Three Leather Jacket Tassels Ch. 03

Tassel 3 - Paulette

By: RicharDickensAlcoxxx©

Brandon Slim called for two hours straight last night. We heard the messages too. He was really givin' me down the country via my answerin' machine because of what I done with our wives. In the messages he kept detailing just how he was gonna' lay a hurtin' on me and skin me alive.

It was quite hilarious for us. He kept callin' until I finally had it when he started cryin' like a little child and I spoke to him, fessin' up to everythin' as the girls giggled quietly.

"Don't let your mouth overload your tail, dad blame-it! It's not my fault, Bran, that you don't have the sense God gave a Billy goat! I like bein' accountable, fuck! Love me, love ma' dawg, 'damnit!! Get me, you get what comes with me! Warned you sometin' didn't wash! You done told me I was low down, paranoid, and stupid! I know in my conscience you have a right to get even, partner."

"Well, come on over right now if you want an' we can handle this, or just leave me the heck alone tonight!" I hung up on him all upset myself.

Apparently, he didn't have conniptions 'cause he lived right across the street. It would have been as easy for him to come over as slidin' off a greasy log backwards. Overnight somethin' else happened to me though. Dreams started preyin' on my mind and I told my wife about 'em as soon as she opened those pretty eyes of hers.

"I had wild dreams all night, sweet cheeks. All these scary dreams just started pourin' out of me like crazy all at once! I was reciting poetry in one of 'em and talking to this strange lady standin' under the street lamp that was on. I don't even remember the rest right now but they rattled me..."

"I was sound asleep and so was Eny but we could tell something was happening to you, Paul. Like reciting a poem you say, which one?" Paulette replied.

"Who wrote that poem nights again? ...somethin' nights? You used to read it to me while we was datin'"

"Wild Nights! Wild nights! Rowing in Eden, Ah -the Sea! Might I but moor -tonight. In thee!" Paulette began reciting Wild Nights from memory while lying in bed with my arm 'round her neck.

"That's it! Where's that from, honey?"

"....Emily Dickinson. You were reciting Emily Dickinson."

"Who was Emily Dickinson? The dream felt so damn real. I was talkin' to her."

"We heard you talking gibberish after you hung up on Bran last night. It sounded like something straight out of the Omen."

"I don't know nothin' about her. It don't scare me!"

But it did scare me and I did know her. Or maybe she knew me.

I think Eny was up at dawn. My wife and I had bonded over lots of poets during our courting phase. Emily had been one of 'em. I was writin' songs since I was a child an' Paulette was taking a poetry class back then to fill an elective requirement toward her dancing/drama major at the time. Emily Dickinson's poetry actually helped me elevate my songwriting to a whole new level.

Time had buried all those nice memories of lovin' and writin' songs in bed with Paulette. Paulette told me things about Emily that really touched my heart and I swear I forgot up until last night. We heard Eny yappin' on her cellphone from the bathroom. She must have paid all her dues, that Eny.

In spite of what happened and Eny gettin' caught by her husband, mostly directly due to myself, she wasn't all that upset about everthin'.

Paulette told me she heard her jawin' since the early morning. She let me know that this call was over some missed rent payments. Some local ghost hunter in the neighborhood that had a T.V. show had rented out a house from Eny's real estate agency. He was wantin' to miss a few more rental payments because he wanted to throw a big Halloween soiree.

Apparently, as per my wife, Eny woke up to many other problems with her business; including some lunatic who showed up first thing and was eagerly waiting to speak to her soon as she came in. We later found out it was Brandon. This problem kept draggin' on with calls back and forth though.

The show by that famous ghost hunter had become a big hit on television, it had a cult following and had a hand in attractin' all these funny sorts to this area. Eny's business started boomin' but Eny still didn't take no crap. When she got outta' the shower the bathroom door was still shut, but we heard her. A peachy bath scent was wafting all the way to our bed. We kept on hearing Eny yellin' at this fella'.

"What did you say again?!!! A ....fucking....Halloween party?!" Eny inquired aloud as we listened on, pretty captivated.

"A ....what?! A ...K...2?! Oh, an ...electromagnetic radiation field meter... you use that to hunt your ghosts, no kidding?! You use it to... communicate to the spirits on the other side you say...mhmmm...of course....right."

I knew exactly what she meant if she was referring to an EMF meter. I never used them for any of that foolishness. We used 'em in the service to fly helicopters over Baghdad in Desert Storm for rescue and coordinated relief efforts.

Apparently there were many locations in Illinois that were haunted and La Grange was no exception. With things like the Chicago Fire and the Valentine's Day Massacre, I guess rumors were warranted. Eny was still tough as nails with the man.

"Listen, you little... ghostbuster! If you don't keep those payments coming on your house .... you know what's going to happen!? You'll be the one haunting your house!!!"

We could only understand every other word of what he kept sayin' to her but he sounded like he was a young buck.

"Why?! Because I'm going put on a hockey mask and murder you!! They'll have to use an EMF meter to make contact with your fuckin' ghost!!"

"Now, that one right there has always been a bit different!" I cried wonderin' if Eny could hear me from my bed.

"She's ...a little devil...such a little devil," my wife remarked with me stirring further out of my slumber, havin' myself a back stretch.

"Maybe she'll dress up as the devil for Halloween," I remarked in a snicker, turnin' around and closin' my eyes for just another little bit.

My wife gettin' outta' bed was when I finally woke up. Both ladies had been sleepin' stark naked on either side of me all night! Their little snorin' with us three of us under them covers was just about heaven on Earth. Especially after enjoyin' me some of the slices of heaven between their legs! I had some of the most restful sleep in ages despite those evil dreams.

My beautiful wife shuttin' the door behind her nekked frame was when I started realizing how lucky I was. I pushed my disheveled sandy hair back with both my hands just as Eny was puttin' on her second earring in front of that dresser mirror.

Things were still on the floor. After she walked out she was standin' next to this colorful open valise of hers on the floor. Her rolling tote bag always in tow, Eny carried around a lot of her wardrobe with her.

Freshly showered, she finished preparing herself as I looked on. I was still plum tuckered out from what had happened the night before.

Eny looked incredible. She was wearin' an above knee length sleeveless silk-satin white cheongsam spring dress printed with winter patterns of red and blue. The dress had a Mandarin collar. From the side Eny looked like a cross between a blonde femme fatale and a 14th century Japanese geisha.

Looking at her from behind, her dress traced down her waif-like figure beginning at her fragile jagged shoulders, flattening down against her well postured back, curving slightly over her perfect heart-shaped derriere, ending at her neatly shaven legs.

My wife stormed in nekked and peeling a banana in her hand. She lay down on the tousled bed next to me again.

"This one was bad last night, Paulette," Eny teased; slippin' out of her current mood for a moment. We both appraised Paulette's nekked skin.

"He always has to open his big fat mouth. I kind of regret inviting 'Moe' in here after what he said to poor Brandon," my wife poked.

"Aren't you girls precious!" I clapped back but they both frowned at me as soon as I attempted to make light of our situation.

"Lucky for you Brandon Slim is the type of man who will always take you back," added Paulette, chipping more of that banana away and chewin' the rest of it in her mouth before tossin' the peel in my direction.

"I've never had to worry too much about the men in my life coming back," replied Eny.

"How did you sleep Eh-nai?" I asked, yawning away an almost comatose night's sleep and chuckin' that dirty banana peel off our bed and into the wastebasket.

"Wow, big Texas actually gets it right, hallelujah!" cried Eny.

"Told ya' I'd learn,"

"Paulette and I heard you talking in your sleep, Tex. You woke us up but I slept like a log mostly! Took a nice hot shower as soon as I got up. Yet for some reason I keep on ruining my underwear!" she added, adjusting herself. She cutely looked up at the ceiling a few times with those perfect turquoise eyes of hers as she pinched at her little panties from over her dress. It was evident somethin' was botherin' her.

Havin' my cum oozing out of her onto her pink panties was really turnin' me on. I remembered how fully I had ejaculated into both of 'em. All I could think about was my semen staining her set of fresh satin panties. My wife could sense I was gettin' horny and she got up, slippin' a robe on for her shower now. I got up, slidin' into my slippers, depressed. The party was over.

Chapter 3.1 -

Brandon Speaks

I'm an architect with my own firm, only son of immigrants, and a native of Chicago. My name is Brandon Slim and I am thirty nine. My surname was so Greek t'at I had to change it, to da disillusionment of my folks, but Leptospoulos senior didn't mind as much when his son got him into da country club of his dreams and also replaced his old Buick with a Bentley Continental GT, honest ta Gaad.

I had da pleasure of living out my architectural dreams and realizing t'em at quite a young age in da city where I live with my wife of eight years. I originally wanted to marry a pretty lady who loves da Bears just as much as I do but I got da next best thing.

I got to marry somethin' men fantasize about; a t'rough and t'rough international runaway model t'at likes to go to Bears games since she met me. And she also tells me I am proof t'at you can take da boy out of Chicago but you can never take da Chicago out of da boy. So t'at's good enough for me.

We met in New York City when I was invited to a Christmas party t'at one of my clients t'rew. At da time I was used to traveling for work because it was a time to expand my curriculum vitae and I had some of da resources. Business was really flourishing and I was going through my highest creative phase.

My client's wife is a market analyst in da fashion industry and she introduced me to this positively stunning, vibrant and healthy beauty t'at turned out to be Eny. At da time Eny was twenty t'ree and a worldly sought after commodity known in t'at industry for expertly wooing da masses with her fox-like stare as she sashayed down long catwalks wearing heels in exotic cities all over da world.

To tell you more about myself, I am Greek-American by origin but wouldn't consider myself a Greek God at all, honest ta Gaad. I am actually short, standing only at 5'6'', with ruggedly handsome features, enchanting blue eyes (am told), an aquiline nose, and long dark brown hair t'at I like to wear in a ponytail.

And don't let the pudge on my tummy fool ya' 'cause there's a lot of strength and stamina in t'is body. I'm often complimented mostly on my charm t'ough t'rough da years.

Growing up I was always bullied because I was so short and came from a very modest blue-collar home. I made up for t'at by being as charming and self-assured as I could be.

T'at charm helped me build a rock solid reputation in my line of work. I learned how to carry myself with a lot of authority because I had to fight for everything t'at I have. I wasn't one of t'ose labbies like Barack Obama. I never went to u-high and both my parents were working class people in t'eir careers.

But let me skip all t'at school stuff. You don't need to hear all about how I got into good schools and became the architect I am today.

Let's talk about my wife. A natural blonde, I remember Eny was wearing her hair short back then, much like she does today, only t'at it was slicked back for da party. But what truly captivated me aside from her classic beauty were her eyes: which were turquoise. I remember t'at when I asked her her name at da party she did a comedy sketch for me.

"Me! Eh-Nai!!" She responded, pointing at her face and stomping da floor with one foot, sort of like a cavewoman. I laughed at t'at since she is probably related to a viking or two being t'at her family is from Reykjavík and she is a tall girl.

She seemed to be in such a good mood t'at night. This relaxed me because Eny was always such an alluring young woman. I noticed right away t'at we both seemed to enjoy laughing at everything together, especially at ourselves. She kidded me about not having any side-burns and whether or not t'ey grew at all.

I remember kidding her t'at she should go do stand-up at a comedy club. Despite my kidding her she was intrigued by my stories about my life and childhood back in Chicago. Unfortunately, my future wife was nothing like t'at goofy picture of health I saw. She was one of many hit hard by the drug epidemic.

On t'at night I learned t'at Eny was a native New Yorker and had t'ree brothers. I wondered about da origin of her last name, Vilhjalmsson. Eny's father is an Icelandic immigrant. When I got to meet him I thought he was quite a handsome devil. He was nowhere as tall as Eny but was a chain-smoking ball of energy t'at had been married more times than Larry King.

Jon dressed well, played acoustic guitar and was born to break hearts. He had come to America due to food shortages and poverty back home. I am told t'at he was a master tailor who had started out working for specialty clothing stores and alteration shops in Manhattan.

Every time he married, it was to a new woman t'at he brought back to New York from Iceland. The family continued to struggle and remained challenged with a variety of hardships. It can be hard work meeting the fickle needs of a demanding clientele.

Eny's brothers were equally talented designers and pattern makers. Overall, her family were a tribe of savvy and success-minded people. I learned t'at, together, da family had been retained in many of da best specialty clothing stores in the city, eventually servicing elite clients as well as da backbone of society.

T'ey ultimately offered t'eir skill to better and better clothing labels and hungry up-and-comers; although t'eir most priceless creation for the industry turned out to be Eny; who did nothing but win beauty pageants and model clothing since childhood.

After t'at party we became very attached to each other, like long lost friends. I was working in New York under contract but I took advantage of my time to court her and find ways to invite Eny to come visit me in Chicago so t'at we could be more t'an friends, and she did.

My client's wife even offered Eny modeling gigs in da Chicago area t'rough her extended network. Before I knew it I was inviting Eny to go to da show three nights a week. To da "movies," for all of you non-Chicagoans.

We had several very painful breakups even after da relationship became official. I doubted our potential for success on a few occasions and considered just giving up because she was hiding her addiction troubles so well. I only found out about t'em after we were engaged.

She was still mostly working out of a New York modeling agency when I confronted her about why she would keep me at an arm's length. She would imply t'at her life was too chaotic and t'at I could do better. She would say that if I got to know her secrets, I'd run.

It was tragic to sit by her as she lay on t'ose hospital beds going t'rough her drug wit'drawals. T'en almost estranged from da rest of t'e family and alone in da world she would have surely died of an overdose, if not died of a broken heart being trapped in t'at hostile environment t'at vampirized its own. I know I would have.

I asked her to move to Chicago and marry me. I confessed to her t'at continuing to see her like this in New York would probably make me feel like I was being poisoned very slowly every day until da day arrived when I finally croaked, honest ta Gaad. A death of a thousand little cuts which is how I perceived life in New York was like anyway. She agreed with me.

I moved her into da house where I live in da suburb of Chicago called LaGrange. A long way from da four plus one apartment houses of Lake View and Lincoln Park I grew up in playin' pinners on da front stoops with da other neighborhood kids. But I could never quite escape da Chicago alleyways littered with stray cats even when I moved out to da 'burbs.

T'ose stray Chicago cats were da closest thing to "cat-walks" I had been around until I could afford to see women like Eny struttin' t'eir stuff surrounded by strobe lights, movie stars, special effects and nose-candy.

With my help, Eny recovered and retired from modeling at twenty four. She earned a business degree and started a real estate agency with five colleagues from her university.

I knew t'at being eight years her senior would present a problem, so out of love, turned a blind eye to her indiscretions. Not t'at I was a saint myself. For da first time in a long time t'ings were goin' perfect in my life after all of t'at business settled down. We even adopted our Emilia. But everything changed about a year ago.

In da house across da street lives a friend of mine of many years, Paul Morris. He is forty three. He had been a playboy and a bachelor for most of his life. As single older men we had a lot to say to one anot'er because I never t'ought I'd marry either, even late in life. Being a bachelor was far too liberating.

A contemporary folk singer and harmonica player from east Texas, Paul had no thoughts of ever marrying himself. T'at is until his manager introduced him to anot'er Chicagoan.

Paulette, t'en married to one of his music peers, decided to surrender to Paul's advances after months of secret and expensive courting. I envied him for snaring such a beautiful woman. Or maybe it was vice versa given later circumstances.

Paulette had always been this busty brunette, a dancing instructor and part-time actress with a knockout hourglass body. She has these long legs and t'ese sexy full lips, high cheek bones, a slightly up-turned nose, natural long, waist-length chestnut-honey hair, and this flawless ivory skin.

In a way t'ey made a good pair because Paul is well built and tall; with James Dean meets John Wayne good looks. Paul even took in Paulette's two children from her previous marriage as his own.

I have to admit t'at I was amazed at how things can change. Eny, on the other hand, was afraid and nervous about having children. I accepted t'at about her and eventually we adopted our daughter Emilia.

Eny had a lot of trouble making friends in our community at first. She could rarely be close to anybody except for me and Emilia. Until she met Paulette.

They spent a lot of time together with da children. Before t'en Eny was often lonely and mostly driven by da moderate success of her real estate agency. Although she was a great mother, I could always afford to pay for a part-time nanny to help her out and t'en Eny and Paulette became like sisters.

Despite being a fairly liberal and tolerant husband, a year ago one of my wife's indiscretions went a little too far. I realized very early on t'at I had to allow Eny some moderate freedoms because, admittedly, she would always need a bit of chaos in her life. I knew t'at it was important not to smother her to keep her at my side. I could not expect her to be an angel.