Dont Poke The Sleeping Bear

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual behavior are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned.

This is a flash story.

*****

Glen Mouton pulled up to the Blanchard home in his brand new full cab pickup truck. This bad boy was loaded with all the bells and whistles, including satellite radio and television.

"Who would watch television while driving?" Glen had thought to ask the salesperson at the automobile dealership. "I mean, shit, as it is, they tell you not to text and drive, huh?"

Glen fought to put a smile on his face as Rick Blanchard stepped out of the house. He and Linda, his sweet, beautiful Linda had always wondered what Marissa Ruiz had seen in the man. He was somewhat attractive, in a bland way, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and slightly pudgy face. But Rick seemed to have no personality at all. Linda and Glen had set Marissa up with friends, relatives, but the beautiful Latin woman just broke heart after heart. And then, suddenly, she latched onto Rick Blanchard and seemed absolutely smitten.

"Man's got the personality of warm vanilla pudding," Glen muttered to his wife as they sat and ate at Back Yard BBQ with the couple.

"Be nice," Linda hissed and smiled as Marissa described a trip that she and Rick had taken to New Orleans.

"Thought I was," Glen muttered in response.

Now, as Rick approached the truck, Glen had to admit, he would have been lost without the accountant's help, without his friendship.

When the doctor said the dreaded 'C' word, Glen and Linda had been shell shocked. They couldn't think, they couldn't react. They just stared at each other, then at the doctor.

"Pancreatic Cancer," the doctor said again.

"Is there, I mean, what? Is there anything we can do?" Glen stammered as Linda let a tear trickle down her beautiful face.

It was Rick that drove as Glen held his wife's hand. It was Rick that scheduled the surgery; Glen and Linda couldn't grasp what to do next.

And, when Linda succumbed to the illness, it was Rick that arranged the funeral service.

And it had been Rick that suggested Donald Pellichet, an attorney to Glen.

"No, there's no malpractice," Donald had said. "It goes a hell of a lot deeper than that."

"What? What do you mean?" Glen asked, still numb after the loss of his wife.

"Doctor Hughes knew there was absolutely no chance Linda would survive the treatment, the surgeries. He knew that this was a waste of time and of money," Donald patiently, gently explained. "So, instead of Linda being with you, going when it was her time to go? Dr. Hughes performed surgery after surgery, subjected her to radiation. Made her last days here very painful. And, very expensive."

They did not sue Dr. David Hughes for malpractice, but for larceny. Doctor after doctor looked at Linda's records and doctor after doctor said that surgery and treatments were unnecessary; pointless. By the time of Linda's initial diagnosis, the cancer had already begun to spread to her other organs.

"I had to sell my house, my truck," Glen sobbed. "God only knows what our insurance paid. And for what?"

"But, why didn't we sue him for malpractice?" Glen asked again as he sat in Donald's office, signing more paperwork before Donald slid a check across the desk.

"State of Louisiana? State law severely limits what you can get out of malpractice," Donald said. "Larceny? Well, according to this check, you can get five million."

Now, parked in the Blanchard driveway, Glen plastered a smile on his face as Rick approached. Just over Rick's shoulder, Glen could see Linda's Lexus. After Linda's diagnosis, they'd 'sold' the car to Marissa and Rick's older daughter for five hundred dollars. Vanessa had stood, beautiful face drawn as she stood in as one of Aunt Linda's pallbearers.

As if she could sense someone was looking at her car, Vanessa bounded out of the house. Glen now smiled warmly at the attractive twenty one year old girl.

"Hi, Uncle Glen!" Vanessa called out.

Glen opened the door of his truck and shook Rick's limp hand. Then he pulled Vanessa in for a long hug.

The girl had inherited her mother's long black hair, beautiful round face and lightly tanned skin. She had inherited her father's brains; at twenty one, she was already in the Master's program at the University of Louisiana at DeGarde. Just like her father, Vanessa was studying statistical analysis.

Vanessa had the full breasts and full hips of her mother and right now, her halter top and cut off shorts showed off her beautiful tanned body very well. Glen kissed the young woman's lips a second time then released her. Her scent was in his nostrils, the feeling of her bare skin, so soft, so warm was imbedded in his fingertips. Her pouting, moist lips were imprinted on his lips.

"Nice truck," Rick commented, admiring the Ruby Red color.

"Thanks," Glen said, admiring the way Vanessa's buttocks peeked out from her shorts.

"Rissa Roo, guess who?" Rick called out as he ushered Glen into the house.

Marissa looked up and smiled. It had been nearly three months since she'd heard her husband use his pet name for her. She pulled the beef tenderloin out of the oven and set the dish on a pot holder to rest.

Denise, their younger daughter came into the living room. Glen smiled and opened his arms for a hug.

She too had inherited her mother's Latin looks and Latin figure. The tee shirt stretched taut across her large breasts and rode up, exposing her adorable belly button, with hoop piercing. Her jeans were snug across her full buttocks, creating a delicious camel toe.

"Hi Uncle Glen," Denise said and Glen crushed her in a long hug.

Marissa and Glen likewise hugged and kissed. Unlike her two daughters, Marissa did have a bra on. But her large breasts pressed firmly against Glen's chest when they hugged.

"So, how have you been?" Rick asked Glen, herding him toward is man cave.

"Been good, I mean, all things considered," Glen admitted.

"Uh huh," Rich said and poured them each a single malt whiskey.

"Mm, damn, Rick, that's a good one," Glen complimented, even though he couldn't tell a single malt from a blended, couldn't tell a scotch from a bourbon.

"Thanks. It's from a private stock out of Oakleaf, Texas," Rick said.

When Rick admitted he'd paid three hundred dollars for the half gallon, Glen's eyebrows raised. He took a second sip of the whiskey, trying to taste three hundred dollars' worth of flavor.

Then they talked about things that bored Glen to tears. He had no interest in antique farming techniques, or about winter crops. But he was a polite guest, nodding as Rick prattled on and on.

Just before Marissa called them to the table, Rick showed Glen a bottle of medication he'd been prescribed. The small pill container had a bulky cap on it.

"Anti-anxiety, "Rick smiled. "But look at this cap! I'm more anxious just trying get the damned cap off."

Glen struggled with the cap for a moment, then figured to push down, then twist. He and Rick shared a chuckle.

"Medication does explain a lot, though," Glen thought. "So that's why you have no personality."

As usual, Marissa sat at the head of the table, Rick to her right. Glen had always found this to be an odd seating arrangement. Vanessa sat across from her father to her mother's left and Denise sat next to her Dad. Glen took the seat next to Vanessa and smiled at Denise.

They bowed their heads in silent prayer, then Marissa assumed control of the platters. She did serve Glen first, after quietly reminding both Rick and Vanessa that Glen was their guest. Again, Glen found that just a little odd.

When Linda was alive, she'd sit where he was seated tonight, and Glen had sat at the foot of the table. And Marissa would tell Rick and Vanessa that Linda and Glen were their guests.

As Denise struggled to cut the beef tenderloin, her braless condition was very noticeable. Her unfettered breasts giggled and jogged in her tight tee shirt. Glen did reflect, eighteen year old girls did not have breasts as round, as perky as Denise's breasts when he'd been eighteen.

Linda's breasts had been just slightly more than a handful, but she'd had cute pink nipples that had responded beautifully to Glen's tongue.

As he watched Denise's breasts bounce and sway, watched the bumps of her nipples rub back and forth, Glen couldn't help but wonder how they'd respond to a tongue.

"Meat must not be cooked all the way," Vanessa commented to their mother. "Denise's piece is still putting up a fight."

"Shut up," Denise giggled. "Can't help it."

"Here, Sweetheart," Rick said and quickly, efficiently cut the girl's meat. "And don't tell your sister 'shut up.' That's rude."

"Sorry," Denise quickly apologized.

Vanessa nodded her head in acknowledgement. Glen complimented Marissa on the food and she smiled proudly.

"Sweetheart? Didn't you have something you wanted to announce?" Rick asked Marissa as Denise was clearing the plates away.

"Let's wait until we've had coffee, hmm?" Marissa beamed.

"And we have pie," Denise announced proudly. "Vanessa? I made your favorite, apple."

"Oh boy!" Vanessa said.

"With vanilla bean ice cream," Denise continued.

Marissa waited until all had a piece of pie and a scoop of ice cream in front of them.

"Okay, now, everyone? I have an announcement," Marissa said.

She looked around, making sure she had everyone's attention. Then she linked fingers with Rick.

"Everyone? We're having a baby," she shrilled.

"We're what?" Vanessa asked.

"You're kidding!" Denise said, mouth open.

"Well now!" Glen said.

"I mean, look, I was just as surprised as all of you," Marissa giggled. "I'm thinking, what? At my age? But forty three year old women everywhere are having babies nowadays, right?"

After dessert, after the coffee cups had been cleared away, Rick again ushered Glen into his man cave.

"This one? This one I got from Australia," Rick said, pouring them each a small amount into a glass.

"Australia? What do they know about making whiskey?" Glen asked.

A half hour later, Glen staggered slightly as he and Rick left the plush room. Rick steadied the man.

"Aw Rick! Really? You got him, how many did he drink?" Marissa complained.

"What? Two, well, three if you count the one before dinner," Rick defended.

"Really, Rissa Roo, I only had, um, two," Glen concurred, holding up three fingers.

"But still, I guess I better drive you home," Rick said.

"Want hug girls bye-bye," Glen demanded.

The two girls dutifully hugged the man. Marissa purse her lips in disapproval but also hugged the family friend goodbye.

Then Rick took Glen outside, hit the key fob and put Glen into the passenger seat.

"Nice," Rick complimented as the powerful engine started up.

"Thanks; it's a great truck," Glen slurred.

*.*.

I was always the child that teachers labelled 'Does Not Play Well With Others.' The truth was, I would fly into a psychotic rage whenever someone touched something I thought was mine. My anger when accosted was truly frightening to others.

Once, when I was five years old, a second grader thought it would be funny to push me off of the slide. He and his friends laughed as I sprawled onto the ground. I waited until he was sliding down. As he came down the slide, I was at the bottom, small fist balled up. The punch actually broke his jaw.

Another time, when I was nine, my seven year old sister let a neighbor ride my bicycle. She had a crush on the handsome young kid and thought it'd be a way of getting him to like her. I took a baseball bat and knocked him off of my bicycle.

When my parents asked me why I did that, all I could think to say was "It's my bicycle."

My father threatened to take my bicycle away as punishment.

I looked him squarely in the eye and told him, "You do and I'll kill you. It's my bicycle, not yours."

In the seventh grade, Jill Jordan told me she loved me. For nearly a week, I was very happy. Then, on Friday, she told me, that while she hoped we could be friends, she was breaking up with me to go out with Cris Savoie.

"Fine," I said, face red as our classmates laughed at me. "I was only pretending to like you because I felt sorry for you."

The stunned look on her face almost made the heartache worth it. Almost.

The love story of Cris and Jill ran its course. In the ninth grade, Jill again decided that she loved me. But I could not bring myself to forgive her. I could not bring myself to trust her, even if she was the prettiest girl in our high school. To me, she was untrustworthy. She was a danger.

Also in the ninth grade, two jocks thought 'Keep Away' would be a fun game to play with me. They either didn't know, or didn't care how I felt about others playing with my things.

Chuck tossed the lunch bag to Gary. I didn't bother going to Gary, just kept advancing on Chuck.

"What? He smirked. "I don't have..."

Which was all he got out before I hit him. He stared at me, shocked, as two of his teeth wiggled in his mouth. It took Gary, Coach Anderson, and Principal Desmond to pull me off of the unconscious senior bully.

That was my first bout with hospitalization and psychotropic medication. I hated the first meds they put me on. I felt like a zombie.

By the time I returned to school, I'd already missed enough school to be kept back a year. But they'd also adjusted my medication enough to where I could function.

I went to summer school that year and the next and was able to graduate on schedule.

I graduated, despite a few visits to Pine Groves institution and to Paulton Institution. By the time I graduated from high school, though, they'd adjusted my meds and I rarely flew into psychotic rages at real or imagined slights.

Because all of the incidents occurred before my eighteenth birthday, those records are sealed. I seriously doubt if any college would have accepted me, much less offered me a scholarship had those records not been sealed.

They had just opened the University of Louisiana at DeGarde and I elected to enter with a major in Statistical Analysis. I had always been very good in Mathematics, learning to trust numbers over people. Accounting was a class I took, not because it was a requirement, but because it looked interesting. It truly was interesting and I excelled in the classes. Which is why I'm the head bean counter for St. Elizabeth Parish.

My Bachelor's, Master's, and Doctorate degrees are all in Statistical Analysis and I graduated magna cum laude. Along the way, I met Marissa Faye Ruiz. One look at the raven haired beauty and I was less than impressed. True, she was a beauty, and yes, she had a ripe, lush body. But there was just no attraction, no chemistry.

Until she showed up at the Math Lab. As a Post-graduate student, I was required to put in at least twelve hours a week supervising the facility.

"Excuse me?" she asked, forcing me to put down my research.

"Yes?" I asked in what I hoped was a friendly tone of voice.

"I uh, I really need pass this Algebra class. I tried working with that guy over there," Marissa told me as she pointed to Jason Decker.

"Jason?" I inquired.

"Uh huh," she said. "But he just goes too fast and acts all pissed off that I'm not getting it."

Over her shoulder, I could see Jason giving me a disgusted shrug. I looked into her pleading eyes, sighed and pushed my own work aside.

She wasn't kidding. She really didn't get it. I went backward until we were at the basics.

"Okay, we know that two plus two equals four, it always equals four, there will never be another time in our lives when two plus two does not equal four," I said, smiling.

"God, I'm not stupid," she spat.

"I did not say you were," I patiently explained. "What I'm doing is laying down the foundation. On the foundation, which I know you're smart enough to get, we're going lay the rest of this."

Marissa had two friends whom I could not stand; Linda and Glen. The two were the epitome of pretentious, image driven consumers. Neither had their own style, their own identity. And as I was slowly guiding Marissa toward the solution of a polynomial equation, the couple showed up, a third mindless drone in tow.

"Marissa, hey, come on, we're going be late," Linda whined.

"Yeah, come on," the mindless drone ordered.

I watched what light had begun to twinkle in Marissa's eyes slowly fade. With a nod, she abandoned me, because this thoughtless cretin had told her to.

"I'd really like to get you again; you got a card?" Marissa asked me as she was shoving her books into a name brand book bag.

I handed her my card and watched her sweet ass walk away. The nameless, faceless blob smirked at me and grabbed her ass, right in front of everyone in the lab.

Marissa came into the lab a total of eight times during the semester. It was obvious to me that there was no hope for her to ever pass Professor Huxton's class; she seemed to have some sort of mental block when it came to arithmetic.

Somehow, though, she did manage to get a '73' for the semester. It was a 'C' and that's all she needed in the class. I did congratulate her, but then stunned her when I told her I had wanted more for her.

"I didn't just want you to pass the class. I wanted you to understand it, to enjoy it," I admitted.

From that very moment forward, we were a couple. Linda and Glen, who were her best friend and her best friend's boyfriend did not particularly care for me. I wore button down shirts and khakis, often with a cardigan if it was cool out. I wore penny loafers. I did not have any designer label anything and did not want a designer label on anything.

"Listen," I said to Glen. "Calvin Klein or whoever isn't paying me penny one. So why should I advertise for them?"

I didn't watch the latest episode of 'You Really Need To Get A Life Of Your Own' and couldn't comment on whomever got voted off last week, who should get voted off this week. I wasn't heartbroken over the most recent celebrity divorce; I did not know these people so why did their lives mean anything to me?

Marissa was fascinated with wildlife. We scheduled trips to New Orleans, to go to the Aquarium of the Americas. We went to Audubon Zoo. We went to Yellowstone Park, to the Grand Canyon, to Clavier National Park. We did the things Marissa was interested in.

Then we married. Marissa was a housewife in every sense of the word. She lived to cook, to clean, to putter around in a garden. We had a hummingbird garden long before hummingbird gardens became the vogue. We had a beehive in our backyard, to pollenate our floral arrangements.

But when Marissa became pregnant, she truly blossomed into the beautiful woman she was always meant to be.

*.*.*

Glen sat, feeling absolutely numb as Rick drove the seven blocks from the Blanchard house to the Mouton home. He could feel some drool escaping his mouth, but couldn't even bring his hand up to wipe at his lip.

"Glen, I'm sure you remember Princess? That calico cat you and Linda gave to Vanessa?" Rick asked as he turned left onto Gardens Street. "Well, Vanessa was playing with the little beast and got a little too rough. Princess scratched Vanessa, drew blood."

Rick hit the remote for Glen's garage door. Glen managed to turn his head, to look at Rick. He didn't remember the stupid cat Rick was now prattling about. Did this man ever talk about anything that meant anything to anyone?

"Well, Vanessa killed Princess for that unforgiveable sin. And, no matter what we said, she just couldn't seem to grasp why it was wrong, why she should have let the cat live," Rick said and slowly eased the truck into the garage.

He shut the engine off. Then he looked at Glen.

"We'd already had Denise and she was just beginning to walk; God what a handful!" Rick said. "But looking into Vanessa's eyes, I knew I'd passed my psychotic genes on to my daughter. Only time would tell if both of my girls had it or not."