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as a torch that glows

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She could hold Mimi’s whole waist in her one hand, span her little birdy wrist with her strong but ladylike fingers.
Maureen lay beside her and listened to her even breathing. She watched over her with the focused intensity of a hawk – a fondness she did not spend on her many lovers, much to their lamentation.

A wry smile crossed her face as she recalled that, for all of Mimi’s outward fragility, she was a live wire. She could outfuck and outdrink nearly everyone Maureen knew – except for Maureen herself, of course.

She flicked her hair back, wiping away a droplet of sweat clinging to Mimi’s neck. She still wore the scent of their encounter – of sweat, and the rubber of discarded barriers. She had scratched the back of Maureen’s neck at one point, and it ached from the push-pull of their loving. Maureen’s eyes rose toward the window they lay beside. A neon sign outside winced on and off, the time given again and again. She’d have to get back home before Joanne started calling.

Mimi, for all of her fragility, could survive without her.