Necessities

Necessities

Just a quick flash story inspired by the current coronavirus pandemic. This is just a quick story that came to mind as I observed the empty toilet paper shelves in my local store.

As always, many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

*

I stopped off at the second WalMart I passed on my way home to pick up a few things my wife said we needed. I was able to get most everything at the first store, but sadly, they were out of toilet paper. It turns out this store was also out. How in the hell is that even possible, I asked myself.

I cursed myself as I stomped out to my car. I should've listened to Lorraine, my wife of five years, when she suggested we stock up on the stuff, just in case. I dismissed her concerns -- after all, if the stores can't keep toilet paper on the shelves in this day and age, chances are they'll be out of everything else. As usual, she was right.

"Tom, I really think we should stock up," Lorraine said. "I've heard on the news there could be a shortage." That's me, by the way -- Tom Wilson. I work for a company doing computer service, which means I'm either on the road visiting a client, or I'm at my desk, working on a server remotely.

For the past three years, Lorraine has worked as an executive secretary for a financial services company. We both make fairly decent money and just bought a three-bedroom ranch house, with the idea that we'd be starting a family in the next year or two.

Things had been great between us so far, but I was starting to get a bit concerned about Lorraine. For the last couple of months, she'd been going out after work on Fridays with "the girls" to unwind and it seemed that her attitude towards me had changed a bit. Still, I had no concrete proof that she was cheating on me.

Right now, though, that was the last thing on my mind. Lorraine said we really NEEDED toilet paper and I didn't want to let her down.

"Don't come home unless you get it," she told me sternly that morning.

"Yes, dear," I said, adopting the role of the concerned husband out to keep his better half happy.

I sat in my truck wondering where else I could stop. I was concerned that if I took too long getting the stuff, the other things I bought might get spoiled. That certainly wouldn't make Lorraine happy. There were a couple other stores between here and my house, so I decided to bite the bullet and check them out.

The first store I went to was also out of toilet paper. Damn this coronavirus, anyway, I thought to myself. Stores running out of toilet paper, everything being canceled, companies making everyone work from home. Earlier today, the president announced a state of emergency and the governor issued an order banning gatherings of more than 250 people. What the hell is the world coming to, I wondered.

I got to the second store and spotted it -- a MEGA pack of toilet paper, sitting all by itself on the shelf. I spied a woman at the other end of the aisle slowly making her way down, so I dove on the giant pack of toilet paper like a football player recovering a fumbled ball and held it close to my chest. God help anyone who tries to take it from me, I thought.

As I looked up, I saw the woman staring at me as though I was a crazed axe murderer. My clenched bared teeth and wild eyes probably didn't do much to make her feel at ease. This was MY pack of toilet paper, dammit, and NO ONE was taking it from me.

Her eyes wide with fear, she slowly backed away from me and went back the way she came. I paid for the mega pack and drove home feeling like the mighty warrior who just slew a fire-breathing dragon.

I pulled into the garage and noticed that Lorraine wasn't home yet. This was odd, as she is usually home before me and this wasn't Friday, so I knew she wasn't out with her work colleagues. I grabbed the groceries and went in the house through the garage.

After putting everything away, I looked on the cork board where we usually posted notes, but saw nothing to indicate she would be late. There wasn't a message on the home answering machine and she hadn't sent a text. I tried calling her cell, but it went to voicemail after several rings. Odd, I thought. She never goes anywhere without that thing attached to her somehow. I left a message telling her I was home and asked her to call me.

After a half hour I began to get worried. I remembered that we had installed phone finder apps just in case we lost or misplaced our phones, so I checked her number. I was worried that perhaps she had gotten into an accident. According to the app, her phone was in a fairly expensive part of town. What is she doing there, I asked myself. I made note of the address and headed out.

When I got to the address, I saw her car parked in the driveway. She'd better have a damn good reason to be here after work hours, I thought to myself. I did a quick online search and found this was the address for one Wilbur H. Hocki. I knew that name -- it was one of the executives she answered to at work. I had met him a few times at some of Lorraine's company parties. From what Lorraine told me, he had been divorced for several years after his wife caught him cheating. Why is she here, I asked myself.

I looked and saw a hill behind his house, so I got out of my truck, grabbed my binoculars and my phone and made my way up the hill. When I got there, I looked down and saw the two of them, naked, in his spa. She looked gorgeous, as always, but he was gross. In addition to his bald head, he was grossly overweight and his dick couldn't have been more than four inches long.

But there she was, sucking it like some kind of goddamn lollipop. After he blew a load in her mouth, she climbed on top of him and rode him as he sat on the edge of the spa. I captured all of it on my phone, making sure I got good shots of both their faces. Oh yeah, I thought. They're going to pay -- big time.

Mind you, I'm not one of those guys who slink away from a problem. I don't run off to a bar to cry in my beer and agonize over "coulda, woulda, shoulda." No sir! You fuck me over and I kick ass and take names.

The bitch thinks she can fuck around on me, well guess what? Tomorrow, I'm filing for divorce, and I have no problem showing the world what kind of a no-good, piece of shit slut she really is. I just needed to know one thing. I climbed down the hill, making sure no one could see me and made my way back to the truck. I pulled in asshole's driveway, got out and knocked on the door. Then I rang his doorbell. I rang it again, just to piss the fucker off.

I could hear movement in the house and saw someone peeking out the front window through the curtains. Then I heard a female voice exclaim, "Oh, shit!" I rang the bell again, and kept ringing it until the door opened. A bald man's face appeared in the doorway.

"May I help you?" he asked. I kicked the door open. Scared, he backed away from me, trembling.

"Where's my wife, Goddamnit," I demanded. "I know she's here. LORRAINE!" I called. "Get your sorry cheating ass out here, right fucking NOW!" She came into the front room, wearing nothing but a towel. Her hair was disheveled and I could see a glob of cum on her cheek.

"Please, Tom," she said. "It's not what you think."

"Give me a fucking break, Lorraine," I said. "Save your cliches for someone who gives a shit. Just so you know, I'll be seeing a lawyer tomorrow and filing for divorce. There's no if's ands or buts about it and I don't wanna hear any of your sorry-assed excuses. I'll also be filing against old horse-hockey here as well. Don't bother coming home, because you don't have a home to come to anymore. I'll be tossing your shit on the street and you can get it from there."

"Please, Tom," she begged, crying. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand it all too well, you no-good, two-timing cunt," I said. "I have it all on video. I'm sure your church-going parents would love to see what kind of a slut they raised. I just want to know one thing."

"What?" she cried.

"What the fuck does this guy have that I don't?" I asked. She looked down at the floor, sheepish.

"Toilet paper," she said quietly.

...

Note: While this story was intended to be somewhat tongue-in-cheek, the current coronavirus pandemic is no laughing matter. As of the time of this writing, over 7,000 have reportedly died worldwide and more than 182,000 have been infected with about 80,000 recoveries, according to various sources. Those numbers will no doubt increase as time goes on. Please, take all the necessary measures to protect yourself and your loved ones.

And while you're at it, please stock up on all the necessities.