Chapter 3
Harry was stumbling home from Freddy's with twenty-four beers under his belt when, rounding the last corner before confronting Mabel, he paused for a perfunctory belch and was knocked flat by a berserk Lance Boyle. The boy ran right through him, offering neither apology nor aid to the downed Harry, who cursed out the younger generation as he struggled to get back on his feet. This wasn't easy, as he'd had the wind knocked out of him by a stampeding two hundred pounder. Just before he fell, Harry had caught a glimpse of the boy's face, and never had he seen anyone so wild-eyed. The guy was either on drugs or had seen a ghost, decided Harry as he picked himself off the sidewalk and headed, again, for home.
Passing the Sasse house, he saw the reason for Lance's losing it. Suzy stood framed in the doorway wearing only a smile, and a naughty one at that. She looked even better nude than clothed. Brazenly she waved for him to come in, and he was just drunk enough to accept her offer. At least it would give him a little extra time to sober up before he confronted Mabel.
"I really shouldn't," he rationalized, "But I did promise to fix your Mother's washer. Where is she anyway?"
"Oh, she's gone for the weekend."
"With the car salesman?"
"Yup. Care for a drinky winky?"
"No thanks, just had one. Sorry, I can't stay long, just show me the washer," he said, walking into a wall.
"You're in no condition to attempt anything mechanical, Mr. Putz. Why don't you just sit down while I fix you some coffee."
"Okay, but best make it quick, as Mabel's got a terrible temper and I'm late already. Also, would you mind covering yourself?"
"Why," she asked, covering her hairy cunt with crossed hands, "Does it bother you?"
"Not particularly," he replied impassively. "If you've seen one you've seen them all."
"Are you comparing me to Mabel?" she asked in an irked tone.
"All cats are the same in the dark." He yawned.
"I've never been so insulted in my life! Get out of here this instant, before I yell rape!"
"It'll be a pleasure. You know what, honey pot," he said, tweaking her flushed cheek, "Somehow you make me appreciate Mabel." Why he said that he didn't know, but it proved the ultimate in one-upsmanship, for when he'd left, Suzy felt about as sexy as a spaid cat.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked the wall. "Why don't men want to fuck me when I'm beautiful, stacked and willing? Could it be my breath? Do I have B.O.? What makes Harry think he's such hot shit, anyway? And how could he ever compare me to Mabel? Drink must have really driven him crazy to turn down an offer from me. Aren't middle-aged men supposed to go crazy over teenaged girls? Why not him?" She collapsed on the sofa to contemplate his crushing rejection of her ripe young body. The guy had to be out of his mind to do what he didn't.
Harry would have agreed with her appraisal if he were sober, but there are moments in every inebriate's life when there are things more important than sex. He had no more than made it out her door when he felt the need to green up the grass. Ail that beer had played hell with his bladder. His relief seemed unending as he tapped the keg he'd consumed at Freddy's. How could anything Suzy had to offer compare with that kind of relief?
Zipping up his fly after the flood, he saw Mabel's massive body framed in his doorway. She presented an imposing figure indeed, especially to her miscreant spouse, who grinned sheepishly as he waddled home.
"Sorry I'm late, dear," he apologized dutifully wiping his feet on the welcome mat.
Mabel stood silhouetted by the porch light. Hands on hips, thick as a fullback, she appeared menacing as any lineman he'd ever met on the gridiron. She remained silent, obviously enjoying her position of power over Harry, who groveled at her feet. Grabbing onto her stout ankles, he begged forgiveness.
Repulsed by his obsequiousness, Mabel booted him off the back porch. He was sent reeling into a bramble bush, whence he emerged scratched and not a little shocked. "Mabel, baby," he blubbered, "How, how could you do such a thing to me-your husband?"
"It was easy." She chuckled evilly. "Now get your ass inside and eat dinner. Me and Cissy have been waiting almost an hour for your arrival."
"Then you aren't mad at me?" He smiled weakly, at the same time shielding himself against further kicks.
"You're damn right I am, and so is your daughter, but since you did it every Saturday, we're kinda used to it." She gave him a hand, pulled him onto the porch, and gave him a swift kick in the behind to speed his way inside.
Examining his sullied clothes, she concluded, "So you got so drunk you passed out in the gutter, where God knows sots like you belong." She picked up a whisk broom and began dusting him off. "You sure do look like a bum, Harry Putz."
"I didn't pass out!" he protested, "I was pushed!"
"Fighting again, were you? I knew you'd be up to your old tricks, it's about your speed. Why don't you ever grow up, huh? Your football days are over, as are your days as a big stud. Why not face it, friend, you've gone to seed. Now, sit down at the table and please refrain from belching."
"Whaddaya mean, my best days are over? Why, I'm still in great shape." To prove this, he punched himself hard in the stomach, too hard. His face turned ashen, and he had to sit down to catch his breath.
"Barf on my rug and you'll clean it up with your tongue, you rummy!" yelled Mabel, gesturing with a ladle.
"Will you please not talk about such things when I'm so queasy, Mabel, it only makes things worse. Wait until you get this way, and let me bug you as you are me. Oh, I don't feel well at all, in fact I feel plain terrible. Got any alka-seltzer?"
"Cissy, get your father two alka-seltzers," Mabel ordered her pale thin daughter, who seemed the exact opposite of her florid fat self. The shy girl did as told. Her grateful father gulped down the boiling glassful and asked if she might help him to the table. Once there he violated one of Mabel's rules by belching, but was saved from banishment by a hasty and profuse apology. "I'm sorry about the way I am, Mabel baby, honest I am." Seeing her hate stare he turned to his daughter. "Doesn't anybody believe me around here?"
"I do, daddy," replied Cissy, a shy smile on her lips.
"It's good to know someone appreciates me in this house," he gushed, thrusting a napkin down his neck. Then, being diplomatic, he added, "My, my, Mabel, you certainly have made another magnificent meal."
"It's from Kentucky Fried Chicken, in case you haven't noticed," she said, gesturing with a drumstick.
"So it is, and wonderful of you to get it. You know how I simply love fried chicken." He bit into a breast to show how much.
"Will you please shut up, Harry, you're setting a bad example for Cissy."
"Aren't you, bitching at me all the time?" He burped again, barely covering it with the back of his hand.
"Would you please watch your language? There's a child present."
"Child, hell! Cissy is big enough to have babies," he snorted, making her blush.
"How dare you talk about such things at the dinner table!" Mabel rose from her chair, pointing a fork at her foul-mouthed mate. "Keep that kinda crap up, and soon your daughter will find herself knocked up!"
"Like you were with her?" he said, wishing he hadn't.
"How could you say such a thing in front of Cissy," sobbed Mabel, collapsing into her chicken. Head in hand, she began sobbing.
"Shucks, Mom, I've known that for years. Ever since I learned about the period of gestation in biology class I knew you and pop had to get married. I mean, not many kids are conceived in six months."
"And you don't hate us for it, child?" asked Mabel, a martyred look on her tear-soaked face.
"Of course not. If you two hadn't of been so hot for each other, I'd never have been born." She blushed, averting her eyes to the chicken platter.
"I-I never thought of it that way before, Cissy, but you're right," confessed Mabel, laboring the obvious.
"See, Mabel, you were making a mountain out of a molehill all these years," added Harry, glad to be off the hook for the first time in fifteen years. "If our kid ain't ashamed of us, why should we be ashamed of her? And besides," he patted his pretty daughter on the back, "love children are the loveliest, and our Cissy's no exception. Why soon we'll have to be fighting young bucks away from the door, she's so purty." He bent over and bussed her cheek, again earning Mabel's wrath.
"Don't give her dirty ideas, like you did me, I don't want her to wind up like I done."
"Oh, will you come off it, Mabel, we're not living in the stone age. These are modern, enlightened times. This is the age of the sexual revolution!" He gestured expansively with a drumstick to show his enthusiasm for sexual liberation.
"Will you quit sounding like a magazine article and sit down to dinner!" she bellowed, re-exerting her matriarchal authority. "Right is right and wrong is wrong, and nice girls don't do nasty things with boys before they're married."
"Like you didn't?" he shot back.
"Only because you made me."
"That's a laugh! Why, I've never seen anyone so eager to...."
"Harry, have you forgotten your daughter is present? Have you no shame? Has drink driven you to this?"
"Please don't fight about sex, Mommy and Daddy. It's no big deal, and hardly worth arguing about."
"And where, pray tell, did you learn so much about such an adult subject?" demanded Mabel, her eyebrows raised.
"From Daddy's Playboys, and Sex Education class at school," she said smugly, cleansing her lips with a napkin.
"See, Harry, I told you, you shouldn't keep those filthy girlie magazines around. Look how they've corrupted your daughter!"
"Oh, come off it, will you, Mabel? We ought to be proud our Cissy has developed an enlightened, adult outlook about sex," he proclaimed, digging into the cole slaw.
"Would you want your daughter to be one of those fold-outs, would you?"
"Probably not, but neither would I tell her she couldn't. That would be the surest way to make her do such a thing. Elementary psychology, my dear." He dabbed his mouth with the napkin, savoring his momentary triumph over intolerance.
"There you go, lording it over me with your high faluting ideas. Just because you had one year of college and I didn't finish high school doesn't mean I'm dumb."
"No, it just means you're a dropout."
Cissy giggled, earning her mother's wrath.
"You stop that, you impudent child! You're as bad as your father, you really are. Why must you both make fun of me when I try so hard to make you happy. If only you knew how hard." She started sobbing.
"I'm sorry I laughed, Mommy, honest I am. I didn't mean it, I really didn't."
"But I did," blurted Harry, his beer talking. "Your mother seems to take pride in being ignorant. If only she'd read something now and then other than those true romances, she might learn something." He thrust a forkful of chicken in his mouth, feasting on knowledge.
"You stop making fun of Mommy, you hear! At least she doesn't go off to bars and get drunk all the time like you do!" shrieked Cissy, sounding adolescent.
"No, she stays home and gets plastered. In my book, that's worse. At least I don't chug cooking sherry and watch soap operas all day. I work for a living."
"Big deal! Cleaning drains is nothing compared to housework. You ought to try it some time."
"Will you two please quit bickering, it doesn't help matters a bit. The problem with you two is that you don't screw enough."
A ghastly silence fell over the table as both parents stared at their child, unable to believe she had said what she said. But far from being intimidated by their dumbfounded looks, Cissy defended her position. "Familiarity without love breeds contempt. Anybody would get to hate anybody they spent all their time with unless they liked them. With man and woman, they have to have sex to get along. Tell me dear parents, how long has it been since you've done it? Well?"
This time even Harry was aghast. Turning to Mabel, he said, "Tell me I didn't hear what I just think I heard." Archie Bunker couldn't have said it better.
"You're the one who introduced her to Playboy, not me," rejoined.Mabel, equally ashen from her daughter's remark.
Harry turned toward Cissy, who seemed to be the only one present not embarrassed by what she'd said.
"There is," he paused, his throat dry, "a time and a place for everything, and the dinner table is not the place to discuss your parents' sexual practices, or lack of them."
"Why not? You do!"
"That's different, I'm an adult."
"Then why not act like one," interrupted Mabel.
"Will you two quit ganging up on me!" He looked at both of them simultaneously, Which wasn't easy since they sat at opposite ends of the table. "It appears I can't do anything right around here." Angered by their animosity, or was it rejection, he backed his chair away from the table. "I'm going to bed," he announced, turning his broad back on them.
"Pass out, you mean."
"Mother, please don't be so hard on him. Men need a drink now and then."
"There is, my dear daughter, a difference between having a nip now and then and getting plastered. Your pa gets drunk as a skunk at least three times a weekend. He's just sobering up now so he can go out later and repeat the process, while I, as a good wife, am supposed to twiddle my thumbs and put up with it. You notice how he conveniently forgot his promise to take me bowling, even though I took a shower and put on this new bowling shirt." She arched her back to show off her bowling ball breasts.
"It's very pretty, Mother, but I think there are other things more important than bowling."
"Like what?" Mabel loved bowling with a passion. "Listen, chile, the only thing that'll make your pa happy comes in a fifth. About all he does anymore is get snockered." She hesitated, a Hamm's to her lips (she too was a bit of a beeraholic) and reminisced, "He wasn't always that way, he used to be downright romantic, before he got that beer gut. Now all he does in bed is break wind, belch or steal my covers. No siree-bob, he sure ain't the Casanova he was when we were courting." Her eyes became wistful, and to keep from crying she took a sustained sip. "I sure wish those days would come again, because they sure was wonderful."
"Now, now, Mother, please don't cry." Cissy handed her a handful of Kleenex, knowing she would anyway.
Mabel blew her nose like a foghorn, then dabbed her red-rimmed eyes. "I-I don't know what I done, but he just doesn't seem to want me like he did when I was young. I know I ain't as pretty as I was then, and I've gained some weight, but I'm still me, aren't I? Sometimes I wonder if he don't have another woman, I really do." She sobbed anew, and Cissy went to get more tissues.
Handing them to her mother, the girl suggested, "It wouldn't hurt for you to shed a few pounds and maybe even buy some sexy outfits. I know for a fact he hates to see your hair in curlers, as would any man."
"Maybe you're right, chile, I could do with some fixing up. Here," she said, handing the half empty Hamm's to her daughter, "Take this away from me before I drink it. I drink too damn many of these things, and so does your dad. Both of us could stand to go on a diet. You know, when I was your age I used to be slim too, only my boobs were bigger. Oh, sorry I said that, honest. Don't worry, they'll grow."
"But then I'll have to wear a bra. Now I don't."
"You really ought to, or they'll start to sag. If I didn't wear one, they'd be down to my knees. A big bust is nice when you're young, but it gets to be a bother when you're older, so maybe you're fortunate being flat-chested. There I go again, making you feel bad. Besides, small breasted girls are supposed to be smarter, I've heard."
"They are?" Cissy seemed pleasantly surprised, both at the information and her mother's knowing it. Her past impression of Mabel paralleled Harry's.
"They don't call dumbies boobs for nothing, you know." Mabel laughed, her sorrow passing. "You know, another thing me and your pa used to do a lot more of when we was young, and that's laugh. I reckon that's one of the reasons I was so taken with him as a teenager, he made me giggle so much. He was a real joker, he was."
"I'm sure you two can laugh again, if you quit fretting over trifles. Little things just aren't worth getting upset over, they really aren't."
"'Out of the mouths of children shall come wisdom,' I think the Bible says somewheres. Yeah, I guess we should try to make it. Lord knows we're both too old and set in our ways to start over with anybody new. I'm as used to your pa as he is to me, and I guess that's part of our trouble."
"Why don't you surprise him?"
"Been a long time since I've done that. What you suggest?"
"Well, once when I was going through the attic, I found your honeymoon outfit."
"My peignoir! My, I've forgotten all about it. That sure was as sexy as anything they got now.
Why, your pa just about shot his wad when he saw me sashay into the bedroom wearing just it and a smile. Oh, I shouldn't talk such in front of you, child." She slapped herself for contributing to the child's delinquency.
Cissy excused herself, then returned from the other room with the nostalgic naughty nightie on a hanger. "I had it dry cleaned."
"Goodness, chile, but this sure do bring back some beautiful memories. Oh, if only it could be like that again."
"It can, just wear this thing to bed and see if Dad doesn't behave differently.
"I'm not sure I could get into it anymore. I'm a little bigger than I was then."
"Not really, you were three months pregnant with me on your honeymoon. It ought to fit just right."
"Shurcks, it didn't even begin to show until four months. Well," she held up the sheer black outfit to the light, "It'll be a tight squeeze, but if it can rouse your pa from his passed-out state, then it's worth it. Thanks a lot, Cissy, for finding this thing. I sure hope it works, or I'll just have to give up on the idea of again having a fun sex life. Oh, there I go again talking to you like you was an adult."
"I am, Mother, or at least I'm not a kid anymore. As Dad says, I'm perfectly capable of having babies."
"But you better not, hear me! Now you amuse yourself doing the dishes while I try this thing on." She then headed for the bathroom, her head swimming with sexy thoughts. How long has it been since he's humped me? she mused, undoing the back of her bowling shirt. It sure would be nice to cum again in a natcheral way, instead of having to use that vibrator. She blushed, recalling with shame the coupon she'd clipped from Harry's Playboy to satisfy her curiosity and then her cunt. Oh, how degrading it is, but I guess it is better than nothing.
She pulled off the bowling shirt, then discarded her double-D bra. Standing in front of the mirror, she let down her dishwater blonde hair, and assiduously brushed it a hundred soothing strokes. Wonder if I should peroxide it again? Then I might look like a movie star. Harry always did go apeshit over blondes, just like niggers do. I remember once I had it bleached and was wearing a new uplift bra and toreador pants when this big black buck gave me the eye and I pretty near came on the spot. I wonder what it's like to be screwed by a nigger, I bet it's wild. Well, if Harry don't come across, I can always get me one of them. Anything's better than that goldarn vibrator. She glanced at the drawer where she kept her toiletries, hoping it was still hidden beneath the Kotex. Best get rid of that thing before Cissy finds it, or worse yet, uses it on herself. I just hope she doesn't fall into evil ways. If she got knocked up it would kill Harry, and he might kill whoever done it. But she don't seem the type to get in trouble, she's too smart for that. Only girls with big boobs get knocked up, like me. She smiled with mingled pride and shame. Pride that she had gotten herself a man, and shame at the way she'd done it. Harry, she knew, was no different than any other man, and didn't like to be trapped. Maybe that's why he resents me, she reflected, stepping out of her cerese pants. I guess if I had to do it again I'd have done it different. I didn't really mean to get pregnant, it just happened. But I sure do love Cissy, so I guess that makes everything right.
She pulled off her faded black panties which were large as a man's swimming trunks. Maybe I ought to get me some bikini panties, they'd be a whole lot sexier. Of course, if I really wanted to be daring, I could get me some of those crotchless panties from Fredericks, but I don't know if Harry's ready for those yet. It might be too much of a shock to his system. Mabel ran five fingertips through her massive muff, her mind's eye imagining Harry's big head buried between her marshmallow thighs. How long had it been since he'd eaten her box? Too long, too damn long, she sighed, reaching for her daughter's vaginal deodorant. Giving her lush pubic growth an extended spray, she hoped it'd keep down on any unseemly odors originating in her nether regions. Who knows, she hoped, putting away the aerosol can, Harry might eat me yet.
She poured on oceans of Midnight in Paris perfume until, as ,Harry liked to put it, she "smelled like a French whore." And by golly, I'll act like one tonight, she vowed, slipping into her superannuated, too-tight nightie with lust on her mind. She'd make Harry hump her again if it was the last thing she did.