Randy's Slutty TrailerTrash Wife Ch. 09

"Sorry, mama. I didn't mean to offend her ears. You know I love her."

Imelda couldn't make babies and she doted on my 10-year-old girl like a too proud auntie.

"She's watching her cartoons," I said. "She won't hear a thing, but mind yor manners, sister."

"So, whadda ya think?" I asked, smiling again and arms stretched out like I was presenting a symphony.

"It's really, really clean!"

"No shit," she said, pacing and arching her head about like a sand crane on a new beach.

What could I do? I gave her a hug and we laughed. The exchange of argumentative remarks upon her arrival had become a ritual, but the state of my abode took us to a new state of mind. We were refreshed.

We'd become best friends. I would like to think it was because I was the "high-browed, cultured one" in our Jerry Springer-esque group. Nobody else but me actually read. So I had things to say in drunken (or sober) conversation that incited sarcastic comments. I wasn't appreciated for my learning.

But I knew her respect for me came from the fact that in her eyes I was a good mom. She really respected how protective I was of them, despite all the challenges and complications added by my lifestyle.

She also admired me for getting them to church. She'd tell me about her upbringing and how negligent her family was toward her, how she was influenced by bad things at a very early age. She once told me I was the mom she should've had. She put her clutch bag on the table. It didn't look like it could hold much, but she had her nail kit there.

She paused and squirmed and asked me if she could visit with my little angel first. I consented and we walked down the hall to my daughters room, knocked and opened the door. She was as I expected, glued to her cartoon program. Imelda sat with her and they hugged and she sparked my chatterbox baby into a long, senseless stream of consciousness dialogue. I left them alone and went back to the living room to plunk my body down.

I had nodding off and was some 40 minutes later when Imelda disturbed me.

"Um," I uttered, "you come here to see me or my baby?"

She showered my angel with compliments and the three of us went into the kitchen. Baby was gonna get her nails done, too. She got hers done first and then was sent back to her bedroom to admire them in solitude while Imelda and I got down to business.

Imelda started working my toenails, right foot first. "You need to confess, sister," she said. I had hinted to Imelda that something had started up between me and Edmond the youth director at church. But she didn't know he had fucked me.

"So, what's with you and that preacher?" she asked.

I twisted my face in discomfort. "Oh, I'm sorry I got involved with him."

"Already? Spill it, then. What's happenin?"

"I lured him to my bed last Saturday, after we did our car wash fundraiser."

"No shit? You fucked a preacher? Damn, that's gotta be a go-straight-to-hell sin, Terry." "He's not a preacher, okay. He's just a - a important leader in the congregation."

"Yea, yea," she said, waving off my point with her hand. "What happened to you? You was goin' to church to better yourself. To 'atone.' Your words!"

I fidgeted. "I know-uh! Duh! I just got weak. I got sick of 'his holiness,' and my 'unholiness.' I thought he was cute and fuckable and I couldn't resist." "So, you wanted to bring him down to your level instead of raising yerself up. I get it," she said and I focused on the fumes of green polish."

"But you ain't happy with him?"

"Oh God, no," I said. "He calls every day. He's too excited. He thinks we're having an affair. He don't know I fuck anybody besides Randy. I thinks I'm in an unhappy marriage 'cuz I threw myself at him. And he's in a very unhappy marriage and just obsesses over me. He's gonna get himself caught and this whole thing - I'm afraid it's gonna be a mess."

She put her hands together like a nun and said in demure voice, "You play with fire, Sister Terry. You get burned, bitch."

"And I gotta see him tonight," I said in a deflated tone. "We have youth music program rehearsal."

"Just don't go," she said.

"I shouldn't, should I?" I said. "No, no," I added, shaking my head. "I should go."

"You gonna fuck him again," Imelda asked. "I don't know," I said. "Sex wasn't good the first time, but he's outta practice. If he ever was in practice, I'm not sure. He could use some lessons."

Imelda grinned, shook her head and dabbed polish on my pinky toe.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm disappointed in you mama Terry. You a bad influence on a man of God. Gonna make him love fuckin you day and night."

"So what if I do," I said defiantly.

She looked at me and at her work. She'd finished my right foot. She slid her hand up my thigh until her fingers were playing with my labia and clitoris. She flicked at it until I moaned and squirmed in my chair.

"Whore," she whispered at me.

"Yessss," I hissed back.

Then she turned her attention to my left foot.