Scott C. Holstad

Tiny Fearsome Hurricane Force

Surprised I knew her language was Tagalog, she asked me out, so we met at Barley’s in Knoxville’s Old City for pizza and beer. She was so tiny she got drunk on one IPA and we had to go to Java City over on Jackson Avenue for coffee to let her sober up for the drive home.

We only kissed that first night, but that led to many more nights. She was a 23-year-old in-demand stripper, a single mother, and she wanted badly to be married. It took two weeks before she let me come to her place in the projects behind barbed wire fences and patrolling cops, but after that first time, she wouldn’t let me leave. She clung to me and passion ran deep. She was a goddamn tiger in bed, a lover and fighter. When she fought, storm clouds gathered and she was wicked fierce. But Holy Christ, these were the most violently explosive orgasms in history and that girl was the horniest person I’d ever met. She needed it at least five times a day and was always wet no matter what or where. It seemed like Heaven, at least for awhile.

(Yeah, I knew I was in it for all the wrong reasons… I’m not proud of it.)

After eight months of passionate tussling, of my continued refusals of marriage, of my telling her I wanted only an uncommitted relationship “for the time being,” having just been burned in a very long-term, decade-plus relationship, she apparently ran out of patience and told me out of the blue that she was moving to Michigan with an old boyfriend to get away from me and the city. An old boyfriend who was her son’s father. 

She called me at my new job and asked me for cash. I barely had any money – I’d been broke as shit for a year. I’d moved across the country at a bad time and hadn’t found work doing crap. Hell, I’d been staying at her place in the ghetto, braving both the cops and the bangers, sharing her mattress on the dirty bedroom floor. However, I’d recently gotten a crappy gig bouncing at a biker bar for $6 an hour, working very late nights and getting a few bruises for my effort. I wasn’t a huge guy, but I’d always broken other people’s bones faster and easier than they broke mine. 

Still, broke is broke. I told her I didn’t have any cash, but she said she knew I must have some money. She said “Just give me some – I’m moving. I need some cash, baby.” With flickering lashes and the whole show, which worked on me every damn time. Kicking myself for being such a sucker, I told her to meet me in the big Walton’s parking lot, now next to a freshly razed old supermarket.

She drove up in her purple Kia upon seeing me standing by my ancient black once-sporty Nissan. She got out and I asked where Cam was. 

“With Steve,” she said.

“Already? You didn’t waste much time. You just told me about this last weekend!”

“Well, he’s got a new job lined up in Michigan. Plus he has a huge cock and is pretty awesome in bed.”

“Shit baby, when did he get into town?”

She admitted it was about three weeks ago.

I said, “So you’ve been messing…” and didn’t need to finish the rest as she casually nodded yes.

How long had she been cheating on me? Was dick size the culprit or was it commitment issues? Shit, how huge was it? Like Ron Jeremy-sized? She was barely five feet tall, less than 100 lbs. I thought we were a good fit, so to speak. I realized I really didn’t want to know the rest.

Whatever. I sighed and handed over my last $300 in cash, leaving myself with literally a dollar and three quarters. I emphasized it was only a loan. She snatched the bills from my hand, got back into her Kia, looked back at me, said “Thanks” and drove off.

I never got my money back, in fact never saw or heard from her again. But then I wasn’t surprised. She wanted to get married; by God I hope she did.