His hands were working themselves up my body. He trailed his fingers across my inner thighs, and up over my stomach. He cupped my breasts and pressed ...imself down in between my legs. I arched my back up against him in response. I could feel the thoughts in my head getting hazy, in their place pure instinct took over. I fought against him and dug my nails into his back pulling his shirt over his head, and throwing it onto the floor where I was left with nothing less than his perfect body pressed. The creek spilled out of ‘The Cascades,’ a deep artesian spring that cripples and distraught mothers drowned themselves in during bouts of spiritual crisis. The cuts were excavated from low ridges the road passed through. Depending on the season, the cuts were draped with purple, orange, and white lantana, or a profusion of fragrant, white honeysuckle, brilliant Mexican poppies, and yellow oxalis. Beds of black-berry vines also grew along the roadside, between the wheel-track and the cuts. . More

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