07-08-2026, 10:51 AM
CHAPTER 7: HE WILL HURT YOU
They say half of all marriages end in divorce. Mine, which I’d always thought would be the exception, wasn’t. Most cops I knew, not all, but a lot, were on their second or third tries. The insurance salesman – Dan whatever his name was from the Bonne Chance, was on his second still bleeding from his first.
There were good marriages, of course. My mother had lost my father to a mine cave-in, but she’d been married to her second, a quiet, stoop-shouldered guy name Charles for more than 15 years, and I thought they had it together.
Debbie’s mother and father had one of the good ones, and they’d been together for 40 years. Dallas Edwards and his wife were another pair of old-timers who had only one marriage between them.
Another Assistant SA named Dave Brandon and his wife were a couple joined at the hip, seen together always, raising kids who would come to toast them at their 50th or 60th.
So I know it’s possible.
Hard, but possible. So why am I sleeping with a married woman and hoping against hope that she will choose to toss her marriage away to join me. How can I be doing this?
She thought of Bill, and her defenses were down and she couldn’t make herself stop thinking about him. God damn, but he was looking good. Trim and hard and cold. At least around her. He was probably hot and filling that bitch’s cunt with his cum every night and every day.
Just like she’d known he would. She had always known.
“You bastard. You bulldoze your way into my life. And you desert me for your damned job...and who knows what or who else. Just like I knew you would. Just like she said you would.”
As the thought flashed in her mind it was like a key unlocking a door to a hidden room. And she was....
...walking up to the long plate glass front of a bar she and Bill had been in one time years before. O’Brien’s was a honky tonk, or a dive or whatever word you wanted to use. It wasn’t the kind of place she or Bill hung out in anymore. Although she knew Bill liked it.
She had called MaryJane, one of Clarice’s only friends from before the divorce, looking for her aunt.
They had used to talk almost every day but it had been nearly two weeks. Clarice had been the most beautiful, the most elegeant woman Debbie had known growing up. Much of what she knew about men, about being a woman, she had copied from her aunt.
Since that bastard husband of hers had dumped her, she’d fallen to pieces. Debbie knew she’d been frantically dating, going out with guys way too old or way too young for her to be seeing, anything to keep a man in her life while Frank was squiring around the little tramp that was carrying his baby.
MaryJane, Clarice’s oldest friend, had been oddly reluctant to talk to her, finally saying only that Clarice had been getting more and more wild, more reckless in who she saw and what she did with men. MaryJane was no prude. She’d been divorced three times and had a long list of men friends, but...
“I’m worried about her Debbie. She’s doing stupid things. She’s having unprotected sex. I saw her get into a car with a guy and I know he fucked her without a condom. I’ve talked to her, but she won’t listen to me. Maybe she’d listen to you.”
MaryJane hadn’t been sure where she was tonight, but she thought that she remembered Clarice talking about meeting “some young studs” for a party beginning at O’Brien’s on the Westside.
Debbie had thought about asking Bill to go with her, but as usual he was working late on a case and even if he’d been available, he just didn’t like Clarice. Or at least he didn’t feel the sympathy that Debbie did.
But he hadn’t grown up with her. She wasn’t a second mother to him. And he had always been so damned rigid and moralistic. Clarice always said he must have been born with a stick up his ass.
Now she was inside and it was fairly un-crowded for 8 p.m. on a Thursday night. There were people at the big horseshoe shaped bar, some couples dancing, others playing pool. She looked around but didn’t see a blonde almost as tall as she was anywhere.
Two of the pool players, pseudo cowboys with black hats, moseyed on over and smiling, asked her if she felt like a game or...something.
The taller one just grinned and never took his eyes off her boobs. The shorter one, who at least had the manners to pretend to be checking out her face, asked if they could buy her a drink if she wasn’t with somebody.
“No thank you, boys, although the offer is appreciated. If I didn’t have business, I’d love to play with you...”
She grinned as she said it, knowing their tongues would be dragging the floor and they’d do almost anything she asked now that she had flirted harmlessly with
them. Sometimes it seemed almost unfair to take advantage of men’s horniness. Sometimes...
“I’m looking for a friend. An older lady. Blonde. About 5-8. Mid-50s. She might have been in here with some friends—male friends. Any chance you might have seen her in here tonight?”
They exchanged glances.
The taller one managed to drag his gaze away from her chest and said, “Yeah, I think she’s in here. She headed into the bathroom. I guess those other guys must have gone in with her to hold her hand.”
The look she flashed him made him quickly add, “Probably they all just had to go at the same time. A lot of beer gets drunk in here.”
“Thanks boys. Maybe I’ll see you in here again someday.”
She walked across the room trying to tone down her natural wiggle. It came naturally after so many years of practicing it, but they’d been helpful and there was no need to tease the animals in the zoo.
As she approached the bathrooms painted with Western Cowboys and Cowgirls art, she hoped she was wrong about what might be happening back here.
She walked into the Cowgirls’ bathroom. It was a big place. There was somebody in a stall and a girl who looked to be 15 with long straight hair, no boobs, and a pierced bellybutton putting lipstick on in the mirror.
The girl gave her a quick glance and quick as that Debbie knew she had earned another enemy. Women were bitches. She glanced at the bottom of the occupied stall. The legs were black.
She pushed on the door to the Cowboys’ bathroom and it moved a little then stopped. Someone was blocking the door.
“It’s occupied. I got a sick friend in here. Let me get him cleaned up and you can come in.”
She stepped back two paces and hit it at a run, trying to take the impact on her shoulder. The door swung open hard and the man who’d been blocking it went down to his hands and knees. Beyond him was...
They say half of all marriages end in divorce. Mine, which I’d always thought would be the exception, wasn’t. Most cops I knew, not all, but a lot, were on their second or third tries. The insurance salesman – Dan whatever his name was from the Bonne Chance, was on his second still bleeding from his first.
There were good marriages, of course. My mother had lost my father to a mine cave-in, but she’d been married to her second, a quiet, stoop-shouldered guy name Charles for more than 15 years, and I thought they had it together.
Debbie’s mother and father had one of the good ones, and they’d been together for 40 years. Dallas Edwards and his wife were another pair of old-timers who had only one marriage between them.
Another Assistant SA named Dave Brandon and his wife were a couple joined at the hip, seen together always, raising kids who would come to toast them at their 50th or 60th.
So I know it’s possible.
Hard, but possible. So why am I sleeping with a married woman and hoping against hope that she will choose to toss her marriage away to join me. How can I be doing this?
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2005 2:30 A.M.
She rolled back and forth on the bed. Jesus Christ, she’d never realized how big the bed was. She was half awake, in that state where you know you’re on the brink of waking, but can’t quite do it. She thought of Clint, of Doug, of men and cocks from long away and her fingers ran down her thighs but she couldn’t make herself enter herself.She thought of Bill, and her defenses were down and she couldn’t make herself stop thinking about him. God damn, but he was looking good. Trim and hard and cold. At least around her. He was probably hot and filling that bitch’s cunt with his cum every night and every day.
Just like she’d known he would. She had always known.
“You bastard. You bulldoze your way into my life. And you desert me for your damned job...and who knows what or who else. Just like I knew you would. Just like she said you would.”
As the thought flashed in her mind it was like a key unlocking a door to a hidden room. And she was....
...walking up to the long plate glass front of a bar she and Bill had been in one time years before. O’Brien’s was a honky tonk, or a dive or whatever word you wanted to use. It wasn’t the kind of place she or Bill hung out in anymore. Although she knew Bill liked it.
She had called MaryJane, one of Clarice’s only friends from before the divorce, looking for her aunt.
They had used to talk almost every day but it had been nearly two weeks. Clarice had been the most beautiful, the most elegeant woman Debbie had known growing up. Much of what she knew about men, about being a woman, she had copied from her aunt.
Since that bastard husband of hers had dumped her, she’d fallen to pieces. Debbie knew she’d been frantically dating, going out with guys way too old or way too young for her to be seeing, anything to keep a man in her life while Frank was squiring around the little tramp that was carrying his baby.
MaryJane, Clarice’s oldest friend, had been oddly reluctant to talk to her, finally saying only that Clarice had been getting more and more wild, more reckless in who she saw and what she did with men. MaryJane was no prude. She’d been divorced three times and had a long list of men friends, but...
“I’m worried about her Debbie. She’s doing stupid things. She’s having unprotected sex. I saw her get into a car with a guy and I know he fucked her without a condom. I’ve talked to her, but she won’t listen to me. Maybe she’d listen to you.”
MaryJane hadn’t been sure where she was tonight, but she thought that she remembered Clarice talking about meeting “some young studs” for a party beginning at O’Brien’s on the Westside.
Debbie had thought about asking Bill to go with her, but as usual he was working late on a case and even if he’d been available, he just didn’t like Clarice. Or at least he didn’t feel the sympathy that Debbie did.
But he hadn’t grown up with her. She wasn’t a second mother to him. And he had always been so damned rigid and moralistic. Clarice always said he must have been born with a stick up his ass.
Now she was inside and it was fairly un-crowded for 8 p.m. on a Thursday night. There were people at the big horseshoe shaped bar, some couples dancing, others playing pool. She looked around but didn’t see a blonde almost as tall as she was anywhere.
Two of the pool players, pseudo cowboys with black hats, moseyed on over and smiling, asked her if she felt like a game or...something.
The taller one just grinned and never took his eyes off her boobs. The shorter one, who at least had the manners to pretend to be checking out her face, asked if they could buy her a drink if she wasn’t with somebody.
“No thank you, boys, although the offer is appreciated. If I didn’t have business, I’d love to play with you...”
She grinned as she said it, knowing their tongues would be dragging the floor and they’d do almost anything she asked now that she had flirted harmlessly with
them. Sometimes it seemed almost unfair to take advantage of men’s horniness. Sometimes...
“I’m looking for a friend. An older lady. Blonde. About 5-8. Mid-50s. She might have been in here with some friends—male friends. Any chance you might have seen her in here tonight?”
They exchanged glances.
The taller one managed to drag his gaze away from her chest and said, “Yeah, I think she’s in here. She headed into the bathroom. I guess those other guys must have gone in with her to hold her hand.”
The look she flashed him made him quickly add, “Probably they all just had to go at the same time. A lot of beer gets drunk in here.”
“Thanks boys. Maybe I’ll see you in here again someday.”
She walked across the room trying to tone down her natural wiggle. It came naturally after so many years of practicing it, but they’d been helpful and there was no need to tease the animals in the zoo.
As she approached the bathrooms painted with Western Cowboys and Cowgirls art, she hoped she was wrong about what might be happening back here.
She walked into the Cowgirls’ bathroom. It was a big place. There was somebody in a stall and a girl who looked to be 15 with long straight hair, no boobs, and a pierced bellybutton putting lipstick on in the mirror.
The girl gave her a quick glance and quick as that Debbie knew she had earned another enemy. Women were bitches. She glanced at the bottom of the occupied stall. The legs were black.
She pushed on the door to the Cowboys’ bathroom and it moved a little then stopped. Someone was blocking the door.
“It’s occupied. I got a sick friend in here. Let me get him cleaned up and you can come in.”
She stepped back two paces and hit it at a run, trying to take the impact on her shoulder. The door swung open hard and the man who’d been blocking it went down to his hands and knees. Beyond him was...
“Clarice!”
The guy who had been grinding his heel into her naked breast stared at Debbie for a moment, then lunged at her.
“Bitch. Grab her you morons.”
Debbie put all of her weight into the kick that landed squarely between his legs and left him gasping on the floor.
Before she could move the guy she’d pushed away from the door had grabbed her from behind. She tried to kick backwards but he was smart enough to wrap her legs up with his own.Like, Comment and Give Rating.
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