"Hello, Dottie…" he leered in a sarcastic tone of voice, "I'll have Scotch on the rocks."
She hurried away to fill his order, not wanting to talk to him. He was slow with the money when she brought his drink. His question was direct, however. "How about a little party, tonight?"
Her smile was dazzling, artificial, "I'm all tied up," she lied, "for the rest of the night! Maybe… some other time."
Crestfallen, for a moment, he brightened with, "All right… some other time, then. You know I made a swing back down here, on purpose… just to see you, again…"
"I'm flattered… If you'll excuse me… My customers…" she said, grateful that there really was a customer trying to get her attention.
The salesman finished his drink and left the lounge, after a few minutes. Dottie breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him go. She had no intention of having anything to do with that man again. He repulsed her.
Dottie fielded a couple of other pick-up proposals, turning them down flat. She was worried about Gabe, and she would have to arise earlier in the morning, in order to get downtown, to arrange bail for her husband. She was in no mood for anything involving sex.
Finishing her shift at the usual time, around 10:30, she hurried to her car and drove home. For some reason, she felt apprehensive, and she laid it to her worry over her husband, Gabe; additionally, she couldn't get rid of the threat, the darkly veiled subject Gabe had hinted at in his telephone call to her, a subject that, somehow, concerned her. She had still not been able to fathom what it was.
She parked her car in the driveway, noting that Donnie's motorcycle was not there. The boy was still out, somewhere, but it was nearing the time when he should be coming home. She would have to speak to him, again, about his late hours. It had been past one in the morning, the last time he was so terribly late. That boy is starting to run wild…! But he's a good boy… Donnie always has been good… but lately, he seems to be getting more and more independent… and rebellious!
The front door lock was stubborn, and she jiggled the key around, trying several times before it finally opened. As the door swung open and she took a step inside, a dark figure lurking in the shadows of the porch came up behind her, gave her a push, stepped inside and closed the door. It was a man. Fear pounded into her, as she stumbled across the floor from the impetus of his shove. She wanted to scream. She opened her mouth, but she was seized from behind, her arms pinioned, a hand clapped over her mouth. There was a raspy, low voice in her ear, "Take it easy… Dottie! Don't scream. Don't make a sound… I don't want to hurt you!" It was the salesman from the bar. "Understand?"
Dottie nodded her head in the affirmative. She wouldn't scream, now; at least, she knew who it was. He was not a complete stranger to her. After all, she had bedded him once, already. No! He was not a stranger, yet she knew, instinctively, that she should not trust him. He removed his hand from her mouth.
"Wh-What are y-you doing h-here?" she demanded, peering him in the dim glow of the night light in her living room.
"I knew you lied!" he accused. "There's nobody else… Tonight!"
"Th-That's right! And this is my home you've come busting into!" she hissed, aware that Charity was sleeping only a few paces away, in her bedroom.
"And we're going to have that little party!" he leered. "Right here!"
"No! No, w-we're not! I'm g-going to s-scream… call the p-police… a-and have you arrested f-for b-breaking in h-here… and t-trying t-to molest m-me!"
He laughed a hard, brittle laugh. "Like hell! I'll tell them you invited me… promised me a piece of ass… for a price!"
"Y-You w-wouldn't dare…?"
"Wouldn't I?" He was confident. "This town's got laws against prostitution… hasn't it? What is it… thirty days?"
She sat down, heavily, resignedly, and looked up at him. "Yes… a-and a f-fine… I think…"
"You've never been run-in, then… there's always a first time."
"No… I–I've been careful… my h-husband doesn't su-suspect…" she faltered.
"He knows now! That's why he's in the lock-up!" The salesman fingered the bruise on his jaw.
"H-How…?"
"I was asking about you. He over heard me… and started beating me up!"
"Oh! No!?"
"That's the way it was!" he gloated. "Now, he's in jail… and you and I are alone…"
"And y-you expect m-me t-to…?"
"You're going to get fucked… but good!"
She panicked for a moment. "N-Not h-here! Th-This's my h-home…!"
"What difference does that make?"
"M-My d-daughter… she's asleep…"
"Don't worry about it… It's you I want!"
Dottie thought fast. She could demand a higher fee, discourage him, perhaps, in his pursuit of her. "I–It'll cost y-you f-fifty dollars!" she said with some firmness.
"I'll pay you!" he snarled. "But, I'll pay you exactly what you're worth, bitch!" He took out his wallet, removed a twenty dollar bill and thrust it at her. "In advance!"
She made no move to take it from him. At that point, the money really made little difference to her. Her naming a fifty dollar fee was only a ply. It was useless, she decided. The salesman seemed to hold the high cards.
"Take it, God damn you… or are you trying to make out you're too good for me?"
She spat at him, the sputum spattering his jacket. His reaction was swift. He slapped her on the side of the face, his palm smacking loudly in the still house. She looked up at him, her hand going to her face. She was dry-eyed. She would not cry for him.
"All right… y-you bastard!" she said, tonelessly. "Y-You win! D-Don't h-hit m-me, again…"
It had ever been thus: her fear of pain subjugated her. One slap and she caved in, the fight gone from her. Gabe knew it… and used it, when he wanted to subdue her, bend her to his will, and this man had accidentally found her weakness. She would do his bidding, now, for she was a physical coward. It bothered her, but she could do nothing for herself in the face of physical violence, except to submit to the will of the one who perpetrated it upon her. Dear God! P-Please…? I–I don't w-want to be h-hurt…
She cringed away from him, trying to make herself small and insignificant, burrowing into the cushions of the couch. He came to her, put an arm around her and led her, unresisting into her bedroom. She sat down, numbly, on the side of the bed while he found a bedside lamp and turned it on, then went to her dresser and put the twenty dollar bill he still carried in his hand on the top of it.
He turned to her, noting that she had made no move to undress. "Get naked, bitch!" he ordered.
"N-Not here…" she murmured. "M-My d-daughter…"
"To hell with the brat! I'm going to fuck you right here… in your own husband's bed!" He advanced upon her, his eyes twin spots of pure lust. "So… let's get your God-damned clothes off!" A hand darted out, grasping the front of her blouse and ripping downward, buttons and material giving way under his brutal onslaught.
Dismayed, she looked down at her ruined garment, tears welling into her eyes. "All right," she said, resignedly, "but, please… don't ruin anything else for me…" She began to undress, almost mechanically, her feeling of unreality strong in her, sure that she was dreaming this scene and hoping that it would go away. She felt completely trapped. There was no way, now, she could avoid going through with the sex act with this man. He dominated her at every turn.
She glanced up at him. He was undressing, too, and already he was down to his shorts, socks and undershirt. The obscene bulge of his erection beat against the cloth of his shorts. She looked away. Dear God!
He dropped his shorts and peeled them from him, his short, thick penis was freed, and she glanced back to see that it jutted out from his hairy loins almost horizontally. Both his hands reached down to grasp and heft his genitalia, lifting testicles and hardened rod together as he fondled and massaged it. Then, he took hold of the thickened flesh and skinned back the foreskin, the smooth, red, bulbous cock-head sliding forth like some primeval, reptilian monster.