Eyes Like Honey

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

*****

Chapter 1

Rayne Woodley shivered as the bitter November rain fell. The lid on the dumpster was open, propped up against the brick wall and she hunkered down underneath that lid, trying to get some shelter. But the brutal wind whistled between dumpster and building, chilling the already soaked girl to the bone.

"Why, God?" she silently asked.

There was no answer; she hadn't expected one.

Just last summer, was it last summer? Was it two summers ago?

It had been blazing hot, she remembered that. The air conditioning in the apartment she and Derek lived in was groaning and rattling, but still the air in the small apartment was hot. The landlord had come out, checked the unit, lingered his eyes on Rayne for a moment too long, and then promised he'd get a guy out to fix it.

The heat only heightened the arguing between Derek and Rayne. She didn't know what he was so unhappy about, why he was so nervous, so jumpy. The television set blared some sporting event that Rayne did not care about, that Derek was not watching.

She opened the refrigerator and saw that there were only two beers left. Before she could even reach for one, Derek snapped at her, telling her to leave the beers alone.

In an effort to appease him, Rayne had gone into the bedroom, stripped off the nylon running shorts and half shirt, then rolled on her fishnet stockings.

"What? Really?" Derek had snarled at her when she sauntered back out into the living room, nude except for stockings. "Fucking sweating my ass off here and you want to fuck?"

With a slap to her face, he was gone.

Rayne sobbed as she slowly rolled the stockings down and off, then dressed again in her sweaty shorts and half shirt.

Rayne Woodley was pretty; she knew she was pretty. She had long strawberry blonde hair that reached to the back of her calves, pale complexion with just a few freckles across her button nose, pouting lips and large doe eyes of warm brown.

Her chest, which she hated, was a stunning thirty four DD, with large pink areolae and fat nipples. Her waist was a tiny twenty three inches, and her hips flared out to thirty five inches.

If men weren't commenting on her large breasts, they were commenting on her rear end.

At only five feet tall, she knew she didn't have the legs that men seemed to like, but as she often said, her legs did reach the ground.

She'd met Derek Bowden at school; he'd been a few years ahead of her, and even though it was deemed 'cool' for the seniors of John F. Kennedy High School in Stepping Stone to taunt the incoming freshmen class, Derek had smiled and offered to show the girl around the small high school.

"So, where you from?" he'd asked her. "I mean, shit if I don't know every mother fucker in Turning Point and Stepping Stone, but I know I've never seen you."

"Me and my brother just moved here from Holly Bridge," she said. "My momma's the new English teacher here."

"Holly Bridge? Where's that?" he asked.

"Mississippi," she laughed, peering up into his handsome face.

Derek Bowden graduated and had actually gone on to college, the University of Louisiana at Monroe, up north in Monroe, Louisiana. But he kept in touch with the girl and even drove down to be her date for the Homecoming Prom.

When Derek had let Rayne know he couldn't hack life as a college student, she'd encouraged him to pursue his other passion, automobile mechanics.

Allison Woodley discovered, far too late, that she had ovarian cancer. A month before Julian, Rayne's older brother was set to graduate, Allison breathed her last.

Allison Woodley had been a slut in her younger years. She had fallen head over heels in lust with John Woodley, Julian's father and had happily married the twenty nine year old man. But Rebecca Boudreaux, Allison's best friend and maid of honor later told Allison that she and John had snuck off during the reception and now Rebecca was pregnant with John Woodley's baby.

Since John saw no reason to be exclusive, Allison also saw no reason to be exclusive. Even while pregnant with Julian, Allison fucked any cock she could.

John was, however, a very jealous man. As soon as he discovered that his wife had not been the sweet, doting wife he'd expected, he slapped her around, then filed for divorce on the grounds of infidelity.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rebecca Boudreaux said when Allison's lawyer asked the nineteen year old girl to testify against John Woodley.

A month after the divorce, Rebecca married John.

In an immature effort to incite jealousy, Allison continued to fuck around. But when she gave birth to Rayne, the attractive twenty year old woman saw that she had one toddler, and one infant, and no one to care for them; her parents having disowned her when she started running around with that 'snake in the grass John Woodley.'

So, she went to school, obtained a teaching certificate, and did her best to raise Julian and Rayne on her own.

A faulty space heater killed Rebecca and John and Jonathon Jr.

So, when they lay Allison Sue Morvant Woodley to rest in a small cemetery in East Turn, Louisiana, Julian and Rayne were truly alone in the world.

The foster home was neither good, nor bad. It was a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.

Then from graduation, Julian enlisted in the Air Force and left.

And upon her own graduation, the foster home did tell Rayne they were no longer responsible for her.

"But uh, hey, good luck," Mrs. Pennington mumbled.

Derek drove down and gathered the girl and her few worldly possessions. Rayne sent her brother a post card, letting him know where she was now living and set about setting up house with Derek.

Their first night together had been beautiful to Rayne. Derek knew that she was a virgin and gently held her, then kissed and touched her, kissing and touching and rubbing every square inch of her body.

Oral sex had been very pleasant. She had not orgasmed; Derek seemed to not know what a clitoris was, or how to find it. But she had still enjoyed it.

The slight stab of pain when Derek entered her had soon been replaced with a bubbly warmth that enveloped her whole body. She had not orgasmed from the intercourse, but Rayne had enjoyed it all the same.

But only a few months into their living together, Rayne was questioning why she had come. They fought constantly, nothing she did seemed to please Derek, and even though he worked as a mechanic, they never seemed to have any money.

Now, she sat on the cheap vinyl couch, waiting for Derek to return. She did not change the channel from the boring sports program; Derek had slapped her the last time she'd messed with his precious television.

With one final grinding clank, the air conditioning died. Rayne used the cheap cell phone Derek had grudgingly bought for her and left a message on the landlord's office number.

Opening the windows of the apartment only let in the humid air, so after a few moments, Rayne again slid the windows shut.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment burst open and Rayne did not have time to scream as three burly African-American men walked in, carrying a bloodied Derek between them.

"Your man owes us a couple of Cs," one of the men sneered, showing a few gold teeth.

"Honey, please," Derek blubbered, blood oozing from his split lip.

"Shut up, bitch," one of the men holding Derek ordered, punching Derek in his stomach.

"But I, we don't have..." Rayne quaked.

"Then guess we just going have take it out in ass," the first man sneered again.

Rayne looked at the busted door, wondering if she could make a dash for it. A punch to her face from the first man stilled that thought.

The three men took her, right on the vinyl couch, right in front of a sniveling Derek. She fought briefly, then zoned out after the fourth or fifth punch to her body. After that, she just lay, catatonic underneath the three men.

"God damn, bitch ain't nothing but a dead ass fuck," the leader of the men complained, pulling up his sweat pants.

Then the third man pulled out his nine millimeter pistol and put two bullets into the whining Derek's forehead.

"Next time, get us some good pussy, pussy," he said and spit in the dead man's face.

The Paulton police surveyed the crime scene, took Rayne to St. Patrick's Hospital in Monroe, processed a rape kit, and promised they'd put every available man on the case.

Because she was so traumatized by the experience, Rayne was unable to provide any details of the crime.

The autopsy revealed that Derek Bowden had been using meth, had actually been injecting the drugs. Again, Rayne was unable to provide any details; she had no knowledge that her boyfriend had been a drug user.

"Yeah, that was last summer," Rayne said aloud as a sudden blast of wind blew more of the chilling rain underneath her inadequate shelter.

Chapter 2

Rayne didn't know how she'd managed to do it, but she'd actually fallen asleep. A brutal kick to her posterior woke her.

"God damned fucking bums," the restaurant manager snarled. "Go on! Get out of here!"

The man reared back to kick her a second time and Rayne scurried out from behind the dumpster. She ran away hoping the man would not give chase.

"God damn, Burt, really?" she heard one of the waitresses ask. "Hitting a girl?"

"Fuck, like I knew it was a girl, huh?" Burt defended.

He wasn't embarrassed that he'd kicked a girl, wasn't embarrassed to be taking out his rage on a homeless person. Burt Connelly was only embarrassed that anyone had witnessed his brutish behavior.

"God damn drug addicts," Burt continued his rant as he bustled back into the restaurant, out of the cold.

"Uh huh; they're all drug addicts, right?" the waitress sneered.

Rayne saw the neon sign for Twister Doughnuts. That was the small shop's specialty; they twisted their doughnuts into a long braid and dunked the hot pastries into a glaze of vanilla icing, or chocolate icing.

The cruel manager of that Mexican restaurant had not given chase so Rayne slowed her sprint.

Her stomach gurgled; she could not remember the last time she'd eaten.

A hamburger. A woman had smiled at her and thrust a hamburger into her hand.

Rayne had savored every bite of that Wendy's hamburger. But that had been two, maybe three days ago. Before this incessant rain.

She peered into the window of the doughnut shop as a cute Asian girl made one of their creations. The girl was smiling proudly as she twisted the dough and prepared to drop it into the hot oil vat.

The girl looked up and her dark almond eyes looked into Rayne's golden brown eyes. The smile froze on the girl's face.

Then she pointed to the rear of the shop. Rayne was confused, but nodded and walked around to the rear of the building.

A moment later, the door opened and the Asian girl came out, holding a bag and a large cup of coffee.

"Hi, my boss would fire me he seen me do this," the girl said.

The girl looked around nervously. She then thrust the bag and the cup of coffee into Rayne's hands.

"I'm so sorry; I don't have any money," the girl apologized. "Don't get paid until day after tomorrow."

She looked at Rayne and gave a sympathetic smile.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Rayne," Rayne said. "Rayne Woodley."

"Well, if no one told you today that they love you, I love you Rayne Woodley," the girl said then scampered back inside, out of the brutal wind and rain.

Inside the door, the girl let out a small sob, wiped her eyes, and then walked back to her station. She began making a few more of the doughnuts, plastering a smile on her face.

She did smile when a car pulled into the parking lot and a few children spilled out.

"I want a chocolate!" One child demanded.

"You stupid; the vanilla's the best!" another child affirmed.

Rayne sat on the ground behind the Twister Doughnuts building and guzzled the scalding hot coffee.

But even as hot as the coffee was, it could not bring any warmth to her. The still warm doughnuts, one vanilla and one chocolate also did not help the chill. But the food did stave off the constant hunger.

"I love you, Rayne Woodley," she thought as she got to stiff legs and walked off into the twilight.

The ground behind the doughnut shop had been relatively dry, but if the manager of the doughnut shop would fire that Asian girl just for giving her a few doughnuts and a cup of coffee, Rayne was sure the manager would think nothing of attacking her.

Life on the streets wasn't easy, and it certainly wasn't easy for a girl. Paulton did not have many homeless people, transients as the politically correct people liked to call them, so there weren't any programs to assist them.

When the manager of Derek's apartment had evicted her, Rayne first slept behind a Baptist church. What could be safer than a church? After a few days, the minister of the church had discovered Rayne. He'd taken her inside, offered her some food, a few dollars, then insisted she should use the small shower.

Obviously, the man thought that these few niceties entitled him to a piece of ass. Fortunately, Rayne had had availed herself of the toilet first and had not even begun to prepare for the shower. She was just beginning to strip out of her clothing when the nude man walked in, sporting a surprisingly small erection.

Derek had been quite proud of his knife collection. The only knife that the landlord of their apartment had not stolen had been a five inch lock blade. When Rayne was unceremoniously forced from the apartment, she'd made sure to have that blade with her.

The minister squawked when Rayne whipped that blade out and held it to his quickly shrinking cock.

"Jesus sure would be proud of you, huh?" Rayne hissed sarcastically.

"Get out, you Jezebel," the man had snarled once he was safely away from her knife.

That Sunday, the congregation had gasped and cried when the minister recounted how he had attempted to help a transient, only to be savagely attacked. He of course, changed some facts, embellished other facts, and omitted much of the truth.

"I said, I said, 'what would Jesus have me do for this man, my brother?'" the minister said from his pulpit. "So I did invite him in, I did feed him, I did offer him my shirt, the very shirt off my back."

The minister's wife smiled her beatific, slightly stoned smile as her husband ranted and railed.

Now, while the rain pounded down, Rayne crawled between the air conditioning unit and the church building. She made sure she had her blade in her hand, ready to whip out should she need it.

The ground was dry and Rayne fell asleep.

In the morning, the rain had not ceased and some had actually turned to ice. Rayne ached as she tried to get up, to crawl out from behind the air conditioning unit

She recognized the minister's Buick and the sight of that horrid man's car did inspire her to put a little pep in her step.

As she staggered toward the front of the building, she saw the minister's wife and recognized her as the kind woman that had given her a Wendy's hamburger.

It was clear that the woman did not remember the encounter; she stared blankly at Rayne when Rayne waved a friendly greeting.

There was a different girl in the window of Twister Doughnuts. If this girl saw Rayne, she did not acknowledge it. She just kept smiling and making the doughnuts.

"I love you, Rayne Woodley," Rayne said and smiled.

"What the fuck ever, bitch," the blonde doughnut maker sneered as the transient woman smiled at her.

The aching in Rayne's bones would not go away. Her feet were two frozen stumps in her battered old tennis shoes and her hands, shoved into the pockets of the thin windbreaker she'd salvaged out of a dumpster, had lost any feeling hours ago.

The late morning sun warmed up the ice and now the ground was completely saturated. Rayne trudged slowly through the slush, wanting to sit down, but being afraid to sit down. Something inside of her told her to keep moving.

And she was again in front of the Mexican restaurant. She could see the manager yelling at his employees.

"Jail," Rayne thought. "They'd have to feed me in jail.

The Paulton Police Department did not arrest transients simply for being transients. They mainly just encouraged them to keep moving.

One police officer, an African-American male, was actually quite forceful in his encouragement to 'keep moving.'

Rayne picked up a chunk of concrete that had broken free from the curb. Her hands had no feeling in them and her vision swam as she took the projectile and hurled it, right at the head of that horrible, shouting, ranting man.

Then she lost consciousness. She did not have the pleasure of seeing the window shatter, of the man's terrified face, of hearing his high pitched squeal.

"Oh my God, it's that girl," the waitress said, peering through the shards of the window.

Rayne dimly felt hands, gentle hand.

Chapter 3

"Double pneumonia; lucky to be alive," Julian Woodley heard the nurse say.

Then the nurse saw him sitting in the corner of Rayne's hospital room.

"Oh, hey Sugar, how you doing?" the black woman smiled.

"Fine ma'am," Julian said, almost saluting.

"At ease, Soldier," the woman laughed. "Why you don't go get you some coffee?"

Rayne was vaguely aware of warm, gentle hands. She wanted desperately to wake up; she had to move. If they found her behind the restaurant again, that horrible manager would kick her again.

But then she smelled coffee and actually smiled.

"I love you, Rayne Woodley," she said.

"Well I love you too, Sugar," the nurse said. "Think you going wake up?"

But Rayne did not wake up.

Later on, Rayne felt a soft hand lovingly trace her face. Gentle hands combed through her hair

Then she felt gentle lips on hers. She wanted desperately to return that kiss.

Julian stepped back from his sister's bed, looking at her pale, beautiful face. After the hospital had stabilized her, started treating her pneumonia with antibiotics begun dealing with her malnutrition and dehydration, then they'd cleaned her up.

Julian Jonathon Woodley had gone to the last address he had for his sister. He'd served his four years in the Air Force, declined their generous offer to re-enlist, and had come looking for Rayne.

The new tenants had no idea who Rayne Woodley was, but all in Paulton had heard of Derek's cold-blooded murder. That was when Julian found out about the brutality his sister had suffered.

The apartment manager had been quite cowardly when confronted about his behavior, but he did have the law on his side.

"She wasn't even on the lease," he sniveled when Julian angrily asked him about Rayne's eviction.

"Last I seen of her? She was behind that Mexican restaurant," the man said.

The window had been replaced, but Julian's waitress gleefully recounted to the handsome young man the tale.

"Burt, little weasel, had chased some girl out from behind the dumpster," she chortled. "Even kicked her, hard, I mean hard. Next day, he's standing here, right where I'm standing, yelling at us and crap, like he's always doing, and all of a sudden, window just caves in and he's screaming like the big girl he is and I seen that girl, laying face down. He didn't even want to call an ambulance, believe that? I'm one called nine eleven."

"Uh, hey, uh Sandy? Instead of running your mouth, why don't you uh, you know, do your job?" Burt snapped from the bar.

He still had a small piece of gauze attached to his cheek, from where a shard of glass had cut him.

"She is doing her job; she's taking a customer's order," Julian snapped, getting to his feet.

He marched to the door.

"But if that's how you talk to customers? I don't think I want to eat here," Julian stated firmly.