If you have read any of my stories you know that they don't have any graphic sex scenes in them. This one is no exception.
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Thanks for taking the time to read my work and please enjoy.
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As I sit on the tailgate of my truck, I think back over the last few years. There has been sadness, anger, retribution, happiness, and most important my love for another person. My wife and I had a difficult event to deal with but now we can see a light at the end of the tunnel; and it's not a train coming that will run over us.
I hope I have time to finish drinking the three fingers of Gentleman Jack in my glass. You see I'm expecting guests to arrive any minute now, don't you know. Well not guests really; I don't think those guys will be coming here to socialize. You see the police are coming to arrest me. AGAIN. Ah, here they come now.
Okay I've been arrested, without resisting I might add, and transported to the jail. Once again I was booked, given prison clothes, and put in a cell. It's not my first time at this party you know; I have been here twice before. I will have to wait until tomorrow morning some time before I can go before a judge to be arraigned and held over for trial.
There is another guy in the holding cell; he looks familiar. He was stretched out on one of the beds and raised his head as they brought me in.
"Hey, didn't I see you here about six months ago when I was in here for being drunk and disorderly?" he said. "I'm Dale by the way."
"Yes that was me. I remember you too; I'm JJ. My hands were bandaged and you helped me get some water," I answered. "What are you in for this time Dale?"
"Drunk and disorderly again. When I'm at my favorite bar and that asshole that stole my wife comes in, I get drunk and disorderly."
"Why don't you change bars?"
"That prick took everything I had; my wife, my car, my house, and even my damn dog. I'll be damned if he's going to take my bar," he said indignantly. "So what are you doing back here again, JJ?"
"It's a long story Dale."
"We're not going anywhere and we got nothing but time," he reminded me.
"Guess you're right. Okay, the reason I'm here actually happened about a year and a half ago and my visits to these modest accommodations started then."
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My name is James Jerrod Kelley and I met my wife Cynthia when I was 31. A little later in life than most young couples but she was worth waiting for. It wasn't that I was repulsive because the women I dated, and there were a lot of them through the years, said that I had roguish good looks.
They didn't seem to mind the scar on my face that runs from my right ear across my cheek almost to the corner of my mouth; the ladies said that it made me look dashing. Whatever that meant. I'm a little over six feet, with very dark hair which makes my blue eyes stand out. I'm well built with muscles earned from hard work and not from a gym.
I rescued Cynthia and her vintage Mustang from the side of the road. Her car had broken down and I pulled over to help her. Cynthia was a tall, leggy, tight bodied, redhead with green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. I like to think that I would have stopped even if she hadn't of been so pretty.
Cynthia was wearing a man's shirt tied below her breasts, a pair of cut off shorts , and wedge sandals that made her legs look like they ran all the way up to heaven and back. She wore very little make up and looked sexy and wholesome at the same time. I was in lust at first sight.
I parked my big Ford truck in front of her car and walked back to see if I could help her. She was leaning on the fender of her Mustang with the hood up, looking into the engine compartment. Cynthia's hands were a little dirty and she had a smudge of dirt across her cheek.
"Having car trouble," I asked? Dummy of course she's having car trouble, I thought shaking my head.
"Yah, it won't start. I pulled over to look at a map and now it won't start," she replied with a puzzled look.
"If you like I can take a look." I meant look at the car, I was already looking at her and her cut offs. I own and run a small auto repair shop so I should be able to at least find out what was wrong. Worst case scenario I could have it towed to my shop if I couldn't fix it right there.
"I couldn't impose on you. I'll just call Triple A," she said.
"Let me see if I can figure out what's wrong. I try to do a good deed every week and I'm running behind this week," I playfully teased her with a smile.
Cynthia laughed, stepped away, and waved her permission for me to check out the car. I looked inside the engine compartment and saw the problem right away. The battery connects were badly corroded so the car started a few times that day but wouldn't do so now because of the corrosion.
I told her to wait a second and went to my truck for my tools; a wrench and a can of Coke. Loosening the connectors with the wrench, I poured some of the Coke over them. In case you don't know, Coke is almost as good as baking soda to clean battery connections.