My first memory of fire involved watching a middle-aged black man walking down the street. The black man paused midstride and pulled out a small squar... of silver from his coat pocket.The black man had these gargantuan hands, and with the plump ball of his thumb, he flicked open the silver square, and KERRRRCH, the most magnificent tiny bulb of orange appeared and arose; this spectacular little triangle of light that he controlled so masterfully. He then lifted the flickering flame up to a. I gasped, tried to move my hips, turn away, but theypried my legs open. Panicking. Escape! Help! tears and more tears. Howcould this be happening to me?Then he entered me. I felt his warm flesh against mineand his fingers fumbling down between us. I gasped,tears rolling down my cheeks, feeling his breath uponmy neck, smelling the awful gut-wrenching smell ofbeer, being crushed by his chest. Then the thrust thatI’d only imagined before in my girlish fantasies, onlynow it hurt and made me. More

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