Death By Cunnilingus
Roger grabbed another beer from the cooler and exhaled as he sat back down; his sizable posterior was just able to squeeze into the creaking lawn chair. Jerry nodded at him and took a long swig from his own bottle. Mark, sitting next to Jerry, was scarfing down a hotdog. All three had similar receding hairlines.
On the other side of the pool three plump women, all wearing wide-brimmed hats, were sitting and chatting. The largest of the group looked over at the men.
“That’s your third one, Roger,” she called. “I hope it’s your last.”
Roger nodded and she quickly joined back into the conversation.
“Can you believe,” Roger said. “That that woman is worth almost two million dollars.”
He turned to see the surprised faces of Jerry and Mark.
“It’s true. I was just going over our life insurance policies. I’m insured for a little more but hers is for two million. Can you believe it?”
“That’s a lot of money,” Mark said.”
“No kidding. Man, what I could do with two million dollars.” He sighed loudly.
“What would you do?” Mark asked, shoving the last of the dog into his mouth.
Roger smiled. “Couple of new cars, maybe head down to Mexico or Brazil, the US dollar still goes a long way down there.”
“And since Delores would be out of the way, maybe some ladies,” Jerry said with a smile.
Roger laughed. “Damn right.”
“So how would you do it?” Mark asked after a minute.
“Do what, you mean kill my wife? I don’t know, I guess I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“Liar. Who hasn’t thought about killing their wife at least once?” Jerry asked.
“I know I have,” Mark said, staring at the woman wearing the black and white-stripped bathing suit. She was talking loudly and gesturing with one hand holding a large glass filled with a reddish liquid.
“Okay, so how would you do it?” Roger asked him.
“Hit man maybe,” Mark said. “Or maybe some poison in one of those Bloody Marys she’s always drinking.”
“How about a fake robbery?” Roger suggested. “You know, take some jewelry, rough up the place real good, and all it’ll take are a couple shots to the head.”
“You guys got it all wrong,” Jerry said. “First of all, they always suspect the husband right from the beginning and how many of those guys actually get away with it? Almost none. So it has to look natural.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought a lot about this, Jerry,” Mark said.
“Well, maybe not a lot, but it has crossed my mind now and again.”
“Okay Mr. Expert,” Roger said. “What do you suggest?”
Jerry grinned. “Easy, you go down on her.”
Mark spit out his beer.
“What the hell are you talking about, Jerry?” Roger asked.
“Listen, I heard about this thing, apparently if women get air up their, you know, it could go right to their brain and kill them.”
“You’re crazy,” Mark said, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
“I’m completely serious.”
“How do you know this?”
“I watch a lot of medical shows. I’m telling you, it’ll work.”
“So basically,” Roger said, moving forward in his seat. “The person, uh, goes down, and then, um, blows up?”
“Just hypothetically, how hard would the person have to blow?”
“Probably pretty hard; it’s not always fatal, but if you get enough air up there, I think your chances are good.”
Suddenly there was a shrill, piercing sound. Roger gazed across the pool to see Delores laughing; the flab on her arms quaked like Jell-O. A small smile crept onto his face.
He found her in their bedroom. She was wearing her purple satin nightgown and reading a magazine; a greenish cream covered her face. She didn’t look up when he entered.
“The picnic was fun today, wasn’t it?” Roger asked.
“Well, it was actually more of a pool party than picnic but it was nice,” Delores said.
The bed squeaked as Roger sat down on the edge. After hesitating for a moment, he started rubbing her leg.
“What do you say, sweetie? Want to…?”
She moved her leg away. “Not tonight, Roger, I’m tired.”
“Well, I was just thinking, we could do something a little different tonight, maybe experiment a little.”
She put down the magazine. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, maybe some, you know…” He raised his eyebrows.
Delores frowned. “You know I don’t like doing that, Roger.”
“No, no, not for me. I was thinking I could do it for you.”
“Really? You want to do that? What about your neck or your trick back?”
Roger slid further up the bed. “Don’t worry about that. Why don’t you just lie back and relax. And remember, this is kind of an experiment, if it feels a little weird, just go with it.”
Delores smiled and adjusted her pillow. “Um, okay.”
Roger, now shirtless with his massive gut resting on the bathroom sink, was bright red and sweating. He took a long drink of water and looked at himself in the toothpaste-splattered mirror.
“What the hell?” he muttered to his reflection. “Two hours and nothing? I don’t think I can take much more of this.”
“Baby, are you coming back?” Delores called.
“Um, yeah, in a minute.”
After another glance at himself, Roger went back into the bedroom. Delores was under the covers. Her hair was messy and the cream on her face had hardened and cracked in several places. That and her large grin made her look almost ghoulish.
“C’mon, baby, keep doing what you were doing, it feels so good.”
Roger cringed slightly. “Um, okay.” He crept back under the covers.
“That’s it baby, right there.”
Tired of the pretext, Roger was now doing his best Big Bad Wolf impression. But the more he huffed and puffed, the more Delores seemed to enjoy it.
“That’s it, right there!”
“Um, Delores, I’m not feeling so good, I think I gotta stop for a minute.”
“No, baby, don’t stop, keep going, please!”
After a few more puffs, Roger collapsed and rolled out from the blanket and tumbled to the floor. Delores peered over the bed at him.
“Roger, sweetie? Are you alright?”
His chest heaved for a few seconds and then he stopped moving.
After a moment, Delores opened the nightstand drawer and stared at a thick packet of papers. In large letters at the top of the first page was “Liberty State Life Insurance Policy.” She grinned and closed the drawer. She picked up her cell phone and punched in some numbers.
“Yes, there seems to be something wrong with my husband! He just fell off the bed, I don’t think he’s breathing…”
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Portland Fiction Project
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