“I said get up!” he yanked my hair and my arm at the same time making me cry out. “I’m not playin with you Kylie. Why do you make me hurt you ...orse than you need to be?” he asked rhetorically, slamming my body bent over onto the table. I felt my face press against cards. He grabbed my hands and kept them pinned against my back with one hand, and with his other, began pulling my panties down roughly underneath my skirt, and despite my legs being tightly clenched together and my useless pleas for. Mostly essays, poems, and a few well received short stories. Over the years I had honed my craft, publishing first in the university magazine, then a few regional pieces. The local newspaper used a few of my essays, and a chain picked them up and I became syndicated. Ten years ago I reached an agreement with The New Yorker magazine, and did an essay for them every three months. They used a few of my poems, and one of my short stories. Three years ago the university press wanted to put out a. More

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