Guild of unpublished horror writers

 

Max paced about the apartment, worried, yet furious. 

The fuck is she?  He wondered. It’s already past twelve!

His thoughts worsened, never knowing if he should give up on her or be concerned, until the sound of her chatty voice could be heard outside.

“Unbelievable…un-fucking-believable!”  He muttered.

He quickly takes a stance in front of the door, waiting impatiently for her to jostle the key and turn the doorknob to let herself come stumbling in, texting and reeking of wine. 

“Where you been!?”  He angrily demands.

“Ugh, what’s got your knickers all in a twist, this time!?”  She said, annoyed and dismissive.

"LYLA!"

"WHAT!!?"  She finally snapped.  "Who the bloody hell you YELLING AT!?  FUCK OFF!!"

“Where were you, huh!?  Tell me!”

“And, what business is it of yours!?  You don’t own me, you little twat; bugger off!”

“What!? And did you just ride home with somebody; who!?”

“That’s none of your business, cunt!”

“Lyla...I’m your husband; look at me!”  He yelled, grabbing her arm, but she violently wrenches free as if his touch was toxic, causing him to nearly stumble back.

“Get the fuck off of me, don’t ever lay your hand on me, again!!”  She screamed. “Fucking bastard, you're no husband; you're not even a man!”

“...The hell’s gotten into you?”

“You, twat, you!!  Here I am, my career going no where and to top it all off, I’m stuck married to some shitty, dirt-poor cop!  Every, bloody night, you’re out late and I wonder where you are, are you alright, why don’t you fucking call!?  But I’m out late, trying to liven up my life and suddenly I’m the bad guy!?”

“W-What!? Is that what this is about? It’s my job; I thought you knew that when we got married!”

“Well, I thought you wanted better, as I do, but I guess I was the only one who wanted something, instead of living in this shithole!  I moved up from Weather Girl to a fucking ace reporter!  What have you done, eh!?”

“Woman, I’m working my ass off to make ends meet around here, what are you doing!?”

“I’m the one bringing in more money to this relationship, arse; you bring home shit!”

“None of us make enough for all the high-end shit you buy; I’ll have to get a second job because of you!”

“I guess buying me something nice sounds more of a challenge for you, huh?  Face it, you’re a cheap loser, and a bum!  No wonder I’m seeing somebody.”

“What?” He asked, after she’d slipped her tongue.

“I said, no wonder you think I'm seeing somebody!”  She responded. “You’re a joke of a human being and I don’t have to deal with all of this!”

Her words proved caustic to hear then, but, two years later as he lets the morning sun’s blinding light wash over while lying in bed, dead to the world, they were haunting now.

Why am I thinking about that shit, now?  He thought.  Maybe she was right?  Maybe I am a joke.

Not even the ring chime of his phone roused him, as thinking it was either work or a telemarketer, he debated on answering before resigning himself to this meaningless task. 

“Good god!” He muttered, answering it. “…Yello.”

“Max?”

“Mama!?” He asked, fully alert.  “You okay; w-what’s going on?”

“…Did I wake you!”

“Nah, I’m cool.  Is everything okay?”

“Well,” she started to say, as though something heavy held her back, “It’s about your aunt Mildred.”

“Millie? She alright, ain’t she?”

“No,…she had just been admitted to the hospital, recently and…I’m sorry, we lost her.”

The news hit him like a punch to the face by a heavyweight boxer, so much so he brought his head low as if to cradle it.

“…Oh god.” He managed to utter.  

“I know you always liked her.”

“Yeah,” he said in a graven voice.  “W-What happened, how did she…I didn’t even know she was sick!”

“Me neither. I just heard about her being admitted to the hospital last night.  By the time I was about to leave, she had passed; still don’t know anything!” 

“Last night! Oh man!”

“Mm-hm.”

“…H-How you holding up; you alright?”  He asked his mom.

“I’m fine!”  She said, almost surprised at the question.  “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I remember when she and her kids came down from Jacksonville to be with you after…what that woman did.”

“…I hadn’t forgot.”

“She’s just like your dad; they was twins, you know?  She just sensed you needed someone.”

He hadn’t forgotten how, after the fiasco with his marriage to Lyla, it was his aunt and cousins who came to rescue at his lowest point.  And, now the woman who showed she gave a damn, the last remaining connection to his dad, was now dead without him ever knowing, while his ex-wife continued to make life miserable.  He was far from fine.

“It got me thinking,” his mom added, “since you should be around family, I thought maybe you ought to move back to Texas, at least so I can check up on you.”

“I-I don’t need to be baby.”

“I’m not saying that, it’s just that I don’t think you should continue being anywhere near her; we all worry about you.”

The offer had really given him something to think about.

“Unless you got some reason to stay and keep doing what you’re doing.  Do you?”

“…I... I-I really don’t know,” was all he could answer. 

“Well, think about what I said.”

“Yeah, mama; bye.”

Now alone with his thoughts, he sat and looked about his empty, studio apartment, almost barren and devoid of life.  He reflects on all that has happened with his life as of late, of the helpful aunt he’d so cruelly lost, as cruelly as he’d lost his marriage to a woman who made him question everything and of the question his mom had unintentionally deposited: did he have anything to keep him going? 

“I don’t know,” he muttered sadly, before pulling out from under his pillow his service pistol, stared at it intently in his hands, and thought long and hard. 

Mel didn’t know what to think.  The cryptic email he’d received the previous night had kept him from finding any peace as he didn’t know if it was a sales ad, a joke, or a planned sting. 

Why?  He wondered. I hadn’t done anything!

Still, it didn’t stop him getting up at the crack of dawn, earlier than usual, to start work on the yard lest he receive the wrath of his neighbor, whom he knew by the time before finishing breakfast would be outside with her drunken friends, lounging about in their disgusting short shorts, and hurling insults at him. 

“Oh look, here comes El Senior Ding Dong!”  She taunts as her friends laugh, their sound like that of cackling witches as he labors away, driving limb after limb through his massive, high-powered woodchipper; and the day was only getting started.  However, the cryptic email proved to be an even worse distraction. 

Who’d send it?  He wondered. What the hell do they want from me, anyway? 

“Nice morning we’re having!?”  He heard a smokey voice say, seductively and saw a little, old redhead in a hot pink track suit standing by the fence, her broad rimmed shades hiding what he knew was a leering gaze. 

“Hi, Ms. Robach!”  He replied with a fake smile.

“Mel, honey, you know you can call me Annie!”  She said, her voice oozing with desire, which unsettled Mel.

“Sorry; Annie.  What brings you around here?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said.  “Just came to watch such a nice, strong, handyman work; you rarely see that, these days.”

“So, you came just to see me, huh?  How nice.”

“Why not? It’s such a lovely day, but there is a certain electricity in the air.”

“Really?”

“Yes, like something special, something…exciting.”

He thought back to the strange message and what he planned to do with it. 

“It’s about time, too,” she cooed, seductively.  “Things have been so idle around here as of late, and you know what they say: idleness is the Devil’s playtime.  So, why don’t you and me liven things up?”

Her wry, devilish smirk at him was hardly enticing, but the intrusive laughter from Grace and her friends made this even more uncomfortable.

“Oh lord!” Grace yelled. “Look girls, it’s Crazy old Anne and Lazy old Mel; a match made in hell!”

“Speak of the…you…know…who!”  Ms. Robach whispered and points at Grace.  “Don’t pay them no mind, baby, I know for a fact none of them got a man, that's why their jealous, and lazy, and a bit whorish!”

Good god, I’m not in the mood for this!  He thought as he sweated over the laughter and the old woman’s constant flirting. I get you’re lonely and all, but really!

“You gonna invite your girlfriend home!?”  Grace joked. “She looks good for it!” 

 “Queen Bitch giving you a hard time?”  The old lady asked, while gently stroking his arm. “You poor thing.  Fuck her and come with me, you won’t have to worry about her, no more; I’ll make your dreams come true!”

Her proposal and schoolgirl giggle, which sounded more like a witch’s cackle, didn’t bolster his spirits.

“Maybe some other time,” he politely says. “Right now, I just want to get this over with.”

“O-kay,” she said with a playful pout. “But don’t forget my I offer; my door’s always open!”

He waits before she waltzes away, out of ear shot before saying:

“Moldy old…You got about as much chance in hell than I do with a hot chick.”

As the morning wore on, its warm rays were inviting for hotter women who worked out in a yoga studio, it’s rays filtering in through the large, pained windows, and rejuvenating the likes of Lyla, who felt twice the woman there. 

You hoes wish you had all this!  She thought smugly. Kiss my perfect arse, wankers!

Her long hair was in a resplendent ponytail as sweat glistened off a taut body, which was melted into silver mesh leggings so affixed to every orifice that it was like second skin, and the spaghetti straps of her matching sports bra which strained to do its job during such strenuous activities.  Still, she felt confident, more so than everyone else. 

I wouldn't be surprised if you felt insecure, Christine, she thought of her chubby, brunette friend who was even more drenched in sweat. Oh god, this is too much for you, you might pass out!

“So, I call Phil,” Lyla said, “and…the wanker is pitching a fit over my little comment on TV last night!”

“What did you say?”  Christine asked. “You call him a pig?  You call him out for all the...!"

“I didn’t say nothing; if he wants to be a little wanker about it, then fine!  I mean, all I did was name drop the old bitch after she threw a tantrum over me getting a raise before her and that I’m a shoe in for her seat!  So, what if she’s being replaced; the bitch is old, nobody wants to see her tired, old face every night, anyway!  Get over it. If they want to play babysitter to some past her prime, dried-up cunt instead of being professional, then fine, I got better things going for me!”

“Not like you haven’t done Phil any favors! That pervert can’t get enough of you, yet you give, and you give; it’s sad!”

“Exactly my point!  I am the top-rated reporter in South Florida, I get butts in chairs every night, from horny politicians to perverted creeps; I am a ratings darling! I deserve this!”

“You said it, sister, you don't need them!  Just like you didn’t need that wasted up, macho cop you were married to, what’s his name?”

“…Max,” Lyla said, disenchanted.  “I don’t care about him.”

“Yeah! Like I always say, you don’t need a man to validate your life!”

“I know!”

“You deserve to be happy, like any girl!  He could never get you!”

“Exactly!”

Yet, as they talk, Lyla couldn’t help but think back to him, back when she was lying in bed, their bed, with a guy she hardly knew or cared, hovering over her sweaty, naked body, his dick plowed in her just as the door swings open, a blinding light illuminating the darkness as his silhouette stood in the doorway. It nearly made her lose her yoga routine.

“Bollocks!” Lyla snaps and wanted to change the subject. “W-Whatever. I made an appointment with my plastic surgeon, anyway; I think I’ll double them!”

“Double…them; you sure!?  You're already got a bigger bust size than me!”

“There’s room for more; and, while I'm at it, I might get butt implants.  Whadya think!?”

“Sure, I guess!  But, what you ought to do is get a tramp stamp!”

“Pardon!?”

“Seriously, wouldn’t that be outrageous?  Hey, we should we both get matching tats; how about it?”

Didn’t know you were like that! Lyla thought, feeling nervous. 

She’d thought tattoos were tacky and beneath her, but if her fat friend felt emboldened by it, then she didn’t want to be outdone like some prude hung up on her lost love.

“A tramp stamp; yeah, why not?"  Lyla responds. 

“Ooh, yes! How about a pussy one, instead?”

"Whoa, girl, one step at a time!”  She chuckled.

“I can’t wait until you sport it on TV and wow the viewers; that’ll really stick it to the men in your life!”

“Yeah!" Lyla replied, halfheartedly. “Say, I’m getting played out, here; how about go grab a bear claw.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

After class, the two strut down the street, still clad in their striking gym clothes with Lyla proudly shaking her well-defined ass, to the delight of many a leering man passing by which included Mel, driving by and nearly wrecking his car at an attempt to rubberneck. When she heard someone whistle, Lyla flips them off and mutters:

“Sod off, you fucking pigs!  If only there was a law about permitting perverts on our streets.”

“It’s getting to where a lady can’t walk in peace.”

“I hear that!”

Deep down, however, Lyla relished the attention, just not from guys she thought were beneath her, but the one guy she wanted to notice, and fantasied him being nearby, watching and wishing, like Mel already was.  After his near miss, he decided to walk the rest of the way towards the address, which wasn’t far away, but the place in question was in a busy outlet mall that had him wandering up and down. 

Damn!  Mel thought, irritably. Sure, wish they told me how to find this fucking place!

All he knew was that it went by the name, Sweet Dreams, but there were so many shops that he wound up going in circles, even asking shop owners with no luck.  He wanted to give up.

A wild, fucking goose chase! I can’t believe I did this! I’m gonna be late to work because of some internet prank!

It was only by chance, while waiting to cross the street infront of a shop that he happened to look back and noticed on its tinted glass the faded letters of the address he was looking for.  Its lettering was scratched or missing, but he was able to make out: Sweet Dreams.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, annoyed but intrigued.  “Well, I’m here now, so....”

The door almost flew open when he lightly touches it, greeting him with the usual automated “ding-dong” chime, and yet he was struck by how dimly lit the interior was, that despite the sunny day, everything was cloaked in shadow, followed by a thick array of exotic aromas that filled the air.  All around were macabre statuettes, stuffed animals that looked alive and watching, exotic plants that lined his path like a jungle with leaves that clawed at his shirt, and the foreboding sense of being watched by something other than taxidermy.

I got a bad feeling, he thought with grave trepidation.

“Don’t leave, yet; not when you've come this far,” came a voice, as dry and decrepit as the crunching of dead leaves, which seemingly came from nowhere, and yet seemed to have read his mind, which further spooked him. 

“Hello?” He warily called.

“This way, Mr. Torres.”

Okay, this freaky guy knows my name; is he a cop?

“I only want to help you, you needn’t be afraid.”

 Alright, how the hell is he doing that, and where is he?

“I hope you like the clever wording on the front,” the voice continued.  “This used to be one of those erotic stores, but it works wonderfully for what I'm selling.  Over here; come, sit, with me!”

He followed the voice as if mesmerized by its grainy tone, and found to his surprise a pale, old woman sitting in a posh recliner behind an ornate, wooden desk. She was tiny, but clad in a dark, floral smock with a black veil draped over her ashen face, obscuring any noticeable features, and yet she sat so rigid that for a moment he assumed she was another mannequin, until, to his shock, the mannequin spoke:

“Welcome, Mr. Torres.”

“…W-Who are you; h-how do you know my name?”  He managed to ask. 

“How I know isn’t important,” she said.  “What I can offer you, is.  I know you have a ton of questions, but I know your time is precious, being a busy man, and all.”

“…Y-Yeah.”

“So, let’s cut right to the chase.  Please, have a seat.”

He was apprehensive, but curiosity got the better of him and he found himself sitting across from her that saw him far closer to this eerie person than he wanted.

“Okay,” he said, “I-I’m listening; just what the hell do you want with me?”

“I am someone who’s been around, no pun intended, and I hear things pertaining to mankind's eternal struggles on this dismal planet, and do you know the one thing that is constant, Mr. Torres?”

“What?”

“Wanting.”

“…Wanting?”

“We want things: people, things, etc.; that is what sweet dreams are made of, Mr. Torres, and if we don't get what we want, it consumes us like fire.  That is what brought you here to me or else you wouldn’t have come, and I know whom you want."

His collar felt itchy and wanted to flee from there. 

“How do you know…who I want?”  He asked. “Just who exactly…?”

“Why, that darling, little angel on the volleyball team from the school you work for, that’s who?”

“J-Jesus!” He gasped, panicking.  “H-How…?”

“Like I said, how I know is irrelevant, just that I know.  Now, you needn’t worry, I won’t turn you in or blackmail you or whatever dark thing is no doubt rolling around in your head.”

“Then…what do you want?”

“To help you; this is the nature of my business.”

He looks at her funny, but wary as to her true intentions.

“Tell me, Mr. Torres,” she continues, “living in South Florida, surely you've heard of the story of Dr. Carl Tanzler?”

“…No?”

“Really? Haven’t seen one of those macabre Travel Channel, ghost stories type shows!?  How, in the 1920s, not far from here, an old doctor was madly in love with a beautiful, young Senorita, much like you. You see, like you, he wanted this someone, bad, yet knew it was impossible, especially when she died.”

“So, what, he dug up her corpse and fucked her?"

"...Well, that is what they say," she said with an eerie smile.

"Yeah, come to think of it, I think I may have heard of this a while back.”

“Good.”

“So, you're saying I should dig up corpses and make love to them?”  Mel chuckled.

“Oh, Mr. Torres,” she said, bemused as if he missed something vital.  “You only know the sanitized version of events!”

“Sanitized?”

“What you heard, is not what went down. You see, when the doctor was young, he had a visit  from the spirit of his great, great, grandmother who foretold him of the love of his life, and told him how to acquire her, by way of a special elixir she taught him to create.”

“What kind of an elixir?”

That is when the old lady mysteriously produces from some unknown hiding place a tiny vial of green liquid. 

"What is it?"

“This, my horny friend is the key to your happiness, the key to making your dreams a reality.”

He gives her a look.

"It's quite powerful, extremely potent, and very effective on the fairer sex.”

“O-kay?” Mel asked, giving her another look.

“Now, it took the doctor some trial and error before he finally perfected this, and when he at last crossed paths with his fated beauty, he slipped it to her when she came to him for a medical emergency, assuring her it would cure her.  It didn’t, of course, but she did became his!”

“And this "key" is a love potion?"

"Love potion!?” She laughed so hard that it sounded like a  cackle.  “Oh Lord, no, no, no!  All I said is that she became his; love is overrated."

"Then, what do you mean?”

“Remember when I said it didn’t cure her!  She was gravely sick, after all; well, it made her even sicker!"

“So, it killed her?”

“Well, yes. But, she did come back, Mr. Torres, as a committed and willing lover, if you catch my meaning?

"…Like a zombie?  Like some kind of walking dead, shit?"

“Zombie is so…pedestrian.”

“The hell does that mean!?”

“Well, I like to think she was reborn; I mean, she could still perform all the necessary functions required of a woman, just...alleviated from the burden of free will. Regardless, the good doctor finally got what he wanted, which was the most important thing, right?  However, eventually the girl’s family caught wind of it and had to destroy the poor thing. As for the doctor, he was arrested, tried and deemed insane.”

"And, this elixir, how did you come by it?”

A sick smile spreads across her pale lips, like a hungry snake, as she responds:

“The doctor kept his findings secret for years, never doing anything with it until his death when it was passed to his secretary, who eventually sold it to a witch.”

“And, that witch, is you?”  He asked.

“Me? I’m just an entrepreneur.”

“How do I know any of this is for real?  Come on!”

“I assure you, Mr. Torres, it’s real; you can try it yourself, this here is a free sample.”

"For all I know, it’s LSD."

“Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Torres. Take it, but be warned, this is very potent.”

“But, why should I believe you?  This could be a scam!”

“A scam artist wouldn't offer a free sample; try it and see.”

He remained skeptical about this strange offer, and as if once again reading his mind and sensing his hesitation, she adds:

“What do you have to lose, it’s free. If it fails, you gain nothing but lose nothing, and never have to darken my doorway again.  Just, be warned about its potency, for once it invades her body, the effects will be quite severe during the transformation process!”

“Severe transformation?  W-What the hell are we talking about?”

“Well…,” she said and then leaned in to whisper, “they tend to void their bowels!”

His mouth dropped.

“It’s to be expected when the body shuts down,” she explains.  “There’s really no avoiding that.”

“Whoa, hold on a sec!   I-I don’t want to kill her!”

“It’s only temporary, I assure you!  Once it’s over and done, she’ll be your willing slave to have for the rest of your life in lustful bliss.  Hell, you can add as many juicy tail you desire!  But, be warned, there’s no reversing this; its effects are permanent.”

It soon dawned on him just what she meant and that the term “zombie” held special significance.

“A literal zombie?”  He asked. “Not just…acting like a zombie, but a…real…zombie?”

“If it helps to call them that,” she sighed.

“The Humping Dead; I don’t believe this.”   

“Mr. Torres, if you really want this girl then it must be this way,” she said, then began emitting a sickening sound that he could only assume was a giggle. “Did you really think you could make her fall in love with you?  Be realistic; you will never have her in any other way.”

That observation hit him hard.

“So... this is it?”  He solemnly asked.  “Resort to some Santeria shit and turn the girl of my dreams into a literal, horny monster or spend the rest of my life alone?" 

“Really, you're being melodramatic!  Bottom line, she’ll be yours to do as you see fit. But, if you still don’t believe me, I suggest try it out and see.”

“Try it out? You mean, just give this to some random person!?”

“Give it to someone you hate, somebody you won’t miss. Besides, if you’re so convinced its LSD, then what harm would it do?”

The woman smiled, a smile as cold and reptilian as he'd ever seen on a person, and every instinct told him to say no.  But, he ached for Lillian, he’s dreams of being with her, of touching and savoring every supple inch of her body without the stigma of shame was all consuming and it goads him into making this Faustian deal. 

“Why are you doing this for me?”  He again, quietly asked.

“Supply and demand.  You had a demand, and I supplied the solution; like I said, it is my job. Must there be some grandiose purpose?  So, what do you say, Mr. Torres; interested?”

Mel took the object in his hand, her words now ringing in his head as he stared at it and thought long and hard.

“Yo, you alive, man?”  A voice asked through the fog, as Eric’s focus waned.

The school cafeteria was a lively cacophony of jam-packed students, each split up into their usual cliques, but Eric didn’t seem to care about them or his food, as he gazed intently upon the table where the Volleyball Girls sat, clad in their tight-fitting T-shirts and mini shorts that put their athletic legs on full view, but none more so than Lillian.  Fortunately, the girls were too blasé to notice someone like him as they ate and gabbed, but his friend did who had to snap his fingers to bring him back to reality.. 

“Huh; oh, you say something, Melvin?”  The confused Eric asked.

"Man, she got you hard,” said the thick set, bespectacled African American boy in a wheelchair.

"Huh? Y-Yeah, sure."

Melvin shook his head, sadly for his friend and said:

“Dude, she’s out of your league, all of them are; like way, way out of our league.”

“You don’t know!  M-maybe…”

“Look at her!” Melvin said. “Like, really look; and look at us!  You always see on TV and movies where guys like us never get girls like that; we don't get nothing, not even a happy ending!  Pretty girls usually get what they want, just now us. We get fucked or worse, know what I'm saying?”

“This ain't TV,” Eric said.

“Art imitates life, my friend.  And, trust me, the Devil has breasts.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Oh yeah? Did I ever tell you how I got like this?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah, I used to walk, and now look at me!  All because I thought I had a shot with the Leading Lady; see what I mean? Cut your losses before it’s too late.”

“Well, it ain’t like that with us!”  Eric tried to explain. “Me and Lill’s grew up together, live right next door to each other and she always says hi when we meet; we’re tight!”

“You know she likes you?”

“Yeah...I-I mean, sort of.”

“How come she don’t come over and eat with you or even ask you out?  She sees you.”

Eric hated to admit it, but he had no answer and feared what might be obvious.

“You’re more likely to wind up in jail, getting love from the wrong folks, than go out with her.  Forget her.”

“I can’t,” Eric said thoughtfully. “You don’t understand, I live for her; I can’t imagine living without her.  Does that make me a creep?”

“Yes,” Melvin flat out replied, but Eric nonetheless pines away at the table of girls.

“I don't believe you, Judy!”  Lillian said. “No way, did that happen, no way!”

“I swear to god!” Judy gossiped. “We were in his car, about to lock lips when his dead tooth came out!”

“Eww!” All the girls went.

“I was ready to puke; he says it’s a piece of mint that got stuck, but I was like ‘uhh no’!”

“Ooh, I know I would’ve gotten outta there!”  Said one of the girls.  "Ugh; god!"

“Gr-oss!” Lillian laughed. “I ain’t gonna say I told you so, but I told you so; I mean, we all saw how badly that was gonna turn out, am I right, guys!?”

“Yes!” They all agreed and laughed.

“Still, damn!”

“Alright, Lillian,” Judy said, being playfully vindictive, “then why don’t you spill the dirt about you and Jason?  Have you two even gone past first base or what?”

They all giggled, yet looked and waited, eagerly for the blushing blonde to answer, who only had a frank smile to give.

“We are taking it steady,” she said. “I want my first to be special, I don't want to come off as cheap and desperate; I ain’t ready for all that, yet and Jason respects that.”

“Oh please! Come on, it’s just sex, when are you going to loosen up a little!”

“It’s a big deal for me, I don’t want to get pregnant before I go to college; besides, I got State to think about!”

"Whatever."

A chime from her cell phone, mercifully brought a brief distraction, until she saw from whom the text came.

"Is that ‘Mommy Dearest’?"  Judy asked.

"Yep. She went to talk with coach about giving me private, after school training, every day!”

“Oh my god!” One of the girls said.

“I know!” She groaned.  “She is dead set on getting me to the Olympics, even if it kills me."

"Really? You already do a lot; what she trying to prove?"

"I dunno," Lillian said, wearily, “but you know her: 'Gotta make it to the big leagues or you'll wind up like me: young, knocked up and living a worthless life.  I messed up my womb bringing you into this world', and some shit."

“Ugh, the ‘I gave birth to you’ speech; hate it when they guilt you just for being born!”  Judy remarked.

“Y’all know she loves doing that,” Lillian replied and points to her womb.  “She does this, pointing at her womb every time like I’m stupid or something!”

"Harsh," one girl said.

“I don’t like her,” Judy said.  “She claims I’m a bad influence; to hell with her, then!”

"She got me focused on getting into college, though I'm sure she'll follow me there, somehow."

"Hey, don't mention college, because I'm failing 3rd period English," one of her friends said.

"You talking about Ms. Engleton?"  Judy asked.  "Ugh, god she is a bitch!"

"Judy," Lillian defended, "she's just trying to get us ready for the SATs, it’s about that time and all."

“God, you are a prude!” One of the girls said.

“How am I a prude!?  Just because I'm thinking about my future, that doesn't make me a prude.”

“Still,” another girl said, “you're always a goody-goody, and it makes the rest of us look bad by comparison.”

“Ahh, ya’ll don't hate!” Lillian candidly remarks, but continues to chat away, nonchalant of Eric’s watchful gaze, a gaze that remained even after they’d finished their meal and were casually walking  down the lonely hall back to practice, his eyes trained on their defined glutes and sinewy figures until one of them notices him following them.

“Uh, hello?” Judy asked.

Suddenly, Eric found himself on the spot as every tall girl peered down at him like he was a curiosity. 

Oh shit!  He thought.  Think of something, fast!

“…Solo, right?”  Lillian asked, the softness of her voice breaking the tension.

“Uh, yes, I-I mean, no it’s Eric, Eric Han,” he corrects.

“O-kay, then why the fuck are you following us?”  Judy demanded.

He stared, intently, at Lillian, almost lost in her blue-eyed gaze and forgetting his current predicament.

C’mon, just tell her how you feel!  He coaches himself.  Now is the time to prove Melvin wrong, prove everyone wrong, that me and her can be an item!

“I…,” he stammered at first.  “I…”

“I-I-I,” Judy mocked, causing the girls to laugh.

Just say it!  He coaches again.

“Lillian, I just…. wanted to get your views on…making State; I’m sure the students and faculty would love to hear from you.”

God, no!! He thought, wanting to kick his own ass as his heart sank.

“Um, we have one more game before we play the State finals,” Lillian said, giving him a face that made him feel even smaller.  “Wouldn’t it make sense to wait until then?”

Great!  He thought, as some of the girls giggled.  Now she thinks I’m weird!

“Hey, maybe he’s got the hots for you.”  One of her friends whispered, aloud.

“You think?” Asked another.

“Guys!” Lillian said, eliciting more giggles. “Shut up!  It ain’t even like that!”

It ain’t like that?  He thought as his self-esteem reached new lows.

“Well, I see you guys are busy sorry!” He babbled and very quickly walks around them, still laughing, and hides around the corner, staying there even as the girls continue their way, but with something else to talk about. 

“Holy shit, what was that about!?’  Judy asked. “Talk about weird!”

“I think he’s a little stalker!”  Another girl said.

“Forget about him, guys, he’s harmless!”  Said Lillian, which hurt most of all.

After lunch, it was back to practice for the girls, who trained their butts even after the final bell, oblivious of another’s watchful gaze: Mel’s.  Having spent his time watching them sweat, none more so than Lillian, it nonetheless made his menial task less boring and irksome. When they were done and had dispersed, he was left alone in the gym to clean up after them, and was reminded how daunting his thankless job was. 

I wish she’d noticed me, he thought, as pictures of her sweaty body going through strenuous exercise plagued his mind.  I wish you’d run over and hug me, even press yourself against me; at least I’d have some meaning to my life. 

It wasn’t new for him; he’d often work while they trained and would gawk at her and her friends for as long as he could.  And yet, this felt different, as every grunt, every smell, every twist and turn of their bodies made afflicts him in a way he couldn’t explain.  But, they were gone, now and he could finally move into the vacant locker room without worrying about his urges.

Thank god, none of them are here; I might be in deep shit if anyone caught me with a hard on, he thought.

However, he soon realized he wasn’t alone.

What’s that?  He wondered as the unmistakable sound of water running drew his attention around a corner.  There ain’t supposed to be any girls left; they all went home!

Panic sank in as he came to the shower room and noticed mist rising.  Looking down, he saw on the floor beside one of the nearby lockers an open duffle bag, full of girl’s clothing.

Shit! Somebody is still here!  Well, she’s taking a shower, she probably don’t know I’m here.

He was about to turn and leave, when a sudden, lustful idea took hold of his senses and peers around the corner.

Just one peek, he thought, his pulse racing.  She won’t even see me.  I just want one peek after seeing all of them working out, teasing me!  They owe me that much!

Anxiously, he peers through a soft cloud of warm mist, rising all around the appearance of a nude, feminine body, glistening in soapy water, as long hair hung loose and matted. 

God, look at her!  I can’t believe kids these days look this…wait a minute!

He nearly lets out a cry, and quickly ducks back behind the wall when he realized who it was.

Lillian!?

Trembling with excitement, Mel takes another look, this time a little longer before ducking back, but he was sure it was her.  He didn’t know why she’d stayed behind, but he felt blessed to be given this rare opportunity to at last see the girl of his dreams in her naked glory. Then, he remembered the bag full of clothes, her clothes, where laying on top were a pair of pink panties.

Good God!  He thought.  What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?

There they were, lying unattended in plain view beneath his gaze for him to play with, as though they were a Christmas present.  Then, an even perverted idea came upon him.

No, no I mustn’t, he admonished himself.  She wouldn’t like that if I stole them.  But…

He looks back at the shower room, running water still going, with a soft tune she was singing amidst the sounds of lathering, as she remained oblivious to his presence.

She won’t know.  What am I thinking, of course she’ll know, it’s her underwear!

He didn’t know if they were fresh or if she’d just worn them, just as his conscience battled his carnal desires, fiercely. 

Of course they’re worn!  Who brings a fresh pair of underwear to school!? 

“Oh my god,” he muttered aloud when that realization hit him like a slap to the head.

Okay, okay, just one touch and that’s it!  He reasoned as he picks them up, his nervous fingers running over the silky soft, warm texture, and noted how moist they still were.

Take them!  He debated.  She won’t know it’s you!

However, as he stares strongly at the object, thinking long and hard, he began to wonder if this was the true extent of their relationship.  And yet, they were in his hands, and he owned them.

By the time Lillian finished and exits the shower room, she felt invigorated after the day’s rough practice, but while drying off, she noticed something missing. 

What?  She wondered.  Where the hell are my panties?

She looked about, but they were gone. 

They were right here, I know I brought them!

Then, frustration turned to fear as a sinking feeling took hold.

No, oh God, don’t tell me someone took them!?  Please, let it be one of the girls pranking me, and not some pervert, watching…Oh god! 

Just the idea was enough to make her skin crawl and shook Lillian to the core. But, when she inadvertently kicks her duffle bag, she spots her underwear, nestled behind it.

Oh!  She thought, relieved.  There they are.  Stupid!

Feeling again relaxed, she soon emerges into the hallway and joins her waiting mother.

“Took you long enough!”  She said to the girl.

“I needed a shower, I was gross!”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to hear it!  You remember where we have to be at, right?”

“Yes, mama!”

As Lillian walks away, a forlorn Mel looked on from behind, aimlessly pushing a mop while staring at her rear, taunting him for his sudden, ping of morality. 

Is this it?  He wondered.  Is this how it has to be?  Fondling some girl’s panties?

 His sweaty palms could still feel the garment, right in his grasp.  However, he wasn’t happy, and as her glutes waddled away with his missed prize, he heard that old woman’s haunting words echo in his tortured heart while nervously fidgeting in his pocket the one thing that might change everything, but at a price.

Men are so dumb, Lyla thought as she sat impatiently in the office of a salty haired, white man whose leathery tan skin screamed midlife crisis, something she was all too keen of and had exploited before, despite being her boss. 

Even now, she noticed how his grey eyes would occasionally drift down her partially opened pink, silk dress shirt, while her black, spandex pencil skirt hugged her hips with only a noticeable slit in its right side, better to show off more of her thighs for his viewing pleasure.

Look at you; god, you’re pathetic! She thought as she casually fluffs her hair, with all the indifference of a royal in the presence of a mere peasant. I knew you couldn't resist. Go ahead and look, you perve; makes my job easy.

“Don’t waste time and words, Phil,” she said.  “How about we get straight to the matter.”

“How about you show me some fucking respect, first?”  He demands.

“Ooh, nice; is the little puppy learning to be a big dog?”

“Lyla,” he responded, trying to choke back his anger, “you know how tense it is around here between you and Megan, right?  Now, I run a tight ship and…”

“I thought I said spare the rhetoric and get to the bloody point, I haven’t got all day!” 

“And, when two shipmates rock the boat, well that creates problems for the whole crew.”

“So... are you firing me?”  She asked.

“Lyla…”

“Really? I’m the face of this shitty station; people tune in to watch me! You wouldn’t be where you are if not for me!  Fuck, I could be doing talk shows in Los Angeles instead of crap-ville Florida; so, you’d be doing me a huge favor!”

“Nobody’s firing you, Lyla!  Megan just handed in her resignation over this. Your little on-air dig was the straw that broke the camel’s back and now one of our top anchors is walking; not, that you care.”

“Hmph; it’s about time, she has to be what…eighty!  So, now I believe her spot is available?”

“Yeah, I’m giving it to Ramirez,” he responded.

The blow was a sudden and painful slap to the face, forcing her to uncross her legs and sit up, straight, a move which delighted him immensely.

“I take it you’re not pleased with the?”  He openly mused.

“Of course, I’m bloody well not, you Scragg!”  She spat. “How dare you give that freak the position that belongs to me!?  I’ve been here longer than he has!”

“It’s unruly, undisciplined shipmates, such as yourself, that force the captain to take disciplinary measures; oh, I’m well aware of how important you are to this company, but you also need to know your place and I can’t think of anything better.”

Her breathing became rapid, her pulse ticked powerfully. She wanted to reach out and sink her nails into his face, ripping it off; instead, she manages a smirk and came back with:

“Put me in my place?  And where would that be, on my back, in your bed, the very same bed you share with your wife?  Maybe, your crew might know once I inform them of our extracurricular activities, hmm?”

“Do so, and I’ll expose what got you divorced; maybe your adoring public would like to know all about your cheating ways, and right in front of the poor bastard who happened to be married to you?  Oh yes, I did a little digging on you.”

“How dare you!”  She said through gritted teeth.

“Honey don’t lecture me about infidelity,” he chuckled, “because you are the LAST person to be giving it!”

“Don’t you threaten me,” she said as she got up, “and don't eyeball my arse when I leave, either, you sick fuck, I know you do it and I’ll sue you!”

“Then observe the fucking dress code!”

“Fuck you!!”

Straightening up, she struts past her co-workers with an aura of superiority, shaking her round butt as if to flaunt Phil.

“Keep it in the clubs, Lyla!”  Someone yelled.

“Do you want a Harassment lawsuit, fucker!?”  She yells back.

“Sucking Phil’s cock didn’t work this time, huh?”  Another yelled.

“Go to hell!”

Not give me Megan’s spot, and after everything I’ve done for these wankers!

On her way, she bumps into an older, Asian woman emerging from her office, box in hand.

“Ugh, Megan!” She said with a fake smile. “Leaving us already?  Ohh, I wish you all the luck.”

“You’re a piece of work, Lyla,” she responds. “I don’t know how women like you sleep.”

“We don’t. I’m sure you used to know what that was like, but I can’t imagine you ever did.”

As vicious as her remark was, Megan’s face remained stoic as ever.

“I’m not going to let you get to me,” was her response. “See, I know things about this business that you don’t.”

“I’m sure you do,” Lyla said, “but some of us still have work to do and I need to be go-…!”

“Your place here is fleeting, just as those flash in the pan implants you stack yourself with; every back you stabbed will come back at you, tenfold and you'll be left with nothing.  Be careful.”

“Whatever.”

Lyla completely dismisses her and continues on, only to this time bump into a young intern.

“Oy, watch it!”  She admonished as an armful of papers flew everywhere.

“I am so sorry!”  The girl said, working frantically to pick up each sheet as Lyla just stood over her, yet she noticed how pretty and eerily reminiscent of her as a young intern, only younger. 

“Is this your first day?" 

"Yeah, and I’m really nervous.”

“…Just stay out of my way!”  Lyla warned, nearly stepping on her fingers as she marched out of the building. 

Replace me, will you?  She thought.  Fuck you, Phil!!

Once in the solitude of her expensive Escalade, she rests her head against the steering wheel, exasperated, furious, and brooding. The disastrous meeting had dredged up memories of when she and Max were still together. She had just returned from being passed for a promotion, cursing vehemently the entire drive home, yet upon reaching the door she smelled a sharp odor emanating from the other side. 

What the hell?  An alarmed Lyla wondered, but upon flying open the door, there he was, home early from work with a cooked dinner and trying to be romantic.

“Surprise!” He greeted her, warmly.

“The fuck is this!?”  She asked, shocked.

“I’m…trying to be spontaneous,” was his response.

The kitchen was a mess with unclean pots and pans and the sharp stench of smoke. The food, though cooked to near perfection, looked cheap and a single, lit candle sat in the center of their small dining table, which hardly did anything for her.

“Remember, you said I needed to be spontaneous,” he said. “More romantic; I even took off early to whip this up.  Don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll get that. This day is all for you; so, how do you like it?”

She barely recalled their argument that led to this and all she knew was that their everything was a mess.

“It’s a fucking disaster!”  She said.

“What? I-I almost burned the fish, well, did burn the fish, sure, but I ran out and got another…”

“What is this, Halibut!?” 

“Yeah? You said, you like fish.”

“I hate Halibut; God, you completely misinterpret everything I said and can’t even get my food, right! Jesus, is there anything you can do?”

“I…!” He was about to yell back, frustrated, but calmed down to avoid an argument. “I’m sorry; I'll fix this, just…”

“Don’t bother fixing it, in fact don’t fix anything ever again; ugh, you always do this, you always try to fix shit, and I hate it!”

“What’s wrong?”  He asked. “What’s the…”

“I got passed up for a promotion, if you must know and now this!?  My life is over, I’ve worked so hard this past year to acquire that spot and they pass me over like I didn’t even matter!”

“That’s messed up, baby.”

“No shit, Sherlock!!”

“Don’t get mad at me, I agree with you, you deserve that promotion!”

“Really? Promotion to what?”

“Huh?”

“Exactly!” She said and grew angrier at the dumbfounded look on his face. “You don’t even know what I’m mad about, do you?”

“I know you’re upset…”

“Fuck upset; I’m fucking pissed off!!!”

“Maybe, I don’t know what position you’re talking about, but I know you deserve better, you do!”

“Oh, you think I deserve better, do you?”

His words and face were sincere, but it was not what she wanted. Instead, all that he said were bland complements from a subpar husband. 

“You’re an idiot!”  She said and retreated to their bedroom to sulk alone, much like now. 

Such feelings caused another involuntary twitch of her right, middle finger and a pang in her heart as she picked up the phone and tried to figure out a way to salvage what’s left of her pride.

“Enrique, move my appointment to now!  What do you mean you can’t…O-Okay, then give me her spot, I need some work done, tonight! A cup size; and…maybe add more cheeks.” 

“I’d love to add more to it, but…” Max said, indifferently. 

“But that’s that?”  Asked his Lieutenant, a stern, black woman in her late fifties, who after having dealt with her fair share of jaded cops, found his lack of enthusiasm frustrating.

"That is that: the killer is most likely, already in jail."

“You don't sound too broken up about it,” she said.

“...It's a result,” was his reply.  "It’s what you wanted, Vasquez."

“…Go type it up and get outta my sight, you're depressing me! You’re good at your job, but you remind me of a dead dog.”

He was hardly off put by her candor and just sat at his desk, looking forward to getting through the next few hours. 

“What did the ole' sour pussy say?”  His partner asked, bringing him a drink.

“What you'd expect.  It is what it is.”

“Mm, you don’t seem upset.”

“Like I said, it is what it is; don’t know what else to say.”

“How uplifting.”

“It’s a job, Jourdan,” he sighed.   “We soldier on; at least I will for another two weeks.”

“Oh? You planning on leaving?”

“I don’t know. Thinking of moving back to Texas, be with folks; thought about a lot of things.  I don’t know, maybe I’m still looking for a reason to live.”

“Well, it won’t be the same without you, but it sounds to me you need a serious boost,” she says as she sat on the corner of his desk and crossed her legs. “And I’m just throwing this out there, but it sounds to me you need to know that life is still worth living, even now; what do you say?” 

“And what are you proposing?”  He asked, finding himself looking at her hips.

“My break’s coming up and the night’s slow; how about a drink, my treat.”

With her curvaceous hips and thick thighs wedged in another pair of tight pants, this time dark leather spandex that shaped a well-defined camel toe, just inches away, as her dark eyes peered into his soul, it made the detective see her in a new light and realize just how long he's been without a woman.

“Alright; but one drink,” he finally relents.

“That’s the spirit!”

At the same time, in a lively nightclub, Lyla’s spirits were at an all-time low as she stood alone at the bar, drunk, her feet sore from the new designer pumps she wore all night, and yet continued to maintain a fetching appearance rather than sit as, even off the clock, she dressed to impress, with smokey mascara, her long hair now sporting highlights, and a tramp stamp of an eye which gave her a more youthful appearance. Her breasts, however, now doubled in cup size, threatened to spill out of a sleeveless, silver crop top and black, denim booty shorts complimented her new Brazilian butt-lift, with the Chinese characters of “serenity” imprinted along her shapely right thigh.  As enticing as she was, she nevertheless rebuffed every advance. 

“Come on, Christina!”  She pleaded on a text. “I’m here, alone, surrounded by horny men, now you're gonna ditch me!?  I don’t know why I bother!”

Angry, she drowns out her sorrows in her third cocktail when she notices a below average looking guy standing closer than she'd like. Seeing him, she thinks:

Ugh, these roaches just don’t learn. What trite line will this one try?

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to her large tits and stayed there, even when he asked: 

“Hey, honey; why’s a fine thing like you here, all alone?"

"Good lord, my eyes are up here," she says with an exasperated tone. "Can you at least try looking at me when you fail at picking me up, okay?"

"Sure, baby," he said, looking up, and suddenly lit up. "Say, you know what, I think I’ve seen you before on…!” 

“Movies? TV?  Which is it, mate; like I haven’t heard ‘em a million times over!”

“Well,” he continued, “I just wanted to…”

“Let me stop you right there, cunt; I know what you’re going to say, and I ain't interested. There is zero appeal in you and zero chance of you getting with me; you're disgusting, your breath could kill the undead and in fact you couldn’t charm your way out of a fucking traffic stop, so don't bother me! Just bugger off before I hurl this drink in your acid washed face! Go on, bye!”

"...Nasty, old bitch," the man muttered and prepares to walk off.

Did he just call me an old bitch!?  She wondered, surprised that any man would be so bold as to label her as such and was prepared to fling her glass at him when a rough hand stops her.

“Alright,” the burly bartender intervenes. “I get wanting to be alone, but you ain’t causing no trouble around here; I’m cutting you off!”

“You cheeky bastard, get off me!!”  She squealed, wrenching free and livid. “Do you know who I am!?”

“A soon-to-be-police report if you don’t get out; I’ll call an uber, if you want, just go!”

“Go ahead, I dare you!!  There are plenty of bars out there that would be glad to have me and are way cleaner than this shithole!   And, I’ll have you know that I…!”

But just then, she happened to look out the broad, glass windows that lined the establishment and saw Max walking by, smiling and enjoying himself with another woman.  It created a pang in the furthest reaches of her body, that steadily grew until it set her off after him.

“HEY!” The bartender yelled after her as she raced outside. “YOU NEED TO PAY...!”

But she wasn't listening to him or anybody, as she raced out on to the street and stared after them with disbelief, and then anger when she instantly recognized the woman's ass he was with.

“So,” Jourdan said, “how about we hang out at my place, get a little wasted and watch a good horror flick, enjoy a night where we don't have to phone it in!”

“Hell no!” He said. “I have sworn off horror movies!”

“A little too much to handle, given what we do?”

“Uh no; w-well, there’s that, but I just don't like what they've become, you know what I mean?”

“No, I don't; what, what have they become?”

“You know, like some neo-feminist, Me-Too crap, where the men die, sometimes only the men, or the villain turns out to be the boyfriend and or authority figure who must die in order for the girls to live, who all somehow survive because they’re able to tap into some kind of kick-ass, Rambo skills, even though they look like they'd freak over split ends!”

"Ooh, triggered much?"

"You can call me whatever you want; I'm tired of this woke shit!  The old horrors worked because you didn’t know who’d make it out; I mean, a majority were predictable, usually with the scream queen as the lone survivor, but a few had both male and female protagonists survive or nobody survived!  That worked. Now, it seems like they’re trying to send a message: that if you got a dick, you deserve to die; of course, she loves them!"

“You know, in those older films, the first victim was always the black character?”

“Hm, touché’.”

“Face it, it’s all about bringing down the patriarchy; get used to it.”

“Really? Did I forget to mention that some of these ‘down with patriarchy’ horrors would be willing to show some little old lady getting butchered, just not the young, hot female cast? What’s that say?

“Okay!” She giggled. “No new horrors; just the classics!”

“You really go out of your way to accommodate a guy!”

“What can I say, I…”

“Oy, MAX!!” They heard Lyla bellow, the sound of her voice crashing his demeanor.

“Oh lord,” he muttered.

“Jesus, lady!"  Jourdan yelled. “A whole sidewalk and you gotta walk onto ours!?”

“R-Really, Max!?” Lyla replied, almost laughing hysterically. “You never took the time from your precious work to take me anywhere, but you'll do it for this trashy, fat arse bogan!?”

“Are you drunk?”  Jourdan retorts. “Because I will slam your fake 'arse’ down for public intoxication, so go home, bitch, and sober up!”

“I am not talking to you!!  So, what’s the deal, Max? Huh!?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Jourdan suggests to him. “C’mon.”

“Nah, I got this,” he reassures. “Since when I have ever meant anything to you, Lyla; huh?”

“Since when have I meant anything to you!?”  She retorts.

“Right now, not a whole lot!”

“That’s a cheeky thing to say to me, after everything I did for you!”

“Like what? What did you do for me?  You ain’t done shit, but you’ve done plenty to me!”

“Like you did to me!”  She argued, drawing a small crowd, which she relished.

Yeah, she thought, I'll humiliate you in front of everybody; they'll see what an insufferable arse you were for letting things turn out this way!

“You know what, you're really not worth it,” he said and was about to turn away.

“Oh, you don't want the public to know what a loser and a bastard you were to their star reporter! You were awful; the most despicable husband ever and treated me like crap, like I was nothing…!”

“Is that why you made sure I caught you in our bed with another man!?”  He furiously blurts out, to the stunned gasps of everyone, which suddenly put Lyla in an unfavorable position. “And, it ain’t like I walked in on you two by accident, either, you made damn well sure I found you like that! Oh, didn’t you intend for your darling public to know about that?”

“S-Shut it, just shut up!”  She whispered, heatedly, her face turning red; shocked and betrayed that he’d publicly reveal that. 

“By the way...where is Prince Charming!?  I don’t see him with you, tonight; I guess he's too busy sleeping with some other desperate princess, huh?”

“Y-You made me do that, you pushed me!” 

“I DIDN’T MAKE YOU DO SHIT, lady!!  Don’t start lying now; you’re on camera!”

She then noticed someone with their phone out, recording it.

“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!!?”  She snaps and tries to go after the person, but Jourdan steps in front, causing her to growl back:  "Fuck the hell away from, bitch; now!!"

“You weren’t worried what people thought, then; why now?”  Max argued.

“I was trying to get your attention; Jesus!”  She shot back.

“No, you just didn't like being married to a cop!”

“No, you were stifling me and didn't treat me with respect!  You were dragging me down!”

“Well, now you’re free; so, I don’t know what you’re complaining about!”

“I’m upset you’re willing to do all of this for some fat arse bitch you call a partner, but not me!”

“Then, why don’t you get Prince Charming to take you somewhere!?  I don’t know why he ain’t here…”

“You know what…?”

“I guess he can’t stand you, either?  I’m not surprised.  Who can tolerate you?”

“Pardon!? The fuck you’re trying to say, arse!? That I ain’t liked!?  EVERYBODY ADORES ME!!  There are men who’d give their left nut just to spend a night with me!”

“THEN WHERE ARE THEY!?  Really, who wants you, Lyla, after getting to know you?  Who in their right mind would give a damn about you? Nobody!!  Not your fuck daddy; hell, even your family back in New South Wales who you ripped off don’t care about you!”

“And, who’d want you, twat!?  You’re a deadbeat cop with no future, who could be found shot dead on the street, and that’ll be the end of you!  Who would care!?  Not me; I…!”

“You are eye-candy that can be replaced whenever the studios decide!”

“Ha!” She boasts while gesturing to her looks, which got a few hoots from the crowd, as well as laughter. “You think anybody can replace this!?  The best you got is some skanky Mexican with a ginormous butt; you’re kidding yourself!”

“First of all, you racist bitch, I’m Puerto Rican!”  Jourdan steps in.  “Secondly, you need to back the fuck off of me, because I ain't as nice as him, I will stomp your silicone filled, fake ass out!” 

“I beg your pardon?”  Lyla asked, as if offended.

“Gee, what part didn’t you understand?  That you’re a loudmouth, racist bitch or that you’re a loudmouth, racist bitch with a fake ass!”

“I am not racist and I not fake!”

“For your information, I do want him; any woman with more brain cells in their head than cement in their butt would want him; oh, and for the record, he likes my ass because its real, baby!”  Jourdan says, proudly shaking and jiggling it before her at the increased cheers of the crowd, which further aggravated her.  “See this! What does yours do, fart chalk!?"

“MY ARSE IS PERFECT, WHORE!!”

“A perfect disaster from what I can see, bitch; ain’t too many people trying to look at it, either!”

Humiliated, and offended, Lyla glares at her younger rival who now, with arms wrapped around Max, was leading him away while tauntingly shaking her rear, all of which caused her middle finger to twitch involuntarily.

“You little sow,” she growled, fists bunched up. “I swear to God I will rip that fat, horses butt up off of you, and make you watch, cunt!!”

Jourdan, now fully aggravated, turns back around and gets in her face.

“Is that a threat?”  Jourdan warns. 

“Jourdan,” Max says, trying to diffuse the situation as he recognized that things were escalating, but Jourdan wasn’t hearing it.

“You threatening an active-duty officer?  Sure, sounds like it to me!  You must be dumber than you look, bitch!”

“C’mon, she ain’t worth it; let’s go,” Max says as he leads Jourdan away, but not before she yells back:

“TAKE A LOOK AT ME, CUNT; it ain’t a cement filled, heart attack waiting to happen! I AM ONE HUNDRED PERCENT, ALL-NATURAL WOMAN, BABY!!  SUCK ON THAT, HA!!”

A livid Lyla heard many people giggle and wanted to scream as Jourdan saunters off, victoriously with Max, who found himself chuckling.

“Hold on, did I hear laughter?”  Jourdan jokingly asked.  “Why, I do believe he’s found a reason to live!”

"You are crazy," he laughed.  “But, maybe there is something to loosening up, every now and then; care to give me a hand with that?"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

That night, Max had Jourdan in his bed in heated passion, his fingers pressed into her soft, warm hips as he plowed into her from her sizeable rear with all the fury of a sexually starved man, while she gleefully took in his sizeable dick. 

"Yeah, baby, yeah!!"  She repeated in Spanish as she came.  "Do it to me, do it, do it…Aaahh!!!"

Lyla, however, slept alone that night, bitterly fingering herself as her moans of ecstasy became mixed with sobs. 

That same night, it was a little more tranquil at a two-story house in the affluent part of town, where Lillian sits in her upstairs room at her laptop, when her mom suddenly barges in, forcing the girl to close it quickly.   

"Lillian!" She said.

"Mama!? Knock, first!"

"I know you’re not on the computer during curfew; it’s a school night, remember, lights out!”

"I know, I was finishing up!"

“Okay.”

“Uh, mama?”

“Yes.”

Lillian fidgets in her chair, nervous about what she was about to say and what her mom’s reaction might be.

“Well?” Her mother insists, impatiently.

“I…Now, here me out!”

“Okay.”

“I was wondering…Judy and I were planning on throwing an end of semester party a week from now and I was wonder…”

Her mother crossed her arms and glared, which Lillian knew wasn’t promising.

“Mama, it’s just a few of the guys from the team, c’mon!”

“Lillian?”

“Please, mama!”

"One of these days you'll be an Olympic star, but before that you're got to learn to take things seriously, which means focusing on nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing but school and your training, then you can go to a big-name college where your skills will be on the map!"

"I know that, mama!"

"But, you’re never going to do that if you’re hung up on boys!”

“It’s just…!”

“I don’t care! Now, look, I never had what you had! Did I ever tell you how, when I was your age, I was a top Tennis player at my school, not to mention Head cheerleader; I was going places."

"Yes, mama," Lillian said, trying to feign interest.  "You told me about this a million..."

"I was on my way to earning a full college scholarship; I could've been a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, hell I could've been in the Olympics, myself and won gold!  But, you know what happened?"

"You met dad and had me."

"That’s right!”  She finishes, then points to her womb.  “Right here; I destroyed my body bringing you into this world!  Well, I'm at least pleased you turned out an incredibly talented, young woman."

"Yes, mama."

"But, want you to avoid my mistakes, by goofing off, which leads to meeting boys and ruining your life.  I want you to be someone and give your life some meaning, you understand!?"

"Okay, mama!"

"I'm not asking much," her mother said, patting her womb. "I did so much for you, I'm not asking too much in return, just to be a success!"

"I will!"  Lillian replies, crestfallen.  "You don't need to worry."

"Alright, go to bed.  Goodnight."

Once alone, Lillian gets ready for bed, but not before stripping down to her underwear, where she rubs lotion over herself, obliviously in front of the open curtains where next door, Eric saw everything from his room. With the lights out, that and the window blinds provided the perfect cover, and he watched her put on this unintended exhibitionist show for him, every night since hitting puberty. At first, he felt privileged to be able to see this part of her that few, even Jason, had and even more grateful to not be caught; but, the earlier exchange at lunch with Melvin, and the comments made by Lillian’s friends created conflict. 

A creep? He thought. I’m no creep!  I…

He shook his head clear and wanted to enjoy watching Lillian prepare for bed without being noticed; but then, he realized she never did. 

I won't accept it!  He broods.  We grew up together! What we got this…I mean, I like her. Ain’t that normal? Tomorrow…or maybe…before the semester is over, I’ll go up and ask her out and, if she says yes, that’ll prove I’m no creep!

But just thinking about it filled him with fear, just as watching her filled him with something else, and finally unable to control his urgers, he pulls down his shorts and begins furiously jacking off to her.

I’m not a creep, I’m not, I…!  He kept thinking to himself as he felt sticky semen coat his hands. 

While, across town, Mel was just finishing jacking it to her, as semen explodes everywhere.

“L-Lillian…”  He gasps. “Oh god, L-Lillian!”

After composing himself, he tries to clean himself off in the bathroom, but takes a long hard look at himself in the mirror: all sweaty, disheveled, with semen caked on his hands and felt like an animal, unfit to even be in Lillian’s presence. 

Is this it, God?  He wondered.  This is my alternative: keep my soul clean and act like a lonely, old animal or sell my soul and finally be with her!?

His mind was at last made up.

“Alright, witch,” he muttered, “I’m game.” 

That morning, the air erupts with loud music as Grace takes it upon herself to liven the neighborhood with her heavy rock, but she wanted one in particular to hear it, despite the fact he had not had a restful night.  Luckily for Mel, it was a Saturday and had at least the day off, but the music didn’t help him relax nor wrestle with his decision.

“Ugh, Grace!” He mumbled.

The music was so loud it shook the windows, but wanting to avoid a confrontation, he waits inside, hoping it would eventually stop.  However, as morning turned to noon with no end to the torture, he was forced to go out to confront her, only to find Grace drunkenly sunbathing to the music from her jeep’s woofers, her reddish hair hanging loose along beefy shoulders, while a flimsy, white bikini top held precariously her tits, and black biking shorts that were sheer enough to reveal a pink thong stretched about her hips, which presented yet another monster camel toe, wedged between her rippled thighs, that he could see from his porch. 

Jesus, he thought in awe and disgust. 

“GRACE!!” He yelled as he started towards her. “GRAAACE!!!”

But, before he was even halfway over, she looks up to see him, turns down the music and begins to bellow at him like an irate grizzly:

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!?” 

“WHAT AM I DOING!?  WHAT THE HELL; WHY DO YOU HAVE THE MUSIC UP SO LOUD, TURN IT DOWN!!”

“DO NOT EVER SET FOOT ONTO MY PROPERTY, YOU FUCKING PIG, DO NOT EVER!!!  I WILL HAVE YOU EVICTED IF YOU DO!!”

“TURN DOWN THE MUSIC, THEN AND I WON’T HAVE TO!”

In a stunning move, she shot up, nearly knocking over her drink and took six strides, crossing the yard, her large breasts almost bouncing out of their cups until she got in close enough for him to smell her beer-soaked breath and threatened:

“I swear to god, if I ever catch you in my yard…!” 

“You’re getting on my case about that?  What about your daughter and her boyfriend, sneaking into my yard ripping up plants and leaving trash!”

“YOU EVER GET ON MY PROPERTY, I WILL HAVE YOU ARRESTED!! 

“Call them, the cops!  Please, do…!”

“And, don’t talk about my daughter, you pervert, piece of shit; I’ll fucking kill you if you touch her!!”

“I never said I’d…!”

“Just stay on your side of the fence, asshole, fucker!!”

“Then turn down the music!”

“Fuck you! It’s Saturday, anyway, and past noon; you shouldn’t be sleeping, you should be out working!"

"Like you?"  He retorts. "I don't see you doing nothing!"

"I can do whatever the hell I want!”

“No, you can't!"

“Yeah, well you know, if you don’t like it then you can get the hell out!  You’re the only one whose complaining about it!”

Flabbergasted and frustrated into speechlessness, all he could do was stare after her large, semi-exposed rear waddle off, her jiggling flesh almost hypnotic, all he could think was:

How strong does that thong have to be to be able to support that!?  Ugh, what am I thinking; the bitch is driving me crazy!

He felt helpless, and the more it bugged him, the more his thoughts turned to the vial of liquid the old woman gave, and the use of a guinea pig for this macabre experiment.

Grace.

I’m not about to poison that bitch!  He thought, quickly shaking the idea from his mind. I hate her, but I’m not about to kill her, no matter what! But…I got to see if it’s legit and…lord knows if anyone deserved to be a guinea pig!

He stewed over it, while Grace continued her antics, even turning the music up louder just for spite.  It grew worse when her friends came over, later and he could hear them heckling and badmouthing him until they finally left, and it was back to more loud music; it was as if she were purposefully trying to goad him.  At last, he retrieves the vial he kept in the fridge and stared at it.  There were no instructions, but holding it and staring at its green liquid felt like holding a loaded gun.

Oh shit, I’m really doing this!?

The entire time, he failed to notice that the music outside had stopped, and before long there came a loud banging at his kitchen door.

“You really want this, huh?”  He muttered and reluctantly opens the door.

“YOU MEXICAN SHIT!”  Grace screamed in his face the instant he opened it, as she practically stepped right in without permission.

“The fuck!? Get out my house!”

“I know you called the cops on me, how dare you!!  I gonna beat the shit outta you!”

“What?”

“You gonna play dumb; after calling the cops, you gonna play stupid!?”

He realized the loud music must’ve annoyed more people than she let on and someone finally stood up to her, though it didn’t do him much good.

“I didn’t call the cops, you crazy bitch!”  He yelled.

“Nah, nah, you did, mutherfucker!”  She yelled in his face and shoved him back.

“…Look, if you don’t get out…!”  He threatens.

“No, I want you out of this house and your wetback ass out the fucking neighborhood, now!” 

“For what!?”

“For being a shit, how about that!?”

“Nah-uh, I ain’t going nowhere; you can’t evict me on the spot!”

“Wanna bet?”

“I know you can’t, because of the charter!”

“The charter?” She chuckled.

“I got it in my room!”

“I don’t give a shit about no charter, pussy!”  She yelled, her beefy hands balled up against her wide hips, but Mel remained undaunted.

“You need to stop calling me a pussy, in my house, too!”

“Well, I ain’t seeing no man!  What’s you gonna do about it!?”

He was so worked up, though, he nearly forgot the vial in his hand and, finally at his whit’s end, decided to give it to her.

"...You know, Grace," he said, calmly.  "We got off on the wrong foot."

He goes to his fridge and fishes out two beer bottles he'd saved.

"Whatever I did, I-I’m sorry; can we bury the hatchet?" He asked, as he opens both bottles and, carefully out of view, empties the vial into the one meant for her.

"I'll bury a hatchet in your goddamn face, Mexican!" She growled, which irked him, but he played it cool and approached her with the bottles.

"Look, I just want to mend fences, okay; please, have one on me."

"Nigger, shut the fuck up!!"  She yells, slapping one of the bottles from his hand and he watches helplessly as it shatters onto the floor, its contents spilling out everywhere; however, by sheer luck, it wasn't hers.

Oh, thank God, he thought.

"I... WANT...YOU...OUT!"  She bellows. "GET OUTTA MY NEIGHBORHOOD, NOW!!!"

"You're right!"  He blurts out, trying to win her over.  "I…I did call the police!"

"Yeah you did!!"

"And, I was wrong to do that.  Please, let me make it up to you; okay?"

"Hmph!"  She responded and, to his delight, snatches the bottle from his hand and sat down.

Being so close to her, her body odor was unfathomable, as if she hadn’t bathed in months, and it made things difficult.  However, despite that, the irony wasn’t lost on him that she, of all people, was the first woman to be in his home, and suddenly her sweaty but large tits and crossed over thunder thighs which granted him a nice enough view, made her mildly attractive.

What a shame she's a foul-mouthed, stank-ass, Karen, he thought.

“I can’t believe you live in this shithole!”  She muttered, which killed the mood. 

“Why don’t you make yourself at home,” he says.

“It practically is, I own this property, fucker and you ain't done shit to it. Look at this place; the floor is a mess, the cupboards are open, it looks like you haven’t cleaned or mopped or done a shit and it stinks!!” 

He nearly laughed, derisively at her comment, and wanted to argue her down, but upon seeing her slightly shake the bottle and taking a massive swig, he held his tongue and waited.

"Where'd you buy this piss!?"  She asked.

"Huh?"

"I thought you people drank Tequila, why’d you gave me this as some asinine peace offering; I wouldn't give it to a dog!"

The more she talked, the more concerned and crestfallen he got.

“If you wanna stay here, Mexican, then get on your knees and beg," she demands. “I wanna see you on the floor!”

"Uh, what?"

“You heard me, asshole, I mean it!”  She angrily demands.

“You can't be serious?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, “because there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a very long-ass time, fucker: I hate you.  I don’t want you here, the whole neighborhood don’t want you here; you’re a nobody and we all…”

Suddenly, she paused with a look as though having been pinched in her crotch.  It was after swallowing the drink, that Grace noticed a slight tingling sensation, tasteless but spicy, going down, which hadn’t abated even hitting her stomach.  Now, she felt something burning within her womb that radiated about, forcing up a sudden, violent, coughing fit. Nevertheless, she tried to dismiss it and continued:

“If...i-if any-...”

However, she couldn’t ignore it as the coughing grew worse to the point she could hardly talk or breath, while the burning sensation intensified, causing her face to turn beet red.

“You okay, Grace?”  He warily asked.

Her reddish, teary eyes bulged like a cartoon as her body began to convulse so violently that her fat folds jiggled like waves.  She tried to stand, tried to escape, only to stumble over on her ass with a thunderous thud, unable to brace her fall as she was desperately gripping her throat as if to remove invisible hands that had closed her airways, turning the unrelenting coughing into horrendous gagging of bile and vomit.

"Oh god," he muttered.

Desperately, she crawled towards the door, but her now cold legs would not work, and the best she could do was prop herself against it, hoping to wait out this affliction, but it only got worse.  The invisible hands tightened even harder, suffocating her while at the same time another force was painfully squeezing against her like a sponge, so much that it forced everything up. 

Oh god!  She thought in a panic as the horrifying pain was soon followed by a spreading numbness as her teary eyes rolled back and her swollen face resembled reddish squash.  Lord Jesus, help me!

Mel then heard her defecate in her shorts and saw piss spew out between her numb legs, her bodily fluids gradually pooling around her into a darkened swamp, which she could not get up from, whereas all he could do was watch in horror as Grace was dying. 

I-I gotta call someone!  A panicked Mel thought, finally snapping from his shock. The ambulance...Get an ambulance!

But, when he does move to act, everything was quiet. 

“Grace?” He asked as he looked down at her, who seemed to fidget every now and then, yet said nothing.  Instead, her head laid limp upon her beefy, spit covered chest, yet he hoped she was simply taking a breather and would rise back up, screaming racist remarks and foul obscenities, but otherwise okay. However, as the twitching ceased, a dread realization soon sank in.

“...Holy shit!”