by Lilly Garfield

I found him sitting on a crate, cigarette in one hand, book in the other. He looked up and smirked.

No words were exchanged as I felt a hand on the back of my head, fingers lacing between strands of hair. He forced me down a flight of stairs. The basement smelled dank and moldy and my sweater felt a little damp as my back hit the wall.

His mouth tasted of coffee and nicotine and I smelled faint cologne as my tongue explored. My teeth found his ear and he let out a faint gasp as they sunk.

A boot planted firmly between my feet forced my legs apart and his hand reached under my skirt as his teeth nibbled at my erect nipple. In one move my underwear ripped and fell alongside jeans on the concrete floor. His fingers explored, finding a home deep inside. I whimpered from the ecstasy of the sharpness of pain and the fullness of his hand as he knelt before me putting my leg over his shoulder and burying his tongue.

My back arched as pleasure took hold and just as I began to reach the top, he forced his fingers into my mouth, leapt quickly to his feet, and pushed himself inside me with a force that knocked my head against the block wall. His furious thrusts lifted me off my feet again and again until his hand was on my neck and he forced my face down on a steel table sitting beside us.

My breasts complained as they were crushed by the weight of him on my back once again forcing my legs to each side of his and entering me violently from behind. I struggled against his movements and he held me tighter owning more and more of my body until he collapsed in a heap on my back.

I caught my breath as his panting subsided and the smell of our activity filled the air. We lay silent for what seemed like a decade until he left my body and said, “so, how was your flight?”

 Inviting Lady
By: Jamie Walker



Short skirts and tank tops
Red lips and painted toes
The allure of a dark lined eye
Styled hair and perfume
You just can’t ignore.

Black heels and French manicures
Earrings and necklaces
Belly button piercings that are asking for it
They're all begging for your attention.

 A low cut blouse and lacy lingerie
Freshly shaven legs and waxed brows
Rouged cheeks that say come get me
Your hands must touch her.

Pearls and hairpins
Rose tattoos and a nose ring
A touch of shimmer on the collarbone
They're all Whores anyways.

 But you forget

She’s a daughter
A mother
A sister
A niece
A lover
A wife
Who didn’t ask you to touch her.

You are absolved by society
By the sword with two edges
She is irresponsible and loose
So you touch her
You violate her
Use her

She will never be the same
Carefree? She doesn't know the word.
The hole inside her is black
Growing each day.

Her children will keep her awake at night
For fear they meet the monster she did.

The touch of the man she loves
Will always have a shadow of you.
Each kiss tainted, each caress is a chill.
She will never be free of the hell
You put her in.

But you sleep soundly.
It’s not your fault they'll say.
Boys will be boy
And she was an inviting lady.

**Jamie Walker is a 26 year old Moline native.
She works as a Professional Account Manager and is the Mother to
a rambunctious, adorable, 3 year old boy.


Ebb and Flow
By: Jamie Walker

As the moon controls the tide,
Also my flow
That I must hide,
In aisles named hygiene.
In boxes labeled scented.

Shame covered by fresh scents.
Pads with wings
and brightly colored wrappers.
Bins in corners,
In purses behind zippers.
Code words to protect our fragile state.
Shared by my sisters
A reminder of the power
Of my effeminate uterus.

The moon
Womanhood.

My vagina is holy,
Beautiful and soft
Astounding those who may enter.
Fashioning life from its folds.
Origination of desire.
The system is fucked
and afraid.
Repressive and uneducated.
No pride in blood.
Hushed cunts.


**Jamie Walker is a 26 year old Moline native.
She works as a Professional Account Manager and is the Mother to
a rambunctious, adorable, 3 year old boy.