All Anna and Mazzy wanted to do was explore the sights, sounds, scents and senses of each other’s bodies: the way that a kiss to the side of Anna’s neck sent her into convulsions; the visceral pungency of Mazzy’s sweat acting like a pheromone; the way that, when they held each other’s hips and looked into the mirror together, they looked two vases twirling into other and meeting at the lips.

Anna quickly learned she was, as Mazzy called her, a bottom, which didn’t surprise Anna, but did somehow embarrass her . . . which only made it more hot when Mazzy would mount her and assert control. That’s not to say, though, that Anna didn’t get her moments - she slowly began to explore how she could pleasure Mazzy herself. She sucked on Mazzy’s tits and enjoyed the way Mazzy grabbed her by the back of her head and pushed her into it, begging her to suck more, suck harder.  Anna herself nearly came as she watched Mazzy writhe to the hypnotic rhythm of Anna’s fingers pumping in and out, in and out of Mazzy’s vag. And when Mazzy finally came, in a moment of erotic compulsion, Anna licked the cum off her fingers as Mazzy watched. Truthfully Mazzy’s vinegary cum was so strong a taste at first that Anna almost gagged, but in time she learned to savor the flavor.

They spent more and more time together, both in bed and outside of it. Sure, they fucked like rabbits, but they also cooked spicy red vegetable curry together, shopped for new shoes together, curled up on the couch watching But I’m a Cheerleader together, and talked together, just as before, but harder this time, with even more energy and passion, about their favorite movies, and their childhood memories, and about weird commercials that they didn’t understand, and about art Mazzy made, and about their dreams, and about the street sign at the corner that definitely didn’t need to be there, and about the taste of the wind by the boardwalk only a short walk from Mazzy’s house.

It had been weeks and Anna’s husband didn’t know a thing. In the morning, Anna put on her work clothes and kissed him goodbye. Then, she went to Mazzy’s house almost all day. Anna and her husband had separate bank accounts, so she figured she could afford to keep this up for a little while, just for long enough to build up the courage to divorce him, she told Mazzy.

As Anna finally did open up about her actual life, she realized more and more how fucked it was before she had met Mazzy. She told her how she felt scared of him, like she wasn’t sure how he would react. How rough and cold he was. How she had married him because that was what a Christian woman was supposed to do at that age, and that was what her parents and her pastor wanted. How all he talked about was beating Antifa thugs over the head with the butt of a gun. One mid-afternoon, it became too much, and Anna laid on Mazzy’s bed, sobbing, resting her head on Mazzy’s thigh as Mazzy stroked her hair and calmed her down.

“Why? Why did I put myself through that?” Anna sobbed. “I just did things because people told me that was what I was supposed to do . . . oh god, I’m so stupid, Mazzy . . . how did I ever wind up marrying someone like him?”

Mazzy waited and waited for Anna to let it all out. She knew that silence and space to grieve where what Anna needed. After a while, she whispered, “Anna,” softly. “Anna. We all make mistakes. Did you know that when I was a teen, I almost became a Mormon for a boy?”

“What?” Anna said, looking up at Mazzy and wiping away her own tears.

“Really,” Mazzy said. “I didn’t know who I was. I thought doing what men told me to do was my lot in life. But that’s not for me, and it’s not for you, either.”

“It’s hard to imagine you as a Mormon,” Anna said, chuckling even through her tears. “With the little bonnet and all. That was when you lived out west?”

“Yeah,” said Mazzy softly. “Yeah.” Anna’s tears were beginning to dry up, and she was trying to find something to distract her.

“Hey,” Anna said, calming down a little, “The words, on your wrist. You never told me what they actually meant. I just saw you run them by my eyes and remembered.”

Mazzy looked at the wrist of her left hand, which she had been running through Anna’s hair, and using to softly touch Anna’s face. “Oh, I guess I never did,” Mazzy said. “It doesn’t really stand for All Cats Are Beautiful. Wanna take another guess?”

“All Cartoons Are Bubbly,” said Anna.

“Wrong again,” said Mazzy. “All Cops Are Bastards.”

Anna’s eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding. Really?”

“Really.”

Anna shifted her weight to sit up, wiping up some tears and feeling her salt-stained cheeks. “He is a bastard, isn’t he?” she said.

“He is,” said Mazzy. She pulled Anna into a tight hug as she began to cry again. “He is.”

***

Anna spent the next days asking why and how All Cops were Bastards. Why Mazzy had it tattooed on her, why she believed in worker’s rights and socialism, what she experienced, what she read, what she knew deep down. Anna dipped her toes in the water at first, asking things like “But it’s not really all of them, right?” and “If you raise the minimum wage, won’t everything else be more expensive?” But the more she talked to Mazzy, the more she felt she understood.

Truthfully, hearing Mazzy talk so passionately about these things she believed in so fervently was hot. Anna would stare into her electrified eyes as she talked about the labor movement, about drug reform, about prison abolition, about anything and everything. It hurt her brain at first, and sometimes Mazzy would say something that seemed like it contradicted what she just said only minutes ago. But slowly, as she learned from her hot girlfriend, it began to make more and more sense. Anna couldn’t bring herself to agree with all of it, but she felt she was beginning to understand why Mazzy was a socialist - and what a “socialist” really was.

It wasn’t until the protest that Anna felt she finally understood fully.

It was after the new year, after Anna had spent a few torturous days exchanging presents with her husband over Christmas. The idea of telling him still terrified her, and despite Mazzy’s urgings, she kept it secret, still. But the protest changed everything.

It was in a parking lot with snow still melting. Mazzy had asked her weeks ago if she could come. At first Anna was a no-go.

“Babe, this is really important,” Mazzy had said. “They’re keeping children in fucking cages. We have to do something about it.”

Anna shook her head. At first, she said it was none of her business. Then, that voting was the way to change things. Then, that the kids were probably being taken care of fine. Then, that they weren’t okay, but the two of them could seriously get hurt. Then, that she was scared.

“I’m scared, too,” said Mazzy, holding her. “Imagine how scared those kids are. We can think of a million reasons not to do it, but at the end of the day, it’s always fear. But we need to brave. For them.”

Mazzy was dead serious. Anna could feel the heat of her passion emanating out from her hands. “I just really don’t want to get hurt,” Anna said.

“I’ll protect you,” Mazzy winked.

Now, they were at the protest. It was a huge crowd outside the dense, black detention center. There were no windows into the sleek black box. But everyone knew what was going on inside. The crowd chanted “let the kids go,” and Anna felt herself swept up into their energy. Despite the January chill, it was hot, like being part of a fire. Thick combat boots stamped on the asphalt. Signs rattled. Hoarse voices cried for justice.

And Anna felt herself joining that chorus.

She raised her first, she shouted, she repeated the chants. It felt good. It felt cathartic. It felt like she was yelling at -

“Break it up!” she heard a familiar voice yell. Over on the left of the crowd was a hoard of police officers, and her husband had just commanded the crowd to disperse.

“Break it up!” he shouted again, stepping forward. The officers had riot shields, she realized, and she felt her ankles tense up.

“What’s going on?” Anna asked.

“Nothing good,” Mazzy said, taking her hand.

The line of cops marched up the crowd. Those at the front began yelling that they had a permit, that this was a peaceful protest. Then, one officer bashed a woman aside the head with his club.

Hysteric screams broke out among the crowd. Everyone turned, north, south, east, west, and ran. The smell of blood wafted to Anna’s nose as she stood paralyzed.

“We gotta get out of here, Anna,” Mazzy urged her.

“But what about the kids?” she said.

“Live to protest another day. Getting your skull crushed under a jackboot doesn’t do shit to help the kids. Let’s fucking go. Now.”

Anna felt the tug of Mazzy’s hand on her own. She still felt paralyzed, but as Mazzy began to run, Anna felt her own legs spring to life, scrambling with Mazzy as her heart raced. All she could hear was bones crunching and pained shrieks. All she could see was a throng of people leaping over each other to escape. And then all she felt was her body crumpling as she fell to the ground, tripping over herself.

Mazzy and Anna landed on the ground with a thud. Anna curled up as others stepped between her arms and over her, fleeing just as she had been a moment ago.

“Come on Anna, get up!” Mazzy said, rising to her knees.

“I can’t,” said Anna.

“Why not?”   “He’s here. My husband.”

Mazzy paused. Anna stared at the air with a glassy look, like she was half asleep. “This can’t be real,” Anna said, “I must be dreaming.”

“It’s real,” Mazzy said. “You won’t be dreaming for long if we don’t move. Come on, Anna. Please, please,” Mazzy pleaded.

It was too late. There was a familiar figure that had batted its way through the crowd, and now stood above Anna. It was her husband, with a riot shield, a baton, and a shocked look.

“Anna?” he said. “What the fuck?”

Anna was too scared to talk, too scared to even breathe.

“What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer.

He looked over at Mazzy, still holding Anna’s hand. Mazzy realized what was going on and rose to her feet. “She’s -”

Before Mazzy could even finished her first words, he smashed her cheek in with his baton. She crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, blood oozing out of her mouth.

“Mazzy!” said Anna. Seeing her girlfriend injured so callously broke her paralysis. She sat up and grabbed Mazzy and pulled her into her lap, trying to wipe the blood out of her hair. All the while, her husband watched, and waited.

“Explain, Anna. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I was fired months ago,” Anna said. “And this is . . .” Anna choked on her words. She looked up at her husband and felt more scared than she ever had been in her life. But there was something else running through her veins now, too. She needed to be brave. Not for anyone else. This time, for the first time, for herself.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Anna said. “I’m gay. And I want a divorce.”

Her husband kicked her in the gut, sending her rolling a few feet away. Anna held her stomach, feeling like her ribs had just been rearranged.

“Bullshit,” he said.

“It’s true,” Mazzy said, with a groan. “You lost your wife to a gay socialist. Guess cops aren’t only bastards. They’re also cucks,” she spat out. He kicked her too, sending her rolling over to Anna. She threw up more blood.

“You bastard!” said Anna, rising to her feet.

“So, what you’re telling me,” he said, walking over to her, “is that you’re Antifa now, Anna? Are you out of your goddamned mind? Did this woman brainwash you?

He stopped only inched from Anna’s face, looking deep into her eyes. Anna stared deep into his eyes too, but they were nothing like Mazzy’s. They were deep, soulless pits, she finally realized.

“No,” Anna said, “she didn’t brainwash me. She set me free. Fuck you,” she said, spitting in her husband’s face.

He didn’t flinch. “You don’t mean this,” he said in a low, calm grumble. “You’re out of your mind, Anna. I’m your husband. You made a promise to me. For life. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Anna flinched. She felt weakness welling up in her knees. He was giving her the look that said that she couldn’t talk back. It was bringing her to a dark place, and she suddenly felt afraid again that she would have to go back to her old life, with him, with everything, before she realized what it was like to really be alive.

And then, Mazzy punched him in the jaw.

While they were staring each other down, Mazzy had crawled around, stood herself up, and wound up a sucker punch to rival a boxer’s. Her husband twisted and landed on the ground, stunned.

Anna looked at Mazzy. Her cheek was puffed up already, and her mouth full of blood. But despite that, she looked then the most beautiful that Anna had ever seen her.

“I love you,” Anna said.

“I love you more than anything,” Mazzy said. “Now let’s get out of here, fast.”

She reached out and grabbed Anna’s hand, and then the two of them ran as fast as they could, as far as they could, down and over the crowd, past Mazzy’s car, which they had taken to the protest, and into the sidewalks, through backyards, around trees, over piles of dirty snow, over blockades, anywhere and everywhere, together.