Dishonor Thy Wife (12 page)

“Any time you want a lap dance, Doctor Big, I am pleased to
oblige,” she whispered, “only not in front of 200 passengers.”

She actually scribbled her phone number on a cocktail napkin
while the flimsy paper was lodged deep in my pocket. She jiggled a pointy pen
around the nutsack, but alcohol was like a vegetable home remedy when poured on
an open sore. Mix the alcohol with a celery stick, olive, and pearly onion to
dull the pain—Dr. Tremblay’s prescription.

“Be careful on the way home,” Cookie whispered while pouring
a Vodka miniature down my throat.

A few drinks tucked below the belt would help me face
what’s-her-name. I needed to get drunk to fool Brad’s wife. Besides, Alcohol
was a liquid grain and like vegetables, might be healthy.

Bonus: the sugar in alcohol made booze an energized food
item, except for the morning after, when you felt as if you were dying.

Alcohol was both a life and death product—even the
California liberals could not say that about vegetables, except for the hottest
chili on the planet, the Ghost Pepper which had burnt holes in intestinal tracts.
Ghost Pepper was the devil’s diet.

Yeah, the devil was a vegetarian.

I sipped my veggie drink while reading the ebook
How to
Be a Good Husband for Dummies Whose Wives Are Clueless blah, blah, blah
.

I looked at my watch and the date, May 23rd. The masquerade
would only be until June 6.

I yanked out Brad’s wallet and made a face at his wife’s
picture, a woman so forgettable that I could not remember her name. I said to
the photo, “Good evening, Mrs. O’Boyle. Get lost, Mrs. O’Boyle.”

A CRAZY JEALOUS MAN LEFT BLOODY FOOTPRINTS LEADING TO MY
MASTER BEDROOM and enough DNA evidence to hang me, along with a murder video.
The police claim I am the star of murder shot by a camera on a tripod. I’m
facing down
officer big boobs
and
detective pencil dick
. I did
not kill that woman! These two numbskulls do not believe me that my chemistry
is getting in the way of my innocence.

Oh, the web we weave when first we practice to deceive. Breathes
there the man with soul so dead.

Who said that, Sir Walter Scott? Or was it Brad O’Boyle and
Jayden Tremblay?

My brother and I are both broken. Our mother conceived us
and then cracked us in two.

Jayden and Brad sat on a wall.

Jayden and Brad had a great fall.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Could never put Jayden and Brad together again.

Thou shalt not murder
, not even for a broken promise.

Can you believe
killing
is only Commandment Number Six
on God’s playlist? The first three commandments are all about Him. Do not
worship anyone else but Him. Do not paint or sculpt anyone but Him. Only say
nice things with His name and do not gossip about Him so forget about free
speech.

Yeah, God is a jealous egomaniac
, but do not tell Him
I said so because I may need God to keep me out of the electric chair.

* * *

May
24; Austin 11 Weeks Earlier

JAYDEN

I never in my life stole a girl’s undies, even in high
school or college—underwear was private shit, right? My excuse for stealing
Ronni’s panties was to quickly get to know my sister-in-law. How much closer
can a man get to a woman than walking his fingers through her panties?

My nose was running and there was no tissue. I blew my nose
in the middle of Ronni’s panty crotch, inhaling fabric softener, which started
a sneezing fit.

Yeah, I think I might be allergic to my sister-in-law.
Sex with her might just make me sick so just cool it, Jayden. Stay away from
Ronni!
Crap, she ended up being attractive. The picture in Brad’s wallet
was a bad photo of her.

The phone rang and it was Brad hissing and spitting like a
tiger. “Why are you answering with your own name? I asked to speak to Dr.
O’Boyle.”

“I’m alone. Oh, I see, Brandy may be listening to see if any
of your other lovers are calling you.”

“Well, I think you’re having an affair with
your
receptionist,” he countered.

“Irene is 64 years old, Brad.”

“I can see you doing that wrinkled cherry.” He laughed.

“Very funny. Have some respect.” While he jabbered on, I was
having sexual thoughts about his wife.

I suckle her breast breathing as if my lungs pain me.

Oh God. Ronni removed her hand from my crotch. Why does
she do that? Why is she torturing me?

Then she grabs my hips and starts humping against me, actually
humping like a bitch in heat. She is begging for it, wanting it badly.

I can barely catch my breath and gently lower her to the
stairs.

I lay on top of her grinding my hips against her hips. I can
feel her rising tension as she moves her crotch wildly against me. Higher.
Higher. Trying to reach heaven.

“Your room or mine?” I whisper into her ear in ragged
breaths.

I would have taken Ronni on the stairs if it had not been
so uncomfortable for her. It hurts to climb off her. I throb with desire and
crave relief. I want my sister-in-law more than I have ever wanted any woman.
If she denies me now I cannot be responsible for what I might do anyway.

“Jayden, are you there?” His voice nearly blew my eardrum.

“Uh, yeah, you were saying, Brad?”

“You promised me two weeks minimum. Why switch back now with
only three days left to go? Is Ronni nagging you to death, her screechy voice
making you want to run back to Canada with your tail between your legs?”

No, make that flee back to Canada with my dick between my
legs and not inside your wife. She is touching herself, playing with her clit, knowing
that I am watching. And I am kneeling outside her door, my eye in the keyhole,
jacking off. How sick is that, huh? Please help me here, Brad! I am falling
into hell. I vacillate between wanting to kill your wife or screw her for torturing
me into a horny teenager with cum in my pants as she shakes her booty up the
stairs, wearing a short skirt, for my benefit, I hope. Please help me here,
Brad! Geez, my hands shake just thinking about your wife.
“Uh, alright, a
month more,” I agreed like a weak adolescent teenage boy. If I had a wife, I
would never have suggested to Brad that we change places. You would think with
his warped sense of humor, he would be curious whether Ronni and I were getting
along with me posing as her husband. I thought the masquerade funny and was
laughing behind her back. Contrarily, panic tightened my chest.
She is your
sister-in-law. Leave the woman alone!

All Brad said was, “Another month, good. Man up! I do not
care if you slap my wife, dude. We twins have to stick together. No woman
should ever come between us.”

“Uh, sure,” I said in the high-pitched, screechy voice he
accused Ronni of having. We both hung up at the same time, getting on each
other’s nerves.

I dropped my head on my desk and groaned. Another month of
hell! I should have run back home and kicked Brad out of my house. In doing so,
thousands of miles would be between temptations of having sex with my
sister-in-law.

Brad never asked about Traci. Yeah, I should have been a
pediatrician. It turned out I was good with the munchkins. On the other hand,
her mother was turning me into a pervert. I was always the good boy, the
excellent student, the exceptional son, the great boss. This switcheroo was
changing my morals. Married women have always been off limits but the
excitement of the forbidden was a powerful draw. This insatiable lust needed to
stop. A man always wanted what he should not have, what is bad for him,
dangerous, and taboo but a brother’s wife was not even on the charts.

Then it seemed like my problems were over when Ronni started
dressing like a nun, but going all the way with a nun must be more taboo than
doing a sister-in-law, right? I could see me butt naked with a priest’s collar choking
my neck and her wearing just a nun’s headpiece.

To make matters worse, Ronni started going out and it all
blew up in my face, or I should say blew up in my pants in the back seat of Brad’s
car. And Ronni said
I
don’t play fair
? She has been the one performing
stripteases when she knew I was spying. These sex games between us must cease. My
sister-in-law twisted my insides with self-loathing and wanting.

Ronni scared the bejesus out of me when she said that we
have
to visit Brad’s parents.

Note: Tell Brad to avoid my folks.

Note: Quit being sacrilegious about the Catholic Church.

Note: Remember Austin is not big enough for both Ronni and
me. Quit confusing yourself with her husband. Quit lusting after your brother’s
wife. Keep your willy in your pants.

Yup, the zipperoo was yanked up all the way to my belly
button. Maybe I should just buy me a chastity belt and throw away the key. Yeah,
during the Renaissance, the Age of Enlightenment, men used to lock up their
woman’s crotch. Nowadays, there were chastity belts designed for both men and
women practicing BDSM, which stood for: Bondage Domination Submission
Masochism. I have never been involved in BDSM but a friend of mine enjoyed lying
on his back while his girlfriend poured stripes of different colored, piping-hot
wax across his chest. His blistering colorful skin made him feel like he was
somewhere
under the rainbow
. His dominatrix handcuffed him while she did this and
locked his big toes in thumbcuffs—sounded like a real good time.

At least Traci liked me.

Note: The kid liked Brad. Traci liked her father, remember,
moron? Do not get caught up in the family thing. You always have been and
always will be an island.

BRAD

I am a master of deception and excel at masquerading as my
twin. Whenever someone calls me by Jayden’s name, I do not even twitch. Jayden,
on the other hand, is a neurotic pussy. I had to reassure him repeatedly about
meeting my parents.

Mother sees the world through shot glasses so she will not
focus on differences between us, if any. Father
might
ask Jayden a
personal question and then take a deep breath, before yapping about something else
before Jayden can respond. The old man mostly speaks to walls and trees and
never to me.

I have always been a Christmas tree ornament to my adoptive
parents. My summers were spent at baseball camp, football camp, basketball
camp, astronaut camp, Boy Scout camp, get-in-touch-with-feelings camp, and
anger camp in Phoenix, my favorite desert where they sent me every year July,
the hottest most pissed off month. My parents even sent me to one of those
camps for kids allergic to sunlight. They drew fake freckles all over me so I
would resemble one of the
Children of the Night
, kids with XP. I walked
around with my eyes closed during the day and my skin marked up with a fake
pigmentation disorder. The
Children of the Night
camp was fun until they
expelled me for biting one of the kids on the neck and trying to suck his blood
out.

Against Jayden’s orders, I drive over to see his folks. The
so-called farm turns out to be a measly 11 acres, the size of a small cemetery.
His parents come at me like zombies wanting to eat my brains, they are that
happy to see their son. No wonder Jayden is like
Woody
from
Toy Story
.
Who’s my puppet? I conned Jayden into trading places. Am I the man or what?

Really, Jayden has all his childhood pets lined up at the
farm with little headstones and names like Bingo. What kind of fairy names his
dog Bingo, like the old farm song B-I-N-G-O? B-I-N-G-O. B-I-N-G-O. And Jayden is
his name.

My one dog was Brutus; now that is a dog name. One Christmas
break from boarding school, Brutus died while being operated on so his ears
would be pointy. I am a huge
Star Trek
fan and turning Brutus into
Spock
was supposed to be my Christmas present.

My brother’s condominium is a penthouse located in the
Westside Village near downtown Victoria and the inner harbor. His bachelor pad
is right out of
GQ
, lucky dope. My butt is freezing in Canada since the
temperature is in the 60’s during the day and June no less. Ha! Jayden’s balls
must be melting in Austin, especially since he is so worried about visiting my
parents.

His condo is so frickin’ pristine, his shoes lined up
military style, shirts starched crisp, pants pressed with a sharp crease, and not
a dirty stitch of clothing or speck of dust anywhere. My end of our deal is to
ditch his girlfriend for him, but Vanessa is a smoking hot redhead. There is
such a thing as before-breakup sex, but then Vanessa has to go and ruin our sex
life by whining. “You seem off, Jayden. You’re not as good in bed as you
usually are.”

Me not as good in the sack as my brother?

“Next time we make love maybe you should try a little
harder. Something’s missing.”

I feel like choking her. No way in hell can Jayden be better
in bed—our equipment is the exact same size.

Vanessa licks her lips. “Well.” She tosses her head back. “You
usually don’t finish so fast and just leave me hanging. This is the first time
I didn’t...”

I sit on Vanessa’s chest, shoving my flaccid member into her
mouth.

Vanessa gags and I push her off the bed. “Go home, right
now, you twat!”

Vanessa scampers from the room, dressing as she is fleeing.

I rest my cheek on my brother’s pillow, thinking of throwing
Jayden’s toys back in his toy box and flying back to Austin. Instead, I call him
to cheer me up. “How’s Pussy treating
you
?”

The dude sounds as if he is choking on dick and with him
being so neat, he may be.

“You know, Pussy, my cat?” I remind him.

“Yeah, right, Pussy the cat. Pussy wakes me up in the
morning by licking my balls and nipples. Cat thinks I’m its mama.” He chuckles.

“That cat really hates me!”

“You sound jealous, Brad.”

“What? Of your balls? Mine are much bigger, dude.”

“Yeah, but mine are prettier.”

There is an uncomfortable silence between us and then Jayden
gargles in a soulful voice, “I wish I could turn back time.”

“To before you agreed to our masquerade or to when we were
one egg in our mother’s womb, one person, sharing one heartbeat?”

He changes the subject. “Have you broken up with Vanessa
yet?”

“Oops there is another call coming in,” and I grind my thumb
into the
End Call
button.

The caller-id on my phone is pulsing like an orgasm. An
addiction to a woman is worse than gambling, alcohol, what have you, and I am
not talking just being pussy whipped. Throw in the heart, the soul and…Barbie
punched me in the gut seven years ago and then left me. I cannot remember now
what our fight was about, but she threw her engagement ring in my beer glass. I
was so sloshed that I swallowed the ring.

We eventually kissed, made up, and planned a wedding. Our
coming nuptials were even posted in the
Austin American Statesman
.

Ronni would have remained my dirty little secret if not for
her jailbait pregnancy. A man can get rid of a wife but not a daughter. A
child is for life, even an unplanned daughter.

Ah, my screwed up life does not matter anyway. There are two
deaths standing in the way of me ever marrying Barbie—her husband and my wife.

I press the answer button and my voice drops to my lap. “Hello,
love of my life.”

Barbie has a breathy, sex-kitten voice she perfected in high
school. “Brad,” she breathes into the phone. “Slam your baseball bat into me!
Catch my muffin with your mitt!”

My pants are smoking at the video Barbie just texted me. She
is lying on her feathered bed with her blonde hair spread out on a peacock
pillow and legs spread open, thighs quivering, hips humping, arms outstretched
in invitation.

Barbie sticking the cell phone up her nasty and me talking
dirty inside her should be a commercial:

“Phone sex with our cellular phone is crisper than any of
our competition.

Can you hear me now, beaver?

How about now, puss?”