Every time he saw Bessandra he felt like the luckiest redneck in town. She was half white, a quarter black, a quarter Indian, and all beautiful. She could have been a stripper but worked in a bank instead. What a hot woman she was! They had been living together for three months now. It had crushed him that he had no money for her last month, and that he passed out every time they started having sex. She was so horny it was amazing—the prefect girlfriend, that is when she was not mad about any of the many things that pissed her off.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror getting up his courage. She was right pissed at this point. She would not even blow him anymore. Last night he woke up in bed while she was fingering herself and just felt terrible. He was too humiliated to go sleep on the couch and just rolled over and cried.

Look at you, you skinny bastard.

He could not even pinch a quarter inch on his pale body. Indeed you could see all of his ribs. On top of that he was only 20 years old and already lost so much hair that he had to shave his head.

He looked at his face. He had a big boney nose and his ears winged out a little. His brother even tried duct taping them back before—well before he left for the Middle East as a Marine and never came back. His eyes were sunken, the one kind of lazy now too since the accident.

What does she see in you, dude? You look like Dracula’s hairdresser.

Bessandra intimidated him, not just because she was a demanding beauty, but because she was a couple years older than him and had dated a lot of dudes: rich dudes, jocks, black dudes, the Spanish dance instructor, a steel company president, all of these important dudes that she had told him about. There was even a picture of her dancing with the dancing instructor on the bedroom wall.

He had taken his medicine. He was still dizzy and his stomach flipped, but he figured he could maintain. After all Bessandra was every man’s dream. He had been beaten up at least three times by guys: a group of black dudes, a couple of rednecks, and even an off duty cop, for going to the bar with her. She would sneer at dudes that hit on her while they were together. Then they would beat his ass! Thank God for bouncers! They never went anywhere where there were no bouncers.

The off duty cop was the worst. Bessandra—don’t even call her Bess—blew the big beefy cop off when he had taken Jay Jay’s seat at this one sports bar. Not only did she blow him off, but she called him a "needle dick pig."

That totally sucked. The bouncers just watched until the cop was done: three cracked ribs, pissing blood for a week—Damn son, all the shit you went through for that girl! Get in there and rock her world. Make it real again, like when she put her fist through the wall and set off the car alarm out front! Go on, stud—get, her, done!

Yeah, Jay Jay Cool!

‘Jay Jay Cool’ emerged into the flickering candlelight of Bessandra’s bedroom.

She was reclining on one side in the middle of her diamond shape bed on the black felt sheets she liked so much. It was summertime but she had the fireplace blazing for atmosphere, which was okay since her air conditioning system kicked ass—and that was maxed out.

Her coal black hair was so long she draped half of it over her tantric breasts like a shawl, and the other half over her extra curvy hip. Jay Jay was on fire.

Oh My God, boy. How did you ever pass out on her!

He slid into bed and they made love for a long time, just like she liked it: forever, and then some more. The fact that he was near to passing out the entire time leant it a dream-like quality which he found erotic, like he was a sultan smoking poppies with I Dream of Jennie. She was so wonderful and so into him. They had not spoken for days because she had been so pissed about him “being afraid of a stroke.” That purposeful silence maintained to such a degree that it amped up the eroticism that much more.

They were on fire! Who even knew, after tonight she might even like him and talk to him like he was a human being, like some rich dude for instance!

That is when she asked, asked, not demanded. When she demanded something you were supposed to just do what you want as long as you either choked her or puller her hair in the process. When she asked all sweet like that, you either did it or ended up with an ashtray upside your head like the Spanish dude.

She was on her knees and her forearms, growling into the mattress, and Jay Jay Cool was rocking her United Nations pinup girl world! He could take the pain, the eye throbbing ever more often and ever harder. He could take it for this kind of approval. He was her God! And she, She, was some ancient priestess from a Hindu temple praying to his…