Texas After The War
by Prophecy Girl

Do you remember Texas, B?

We were so fucking scared to be there together. After fighting The First we were afraid we'd get the motherfucking electric chair for being two women in love and it was your idea for me to get a haircut.

It was all your idea to begin with. Just a trim, you said, as I watched clumps of my hair fall to the floor. Thick brown loops, floating down and lightly landing on one another. It took me forever to grow my hair out from that time they had to shave it to stitch it when Daddy Dearest took a baseball bat to my head. And now it was all gone again.

Yes, sir. Ten-hut.

Then you begged me to stop wearing such tight clothes and I did, and I got to like workshirts and baggy jeans and a pair of Timberlands. They were comfortable and homey, like fresh baked bread only dirtier.

I fixed the car every time it broke down on the way to work at the little diner in the dust. How many days did I show up to wash dishes alreayd full of grease and oil? But it was all okay. People didn't question us because they felt foolish not knowing the answer already. What was I?

What was I?

It was like a snowball from there. I started packing a roll of socks into my panties and you loved that.. I knew from the way you grabbed it when we made out behind the dumpster at work.

I started binding my breasts with an Ace bandage so tightly that I could barely breathe and you loved that, too. Pressing your breasts against me and wrapping those long skinny legs around my practically nonexistent hips. I was almost as small as you then, in Texas.

After we kicked some evil ass in Sunnydale together, back when it was okay to be Faith instead of just my last name.

Remember the night I shocked the hell out of you, when I fucked you with that strap on and you came and came and came until you damn near passed out? Of course that didn't make me feel like a substitute. Of course not. Just cause a girl likes a little dick now and then..

But you were obsessed with it, weren't you? Every night.. rubbing me through my jeans.. whispering "Am I getting you hard, Faith? Are you hard for me?"

So I lived like that, like a boy, like your dirtiest little secret, your skeleton in the closet. And it wasn't the plastic dick in my pants or the tight cloth around my breasts that felt wrong, it was you.

It was you all along.


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