"Just what I thought!" Johnny grunted. "Just as fucking tight! And baby, just think, I'm going to do this to you all night!"

Ann flailed her hands about and began scratching his back with her nails.

"Oh, I like that," he moaned. "A little pain, and a lot of pleasure!"

Ann felt something hard and cold touch the back of her hand as she reached out. The ashtray! She grabbed it, then took careful aim and swung as hard as possible, crashing it against the side of his head.

His grinding, pumping body went limp. She pushed upward, rolling him off her. She heard a dull thud as he hit the floor.

"You goddamned bitch!" she heard him say, his voice groggy and angry.

Ann knew then she had made the worst mistake of her life. She didn't know Johnny at all, but something told her he would probably kill her. She groped into the drawer to the nightstand.

"All right, you little prick," she said, "I've got a gun here and I'm going to blow your balls right through your fucking brain!"

Johnny's attitude changed one hundred and eighty degrees. "Hey, lady, put that thing away," he said, a nervous tremor in his voice.

"I'm going to count to three," she said evenly, "and if you're not out of my house…"

"I'm going!" he said. "Shit, I'm going!"

Although she could barely make out his form, she heard him stumble over a chair, then run toward the door.

"One," she said.

Before she got to two, he was out of the house, his steps audible as he raced across the yard and out into the street.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On rubbery knees, she stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light. She looked in the mirror and gasped at her reflection.

Her lips were blue and bruised, her chin covered with a thick, glistening layer of sperm. She glanced downward, to the object in her hand, and then had to laugh.