Page 17 of Towles

“Paul!”

He closed the door and returned to the living room. “Heck, I’m willing to forgive what just happened if you explain what is going on.”

“You are, Paul. You don’t even know how to get mad about something.” I drank from the wine bottle, and Paul’s eyes widened. “Who the fuck says heck anymore?”

“Watch your language, Ma Cherie.” He tried to hold my chin, but I knocked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me and quit fucking calling me that!” I walked away and went to the kitchen. Paul followed, face as red as the red pen he used to make stock notes. “Why couldn’t you stay gone?”

“That’s enough, April.” He removed his tie and rolled his sleeves. “I’m going to my office.” He lowered his zipper and narrowed his eyes. Asshole. Paul walked away but motioned with his hand for me to follow.

I sat the wine bottle on the counter and cleared my tight throat. I wished Ethan were in the room. Against everything I’d been taught in school and believed, I wanted to see the god-like biker punch Paul in his face.

Paul sat in his leather chair, moving back and forth. From where I stood, I could see he’d taken his cock out. The pathetic albino-looking worm was still limp. Calmly, he said, “I need you to service me the way you always want to do.” He flopped his limp cock back and forth. “Ma cherie.”

Once again, he wanted me to do all the work and reap none of the rewards. “Okay, Paul,” I said. “Like I always want to do?”

“Yes, ma cherie.” I imagined sticking a pencil in his eye if he repeated those two words.

“My back has been bothering me lately. Do you mind standing?”

Paul tilted his head. He wasn’t used to such a request. He stood, his hand around his cock, and let the five inches lay on the desk.

I stepped forward and reached across the desk, stroking his dick. Like always, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The asshole never looked at me when I pleased him. With Paul’s eyes closed, my thumb and forefinger creating a circle to fuck his dick, I spied everything on the desk: a calendar, Scotch Tape, a shitty picture, and a stapler.

I worked harder on Paul’s cock and let my fingers crawl across the desk to the stapler. Using one hand, I eased the stapler apart and then gently laid the mouth of the stapler against his wrinkled shaft.

“I fucking hate you, Paul,” I said and slammed my hand on the stapler.

I jumped back when Paul screamed and grabbed his dick. Two pinpricks of blood appeared on his skin, and then the blood flowed freely.

“You fucking cunt,” he yelled and came around the desk, arms reaching out, hands bloody. Put a bolt on either side of his neck, and he looked like Frankenstein’s monster.

I remembered the move Ethan made against the guy holding the gun. I knocked Paul’s right arm toward his left and hit him with a right hook. Damn, it felt good to do it finally.

Paul fell back onto his desk. I expected him to come at me. He didn’t. He grabbed his cell phone and called 911. He screamed that his wife had maimed his dick with a stapler. I imagined the 911 operator covering her mouth and laughing.

“You fucking asshole,” I said. “You got what you deserved.

He looked at me, crosseyed, in total shock that little old April had grown balls bigger than his two little grapes.

He told the operator he needed both the police and an ambulance. “You’re going to fucking pay for this.” The dumb ass grabbed a wet wipe from his desk and tried to clean his bloodied cock. He screamed and plopped into the chair. It was an alcohol wipe to clean his keyboard.

I went to the front door and left the house. I sat on the porch steps and waited for the police. Paul was a pussy. He hid behind the word businessman. It made him sound important to himself. In reality, Paul wasn’t a man at all. He was just another male who needed his mommy to wipe his ass and clean up after him.

“I’ll make you pay, April!” he yelled from the house. “You’ll be sorry.”

“I was sorry a long time ago, asshole.”

The ambulance arrived first, and I scooted to the side so they could hurry past. Paul’s little dick would be fine. The staples were small. I giggled at the thought one of the male EMTs who entered the house would have to bandage Paul’s dick. Maybe he had one of those pinky Band-Aids my mother used when I was a little girl.

Paul screamed and cursed my name, sounding like a pharaoh wanting to erase my name and existence from Pine Bluff history. All hail to motherfucking Paul!

Two sheriff’s cars pulled to the curb. Sheriff Manning jumped out of the first cruiser. He immediately recognized me.

“You stapled Paul’s dick?” Manning asked. “Must have been some anger management session with Ethan Towles.” He took the cuffs off his hip. “Stand up.”

Paul exited the house as I stood. He held a bandage around his dick. “Don’t you fucking be here when I get home,” he said. “We’re done!”

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