I am in the men's room, sitting on the toilet, dressed in a full length slip. Spaghetti straps barely keep it on my shoulders. The slip droops, making my chest very obviously flat. There is no lace on it at all, it's more like a shroud. The garment covers me to my bare feet. I have been seated on the toilet deliberately; I have not hiked the slip past my waist so that I can go to the bathroom.

Have I been so foolish as to have gone into the men's room while wearing lingerie?

Evidently, and I am very weary because I have been abused by all the men who have come to use the men's room. What has happened is that I have been forced to be the queen on the throne, and with a few of them guarding the toilet stall to keep me from escaping, I've had to orally service every man who cares to put his penis into my mouth.

At this point, I look almost drunk. My eyes are glazed, my head is groggy and I can barely hold up my head at all, and my mouth, used so often, lolls open. Harp-strings of semen are vibrating from upper lip to lower lip.

There are flecks of semen in my red hair.

Miraculously, there doesn't seem to be any of it on my face.

I think that if I can find enough energy to get up, and if I can stagger past the guards at the toilet stall door, I can get out of there and nobody will know what has happened to me.

A bunch of men burst through the doors of the men's room. Quickly they are told that I am in a stall, and they all gather around the entrance to jeer at me, and shout curses and make threats. They ask me if I want them to take turns putting it in me, using my face. I wearily nod my head yes, yes, go ahead and do it to me.

They roar with laughter and form a line.

Only now it seems like the stall is enormous, because they're all around me. One of them grabs me by the hair and my mouth opens like a marionette. He has a thick one, and I can hardly accomodate it. He grabs my hair in a fist, and rocks his body back and forth. The others shout encouragement.

When he's about to come, he pushes himself all the way in, and I make a choking sound. I swallow and swallow and swallow, and then he pulls it out.

The others don't want me, now that I've done him first. They complain and snarl, and then they begin to masturbate.

One of them holds me by the hair, making sure my mouth is open. And they take turns trying to masturbate into my mouth. The sloppy bunch of thugs happily miss, pelting my eyes and cheeks and chin with their hot white slop.

I fear I won't be able to breathe through this mask of slime.

I think I may have begged them to shove my face in the toilet bowl.

For some reason, I have an image of swimming. Of being startled with the thought of drowning. Of opening my eyes underwater and trying to see beyond the silty greenish tint of the water.

When I awaken, I am disgusted with myself. I wore a nightgown to bed, feeling very girlish, and now I hurry to pull it off me, and I throw it on the floor.

I look in the bathroom mirror at myself, and I spit.

And then, I smile, in spite of myself.