I opened the door so see.In big letters it read, “Bitch! Be ready, same time.” I knew what it meant. I was shaking and weak all over again. I felt...like crying. The phone rang, it was Dennis. “I have some work to do today. I'll be there by three. Then we'll pick up where we left off. You did a good job yesterday. You should be proud. I haven't cum like that in years.” I sobbed into the phone. He laughed, “Pussy!” I cleared my throat, “Fine.” Was all I could say. Then the line went dead.It took. Our relationship was based on a general interest in some BBC television shows and sloppy drunk sex. I don’t advise mixing the two. We’d broken up, as I mentioned earlier, because he thought he was better than me and I thought he was an asshole. To avoid further contact, I brushed past him and moseyed around the art room. Trying to find something that would catch my eyes so I didn’t have to look at his. The crowd was sparse but diverse. There was the Emo couple, a pierced Punky Brewster, a few. More

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