Candice Little

had no idea how she had come to be so erotically unclothed and drowsing on the couch. I could see her clothing strewn about, the liquor bottle, rum, and her cigarettes stubs in the ash tray. Beer bottles, and a man's jockey shorts under the sofa, told me that she had been screwed last night. I didn't need the guy's evidence to see that she had had sex the night before. The puffiness of her ruddy labia, that was exhibited so immodestly at the juncture of her spread thighs, was telltale enough. While I prayed that the lucky trinket she wore would work, I also was glad she had gotten a prescription for the pill at eighteen. She certainly needed that wise protection, I don't know when she lost her virginity, but there were fellas wanting to