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She was jogging. Or more like walking really fast. She kept looking down at her watch. She didn't really want to be doing what she was doing. But she wanted her sixteen year old body back. She wanted her sixteen year old body back knowing what she did now at thirty-eight. So she continued to walk really fast. And she kept looking at her watch.

She had bought this really big dog for protection. At home and on these walks. He had these tremendously intimidating protruding genitalia. They wagged when he walked. So with this dog on a leash, she felt safe.

She never trained him or even made him aware of why she had picked him, a Great Dane, over every other breed of dog in existence. She didn't even think she had to. He was big, and he was a beautiful animal. Stately and dignified but with death hinting around his jaws and genitalia. So she chose to walk with him proudly and securely. Until death did them part.

Sure enough it happened. Someone knocked her down from behind. Called her bitch just for good measure. And her dog -- her great big beautiful well hung protector -- he stood frozen, looking back and forth, from the dropped leash to her scratched face, that was looking up from the pavement, expectant. The dog took off, glancing back over his shoulder at her - twice - dragging the leash begrudgingly. His tail hugging his huge balls to his body.

"Still Waiting"
by Claudia Perez

She didn't really mean to, it just happened -- she bust out laughing watching that dog run away. Him looking back at her, scared. Rounding the first bush on the corner, the last thing she saw trailing in the air behind him was the handle of the leash. Surprising herself, she laughed, some thug's knee in the middle of her back.

This pissed him off. Maybe he hadn't noticed the dog and the statement he was supposed to have made. Maybe he knew the dog would run away. Maybe he knew the size of one's genitalia didn't always denote the truth. But her laughter surprised him as much as it did her. He kept asking her what she thought was so damned funny as he smashed her face into the pavement, and kept calling her bitch for some reason.

Which made her laugh all the harder.

Maybe she laughed because this situation followed the pattern of other similar -- less violent -- but similar situations of her life already. Knocked down from behind just when she felt the most secure as if something about her feeling secure scared the people around her. Her mother hating her; her lovers leaving her; her children pulling away from her; her husbands divorcing her; her friends questioning her. She must be scared. She must be scared. She must be scared. Because everyone is scared. So she could be moving along smoothly, just like today, and someone clips her right behind the knees and brings her crashing down to the ground. She would never get to be sixteen again.

So this crazy man on her back, asking her hysterically, repeatedly, what she was laughing about, would never understand. She politely tried to stifle her giggles so as not to offend him. But this made him even more angry. He yanked her up by the hair on her head and spun her around to face him, pinning her upper arms to her body. She was laughing, and crying now, too, defeated. She hung her head - chin to chest, her noises garbled between sobs and giggles, unable to look into his face although he demanded it. He kept shaking her, demanding she look into his face. Finally, her chest heaving, she lifted up her head and stared into the eyes of her attacker. Nobody she knew. Grasping his elbows, staring into his eyes, she brought her knee up hard into his groin. And again, hard, to his chin as he doubled over in pain.

She left him lying there, secure only in the fact that she alone was alive and she alone would die.

Also in Song and Story:
A Prelude to Seduction    The Waiting Game    Golden Dreams   

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