Just Four Leather Jacket Tassels!

Peeking my head inside the kitchen for just a moment to say good morning to Paul Morris; I happened to notice that their very cute pair of boys were headed towards 'da back yard. Paul decided to lend 'em a hand by opening the screen door for 'em.

They responded by making bratty faces at 'dere step-fa'dder. Robbie was hopping up and down and started to pull his ears back all the way whilst sticking' his li'l tongue out. Sammy was clumsily twirlin' in circles and pulling down his eye-lids whilst pushing his nose up with his 'udder hand.

"Can you believe these two! Paulette can you get a handle on 'em boys of yours!!! Mornin' there Brandon Slim, how'r you! Nice tie there, monsieur! Dessed to the nines as usual," my former best friend cried.

I nodded my head and yawned aloud trying to cover my urge to throw up. I was still understandably disgusted by Paul Morris. But it had also been anu'dder long night of me just drinkin' my woes away.

One of Paulette's boys was whispering into the u'dder's ear because the dog was still attempting to chase after them. Apparently, 'dey were finished wrestling with Burbank but she wasn't quite done with 'dem yet. Burbank clearly still had a bad case of 'zoomies" which had her chasin' her tail in endless circles with her snout like crazy.

Wrestling around with Burbank was fun even for the adults in the house. She was a big, furry, goofy dog.

Paul covered his ears in response to the boys tearing outside and screaming inta' the neighbor's back yard for 'dere li'l neighborhood friends.

"Now they tearin' up Jake in ma' back yard! I ain't givin' Burbank a bath if she runs outside again! Damn clumsy dog ain't she!" Cried Paul.

Burbank's sharp barks followed because she couldn't quite get the door open using her hefty, furry paws. The screen door had slammed shut in front of her. Paul ignored Burbank so the golden retriever rushed for the living room instead.

"Oh, give 'em a break, Paul!" Hollered Paul Morris' wife from the u'dder end of the the house.

I smiled because Paulette's voice could certainly light up a man's day. Barely able to dodge this big clumsy creature, I was swept back. I almost tripped before I got a glimpse of her. Paulette looked stunning, I must say...

That morning she was sporting one of 'dose hotter than hell denim roll-top maxi bell type skirts against her soapy and taut, freshly-showered figure. That skirt she had on got my full attention. Especially down where it mattered near her heart-shaped caboose!

Paulette was givin' off a 1970s housewife vibe with 'dese sensual t-strap sandals on her perfect pale little feet. Her chopped "bombshell blonde" hair she had recently dyed that way was falling over with bangs almost completely over her beautiful almond-shaped chocolate brown eyes. They were big, deer-like. Sexy as fuck!

Paulette Morris, al'dough blonde currently, had been born a pale "Noirette." My very own, very poetic, way of sayin' this woman was born a tall and pale 'sylph' with black hair, big tits and gorgeous face. Like Katy Perry almost.

Paulette was friggin' Betty Boop incarnate in my humble opinion. Best of all, Paulette was a Chicago native like myself, only she was of mixed Russian or Ukrainian-Argentinian descent. Her Chicago accent came back sometimes when she spoke to ano'dder person from the neighborhood. Mine was stuck with me for life, unfortunately.

I might have been a cuckolded-male but I could not resist a bouncy white Chicago ass! Even in a longish and boring tube dress. My wife was a skinny cat-walk model from New York, and I liked that. But Paulette had this killer, curvy, hour-glass stripper's figure.

Oh, that figure! I had gone to the same public schools as Paulette. And believe me, everybody could certainly appreciate that about her from very early on!

When we went to public school we knew plenty of u'dder children of u'dder races so she was a white girl to me, even'dough I am white. She was also tough and street-wise to da' core. A South Sider at heart just like me. Her zingers and charming personality made her beauty quite bewitching to any boy! Black. White. Hispanic. Asian. Any girl too.

We had so much in common. Except that, whereas, I was proud of coming up and betterin' myself, she tried a bit harder to hide her modest Chicago upbringing. She used to actually tell people she was a German countess back then. Al'dough it was a silly lie, she certainly looked it.

Paulette idolized Anita Berber, Lil Dagover, Marlene Dietrich and u'dder silent film actresses that belonged to da' decadent Weimar culture of the 1920s. She appeared to be very spoiled and privileged. I saw her on and off school grounds back then al'dough we ran in completely different school social-circles.

I only saw her again by chance the night Paul's manager happened to introduce her to him in front of me at a party. Paulette was in full-fledged femme fatale mode in the vein of Julie Newmar at the party.

I figured Paul's manager wanted to lure his newest client inta' his music label that way. He wanted to introduce Paul to as many beautiful and available Chicago women as possible.

Of course Paul, who was at the time only interested in dating Southern belles, was swept away completely when he set his eyes on Paulette. 'Dey were married after only about a year of dating.

Paulette was looking very different now than from 'da day on 'da train when she gave me...'a little foreplay.' At da' house that morning my eyes couldn't help themselves. I was spying on her and her big breasts bouncing bra-less under this honey-colored t-shirt she had on.

She was still piling up dirty laundry inta' baskets from the insides of all the bedrooms. 'Dey were driving me nuts! 'Dose Salma Hayek-like jugs!

I could do little to keep from imagining her bare bosoms from 'de're outline under 'da tee. Her raw nipples hanging loosely and squashed against her top like 'dat. Honest to Gaad! I kept my eyes on her floppin' tits like a predator as she went from room to room t'rough 'da house.

My 'noirette' kept up the pace.... her long white arms sexily picking up 'dose loose bits o' laundry as she bent over. What a sweet li'l backside this lady had! It was pretty much fit for a friggin' b&w Calvin Klein ad on the side of a building! I acted a bit lost so I could snoop around for just a bit longer.

The Morrises always wanted lots of kids so they owned a big friggin' house. The house and everything inside it was Mohave style which was Paul's favorite.

I was lookin' for any excuse, for anything to help me lay her. By chance, I happened to catch a book with a bookmark stuck inside left behind a table in da' living room. It was a play. She was auditioning for things here and 'dere.

Focusin' on the cover, I made it out...Antony and Cleopatra! Yes. Lucky me...I thought. Of course! How very fortunate.

Bein' an avid theatre person for ages, I was somewhat acquainted with the words William Shakespeare had to offer an inquisitive thinker. I used the wisdom in his plays all the time to help me in my own journey.

I had seen a few Shakespeare plays on and off the Chicago Theatre District as well as a some operas based on his plays at the Lyric Opera House. It would be a good conversation starter with Paulette later.

My only friends, as of late, had been maybe a talkative bartender here and 'dere and the crows perched all over the friggin' house and outside of the basement. I really had nobody to discuss theatre with anymore.

It was rude to objectify her body, I know, but at least I was honest. I was just hypnotized by her...her sweet li'l ass, li'l face and amazing tits!

Are people going to give Ed Sheeran the third degree for writing a song titled "Shape of You"? That song summarizes exactly how I felt about the lovely Paulette. I was addicted to her form and couldn't stop smiling. That is...until I heard Paul huskily clearin' his throat nearby.

"Don't tell me you been eaten alive somewhere out there by Burbank, partna'?? Get the heck in here and say hello," Paul cried...summoning me in from the living room with a long wave of his giant arm.

I waved back idiotically, almost stumblin' as I paced quietly to where he was sittin' in the kitchenette.

"Really almost outta' here!" I cried, dismissively as I could.

I was trying to avoid his usual taunts and bossy sneering. I fussily grabbed for my lunch waitin' inside the refrigerator.

"You can talk to old Paul for a minute!"

"Got to take out my trash!" I added, going for my little trash bag I left by the basement door.

As I hustled about I saw that Paul was pourin' yogurt into his oatmeal. His newspaper lay neatly in wait next to his bowl. Paul dressed no different than usual... Strictly blue-collar getup and baseball cap for this man with little to no pretenses.

Paul had on his cowboy boots, a tight beige Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and bluejeans with a big, shiny silver rodeo belt buckle keepin' those cowboy pants up. Because..he always wore the trousers at the house. Oh, and lets never forget to mention that the hats he liked to wear most were of the red MAGA variety.

Paul's muscles swelled as he ate. 'Dey shifted and popped up slightly from underneath the fabric over his torso; even from his legs.

But in contrast to a centurion-like build, Paul Morris was actually a real pussycat. A formidable, handsome and intimidating presence...If he weren't so friggin' likable, gentle and talented at the same time. Except of course if you got on his bad side.

I would not be lying if I said that even with his handle-bar mustache and long side-burns, Paul was a cross between maybe actor Paul Walker and former wrestler-actor John Cena. In addition to his chiseled facial features, Paul had dark blue eyes with neatly-cut sandy blonde hair.

I decided hesitantly to oblige him for a minute or two, hopin' I could also have a word with Paulette and sneak a few more peeks in. Paul scowled slightly in my direction from under the shadow of his baseball cap.

Tidying up, Paulette was preparing to enter the living room and was close to da' kitchenette by then. 'Dere kids were obviously quite messy.

Havin' some peeks, I noticed 'da denim skirt she wore loosely flowin' close to her delicate ankles. Oh, God willin', soon I would have 'dose ankles of Paulette's propped up on my shoulders!

She waved at me and smiled unaware of how hard she was making me in my boxers. I raised my eyebrows as she entered the kitchenette. The look of visceral satisfaction on my face from her presence was probably obvious to her.

There was a short outburst by Paul: "Well, you and Brando seem to be gettin' comfy! I noticed lately both of ya'll startin' to sound alike...what's with that gosh-darn CHI-KAW-GO accentuation!"

I didn't even have time to react before Paulette had her own outburst.

"Not again! Honest to Gaad, Paul! Honest ta' Gaad! Should Brandon and I sound like we just flew in from...Tokyo, or somethin'? We both happen ta' be born and raised...guess where? In-nn a li'l place called CHIKAWGO!!!" Paulette teased, lettin' out a suppressed giggle. Her brown eyes crossed the room to beam over at mine.

Paulette was exaggerating the accent, of course. To further annoy Paul and probably for the sake of entertaining Mary-Shenoa.

I quietly sniggered. What was ac'hually more funny was witnessin' the mess Paul was making munchin' down on his oatmeal.

"When's that Eny gonna' get her act together! Li'l woman's completely lazy! She's totally beautiful, Brandon, don't get us wrong! But she's a damn blister!! She doesn't show up until all the hard work's done! She should be with her man, ain't that right, Brando!?!" He cried, chewing and swallowin' down anu'dder big spoonful of oatmeal.

"The way that ya' eat that oatmeal and try ta' ta'wk at the same time is always fun to watch. Look at Burbank! Even she's amused!" Noted his wife.

Burbank had her two furry front paws set on the table. She wagged her tail and barked in Paul's direction.

After t'rowin' the dog a piece of bread, Paul decided to slam his large hand against the table to re-direct everybody's attention back on him. Even his daughter Shenoa started.

"There you go! Finally got everybody's attention!!" He cried, flashin' a smile that showed off his immaculate white teeth. Even whilst harmlessly debating with his wife, Paul looked incredibly handsome.

Having dropped her two laundry baskets, Paulette stood akimbo. She held her stance in place soon movin' to cross her arms. If I wasn't trying to sleep with her, I would say her reactions to Paul proved 'dey belonged t'agether. Even when it seemed like they didn't quite get along everything looked perfectly choreographed between these two.

"You're a baby, Paul! An actual chi-y-ald! Last year you said Brandon and I were havin' an affair around when Shenoa was born, you r'member?" She teased.

"So?" Responded Paul. Paulette then cutely scoffed and made a dismissive motion with her hand.

"I know somethin' was up for sure! Don't be lyin'. Chik'awgo ain't ma' town, r'member! I'm a Texas good ol' boy! Somethin' didn't set right with me!"

Paulette just t'rew her hands up into the air after looking away in frustration. Al'dough Paul could certainly count on his keen intuition, he had no proof of anything that happened between us.

"You're crazy, Paul!" She responded, curtly.

"Ain't you gonna' say nothin', Brandon?" He asked.

I shrugged...but warily. Paul arched one of his eyebrows high on his forehead before he continued. We both stared at him.

"Oh, hell! I don't know anymore! You never even used to talk to me like this, Paulette...Not until you started hangin' around Brandon's wife!" Paul cried.

"Does everything have to be Eny's fault," I replied.

Al'dough I was offended, I knew Paul had a point. Eny was certainly responsible for Paulette being mouthy around her husband more often. My wife was always an extremely outgoing person, and unafraid to be confrontational. It was the New Yorker in her. It couldn't be helped.

"At least say you're sorry ta' your friend!" Pleaded Paulette.

"Ain't that the berries! I see ma' wife definitely woke up in a horn-tossing mood today! Ain't that right, Brando?!" Paul jabbed back.

I blankly shrugged again.

"You did!...you big ol' beau-hunk!" Cried Paulette.

"....No, I didn't"

"Remember givin' 'a li'l something' ta' Eny Slim, ya' giant Texas beau-hunk!? Like ya' dick, maybe? Remember givin' me 'daat too while in 'da heat o' jealousy! I don't even t'ink it was entirely our fault. Honest ta' Gaad! We had ta' do something ta' stop ya'! We t'ought ya' was goin' ta' snap!" Paulette continued...

"...Ya' remember 'daat was Brandon's wife, don't'cha?? 'Da' woman ya' fucked??? Ya' fucked da' two of us!" Paulette cried.

"Yeah, I remember, Goddammit. Ya' gotta' remind me again, woman!"

"'Dat should settle it, then. I got ta' go down ta' 'da unemployment office again, Paul! Now 'dat ya' r'member 'dose little details! Ya' know ya' always home before me, right? And when would I even have time ta' cheat on ya' with Brandon Slim with 'da kids here?!"

"Slim ain't even his real name! Anyways, just you don't forget I wasn't wrong about you and Eny sneakin' off to bed in this house over two years ago...Paulette Morris! Anyway, I ain't gonna' be comin' home that early tonight."

"So, where ya' goin'?!" Paulette cutely snapped back; still standing akimbo whilst tapping her foot against the kitchen tiles.

"Damn, ain't like that. Ma' boys asked me to come down to the bar, honey! Got to drive down there and buy 'em some drinks because I cleaned 'em all out on a bet on the game! Also have to stop by Eny's for a bit after that for that damn errand. To pass on those things ya' want me to give her at her house!"

"Ya' mean Brandon's apology letters because ya' screwed up 'dere marriage?! Ya' also must mean like his payments on the mortgage, right?"

"...Right"

"Is that what ya' mean??"

"Yeah, damnit! Don't be gettin' me all riled up! Ya' know you're too pretty to be acting' this way, quit bein' ugly! I already apologized to Brandon! Besides, Eny was thin as a rake but twice as sexy at the time and there was all sorts 'a rumors about her floatin' around! Now she eats sorrow by the spoonful. Don't like her like that anymore!"

"Didn't stop ya' the last time!" Paulette cried, standing obliquely. Her apple-shaped bum wigglin' as she argued back defiantly and tapped her foot.

"You, kiddin'?! Even the last time I didn't quite fancy her. So darn skinny she can't even see her own shadow...don't forget flat as a fritter and cold as banker's heart too!! Sorry again Brandon but I gotta' tell it like it is. You ma' li'l wife, Paulette....you know that!"

"I should be jealous about where you and ya' friends go off ta'! And riskin' 'da money we have in da' bank f'ar groceries and school supplies on football pots..."

"Stop it, I won, I said!"

"Wow, really, ya' won, ya' say?!!" Paulette responded. Her adorable eyes suddenly starting ta' light up just above her tiny crinkling nose.

Her cheeks were reddening a bit against the daylight as she combed away loose wisps of blonde hair close ta' her sensual, heart-shaped lips with her delicate fingertips. She kept mousily dragging 'dem behind both her tiny ears as she lit up the room with her beauty. I tried very hard not to reach out and kiss her right there.

Next thing I know, Paul was pickin' out wads of hundred dollar bills from the folds in his wallet. Without warning, in one giant wave of his sculpted arm, Paul t'rew the cash inta' the air above Paulette.

"Damn right, babygirl. 'Course I won! Shoot out the lights! Besides Eny's throwin' another silly, ol' annual Halloween party at her house again tonight! Got enough money, for groceries and school supplies, ya' think!?.... From ya' beau-hunk!" Paul added.

The money rained down over the both of them.

She joyfully sprinted in the direction of Paul's powerful open arms like a child. As she crashed inta' his arms, the MAGA cap he wore slid sideways and the cigarette sticking out from behind his ear flailed away.

After somewhat smothering his head against her big breasts with his cheeks; he raised her body up to spin her around in the air. Burbank barked and their daughter cheered.

I shook my head in jealousy moving to lock the basement door for the day. If I didn't leave soon I would start to cry.

I just held a pi'chur in my head...of Paulette smiling broadly at proof of Paul's winnings raining down onta' her head like she was a friggin' low-class stripper. It disgusted me. Here was her husband...a gambler and a degenerate...and I think she loved it.

"Easy, baby, don't go throwin' that hat over the windmill! We're not in the clear just yet!" Paul cried, taking in Paulette's beauty after lowering her back down. So was I. But in the background.

"We sure gettin' there!" She returned, her breasts heaving. Her brown eyes wide. Glistening with joy.

"Aint' ya' just as happy as a boardinghouse pup again, ma' gorgeous li'l pumpkin puss wife! Hallelujah! Nobody's doin' any flirtin' tonight, sweet li'l cowgirl! Even though ya' said ya' wouldn't go 'caus ya' got your house work to do!" Paul continued.

"...Going to find Eny at that big ol' house like I said and hand in these here errands! Should be all as exciting as waitin' for paint to dry! Seriously! Your husband will be just as safe as granny's snuffbox!"

"Ya' promise?"

"You kidding! Ya' know I happen to believe that lady's so damn contrary that she floats up-stream! And by now I'm fully convinced she's one brick shy of a load!" Upon saying that, Paul made a clumsy gesture with a spinning finger around his temple.

"Hey, you better not be implyin' anything about my wife there, ya' Godzilla-like Texas beau-hunk!" I cried.