Blinded; the last kick shattered my cheekbone, flooding my eyes with blood.

"Fuck you, Noah," I said, spitting out teeth. "Killing me won't change anything."

I waited for another blow, barely conscious, but anticipating Noah's final rebuttal, the impact of his steel-toed boot hurling me into eternity. It never came. Instead I heard the diminishing sound of squishy footsteps, running shoes filled with water, walking away--down the alley and rejoining the crowd on 42nd street, all the while muttering about family honour.

Why the hell would Noah pull me out of the Hudson River just to beat the crap out of me in this back alley? I knew the answer, but the beating I'd taken overwhelmed any survivor instinct I might still have. I fought back, but behind the crimson horizon, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I closed my eyelids, not knowing if I was passing out or succumbing to my injuries.

The last thought I had before oblivion claimed me was Sarah's face, contorted in orgasm.

"I love you," she screamed as she exploded beneath my body.

Those three words sealed my fate.

Sarah wasn't the kind of woman who would elicit lust in any man. Flat-chested with cropped hair, the image she projected was not infused with sexuality. She was a soccer mom--literally. I met her when I went to see my son practice, a rare occasion.

My neglect of day-to-day responsibility towards my boy was a powerful accusation by Millie, my wife, who successfully stripped me of all my assets during the divorce. She didn't understand. I wasn't fooling around--never did. I am a work-aholic, addicted to the game. Selling real estate was never a nine-to-five job. Most deals took place on weekends and late at night. Millie knew that when we got married, and she tolerated the hours when it bought her what she wanted, but after Joey was born, she wanted me to change--spend more time at home.

"What do you want me to do?" I screamed at her when she held up Joey, demanding that I rescue her from the child with colic.

"He's your son too. Do something before I have a nervous breakdown."

I tried to let her sleep in, picking up the fussing baby and rocking him in the dead of night, but it wasn't enough. Millie preferred to believe Joey slept through the night rather than acknowledge the time I spent with him.

"You're a liar--a lousy father and a crappy husband."

She put up with me for four years, but she held onto the belief long after the divorce. I suppose I gave up trying to change her mind, and I'm guilty of thinking Joey didn't need me, but one day my boy looked up at me and asked me why I didn't come to his soccer games. I couldn't answer him. Actually, I could, but admitting that I forgot he was a living, breathing human being, didn't exactly seem like the right response.

"Sure, I'll be there Thursday," I said, but I didn't mark it off on my calendar. Of course, I forgot, but after listening to Millie for an hour telling me what a piece of shit I was, I got the message.

I met Sarah the following Thursday. She was the designated snack lady, and when she offered me a piece of watermelon, I barely looked up.

"Turn off the phone and watch your son play," she said, her voice cutting through my distractions.

I looked up into Sarah's grey eyes, expecting to launch a defence, but there was no judgement. It was as if she'd issued a royal command. I accepted the watermelon in her outstretched hand, and shut off the phone.

Sarah brought out the best in me, taught me to schedule my time and make Joey's life and activities a priority. She wasn't my type, but the first time she patted my hand, then let hers linger, caressing my skin, I felt shots of electricity sparkle and snap. I was stunned by the reaction, and by the confused look in her eyes, I knew she felt it as well.

"Noah is going out of town tomorrow."

Permission. Sarah had given me permission. It took me a moment to recover. I wasn't used to this.

"Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes," she replied, closing the sliding door of her van, putting a barricade between listening ears and our negotiations. "I want to screw your brains out.."

At that moment, I didn't give a shit about how big her boobs were, a woman had propositioned me. Was she married? Separated? I didn't give a shit.? I reconciled myself that a good fuck at the local motel was cheaper than a dinner at some pretentious restaurant. Man, was I in. Cheaper than a real date, with a benefit plan I could only dream about, and that night, boy, did I dream.

I imagined myself parting those furry lips, the ash coloured curls that guarded her secrets, plunging my tongue into her sweetness ... and then I woke up, scurrying around my crib, looking at the dismal loneliness of my life in the bachelor apartment. I raced about, still not dawn, kicking Joey's few toys under the bed, spraying Windex on all the surfaces and changing the sheets.

How bad did she want to fuck me? Would she tolerate this hole if I made her whole, made her come, begging for more?

Man, even I didn't believe I had that kind of power. I called the hotel, made a reservation and picked up the key--early--I was a business man between appointments in need of sleep. Did I care if they believed me?

"Sarah?"

"Yes, is it you?"

No small talk. We rode up in the elevator together; she staring at the numbers on the digital screen. Me--staring at her ass, wondering how she had ever given birth.

When the door closed behind us, it was as if the room was a cocoon, a capsulated vacuum about to absorb our secrets. Suddenly shy, I wondered if I should offer her a drink, and opened the mini-fridge staring at the contents as if I had never seen over-priced refreshments before.

When I looked up, she was naked.

"Start at the top," she said. "I like to be kissed; deep tongue action. Don't lose your strength as you navigate south."

I felt my dick salute, strain against cotton, explode as I ripped my zipper and let it breathe.

"Not a chance, buddy," she said, as if she was body checking me in some hockey game. "Me first. If you earn my attention, we'll see what we can do about that."

Man, was she hot. Dripping lava on my tongue, I couldn't get enough of her hot pussy, but then six weeks later, her husband called me out, pulled me off the soccer field and threw me into the back of the van, punching, beating on me, and I suppose I deserved it. He threw me into the river, then pulled me out, second-guessing his death wish for me. But, man oh man; even real estate wasn't competition for what Sarah dished up as snack lady. Even as her husband was beating the shit out of me, I could feel her tiny nipple hardening against my mouth.

"You okay, Mister?"

I could smell the bum before I saw him. Rot, urine and disgust registered in my brain, even before I acknowledged that a human being was talking to me.  He was already wearing my shoes, but I guess living through Noah's attack never occurred to the old geezer.

"Want me to call an ambulance?"

I wanted to laugh at the bum, but then I saw him holding my Iphone.

"That guy was some pissed off that your son was playing centre."

Joey? This was about Joey?

"Say what?" I said struggling to a sitting position.

"Yeah, the guy said your kid had better step down or your big-assed buddy will hurt someone." The bum chuckled. "Guess it's time for you to explain the facts of life to that kid of yours."

""This is about soccer? My son?"

"No idea, buddy, but you're bleeding out."