Author's note. Last week's story "What happens in Vegas" got me a lot of comments about how there should have been more revenge taken for the incident. While I really think that what he did was enough. I decided to pump up the revenge just a tad this week for all of you violence and planned revenge junkies. I think there's enough of a happy ending here for everyone else at the same time. Thanks again to Mikothe baby for her editing prowess, without which this story WOULD NOT BE READABLE. Enjoy SS06
"Alright, God damn it, settle down," the voice of my childhood friend, Dave Peterson grated in my ears. Dave was standing over me, staring down at me as I tried to explain my part in the incident. Dave was the county sheriff now in our small town in Ohio.
Above my head, very bright lights beamed down on me. It was like on one of those old TV shows where they try to sweat a confession out of the nefarious perpetrator. It was so cliché and so funny that I kept laughing, even though this was serious business.
I looked around the room to see if anyone else thought it was funny too. The chunky figure that was Martha Erikson, theDistrict Attorney, didn't seemed to be amused as she listened to my statements. Martha constantly tapped her pen against a stack of two or three legal pads. The one thing going through my mind as she continued to tap that fucking pen was, "Jeezus woman, it's the twenty-first century, get yourself a fucking i-Pad."
Martha is ten years or so older than me. She's divorced and chunky, but pleasingly so. As she leans forward, all of that pretty brown hair cascades towards the front and spills over her shoulders. Her frontal lean also gifts me a view of her sweater melons, which are quite substantial and exceedingly fine. I know what you're wondering. And the answer is nope. Not that I don't find Martha sexy as all get out, but I'm a one woman man. That so far unnamed woman is also the reason this man is in this predicament.
Next to Martha was Joe Colston. Joe is my lawyer. For a small town ambulance chaser he's not too bad. Sure he could and used to work for one of the high pressure automotive firms up in Detroit. He could still be there if he wanted to, but Joe is lazy as hell. He only wants to work one case at a time and then only when he feels like it. The rest of his time he spends lying on his ass, giving out legal advice for a fee, over the internet.
Joe is in his fifties with a balding head. His hair is completely gone in the front. He has one of those Donald Trump comb-overs that polite people smile about but never mention. Joe could be far more imposing and probably more attractive to women if he'd just let the hair thing go. Fuck, it's the twenty-first century people. Joe you've got three choices, bud. All of them involve you admitting you're bald.
Number one, just deal with it and comb your hair normally. Get it cut and styled. Everyone has seen the way men lose their hair. It's a part of life.
Number two, get a hair transplant or those plug things. If they work for Elton John, they'll work for anyone.
And the last choice, just shave that shit off and go for the professor X look. It certainly hasn't hurt that prosecutor down in Florida. The one they call, "The Angel of Death."
As soon as he shaved his head, that guy was knee deep in pussy and even got a cool sounding nickname. You can just hear trumpets in the background when someone says that name. Try it. Say, "The Angel of Death." You know you heard that "Da Da," trumpet fanfare. I'm sure that guy is way more imposing as a lawyer than my guy. Let's face it, if you were the opposing counsel, who would you find yourself more worried about meeting in court? "The Angel of Death," (da da) or comb-over Joe. (Insert sarcastic smirk here)
Anyway back to the scene. Next to Joe, separated from me by Dave, sits the woman in my one woman man status, Allyson Pane. Okay the name thing is mostly my fault. Her maiden name was Allyson Scott, but then I married her and made her name the butt of hundreds of jokes.
Allyson is very pretty. She's petite, but curvy. Everything on her is perfect. Her hair is silky straight and as red as a fucking fire truck with ketchup splattered on it. Her skin isn't that Irish skin that looks like milk and never tans. Her coloring is healthy and perfect. Her green eyes draw you in and her smile just latches onto you and makes you want to listen to her. I loved her from the first second that I saw her.
I know some guys who get so into watching her talk when they first meet her, that they never really hear her saying all of those wonderful things that come out of her mouth. Things like, "Get the fuck away from me, asshole. I have a boyfriend."
Guess what, I'm the boyfriend. Oh shit, I got that wrong again. I'm not her boyfriend anymore. We got married. Anyway, to continue setting the scene for you, Allyson's petite, so if you're expecting me to say that she has huge hooters and that's what gives me the willpower to keep my eyes away from Martha's you're wrong. Allyson's breasts are probably cupcake sized but very pert. They're perfect for her. Her ass, though tiny, is curvy and again, perfect for her.
Right now Ally is smiling and she's aiming that smile with utter perfection. That smile bounces off the wall beside her and banks around Joe so it reaches me. I'm smiling right back at her. It is so fucking wonderful to be in love. Nothing else matters when you feel this good. Everything else just takes a backseat to it and becomes a minor inconvenience.
Even the "assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder and intent to do great bodily harm," charges that are hanging over my head right now pale in comparison to the fact that right now Ally is smiling at me and she loves me.
Those charges are something else that we're sharing right now. Ally also faces kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment charges too. That's my girl.
Across the room, Tammy-Joe Dichslukker just glares at us. Her anger, hatred and outright jealousy of Ally are almost sucking all of the fun out of the room. Tammy-Joe's parents as you can imagine have an astounding lack of imagination, but they're nice people and totally un-responsible for the way she turned out. Her mother's name is Tammy and her father's name is ... Steve. But he'd always promised to name his first child after a guy who saved his life when he was in the service.
Tammy-Joe likes to be called TJ and her friends, all two of them, try to remember that. Most people call Tammy-Joe, "the Dick sucker." Nope, it's not a pun on her last name; it's pretty much what she is.
I have my own affectionate nickname for Tammy-Joe. I call her Skankzilla. That is when I call her at all. I guess I should have mentioned that Skankzi ... I mean Tammy-Joe, is my ex-wife. (I'm sure when I said that you were hearing the O'Jays singing, "She used to be my girl," inside of your head, weren't you?)
Anyway, Tammy Joe and Ally are nothing alike. Tammy Joe is a bit taller, a lot curvier and not nearly as nice. Alright, since I'm trying to be honest with you, TJ is a porker now. But she wasn't always. She used to be really fucking hot. Time, gravity and depression have taken their toll on her though. I guess in my younger days, I was a creature of excesses. I figured if I liked something, I should have the biggest and the best one of whatever it was.
I really admire women with great legs. Tammy-Joe has the thickest curviest legs you're going to find. I really love a big butt. Tammy Joe's ass would be perfectly at home on one of those rap star's girlfriends. I love titties and Tammy-Joe wears a 46 quadruple Z bra. Or something like that. I really don't know anything about bra sizes, but those things are huge. She has long wavy dark hair and icy blue eyes.
Tammy Joe was my first love. We got married as soon as I got my degree. And if she wasn't such a slut and a bitch too, we'd probably still be together.
"Alright," screamed Dave again. Are you or are you not responsible for cutting off the victim's ... equipment?"
I calmly look up at Dave and said, "I'm not, well ... maybe WE are. But it's not my fault."
"Now we're fucking getting somewhere," said Dave. "It's her fault. She did it."
"Well that's not true either," I said. "Look at her, Dave. She's the prettiest, most perfect thing that God ever made."
"That's Sheriff Peterson, when we're on a case," spat Dave. "And I don't care how pretty your wife is. I just need to know who the fuck, cut off the Mayor's son's tally-whacker."
"I have your answer, Dave ... I mean Sheriff Peterson sir," I said. I was tempted to give a little salute. But I knew if I did, I'd be laughing my ass off. Then Ally would start laughing too. And we'd have to start this shit all over again.
"It was an accident," I said. "I was actually trying to save that asshole when it happened." I noticed Martha furiously writing notes as I spoke. I looked at her pad. "Martha, asshole has two "S's," I said.
Then I looked back at Dave. "Actually, this whole thing is her fault," I said pointing across the room at Skankzilla, I mean, Tammy Joe.
"Danny, how the fuck is this, Dic ... I mean Tammy Joe's fault? She was back in Michigan, over a hundred miles away from here when this all happened."
"Dave, the events that transpired this evening are the culmination of a shit storm that all started three years ago when I was still married to Dicks ... I mean Tammy Joe."
.... There is more of this story ...