Ingrid started dragging her.My feet felt dislocated and weightless. I had to think about each movement, lifting one foot after the other. I followed a...ound the table, the pile of the carpet was thick mud. I staggered after them into the hallway. Ingrid waited poised outside the door. She towered over me. I abstractedly watched her fist come toward my face. The world flipped and I went down a black hole.I gradually worked through a mad whirling tunnel of lights and faces to a conscious. A couple of years later, I went out with this guy and we parked and had a hot make out session where he felt my breasts and got his hand down my pants and played with my wet pussy. I didn’t want to give him a blowjob like I did with daddy, so I took his erect penis out of his pants and stroked until he came.As we got to know each other better, we were home alone and busy feeling up each other and this time as he lay on the bed with his erect penis pointing skyward, I leaned over and took the. She wondered why the man she loved didn't treat her like a princess. She thought she should be worshipped and spoilt. She was still in there. She was my vanilla conscience. As I dried my face with the bath towel, I tried to convince her that what she didn't or couldn't understand was that she was being worshipped and spoilt. She had never been listened to as intently as Andrew listened to her. Her desires and her fears had never been given as much attention as Andrew gave them. She had never. Mugshot from a Billings bar brawl where Wexler had broken his pool partner’s humerus. I patted my arm between the shoulder and elbow. “Cue stick. Swung it like a baseball bat.”Wexler looks like a lowlife. Country lowlife. Small eyes, set close together, large curved nose, chin that slopes away. Thinning mouse-brown hair worn long, down to his shoulders. Dark skin like he might be part Mexican. Or Native American.I showed them six more shots of Wexler. Courtesy of the Yellowstone County Sherif’s.