Honey, We Need to Talk

Honey, We Need to Talk

The temperature kept creeping up to the start of the red and I'd look down from the traffic to the dashboard, praying I'd make it home. I kept the heat on full blast, trying to keep out the winter chill and slow down any overheating. My cell had crapped out that morning and I'd spilled some coffee on my lap when I got into the truck on my way out of the 7-Eleven. Pulling into the complex, there was a strange car parked in my driveway.

It just wasn't my day.

The pickup had gotten me from Boston to Birmingham just fine and now steam was pouring out from under the hood as I pulled up in front of the apartment. Sighing, I got out. I could feel the heat coming off the metal and popped the hood and let it be for a while. I had some antifreeze inside. Waiting until I changed my pants and grabbed a beer wouldn't hurt anything.

Jack Night waved as I walked up to my door. He could go fuck himself. The son of a bitch had complained to the apartment management company about the size of my flag until they finally made me replace it. Meanwhile, he blasted The Monkees well past what should have been quiet hours while outside with his telescope trying to catch a glimpse at the moon and I never said a freakin' word.

Plastering a smile on my face, I waved back and kept going. If I hear "Last Train to Clarksville" or another of his anecdotes about busty librarians again I was going to lose my damned mind.

Ignoring the garland and wreath that usually picked me up, I walked through the door, kicked off my boots and walked into the kitchen. Stopping in my tracks, I paused, backed up a few feet and looked into the living room. Yup. There she was, sitting on the couch with some stranger. He was sitting way too close and was turned towards her. I didn't need to be a body-language expert to read him.

He was being Mr. Supportive.

She looked at him and then to me. "Steve, honey...We need to talk."

That was the last thing I needed. "Yeah? We do? Who's this, Cheryl?"

"This, uh, this is Mark. Honey, Mark and I work together and, well, we've gotten close over the past month and... Steve, could you just sit down for a minute? Mark listens to me and we talk, I mean really talk. He's a great conversationalist and, well, it sort of... grew. We went to lunch a few times and then dinner and... Maybe a bit more."

"How much more, Cheryl? Did you fuck him?"

Mr. Supportive decided to become Mr. Protective. "Hey, there's no need for..."

"Shut your fucking mouth. The next time you speak without being spoken to I'm going to grab my bat and cave in your skull, understand me, Mr. Conversations? Nod your head if we're clear."

He nodded.

"Answer my question, Cheryl. You set up lunches, you set up dinners, didja set up any scenes for sex? We know how good you're at that, don't we?"

"I, uh, no. Not...no. I told Mark that I was married and we couldn't continue and he thought we could talk. You and I. That we could have a conversation like adults about maybe... opening our relationship a bit. We've discussed this. Listen, you didn't even notice anything different over the past month, did you? You go out to the range with Todd, you go to the stables with Stefan, you go golfing with Woody, you come home and there I am. Have I turned you down? Has anything changed?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I picked up a photo that had the two of us with Mom at the Grand Canyon. It was taken two years ago. We'd taken her with us for her 60th birthday gift. Alan had taken the photo and it was beautiful. I tossed it to the ground.

"We're supposed to go visit Matt in two weeks. Mr. Conversationalist coming with us? Maybe he can stay here and keep Nora company while we're gone. Better yet, maybe he can go for me. His passport up to date?"

"Leave my sister out of this, Steve. You're... Dammit, just try to look at this like an adult. So, I spend some time with Mark. How does it hurt anything? We'll make sure it happens when you're out doing something else anyway. I'll never turn you away, you'll always be my number one man."

"Cheryl, what did I say was going to happen the next time you brought this up? What happened with Barry? What happened with that guy in France on that boat? I told you I'd had my fill. My 'no' wasn't enough for you? You have to keep pressing and pressing. Do you just want these men fucked up? Is that it? Do you get off on the violence, you psycho bitch? I haven't killed anyone since I got out of the service, but once a SEAL, always a SEAL. You want violence, bitch? Okay, if that's what it takes."

I went to the closet and pulled out my aluminium bat.

"You have any family that's going to miss you, Mark? Remember, this isn't on me, this is on her. I told her what I was going to do if she brought this shit up again. I'll try to make this as quick as possible."

Jumping to his feet, he scrambled around the couch, putting it and Cheryl between us. How gallant.

Holding his hands up, he began speaking rapidly. "Wait, hold on, this doesn't have to go down like this, I, just, uh, I can just leave, I won't, uh, I won't see her again, I'll get a transfer to another department, I, oh shit, we never even did anything, dude, please, she'll never see me again."

Fuck, he didn't even take a breath. That was a pretty impressive run-on sentence.

I sneered at him. "You think I'm afraid of going back to prison, Mr. Conversations? You go near her again and I won't care about security cameras, doing more time or who sees me beating you to death. She's a psycho bitch, but she's my psycho bitch. You understand me?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I... Neither of you will see me again. Ever."

"I'm going to assume your word is good. Get the fuck out and thank whoever you worship that I'm feeling merciful."

"I'm an atheist."

"And I give a fuck? Get the hell out of here!"

Practically running for the door, he tried to open it twice and finally made his way out, slamming it behind him. Waiting 30 seconds, I turned to Cheryl, scowl in place. She was just staring at me, a little smile at the corner of her mouth.

I still had to deal with the truck and wanted to get out of my stained pants. "What the hell was that about?"

"Seriously? I called four times and left like five texts."

"Shit, sorry. Cell died this morning."

"That sucks. It's under warranty, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've got that insurance thing."

"Good. Navy SEAL? Where did that come from?"

"Dunno, just sort of improvising. You've gotta find a better way of breaking up with guys. That's twice this year and we're only in April."

"C'mon, I'd do it for you. He wouldn't take a hint and seemed the type to keep pushing the issue. Besides, I'd have to keep seeing him. We work in the same building. And honestly, what's a big brother good for if he can't put a serious scare into a guy for his kid sister?"

"Sometimes I think you really are a psycho."

"Nope. Just creative. Pick up that picture of us with Mom. I bought that frame. Cost me almost $50.00."

I got a bit jealous. It seemed like everyone else had their Honey, We Need to Talk and Strange Car in the Driveway story. I think I get to learn the top-secret Literotica handshake now.

This was a bit lighter fare than the heavy mishegoss I've been writing lately.

As always, with thanks to the folks that were kind enough to beta-read and to Nora for the editing.

Looking for some serious reading instead of this silliness? Blackrandl1958's "Highway Song" author event is right around the corner. A number of very talented authors will be joining Randi in providing Literotica readers with fantastic tales of travel and adventure.

Tune in on St. Patrick's Day for some great reading.