Tabitha met up with some friends at the edge of the night at a bar off 75. There was gin in the air like confetti from New Year's, only the smell and the light was from fluorescent displays hanging over the pool tables. The clack of cue on ball drilled a staccato rhythm to the drinks she and her friends ordered, slapping their hands on the bar in succession like a marching band, losing light as they grew drunker until the dark outside cloistered the room in a hateful haze of sexuality. The neon man next to Tabitha told her the ladies room was closed until she noticed the light reflecting off his glasses and eyes beneath them. "You don't own this place," she told him, rolling her head to the side onto her hand.

"No, I don't." The neon man frowned and went out as he opened his legs and gripped the hem of his pants leg.

"Aw, fuck." She lolled down into the morose atramentous vapor hovering fourteen inches above the bar.

"Without, withal, what word means that? What fucking word means the thing you do where you take money out of the ATM?"

"Monica-ah," Tabitha crowed to her friends deep purple suede elbow patch.

"Bitch, get your own." The velvet excrescence of Monica's jacket moved four inches and Tabitha's head fell further.

"His. Light. Went. Out." Tabitha whined, jerking off something that grew out of the bar, her fist not touching it. Beneath her, paisleys swam between dandelions on the handbag at her feet. "Whoa!" she cried, a madcap in flight. "I think you're behind my toiletry kit at a yard sale! Bad, ugly, thing." Her foot pistoned up and down upon the poor things submissive crunches of protest.

The slightest whisk of air as her braided hair was encircled by puppeteer’s fingers then she flew backward with formless gymnastic understatement to the floor. "No, you fucking did not." A voice called.

"Uh, God." Tabitha's pumping adrenal glands sought titration with her liquored blood and found, "Cunt." Tabby's legs scissored as though manipulated by a manic-psychotic mother of four year old twins wrapping Christmas presents as her need to do something cool grappled with the poor light and lying flat on her ass, drunk.

Faces came into view, among them Betty, a haberdasher or the equivalent at Target's clothing section. "You're not going to do that again." Tabby spat and watched smiled as the mucus found Betty's cocksure, composed self-righteousness. Betty cleared her throat and spat back, the ropy yellow phlegm finding an inexorable course to Tabby's upturned mouth.

"Oh, fuck." Tabby rolled over and vomited on the barroom floor in great heaves. "Hold my hair, hold my hair," she wailed, spewing the putrescent remains of hot wings and cosmopolitans onto the vinyl as a man laughed.

In the midst of her paroxysms, Tabitha saw a foot with a checkered black and white van and flailed out to it. "Cunt," she moaned, spewing snot and liquor from her nose onto the shoe and ankle rising from it.

"Oh my fucking Christ," the laughing man's voice called.

Unsure what had happened, Tabby found herself on her back, nose bleeding. Betty's face was before her. "Would you like some help?"

Tabitha nodded dimly.

"What's the magic word?"

"Now?"

Betty shook her head. "Her father was prison-raped by a black man last week," Monica called from the bar. "Show some kindness."

Betty's stare hadn't left Tabitha bloody face and contorted smile, reflecting something back that like a jigsaw puzzle piece plugged into a nurturing instinct.

"Get up sweetie."

"I just need to be held," Tabitha whined.

In the bathroom, Betty's longneck on the sink, Tabby submitted to the administrations of the woman who had stripped her of her civility, her dignity, and now her clothing.

"Would you like to talk about it? It might help. How do you feel about it?" She blotted the congealing shit crust from Tabby's face. "How do you think he felt about it?"

Tabby's scream sent Betty recoiling three steps. She grabbed the long neck as Betty watched in fear but she didn't strike. Instead, she shoved Betty up against the sink and unbuckled her skirt. Betty didn't protest as her "I've been saving these for a night I know I'm getting laid" panties were ripped off and the longneck was pressed into her.

"He probably felt like this about it."

Betty's face contorted as Tabby mocked her.

"Does your cunt feel good now? Are you getting your cunt on? Does your pussy sound as sweet as your mouth? I wish I could feel it milk your bottle when you cum. Bitch. Let me see you cum, slut. Cum for your Mommy, cum hard and I'll forgive you for being such a bad girl. Are you hot? Are you hot? Are you gonna pop? God, that's a good girl. Moan for me. Make me proud of what a whore you are. Is that all your mouth's good for?"

Tabby stripped of the remainder of her clothes and Betty turned to her, falling to her knees to taste Tabby's pussy. Tabby was pulled to the floor as Betty suckled at her cunt, drawing forth the sweetest oils she had ever tasted.

"My pa always said," Betty told her. "A man can forget an ass-whooping, but he don't forget getting pissed on." She straddled Tabby, rubbing her wet pussy up and down her stomach till she flooded the floor with urine.

Tabby's hand played violently at her pussy and she came as piss flooded around her, into her hair, into her clothes next to her, soaking her skin, sending her into a flood of pleasure.

"You're right. Now get off me, bitch."