An adult stories – Save The Slow Dances for Me by JimBob44,JimBob44 Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
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Dennis Ourbe & the Benders had the crowd at Vermillion on their feet, dancing to the lively Zydeco music. Laci Boudreaux laughed happily when Michael Brookes twirled her round; she knew he was just trying to make her skirt flare up. And her short skirt did flare up, revealing her lightly tanned legs, lightly tanned buttocks, and red silk thong panties.
The band launched into a second jitterbug and again, Michael spun the attractive blonde around. Again, her sleek thighs and well-rounded buttocks and silky thong panties came into view.
“My husband is sitting right there,” Laci laughed as they danced.
“Uh huh, and?” Michael smirked. “We’re just dancing.”
Laci didn’t answer, just continued to dance to the jaunty music. A slow song started and Michael moved to pull her in close. The blonde beauty pushed Michael away and suggested that he go and get the table some drinks.
“Carl likes that, oh, what is it, gin, gin gimlet,” Laci said as she walked toward their table.
“Ready, Sweetheart?” Carl forced a smile to his face.
“I, look, I been dancing since we got here; let me sit a minute, all right?” Laci snapped as she flopped into the soft leather bench.
“I uh, I thought, you dance the fast ones with you know, whoever, and you and I do the slow ones,” Carl said, fighting hard against the irritation he felt.
He had sat and watched that slime-ball lawyer and his wife dance. He had seen the man’s sleazy smirk, had seen the man intentionally spinning his wife, exposing her sexy panties to everyone within sight. Carl had seen the arrogant bastard attempt to pull Laci close when a slow song, a song that should have been for her husband began to play.
“Next one, all right?” Laci said dismissively, patting Carl’s hand as if he were a child.
Butch Everhart and his wife, Yvette looked very uncomfortable, looked away from Carl and his wife. Michael’s date, Cheyenne Whitehead, a heavily tattooed older woman was on the dance floor, plastered to a young man. The moment they’d arrived, Cheyenne had abandoned them; Carl did notice that Michael had not looked all that upset.
“Here we are…” Michael said, putting five glasses onto the table. “Butch, you and Yvette are drinking that Pellegrino stuff, right?”
“Breast feeding,” Yvette admitted, smiling happily.
“Driving,” Butch smiled, accepting the sparkling water with a nod.
“Cheyenne’s drinking that, anyone seen Cheyenne?” Michael continued, putting a tequila sunrise on the table next to her empty glass. “And, Laci, you wanted a Long Island Ice Tea, right?”
“Uh, and Carl drinks…” Laci said.
“Oh. That’s right,” Michael smirked. “Knew there was something I was forgetting.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Carl snapped, his displeasure evident.
“Carl! That’s, don’t be rude,” Laci glared angrily at her husband.
“Rude? Oh. Oh no, I certainly wouldn’t want to be rude,” Carl snarled.
Cheyenne came back, her dance partner in tow. The bleached blonde guzzled her drink in one swallow, demanded a third one, then pulled her conquest back onto the dance floor. Laci drank her drink quickly, then followed Michael onto the dance floor as the band started a two-step.
“How’s your back healing?” Butch politely asked Carl.
“Quicker than my lawyer would like, but not as quickly as my doctor wants,” Carl tried to joke.
Butch and Yvette went onto the dancefloor and were soon swallowed by the stomping, bouncing and twirling bodies. Carl shook his head, seeing Cheyenne and her partner being very touchy-feely as they danced. During their dinner at Acapulco Grande Mexican restaurant, Carl had been polite to the loud, vulgar woman and her date, Laci’s coworker and supervisor, Michael Brooks, but he had not liked either person. He worked with Butch in the IT Department of Thibodaux Investments and knew Yvette from Administration and had spent much of the meal chatting quietly with Butch and Yvette.
It had been Cheyenne’s idea to go from the restaurant to Vermillion night club for dancing. Laci’s hopeful look made Carl agree, so long as she promised every slow dance was his. She happily agreed and the six of them left, each couple in their own cars.
“Listen; we’re going,” Butch said, yelling to be heard over the music. “We’ve been away from our babies for more than three minutes and Yvette’s feeling guilty.”
“Oh, shut up,” Yvette laughed happily. “Like you don’t miss them?”
“Miss them? Miss who?” Butch feigned indifference.
“See you on Monday,” Carl smiled, accepting a light kiss on the cheek from Yvette.
“That mother fucker ain’t got me another drink yet?” Cheyenne snapped, seeing her two empty glasses on the table.
“Don’t look like it,” Carl said.
With a shrug, Cheyenne pulled her boy toy toward the bar. She had not asked Carl if he wanted anything, and Carl had not expected her to ask.
“That’s enough of that,” Carl said, watching his wife’s panties flashing into view as a smirking Michael spun her again.
A slow song started. But instead of returning to their table to fetch him, Laci melded against Michael. The satisfied smirk Michael shot Carl was egregious enough, but Laci’s look of contentment stabbed Carl to the core.
Loud, brash, overbearing or not, Cheyenne Whitehead had done nothing deliberate to hurt Carl. Carl’s wife was a different matter altogether, though. Carl grabbed Cheyenne’s purse and his wife’s purse. Removing Laci’s keys and her cell phone from the purse, Carl grabbed his cane and limped his way to the front door.
“Here. Hang on to these, hear?” Carl said, thrusting the two handbags to a burly bouncer.
“I, hey, sir, I, this, you can’t just…” the man objected as Carl pushed his way outside.
Inside the club, Laci and Michael continued to dance; Dennis Ourbe and the benders launched into his latest hit, ‘Sharing the Moon.’ The shouts of approval from the dancers made Dennis smile. The sight of several skirts whipping about also made him smile.
Carl drove home. The house had been a wedding gift from his father-in-law, Chris Fontenot. It was a two story monstrosity; Carl and his bride had enjoyed two good years living in the behemoth before the automobile accident had severely damaged Carl’s back. Now, he and his wife lived on the ground floor, although, lately, she had been spending more and more time upstairs in what used to be their bedroom. She claimed Carl’s snoring kept her awake.
Entering the home through the garage, Carl made sure the deadbolts were securely fastened on the front and rear doors before going into their ground floor bedroom. Despite the spasms in his back, Carl worked quickly, efficiently to pack his clothing and toiletries. He soon realized he would need another suitcase. The suitcases, and his duffel bag were upstairs, in one of the three guest bedrooms.
“You can do it; you’re a Marine, boy,” Carl barked out loud. “On the double; let’s go!”
By the time he reached the second floor of the home, Carl was bathed in sweat. He slumped down against a wall and sat, laboring to catch his breath.
The master bedroom was a mess. His wife could not be bothered to make a bed; she’d always had a live-in maid to do that for her. And, after their marriage, Carl made the bed; she did not do it properly. She certainly did not make the bed as well as his sergeant would have expected the bed to be made.
Locating the luggage, Carl first thought to simply take the largest one of the suitcases. Then the thought hit him; supposed he needed a second and third one? Would he be able to make it up the stairs again?
The small suitcase downstairs was downstairs because he’d needed it after that drunk had rear-ended him. His wife had packed a few pair of underwear, a pair of pajamas, some tee shirts and some loose sweat pants.
“What I don’t take, she can bring them back upstairs,” Carl muttered and threw the suitcases down the stairs.
Finding more of his clothing upstairs, Carl loaded up his trusty duffel bag and threw the bag down the stairs.
Seeing nothing else he wanted on the second floor, Carl ground his teeth and began the laborious task of limping down the stairs.
“Oh dear God,” Carl gasped and wheezed as waves of pain engulfed him. “Jesus, please lift me into your arms.”
Carl was nearly finished with his packing when the pounding on the door began. Carl looked at his watch; he’d left the Vermillion at twenty hundred hours; it was now twenty two hundred thirty. It had taken his wife two and a half hours to come home.
Carl’s grabbed his laptop computer, made sure to disable the desktop computer, and walked through the kitchen into the garage. His last act before closing the door was to put her cell phone and her set of keys, minus the key fob for his automobile onto the kitchen table. He put his laptop computer onto the passenger seat of the car, locked the door that went from kitchen to garage, then started the car. His wife had the bright idea to jump in front of the car when she saw the garage door going up.
His wife also had the wherewithal to leap out of the way when Carl left a strip of rubber as he drove out of the garage. Carl did laugh at the stunned look on her face. He also laughed that she’d not been smart enough to punch in the code to raise the garage door, instead of pounding on the front door and screaming for him to open the door.
Carl began to lower the garage door and his wife jumped into the garage before the door went all the way down. Carl laughed; she would very quickly find that the door into the house was locked, her car was securely locked, and the interior switch for the garage door was still inoperable from when she’d broken it last week. His wife was in for a long night in the garage, possibly even a long weekend; the maid was not scheduled to come until fourteen hundred hours on Monday.
The DeGarde Inn rented him a room and Carl arranged his padded back support and scalloped headrest on the large motel bed. The hot needle spray of the shower felt exquisite and Carl lingered under the endless hot water for a good twenty minutes before finally shutting it off and getting out.
Laying down in bed, Carl again cursed Brandon Prejean, the drunk who had plowed into the rear of his 1977 Chevy truck. The truck had belonged to Brian Boudreaux, Carl’s uncle. Brian had bought the truck, brand new from Hinton Chevrolet and had maintained the vehicle until his glaucoma dictated he put the keys up. No one else wanted the old truck; the AC no longer worked and the radio was an AM radio. But Carl loved the old egg-beater and promised Uncle Brian he’d take care of the old bucket of bolts; maybe they’d get another forty five years out of the truck.
Brandon was drunk; he’d been paid earlier that day. He was also paying more attention to the sixteen year old high school football player he’d managed to lure into his car than to the traffic light that was red. He didn’t even apply the brakes as he slammed into the rear of Carl’s truck.
Brandon Prejean walked away from the automobile accident without a scratch. The young boy in his car suffered severe head trauma and whiplash, both caused from the air bag. And at first, Carl wondered if he’d ever walk again.
At six hundred hours on Saturday morning, Carl got up, fixed himself a cup of hotel coffee and called his wife’s father. He told Chris Fontenot what the code for the garage door was, and where to find the emergency key for the front door.
“Uh? I, wait, why are you telling…” Chris groggily said, still not fully awake.
Carl ended the call, then blocked both Chris’s phone number, and the phone number of his wife. On thinking about it, Carl also blocked her work phone number and the phone number of Chris Fontenot’s Welding shop.
Carl used a VPN to log onto the motel’s wifi and paid off their joint credit cards before canceling them. He then removed half of the money from the joint accounts he had with his wife and opened a new account in his name only. Even though he knew the numbers for his wife’s personal savings accounts and strongly suspected what his wife’s passcodes might be, Carl left those accounts alone. Any credit cards in her name would be her problem; he left those cards alone. The house, and the utilities was in his wife’s father’s name, so Carl likewise left those alone. He was no longer in a vindictive mood; he just wanted a clean break.
Venice Apartments had a one bedroom ground floor apartment available and Carl signed a six month lease for Apartment 110. The very cute redhead in Apartment #109 gave him a shy smile as he and Keisha exited the apartment and Carl returned her smile.
Bored, Carl decided to drive down to Landry’s Mattress Store in Flowers. As their ad claimed, ‘When it comes to bedding, no one gives you a softer landing than Landry’s.’
Two salesmen were standing in a corner of the store, debating local politics and the University of Louisiana at DeGarde’s dismal performance in basketball this season. Carl was invited to ‘look around’ and the two men went back to their discussion. Carl very nearly decided to drive out to Elgee, to O’Neil’s Furniture. He was sure he’d be afforded better customer service at O’Neil’s.
“And next? They’ll be talking about what a loser Biden is, but at least he’s better than that God damned Trump,” a voice squeaked out.
Carl looked around, then looked down. A pixie smiled up at him and Carl returned her smile.
“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, sir?” she asked.
“Yeah, I, I was in a terrible automobile accident so I need a pretty firm bed,” Carl said.
“Oh! How, how horrible! Oh you poor…anyway, full size? Queen? King?” she asked, scanning the store’s expanse.
“Hmm, queen. It’s an apartment; I doubt if there’s room for a king,” Carl said, giving the girl an once-over.
“Firm, firm, have you ever considered a sleep-number, a select-comfort mattress?” the girl asked, bringing him over to a display. “See, there’s air pockets, air bladders throughout and you can pump it up to as hard or as soft as you need it.”
Her light brown hair was done up in a bun at the back of her head and the bun was secured by two long black lacquered wooden dowels. Her dress, Carl noticed, was an Oriental design that ended just below her knee. On her feet, she wore high heeled pumps of black, which matched the black silk dress. The faux buckles of gold on her pumps matched the golden applique Asian designs of her dress.
The girl did not look Asian. She looked eastern European. When she walked toward the display model, Carl saw that she had a sweetly rounded bubble butt. As when the saleswoman faced Carl, Carl could see she had very nice breasts under her silk dress.
“I mean, Jesus God, that Afghanistan mix-up?” one salesman declared.
“But of course Trump’s over there saying he could have done so much better,” the other salesman agreed.
“Called it,” Carl said and the girl smiled, revealing an adorable dimpled smile.
“So, made up your mind?” one of the salesman ambled over.
“Hmm? This young lady’s helping me just fine, thank you,” Carl said.
“Hey, Michelle, why don’t you go straighten up the pillow section?” the salesman smirked at the diminutive woman. “I can handle it from here.”
“I said, she’s helping me just fine,” Carl snapped.
“No, no, I can handle it from here,” the salesman smiled an easy smile.
“Thank you; good bye,” Carl said, turning for the door.
“Whoa, hey now, buddy,” the salesman said, startled.
“Problem?” Alton Landry, the owner and manager asked, stepping out of his office.
“No, no sir,” the salesman said.
“Yes sir,” Carl said, recognizing the store’s owner from the numerous television commercials. “Hi, Carl Boudreaux, dissatisfied customer.”
“And why is this customer dissatisfied?” Alton asked the salesman.
“Because, while those two numb nuts were over there, enjoying the sound of their own voices, this young woman took the time to do some sales. The moment it looked like I’d made a decision? Numb nuts one walked over here in an effort to screw her out of her sale,” Carl said. “And when I told him I did not want his help; she was doing the job just fine, he ordered her to go straighten up the pillow section.”
“Michelle?” Alton asked.
“Yes sir,” Michelle confirmed Carl’s statement.
“And quite frankly? If that’s how he treats a coworker? I shudder to think how he would treat me, a customer,” Carl concluded.
Alton watched as ‘Numb Nuts Two’ actively approached a family of four that entered the store. He was fairly certain his presence on the sales floor had prompted the other salesperson to act quickly. Alton then looked at Carl again.
“So, what can I do to make you a satisfied customer?” Alton asked.
“That. Right there. That is a good start,” Carl agreed. “Now, this young lady, you said her name is Michelle?”
“Yes sir, Michelle O’Connor,” the girl said.
“…was showing me this sleep-number bed,” Carl said. “See, I was in an automobile accident and I need something firm for my back. Something Numb Nuts here never bothered to find out. She also talked me up from the full sized model to getting a queen sized; never know when I might have some company, right?”
Jerry, Numb Nuts One walked away, muttering to himself. Alton and Michelle and Carl continued to talk about the benefits of the particular select comfort bedding.
The brass bed? Yes sir; we do have it in the queen sized,” Michelle said brightly, checking her IPad.
“And sir? I’ll throw in the foundation and frame,” Alton said as he walked over to where his other salesperson was showing the family some bunk beds.
“Thank you so much,” Michelle said quietly. “Wouldn’t believe how many times…”
Alton returned just as the parents were deciding on the steel tubing bunk bed in black chrome. Carl looked up and nodded his head toward the small woman.
“One other thing, Mr. Landry,” Carl said.
“Oh, no sir! Call me Alton!” Alton Landry insisted.
“Alton, look at how this young lady is dressed. Look at her hair, her make up,” Carl said. “She is the picture of professionalism. Now, look at the two men. Did Numb Nuts One over there sleep in that shirt? You don’t pay your employees enough to get a razor? I know he didn’t shave this morning. The other guy? His blazer is gray. What color are his slacks? They’re brown.”
Michelle looked up when Carl started to give her the address of his wife’s home, then changed to his apartment’s address. She said nothing, though, as Carl tightened his face for a long moment. They agreed on a delivery time and Michelle again thanked him.
“Thank you for giving Landry’s a second chance,” Alton said, shaking Carl’s hand.
“Sir yes sir,” Carl agreed.
A consignment shop in Flowers sold Carl a light brown tweed sofa and a matching recliner. He also selected a good quality kitchenette set.
Miller’s Electronics sold him a television set and stand as well as the full PC Nation cable and Internet package. Short Moves agreed they could have the couch, chair, and kitchenette set delivered at the same time Landry’s would be delivering his bed.
While he was in the consignment shop, a telephone number he did not recognize showed up on his cell phone. Since he did not recognize the phone number, he sent the number to voice mail.
“Really? Really? You left me in the garage all night!” his wife’s voice shrilled in the voice mail.
“Could have left you there the whole weekend,” Carl muttered as he blocked this new number. “Now, kind of wishing I had.”
“You over your little fit yet?” his wife texted from yet another phone number.
“Not a little fit,” Carl muttered as he blocked that number as well.
Monday morning, Billy Stevens, the IT manager nodded somberly when Carl informed him he would be taking some time off to deal with some personal issues. A snafu in the Collections Department kept Carl and Butch busy until almost three o’clock in the afternoon. Billy let Carl know he’d received no less than ten phone calls from his wife while he and Butch were working to fix the problem. After eating his lunch, Carl called Nicole Banks, who was handling his law suit against Brandon Prejean’s insurance company and asked who she would recommend for a divorce.
“When would you like her served?” Nicole asked. “And where?”
“ASAP, and, her place of work. Maximum exposure,” Carl snapped.
The furniture was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday; Billy just nodded when Carl informed him on Wednesday morning that he would be leaving work at two thirty. Butch entered a few minutes later and Carl let his coworker know he’d be leaving work early that afternoon.
“So, see if you can somehow manage without me, huh?” Carl smiled tightly.
“Please get that; I am tired of talking to your wife,” Billy said when the phone on Carl’s desk rang.
“So, you over your little pity party yet?” Carl’s wife asked nastily.
“Don’t call here again,” Carl snarled and ended the call.
“Collection’s down again; Boudreaux, get in a good mood before you go in there,” Billy ordered.
“I’ll get on it right now,” Butch said, grabbing his tool bag.
“I’m in a good mood. Hell, I’m in a great fucking mood,” Carl snarled, grabbing his own tool bag and grabbing the hardware they’d used to correct the previous problem.
“I’m serious, Carl. Nina calls me, telling me you blasted one of her employees…” Billy warned.
While Butch and Carl were again trying to isolate the source of the latest crash, Laci sat at her desk in the Surewill Group Building and seethed. Last night, she’d ordered a pizza; cooking was not her favorite chore in the world, and the Brick’s Pizzeria employee had informed Laci that the card on their record showed as cancelled. Laci had to scramble to find another card, and the employee again told her that the joint credit card was likewise cancelled.
“That little mother fucker,” Laci snarled, digging out her American Express charge card.
A check on-line showed her that her husband had withdrawn half of their savings and half of their checking accounts. Thankfully, she’d been too smart for him to find out about her two secret accounts.
“All because I danced a couple of times with Michael? Jesus, would think you’d be man enough…” Laci snapped and looked up as an attractive blonde woman entered the small front office.
“Hi, I, I mean, I’ve seen the pictures; Kelli Breaux? God, she was just so beautiful; I still can’t get over her dying like that, and that Tiffany? Makes me hate myself,” the woman gushed.
“Yes ma’am?” Laci asked, fighting down her irritation.
“Anyway, you, you’re Laci, right? Laci Boudreaux?” Theresa White asked, head still swiveling as she looked around.
“Yes, yes, I’m Laci,” Laci agreed.
“And you’ve been served,” Theresa said, handing Laci an envelope.
“I, what?” Laci asked, mouth opened in disbelief as Theresa snapped a digital picture of Laci holding the large envelope.
“Huh, well what you think about that?” Michael smirked, reading the petition for the dissolution of the marriage over Laci’s shoulder.
“I, just over, just because I danced with you a couple times?” Laci stammered.
“I’m not sure ‘shitty taste’ is a reason for a divorce,” Dianne Pratt, Bonnie Valasko’s executive assistant quipped from the doorway of the outer office. “Today’s mail; why is your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ again?”
“Where’s Stacy?” Michael asked, naming the girl that usually handled the mail cart.
“Oh shit,” Laci said, seeing that she’d not taken the phone off of ‘DND’ this morning.
“Out. Sick. Again,” Dianne said, in a voice that let Michael and Laci know she did not believe that Stacy was out because of any illness.
“Well, don’t worry; I’ll handle your divorce for you,” Michael said smugly to Laci.
“No thanks; if he’s crazy enough to go through with this, I want to win,” Laci said and Dianne burst into peals of laughter as she exited the room.
A moment later, Laci again put their phone on DND and went to the break room. Dot Amandi, the footwear designer of the Surewill Group and her administrative assistant, Aymee Winn were arguing over splitting a banana nut muffin. Each was claiming they could not possibly eat even half of the muffin.
“What you got there?” Aymee asked, seeing the sheaf of papers Laci clutched in her free hand.
“Fine, fine, I’ll take half if you’ll take the other half,” Dot sighed as she expertly divided the large muffin into two equal halves.
Laci showed the attractive Asian-American girl and the very short designer the petition for divorce. Aymee and Dot listened as Laci angrily recounted the past weekend’s events.
“Wasn’t your husband in some kind of accident?” Aymee interrupted Laci’s tirade.
“Automobile,” Dot affirmed. “Messed his back up something bad. Y’all wanted Mexican, why y’all didn’t just go to Manny’s? Their salsa…”
“And he took you to Vermillion’s? I’ve been to Acapulco Grande; those chairs suck,” Aymee said.
“The whole place sucks,” Dot agreed. “That fresh out the microwave cuisine? Sucks. And they are mighty proud of that suck ass food too.”
“His back must have been killing him,” Aymee continued. “But he was still willing to go dancing? Wow, I need me a Marine.”
“No, he, he only wanted to dance the slow…” Laci faltered.
“And did y’all snuggle all up?” Dot teased.
“No, remember? She said she danced a bunch with Michael,” Aymee reminded Dot.
“Michael. Michael Brookes? Who is NOT your husband? You danced with that sleaze?” Dot asked. “While your husband, y’all just left him at the table while you danced…”
“But you did dance with Carl when…” Aymee asked.
Laci abruptly left the break room, leaving her half empty cup of green tea. Aymee and Dot continued to argue over the banana nut muffin. Both women wished they were alone; they would have eaten an entire chocolate chip muffin instead of just half of the banana nut muffin.
“Daddy, lawyers; who’s a good lawyer?” Laci asked when her father answered his cell phone.
“Aw Jesus Laci, what? What did you do?” Chris demanded. “Carl, Carl can’t take care of this?”
“I, no, he uh he can’t,” Laci sniffled.
Chris refused to give Laci any information until she told him what had happened. Laci attempted to give a sanitized version of the evening’s events. Chris asked Laci why she was dancing with a man that wasn’t her husband. He demanded to know why she danced more than one dance with a man she was not married to, especially when, by her own admissions, the man wasn’t a very good dancer. Laci couldn’t give an explanation, just sniffled in self-pity.
“God damn, just God damn, Laci, Jesus, when? When do you plan to grow up?” Chris sighed heavily. “Penny um Penny Jones. She’s with Richards Pellichet and Jones.”
Laci was able to get an appointment with Penny Jones for the following afternoon. At three thirty, Dianne Pratt again came into Laci’s office and reminded the flighty blonde to take her phone off of DND.
While his wife was sitting at her desk, feeling sorry for herself, Carl was sweating profusely as his physical therapist put him through his paces. Finally, Tori Webster nodded with satisfaction and Carl fell back onto the mat.
“Been keeping up with your exercises,” Tori stated, brushing an errant hank of brown hair out of her warm brown eyes. “Remember, ice it down, take a couple of Ibuprofen…”
Carl wondered if the diminutive woman realized, when she brushed the hair out of her eyes, her 36DD breasts tended to thrust out. And, not for the first time, Carl wondered if those breasts were real or store-bought. Tori’s choice of leotard tops with scoop necklines always put those boobs on display; the stretchy material and the low cut naturally drew the eyes to her chest.
“Yeah, yes I have,” Carl grunted, pulling himself upright again.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Boudreaux; we’ll have you running a five with full pack in no time,” Tori promised.
Carl laughed; he had no plans to run five miles with a full pack on his back any time soon. When Tori bent over to check her computer for the next session available, Carl took a moment to admire the attractive woman’s fleshy buttocks. The semi-translucent yoga pants showed Carl that the leotard top was a thong style; the dark material bisected her nice, jiggly globes beautifully.
His wife had a cute butt. For her build, her buttocks were just the right size, but like most women, his wife felt her ass was too big. And, she strictly forbade any ass play; her ass was ‘Exit only’ as far as she was concerned.
“Bet she would dare me to try to hurt it,” Carl thought as Tori absently shuffled from one foot to the other, making her buttocks flex and strain.
“Monday? Two thirty?” Tori asked, turning and affording Carl a good look down her leotard top.
“Sounds good; oh, we need to update your records. I’ve got a new address,” Carl said.
“Guess who managed to crash their system again?” Billy greeted Carl when Carl dragged his tired, sore body into the IT office the next morning.
“You and Pretty Boy Floyd handle it,” Carl said even as he reached for his tool bag. “Today? Today I’ll be the manager and pretend to be busy.”
“Bite me,” Billy laughed. “Pretty Boy Floyd, AKA Butch is out sick. His wife managed to give him her cold.”
“Women. Can’t live with them and it’s against the law to shoot them,” Carl sighed as Billy also grabbed a tool bag.
“Yeah, but they are kind of cute,” Billy agreed.
“And they do smell nice,” Carl said as they reached the elevator.
“Mm, oh, so do you. That a new after shave?” Billy teased as the doors slid open.
“Uh, your turn to bite me,” Carl laughed as they stepped into the box.
“Know what? I’m betting we got a ransomware here,” Billy mused aloud.
“Butch and I checked,” Carl said.
“What we need to do…there’s thirty stations?” Billy asked.
“Thirty one; don’t forget Ms. Crowder’s computer,” Carl agreed as they entered the bedlam of the Collections Department.
“Okay,” Billy called out to be heard over the complaints and chatter of the large room. “Everyone, log out of your systems. Everyone, yes this means you too. Shut down your computers completely. Do a full shut down.”
“What you plan to do?” Nina demanded to know, standing toe to toe with the tall IT manager.
“Carl and I? We’re thinking it might be just one station affecting the entire network down here,” Billy explained. “So, we’re going to go, station to station, turn it on, do a diagnostic, then shut it off again.”
“You can’t do that after hours?” Nina spat.
“We could. But then you’d be down for the entire day,” Billy patiently explained. “Ms. Crowder, we can’t keep my whole crew schlepping around trying get your department up and running. Believe it or not, there’s other departments here and every now and then? They need our help too.”
“How long’s this going to take?” Nina demanded petulantly.
“As long as it takes,” Billy said calmly.
“Actually, we’re done,” Carl said, coming out of Nina’s office.
“What? You, you went on my computer?” Nina shrilled, outraged at the breach of her privacy.
“No ma’am,” Carl said, loud enough for many of the employees to hear. “I went onto Thibodaux Investments’ computer. These computers? Are not your personal property; they belong to Thibodaux.”
Carl nodded with his head toward Nina’s office. A still outraged Nina and a smirking Billy followed Carl into the small office.
“Don’t know what porn site or on-line dating site gave it to you, but you picked up a virus,” Carl snapped, tapping rapidly on Nina’s keyboard. “A real old one too; no wonder our diagnostics didn’t pick it up. But every time you went to Thibodaux Properties…”
“I, I didn’t…I wasn’t…” Nina attempted to lie.
“…you brought the whole department down. And…” Carl snapped, showing Nina and Billy the computer’s history. “So, if you weren’t? Who was?”
“Nina? Any employee out there was doing this? They’d be terminated immediately,” Billy said somberly.
“I, Brook, Brook’s been wanting a baby, a baby brother or sister for Christine,” Nina sniffled. “And Freddie Loomis? Christine’s daddy’s in a committed relationship so…”
“So Butch and I, we been jamming our dicks into empty air because you refused to let either one of us look at your computer,” Carl snapped, nodding when the computer ‘dinged’ alerting him that the virus was now scrubbed from the system.
Carl shut the computer down. He waited for a count of ten and started it again. Nina dabbed at her eyes with a wadded up tissue and Billy avoided eye contact with the Collections Department manager. Carl nodded his head with satisfaction and vacated Nina’s seat.
“So, what you think will happen to her?” Carl asked as they waited for the elevator.
“Who?” Billy asked as the elevator doors slid open.
“Nina, Ms. Crowder,” Carl asked as the box lurched upward.
“Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Billy said.
Inside of the IT office, Billy explained his thinking; Nina Crowder had just had the fear of God put into her. She would not be going onto any more of the illicit sites, not on a Thibodaux computer at least. And, very little good would come from reporting the incident to Tom Thibodaux.
“Nina’s too good of a manager to lose if Tom’s in one of his shitty moods. So, we let this slide. She knows we know and that, my furry little friend, is money in the bank next time we need a favor,” Billy shrugged. “So, you said porn? What kind of porn sites she been looking at?”
“Hmm?” Carl looked up from his text message.
“What porn, what are you doing?” Billy asked.
“Just sending Butch a text; we found the problem. All the ladies in the Collection Department were downloading naked pictures of him that Yvette’s been showing them,” Carl laughed.
“Dude!” Billy guffawed. “Let me know what he says.”
“Fuck you very much,” Carl read Butch’s response. “Yvette would never share those pictures with anyone.”
“I’m going call Yvette and see if she’s got any,” Billy chortled.
“And, the porn site was…” Carl said and pulled up the pornographic web site in a secure template. “Pregnant Lesbians.”
“Hmm. Pretty hot,” Billy said, glancing over Carl’s shoulder at some of the images.
“Yeah well, most pregnant women are pretty hot anyway,” Carl agreed, pausing for a long moment before deleting the link.
Arriving home, Carl smiled at the cute red-headed neighbor. Inside his apartment, Carl fixed himself a gin gimlet and sat in the far too plush, too soft recliner. He knew Tori, his physical therapist would have had some ugly things to say about the overstuffed furniture, but for the moment, Carl did not care.
They’d talked about having babies; Carl wanted two or three, but at least two. His wife said she was a ‘one and done’ kind of girl and said Carl would be getting a vasectomy after their one child was conceived.
“Good luck with that,” Carl had growled. “My gun’s going be firing bullets until my ass gets zipped in.”
“Bet she’d look hot, belly all swollen with my, our baby, our babies,” Carl mused, feeling a stirring in his crotch as he thought of his sexy little wife being pregnant.
Carl poured the drink into the sink and prepared himself a light supper. Sitting at his table, Carl felt an emptiness descend over him. His wife had kept pushing the projected date of their potential conception further and further away. He had understood it when he’d been in the service. He had grudgingly accepted it the first two years after his discharge; his wife wanted to enjoy their time together. Then she wanted to wait until this goal, then until that goal had been met.
“Hello?” Carl said into the cell phone; the number looked familiar.
“Hello, Mr. Boudreaux? Hi! This is Michelle? Michelle O’Connor? From Landry’s?” a squeaky voice chirped into his ear.
“Hi Michelle O’Connor from Landry’s; what can I do for you?” Carl smiled, thinking of the beautiful saleswoman.
“I, Mr. Boudreaux, I…” Michelle breathed into the phone.
“Michelle, call me Carl, okay?” Carl said.
“Mister…Carl, I, so, how’s the bed working out for you?” Michelle asked.
“Bed’s working great; I really appreciate you suggesting that one to me,” Carl admitted. “And the delivery crew? Those guys did a fantastic job setting everything up. Very professional.”
“Wonderful!” Michelle said happily, then grew flustered. “I uh, so uh, um, I was wondering, I, I’d like to take you to dinner one night, uh, you know, uh for helping me uh, you know, with Jerry and Mr. Alton?”
“Michelle? I, um, you, you are a really special young lady,” Carl said.
“Oh God, not the ‘you are a really special young lady’ talk,” Michelle groaned. “God, never mind.”
“But right now, I’m in the middle, actually, I’m in the very beginning stages of a divorce,” Carl said. “But, minute the judge’s signature is on the dotted line? I want that dinner date.”
“How long’s that going be?” Michelle asked, breathless again.
“Not quick enough,” Carl declared. “But when I’ve got the papers in hand? I’m taking you to, you ever been to Hanging Gardens? It’s a Thai place right by my work; I love their curry peanut pork.”
“Can’t wait,” Michelle gushed and Carl resolved to put in an extra set of exercises that evening.
After his accident, any erections he achieved were weak, fleeting. Tori had assured Carl he would be able to regain his full function; these things just take time and patience. Carl assured Tori, he had zero patience but, unfortunately, had plenty of time.
When he was healed enough to roll onto his belly without excruciating pain, Carl had licked and fingered his wife to a few orgasms. Both he and his wife knew the orgasms were mild but she assured him, they were fine.
Carl smiled tightly, remembering he’d once held a misconception about performing oral sex on a woman. A drill sergeant had laughed and corrected Carl’s ideas about eating pussy.
“Bet she’s got a nice little quim,” Carl said, thinking of Michelle O’Connor’s pussy. “Wonder if she shaves it?”
“Bet she’s got a tasty quim,” Carl said, thinking of his red-headed neighbor. “You know what? I, I’ve never had a red head. Hmm!”
Carl was drenched in sweat when he finished his exercises that evening. The shower in his apartment did not get hot enough and the spray was weak. Carl resolved, as soon as his divorce was over, he would be finding a house, putting in a hot water tank that would really put out the hot water, and getting a spray that would cut flesh. He sat in the small chair in the cramped shower, letting the water hit him and thought of Michelle, of his unnamed neighbor, of his wife joining him in this imaginary shower he would have at some home at some time in the future.
“Your wife’s retained Penny Jones,” Nicole Banks informed Carl the next day.
“Good, I guess. Thank God I have the best, though,” Carl said.
“They’re asking for counseling,” Nicole said.
“Counseling’s fine; the clock still keeps ticking, right?” Carl asked.
“Clock keeps ticking; started the minute we filed,” Nicole agreed. “Clock ticks until you tell me to turn it off.”
Billy gave Carl a hard time when Carl informed him of the latest development in his personal life. Carl smirked, knowing Billy didn’t mean any of the empty threats or complaints.
“Let me get this straight. Time off for massages,” Billy said, ticking the offenses off on his fingers.
“Dude, physical therapy? Those are not massages,” Carl protested.
“Time off for your bed to be delivered…” Billy continued.
“Well, yeah, you got me on that one,” Carl agreed.
“Time off for meeting your lawyer. Time off to scratch your butt,” Billy continued.
“Well, it’s a pretty big itch,” Carl agreed.
“Not to mention a pretty big…” Billy said.
“Hey, Hey, the size of a man’s butt? That’s personal,” Carl said. Mrs. Cahill’s down again.”
“Damn it, where’s Butch when we need him?” Billy smiled. “Oh! Oh, see if Yvette’s got any pictures of Butch, huh?”
“Dude, you really want to see pictures of Butch?” Carl asked, getting to his feet.
“No, but you imagine the look on his face when he thinks we have them?” Billy chuckled. “So, when’s the counseling?”
“Ms. Banks said she’d let me know,” Carl said, opening the door.
Sylvia Hooperstein was borderline incompetent with fortune cookie platitudes and trite advice. Carl hated the overbearing woman on sight, and truly hated her office furniture. He did notice, his wife offered no assistance when he explained to the perturbed woman why her far too soft, far too low slung furniture would not suffice for a fifty minute session.
“Ma’am, I was in an automobile accident; a drunk slammed into me from behind,” Carl explained through gritted teeth. “I understand the psychology behind having soft, comfortable furniture, but it is unacceptable to me.”
Marnie Vogel, Sylvia’s receptionist brought a chair in from the small break room. Carl muttered his thanks and the attractive older woman nodded.
“Now that we’re all comfortable,” Sylvia snapped.
His wife recounted her version of the evening that led to Carl’s unreasonable abandonment of the marital home. Carl resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her tearful tale of the heartbreak and suffering she’d endured upon finding that her husband, her rock had removed himself from their happy, loving home.
Carl relayed his own version of the evening’s events. He had not, as his wife had stated, thrown a fit when dancing was suggested. He did not sit and pout, as his wife had stated.
“I simply asked for a few slow dances with my wife; look at her. She is a beautiful woman, a sexy woman, and it feels good to hold a beautiful sexy woman while some slow music gives you a reason to rub up against one another,” Carl said.
Both Sylvia and his wife nodded in agreement. Sylvia even had the hint of a smile.
“Now, ask her how many slow dances we had together,” Carl said firmly.
“I, I don’t remember, what? One or two,” his wife stammered, blushing.
“None. Now ask her how many her boss had,” Carl said, hefting his cane. “Our time’s up. Have your receptionist call me with the next appointment.”
“I uh, but, I haven’t given you your assignment for next session,” Sylvia stammered.
“Text it to me; I’ll ignore it at my leisure. I’ve got a job to get back to; this ate up my lunch hour,” Carl said, leaving the office.
“If you don’t even want to work on our marriage, then what’s the point?” his wife shrilled into Carl’s office phone later that same afternoon.
“My thoughts exactly,” Carl said. “But uh, you’re supposed to have your attorney call my attorney. You’re not supposed to call me.”
“Oh, whatever,” his wife snapped.
Carl wondered if his wife, or for that matter, Dr. Hooperstein had noticed, his wife had made no effort to move from her seat to the chair closer to where Marnie had placed his chair. Carl wondered if either woman noticed, when he had explained his physical limitations to the therapist, his wife had not uttered a sound in assistance of him.
At the next session, the hardback chair was already present. Carl gave a nod of thanks and took his seat. His wife again chose to sit in a low slung chair across the room. Carl twisted the chair so that he could more easily observe his wife while she again gave a bleak depiction of him, of his unreasonable behavior and unyielding demands.
“Andy Hernandez,” Carl said when Sylvia indicated he could respond.
“What?” his wife asked.
“I’m sorry, what does…” Sylvia asked.
“Chad Theriot. Tommy Huvall. Tommy Dawson,” Carl continued.
“I don’t…” his wife said, but was looking at a spot over Sylvia’s head.
“What do these names…?” Sylvia asked.
“Those are a few of the boys she’d fucked while we were engaged,” Carl said, not taking his eyes from his wife’s face.
“Oh, like you were so innocent,” his wife shrilled.
“Name one. Name one girl I fucked from the moment I put that engagement ring on your finger,” Carl cajoled.
“We’re not going to get anywhere if…” Sylvia said.
“Robert Richardson; that one almost caused his divorce,” Carl went on. “Did you know he was married? With twin girls? Did you even care about his wife and girls?”
“What about you, huh?” his wife defended.
“Completely, one hundred percent faithful from the moment you agreed to be my wife,” Carl said.
“Oh I’ll just bet,” his wife huffed.
“If I’ve been unfaithful, prove it,” Carl challenged. “Now, I know you kept your panties up after I got out of the Corps, moved back home.”
“Well, see?” his wife said.
“But since this accident? Seemed like it was only a matter of time. The flirting, oh it doesn’t mean anything. The looks. Dancing,” Carl said, lifting his cane. “See y’all next week.”
“Wait, for next week, I want…” Sylvia said, but Carl was already exiting the room.
On the eighth and final scheduled counseling session, Sylvia stated that they’d made some good progress and she was sure a few more sessions would enable them to reconcile. Carl’s hard stare slowly forced the smile from the woman’s face. She finally looked away and looked at his wife, who sat, looking at her husband.
“You, you’re done, aren’t you?” his wife whispered, a sob catching in her throat.
“Chad Theriot gave me a call the other night,” Carl said, voice low and hard.
“He what?” his wife gasped.
“Dr. Hooperstein, I will not endure one more moment of your tired, worn out clichés and your fortune cookie advice,” Carl declared.
He got to his feet, able to perform the maneuver without relying on his cane. He used the cane to steady himself as he walked to the door.
“Bit of advice,” Carl said at the door of her office. “Maybe instead of running your mouth? You might want to start listening instead. From the very beginning of these long, boring, useless sessions until now? You never once ask me what I hoped to get out of these sessions.”
“I, well, to uh, to find your way back to loving your wife,” Sylvia stammered.
“I never stopped loving her,” Carl said, opening the door. “But, God damn, I sure don’t like her. She’s immature, irresponsible, selfish, narcissistic; she just needs to grow the fuck up.”
“Well, we can’t all be perfect like you,” his wife screamed at him.
“If she’s all of those things, then why’d you marry her,” Sylvia challenged.
“The little head was doing my thinking for me,” Carl admitted with a tight smile. “But when the accident took my little soldier out of the equation?”
“Never said I was perfect,” Carl said to his wife. “But at least I try. At least I make the effort. Can you say the same?”
It took Laci a few moments to collect herself, collect her thoughts. She was still wiping at her eyes when Marnie, Sylvia’s receptionist reminded Laci she needed to pay the deductible, the portion her insurance did not cover.
Safely ensconced in her car, Laci called Chad Theriot. He answered with his ridiculous ‘yellow’ and Laci screamed at him for calling Carl, telling Carl about their sex the other night.
“I did what? Bitch, quit screaming. I didn’t call your, shit, I don’t even know his fucking number. How I would call him?” Chad protested.
“Oh. That, that mother fucker,” Laci spat, realizing she’d once again been outsmarted by her husband.
And Daddy was making noises about the house, the utilities, the lawn care and maid service. Since her husband was no longer paying the bills, Laci had resorted to depending on her father to pay those expenses. Laci didn’t want to move back home; she was an adult for God’s sake. But, without Daddy’s help, she couldn’t afford the large house.
“How about we sell this one and you buy me a smaller one?” Laci bargained.
“How about you got a job; go buy your own house,” Chris countered. “Now, make sure it’s nice and clean; Mrs. Davis will be by tomorrow to look it over and see what we can hope to get for it.”
“Well, do I get any money for it?” Laci petulantly asked.
“Still owe one twelve on it; after that’s paid off, Carl gets half…” Chris informed Laci.
“Carl gets…why’s he get half?” Laci demanded.
“God, Laci, really? You, your lawyer didn’t explain any of this to you?” Chris sighed.
“Well, how about this? We sell it for whatever, but we say we only got…” Laci suggested.
“And maybe we’ll get adjoining jail cells, Laci. That’s illegal, Sweetheart,” Chris sighed. “I see I really got my money’s worth by sending you to Cabrini.”
While his wife was dealing with Carmen Davis and the string of people traipsing through their house, Carl was mentally counting down the days until his divorce. Nicole contacted Carl about the upcoming court date. Billy, of course, gave Carl a hard time over his request for this additional time off. Butch also joined in on the gentle ribbing.
“Thank God we didn’t have any kids,” Carl somberly agreed with his supervisor and co-worker.
“Mrs. Cahill’s down again,” Butch called out, reaching for his tool bag.
“No, no, no. Every time you go down there, you’re gone for hours,” Billy objected. “Carl’s got it.”
“Aw!” Butch whined.
“Oh Jesus! Is he, Billy! He’s pouting!” Carl teased. “Look at him! Could park a truck on that bottom lip.”
“Oh no, I, I am not putting up with a grown man pouting in my department,” Billy said. “Go, go, it means that much to you.”
Butch happily scampered out of the office. Billy and Carl shared a smile and head shake.
“Hey, how’s the back going? I mean, you cut down to one massage a week,” Billy asked.
“Dude, physical therapy is not massages,” Carl smiled. “But, my mobility? Getting much better. My range of movement? Much, much better. I wouldn’t say I’m a hundred percent, but man! I’m a whole lot better than when this all started, that’s for sure.”
“And, best of all, my dick’s getting hard and staying hard,” Carl thought, but didn’t say this part out loud.
“No one gives you a softer landing than Landry’s,” Michelle O’Connor answered her telephone.
“I’m going to court on Wednesday and I’m hoping you’re available Wednesday night,” Carl said.
“That a personal call? That sounds like a personal call,” Billy teased.
“This is Carl Boudreaux?” Michelle chirped. “This is Carl, then yeah, I’m available Wednesday night.”
“Excellent,” Carl said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Should I pick you up at Landry’s?”
“Should charge you for that phone call,” Billy said.
“What? I’m on my cell; what are you going to charge me?” Carl asked, cupping his hand over his phone.
“Hmm, yeah, yes, I’ll bring a change of clothes,” Michelle agreed.
“And, in case you ain’t figured it out yet? I’ll be out of the office Wednesday afternoon,” Carl said, ending his call with Michelle.
“Hmm? Oh, Wednesday? That’s THIS Wednesday? Shoot, I didn’t tell you? Don’t tell me I forgot to tell you, but Wednesday we’re doing a tear down. Should take all day; probably won’t get out of here until midnight,” Billy said.
“Bull hockey too,” Carl laughed and looked up when Butch returned. “What’d Mrs. Cahill do this time?”
“No paper in the printer, so naturally she sends a thousand print requests, then loads it with paper,” Butch shook his head. “Then freaks out because now it’s printing all of her requests. Really? Printer doesn’t work, get up, walk over and check the printer. But nnoooo, she thinks if the first request doesn’t work, then the next one’s sure to work, right?”
“And how’s Yvette?” Billy asked. “Oh, hey, Butch, you remember we got that full tear down on Wednesday, right?”
“Mm hmm, yeah. Yvette’s not happy about it either,” Butch agreed. “Says God help me if I wake up the twins when I come in.”
“But, get this. Mr. Boudreaux over there? Thinks he can just skip on out of here and go to court,” Billy said.
“Oh. No. Not on Wednesday,” Butch said. “All hands on deck; it’s right there on your calendar.”
“It is not; Butch, I’m going slap you,” Carl said and laughed as ‘Wednesday–Tear Down’ suddenly popped up on his computer’s calendar.
“Fine, fine, we’ll do it Thursday,” Billy laughed as Butch smiled a satisfied little smile.
“Uh huh, Thursday of next year,” Carl agreed.
In Courtroom B, his wife wore a haughty expression and feigned disinterest in the proceedings. Carl smiled a tight smile as his ex-father in law walked over and offered his hand.
“Son, I’m hoping, I’m hoping she gets her head out of her ass sooner or later,” Chris sighed.
“I’m hoping the same thing, Mr. Fontenot,” Carl agreed, pumping Chris’s hand.
“But, until she grows up?” Chris shrugged, then turned and walked away.
His ex-wife turned and watched her father amble out of the courtroom. She then turned and fixed Carl with a white-hot glare. Then, thinking about it, his ex-wife turned and faced forward, staring at a spot above Judge Marie Robichaux’s head.
It was a fairly cut and dried, unemotional proceeding. Until Nicole Banks placed the bank statements for his ex-wife’s two secret bank accounts onto the table.
“You mother fucker! That, those, that’s my money!” his ex-wife screamed at Carl.
“Both accounts were opened after the marriage, all monies deposited after the marriage; it is community property,” Nicole said easily.
Penny Jones turned and glared at her client. Carl knew, one of the questions Nicole had asked him was in regards to any secret bank accounts or safety deposit boxes. Carl assumed, his ex-wife’s attorney probably asked his ex-wife the same questions.
“But, that’s, that’s my money; it’s mine!” Carl’s ex-wife whined as she was ordered to give half of the money to Carl.
Penny did ask that Carl Boudreaux bear all court costs, including attorney fees. After all, he had been the one to file. Judge Robichaux smiled a tight smile and shook her head.
“Normally, Ms. Jones, I would be inclined to agree with you on that matter,” Judge Robichaux said. “But given the matter of your client’s less than forthcoming nature regarding income and savings? Each person shall split the cost of this proceedings equally, and each person shall pay their own attorney’s fees.”
“Free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, free at last,” Carl said as they stepped out of the courthouse.
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that,” Nicole said, shaking her head.
“Wouldn’t need to charge me as much?” Carl guessed and Nicole flashed a quick little smile.
Michelle wore a Light blue button up blouse with white pinstripes. Her navy blue pleated skirt reached to her knees and on her feet she wore highly polished Mary Janes with thick platform soles. The light blue and white ribbons holding her thick mane of long brown hair completed the ‘innocent school girl’ look and Carl felt his cock beginning to tent his trousers.
“You look perfect,” Carl said, stepping out of his car.
He was rewarded with a dimpled smile as she skipped to the passenger door of his sedan. He was further rewarded with a quick glimpse of her bare thighs when she got into his car.
They were seated quickly; Carl had thought ahead and made reservations. Michelle again flashed a good expanse of thigh as Carl pushed her chair in for her. Then he pulled his plate, silverware and glass to the chair to Michelle’s right, instead of sitting across from her.
“Don’t know why they do that; make you yell across the table to be heard,” Carl said.
“I know,” Michelle agreed, smiling at him.
They ordered their dinners; peanut chicken for him and a vegetarian fried rice dish for her. As they waited for their food, and while they ate their dinner, Carl learned that Michelle’s mother had commited suicide three years after her birth. Michelle had been raised by her mother’s male and female lovers, and even though Megan, Bonnie’s lover and Michael O’Connor, Michelle’s father did not get along, they did their best to raise Michelle in a loving environment.
“Then, three years ago? I found out, my Dad wasn’t really my Dad,” Michelle said. “This, I like this.”
“So, do you know who your real father is?” Carl asked.
“Yeah, but he’s not in my life,” Michelle said, matter of fact. “My Dad’s my Dad and that’s that.”
A slight commotion made them look toward the door. Carl pursed his lips as his ex-wife and Chad Theriotentered the restaurant’s main dining area. His ex-wife smirked and Chad Theriot, a minor celebrity because of his drag racing smiled and preened and nodded to the patrons as the hostess led them to their table.
“That, that’s Chad Theriot,” Michelle whispered loudly to Carl.
She giggled, glancing over at the arrogant man. Her eyes flickered right past the drag racer’s companion. Then Michelle looked up at the impassive face of her date.
“When that Robin Durst beat his butt? I laughed and laughed; I almost bought a pair of them Tiger sunglasses just because of that,” Michelle giggled. “They kept showing it over and over on channel twelve; she beat him bad.”
“Mm hmm; they make them in men’s too,” Carl agreed. “But, damn! They are some proud of those sunglasses, huh?”
“Dessert?” their waitress asked and named the desserts they had.
“Michelle? That molten lava cake is a good one,” Carl said.
“Okay,” Michelle happily agreed. “But you have to help me eat it, okay?”
“Well, you’re going to have to help me with my pecan pie,” Carl smiled. “Coffee?”
Just as the waitress put the mugs of strong coffee onto their table, Carl and Michelle heard a woman scream, “You no good mother fucker! Association meeting my ass!”
“April!” Chad screamed as his wife lunged at him.
“And you! You home wrecking slut!” April screamed at Carl’s ex-wife.
His ex-wife tried to get up, tried to run backward, tried to get away from the savage looking knife in April Theriot’s hand. Because she was trying to do all three at the same time, she was getting nowhere and April slashed out with the bloodied knife.
Carl’s body block knocked April nearly across the table. The slippery knife flew out of her grip and she scrambled across the table to retrieve it.
Another patron tackled April and sat on her, preventing her from grabbing the large knife.
Carl grabbed a linen napkin from the table and folded it. He pressed the napkin against the gash in his ex-wife’s throat. Her beautiful blue eyes looked up into his eyes. Carl forced a smile to his face.
“It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be fine,” he assured the terrified woman.
Four police officers and an EMT crew arrived at the same time. There was nothing they could do for Chad; April’s knife had punctured his heart. When the EMT took the linen napkin from Carl’s ex-wife’s throat, he was sprayed with her blood.
“You’re going to be fine; they’re here; they’re going to take care of you,” Carl assured the still terrified woman.
“You come, you coming with me?” she tried to ask, trying to grasp his hand as they loaded her onto a gurney.
In the bathroom, Carl cleaned his hands as best he could. The suit, tie and shirt would have to go to the dry cleaner’s but he had intended to take them in anyway. Drying his hands, he called his ex-father in law and let him know what had happened, as best as he could.
“But she, she’s going be all right?” Chris begged.
“I, sir, I don’t know,” Carl admitted. The woman slashed her throat; I’ve got blood all over me. But, they’re taking her to the Trauma Center.”
“You sure do know how to show a girl a good time,” Michelle quipped when Carl returned to his seat.
Carl laughed out loud and waved their waitress over for their check. The woman tried to smile, but couldn’t manage very well.
“You, no charge,” she said, pointing to the manager of the restaurant.
Carl nodded his thanks and helped Michelle from her seat. He dropped a twenty dollar bill for the waitress; the manager might be paying for their dinner but he wouldn’t be giving the waitress any tips.
“Here’s where you make up some bullshit to get me back see your place,” Michelle said when Carl started the car.
“Hmm? Oh, oh thanks; I’m been out of the dating pool for a while,” Carl smiled. “Wasn’t quite sure when I was supposed to do that.”
“Well? I’m waiting,” Michelle said as Carl drove toward the Venice Apartment complex.
“Um, uh, oh! Okay, hey Michelle you’ve not seen what a good job the delivery crew did setting up everything,” Carl said. “Would you like to come see my apartment?”
“Mr. Boudreaux! Really? On the first date? I, well! Just what kind of girl do you think I am?” Michelle screeched.
“The kind of girl I’d love to sit on my couch with while we kiss,” Carl said after his surprise wore off.
“Oh! Well, that sounds like fun. I think I’d like to sit on your couch and kiss,” Michelle agreed.
“Do you have coffee?” Michelle asked as Carl unlocked the door of his apartment.
“Mm hmm; want a cup?” Carl asked and nodded at his red-headed neighbor as she peeked out at them from her door.
“No,” Michelle said, proceeding Carl into the apartment. “But in the morning…”
Michelle O’Connor did not shave her pussy; there was just a few strands of brown hair on her puffy pubic mound. Her inner lips peeked out, wet and dark pink.
Michelle used her mouth and tongue and hands to milk Carl’s first ejaculation; it had been months and he was quick to respond. After she swallowed his load, Michelle flopped onto her back and spread her legs for Carl to return the favor.
Carl wasted no time getting right to the task at hand. He used his tongue, lips and fingers to bring Michelle to two screaming orgasms before crawling up and nibbling on her half-dollar coin sized dusky pink areoles and hard nipples.
“Condoms?” Carl asked right before sliding himself into her very snug pussy.
“On the pill,” Michelle informed him. “Go ahead, give it to me. Give it all to me.”
After fucking her to a screaming, thrashing orgasm, Carl informed her that his back had been somewhat wrenched when he delivered that body blow to the crazed woman at the restaurant.
“Oh, okay, lay down,” Michelle agreed.
Carl slowly pulled out of her wet pussy. Her pussy gave a squelching sound when he pulled out.
“Okay, all comfy now?” Michelle asked just before swallowing him down to the root.
“Mm hmm, all comfy cozy,” Carl groaned as her tongue lapped at his sensitive cockhead.
“Good,” Michelle said, releasing him with an audible pop.
Carl watched as she wiggled around and straddled his erection. She smiled down at him as she guided his erection to the mouth of her pussy. They both groaned as her lips opened to accept him.
“I got titties,” Michelle reminded Carl.
“Uh huh; they some mighty cute titties,” Carl agreed, fondling them.
“”I, shit, I, I’m getting close,” Michelle hissed then started to buck on him.
“God damn I’m going need an ice pack bad,” Carl thought as she bounced frantically on him.
“Fuck yes!” Michelle squealed and froze.
“Fuck yeah,” Carl agreed and pumped his sperm deep into her.
Dismounting, Michelle used her mouth to clean him. Declaring their combined taste was even better than chocolate cake, Michelle scampered from the bed into the bathroom.
Wincing, Carl made his way from the bed to the kitchen. He grabbed the flexible ice pack from the freezer and brought it back to the bedroom.
“You like anal?” Michelle asked as she exited his bathroom.
Despite the agony in his back, Carl’s cock began to revive. Michelle asked for the remote to his bed and noticed that he was laying on an ice pack.
“I, oh, oh God, Carl! I, did I do that?” she gasped.
“No, no, knocking that woman away from my ex-wife did that,” Carl groaned.
“Oh, but still, God, I, I didn’t make it any better, did I?” Michelle asked, softly stroking his face with her small hand.
“Probably not, but so what? I, I’m pretty sure I had fun,” Carl smiled tightly.
“And….” Michelle said, releasing the air from her side of the bed. “I wanted to cuddle with you, but you’re side’s hard as a brick.”
“Uh huh, but it feels good to me,” Carl agreed. “Damn, how much air you going let out?”
“And…I like my side at forty,” Michelle said. “I got the same model at home.”
Michelle crawled over, placed her lips to his and then placed her small head on his chest.
**.**
“Would you please state your name for the record?” David Hightower, the Assistant DA and lead prosecuting attorney for St. Ann Parish asked.
“Laci Faye Boudreaux,” Laci whispered.
“I’m sorry, could you please speak a little louder?” David asked.
“I can’t. My vocal cords were damaged when April Theriot slashed my throat,” Laci whispered.
“Objection, your Honor. Allegedly,” Eric Greene, April Theeriot’s attorney called out.
So noted,” Judge Linda Newenberg tiredly agreed.
“So, you cannot speak louder because someone slashed your vocal cords?” David asked, clanking at the jury.
“Objection,” Eric again called out.
“Merely establishing why she cannot speak above a whisper, your Honor; I did not name whom may or may not have done the slashing,” David smirked.
“Mr. Hightower,” Judge Linda Newenberg warned.
Despite many objections interrupting her testimony, Laci did recount the events of the evening in question. Eric did cross-examine the witness, but Laci did not veer from the truth, so Eric was unable to shake her testimony.
“No further questions, your Honor,” Eric said.
Laci was led from the courtroom by a Bender Police Department Police Officer. Her orange jumpsuit made her pale skin and white blonde hair look even paler.
As she passed her ex-husband, Laci looked over and whispered, “I love you.”
“Too bad so sad,” Carl muttered as his ex-wife left the courtroom.
“The prosecution calls Mr. Carl Boudreaux to the stand,” David called out.
Carl stiffly walked to the stand, stood ramrod straight and took the oath. Then he sat in the firm chair.
In the cross-examination, Eric did bring up the relationship between Carl and Laci. He hypothesized that, perhaps Carl may be a little biased in his testimony against April Theriot.
“Sir, at no time did I offer my opinion,” Carl stated deliberately. “I used no adverbs or adjectives; I stated the facts as they are.”
“But, you are not unhappy that your wife was injured while she was on a date with another man?” Eric suggested.
“I am neither happy nor unhappy that Laci Fontenot, I mean, Boudreaux was stabbed,” Carl said. “What I am unhappy about is a good silk tie was ruined; the Dry Cleaner’s couldn’t get the blood out of it. Thankfully, though, they were able to save the suit jacket and the shirt; apparently they were a cotton blend.”
“No further questions, your Honor,” Eric said, seeing that Carl Boudreaux was unflappable in his testimony.
After being excused, Carl saw it was four o’clock. Seeing no reason to go to his job, Carl drove to the modest brick home on Wilford Road. Letting himself in, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosed his tie. He then fixed himself a scotch and soda.
“There one for me?” Marnie Vogel asked, stepping into the kitchen just as Carl prepared to take a sip.
“Well, of course; I made this for you,” Carl smiled and kissed the forty eight year old woman.
“Nah, I don’t need it,” Marnie said, gently pushing him away. “But tell me, how did it go?”
“Went fine, I guess,” Carl shrugged. “They put Laci on first, then put me on and…”
“Laci? You, you saw your ex-wife Laci, hmm?” Marnie asked, her jealousy bubbling up and spilling over quickly.
“Mm hmm; let me tell you, orange is not her color,” Carl said, giving Marnie a light slap on her backside. “Careful darling, your jealousy is showing.”
Dinner was basically out of a can and a jar; Marnie was not much of a cook. Carl was quick but efficient in cleaning everything up; he could sense Marnie’s need.
True to his intuition, Marnie was stripping out of her work clothes. There was no preamble, no foreplay, just a removal of her slacks and blouse and undergarments. Carl attempted to kiss her but she lightly pushed him away and lay on the bed facing away from him.
Carl removed his own clothing and spooned behind her. Marnie lifted her right leg and bent her leg at the knee. Carl held her right leg up and pressed the head of his cock against her wet pussy.
“Okay, okay,” Marnie said impatiently after he’d thrust himself into her a few times.
Pulling out of her pussy, Carl pressed the head of his cock against her resisting anus and thrust forward. Marnie let out a small guttural grunt as Carl shoved himself into her bowels.
“Quit,” Marnie ordered as Carl kissed her on the slope of her neck where it met her shoulders.
A moment later, Marnie cursed and barked in orgasm. She slapped at his right hand when he brought it from her thigh and brought it to her pussy. Ignoring her efforts, Carl kissed her neck and rubbed her clitoris. Marnie again barked out in orgasm.
“Yyeess!” Marnie growled as Carl stiffened and pumped his semen deep into her guts.
“Quit, God damn, what, what is your problem?” Marnie snarled as Carl kissed her throat again.
Carl accepted that his girlfriend had some mighty peculiar notions about sex. She seemed to believe that sex was dirty, vulgar, shameful, and necessary. She did not see the need for affection or love; after all, there was no affection or love in voiding one’s bowels or emptying one’s bladder. There were no intimacies needed when taking a shower or brushing one’s teeth.
“Think you been listening to your boss a little too much there,” Carl thought as Marnie hurried to her bathroom.
“All yours,” Marnie said, almost cheerfully when she stepped out, now wearing her customary sleep shirt of tattered old tee shirt advertising the Broadway musical ‘Cats.’ Carl knew the tee shirt had belonged to her deceased husband; knew the man had commited suicide, but knew none of the pertinent details.
Carl showered, scrubbing his cock clean. Toweling himself dry, Carl then brushed his teeth and pulled on a tee shirt and a pair of boxers.
Stepping from the bathroom, Carl wasn’t surprised to see Marnie lying on her back, tee shirt wadded up to under her throat. Again, there was no foreplay, no passion as he slipped his boxers off and mounted her.
He thrust in and out, looking into her vacant eyes. A kiss to her lips snapped her to the here and now and her empty eyes filled with anger.
“God damn it; why? Why do you have to do that?” Marnie snarled.
“Because I don’t like fucking a corpse,” Carl hissed bitterly.
Pulling out of her sloppy pussy, Carl knee walked forward, stroking his cock. Marnie gave him one last hateful glare before shutting her eyes. Carl spurted his hot semen onto her face, making sure to coat her unsmiling lips.
While she went into the bathroom to clean herself up, Carl pulled his boxers on and left the bedroom. In the living room, his second scotch and soda in his hand, Carl sat and thought. The blaring television from the bedroom did not seep into his consciousness as he thought.
Michelle O’Connor had been a fun distraction. She was lively, bubbly, affectionate, and draining. It took an inordinate amount of energy to keep up with the beautiful little pixie. Carl truly believed he was falling in love with Michelle when she suddenly announced that she’d met the love of her life. Just like that, their romance came to an abrupt end.
The cute little red-headed neighbor had moved out and a three hundred pound mannish sixty year old woman had moved into Apartment #109. At the depths of his blue mood, Marnie Vogel, the receptionist at Sylvia Hooperstein’s office had called and asked Carl if he would accompany her to an event at the Lopez Center, an event honoring Dr. Sylvia Hooperstein.
“Fraud of the year?” Carl thought, but said he’d be delighted and honored to accompany Marnie to the event.
Immediately after the evening’s festivities, Marnie had wiggled into the back seat of Carl’s sedan, hiked her ankle length cocktail dress up to her navel and demanded that Carl fuck her. Carl looked at her very hairy pussy, seeing the abundant sprigs of gray threaded through the light brown tendrils and had to think of Michelle, the little red-headed neighbor, the very attractive lesbian couple that lived in Apartment 104 in order to achieve an erection.
“Sex is good, I mean, most of the time it’s great,” Carl thought, twisting the glass in his hand. “But, shit! Just…shit.”
“So when is her trial?” Marnie asked at the breakfast table the next morning.
“Hmm? Her trial? It’s ongoing, it’s right now,” Carl asked, eating his shredded wheat cereal. “Remember? I testi….”
“Not that. Her. Your ex-wife,” Marnie said, spooning her yogurt into her mouth.
“Hmm? Oh, oh Laci? On the fifth; first Tuesday,” Carl said.
“Oh,” Marnie said, looking away.
“Yeah, the sex is good, but…” Carl thought as they both left her house.
There were no hugs, no kisses, no endearments spoken. Marnie got into her twenty five year old Toyota Camry and Carl got into his Chevy. With a wave from him and a head nod from her, they drove away.
At the St. Ann Courthouse, David Hightower told Carl his participation in the trial was concluded. If they needed him, they would contact him and schedule him, but for now, Carl was done.
“See? There’s a reason you didn’t sell your stuff,” Carl thought and drove to Tab Properties Leasing Office.
Forty minutes later, he had a new apartment. Forty three minutes later, he had arranged with Short Moves to move his furniture from his storage unit to his new apartment.
“Come and go as he pleases, huh Butch?” Billy said when Carl came into the IT office.
“Hmm? Oh, shit! Hey, it’s time for my coffee break; see you,” Carl said, pretending to glance at his watch.
“Bitch, nuh uh, get down to Acquisitions,” Billy laughed. “They just sent word that their print requests aren’t going through.”
“Paper? Toner, who wants to bet on what?” Carl agreed, grabbing his tool bag and making sure he had toner cartridges in the sealed sleeve.
“I got fifty on toner; I would hope they’re smart enough to check the paper,” Butch said.
“Toner. Definitely toner,” Billy agreed as Carl left the office.
“You both lose,” Carl laughed twenty minutes later. “Paper. And, of course, since they’d sent like a hundred requests for that one document?”
“You’re making that up,” Billy laughed. “But since you missed your coffee break?”
“Too bad so sad,” Butch chimed in.
Sensing what her reaction would be, Carl waited until Friday night to let Marnie know he was moving out. It was not cowardice but rather a matter of convenience that Carl waited as long as he did. He was fairly certain the attractive older woman would scream and rant and rave, possibly even throw things. And once she’d exhausted her rage, she would then demand that he leave her home at once.
Instead, she let out a long drawn out sigh and said, “Well, I was wondering how long it would take. You fucking men are all alike.”
“I…” Carl said, then shut up.
“So, what’s her name? I know her?” Marnie asked bitterly, facing away from him.
“I, who?” Carl asked.
“Her. Her, the bitch you leaving me for,” Marnie shrilled, finally showing some emotion.
“Marnie, there, there is no…’ there’s no one,” Carl said.
“Oh bull shit. You going tell me you giving up the pussy, fucking me and don’t have some bitch on the side?” Marnie demanded.
No amount of protestations would convince Marnie that Carl did not have some whore on the side. Marnie finally rolled over and sobbed bitter tears. Carl lay awake, listening to her harsh sobs.
As usual, Carl made the bed in the morning. His last act before leaving the bedroom was to take off his plain white tee shirt and lay it on the pillow on his side of the bed. All his clothing had already been packed into his car’s trunk and backseat.
“Bye,” Marnie spat out as Carl put coffee cup and bowl and spoon into the dishwasher.
“Bye,” Carl agreed.
Carl waited to see if she would say anything else. She just stood, noisily jerked the dishwasher open and savagely jammed her dirty spoon into the silverware tray.
“Bye,” Carl said again. “Keys are on the…”
“Bye! All right? Good bye!” Marnie snarled, marching out of the kitchen.
“Bye,” Carl said, closing the door.
Carl did not have to testify at Laci’s trial; Penny Jones, her attorney accepted a plea bargain for her client. Instead of second degree murder in the stabbing death of Michael Brookes, Sarah Guillory, The DA of St. Elizabeth Parish and Penny Jones worked out an aggravated manslaughter charge. Judge Marie Robichaux sentenced Laci Faye Boudreaux to serve out her sentence in Hearst Medium Security Penitentiary in East Turn, Louisiana.
Lying in her hospital bed after April’s attack, Laci did the math in her head. Only one person had known that she would be at the Hanging Gardens that evening, only one person knew she would be at The Hanging Gardens Thai restaurant with Chad Theriot.
“So…divorced? Hey, let me take you to Side By Side, a little celebration tonight,” Michael Brookes had preened as Laci prepared to leave the office to go to the courthouse.
“Oh, that’s sweet, but I already got a date; Chad’s taking me to the Hanging Gardens tonight,” Laci had said.
At the time, Laci had actually smirked at the dark red face of her supervisor. She knew he was infatuated with her. She also knew, Michael Brookes was neither as intelligent as he believed himself to be, or as handsome, irresistible as he fancied himself to be.
“Fucking weasel,” Laci mouthed, staring up at the acoustic tile of her hospital room. “You God damned fucking weasel.”
Two weeks after the near-fatal incident, Laci returned to work, a white strip of adhesive tape holding the gauze over the stitches on her throat. She accepted the hug from Aymee Winn, who had been filling in as Michael’s AA during Laci’s absence.
“God damn, girl, how you put up with his bull shit?” Aymee asked, grabbing her personal Cartier pen from the desk’s surface and preparing to leave the outer office.
“Not easy,” Laci whispered, voice still hoarse sounding.
As Aymee left the outer office, Laci took the key for Michael’s office from the middle drawer of her desk. As quietly as she could, she unlocked the door of his office. She then pulled a knife from her Barragona bag, a knife comparable to the one April Theriot had used on her. Laci flung open the door to Michael’s office and caught him masturbating to a male-male-female bisexual video streaming on his computer.
“I almost died,” Laci tried to scream, but could only rasp out. “Let’s see how you like it, fucking ass hole.”
Carl wasn’t there to body block Laci. Carl wasn’t there to wad up a linen napkin and staunch the spray of blood from Michael’s slashed throat.
Aymee had forgotten to grab her coffee mug; it had ‘Oxygen Thief’ in big bold white lettering on the black mug. She screamed as she saw Laci with a bloody knife in her hand and Michael flailing helplessly while his life sprayed out of him.
Chris Fontenot sobbed helplessly as his baby, his only daughter prepared to leave the courtroom. Father and daughter hugged for several long moments, sobbing together. Finally, a deputy nudged the two apart.
Laci stumbled slightly when she saw her ex-husband standing just behind her father. He gave her a sad smile and she gamely tried to return the smile.
“I should have danced with you,” Laci whispered. “I, I should have danced with you.”
Her ex-husband wiped his watery eyes and shrugged his shoulders. Laci allowed herself to be led from the courtroom by the two deputies. She did not turn and look back as the deputy on her left opened the side door of the courtroom and urged her through the open doorway.