"The winter time is coming
And it's going to be slow
You can't make the weather baby
it's dry long so
You betta come on in my kitchen
because it's going to be Raining outdoors..."
Cassandra Wilson – "Come on in my Kitchen" (Written by Robert Johnson)
There were two things Lulabelle Humphreys knew how to sell in Itta Bena Mississippi and that was moonshine and other people's pussy.
She did that very well until one night of the Harvest moon when cotton would soon be harvested by the local sharecroppers and itinerant Mexican men who traveled through the delta region looking for work like every other Negro or poor white trash far and wide. On that night under a sweltering heat full of drunk patrons and her smooth-talking whores inside her juke joint with the "special ladies" house attached by a rickety bridge that crossed over a tiny creek full of frogs and singing crickets, Lulabelle witnessed the showdown of all showdowns between the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man, shonuff, right inside her little rambling hot music-havin' and ice-cold beer havin' establishment.
And if it hadn't been for that slow walking city-to-city wandering Geechee man with the gold teeth, slick smile, and flashy suit standing by her with the smarts of his low country kin back in South Carolina, why Lulabelle might've lost everything that night like she lost me so many years ago when that Plat Eye stole me away when we was teenaged girls in these backwoods. But thank the Lord up above for Erik Stevens ramblin' through with that shiny switchblade, and his Gullah ways, cuz shonuff, that was a night to remember and I'm gonna tell it exactly how it happened from top to bottom and all the sides in between. I ain't been dead long enough or forgotten long enough to not tell it all...
###
"Mavis, how much lavender water is left in there?"
Lulabelle shouted into the open door that led to one of the "loving" rooms inside her special house.
"There's one bottle left," Ruth called out.
The young woman was nothing but string bean arms and toothpick legs, however, she was a favorite among the darker-skinned Black sharecroppers who admired her fair skin and limp shiny black hair. Even the high yella gals envied what Ruth could pull in because the men were willing to part with more money to fuck what was as close to a white woman as they would get.
Lulabelle knew clearly what a fetish was, so she used Ruth for the high income, but she also had Mavis, a crystal Black pearl with a dark hue so deep that negro soldiers from the military base lined up for hours waiting to part her dusky thighs to taste the sticky sweets within. There was someone for everybody at the house. Big women. Little scrawny women. Big Bodacious titties and itty-bitty mosquito bites. For the richly endowed there was Starla with a pussy so fat and deep that blues ballads were written for her. For the poorly imbued, there was Tweety Pie, a tiny woman with a small tight snatch that rivaled Starla in particular-sized fans.
For the men who didn't fawn over the womenfolk, there was Honey Boy, a twenty-something pretty little thing with bow lips, high cheekbones, and a fat ass that posed as a houseboy who brought fresh after-sex towels, water for the whore baths, and rubbers for the men who forgot to prepare for penetration. Honey Boy could dress like a pretty woman and serve clients fat wood if that was to a patron's liking. Lulabelle was surprised at how popular he was becoming on the low low, especially from the men in the military. Men with men had always been a reality, but Honey Boy was multidimensional. He could turn into a Butch boy from a chain gang, to a bullying Army sergeant to dominate and spread male ass cheeks that needed fat balls against balls. Or he could be a dainty femme movie star in a bra and heels with his hard dick swinging. Lulabelle kept a ready supply of costumes for him, more than the women. All the ladies needed were pretty underwear, strong garter belts, and lipstick. She kept quiet that she paid Honey Boy more than anyone else.
The second world war was putting money in her pockets. 1942 was a profitable war year for Lulabelle. Her pocketbook was fat with cash, and she could now afford real jewelry instead of the cheap costume fare she sported the last three years. She could even maintain a steady hot comb appointment at Mamie's Wash and Curl uptown. Her latest favorite style was imitating Joan Crawford's immaculate curls that she saw in the talkies at the Bijou theater. When she really wanted to look glamorous, she would have Mamie swoop up her thick hair on top of her head with a pinned curl on the front and an under curl in the back. The rich white women she saw in the new color catalogues wore their hair like that.
She wore her hair like that for that evening. It was a special night. The Harvest Moon was going up, and the men would be arriving in droves to drink, dance, and fuck.
He was coming too.
The Gullah man. That sly Geechie with the gold teeth.
Erik Stevens.
His arrival always coincided with some new moon every few months. She'd dress up extra special when she thought he was coming through. Her pussy was already twitching thinking about him.
"I'll have Honey Boy get you a fresh bottle," Lulabelle said patting the back of her hair.
It was hot already, and she worried that her hair wouldn't maintain until Erik saw it. Ruth stepped out of the room. The yellow silk camisole Lulabelle bought for her came to her thighs and had enough lace in the front to cover the baby bulge that was threatening to peak out. The girl got knocked up and none of the home remedies the cook Eva concocted worked in knocking the unwanted pregnancy out. Ruth could probably hide the truth for another month or so, but eventually she would have to go on convalescence and Lulabelle would have to rely on the other women to please the Ruth fans until the woman returned or left for a new life in the North. Until then, Ruth was about making her money and camouflaging the bump.
"Can you tell?" she asked.
Lulabelle squinted.
"These men will be too drunk to notice. Keep the garment on and don't worry about it."
Lulabelle checked in on the other ladies and all was well. Seven rooms, seven whores, seven sources of revenue on top of the juke joint next door. She peeked in on one of the mirrors inside a room and felt satisfied. Her beige dress hugged the curves of her big wide hips and large backside. Her heels made her short body have a little height. She needed a little more powder for her round nose, and the grease pencil she used for her eyes held the dark wings she gave herself.
"Eat your heart out, Joan," she muttered to herself.
She crossed the little wooden bridge that led to the juke joint making sure her crème bow top summer pumps didn't get dirty. Her name was painted in fading blue letters above the entrance. By Christmas she hoped to get a fancy electric sign that sparkled "Lula's". Honey Boy swept the porch entry and she could smell the grease being heated on the kitchen stove inside by Eva. There'd be fried chicken, black-eyed peas, collards with ham hocks, and plenty of buttermilk cornbread to sell with the ice cold Jax beer and corn liquor.
Her eyes scanned the lowering sun over the canopy of Tupelo trees. A loud shriek startled her and made Honey Boy stop sweeping.
"What was that?" Honey Boy asked.
His pressed hair was slicked back, and his copper brown skin was moist with sweat from the oppressive heat.
Lulabelle clutched at her chest. The sound came from deep in the woods. The darkness there shrouded any mysteries that lived within it.
"Sounded like something caught," she said.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
A memory.
Being a young teen girl with...
No. Don't think of her. That was the past.
Lulabelle pushed down on the terror in her throat and hid her shaking fingers in front of her dress.
"Probably some unlucky racoon ran across Old Man Rickers trap," she said.
"Yeah, you prolly right, Lulabelle. The man been hunting out there this week."
She heard the doubt in his tremulous voice. The lie hung in the air like dark sap on a dying tree between them.
"That sounded like death is on his way," Eva said.
The older plump woman opened the screen door of the juke joint while wiping down a plate.
"Don't say that, Eva. It's just an old coon, or a slow wild pig—"
The shriek pierced the air again.
"Lord have mercy," Eva said.
The older woman cradled the cheap gold-plated crucifix around her neck.
Rifle shots sounded in the distance and Lulabelle jumped, then smiled.
"See? Just some hunters putting some fresh meat down. Let's get ready for tonight, y'all."
Not one of them moved from the porch until Archie started tinkling on the piano keys inside the juke.
###
Pussy poppin' in the whorehouse, music jumping, bodies swaying, lips sucking down moonshine and dark beer, Lula's juke shook on its foundations. Dollar bills came in hand over fist as Lulabelle strolled around the property checking in with customers and hustling Eva to fry up more chicken plates. She rounded the corner of the makeshift stage shaking her hips to the hot sounds when her eyes slid to the entrance and saw Geechie Erik swagger in. Double-breasted gray suit with shiny silver buttons and matching cufflinks. Steel-blue silk tie, and black and gray woven Oxford shoes had the Geechie man draped. Lulabelle already knew he smelled like a million bucks even though she was standing nowhere near him. Erik took off his black fedora hat. He had kicked up the waves on his close-cropped hair, and his lightly bearded cheeks gave him a pronounced sophistication compared to all the clean-shaven military men taking up most of the space in the joint.
His eyes scanned the wide room and when they fell on her, her heart sang a minuet in his honor just to see those dimples in his cheeks. He strode toward her with long confident strides and when he circled his arm around her waist, she shivered at his touch.
"Lulabelle, Lulabelle. You get prettier every time I see you."
He gave her a wet sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she swooned. His scent was expensive leather, imported cologne, and Murray's hair pomade.
"Lemme get you a drink, Daddy," she purred.
"No, let me get you a drink. Stay right here."
He sauntered over to the big counter and within minutes he brought her back a small glass of whiskey to match his own. They toasted, tossed the liquor back, and he led her to an open table in the low-lit corner as bodies pressed together dancing around them. His thick lips were on her neck before she could gaze into his eyes, and his thicker fingers were already under her dress creeping over a seamed stocking, her garter belt, and the bottom of her girdlette. He inched closer to her core.
"Goodness gracious, you already hot down here," he whispered in her ear.
His finger swiped across Lulabelle's panties bringing her clit to life.
"Oh... there it is... my jewel," he crooned before he slid the garment aside and fingered her slit.
Erik had her sopping wet by the time the band switched tunes. Two of his warm fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, making her pant and writhe on her seat next to him.
"You gon' sweat my hair out already!" she yelped reaching for the back of her neck.
Erik flipped his digits over palm-side up and finger fucked her until a puddle of creamy juices flowed out onto her chair. Once her legs shook and she squirmed uncontrollably, he bolted up from his seat and grabbed her hand. His dick jutted out from his pants and he dragged through the side door that led to the wooden bridge and the loving house.
"Get the fuck out," he told a patron having his dick sucked in the first room they came to.
Tweety Pie was on her knees, her bright red lips puckered around a small light brown penis. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Erik and the rigid length straining against his zipper.
Erik whipped out his switchblade and flicked it open.
"Out!" he barked.
Tweety Pie scrambled from her knees and pulled her customer by his hand with his trousers dragging around his ankles to another room. Erik slammed the door shut on the gawking eyes of the other whores and pushed Lulabelle against a mahogany cabinet that held lingerie.
"Turn around."
The snarl in his voice made her spin and toot her big ass out toward him. He dragged the cool blade up against the bottom of her stockings until it dipped just under the hem of her dress. He yanked her dress up around her chest and the sharp blade skimmed across her black satin-covered ass cheek. With just a little more pressure he could break the skin on her fat rump through the material and make her bleed. Erik jerked the blade and sliced her panties off. She gasped and clutched at the smooth wood of the cabinet for balance. She heard his zipper peel down slowly and felt his hands fumble for a rubber.
"You miss Daddy?"
"Yes!"
He parted her folds before she could catch her breath. The fullness stretching her out made her shout his name and grit her teeth. Pumping into her slowly at first, he teased the hell out of her by pushing in deep, then pulling all the way out so that her pussy lips throbbed needing his dick back inside of her.
"I missed this pussy... so much... taking me so deep!"
His switchblade rested on the middle of her naked spine and tickled her skin purposely.
"Take this dress off!"
He helped her wiggle her arms out of it before unfastening her bra with his hands. Cradling her heavy breasts, he made her cheeks clap as his weapon clattered to the floor. His full concentration was on pleasing her body. Rough wide palms spread her ass cheeks wide as he grunted and pushed down on his thighs to hunch over her.
"Lula, shit... Lula..."
Erik gripped her hips and slammed into her before pulling out and lifting her up. He tossed Lula on the soft lumpy bed, undressed, and plunged back into her. The gold in his mouth glinted above her as he thrust harder and faster knocking the breath out of her body.
Her garter belts bunched up then stretched with her girdlette when he pushed her thighs back.
"Big legged girl... mmmm," he groaned.
He shoved his head down to her folds and sucked on her lower lips before spitting on them and sinking his girth back inside her walls.
"Daddy hittin' that bottom yet?"
"You in there... real deep, Daddy."
"Lemme get deeper..."
Her ankles met her earlobes and the heavy pressure from his dick made her cock-eyed a spilling gibberish from her mouth.
"Oh, Jesus!" she yelped when his fists rested on her sides and he bucked into her, slapping his balls against her ass.
Before he could press his mouth into her swollen pussy again to glisten his face, she clenched up around his dick and squeezed it with rhythmic pulses she had no control over.
"That's a good girl... let that pussy talk to Daddy's dick, Lula."
His eyes watched her contractions yank on his length, and when he finished talking her through her release with high praises and slow wet kisses, he pulled off the rubber and stroked himself against her clit. The silky curls of her pubic hairs were wet with her creamy orgasm and became even wetter when Erik splashed hot cum all over her vulva. His shouts of pleasure filled her with quiet confidence.
"That's it Daddy, cum all over your fat pussy."
He hissed when she said that, and his heated glare encouraged more of his release. A thick rope of semen painted her stomach, and he collapsed on top of her with hard ragged gasps.
"God, I wish I could be in this pussy every day, Lula."
"You could," she said stroking the waves on his hair.
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling with her.
"Not with the work I do. I try my best to get here when I can. But shit, baby. If I didn't get this pussy for free, I would pay a fortune for it."
She rolled on her side to look at him, happy that he thought of her like that. His eyes were still on the ceiling, but there was a frown on his face.
"She's in the room, y'know. Up there hiding in the corner."
"Don't say that, Erik. You know it scares me."
"If you did what I told you to do, she'd go away."
"As long as she don't start no foolishness around here, I can live with a ghost."
"Can you? Then how come you're scared?"
"She was my friend. I know she blames me for getting away and not her."
"A good coating of haint blue all around the doors would keep her out..."
"I can't. I can't do that to her. If she's just lingering as a ghost, it makes me feel like she can live a little."
"If you say so."
"Let's not talk about her."
His eyes were still focused on the ceiling, looking at Elizabeth, her childhood friend from so long ago. She couldn't see the dead teenager at all.
"She mad?" Lulabelle asked.
"She loves you. It's why she stays around... floating from room to room... following you."
Lulabelle pulled his chin toward her.
"Don't look. Please."
Erik slipped his tongue in her mouth. A knock at the door interrupted them.
"Lulabelle, sorry to disturb you and your Mister, but I need this room," Tweety Pie squeaked out.
"Give me a minute."
Lulabelle peeled the rubber from Erik's dick and tossed it inside some tissue and chucked it out of the window into a well-placed bucket outside.
"You ruined my panties," she scolded as she jumped up to rinse her privates and stomach in lavender water at a large basin sitting on a maple console table.
She dried her folds and fixed her bra back around her breasts.
"Don't need 'em, I'll be back inside of you soon enough," he said.
Pulling her dress back on, Lulabelle tried to fix her hair and make-up in a mirror.
"You look fine," he said zipping his pants.
Erik picked up his switchblade and opened the door.
Tweety Pie had a new man with her, a handsome young soldier with lust in his eyes.
"Pardon us," Erik said as he guided Lulabelle back to the juke joint.
###
Lulabelle sat on Erik's lap as he joked with some patrons and slammed back shots of moonshine. She fed him cornbread and pieces of chicken bites with her fingers, and occasionally she would bounce on his hardness that rested against her backside. He tortured her clit with occasional strokes under her dress, but he wouldn't let her cum. That would happen later when he was ready to plunder her pussy once more. Tradition held that he would fuck her at least four more times before he disappeared until the next new moon in the future. She sat on that hard meat all hot and bothered knowing he was going to be cruel by plucking at her bud and sticking his tongue in her ear all night. She watched him dance with a few women and flirt while she checked on her women out back and collected her money, stuffing it in her bra.
Erik was a little too handsy with a couple of fancy ladies and she had to check him. He'd become contentious then, argued with her until she argued him down threatening to cut his balls off if he cheated on her. If she pushed him, just a little too hard, his neck would move in a hostile way that put her in her place and made her drip down her thighs. He liked her mouthy and jealous, but not too jealous if he caught her rubbing her ass against some other patron to provoke him. He'd spank her hard and tell her about herself until she stopped being bratty and soothed his ego. That was his way every time he came to the juke. Arrogant. Loud. Threatening other men who got too close to her, then all seductive when he needed her loving once more.
When no one was looking, Erik unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and slid her on top of it raw at their private table. Her dress covered the action, and he lifted her up and down.
"You bet not cum," he ordered with harsh breath.
"I won't, I promise," she insisted with clenched teeth.
She was snug on his dick, and the friction was too much to bear. She clutched onto his knees and leaned forward, dropping her weight on his thighs. The rhythm was perfect until a slender man as tall as a Tupelo crept over to their table and sat down. He didn't seem concerned that he was witnessing a woman getting fucked within an inch of her life in the midst of her own rowdy and lascivious establishment.
The man's face was long, and he had long teeth... and long fingers... and long legs... and a long tongue that lolled around in his mouth. He had skin the color of a soft sunset and one big eye in the center of his face. The music and dancing slowed all around her, and all she could see and hear was the long man with his long deep breaths.
"Lulabelle... Lulabelle..." the slender man said, and the voice that spoke her namesake was not pleasant and inviting like Erik's. It was sinister. Conniving. Filthy to her ears.
Erik thrust up into her walls, and she gasped. The slender man smiled with his long teeth, and his one big black eye blinked and Lulabelle fell forward and down into a vortex of hideous darkness until she landed on soft grass in front of the crossroads that led into the dark woods near her juke joint.
"Lulabelle, hurry up! If we don't go now, we'll chicken out!"
Elizabeth ran ahead of her. Dear sweet Elizabeth, eighteen and glowing with a gorgeous figure and good hair, and the good sense to know that Itta Bena was to be left behind. They were going to New York to become showgirls in Harlem, leaving all that country backwoods shit living behind. No sharecropping or cleaning after white folks for them. They were young. Beautiful. Full of life and ready to see the world. That meant crossing through the woods at the old dusty crossroad just as the sun was setting. The last train outta town was due in an hour. Going through the woods was the fastest route to a new life.
But then the slender man came. The Plat Eye. The Haint that haunted the trees and lingered in the darkness deep inside the woods.
Lulabelle, full of eighteen-year-old spunk, dropped her heavy suitcase and pulled Elizabeth back with a hard tug on her arm.
"Dontcha see him, girl?" Lulabelle shouted.
"Oh, he's just another traveler headed outta here too, pick up your suitcase-"
"It's the Plat Eye. You don't see its face. The one eye? The long teeth?"
"You so silly girl! Look at him... just a man tryna run like us."
"No!"
Elizabeth dropped her suitcase and stood with arms all akimbo.
"If you don't wanna go, then say that, Lulabelle."
"You don't see that monster right there?!" she shrieked, and it startled Elizabeth.
The Plat Eye smirked.
"Fine, stay here then you big baby. Hey, Mister, wait up!"
"Elizabeth!"
An arm grabbed Lulabelle's elbow stopping her from running after her friend.
"Don't move, gal."
The voice didn't have Mississippi in it. It was low country and slower than cold molasses. South Carolina lived in it.
"She done made her choice and if you move one inch, I can't protect you."
Lulabelle didn't turn to look at the stranger. His words were wise, and she did as she was told.
"Elizabeth! Come back!"
"It's too late, Lulabelle."
"How you know my name?"
"I've seen you 'round here before with your friend."
She tried to turn around, but firm hands held her shoulders in place.
"Don't hurt me, Mister."
"Nah, I wouldn't do nothin' like that."
The Plat Eye grew taller almost reaching the height of the nearest tree.
"She can't see what it is?"
"She see what she wanna see."
The thing that was as tall as a Tupelo bent down and opened its tall mouth and Elizabeth stepped into the dark maw...
Lulabelle gasped and her thighs sensed the strong muscles of Erik's legs holding her up once more. He fucked her still, hitting her walls harder. His hands gripped her breasts as he grunted and rolled her nipples with agile fingers. The slender man of her past smiled, his greasy lips splitting wide as he was long. That single eye a tainted monstrosity to behold on its face.
The juke joint partied on, and men filed out through the side door to pay their money for an extra good time with her girls. The Plat Eye reached out for Lulabelle's arm and Erik slammed his switchblade down on the table.
"Nah, haint. This one here belongs to me."
The Plat Eye blinked that Cyclops eye in shock and its mouth fell open.
"Should've known you'd be around here," The Plat Eye grumbled sitting back in his chair.
A clammy wetness dampened Lulabelle's neck. Memory boomeranged back into her chest. The low country voice. The strong hands that held her waist so that he could rut into her pussy.
Lulabelle turned her head and the glint from Erik's gold teeth became a glowing source of ethereal light. The full lips and bright white teeth still looked human but the reverb of hidden power sat under the guttural rasp of his voice.
The man from the Crossroads.
The one who stopped her from entering the throat of the Plat Eye and turning into a floating haint that lived in the ceiling like Elizabeth.
The Geechee Man.
"Ya don't play fair," The Plat Eye grumbled again.
"And?" Erik said.
Erik's firm hands skated up her sides and rested on her shoulders. Lulabelle's pussy squelched on his dick all rude and loud. Plat Eye licked his fleshy lips.
"This here the one I wanted. Not that other one—"
Lulabelle snatched up Erik's switchblade and jumped up from his lap. Her pussy throbbed from being removed from his erection. She held the open switchblade against his throat. Why couldn't anyone else in her juke joint see or hear what was happening?
She knew the stories. All kinds of frightening things could be met at a crossroads. And if the Crossroads Man himself showed up—
"Put that down, Lula. It's not a toy to be played with," Erik said zipping up his pants.
The Plat Eye leaned forward and shot his arm out to grab her, but Erik was quicker. He snatched the switchblade back faster from her grip than she could blink, and he slashed the creature's arm. Black festering ooze seeped from the wound and sizzled as it splashed on the table burning holes through the wood.
"Give her to me," the Plat Eye demanded.
Erik stood up and straightened his tie.
"Nigga you ain't getting shit but an ass kicking if you keep playing with me. I told you already. This one is mine. Get on about yourself before I send you on your way to a very bad place."
"There are rules!"
The Plat Eye leapt to his feet and towered over Erik. Not by much though.
"I make the rules," Erik said.
An arrogant chuckle tumbled out of the Plat Eye's mouth. He gripped the lapels of his suit and blinked that one beastly eye. His open wound continued to drip ruining her good table.
"My man," The Plat Eye said and held up his long fingers to placate Erik.
The creature slid out from the juke joint with no one the wiser. Erik turned to face her and Lulabelle jumped away from him.
"Stay back!"
"Lula... c'mon, baby. I've been coming to you ever since you opened this place. Have I ever harmed you once?"
"No."
"I just give you good lovin' when I can."
"That's why you can't be with me all the time?"
He nodded.
"I guard the way, and I open it up. Everywhere."
Lulabelle ran to the bar and made Eva pour her the biggest glass of moonshine possible. She gulped it down. Erik sauntered over to her.
"Don't be scared of me, Lula."
"What are you... really?"
"Your man."
"You ain't no man."
"I'm no demon if that's what you're worried about."
"God forbid if I'd been fucking the devil."
"I'm no devil, girl. Far from it."
He stroked her face.
"Let's go to the back. I need you... right now."
His voice made her insides tingle. This was their time. But how could she go back and make love to... to a what? Spirit? Guardian angel? Supernatural being?
He never did hurt her. And never once did she suspect that he wasn't anything other than a switchblade carrying Geechie that made her backbone slip.
"Are there others?" she asked, "Others like you around here?"
"Always. But you don't have to worry about nothin'. You got me. No one fucks with me.'
"How come you didn't save Elizabeth?"
"She didn't want to be saved."
"But I loved her. She was my best friend. Why would she leave me?"
"She's still here. She'll never leave until you chase her on."
"Is she happy?"
"Like I told you, she loves you. If you're happy, she's happy."
"God won't punish me for being with you, will he?"
"She won't. I promise."
"What about me selling pussy and a little dick?"
"Not even on her mind."
Lulabelle smiled.
Erik slinked over to her and rubbed his big body against hers and nudged his bearded face against her soft cheek.
"How many women have you seduced over the years?"
"You my favorite."
"That didn't answer my question.," she said putting a hand on her hip.
"You wanna argue or get some more dick, gal?"
Lulabelle checked the room. Her patrons were happy and not having a care in the world. Eva cooked more food, Honey Boy kept the girls refreshed in their loving rooms, and the Harvest moon spilled in through the window behind the juke band.
Moonlight bathed Erik's face and he slid his hand under her dress again.
"Daddy needs to take care of you... oh see now, my sweet jewel is all plump again."
He removed his hand and licked his fingers sticky with her essence. She rubbed on his crotch and he gifted her with a hard bulge. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.
"Elizabeth wants you to get all this," he said grinding against her.
"Can you tell her that I miss her? That I love her?"
"She already knows."
Erik lifted her up and carried her across the rickety bridge and back to the soft lumpy bed.
That's their story, and I ain't tellin' it twice. Lula and her Geechee Man played nice for a long, long time. I keep watch and makes sure that stays true. Until we meet again on the next new moon...
END
A.N:
This was a birthday story I wrote for Soufcakmistress over on Tumblr.