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heart was fluttering like a bird, beating a quick staccato. While his sumptuous mouth explored my lips, face, and neck, he eased down my jeans, and then loosened his own zipper. My awareness began to move in and out like someone trying to focus a telescope. One minute I’d be excited. And then I’d feel myself start to drift away. Like a ghost, I would hover outside of myself, watching everything happening.
    Cam whispered to my disembodied form, “Just say no if you don’t want to.”
    I just lay there, my attention coming and going, tempted and horrified. Only when he pushed himself between my legs and started to move inside me did I snap back in surprise. It actually felt good. Really, it felt quite good. It was like I could feel his heart entering me, not just a body appendix. He wasn’t just using me. This guy seemed to care about me. Almost as soon as he entered, I felt the energetic bliss of orgasm. 
    This was amazing. I did not orgasm easily. In fact, I rarely experienced orgasm. I was the girl who, at age 16, went from having never been kissed, to letting Wesley, a friend of a friend’s husband, drive me into the hills to have his way with me. After he was finished, he proudly held up the condom, clucking, “My, my, Wesley do fill da’ bag.” Clearly, I was not essential to his moment of triumph. After that, I was the girl who led a double life. By day, I was a bright, intelligent, quiet, and shy student. At night, though, I’d sneak out with Lacey and Mariah. We’d go to parties, and I’d let the cute boy of the moment get me drunk, pull me into the bedroom, and pump my body full of him, while I lay there like a wooden doll, the room spinning. But in that small studio, there with Cam, I actually felt some satisfaction, some care. It was in that moment that I realized that he and I would stick it out for at least a while. We’d be more than a one night stand.
    Now, Cam was drawing me into the bedroom, my initial reluctance subsiding.  We lay down, and he whispered, “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll make our getaway happen. I can move things around in my schedule.” He removed his clothing, and then tackled mine with ardent devotion. His hands caressed me with gentle tenderness and care. Our tongues tangled as he swept his fingers down my shoulders. We slithered, rocked, and rolled about our queen-sized bed. His lips pressed into mine, soothing my anxiety, his fingers stroking and lulling me into a bit of satisfying pleasure. It was genuinely gratifying to just let go into the arms of the man I cared about – an act I seldom achieved. Afterwards, we drifted to sleep, my back pressed into his warm spoon-like embrace.
    I awoke in the middle of the night when it was completely dark, not the lingering twilight our Northwest summers were known for. Cam lay next to me, breathing in a slow rhythmic cadence. I listened, caught in the sliver between dreams and wakefulness. As I eased back into consciousness, I became aware of gruesome fingers of dirty darkness lurking inside of me like my childhood secret. Still in a deep drowse, I sensed them brushing my left shoulder.
    A dark whisper pricked my ears with malice. “We’re going to get you, oh, yes-s-s-s we are.”
    The slithery voice was jagged and sharp. I had never heard this whisper before, never felt the fingers, so bony and real.  Not like this.
    As the nightmare swept over me, a sharp rush of air escaped my throat. I pressed the palm of my hand against my lips to keep from waking Cam. My eyes shot open, wide with fear. Mac and Jack, who had been curled up on the headboard in their fur covered beds, leapt to attention and pounced on my stomach in a synchronized pas de deux. The whispers and fingers disappeared with a whoosh, like a cloud of dust.
    There, there , thought Mac, purring with robustness while licking my fingers vigorously with his raspy sandpaper of a tongue.
    Easy does it , cooed Jack, pulling my left hand towards his head with one