Prison Dyke: The Un-Climax

I fell back asleep after she left. When I woke up, I found her diamond earring and a pair of shorts she wore under her jeans on the floor. I sent her a pic of me in the shorts pulled halfway down with my left tit and stomach exposed.

“You secretly wanna see me again, you can’t deny it! Or at least half your wardrobe did…”

“When”

“Some time this week?”

“Honestly I don’t feel safe right now. I don’t want to spiral out of control playing games. I need to be someone’s #1. I am tired of feeling insecure.”

“I figured you might go that way. I’m sorry to hear it cause I had fun with you and wanted to see you again.”

Next day.

“Do you know a good civil litigation attorney in Napa?”

OMG! What washed over me when I read that text was fear that she knows where I live, a tug at my heart because I can feel she is a good person who just had a shitty childhood and most likely a really tough time growing up as a lesbian, and curiosity all the same.

“Not really. The lawyers I know do things like estate and tax law…sorry. I’m driving to San Rafael later this morning and could come through Vallejo if you want help.”

“When do you get back? I may be in Napa to file paperwork in the courthouse.”

“I’ll be gone for the day. Seeing a friend in Oakland after a stop in San Rafael to check out futons.”

“Ok, some other time then.”

Two hours later.

“I am stressed out.”

Oh god, what have I started getting myself in to? I want to be nice and sympathetic, but this is getting clingy and weird. I try to be helpful as I start to open the door to leave.

“Why? Is the courthouse and lawyer stuff about that crazy neighbor you were telling me about?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel weak and stupid.”

“Why? Cause of what happened with us? I had fun.”

“I am scared to go to jail. I promised myself I would never go back.”

“You gotta find a lawyer then.”

I had no idea what the fuck to say to all this. How can I be nice and helpful, and also keep my distance and exit this connection?

And oh god, oh god! I slept with an ex-con, and she has my number and knows where I live. Oh god, oh god!

Next day.

“I sucked in school. I am dyslexic. I made my money the hard way. I feel inferior to the establishment because I am from the streets. I can’t speak English like real white people. I am different.”

“It’s perfectly fantastic to be different. You have challenges, we all do. Nothing to feel bad about.”

Next day.

“I got good people around me. Take care.”

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