The Cotton Queen by Pamela Morsi

began opening the cabinets. “What have you got to drink in this place?” he asked.
    “I...uh...milk,” I answered. “And orange juice, I think.”
    I moved to the fridge to check.
    “I never took you for a teetotaler,” he said.
    “I’m not. I mean, I don’t really drink, but it’s just because I was a teenager and now I’m a mother. Tom would sometimes have a beer on a hot summer day. But I don’t have anything here, now.”
    Burl nodded, yet he was clearly annoyed.
    “Would you like some orange juice?”
    “No.”
    His reply was sharp.
    “Sorry,” he said almost immediately. “I just wanted us to have a little drink together, try to get to know each other a little better.”
    “That would be nice,” I said. “Maybe after the baby is born we can have a little welcome home party or something. It would give Mary Jane a nice break and it would be fun for Laney, too.”
    He chuckled. The sound was somehow unpleasant.
    “The party I have in mind wouldn’t need my wife or your daughter.” He moved to stand right in front of me. “I’m thinking of a little private party for two.”
    I stepped back.
    “Burl, I don’t know what you’re thinking but...”
    “I’m thinking about you,” he said, his voice velvet soft. “I’m lying in that room over there, and there’s just a wall between your bed and mine. It’s just a wall and I’m thinking I can almost hear you breathing.”
    He was so close I could feel his words against my skin. I stepped away again, this time finding my back flat against the refrigerator. I knew what was going on now, I thought. He was making a pass. I could slap his face, but that would ruin any friendship we might have forever. So I pretended not to understand.
    “These walls are thin, but I doubt you can hear me breathing.”
    I tried to edge away from him. He grasped me around the waist.
    “I need you, baby,” he growled out. “I’m aching, aching for you. And I know you’re over here, all empty and needing a man.”
    “Let me go, Burl.”
    “You don’t want me to,” he said. “You’ve been telling me every way except plain English. Shaking your butt at me night and day. I’m here now, baby, and I’m going to give it to you real good.”
    “Let me go!” I insisted. “I’m telling you in plain English now, let me go.”
    “You want to fight a little bit? Okay, that’s fun. I like a woman who’s a little sassy.”
    I was annoyed. Burl was disgusting and obtuse. It was clear to me that our friendship was irrevocably spoiled. That disappointed and aggravated me. Unfortunately my sheltered, safe life made me unprepared for anything worse.
    “Stop it!”
    He grabbed my breast as he pressed me against the refrigerator. I slapped at his hands. He just laughed and ground his pelvis against mine.
    “You love it, baby,” he said.
    He tried to kiss me. I turned my head away.
    I was struggling now. I was desperately trying to push him away. He grabbed my hands and held them both in one as he got the other inside my robe, pawing me. I was surprised at how strong he was, how easily he could control me. I began fighting back in earnest. Unable to move my arms, I clawed at him. I aimed a kick at his groin. He brought up his own knee to block my attack. Left with nothing else, his face was close to my own, I sunk my teeth into his cheek.
    That made him mad. He cursed vividly and then hauled back and slapped me so hard I saw stars.
    “Stupid bitch! This could have been fun for you, but I’m having you either way.”
    He picked me up as if I were nothing more than a rag doll and slammed me facedown on the kitchen table. I was momentarily stunned as he pushed my nightgown up around my neck. But when he began jerking down my underpants, I grabbed for them. He held my wrists together at the small of my back. I kicked, I struggled, I fought. He parted my legs with his own. He controlled me easily and he laughed at my powerlessness.
    “I’ll scream,” I threatened.