“Please?”I took a deep breath, let it out, and said, “I’m sorry. Tell me what you want to talk about.”“Everything, I guess,” she sighed....“Everything I did wrong. Everything I messed up. About our baby. About my deceiving you. About the abortion. About us,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek.On reflex, I moved my hand to wipe the tear away and Becky smiled at me, that same smile that had always melted my heart. I felt bad for how she felt. She was right, I should be nicer to her.“Just let. . different, Sir?” I tried not to look alarmed. My Mom had told me that one of my cousins was a stripper now. It made her a real black-sheep in the family. Everyone in my family looked down their noses at her. She apparently lived in a trashy mobile home with five kids. She sounded like she was always throwing tantrums and trying to borrow money or scam people. I was never really that close to her when we were growing up but she always struck me as a shy, conservative girl. It was really. She always had trouble making friends at her junior high school. She was on the track and field team, but the other girls never gave her much attention. She sure liked looking at them in the locker room. She had developed into size b tits and had hair on her pussy. The was sort of an underground club of girls called The Mascara Posse. She desperately wanted to join it so she could become popular. She walked into the bathroom where the 5 girls were having a meeting. They were smoking pot. ‘Can I. ’ ‘It was a plutonic meeting.’ ‘Is that so, then why is she calling so mysteriously?’ ‘To thank me for coffee again I guess. She’s American and some of them are unusually polite.’ ‘God Alan, you are being so frustrating, frustration or evasive I just don’t know. Go and call her, you know where the phone is and don’t dribble into the receiver.’ Alan clipped her butt with the flat of his hand and Claire walked off laughing happily. He called the number and a woman in a heavy southern American.
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