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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes, I need an editor. No, I do not want an editor. If this bothers you that much, quit reading. Yes, there’s too many people to keep track of, yes it jumps around too much, yes it’s too long, yes it’s too short, yes it’s in the wrong category, yes this is stupid shit and yes, I am a horrible writer. Honestly, why do I even bother?

Just scroll down to the bottom, leave comments based on the disclaimers alone and have a swell day.

For everyone else, I hope you enjoy this little tale.

This is Part Three of Ugly Things, Part 1 can be found in the ‘Loving Wives’ category. Part 2 can be found in the ‘Group Sex’ category. I have done my best to write each as a standalone story. But of course I do encourage you to read the first two parts.


Chapter 1

Sage Smith moved her filthy strawberry blonde hair out of her frightened green eyes and stared at the beautiful Latin woman that stood in the doorway of the chocolate brick home.

“You, how’d you know my name?” she asked, still shaking.

“Robin tell me,” the woman smiled, reaching out her hand to take Sage’s hand.

“Robin!” Sage gasped.

Sage now remembered why the chocolate brick home had looked so familiar. For a few months, this had been her home. A happy, loving home.

She had lost her virginity to dear sweet loving Robin Boudreaux, in his large, soft bed. She had learned how to please a man with her mouth in the living room of this building.

She had even wrapped her oil slicked 30DD breasts around his seven inch erection and shrieked with laughter as he groaned and loosed a torrent of his sperm all over her face and breasts.

“Come on, oh my God, you look like you could use a bath, a nice hot bubble bath,” the woman was saying. “And when’s the last time you had something hot to eat?”

“Who, where’s Robin, who are you?” Sage asked as the woman pulled her into the house.

“I’m Sable,” the woman smiled. “Robin’s wife.”

“His, oh God no, no,” Sage whined, feeling her heart thudding in her emaciated chest.

“Sage, you gone over a year now,” Sable said quietly.

“A year!” Sage cried out.

The woman led Sage up a flight of stairs, to a guest bedroom. Inside the bedroom, she opened a door and Sage remembered, this was the guest bedroom and bathroom that April, Robin’s mother often used.

“I go fix you something eat, okay?” Sable said gently. “There’s new razor in cabinet there and I get you a toothbrush, okay?”

“Who are you?” Sage asked again as she stood in the bathroom.

“Told you; I’m Sable Boudreaux,” Sable said.

“No, no, I mean, fuck, I don’t know what I mean,” Sage said and burst into sobs.

“Oh, oh Sweetheart, no, you don’t cry,” Sable said, pulling the foul smelling woman in for a hug. “No, no, you home now. You don’t cry.

The cravings for drugs again seized Sage and she convulsed.

“Oh, I hurry up with that food. Go ahead, get in tub, oh, I get you a brush too, huh?” the woman soothed.

Sage did not notice, but when Sable hugged her, they were both the same height. Sage did not notice, but when Sable turned around to leave her alone in the bathroom, the beautiful woman had floor length black hair.

Numbly, wearily, Sage did strip out of her filthy clothing and did twist the tap to fill the tub. There was a bottle of body wash, a bottle of sweet smelling shampoo, and a bottle of sweet smelling conditioner.

She found the razor blade and a thick, fluffy washcloth and got into the tub.

“Yes, Robin, I am dead serious,” Sage heard Sable talking through the door of the bathroom. “I help her as much as she let me.”

Sage dunked her head under the hot water to rinse the shampoo out, then laboriously began to work the conditioner into her hair.

“Robin, I tell you when you ask me marry you, okay?” Sable was saying. “Well, she’s the one I want. How many times you going to say that? Yes, I am serious.”

Then Sable knocked at the door.

“Hey, here brush, and a toothbrush and…” Sable said.

“Robin don’t want me here,” Sage said heavily. “Don’t worry, I’ll get dressed and I’ll…”

“You leave Robin to me,” Sable said, sitting on the rim of the tub.

She peered into Sage’s eyes, her dark eyes boring into Sage’s green ones.

“When I open door, you asked me help you,” Sable said. “Sage Smith, you really want help? You want get off them drugs, once and for all?”

Sage was so tired, so sick and tired of the cravings, tired of the need for that tiny prick of pain when the needle pierced her skin, tired of having to fuck their dope dealer for a little bit of low grade heroin. She was so tired of not having food, or hot water, or air-conditioning, or clean clothes.

But the thought of not having heroin frightened her nearly to death. She sat in the tub, in the warm water and began to shake. Then she began to sob, deep, racking sobs.

“Then it’s settled,” Sable said. “Go ahead, get cleaned up. I take cebeci escort you to CDU.”

Sage shaved her legs and underarms. She fought down the cramps in her stomach as she tried to stand. She toweled herself dry with a fluffy towel, then tried to brush her teeth. She kept retching, though.

“Here, hospital says give you candy bars,” Sable said, coming into the bathroom.

Sage greedily ate the candy bars and it did ease her cramps somewhat.

Here, we the same size,” Sable said, placing a pair of silk panties, clean blouse and a pair of jeans onto the vanity.

“Why are you…” Sage asked, but Sable just smiled and left the bathroom.

There was no bra with the clothing and Sable must have taken her filthy, sweat and urine stained clothing. Sage pulled on the clean blouse and panties then wiggled into the jeans. They didn’t fit her; she had no idea how much weight she’d lost during her year of living with D’Angelo and D’Eric.

Had it truly been a year? A year of living with two men, a year of fucking and sucking two cocks. A year of a downward spiral; it had started off with alcohol. Then alcohol and marijuana. Every now and then, some pills added in with the alcohol and marijuana.

Meth, meth had really fucked her up. Sage had actually hated the methamphetamine high, the manic, frenzied high. And as soon as the frantic high wore off, Sage could hardly wait for the next hit of meth.

The heroin had truly been her downfall, had been the downfall of D’Angelo and D’Eric. Before they discovered the needle, D’Angelo and D’Eric had managed to continue dancing at Conquistadors, shaking and gyrating their gorgeous muscled bodies for screaming, adoring women. After the heroin, none of them could function, neither Sage, nor D’Angelo, or D’Eric could maintain any semblance of a normal life.

Again, Sage thought of a life without heroin and despair gripped her, fear gripped her.

“Ready? Oh, you look so much better,” Sable smiled. “Come on, some nice hot beef broth waiting on the table.

“Listen, uh…” Sage tried desperately to remember the beautiful Latin woman’s name.

“Sable,” Sable smiled, not offended. “Me Madre, my mother, she was maid at Oakleaf Hilton. This woman has this beautiful fur coat and my mother ask her what kind of coat it is and woman says is Sable. Well, Garcia’s the most common Spanish name in America, did you know that? But yeah, just like Smith the most popular English name, and Boudreaux the most popular Cajun name, Garcia’s the most popular Spanish name so my mother, she pregnant with me, she says, ‘that’s going be my daughter’s name’ and when she have me, I am named Sable Samantha Garcia.”

By now they had reached the kitchen and Sable pushed Sage into a chair.

“They told me don’t give you anything too heavy,” Sable gently apologized for the bowl of broth.

The could hear sirens and Sable peered out the window at Vernon Flahey’s home.

“I wonder what going on there?” Sable asked herself.

Sage shut her eyes, trying to shut out the memory of the gun in D’Eric’s hand. She had turned and run the moment she saw the gun. Earlier, just over a year ago, a meth had had trained his gun on her, had very nearly pulled the trigger, but then a shotgun blast had turned the meth head’s face and brains into a bloody pulp.

Sage had turned and run from Vernon Flahey’s house, run to Robin Boudreaux’s house, looking for, begging for sanctuary. But she had heard the gunshots.

The broth was mostly flavorless, but it was hot, soothing.

“Okay? I ask you one more time; you want help?” Sable said, dark eyes peering intently into Sage’s eyes.

Sage’s frenzied, frightened mind raced through the past year, the past few months of heroin addiction. Without looking down, she could see the four or five pock marks on her left arm. She could feel those tiny holes itching terribly.

“Please,” Sage whimpered. “Please, Sable, I can’t, I can’t do it no more.”

She again began to sob and Sable hugged her tightly. Sage clung to this stranger with the desperation of a drowning woman.

Sable rubbed Sage’s back, whispered soothing words in Spanish. Then she kissed Sage on her lips.

The front door opened and slammed.

“Wonder what’s going on at that ass hole’s house?” Robin asked, walking into the kitchen.

Sage looked up and saw him. She saw the handsome man she had fallen deeply in love with, had given her virginity to, had learned to cook for, to clean for.

“Jesus Christ,” Robin said, shocked at Sage Smith’s emaciated, sickly appearance.

“See, Sweetheart?” Sable said quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, get her the help she needs,” Robin quietly agreed.

“Want to come? I bring her to CDU, in DeGarde,” Sable said.

“I, no, no Sweetheart, no,” Robin said.

“Robin, I’m sorry,” Sage whimpered as Sable pulled her toward the garage. “I mean it; I’m really sorry.”

Chapter 2

Dr. Amber Istre had not painted a pretty picture when Sage Smith voluntarily signed herself in. Dr. Whitmore çukurambar escort had not painted a rosy picture when she submitted to their examination.

Nothing could have prepared Sage Amy Smith for the horrors of heroin withdrawal. She defecated on herself, she urinated on herself, she vomited on herself. She screamed, she cried, she begged.

Weak, shuddering, whimpering, Sage Smith wobbled down the hall toward the kitchen. As horrible an ordeal as she had just been through, the staff of DeGarde Chemical Dependency Unit actually expected her to get out of her bed and walk down to the small cafeteria. They expected her to get her own tray, serve her own food, and carry her tray to a table. Then they actually expected her to clean her tray after eating.

Group sessions. Everyone was expected to participate in group sessions. She’d been in a frenzied agony, she’d soiled herself, and still they expected her to sit in group sessions.

But now, nearly eighteen days after checking in, Sage was actually able to remember the name of the scrawny red headed girl that sat and smiled at her.

“How you doing?” Theresa asked.

“God, I just want to get out of here,” Sage said honestly.

“Think you feel that way now?” Theresa laughed. “Wait until after lunch!”

“Why? What’s after lunch?” Sage asked blankly.

“Uh duh! Family visit?” Theresa reminded her.

Sage remembered them talking about Family Visit last night in Dr. Whitmore’s group session. The discussion hadn’t applied to her; she had no family. Amy Smith and Duane Jones had made that perfectly clear. D’Angelo and D’Eric were probably strung out on heroin, in no shape to come see her.

“Oh,” Sage shrugged.

“‘Oh Theresa, we’re so disappointed in you,’ ‘oh Theresa, really! With your own father?'” Theresa mocked bitterly. “Yeah, Mom, been telling you for years mother fucker’s been fucking me but you’d rather go to Babbage’s latest sale than listen to your own daughter, huh bitch?”

Sage was glad Julie Chamblee, a Substance Abuse Counselor intern came into the room then and cut off Theresa’s rant.

“All right, the following people have visitors for family day,” Julie called out, checking her IPad. “So, instead of going outside for exercise after lunch, need to go fix your make up, maybe put on some clean clothes, you too Maxwell.”

“Yeah, Maxwell, change your drawers, huh?” one of the male patients teased the obese man with the horrible acne.

“Whatever,” the young man smiled.

Julie read off eight names. Sage could see the looks of disappointment on the faces of those that Julie had not called out. Edmund Jefferson, the African-American man that had teased Maxwell earlier looked as if he would burst into tears, but bravely continued eating.

“Smith, Sage,” Julie read out. “Sorry, Sah JAY, keep forgetting.”

“Wait, what?” Sage asked. “Who?”

After lunch, after thoroughly washing her tray and silverware, Sage went to her small room and slipped off her hospital gown. She pulled on the blouse, clean panties and jeans she’d worn when Sable Boudreaux had brought her in to DeGarde CDU. She did wish she had a bra; her nipples were quite visible through the light colored top. She then brushed her teeth with the brand new toothbrush Sable Boudreaux had given her and brushed her long hair with the new brush Sable had given her.

She knew it was a new brush; the price tag was still affixed to the handle.

Then she went down the hall and sat outside of Dr. Whitmore’s office, still wondering who her visitor, her family was.

“Right on time,” Dr. Whitmore smiled as he opened the door of his office. “Was afraid I’d have to go get you.”

Sage entered the room and saw a beautiful Latin woman sitting in a chair. The woman smiled happily and got to her feet.

“Sage, Ola!” Sable Boudreaux said and pulled Sage in for a hug.

She kissed Sage, directly on her lips. Then she tightened her grip around Sage’s torso, squeezing her tightly.

“God, you look much better!” Sable praised.

She held Sage’s hands, peering into Sage’s confused eyes.

“How are you? You feeling all right? You need anything?” Sable asked.

“Probably do a lot better you let her answer a question before you ask the next one,” Dr. Whitmore laughed.

Sable smiled widely.

“My husband, he says same thing,” Sable admitted.

They sat down. Sage still felt disoriented, confused. But Sable just kept smiling at her, smiling happily as if Sage was a long-time friend, or a family member she was seeing after many years apart.

Dr. Whitmore talked, spoke of Sage’s physical state, her progress in Group Sessions.

“Well, She smart girl,” Sable encouraged.

“Sage, do you have anything to add?” Dr. Whitmore finally asked; it had been himself and Sable doing all of the talking.

“Uh, what, why are you here?” Sage whispered to Sable.

Sable’s easy smile faded slightly. Her dark eyes looked into Sage’s bewildered eyes. She reached out her hand and gently touched demetevler escort Sage’s haggard face.

Instinctively, Sage kissed the woman’s hand. Sable’s smile returned and she gently stroked Sage’s face.

“Because I love you,” she said.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking the connection the two women had established. Another Substance Abuse Counselor Intern stuck her head in when Dr. Whitmore called out.

“All checks out,” she said, putting a bag just inside the door.

Sable turned and looked at Dr. Whitmore with an expression that said, ‘told you.’

“We’re responsible for everything that comes in and goes out of this facility,” Dr. Whitmore defended.

“I bring you some more clothes,” Sable said. And if Dr. Whitmore leaves, we try them on, see if they okay.”

“Dr. Whitmore’s not leaving,” the man said, amused. “You two can go to Ms. Smith’s room and do all that.”

Sable picked up the bag in one hand, and took Sage’s hand in the other.

“Come on; where your room?” she said.

Sable was wearing a simple top, but Sage could tell the top was an expensive one. The Latin woman also wore some khaki shorts that let just a hint of her buttocks peek out of the bottoms. On Sable’s feet were some cute canvas sneakers and Sable’s long black hair was held back by a silver clasp.

Sage shuffled down the hall in the hospital slippers that were just a tad too large for her feet.

“Oh, this nice,” Sable enthused when Sage showed her the room. “I don’t know why, but I see you with a bunch of women all crammed in one room.”

Sable dumped the bag’s contents onto Sage’s neatly made bed.

“They say you lose almost twelve pounds and I say, ‘My God! She about to dry up and blow away when she come to my house!'” Sable said. “But they say you’d don’t worry, you gain that all back soon.”

Sage saw two bras among the clothes and grabbed for one.

Sable smiled as Sage hurriedly unbuttoned her blouse.

“Read tag in old bra,” Sable said. “Me? Thirty E, if you can believe. But me Madre, I mean, my mother? She a thirty four G and that’s all natural.”

She leaned forward while Sage gratefully shrugged into the bra.

“Of course? Soon as I can? I’m out of my bra. Robin love it when I’m running around, titties all flopping all over,” Sable admitted.

“Yeah, but you haven’t been running around in front of a bunch of strangers, titties flopping all over,” Sage pointed out.

She pointed to her chest.

“And my nips? Don’t take nothing and they’re hard as a rock,” Sage confessed.

“Oh, me too! Believe me, me too!” Sable laughed, and checked the fit of the bra, even running her fingers between cup and flesh. Sage tensed, but allowed Sable this intimate contact.

Satisfied that the bra fit, Sable looped an affectionate arm around Sage’s bare waist.

“Oh, and I get you these shorts,” she said.

Sable checked to see that they were still alone. She pulled up her own khaki shorts, pulled them up snug so that a great deal of her buttocks peeked out of the bottom.

“When I first meet Robin?” Sable whispered. “Was wearing some shorts?”

She reached around and traced a pattern on Sage’s nicely rounded backside with her fingertips. Then she cupped Sage’s buttock in her hand.

“Butt all hanging out; didn’t expect him, didn’t think anyone there,” she continued to whisper.

Sage shivered at the intimate contact. Sable gave Sage’s buttock a gentle squeeze, then took her hand away.

“Robin love it I’m showing off my butt,” she whispered to Sage. “We at home? Not a problem.”

She held the pair of pink shorts out to Sage.

“Here, here, you try on, okay?” Sable ordered.

Sage wiggled out of the hospital slippers and jeans and wiggled into the pink nylon shorts.

“Nice, see? Here, I get you some tops go with that,” Sable continued.

“Why, why are you, why’d you get all this stuff for me?” Sage asked as she pulled on the powder blue cotton top.

“Told you,” Sable smiled and pulled Sage’s long hair out of the top.

She kissed Sage, a soft, lingering kiss, closed mouth to closed mouth. She peered into Sage’s eyes.

“Because I love you,” she whispered.

“Oh,” was all Sage could say to that declaration.

There was a cute pink sweat suit, a package of three cotton bikini style panties, another pair of jeans, two khaki shorts exactly like the ones Sable wore, and some footies, along with canvas sneakers and a pair of leather walking shoes.

“Ma’am? We’re fixing go to group,” a nurse said from the doorway.

“Oh, I go to group too?” Sable asked, hurriedly pulling her khaki shorts down, covering her buttocks from view.

“No, no ma’am,” The nurse smiled.

“Thank you, Sable,” Sage said.

“Is nothing, de nada,” Sable smiled.

She hugged Sage again, this time Sage returned the hug with an intensity of her own.

Then Sable kissed her, a soft, open mouthed kiss. Her tongue softly touched Sage’s tongue for a moment.

And then she was gone.

In group, Julie Chamblee shared of her own ordeal with alcoholism. She spoke of her numerous affairs, spoke honestly of marrying her husband simply because she was pregnant with her first baby, Andrea.

Then Julie became a little emotional as she spoke of drinking heavily during her pregnancy with her second daughter, Kasey. The child had been born severely brain damaged as a result.

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