Goody Two Shoes (26 page)

What they’ve offered me is a solution to my stalemate of a marriage.  And what I know, from nearly fifty years of life, is that when life gives you lemons, you fucking add vodka and move on.  Change what you have into something else.  Television is loaded with reality shows that do just that.  It’s a popular plan.  Last week I saw some dudes from Ireland turn a Yugo into five thousand dollar car.  Come on, they didn’t cost that much when they were new.  Nevertheless, HGTV wouldn’t be in business if it didn’t excite people to make something out of nothing.  And that’s what the Tramp Stamp Club and the Sand Dunes Club are offering.  They take a boring, do-nothing, life, and turn it into something magical. 
‘Fucking magic!’
as Jonathon put it so well.

I read a test study the other day, and low and behold men aren’t quite as perverted as formerly imagined.  Men recorded between 1 and 388 daily thoughts about sex, while women think about sex between 1 and 140 times per day.  You may think that just verifies the point that men are horny bastards, but I’m reassured that women think about sex this much.  It’s enlightening.  The matter remains that I want the wife who thinks about it 140 times a day, not the wife who thinks about it once.  And I’d like to be the man who thinks about sex 388 times a day.  That’s a sexual thought every 3.7 seconds in case you don’t want to do the math.  Of course I’m a pervert for even wanting such a thing right?  Okay, maybe I’ll settle for something around half of that.  But right now I’m a one thought a day guy, so something’s got to give here.  I’m going to ask Ellen for advice today.

Hawthorne calls not twenty minutes before I leave the house.  “Ellen wants you to meet her at O’Malley’s Bar downtown.  Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah.  Any reason for the venue change?” I’m curious as to what’s going on at their house.  Something they don’t want me seeing?

“No, she’s just trying to cram eighteen errands into one trip.  Same time.  She’ll meet you out front.”

When I arrive Ellen is indeed standing out front.  She’s perched against the knee high brick wall in front of the Irish Pub smoking a cigarette with the bartendress.  They’re chatting like best friends and I see Ellen laugh.  I love to see that woman laugh.  It cheers my soul.

As I walk towards her she yells out, “Just leave all that stuff in the car, we aren’t working today.” 
Then what are we doing?
  I turn around and open the car and drop my briefcase onto the back seat.  When I near them again, the bartendress stomps out her cigarette and enters the front door of the bar.

“Well good afternoon, Quinn!” Ellen cheers and I notice she’s wearing tight blue jeans and a white top that clings to her skin and drops low on her breasts.  One of her customary heels is solidly on the ground but the other is pressed against the brick wall.  She has a ‘bad girl’ look that riles my groin.

“Good afternoon, Ellen,” and I peck her on the cheek.

“Here, I’ve recorded today’s writing,” She hands me a tiny memory stick.

“That’s handy,” I slip it into my pants pocket.  “So then what are we doing today?”

“Well I’m going in to suck some cock.  I just wanted to give you that…” She points to my pants and I’m not sure if she’s pointing at my hard on or my pocket.  “But you’re welcome to join our little afternoon party if you like?”

Hmmm?  Get my cock sucked?
  “Sure I’ll come in.”

My wife will tell you that I’m going straight to hell.  Maybe so, but if I’m going I might as well give them a damn good reason for sending me there.  I watch her stomp her cigarette out on the ground and walk inside.  But I stare at the cigarette butt and smell the remaining smoke in the air.  It’s ridiculous, but I always wanted to smoke.  I like the way it smells, it reminds me of the ‘cool’ kids.

She’s holding the door open for me.  The heavy carved door seems unusually large against her petite form.  I reach over her head and hold the door for her to enter.  She pulls me to the bar and orders two bourbons.  “It wasn’t difficult to convince you to join us today, Quinn?  What’s up with that?”

“I ugh…” I stutter because I’m unable to pull my eyes away from her hefty cleavage.

She laughs, “Tell you what Quinn, I’ve found that sometimes it’s just easier to have an intelligent conversation with a man after he’s come.  We’re doing Glory Holes today.  Do you know what that is?”

I nod because I’m speechless.

And she laughs again at my stunned expression.  “All you do is go into the bathroom, into the open stall, stick your cock through the hole in the wall.  Go do that then we’ll talk about the book.”

Her hand pushes the center of my back down the dark hallway to the Men’s bathroom door.  “Go on!”

I shouldn’t be doing this.  Rationally I know that, but am I going in?  Oh I’m going in, you can bet on that.  I only pause a moment at the door to think of my wife and wish she was here with me.  Another man exits the bathroom and I stand aside while he brushes by.  Ellen is staring up at me like an imp, “Are you going in or not?”

“Should I Ellen?”

“You have no idea who this woman is.  She has no idea who you are.  So this is only about release.  Go ahead Quinn, you need to clear those cobwebs out your head before you write
my
book!”

Ah I see now.  She’s afraid I won’t be able to pull this off, the book I mean.  For a second I thought she was talking about my cock, and I assure you that I’ve learned to pull
it
off on a regular basis.  It’d be nice to have a human touch though.  I lean down and peck her on the cheek and walk into the bathroom.

The first stall door is closed so I step into the second one and unzip my pants.  I stare at the hole in the wall and I can see a small speck of skin through it; she’s waiting for me.  My cock throbs and bounces wildly with eagerness as I push it through the wall.

Suddenly lips surround me; a thousand sensations overwhelm me.  This woman is a cock hungry slut!  I lean forward against the wall as she pulls on me like a starving animal.  I groan at the instant pressure of her velvet mouth, but she’s going too fast!  “Slow down woman!” I growl.

And she pulls free of me.  
Oh shit did I hurt her feelings?  Did I fuck this up?
  It wouldn’t surprise anyone if I did.

But the lips that press against me aren’t on her face.  Fuck!  She’s fucking me!  Alarm spreads through me, I wasn’t told there’d be fucking.  Now this is cheating.  No fucking way around it.  I can’t concentrate on my thoughts long enough to feel guilt, I push through the wall wanting to reach deep inside her.  And she’s doing all the work, pushing against me like an athlete on the last day of the Olympics.  My cock swells and my entire body reels with the pleasure her softness and eagerness.  I can’t hold on.  It’s been too long.  I want to last for her, last until I hear her groan with orgasm all over me, but she feels so damned good that it’s all I can do to press against this wall.

I want to pull away, rush into the next stall and fuck her against the wall.  Bend her over the toilet and fuck her from behind like the little slut she is.  She wants it; she wants cock so bad that she’s pounding against the thin wall between us.  When she stills, I take over and thrust into her with a year full of need.  But it’s her excitement and adoration of my manhood that sends me into the throws of orgasm.  I can’t stop it, the heat flows through me and my head falls backwards until I’m staring at the ceiling.  A loud groan escapes me but it sounds foreign.  As the last of my seed spills, I’m suddenly drawn back to reality.  Amazing how that works, a minute ago the only thing I could think of was her warm pussy.  Now all I can think about is getting the hell out of this room.

“Feel better now?”  Ellen is standing at the bar.

I nod because I’m speechless.

“Come on out back with me,” I need another cigarette.

I follow her further down the dark hallway and the sunlight burns my dimmed corneas as we step outside.  “Mind if I have one?” I ask as she lights up.  I lean against the wall like one of the ‘cool’ guys and choke for the next fifteen minutes.

“So what do you think, Quinn?”

“I think I went in there for a blow job and got fucked.  I kind of feel taken advantage of, to be honest.”

After staring at me blankly for several minutes she bends over in hysterical laughter.

“Awe, does someone need a hug?” she manages through her laughter.

I’m honestly not sure what she thinks is so fucking funny.  I just cheated on my wife. That’s not fucking funny.  “It’s not funny Ellen.  What am I supposed to do about my wife now?”

“Maybe you should fuck her?”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah right.”

“Alright, alright, why don’t you join the Club?  Let’s see if we can turn you into the man she
wants
to fuck?”

It isn’t as if I haven’t been seriously considering their offer, because I haven’t thought about much else lately.  I’m a broken down, sexless writer, much like a battered Yugo.  I need a remodel.  “When do we start?”

“Friday at 4:15
P.M.
  Be there or be square!” She tilts her head and I bend down and peck her pretty pink lips lightly.  “Just use the recording for today’s meeting, I’ve got to run.  See you on Friday Quinn!”  And she flits back inside the bar leaving me leaning up against the brick wall.

When all else fails, use what you have to make something better right?  Isn’t that what life is all about?  Remodeling ourselves?

Ellen and Elise-Life is better through chemical.

It was Saturday afternoon and Ellen sat on the front porch with her sister and a few bottles of merlot.  Some were full, most empty.  The children were down on the beach in front of them gathering shells and building sandcastles with Alan as their guardian.  It was almost a picturesque moment if you indulge.

“They remind me of us, out there playing with absolute freedom, no worries, and no fears.”

Elise had been in a thoughtful mood since they’d gotten there.  Ellen didn’t know why and the pain in her back was growing stronger by the minute.  She’d been keeping the wound clean by taking showers, but it was too hard to reach back there to medicate herself.  And she’d be damned if she’d ask Jonathon to come over and help her, he’s a part of the Club, thus guilty.

The wine wasn’t working anymore either, and the leftover pain killers from the upstairs medicine cabinet were long gone.  But the pain didn’t eliminate the fury or the fresh scrubbed determination that coursed through her.  She was getting to the bottom of this, no ifs, ands, or buts.  “Elise, is something wrong?”

Her sister seemed almost depressed this afternoon.  “No, actually it’s good news.  I’m pregnant again.”  But she sounded depressed.

“Aren’t you happy about it?  I mean its great news!” Of course Ellen wasn’t totally sure that it was.  She’d seen Alan walking into the Club.  He was a part of them, part of the people who’d branded her.  Who’d scarred her for life.  It was instinct that kept her from telling her sister what she really thought about Alan.

Elise shook her head, “It’s not like that, and of course I’m thrilled to be having another baby!  It’s just that I was so enjoying my free time.  You know, not having one in diapers for a while.”

Ellen smiled faintly through her pain, “I get it.  At my age I should be busy popping them out too.  I just feel like I’ve got something important to do before I start all that.”

“Does that mean things with Jonathon are hot and heavy?  Has he asked you yet?”  Elise perked and sat forward.

There was nothing Ellen could do but nod.

“And?”

“And nothing.  I’m not ready yet.  I didn’t even answer I was so disgusted with him!” she flared.

Elise stared at her in stunned silence contemplating why in the world this damned story was so important to her sister.  It was time.  “I’m going to get another bottle of wine.  You want anything?”

Ellen motioned towards her glass; the pain in her lower back was almost at breathtaking level.  But as her sister leaned down to pick up the glass she saw it.  The
mark
on her Elise’s back.  Her hand flung out and grabbed her shorts and pulled her close by the waistband.

“Hey!” Elise shrieked.

“Hey nothing!  That’s a damn tattoo!”  And Ellen was immediately stunned by the familiar design.  “Elise, are you one of them?  Are you?  One of the people who burned me?”  She screamed so loud that Alan’s head turned towards them from the beach far below.

But Elise stared at her confused, “What the hell do you mean by burned you?”

She stood, pulling her loose dress up over her pantiless behind.  She hadn’t been able to wear underwear because of the pain.

Elise grabbed her sister by the waist and yanked her toward her own body.  “Tell me who the fuck did this to you right now!” She demanded in a tone that Ellen hadn’t heard before.  She sounded fierce and motherly.

But Ellen shook her head, “They wore masks.  I couldn’t tell who they were.  One of them wore Chanel Number Five, I know that scent.”

“Fucking Cynthia ‘Copycat’ Pringle!”  Her sister groaned with fury, “All she’s ever done is try to be just like Momma was!  Freaky ass bitch.  It doesn’t surprise me that she wears Mom’s favorite perfume!  I’ll deal with her!”  She shook her fists in the air, “And the rest of them should be afraid too.  Really fucking afraid.”

Ellen moaned as the cool salt breeze passed over her open wound.  She wavered slightly at the venomous pain that seared through her.  It was a surface wound she knew, but the sting had long ago passed from her skin to every fiber in her body, and fever was not far away.

“Shit!  Okay, first we’ve got to tend to this.  I take it you haven’t been able to put anything on it at all?”

Ellen shook her head, words were past her now.  With that her vision left her and she fainted on the front porch.

And when she awoke it was dark outside.  She was in her bed, on her side with pillows propped up behind her back.  The pain in her back was gone but it’d been replaced with an odd numbness that left her unable to move.  “Elise?”