Wednesday, November 02, 2005

She had made a lot of mistakes in her day, she knew this. With mistakes comes a certain degree of intelligence however. Her son could never understand this. She praised him, even to herself for his doctorate, and subsequent teaching position, but he always made the right choices, starting with his one to run away from home. She couldn't blame him, a kid that smart with a mother like him? It was mainly for this reason that she did not mind that he was not here with her now

"So, Mr... tough guy, how did you get that bruise on your neck?" her stepdaughter, cocking her head to the side and withdrawing the lollypop from her mouth, making sure to get every last bit of juice from the red sphere as she did so.

The random man --who the old woman had to admit, was fairly attractive-- looked around the dimly lit piece of shit apartment hastily and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Look lady I got into a fight... do you think I can get that shit now?" he rocked forward on his heels slightly, nervously from his place within the kitchen, near the door. The kitchen was its own room however the wall dividing it from the living room was missing its top half, thus giving the kitchen an 'open' feeling. He tried not to look directly at the stepdaughter's husband, passed out with the old woman's husband in the living room.

"You want that smack.. do you?" she stepdaughter said in between licks of her lips. She took a step closer. "Do you... wanna give me a smack?" she breathed, bringing her hand up, brushing his crotch before she raised it to place the sucker back in her mouth.

"No... I'll.. just take the smack please"

The young blonde took another half step closer, bringing herself well within the man's personal space, "Oh so you do want to fuck me?"

The old woman pretended not to be watching, but indeed was with full interest.

"Look, Lady... I don't want any trouble ok?

The stepdaughter reached down to grab the man's genitals, the old woman could tell by the look on his face. "If you don't want any trouble, I suggest you stop being worried about that fucko over there in a coma, and take me into the bedroom and fuck my brains out." She let go and stared into his eyes.

The old woman knew what the man was thinking: "For a whacked out addict, she's pretty hot"

"You do that, I'll see what I can do" she said softly, before turning to walk out of the kitchen, the random man giving a good twenty looks to the stepdaughters husband passed out on the couch, next to the old woman’s, before finally following the blonde. "Don't worry; they’re NOT going to wake up"

That was the last thing the old woman heard from either of the two for a couple minutes, but then that changed. The old woman had to say that she envied the stepdaughter, as clearly she was getting what she asked for. The old woman, in her wisdom guessed that this envy would be a temporary thing, at best. The old woman pondered if this particular fellow was simply brazen, or if the stepdaughter was faking it, wanting to get caught. Either way, why hadn't he just threatened to take his business elsewhere?

There must be something truly divine, transcendent in our lover’s sex sounds, because it sliced through the fog of heroin racing through her husbands mind. He snapped awake suddenly, his eyes narrowing with every second it took for his mind to get caught up on things. He stood there for a long time, listening.

Finally he reached for the gun at his belt; he looked at it for a second and then tossed it on the couch and grabbed the backpack on the ground. From within he grabbed a bunch of dime bags and started down the hall.

The old woman listened intently from her run down, yet comfortable chair. She hardly moved from the chair these days, likewise her husband barely moved from his slumber except to shoot up. As she heard the yelling coming from down the hall, she contemplated her situation.

The random man emerged from the bedroom and hastily hurried to put on his pants and shoes before exiting the apartment.

A couple of minutes later the sex sounds started again.

The old woman had made a lot of mistakes in her life, she knew this, but what is a mistake without the logic to illuminate it? She glanced over at her husband, still asleep and she smiled. What is love without the mistakes to illuminate it?


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