Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Jake knew the temperature was now in the upper fifties, but he was perspiring profusely. He could not remember ever having been so nervous—so uncertain. God, he prayed silently, if I am making a mistake, please let me know before it is too late.

  “The Holy Scriptures set before you the love of Christ for His Church as an example for your devotion. You are not left without guidance concerning the meaning of that love. These are the words of the Great Apostle found in I Corinthians 13."

  Jake looked at Jan, standing beside him, smiling sweetly, holding a bouquet of flowers. He glanced at Vic, so smug and self-confident, but he thought Susan looked as if she might prefer to be somewhere else.

  “Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."

  Jan looked at Jake and beamed. Jake began to tremble. He feared he might be having a heart attack.

  “Into such a union you come now to be joined. If either of you, or anyone present, knows any just cause why this marriage should not be solemnized, I charge you to make it known at this time or hereafter to remain silent."

  Involuntarily Jake looked up at the night sky and silently asked, God? There was no answer.

  “Do you, Victor Kimel, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, and forsaking all others to devote yourself to her?"

  “I do,” Vic replied, his voice breaking.

  Sandra squeezed Tim's hand.

  Betty couldn't shake Bo's image from her mind.

  Sarasue nudged Carl in the ribs, but he kept his eyes glued on the preacher.

  “Do you, Susan Honneycutt, take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband, to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, and forsaking all others to devote yourself to him?"

  Jake assumed Susan agreed. He saw her lips moving, but heard no sound.

  “Betty,” Rita whispered, “this may not be the right time to tell you, but I'm pregnant with Bo's child."

  “Oh, Rita,” Betty sobbed flinging her arms around her lover, “me too."

  “Do you, Jake Everheart..."

  God, Jake pleaded silently. This is it. Tell me what to do. Then he blinked. Who was that standing behind the preacher? It looked like his beloved Mary, wearing her wedding dress. She was radiant. She smiled at him and mouthed the words, I love you.

  “I love you,” Jake said as he looked deep into Jan's eyes. “I do."

  Jake looked back at Mary. She was still smiling. She nodded. She blew him a kiss. She was gone.

  “Do you, Jan Patrick, take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband, to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, and forsaking all others to devote yourself to him?"

  “Oh, yes,” she gushed. “I certainly do."

  “I believe you have rings."

  While the couples exchanged simple bands of gold, Carl Elliott hugged Sarasue and whispered, “Maybe next year we should be the first black couple to be married at the Dollars’ Christmas party."

  “Inasmuch as you have agreed to enter the holy rite of wedlock, and have given and received a ring in token and pledge of your love, I now declare you husband and wife in the name of Christ, our Lord and Master."

  Mack lifted his head, raised his voice and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Victor Kimel and Mr. and Mrs. Jake Everheart."

  The sound system burst forth with an instrumental arrangement of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus.

  A lone, short, bearded figure loomed behind parked cars in the driveway, secretly observing the festivities. “Merry Christmas, Betty,” he mumbled as tears descended his cheeks.

  * * * *

  Vic swooped Susan up in his arms and carried her over the threshold in perfect romance novel fashion. Earlier he arranged with Mary Lou McGee to purchase the house in which Susan was living, so now it was truly their home.

  “Tomorrow this time,” he said, “we'll be in Hawaii on our honeymoon."

  He carried her through the living room to her—now their—bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. Sitting beside her with lips hovering just above hers, he said, “I love you, Susan Honneycutt Kimel."

  She smiled.

  He kissed her passionately. She parted her lips for him, but their tongues did not met. He undressed her slowly, lovingly and with many caresses and kisses.

  She allowed it.

  He kissed her left breast and drew her nipple into his mouth.

  “Don't, Vic,” she protested putting her hands on his shoulders. “I may have blackheads and stuff around my nipples."

  He kissed her other breast lightly and began fondling them both as he kissed his way down to her navel, to her pubic hair, to her...

  “Please don't, Vic. That's nasty."

  He placed his hand on her vagina. It felt like sandpaper. He raced to the bathroom, tearing away his clothes as he went. He searched for lubricant and finally found a bottle of baby oil. He generously applied the lotion to his throbbing penis and rushed back to her side.

  She remained just as he left her. He kissed her right thigh, her kneecap, and her ankle. He tried to draw her big toe into his mouth, but she pulled away.

  “Get on with it, Vic,” she said.

  He thought she was teasing. It took some effort, but she allowed him to spread her thighs slightly. He entered her slowly, slowly, slowly.

  She remained motionless.

  He began moving his hips. He fondled her breasts, kissed her eyelids, her forehead. He didn't want to, but he moved faster. He raised his shoulders above her and looked at their joined body parts. The sight fried his brain. “Oh, baby,” he moaned. She stared straight upward, as if counting the cracks in the plaster ceiling.

  He ejaculated much sooner than he planned and collapsed, resting most of his weight on his elbows to avoid crushing her. He kissed her ear. “I love you Susan,” he whispered.

  “I'm pregnant,” she replied.

  * * * *

  “You'll break your back,” Jan kidded as Jake tried to pick her up when they reached the front porch. “Here,” she said moving behind him, “carry me piggyback."

  “Tomorrow we'll be in Myrtle Beach surf fishing,” he said.

  “That's tomorrow,” she replied. “We have more important business right here tonight.” She drove her tongue between his lips without taking the time to turn on the lights.

  They couldn't keep their hands off each other. They left a trail of discarded clothing and by the time they reached the darkened bedroom, they were both naked.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Jake gasped. He found her hand and drew it to his crotch.

  “Jake,” she cried. “Oh, Jake. It's so big. Oh, honey, I'm so happy for you."

  She bounced into the bed, pulled her knees to her breasts and parted them obscenely. “Don't waste it, honey. Let me have it now."

  He drove his penis deep inside her fluid vagina. He felt her warm juices engulf him, her hips grinding against his. With his fingers he gently compressed her erect nipples and listened to her moan with pleasure. He began to move and felt muscles deep inside her involuntarily stroking him with rapidly increasing intensity.

  She screamed and locked her ankles behind his back. He moved faster and faster. Her hips ground against him furiously. Her head pressed against the pillow as she moaned and lifted her buttocks. He felt the moment rapidly approaching and, in an unsuccessful attempt to delay the inevitable, tightened the muscles of his buttocks.

  She sensed his approaching orgasm. She dug her fingernails into his back. “Let it come you old fart. I'm with you."

  “Shit,” he gasped through clinched teeth. “You're one up on me."

  “Who's countiiiiiiinnnnngggg?"

  He stayed inside her for several minutes. He told her gleefully that he was having afters
hocks.

  Finally, he lay on his back. She hovered over him, tickling his chest with her diamond-hard nipples.

  His eyes were accustomed to the dark now and he watched her nipples caress him. He lovingly fondled her buttocks.

  This is too good to be true, he thought as he felt his penis begin to twitch and swell. He groped blindly on his bedside table and tossed the little brown box, still containing its magic appliance, at the trashcan.

  “Two points,” she said as the box rattled inside the metal wastebasket.

  “Hell, that was clear across the room. Three points,” he argued.

  “Bet you can't do it again."

  “Reach between my legs and then say that,” he bragged.

  Finis

  BOOK 3

  Two Dollars and Change in Dot

  By

  David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Chapter One

  “Hey, mister,” she said, trying to smile. “Looking for a good time? Fifty bucks—anything you want."

  Randy Nickels clutched the package closer to his shivering body and shook his head negatively as he tried to move past her, but the woman stepped to the middle of the sidewalk, blocking his path.

  “Twenty-five bucks,” she said, no longer trying to smile.

  “No,” he replied gruffly moving to his right and nearly stepping into the street. He clutched the collar of his topcoat against the December wind and noticed that she was wearing only a thin cotton dress.

  “Fifteen dollars,” she pleaded as he passed her.

  “I said no,” he retorted.

  “Five bucks for a damned blow job,” she called after him. “Man, I'm hungry. Help me out here."

  He walked to the end of the block and glanced over his shoulder. She was still standing there, staring at him. He retraced his steps.

  “Your car close by?” she asked as she hurried to meet him.

  “I've never met a homeless person before, but I guess I have now,” he said, a little kindness creeping into his voice. “Where do you sleep at night? Don't you have a coat? When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

  “Do you want a blow job or my life's history?"

  “I'm in the parking deck in the next block. I don't want to have sex with you, but damn it, I can't leave you here in this bitter cold. The weatherman is predicting freezing rain and sleet for tonight, and besides, nobody should be alone on New Year's Eve."

  She fell in stride beside him. “I've been staying at the mission a couple of streets over. I ate a decent meal there last night. As far as a coat is concerned, what you see is what you get. The little I owned was stolen from me the first night in the mission."

  They stepped inside the elevator. “I'm on the fifth level,” he explained as he pressed the appropriate button. “Don't you have family or friends who could help you?"

  She did not answer. For the first time he saw her shiver and noticed that her dirty skin had a bluish hue. The elevator doors opened and he pointed to his right. “It's the blue Chevy over there."

  He opened the trunk of his car and deposited the package.

  “What's all that crap?” she asked, hugging herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

  “Five reams of copy paper, envelopes and toner cartridges,” he replied. As they strapped on seatbelts he continued, “I pretend to be a writer. The weather forecast for the next several days is scary. I wanted to be sure I don't run out of supplies in case the roads get iced over."

  As the ancient blue Chevrolet sedan roared to life he said, “She doesn't look like much, but the heater works great. It'll thaw you out in a couple of minutes.” He could not help but notice how the seatbelt, pressed between her breasts, forced her frigid nipples to poke into the thin fabric of the faded cotton dress she was wearing. “What's your name?"

  “Anything you want it to be,” she answered.

  He laughed as he steered his car into the heavy Charlotte traffic. “Okay, how about Jo? I've always liked Jo as a girl's name."

  “Hey, good guess,” she replied. “It really is Jo, as in Josephine."

  “Yeah, right."

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

  “To you? I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm not quite certain what I am going to do for you either. Feel that warm air? I told you she has a good heater."

  “What are you going to do to me?"

  “Why do you keep asking me that?"

  “Because you have a big hard-on. I told you I'd give you a good time for fifty bucks. You aren't getting it for free."

  “You gave me a reduced rate of fifteen dollars, remember?"

  “I was colder then. The price is back up to fifty."

  He suddenly jerked the steering wheel and bounced into the Wal-Mart parking lot. He eased into a parking space and cut the engine. “Come on,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

  “I'm not going in there looking like this,” she replied.

  “Look, its supper time and they have a nice little snack bar. We'll get a hamburger or something and buy you a few clothes."

  “Why would you do that?” she asked.

  “I'll be damned if I know.” He opened his door and headed for the huge, brightly illuminated, building. She hurried to catch up.

  “What will people think of you when they see you with a tramp like me?” Her breath formed little clouds in front of her lips.

  “Who cares,” he replied. “Besides, I am a newcomer to the area. Nobody knows me."

  “Yeah, me too,” she said as she entered the glass door that automatically opened as they approached.

  He got a shopping cart and pushed it towards the ladies clothing section and studied her as she selected a couple of jogging outfits, blouses, pants, socks, shoes and lingerie. She was about his height. Five feet eight is short for a man, he thought, and tall for a woman. She's a brunette but there is evidence in her long shaggy hair that at one time she was a blond. Nothing special about her figure, he observed, but those big brown peepers are certainly first class bedroom eyes.

  “This coat's thirty bucks,” she said, holding up a pea-green, plastic garment.

  “It's ugly and doesn't look very warm. How about this navy blue thing?” he asked, pulling a heavy cloth coat from the rack.

  “Look at the price tag on that sucker."

  “Don't you think you are worth a hundred and a half?"

  “That'll get you three good times,” she replied, tossing the coat into their shopping cart.

  “Ten,” he deadpanned as he pushed the shopping cart towards the toiletries section. “Buy what you need,” he said. “I know you need a toothbrush, toothpaste and a comb, but I'm in the dark as far as other ladies’ necessities are concerned."

  “You're not married?” she asked.

  “Nope. Came close once, but she got smart just in time."

  “How old are you ... uh ... what did you say your name was?"

  “Randy, and I'm thirty-two."

  “Just a baby,” she laughed. “I'm thirty-seven."

  It was the first time he had seen a real smile on her face and the first time he had heard her laugh. He liked it. “Okay, Mama,” he joked. “There's one more stop we need to make before we eat.” He headed for the jewelry counter where he selected a watch, a bracelet and a thin gold necklace.

  She pulled him out of hearing of the amused clerk and said, “Baby, I don't need this stuff. You've spent too much on me already."

  “Did Santa Claus visit you on Christmas day?"

  “Don't be silly."

  “I didn't think so. This is your belated Christmas present."

  She wolfed down her burger so fast he thought she must have lied about eating dinner at the mission the previous night. She consumed two more before they checked out and returned to the Chevy.

  “You spent over five hundred bucks on me,” she said as he pulled out onto the Old Charlotte Road. “Why?"

  “Like I said before, I'll be damned if I know, and that's the truth
."

  Rain began to splatter the windshield and when he turned on the wipers the water turned to slush. She fingered her new bracelet as she asked, “Is your place far from here?"

  “About thirty miles. I live in a quiet little community called Dot. I moved there a couple of months ago. I rented an old farmhouse and furnished it with the Salvation Army's best junk,” he laughed.

  “I hope we get there before the roads get too bad. I noticed your tires are as bald as my dad's head."

  “I thought you said you had no family."

  “I didn't say that, and I don't want to talk about it."

  “Look, Jo. I told you I am a writer. I want to know your story."

  “Maybe some day, but not now."

  “Okay, Little Mama,” he said, noting the ice beginning to build up on the side of the road. “I'll tell you my story. I was an only child, born in my parents old age—an accident I'm sure. Dad died my first year in college. He and Mom thought they were in good financial shape and Mom finished putting me through college. She's in a nursing home now in Maryland and I worry about her. The money's about to run out. She's sixty-eight and still handles her own affairs."

  “Randy, slow down a little. The roads are getting a coating of ice."

  He reduced his speed to fifty miles an hour. “For a few years I played at being a newspaper reporter, but doing obits and movie reviews wasn't my cup of tea. I lucked into a job with a major New York publisher, but found myself buried in the slush pile."

  “What's a slush pile?” she asked.

  “Everybody and his brother thinks he is a great novelist. They churn out crap by the carloads and send it to publishers while dreaming of fame and fortune. The accumulated unsolicited manuscripts are called the slush pile."

  “And your job was..."

  “I read the stuff. If I found something promising, I passed it on to an editor. Most of the manuscripts I just returned to the authors with a form rejection letter. Anyway, I stayed at the job until about a year ago."

  “Why did you quit?"

  “For one thing, I didn't get promoted out of the slush pile. For another, they never accepted any of the manuscripts I thought were good. I had written a couple of novels myself and I hoped the job would give me an inside track to publication, but it didn't. I found another way to put bread on the table and moved back to Maryland, to be closer to my mother."