| It’s too late for me to get into one of the homeless shelters for the night. I figure I’ll just stay up until noon when I can go to the park and snooze in the freshly cut grass while pretending to read a magazine. The sound of the water cascading into the pools of the fountain in the center of the park always lull me right to sleep. It helps drown out the sounds of the hustle and bustle going on around me. I stop at an all night convenience store and buy two bottles of water, a pack of cheese and crackers and a copy of Rolling Stone. One of the things I miss most about my old life is music. I sit on the curb outside of the store and flip through the pages of the magazine. My hand absent mindedly strokes the hand imprint on my cheek. Remembering how it occurred makes both cheeks flush, and dampens my panties just a bit. I’m not sure when I officially became a masochist. My therapist use to tell me it was due to low self-esteem, but that’s never been true for me. I’ve always been...
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