Mama was in the kitchen making breakfast the morning after my first sleepover. Smells of citrus and cinnamon permeated from blueberry muffins in the oven. Apple wood bacon sizzled in cast iron amalgamating with maple syrup and brown sugar. She was juicing satsumas, brewing Plantation Mint tea. Aromas of chicory coffee milk and vanilla saturated the air, when she finally caught us on the pull out sofa in the back. We didn't stop until I heard a gasp. From then on, my hunger would be driven by shame, and thirsty lust to ride Tracey.

She would sate me better than food ever could. Her hands and thighs between my legs transubstantiated pain like psilocybin. She would melt me like salty butter with her deep brown eyes and smile. Her value was in infatuation with me. My value was in green eyes, pouting lips, depressive apathy, scarred wrists, off-putting to most everyone else, sexy to her. Thoughts of her warmed the lonely nights, dissolving silent treatments from Mama and Grandma. Her scent on my hands and face, would mute the rumors circulating classrooms. Restless at my desk before morning rosary, starving, suffering all day, just the saturated slip beneath my skirt, desperate to offer her my pussy.

Cravings were cyclic. Lust opened me to more desire, more deviance, more execration. Bathrooms, back seats, bedrooms, stores after school. Hidden behind stalls, veils of night, closed doors, racks of Halloween costumes, sex toy isles, shelves lined with dusty boxes of patchouli and sandalwood. Climax after climax, a prelude to flings of petty theft with her cousin. No panties on the day we finally got arrested.

90 mph, I-10 eastbound, in the back of a friend's car, she introduced me to multiple orgasms. Taking my place straddling her thigh, she commanded sound and breath from my body like a bow and violin. Rubbing my pussy in slow infinities, making me slip, hot and gushing. Stroking me in rhythm with the rapid thuds of tires whipping over segmented highway. My clit, throbbing uncontrollably on her fingers, so deep inside me. Cumming so hard the entire exit ramp stretch. Swollen. Pulsing with intensity, again. And again. And again. Wholly satiated by the rush. Unlocking thoughts of our first time, filled with the sweet cinnamon, citrus, and blueberries, offering me escape into a deep hypnotic mandala.