Those artful, skilled hands had to be good at other things too. I pictured them touching me as I laid on the couch. His hands would have small bits of...paint on them, maybe even rubbing on to my skin as he touched over me. His fingers exploring in ways that his eyes couldn’t. His hands cupping my small breasts, squeezing them, feeling the rough texture of my hardened nipples. My mind continued thinking about him, blocking the room out entirely. He could feel the softness of my skin and the depth. "Why did you do that?" I don't like people named John." Bennie let him get back on his feet and decked him again.He went down again and stayed down for a while trying to get his senses together. Finally, he stood again and Bennie immediately decked him a third time. This time, he was knocked out. It took a while and a bucket of water for him to come to his senses. He said, "Why do you keep hitting me?"Bennie said, "Does it matter? I just don't like people named John." The guy was on his hands. More

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