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by Deanna Tatum

In, out
in, Out

And so we fucked.
Or rather, he was fucking
I was lying, or laying. Both
actually. And thinking
In, out. in, Out.
about our past, about my
future, about the boys
who really liked me.
He loved me, but it didn't matter
because as he fucked I realized
that it would never work.
In, out. in, Out.
It was his birthday, so I let him.
who wouldn't? It was a gift, of sorts.
Except I wasn't present. Made
fine noises, but my eyes were glass, and
I know afterwards he saw it.
In, out. in, Out.
He finished and pulled out. It was over.
I was broken, stretched, gone. Smiling his little
apologetic smile, he asked if I'd had fun anyway. Lying
back, I smiled and nodded. This was how it always
worked. When he was in, I was out.

About the author:
Deanna Tatum reads writes, and refuses to sleep in a little town in Illinois. Her life goal is to live in a run-down apartment with a cat and too many books.

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Midnight Picnic
a novel by
Nick Antosca


The Suburban Swindle

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