Mayonnaise is mostly eggs, isn't it? She opened the can of tuna and dumped it into a clean, repurposed margarine tub. The smell made her stomach flip-flop worse than a politician in an election year, but she persevered, adding a heaping tablespoon of glistening white mayo atop the smelly fish. Holding the bowl at arm's length, she quickly stirred the mixture before reaching for the white bread. Some habits were impossible to shed--just like those last forty or so pounds she doubted she'd ever lose.
"Some people are born thin, some aren't," her mother said one day when Judy complained about not being able to fasten the waistband of her skirt. She'd undergone a growth spurt, but Mom chose to see a normal, healthy development as an assault on her finances. "You've got your grandmother Banger's hips. Means I'll be buying you husky-sizes before long and they cost more. But, at least, you don't take after your father's uncle Porter. He was queer as a pink Fig Newton."
Judy draped a limp shroud of iceberg lettuce over the tuna and added the top slice of bread. "Whoever heard of a pink Fig Newton?" she muttered, cutting the sandwich in half with a tad more gusto than necessary. "What a ridiculous thing to say."
Luckily, pants size wasn't the only thing Judy and her mother didn't have in common.
She grabbed an apple from the fridge--a token nod to Kelly--and carried her lunch to the counter where she usually ate breakfast every workday. Once settled on her comfy stool, she tapped the small white plastic remote even knowing her ancient TV--possibly the last black and white set on the planet--would barely be warmed up by the time she finished eating. Her pre-work routine included watching the news so she could talk current events with the Heritage House patrons. She especially enjoyed pushing the buttons of the hardcore Fox News enthusiasts. Arguing politics got the blood pumping and kept the mind nimble, she'd been told by her predecessor. What advice will I give the person who takes over after I'm fired?
Her appetite fled and she pushed her half-eaten sandwich to one side.
This is a first, she thought. Usually, any sort of emotional anxiety turned her into an eating machine. Her divorce accounted for at least thirty extra pounds. But for the past two days, food had been the furthest thing from her mind.
She polished the pretty red apple across the top of her thigh before taking a bite. Chewing, she propped her chin on the heel of her hand and stared blankly at the tiny screen. The volume was too low to make out any words, but she'd seen the commercial before. A half-naked man with abs you could crack an egg on. She chewed a little faster to accommodate the juices flowing from her saliva glands.
She had no idea what product he hawked, but if it involved guilt-free sex, she'd max out her credit card without regret. She could see herself licking the pointy tip of his man nipple. Her panties got damp just thinking about it. Not an unusual malady of late. Apparently making love with Buddy had flipped on her sexuality switch--the one she'd forgotten existed. Now, everything turned her on. She'd even downloaded the first book in the wildly popular X-rated romance series the Herry ladies were always nattering about. Most claimed to be scandalized, but every one of them, Judy noticed, continued reading the second and third installments. The most honest among them admitted to being titillated. The word alone made Judy horny.
Where'd I leave my Kindle? She plopped her half-eaten apple atop her half-eaten sandwich and turned off the TV.
She sifted through a pile of unopened bills on the counter. Nothing.
Maybe I left it by the couch. She hopped off the stool and headed in that direction, but before she reached the living room, her doorbell made its repugnant belching sound. "Must...buy...a...new...one," she muttered, pivoting on one heel.
"Jed," she exclaimed a moment later. "That was fast."
A rougher, less-polished workingman's Matt Damen turned from checking out her deck to say, "Hi, Ms. Banger. Howya' doin'?"
He stuck out his hand and waited while she fumbled with the screen. "Um...good," she answered witlessly, her focus immediately transfixed by the strength and rough calloused authenticity of his grip.
"Cool. Good to see you again." He motioned toward the street. "I just finished my punch list at a job three rows over when I got your message. You know, that's like the third or fourth bid I snagged in this trailer park after doing your deck," he said, obviously pleased to share the credit for his success. "Nothin' big, but, hey, who turns down work in this economy, right?"
His friendly, gregarious demeanor threw her. Buddy had handled every detail of the deck, from planning to payment. Most of the time, she'd left for work before Jed arrived onsite. Could that explain how she'd missed the fact her contractor was a genuine hunk? "I thought I saw your truck around last week."
His smile favored one side of his lean, permanently tanned face. The blue of his eyes nearly matched the color of his faded denim work shirt. At the frayed neckline of his plain white t-shirt a sprinkle of wiry male chest hair caught her attention.
Had she overlooked his attractiveness on purpose because she had a dozen years on him? Funny, but after screwing a guy twenty-plus years her senior, age seemed...relative. Unless Jed had a wife and a passel of kids at home.
"So, what's up? Any problems with your deck?" He hefted his leather tool belt from his left shoulder to his right like a mountain climber prepping for an ascent. It looked heavy but he didn't seem to give it any thought. "I brought my tools in case you had a board loose or something."
He stepped to the left and tapped a spot where the decking met her trailer's siding.
Judy looked down. In cat lives, his laced-up steel-toe boots were on life number eleven. But his equally well-broken-in Wranglers looked form fitting not worn out. And what a fine form they covered--thick, muscular thighs, trim butt, the slight beginning of a beer belly nestled above a plain leather belt.
Or was his wife a good cook?
"The deck is great," she told him. "No problems at all. I might have a screw loose, but that definitely is not your fault."
His thick sandy brows moved up and in. When he cocked his head, a thatch of bangs dropped across his forehead in a way that made her mouth go dry. She'd been a sucker for good hair since the sixth grade. Richie Mason. Her first crush. He'd cost her half her babysitting money--spent on a fancy, much too mushy Valentine's Day card--and a week in detention after an unfortunate collaging accident involving a pair of scissors and a lock of his hair.
"Pardon?"
She shook her head to refocus on the present. "I want to put new flooring in my bedroom. Do you do that?"
"Sure. All the time." He reached into his pouches and pulled out a thick, black and green tape. He tossed it from hand to hand like a novice juggler. "Let's get you measured up and I'll run some numbers."
Proactive. Straight to the crux of the matter. No dithering. Just what she needed in her life--a good example.
She held the door for him. Had he gotten taller since he worked here? Probably she hadn't been aware of his size because he'd worked outside the whole time, but, lordy, the man really filled out a doorway.
She closed the screen and took a deep breath. Fresh air, wood and the faint hint of mint. Her nostrils crinkled, picking up the lingering, less pleasant aroma of tuna.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, scurrying across the room to dump the remains of her lunch in the garbage under the sink. "There's still some tuna left."
As she straightened she noticed him checking out her derriere. Really? My butt? The one she was working her...well..um...ass off trying to shrink to a more socially acceptable size?
"No, thanks. I'm good." He looked around, nodding in a pleasant way. "Nice place. 'Guess I didn't come inside last time I was here."
"It's home. For now," she added under her breath. "Follow me. My bedroom is this way." Said the black widow spider to the delicious-looking young fly.
In With A Bang!
~~~
Book III - More Bang! For Your Buck - a third, short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind.
Judy unearths a
box from her past—sex toys, costumes, handcuffs, anything your basic BDSM aficionado might need. She’s prepared to take on Lewis Fusco alone—until Prudence O’Riley, straight off the plane from Greece, appears. Before she can entertain second thoughts, Judy finds herself tied to a bed, in the company of not one, but two naked men and a whip named Gerald. She only has one question: Who called the Judge?
Excerpt:
Judy Banger tugged on the plunging neckline of her one-piece swimsuit in an effort to contain the bulging swell of breast into the sculpted demi-cup that had looked so becoming on the size-1 mannequin. Too bad she was thirteen or so sizes larger.
She posed before the full-length mirror attached inconveniently behind the hotel room's bathroom door. "How do I look?"
"Purple."
Judy sighed.
"I know you think the black would be better--"
"No," Pru snapped. "I don't think, Judy. I know."
Prudence O'Riley, Judy's BFF, cut short her Mediterranean cruise to rush home to Judy's side the minute she learned of the wrongful death lawsuit being filed by Buddy Fusco's son. Judy appreciated her friend's gesture and refused to question the uncharacteristic selflessness, but since Pru's arrival on the scene, Judy's tenuous hold on the situation had slipped through her fingers like water laced with chicken fat--down the drain but leaving a tangible ickiness behind.
"Black conveys danger, power, death." Pru punctuated each word by advancing forward, the heels of her thigh-high, five-inch stiletto boots digging into the carpet. "Purple screams Elton John and dancing dinosaurs. You can't walk into the sniveling little shit's room, pull out a whip and expect him to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness when you're wearing a bright plum one-piece--no matter how cute it looks on you." She cocked her head. "Have you lost weight?"
"A pound or two...along with my mind," Judy muttered. A second sleepless night--this one a result of more qualifying rounds in the Sex Olympics--combined with a full day of "helping" Jed Blassingame install new flooring in her bedroom had left Judy in a fugue fog. Gone was the proactive, take-charge woman who'd conceived this ridiculous, dangerous plan. A plan any idiot could see was destined to crash and burn in a blaze of humiliation, regardless of Pru's last minute tweaks.
Pru grabbed a black satin and lace bustier from the foot of the queen bed closest to the bathroom. Judy had resurrected her entire BDSM wardrobe from a box marked XXX a few hours earlier. "I'm telling you, this is what you need to wear." Pru shoved the slightly musty smelling object in Judy's hands. The satin felt cool, sleek and alive. Blush-worthy memories flitted across the movie screen in her brain. Memories from one short moment in time.
She held up the top, pressing the cleverly spaced "bones" against her waist. The square cut neckline and underwire cups had had men drooling over her boobs. She'd never felt sexier or more in control of whatever sex-capades she found herself in than when she wore this getup.
"But fishnets and a garter belt put me out on the high wire without a safety net, Pru. If Lewis calls the police and I'm wearing a swimsuit, I could pretend I was planning to jump in the pool and accidentally wound up in my late-lover's son's hotel room."
"With a picnic basket full of sex toys," Pru added.
An annoying burst of acid etched a trail up Judy's esophagus. She swallowed the bad taste in her mouth. "Those were your idea, remember? My plan was to throw myself at Lewis's feet and beg him to drop the wrongful death lawsuit."
Pru let out a short, musical laugh. "Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen. I agree you might have done that if I weren't here, but, girlfriend, let me tell you, I didn't travel sixteen thousand miles and forty hours--" Judy rolled her eyes. She often told people the only time Prudence O'Riley exaggerated was when she opened her mouth. "--to let you debase yourself before a complete and utter sleezeball. The man plans to take out all his twisted feelings of inadequacy and Daddy-never-loved-me shit by crucifying you. Judy. The kindest, most generous and all-around good person I know."
Pru shook her index finger back and forth in the air like a prim, old-fashioned schoolmarm. "No, sirree, Bob. Not on my watch. We have a plan, and we're sticking to it. Now, dump the pretty purple suit and get into costume."
The Plan. Judy may have momentarily considered using Buddy's son's perceived deviancy to blackmail him into dropping the suit, but she'd dumped that idea after spending the night with Jed Blassingame--her remodeling contractor. Making love with Jed, who was roughly the same age as Lewis Fusco, had reminded her that sex was supposed to be fun--not something used against you in a court of law.
"What if I'm wrong, Pru? I only met the guy once. Am I one hundred percent certain Lewis likes an extra serving of pain with his pleasure? No. Do I know for a fact that putting him over my knee and spanking his bare ass will give me the leverage I need to make him cease and desist where this lawsuit is concerned? My gut says yes, but what if that's my hiatal hernia talking?" She poked a spot just above her diaphragm. Her pudgy roll did seem a bit less pudgy. Maybe those stupid sit-ups were working.
Annoyed that she let herself become sidetracked when her entire future hung in the balance, she threw up her hands. "This is crazy! I'm going home. Why did I let you talk me into spending a hundred bucks on this room?"
Pru sidled into the bathroom and leaned forward to inspect some imaginary flaw in the mirror. Her mostly unlined skin reflected a warm, expensive Mediterranean glow--the sort Judy once paid forty dollars to have applied in a spray booth. "You know perfectly well that kidnapping Lewis off the street and taking him to your place--which doesn't even have a bed at the moment--would be far riskier."
True. "And kidnapping carries a longer prison sentence."
"Exactly. That's why my way is our only option."
"Wrong. I could move in with my mother. Or jump off a bridge."
Pru threw back her shoulders and turned sideways to eye her still curvy form. Her weight hadn't fluctuated an ounce in all the years Judy had known her. "Same difference if you ask me." Their gazes met in the mirror. "Judy. This is going to work. The fact Lewis agreed to meet me--a stranger with some vague connection to his father--for a drink in the hotel bar tells me he's lonely and needy. And, trust me, I've never met a man I couldn't flatter into believing I actually wanted to spend time alone in his company. He will invite me to his room. What happens next will be up to you."
Judy eyed the bustier again. "I was ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter the last time I wore this."
Pru motioned Judy to join her at the wide bathroom counter. The artificial glare of the overhead lights turned the ripe plum color of Judy's suit to pre-prune. Pru was right. Not sexy enough. "Try it on," Pru said. "If you spill over, so what? He'll enjoy the peep show. If it doesn't fit at all, I'll spring for a new one."
Judy palmed the hefty weight of her bosom with both hands. "My ex used to tell people the U.S. Postal Service considered giving these girls their own zip code." She gave the pair a little nudge, which made the flesh jiggle. "Trust me. You're not going to find an off-the-rack bustier in my size anywhere in town."
Pru frowned and turned her attention to her own reflection. "You make me glad I never took Wallace up on his offer of a boob job."
Wallace? Boyfriend? Husband? Lover? Plastic surgeon who may have belonged in all three categories at one time? Judy couldn't remember. Pru gave new meaning to attention deficit.
"Well, give that one a try, okay? And please tell me those aren't the spikiest heels you own."
Judy looked down. Two and a half toes sporting black nail polish peeked out of the toe-pinching hole of her ancient pumps. She vaguely remembered buying them at a discount shoe place for one of Pru's fancy dress galas.
"Not only are these my only F-me pumps, they pinch. Are you done undermining my self-confidence...Mom?"
Pru shuddered theatrically and crossed herself, although Judy knew for a fact her best bud worshipped at the Church of What'sInItForMe?
"Not to worry. I brought along an extra
pair. You're a seven-and-a-half, right? They'll be great with that getup. Hurry, now," she ordered, executing a precision perfect about face. "I'm supposed to meet Lewis in ten minutes, and I want to double-check your provisions."
Before making her exit, Pru dropped one shoulder to adjust the spaghetti strap of her size zero dress. From a distance, the material clinging to her ridiculously fit body looked like ocelot. Up close, the micro-fabric invited petting. Judy balled her fingers in a fist and focused instead on Pru's short, messy hairdo. Hip? Yes. Too young for a fifty-something woman? Definitely. Did it work? Strangely, yes.
Judy started to close the bathroom door until Pru chided, "When did you turn into such a prude? Just change for god's sake."
A command that sounded a lot like the one Judy's mother said all too often throughout Judy's life. "When are you going to change, Judy Banger?" When, indeed?
With a bit more force than necessary, Judy stripped off her purple suit and donned the various pieces of black: a G-string made to resemble wet leather, the bustier, a garter belt, fish nets and, last but not least, a black velvet choker adorned with faux diamonds.
She sucked in her gut to tighten the hooks of the corset, which, luckily, was well made. She'd kicked herself at the time for wasting so much money on a "recreational" piece of clothing. "You just never know, do you?" she murmured under her breath as she looked in the mirror.
Not bad, she thought running her hands down the noticeable curve of her waist. Maybe those workouts have been helping. She made a resolution not to complain so much the next time she went to the gym for a training session with her fitness guru, Kelly.
After kicking her crappy shoes into the closet, she walked into the main room to get Pru's opinion. "How's this? Bad ass?" She regretted her choice of words when a draft touched her bare derriere.
Pru stood beside the queen bed where she'd dumped the contents of Judy's XXX box. Sex toys, tricks of the BDSM trade, a couple of useless VHS porn videos and other assorted goodies lay scattered as if shot from a freak cannon.
The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind Page 12
