It was a weeknight, but I'd had a bad day and I was drinking heavily when we met at my neighborhood bar. You were drinking too much, too, but because you were fresh from Minneapolis and needed a way to loosen up to talk to strangers. Namely, me. We ended up at my place, started sloppily making out, then undressing—until I remembered I was on the rag and stopped to tell you. You claimed you didn't care. "Never earned my red wings," you muttered and proceeded to stuff your nose so far up my twat, I worried you might suffocate, though I wasn't worried enough to stop you. While we fucked, I stared up at your face, and all I could see was my blood smeared across your lips, like a crude Joker's grin as your face contorted in ecstasy. I closed my eyes, pretended you were Heath Ledger (RIP), and came fast and hard. "KENDRA"