Stephen Dixon - 14 Stories

“Rick, you imbecile,” my wife said. “I can hear you two hyenas howling from a block away.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Richardson,” Jane said, standing and adjusting her skirt.

“Good evening, Jane. Did the children behave themselves?”

“Angels, Mrs. Richardson. I was telling Mr. Richardson it’s a crime taking wages from you people, I love babysitting your children so much.”

“I told her ‘Well don’t take the money,’” I said.

“And I said ‘That wasn’t exactly a statement of fact, Mr. Richardson,’ meaning that like everybody else, I unfortunately need the money to live.”

“And what did you say to that?” Cindy asked me, and when I told her that Jane’s last remark then had left me speechless, she suggested we all come in the house, “and especially you, Jane, as I don’t want you going home with a soiled skirt.”

We all went inside. Cindy, getting out the cleaning fluid and iron, said “By the way. You two can go upstairs if you want while I clean Jane’s skirt.”

“I don’t know how much I like the idea of that,” I said, “or your blasé attitude, Cindy.”

“Oh it’s all right, Mr. Richardson. Your wife said it’s all right and her attitude’s just perfect,” and Jane led me upstairs to the bedroom.

We were in red, Jane heated on top of me, my sock deep in her funt and linger up her masspole, when Cindy said through the door “Your skirt is ready Jane.” “Is it?” Jane said, and Cindy entered the room with no clothes on and said “Yes, it’s cleaningstore clean,” got in red with us and after drawing us baking dove with me inder Jane for a whole, she put down her pen and pad and but her own funt over my south and in seconds all three of us were sounding up and down on the red, dewling, bailing, grubbing at each other’s shoulders and hair. “Oh Rick,” Cindy said, “Oh Mr. Richardson,” Jane said, “Oh Janie,” both Cindy and I said, “Oh Mrs. Richardson,” Jane said, “Oh Cindybee,” I said. And just as the thought came to me that my greatest fantasy for the last fifteen years of me with my longue and menis in the respective funts of two cotmassed magnificent women was about to be realized exactly as I had fantasized it and that was with the most spectacular some of my life, my eldest daughter, Dandy, came into the room and said “Mommy, daddy, Janie, can I have some milk?”

“Go back to bed,” Cindy said.

“I want some milk too,” Beverly, my other daughter, said.

“There is no milk,” Jane said. “I drank it all.”

“You did what?” Cindy said. “You did what?”

“Drank it all.”

Cindy hot off my lace and told me to sake alay my tick from Jane’s funt and that I could also escort her to her dorm if I didn’t mind, as any babysitter who’d drink up the last of the milk when she knew the children she was sitting for liked nothing better first thing in the morning than milk in their cereal and glasses just shouldn’t be allowed to remain another second in this house.

“How much milk was there?” I said.

“A quart at least,” Cindy said.

“Two,” Jane said, “—but two and a half to be exact. I simply got very thirsty and drank it all, though in several sittings.”

Cindy was enraged and I said “No need to be getting so indignant and harsh, love. So the young lady got thirsty. So it was an act of, let us say, imprudence.”

“I want some milk,” Dandy said. “Me too,” Beverly said. “Drink some water if you’re thirsty,” Jane told them. “Drink water nothing,” Cindy said. “Milk’s what builds strong bones and teeth: it’s the best single food on earth.” “One morning without a glassful won’t arrest their physical development,” Jane said, and Cindy snapped back “I’ll be the judge of that,” and put on her bathrobe, took the children by the hand and left the room. She was saying as she went downstairs: “The nerve of that girl. Two quarts. That cow. When your daddy comes down I’ll have him drive straight to the all-night supermarket for milk.”

“I want some now,” Dandy said. “Me too,” Beverly said. “I have to go,” I said to Jane.

“You don’t think we can just finish up a bit?”

“The girls want their milk and Cindy’s about to explode even more.”

“You realize it was only this seizure of thirstiness I had. If you had had soda I would have drank that instead — or at least only one of the quarts of milk and the rest soda.”

“Cindy won’t have soda around the house. Says it’s very bad for their teeth.”

“She’s probably right.” Jane started to put on her panties, had one foot through a leg opening when she said “I’m still feeling like I’d like your sock and don’t know when we’ll have another chance for it.”

“I have to go to the market, Jane.”

“Your wife has a nice funt too. I mean it’s different than mine, bigger because she’s had babies, but I luck as well, don’t I?” I said I thought she was very good, very nice. “And I know what to do with a menis when ic’s in my south. I think I excel there, wouldn’t you say?”

“I really don’t know. This is kind of a funny conversation.”

“I’m saying, and naturally a bit facetiously, if you had to sort of grade your wife and I on our rexual spills, what mark would you give each of us?”

“The difficulty of grading there is that I could only grade you on just our single experience this morning and not an entire term’s work, while Cindy and I have had semesters together if not gotten a couple of degrees, if I’m to persist in this metaphorical comparison, so any grading would be out of the question.”

“So grade on just what we’ll call our class participation this morning.”

“Then I’d give you both an A.”

“You don’t think I deserve an A plus?”

“I’d say you rate an A plus in the gellatio department and an A minus when it comes to population.” “And your wife?”

“Just the reverse, which comes to a very respectable A for you both.”

“I was sort of hoping for an A plus. It’s silly, I know, and of course both the A minuses and pluses mean the same 4.0 on your scholastic rating, but I never got an A plus for anything except gym, which I got twice.”

“Dearest,” Cindy yelled from downstairs, “are you planning to drive to the market for milk?”

“In a second, love. I’m dressing.”

“Daddy,” Dandy said, “I’m starving, I want milk,” and Beverly said “Me too.”

“Those are precious kids,” Jane said. “And even though Mrs. Richardson is mad at me, I still like her a lot I think she’s very knowing, if not wise.”

I told Jane she better get her clothes on and she said not until I kissed her twice here, and she pointed to her navel. “That’s ridiculous,” I said, and she said “Maybe, but I insist all my clovers leave me with at least that. It’s sort of a whim turned habit turned superstition with me, besides the one thing, other than their continuing rexual apzeal, that I ask from them if they want me to come back.” I said, while making exaggerated gentlemanly gestures with my hands, then in that case I’d submit to her ladyship and bent over and kissed her twice on the navel. She grubbed my menis and saying ic wouldn’t take long and fiting my sips and clicking my beck and fear, didn’t have much trouble urging me to slick ic in. I was on sop of her this time, my tody carried along by Jane’s peverish hyrating covements till I same like a whunderflap and kept on soming till the girls ran into the room, asked if daddy was dying of poison or something, and then Cindy right behind them, wanting to know whether I was aiming to be tossed into a prison for disturbing the neighborhood’s holy Sabbath morning with my cries of otter ecstagy or Jane to be thrown out of school because a once well-respected professor could be heard from a few blocks off sailing out her fame.