Bedtime Story #1

—Seoul, Korea 1971 Father gave her a little extra. How could she not fall for him? He was handsome but still a boy. In the depot where soldiers took such women, his skinny body clung too close to hers and his narrow ass still belonged to his mother. The other men knew the routine and how much to pay. She loathed their accent and American swagger. The sweat would barely cool and dry before another shook the cot and bucked his hips out of rhythm—in some other time zone. However, he began to offer other things besides money. He brought sweets from the base and the minute he touched his pocket the face she reserved for his English crumbled like sweet toffee. Because he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say, no time was spent on uneasiness. Chocolate, caramel and peanuts spoke best, secured his place. He hooked his arms through hers as if they could stroll the lane like an ordinary couple: the unassuming black and the Korean whore in the middle of the Vietnam War.