Summer 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 3 Fiction |

Mister Visits

Pop says Go on, Lydee, now show the man what he come here for, and at first I don't do it because there's a chill in the room and I don't want to do it for a man like that. I stand where I am and make eyes at him instead, because sometimes they like that and sometimes it's enough to make them decide all right. But this one's not even looking. He has his hands in his lap and he's rubbing them together fast and looking down at his own self. So I turn towards Pop as if to say See, there ain't any need, and he looks back, meaning Don't matter, you do it anyway. Then Pop gets up and walks over to the kitchen to pour hisself something, because he never watches this part, and I move a little closer to the man, in front of his face, but not so close he can touch me, and I pull my dress up to where he can see my underpants. He's got terrible slick hands like a woman, no hair on them, and oiled soft as if from working lard. But looking at his neat clothes and his pale face, you can see even k

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Wake

By Dawna Kemper

Pop says Go on, Lydee, now show the man what he come here for, and at first I don't do it because there's a chill in the room and I […]

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