Don't Poke The Sleeping Bear

The garage door slowly came down. Rick opened his door. The chime sounded, letting him know he'd left the keys in the ignition. He jerked the key out, almost savagely.

"Thankfully, Denise is a clone of her mother," Rick said. "She'd rather bake a pie or weed a garden or sew a button than look at numbers," Rick said. "But anyway. After the Princess incident? I went and got a vasectomy. Didn't tell Marissa; for whatever reason, she's got it in her head I'd want a son somewhere down the line. Told her, I'm not a trend follower. I don't need a son to feel fulfilled. I am more than fine having two beautiful, smart, loving daughters."

Rick came around and helped Glen out of the truck. Glen leaned heavily against Rick and they shuffled toward the inner door.

"Guess you figured it out, huh?" Rick said, almost gently as he used Glen's key to unlock the inner door. "Guess you figured out what really makes Marissa tick."

Rick helped Glen into the house, helped him sit at the kitchen table. Then Rick put Glen's keys onto the table. Glen sat, limbs feeling like lead.

"See, Marissa had her a daddy and two older brothers. Big, macho, virile men. And they liked holding Marissa down and fucking her. They liked fucking her and calling her 'slut' and 'whore' and 'dumb cunt' and whatever else they could think of. And the little drones you and Linda kept setting her up with? Were clones of her father and her two brothers. Big, macho men that didn't give a shit about what Marissa liked, what Marissa was interested in. And they'd hold her down and fuck her, often with you and Linda right there, in the front seat, doing the same thing," Rick said as he pulled a length of rope out of a grocery bag. "Two of you never could figure out what she saw in me, could you?"

Glen wondered when Rick had put the hair net on over his hair, had pulled the latex gloves on. He sat, numbly watching as Rick quickly, efficiently twisted the length of rope.

"But you finally figured it out, didn't you, Glen, old buddy?" Rick said, voice thick with disdain. "Marissa doesn't like big, macho men that don't give a shit about her. Marissa likes men that need her. Men that need her to take care of them. She likes men that think she's smart, has value."

Glen wondered why his head felt so fuzzy, why his limbs felt like bags of cement. He sat and watched as Rick walked to the living room. Why did Rick have little booties on his penny loafers?

"I could see the signs," Rick said as he knotted the length of rope to one of the spindles of the stairwell. "She looked like that when she was pregnant with Vanessa and Denise. Then when the morning sickness started? Well, old buddy old pal, man that I helped when his wife was too sick to even wipe her own ass? I left a voice recorder on my nightstand. Damned thing's no bigger than a credit card, know that? And believe me, Marissa knows better than to move any of my stuff on my side of the bed."

"I didn't mean to..." Glen tried to say and almost wept.

It was frustrating, feeling this helpless. It was maddening, listening to good old boring Rick as the man prattled on and on. Who cared about a voice recorder the size of a credit card?

"You needed her, needed her comforting touch, her nurturing ways," Rick said and helped Glen to his feet again. "And you fucked her. On my bed. You fucked my wife. On my bed, in my home, the bed I paid for, in the house I paid for, with the woman I married. Shit, Glen, why not just wear my clothes while you're at it, huh?"

"I didn't..." Glen tried to say as Rick propped him up.

"I even thought to myself, 'let it go. Just let it go. He's been through a really rough patch.' But then I heard you. You called my wife 'Rissa Roo.' You called her 'Rissa Roo.' That's my name for her. My name. Not yours. Mine," Rick said as he adjusted the rope around Glen's neck.

Glen panicked, but couldn't move. He tried to beg Rick with his eyes, beg the man for help.

"Never did confront her, though. She'll just give me the same excuse she always does when she feeds you first, instead of me. 'He's our guest.' I know it's not because you're a better lover; she didn't even orgasm," Rick said.

He smiled at Glen. Even in his fogged brain, Glen could see the smile was a forced one.

Rick stepped back suddenly. Glen stumbled and the rope tightened around his neck. He made a gagging sound. But he couldn't raise his arms, could not raise his hands to loosen the rope.

"Remember that Halloween? You had to come over and tie the hangman's noose for Vanessa's party?" Rick laughed as Glen struggled. "You and Vanessa and Linda laughed at me?

Glen struggled to breathe, struggled to pull oxygen into his lungs.

"Well, Glen, old buddy old pal," Rick said, grabbing Glen's shoulders. "I do know how to do a hangman's noose now. Thanks for showing me."

He shoved Glen back, hard. Glen staggered and stumbled.

Then he hung there, half standing, half sitting in the air. His own weight pulled the noose even tighter. He couldn't breathe.

"Don't worry, Glen," Rick said as he turned off the lights in the living room. "I'll tell Marissa about my vasectomy. Right before her own suicide. Should be some time next week."

Rick snapped off the kitchen light. Then he walked to the front door.

Glen struggled to stand. He struggled to lift his arms, use his hands. Darkness was beginning to descend.

"Last dink we had? Had four of my pills ground up in it. Thanks for opening the bottle; never can get that son of a bitch open," Rick said as he carefully took off the hair net. "And now? Bottle's got your finger prints all over it, your DNA on it. 'Really? He took some of my pills? Well that does explain why he seemed out of it. Why I had to drive him home, officer. But no, no, he didn't look suicidal. Looked completely normal.'"

Rick took off the booties as he stood on Glen's natural fiber floor mat.

"The medication helped, it helped keep my rage down, old buddy. But sleeping with my wife?" Rick said as he put hair net and booties into the grocery bag. That just poked the bear, Glen, woke the bear up."

THE END

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*Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I do thank you for reading my stories.

I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad, and those that take the time to rate my stories.

This is not a legal dissertation. I am sure some of you legal geniuses can figure there's very little chance of suing a doctor for larceny, and even less chance of finding one doctor to invalidate another doctor's opinion.

I realized, other than the 'Rachael' series and the 'Just A Nice Boy' series, I've not written much in first person singular. So this flash story is just an exercise in writing in first person.

You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone it, people like you. Have a great day.