did have female friends, and always went on dates, but he never allowed another female to move into the house. He never really had a steady girlfriend either. When I was young, I hoped that he would one day find someone that I could call mother, but as I got older, I was appreciative of the fact that he never did.
    Some people told me that their parents had told them that he “paid” my mother to leave. That she had become a drunk when I was young and that he gave her money and asked her to leave and never return. Either way, she was gone.
    My father was attractive, wealthy, and owned the BMW dealership in town. He always had attractive women in his life, and I often wondered, especially now, why he never had a permanent woman in his life. I had begun to recently wonder if he still truly loved my mother after all these years. It was something that he never spoke of, and that I never tried to bring up. The few times when I was younger when I tried to ask questions, he would respond in short responses, and change the subject.
    “I just like to cuss, it makes me feel good. I think, deep down inside, if I talk really dirty, I will get dirty results from a man. The older and dirtier, the better.”
    “Fucking old men is gross,” Heather said as she took a drink from her new bottle of Bud Lime.
    “Fucking men makes me have repeated orgasms. Fucking boys makes me angry. Boys always end up doing everything that they say they won’t ever do. Eventually, they all do it. I don’t want someone to appreciate me for who I am, I want someone to fuck my brains out, and that’s it.” I said, looking at the melted ice in my glass.
    You have always said that you wanted someone to appreciate you for who you are, not what you look like, what about that?” Heather asked dryly.
    “I did. But. But. But. There’s a difference. I want