“No no, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that, I swear to you it wasn’t. Just ask him,” I said to the guy, this one big cop with a gargantuan pork belly hanging down over his pants.
“Well, I would ask him, ma’am, but ya see,” Porky said, hitching up his britches,
“ya see [we in the South repeat ourselves with regularity, ya see], there’s the little problem of the victim bein’ speechless at the present time.” Porky grinned a big wide smartass grin, then, and, using his tongue, swished his toothpick over to the other side of his wide wet mouth. Eyeing me up, he reached around close, tightening the handcuffs on my wrists. “And just about DAY-ud. Ma’am.”
“I’m telling you, I wasn’t trying to kill him. Just the opposite, actually…” I said, and I was gonna say more, as I usually do, but…
“Well, then, lady, tell me then, tell me: why’d that guy in the next hoe-tel room over from you all hear that man cryin’ out for mercy? Why’d that guy hear the
victim screamin’ You’re killin’ me you’re killin’ me, huh? WHY?” Porky screamed, leaning right down in my face, the spittle from his rage spraying out like living breathing BBs from all around his nasty toothpick.
I thought about asking him if he’d ever had a…hmmmm, er, a thing so good he could barely stand it. And then, my temper simmering up inside me, preparing to boil, I thought about asking The Porkster how many years it’d been since anybody’d even been able to find anything worth playing with inside his panties, lost as it was in that Michelin Man flesh of his…
Just then, I heard the hotel room door open behind us. “Handcuffs?? Yessssss!” Sparky hollered out all wild-eyed, wearing only his T-shirt and dragging his IV. The medic stood behind him, laughing his ass off as Sparky grabbed me by the wrists.
“I note there’s a police officer with you, darling.” He paused. “But I have to say, I find threesomes a bit cliche.”