“You still have a tongue and fingers, don’t you?” she smirked.I slipped my hand down between her legs and began gently massaging her clit.“Oh ...es, I do!”June 9, 1990, San Francisco, CaliforniaIt had been a week of sex, meals, and walks around San Francisco. On Saturday, our last full day, we had breakfast at Mama’s at Washington Square, then headed back to the hotel to find that the maid was still working on the room. We walked along California Street to Van Ness and then turned back. The maid. Sorry I missed it. Where you at?"Seriously?"At home. Missed nothing, just some bitching around. I'm fine. Get back to your Asian cunts."The phone beeped again: "Hahaha."Fuckin' idiot. Was he playing me, or he's not realizing how fuckin mad I was at him?If I had to recall the time I cried the most, this would have been that time.Alone, on my seat, desperation serving me the worst, yet the best company, tears coming out endlessly. Dylan was so nice to me, then why I was hating him so much?I cried. More

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