1.
“Well Deke,” Louie said, as he climbed up into the pickup truck, “I am going to go to the Oasis and get drunk and then I am going to Willie’s and see my girl.”
Deke snorted disdainfully. “Your girl! Jesus Christ, can you imagine if you brought her home to see your mother?”
“Hey—it is cheaper than a date! Fifty bucks ain’t bad,” Louie argued. He started the truck. “What the hell? What else am I supposed to do? Read frickin’ PLAYBOY?”
They drove down a dirt road past a host of trailers and then below a railroad overpass.
“You got it easy,” Louie commented. “You got a wife. Me—what do I have?”
“Masturbation is better,” Deke said, grimly surveying the scenery of a junkyard piled high with rubbish from the oil fields.
“Yeah, sure it is,” Louie said.
“It is! Christ, I am telling you! I would rather beat-off than go with the old lady! That ain’t no lie!” Deke lit a cigarette; the short CAMEL non-filter looked tiny between his huge fingers.
Louie cut a laugh short after a glance at Deke. Deke looked at his cigarette as if wondering how it arrived between his fingers. He took a puff and blew the smoke out as if trying to get rid of it. “I am serious,” he stated.
Louie looked at Deke: the cap of Deke’s cinder block-sized head scraped the roof of the cab—MACK TRUCK written across the front of the cap. “I am!” Deke insisted. “I am serious!” His voice choked; he blew a stream of smoke into his lap.
“Okay, okay,” Louie conciliated, his face unnaturally grave. “I know you are serious.”
“I AM! I AM TELLING YOU. I am serious,” Deke shouted. “I am considering the gay scene,” he sputtered. “Seriously considering it!”
Louie fought to wipe a smile from his face.
“Don’t laugh! I am thinking about checking out the gay scene!”
Louie pulled the truck into the Oasis parking lot.
Deke flicked his butt out the window.
2.
The naked girl lay on her back on the mattress, on the floor of the small room. Louie looked at her while he pulled his clothes off. She had a snouted face with heavy Slavic features. Everything about her was big: big shoulders, big breasts, big hips, and big solid-looking barrel-shaped legs. Big everything—even her face was big—too big for the little puckered bowtie mouth and small eyes. She watched Louie throw his work boots into a corner, on top of a pile of work-dirtied clothes, all that was in the room besides the mattress and a clock radio next to the mattress.
“We got to make this fast,” Louie said, approaching the girl. “Where is Deke?”
The girl smiled with her eyes as she looked between Louie's legs. “He is home,” she said.
Louie lay down lengthwise on top of her. Like a stick on a slice of bread. His white butt shone between the spread of her beer barrel thighs.
He guided himself into her; she moaned. He stroked once, twice, then froze as he cocked an ear toward the door opening. A noise on the stairway. He exchanged a frightened glance with the girl. The heavy tread of footsteps grew louder: the feet crushing each wooden step. Louie felt himself shrivel. He scrambled over the leg and slid his hand beneath the mattress, feeling for his .22 pistol. The girl pulled the blanket over herself. The staircase groaned. Louie swallowed hard, staring at the doorway.
Deke’s broad shoulders filled the available door space, his head touching the door frame. He stared blankly at the couple.
Louie felt his heart thumping; his sweaty hand gripped the handle of the gun.
Deke blinked twice, as if trying to comprehend the scene. He opened his mouth to speak, then drew his lips together. He turned away with a disgusted wave of his hand at his old lady.
He began to trudge back down the stairs.
Check out more of Wayne’s published work @ https://www.amazon.com/Wayne-F-Burke/e/B00M59QM7E?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1657724828&sr=8-1
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