Thursday, September 20, 2007

Facing his weakness the hard way...

By hughgee

“Come on,” the tall, gawky man said, a bead of sweat running down from his flattop hairdo. “Time’s a wastin’. I paid for thirty minutes here.”

“Awright, awright. Just hold yer horses,” she said, snappishly, chewing on gum, chewing on her tongue as well. She sounded and looked like Fran Drescher, but was more realistically built, having a few actual curves to offer underneath her gray lunchtime female executive suit.

They stood opposite each other in the sweltering apartment.

It was his turn. “Now, I want multiple shots—remember that. Once you start going, don’t stop. I want it all, baby. Gimme all you got.”

She raised her eyebrows in disdain, peering up at him, blew a pink bubble over her red lips. “Are you sure about this?”

“Course I’m sure.”

“You want multiple? I mean, you’re not crazy or nothing, are you? I don’t wanna be goin’ to jail over hurtin’ no crazy man.”

His nostrils flaired, his hair bristled, though it already was bristled. “Look, I’m a real man, okay? I can do this. I’ve got macho all over, now do it.”

She took two steps and was within reach of him. She put her hands up on his shoulders, looking up at him. She looked apprehensive. Like she had experience in this kind of stuff; experience he was apparently lacking.

His jaw muscles clenched tight in his cheeks. His hands hanging at his sides turned into fists. His face peered down at her and something like rage over took it. “Come on!” he urged, “Remember—keep it coming! They call me Numbnuts! I can take it! Keep it kicking or I won’t pay y—“

His words got cut off as her bony knee thrust up into his groin. He had gone completely silent over this single blow. She went to knee him again but halted it halfway up when she saw the strength; the cocksuredness immediately leave his face. She waited two seconds on one foot, in something like a half-flamingo position, watching him nervously. He looked like a man who’s every single possession had just been confiscated by the IRS and this worried the hell out of her. By the time she went to kick again he was bent over so her knee hit him on the top of the head, the next knee on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she complained in that annoying New York accent, “don’t make me kick the top of your head? You want a broken neck or what?”

A second later he was on the floor, writhing around like an accordioned straw wrapper that someone was dripping carbonated soda on.

“Multiple shots, huh? Numbnuts. Don’t look so numb to me, bub.”

She had her hand on one hip, alternately examining the nails on her other hand and peering down at him, as he began to make loud soaring groaning noises, like the sound of distant but emphatic ghosts.

“Wait a minute—you tryin’ to commit suicide or something? Multiple shots. Listen, you’re a MAN, y’silly. You can’t be doin’ stuff like that wit balls. Dem balls is sensitive, y’know? Didn’t y’momma ever teach you nuttin’?” She blew another bubble and it snapped loudly. “Geez, I heard o’ guys committing suicide by cops, but not suicide by me. I could get in some kind o’ trouble for this. One shot is enough. That’s all you get. I ain’t never killed no man before and I ain’t about to yet. I am a lady, no matter whatchoo or anybody tinks.”

She waited, stood over him. “So, you gonna pay me or what?”

He could not answer. His scorched pathetic moans continued. He was in a fetal ball with his hands in his crotch, but it was a flailing fetal ball that she now had to step away from...but not before she reached down, took his wallet, extracted every green bill inside then walked out, high heels clacking.

"Hope I didn't bruise y'manhood too bad, Pete. Nice doin' bidness wit yous. See y'round maybe."

She closed the door behind her. The room went dark for the most part, except for the beam of light shining through the blinds on the suffering, sweating forehead of the guy she'd just left prostrate in one blow.

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