Billy's mom, she was sort of hot. I don't know if I was coming
on to her that afternoon or whether I thought she was coming on
to me but before I knew it, my glass of milk was abandoned on the
counter, and Billy's mom was sitting with abandon on the edge of
the kitchen table, waving her bare thighs at me.
So I'm in the middle of banging her when Billy comes into the
room, and he doesn't take it so well. He's screaming, and she's
screaming, and I'm just looking for my pants. Eventually I find
my jeans under a chair and I'm struggling to get them on but
Billy keeps kicking me in the ass. Screaming the whole time.
And she's screaming at him to stop screaming at me.
I'm staggering around the kitchen, one leg pulled up to my right
knee, when pots and pans start flying through the air.
I'm just hoping we haven't been joined by someone else, namely
Billy's dad. Or what the hell? Maybe Billy's dad could get the
other two to stop screaming.
I trip on my pants and fall, which isn't all bad because it's
easier to scoot them on while I'm sitting on the floor.
Billy's mom is the one chucking the kitchenware. While I'm
noticing that, Billy takes a frying pan to the back of the head
and goes down.
Wham. Thud. And now I'm screaming as this pool of blood is
spreading towards my jeans.
Billy's mom, she's kneeling on the floor next to him wailing, "Oh
my baby my baby my baby."
She's bloody and still half naked but not even close to hot
And Billy, I don't think Billy is going to be inviting me over to
his house again.
Stephen D. Rogers is the author of SHOT TO DEATH and morethan 600 shorter
pieces. His website, www.stephendrogers.com,includes a list of new and upcoming
titles as well as othertimely information.