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Tell Me A Story, Desdmona
illustration by garv

Wilting Matilda

By Desdmona

This story contains sexually explicit scenes.

“I saw that neighborhood girl you used to be sweet on, Sonny-boy. She was propping up the stop sign on Jefferson.”

“Who?” But I knew the answer. Matilda

“That Jackson girl. Dingy hair. Yellow dress. Wilting Matilda, you kids called her.”

Kids can be so cruel.

It was a lazy summer. We were at the creek. Matilda took off her dress and jumped in. She was fearless in her tattered slip and cotton panties. She urged me to be fearless, too. I hesitated in teenage angst, but then she gained her feet and rose up, waist high in the water. Matilda had honest-to-god tits, rosy nipples that puckered and poked at frothy cotton. I stripped and joined her. She let me touch her, first in the water, and then later, while we lay on the bank. Our bodies shivered together in man-made wet. She was my first. I thought I was hers.


“Yeah, that’s her. I reckon she learned how to put out after that.”

No, she learned before that, but I wasn’t about to tell Pop how I’d stood heartbroken, listening to Josh and Todd and Derek boast over fucking Matilda and how her ‘flower’ was starting to wilt, thanks to the three of them.

“What was she doing, Pop?”

“The same thing they all do at the corner of Jefferson. Selling.”

“What were you doing?”

“Buying. I done my time in marriage. Now I get it the way I want.” There was no guilt or shame in his words, only matter-of-factness you couldn’t argue with. “She wouldn’t take my money, though.”

“You screwed her anyway?”

“I have to take what’s offered for free, don’t I, boy?”

“It seems everybody does, Pop.”

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