Living Dead in Dallas

eyes away and smiled at JB, and all the time what I wanted was to meet with Bill under the stands and have sex with him right then and there. I wanted him to pull down my pants and get behind me. I wanted him to make me moan.
    I was so shocked at myself I didn’t know what to do. I could feel my face turning a dull red. I could not even pretend to smile.
    After a minute, I could appreciate that this was almost funny. I had been brought up as conventionally as possible, given my unusual disability. Naturally, I’d learned the facts of life pretty early since I could read minds (and, as a child, had no control over what I absorbed). And I’d always thought the idea of sex was pretty interesting, though the same disability that had led to me learning so much about it theoretically had kept me fromputting that theory into practice. After all, it’s hard to get really involved in sex when you know your partner is wishing you were Tara Thornton instead (for example), or when he’s hoping you remembered to bring a condom, or when he’s criticizing your body parts. For successful sex, you have to keep your concentration fixed on what your partner’s doing, so you can’t get distracted by what he’s thinking .
    With Bill, I couldn’t hear a single thing. And he was so experienced, so smooth, so absolutely dedicated to getting it right. It appeared I was as much a junkie as Hugo.
    I sat through the rest of the game, smiling and nodding when it seemed indicated, trying not to look down and to my left, and finding after the halftime show was over that I hadn’t heard a single song the band had played. Nor had I noticed Tara’s cousin’s twirling solo. As the crowd moved slowly to the parking lot after the Bon Temps Hawks had won, 28–18, I agreed to drive JB home. Eggs had sobered some by then, so I was pretty sure he and Tara would be okay; but I was relieved to see Tara take the wheel.
    JB lived close to downtown in half a duplex. He asked me very sweetly to come in, but I told him I had to get home. I gave him a big hug, and I advised him to call Dr. Sonntag. I still didn’t know her first name.
    He said he would, but then, with JB, you couldn’t really tell.
    Then I had to stop and get gas at the only late-night gas station, where I had a long conversation with Arlene’s cousin Derrick (who was brave enough to take the night shift), so I was a little later getting home than I had planned.
    As I unlocked the front door, Bill came out of the darkness. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and turned me to him, and then he kissed me. In a minutewe were pressed against the door with his body moving rhythmically against mine. I reached one hand behind myself to fumble with the lock, and the key finally turned. We stumbled into the house, and he turned me to face the couch. I gripped it with my hands and, just as I’d imagined, he pulled down my pants, and then he was in me.
    I made a hoarse noise I’d never heard come from my throat before. Bill was making noises equally as primitive. I didn’t think I could form a word. His hands were under my sweater, and my bra was in two pieces. He was relentless. I almost collapsed after the first time I came. “No,” he growled when I was flagging, and he kept pounding. Then he increased the pace until I was almost sobbing, and then my sweater tore, and his teeth found my shoulder. He made a deep, awful sound, and then, after long seconds, it was over.
    I was panting as if I’d run a mile, and he was shivering, too. Without bothering to refasten his clothing, he turned me around to face him, and he bent his head to my shoulder again to lick the little wound. When it had stopped bleeding and begun healing, he took off everything I had on, very slowly. He cleaned me below; he kissed me above.
    “You smell like him” was the only thing he said. He proceeded to erase that smell and replace it with his own.
    Then we were in the bedroom, and I had a moment to be glad I’d changed the sheets that morning before he bent his mouth to mine again.
    If I’d had doubts up until then, I had them no longer. He was not sleeping with Portia Bellefleur. I didn’t know what he was up to, but he did not have a true relationship with her. He slid his arms underneath me and held me to him as tightly as possible; he nuzzled my neck, kneaded my hips, ran his fingers down my thighs, and kissed the backs of my knees. He bathed in me. “Spreadyour legs for me, Sookie,” he whispered, in his