Narcissus Smiled

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

**Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

..**..

"Pam, if it will get me out of here, then yeah, that desk is just so perfect," Sammy groaned.

"Why'd I even bring you?" Pam snapped, looking at the seven hundred dollar desk. "The chair come with it?"

"Hmm, no, no ma'am; the chair is separate," the Roselawn Furniture saleswoman said, fighting to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

The placard on the desk clearly stated that the chair was separate. The placard on the chair said the chair was separate. Yet, the customer insisted on asking if the chair came with the desk.

And, Pam? In two or three years, that desk will be way too small for Estelle," Sammy said.

"No it won't," Pam argued.

"You right; why'd you bring me?" Sammy asked. "I mean, you know everything; I don't know anything. Why'd you bring me?"

Sammy walked to another desk and pointed, "I told you, I like this one over here. It'll grow with her; the legs are adjustable. But, I guess since this one's only four hundred bucks, well then, it's just not good enough."

"Chrome?" Pam sneered.

"Bye. Have fun," Sammy said and left the furniture store.

"Seriously? The chair doesn't come with it?" Pam continued.

"No ma'am, the chair is separate," the saleswoman again stated, pointing to the placard on the desk.

"Hmm. Estelle, come see," Pam ordered the chubby girl.

Wearily, Estelle rose from the comfortable couch, the one she and Mr. Sammy had liked and waddled to where her mother stood. She looked up at her mother and waited for the next order.

"Here, try this desk and see," Pam ordered.

Estelle had to wiggle and wedge her pudgy body into the small desk. Pam smiled, waiting for her daughter to declare that this was the perfect desk.

"Why we can't just get that one?" Estelle asked, pointing to the desk Mr. Sammy had chosen.

"Because that one is ugly," Pam snapped.

"Children," Pam said to the saleswoman, shaking her short mop of brown curls.

"Well, I don't like this one; it's too small," Estelle said.

"Fine," Pam snapped, grabbing the eight year old child's arm. "Come on. Maybe O'Neil's will have a better selection. Thank you, ma'am."

"No problem," the saleswoman said, relieved that the obnoxious, overbearing woman was finally leaving.

"Now, where, oh I know he didn't," Pam snarled, looking around for Sammy's 2017 Nissan Frontier King Cab pickup truck.

The hideous green pickup truck was nowhere in sight. This was easily verified as Pam marched to the side of the store, glancing into the side parking lot. She marched back, looking around at the twelve vehicles in the parking lot. The truck was not there.

He had insisted on taking the truck; he had argued, if they found anything, he could load it into the truck. Sammy didn't seem to understand that the horrible green color got too much attention; they looked like a bunch of hayseeds getting out of the ugly vehicle. And both Roselawn and O'Neil's did home delivery; the pickup truck was just unneeded.

Inside of The Captain's Table, Sammy took a long pull from his Gratchley's draft beer. Jason, the manager of the gentlemen's club was as sleazy as they come, but the man knew two things that were invaluable. Jason knew how to hire gorgeous women, and he knew how to pour a draft beer. That made all of Jason's shortcomings as a human being palatable.

"Hi Sweetie, buy a girl a drink?" a cute little blonde chirped into Sammy's ear, making sure to push her 32C breasts into his bicep.

"Let me guess, a fifteen dollar champagne cocktail? Even though I bet you ain't old enough to drink?" Sammy smirked, slipping the girl a five dollar bill. "No, Sugar, but here."

"Thanks Sweetie," the blonde giggled and sauntered away, making sure to put some wiggle in her walk.

Sammy's cell phone jangled; it was his wife's ringtone. After a long moment, Sammy answered.

"Yes?" Sammy asked.

"Yes. What you mean, 'yes,'" Pam shrilled. "Where, where the hell are you?"

"Not there," Sammy said.

"Well, I can see that," Pam screamed. "But why, we, we're out here waiting; where are you?"

"I'm at The Captain's Table," Sammy admitted, seeing no reason to lie.

"With all those, Sammy, get over here," Pam demanded. "Estelle and I, we're out here, you, you just left us here? I cannot believe..."

"See if that perfect desk, oh, and that shitty fucking couch will get you home," Sammy said.

"And you need to pay for that couch; they won't order it until..." Pam demanded.

Sammy didn't hear Pam's demands; he'd already hung up. He sighed when Pam's ringtone chimed again. This time, though, Sammy sent the call to voice mail. He did the same thing when she called back immediately. Three more times, he sent his wife to voice mail.

"Get an Uber," Sammy texted to her after the fifth call.

"With what? My good looks?" Pam's response popped up.

"Either that or your pleasant personality," Sammy responded. "I'll be home when I feel like it."

Sammy hated abandoning Estelle; the child didn't deserve it. But it was either abandon Estelle, and Pam, or cave in yet again to Pam's unreasonable and overbearing demands.

He'd met Pam when the Gold Standard Real Estate agent had needed a quick repair done on an air conditioning unit. Robertson's heating & AC couldn't send anyone out until Friday but Pam had a client wanting to see the house the very next day. So, Pam called Sammy's Heating & AC and Sammy had just had a cancellation so was able to get out to the house.

Sammy had always had a bit of a chubby fetish and Pam Hutchinson was a big girl. With her waist length curly hair and dimpled smile and sugary sweet personality, after Sammy got the unit up and running, Sammy asked the cute real estate agent if she'd eaten lunch. Pam agreed to go to Wedges for their signature deep fried sandwiches. From Wedges, they wound up in Sammy's trailer and Sammy kissed every square inch of Pam's chubby body. Sammy made Pam squeal and moan as he feasted on her hairless snatch, then made Pam scream as he pounded his fat cock into her snug pussy.

Meeting seven year old Estelle made Pam Hutchinson even more attractive; Sammy loved children. He said, and Pam agreed that they'd have two or three or five more.

But Sammy's trailer wasn't good enough. Sammy agreed they'd go house hunting. Sammy liked 401 Conway Road. It wasn't exactly what Pam was hoping for. Sammy had liked 2803 Kent Avenue, but Pam just didn't care for it. 3221 Trenton Drive was also not quite what Pam had hoped for.

"This. This is perfect," Pam gushed over 1711 Cottonwood Drive.

"You are joking," Sammy said, looking at the house, seeing the needed repairs and upgrades.

Pointing out that 401 Conway Road had two hundred square feet more, at seventeen thousand dollars less did not sway Pam's mind. Pointing out that 2803 Kent Avenue was in the same school district did not sway Pam.

Already, Sammy was starting to piece the puzzle together. 1711 Cottonwood Drive was across Ferguson, in the Chantilly Country Club section.

Sammy's suggested honeymoon was shot down; Disneyworld was not good enough. Pam wanted Cozumel or Acapulco, or Hawaii. With a sigh, Sammy showed Pam a spreadsheet; earnings versus expenditures. He pointed out, even with her commission from selling him her 1711 Cottonwood Drive listing, there simply was not enough money in their budget for any of those exotic locales. Plus that, there were limited activities for a seven year old girl to do in Cozumel or Acapulco or Hawaii.

Another bone of contention; Pam insisted on keeping her maiden name. She argued, as a successful real estate agent, people knew and trusted the name Pam Hutchinson. They didn't know Pam Coleman and it would take too long to build up name recognition.

Because 1711 Cottonwood Drive needed repairs; paint, new carpet, a new roof, the trio were still in Sammy's trailer. When he wasn't working for Sammy's H&AC, Sammy was working for Pam Hutchinson. Waggamon's Flooring wanted fourteen thousand dollars for a deep pile carpet; next day installation guaranteed. Sammy hated the color, but agreed to that color, that style. But he did not agree to Waggamon's prices.

"But, they can put it in tomorrow," Pam had whined.

"And I'm still painting the walls, Pam. New Carpet just means I'll be getting paint all over the brand new carpet," Sammy had sighed.

"Why we can't just get Pearl Painters out there?" Pam had asked.

"Because you wanted an emerald engagement ring," Sammy said. "We'll get the carpet from my buddy Chad and I'll put it in myself."

Sammy had suggested a soft butter yellow for the kitchen. Pam demanded that it be robin's egg blue. After spending the money on a five gallon bucket, Sammy put one swipe of the paint on the wall and Pam had to agree; the blue did not go with the appliances. Unless, of course, Sammy was willing to buy new appliances.

Finally, the carpet was in, the walls were painted, the roof was patched and singled. For now, they were making do with Sammy's nasty old furniture, the garish furniture he'd bought four years ago when he'd bought the trailer. Estelle's school desk for now was the battered old kitchen table, the table that had been purchased from a garage sale for forty bucks. Estelle was happy doing her homework at the kitchen table, especially when Mr. Sammy would sit with her and help her.

And, two months ago, knowing how much Sammy loved her waist length brown curls, Pam had hacked it all off. She claimed she needed to look more professional. Sammy almost said, no, Pam needed to act more professional. Her looks had very little to do with her sales, or rather, her lack of sales.

"Another one?" Jason asked, reaching for Sammy's nearly empty mug.

"No, no, I need to go get the kid," Sammy sighed. "And the bitch."

Popping a breath mint, Sammy looked again at the slightly chubby red head that was bouncing to some hip-hop song. She was down to bright red panties that showed off her chunky ass to perfection. She smiled as Sammy dropped a five dollar bill into her jar.

Sammy could see the two brown haired people sitting on the high pad in front of Roselawn's Furniture Store. He shook his head; mother and daughter had been out here for an hour. But, apparently, walking had never entered Pam's mind.

"Here he comes, Momma," Estelle whooped when she saw the neon green truck approaching.

"My cell phone's dead; thank you very much," Pam screamed as she jerked open the passenger door of the truck.

"Hi Kiddo, y'all been having fun?" Sammy asked Estelle as the child wiggled up into the back of the truck.

"No," Estelle said, buckling herself into her safety seat.

"You hear me?" Pam screamed, outraged.

"I hear you, Roselawn's hears you, everyone in Arkansas hears you, Pam," Sammy screamed in reply. "But, good luck finding anyone gives a flying shit, hear?"

As they drove, Sammy reached a decision. From the very start, Sammy had done everything he could, everything Pam wanted, in order to make Pam happy. And it had not made Pam happy.

The pussy was good. Even though Pam had decided that shaving her pussy was too much work, the pussy was good. But as Sammy's Uncle Rob had said, 'even bad pussy's still pretty good.'

Yes, the pussy was good. Pam did like to fuck. But as soon as the panting and wheezing and sweating was done, the complaints and demands started up again.

"Thank God I still got my trailer," Sammy said aloud as he backed his truck into the garage.

"Why you got back your truck in? Why you can't just pull in like a normal human being?" Pam snapped.

"Because I'm not a normal human being?" Sammy suggested and smiled when Estelle giggled.

"I have to pee; thanks to you, I got to walk all the way around," Pam complained.

"Looks like you could stand to do some walking," Sammy said.

Pam opened her mouth to scream a reply. Sammy pointed out that Pam had said she desperately needed to pee. The longer she stood around complaining, the longer it would be before she could go pee.

While Pam availed herself of the miniscule half bath downstairs, Sammy loaded his tools into the back of his truck. With a sad sigh, he took Estelle's safety seat out of his truck and put it where his large toolbox had stood.

"You seen my charger?" Pam demanded when Sammy entered the kitchen.

"Look in your car?" Sammy suggested, not pausing as he passed her.

"Why's Estelle's seat out of the truck?" Pam demanded, plugging her charger into the socket next to her bedside lamp's plug. "You're just going have put it back in."

"No, no I won't," Sammy said, closing his suitcase.

"Where, where you going?" Pam asked, suddenly noticing the suitcases.

"I am leaving. I am leaving. I have had enough," Sammy announced. "With me out of the house? You can get whatever the fuck you want for this ugly ass piece of shit house. That shitty couch that both Estelle and I hated? You can get it. That fucked up little desk that she'll outgrow tomorrow? You can get it. That stupid ass ship's wheel that will look completely ridiculous on the wall of the living room? Pam, you can get it all. You can get whatever the fuck you want"

"I, but, but..." Pam stuttered, truly horrified.

Sammy knew, part of the cause of Pam's panic was, she'd not had any sales for four months. She'd not had any income for four months. The couch, the desk, the gaudy ship's wheel were all out of Pam's reach, unless Sammy pulled his credit card out.

Driving from 1711 Cottonwood Drive, Myndee to his trailer off Connor Parkway in Gratchley, Arkansas took Sammy twenty seven minutes. Twenty eight minutes later, Sammy turned on the air conditioner, plopped his suitcases in the first bedroom and flopped down on the twin sized bed that Estelle had slept on when they'd all lived here. Thankfully, Pam had declared 'that bed is not coming in my house.'

The ceiling fan circulated the warm air while the air conditioner tried gamely to cool down the stuffy trailer. Stuffy or not, warm or not, Sammy was sound asleep in minutes.

Sammy was friends with Mitch Waitley so was able to fast track an appointment with Blair Waitley of Norton, Turner, Bloomberg, Waitley & Associates. Even though Blair was an extremely beautiful red head, it was obvious within moments that Blair was an extremely intelligent woman.

"I put thirty seven thousand into that money pit; twenty five down, plus all the painting and carpet and dumb ass electric switch plates she just had to have," Sammy said. "I know I can't get all of it back, but..."

"At least you won't have keep paying on it," Blair offered.

Jude Werner of Werner, Franklin & Associates was representing Pamela Hutchinson in Coleman V Hutchinson. His very first demand was that Sammy resume paying the mortgage on 1711 Cottonwood Drive. Sammy, through his attorney, refused. Jude then requested counseling. Jude's bloated pasty face became ruddy as Blair giggled at Sammy's whispered response.

Both Jude's and Pam's eyes narrowed when Blair said, "Fine. If your client is willing to pay for it. And your client must also get counseling for herself."

Susan Morrison was a bright, energetic roly-poly woman. Since she was just getting started in her counseling business, the therapist was relatively accessible in terms of hours. And, Sammy deduced, she was fairly inexpensive; Pam was living off of her base salary with Gold Standard Real Estate. The eleven hundred dollar mortgage must be chewing up Pam's income pretty fast.

Susan earned Sammy's respect at their first session when Susan interrupted Pam after just ten minutes of Pam's shrill complaints. Sammy fought down the smirk; he could tell Pam was unhappy at being interrupted.

"My goodness! Let's see. He is stubborn, childish, demanding, selfish, and unimaginative. He doesn't listen, won't admit when he's wrong, refuses to see your side of the argument; Ms. Hutchinson, have I missed anything?" Susan asked, reviewing her notes.

Pam actually paused to think. She threw in that Sammy also cajoled her daughter, Estelle to side with him against Pam. Susan held up her hand to still Pam's next litany of complaints.

"My goodness," Susan repeated. "Then why on God's earth would you even want to stay married to him?"

At that point, Sammy lost the battle against smiling. He smiled as Pam struggled to think of a suitable response. Susan kept her pretty face neutral as she watched Pam's struggle. After a few moments of silence, Susan nodded her head.

"Ms. Hutchinson, that should be your assignment for our next session," Susan declared. "Why should the two of you remain married?"

Susan then swiveled her attention to Sammy. She almost let her professional demeanor slip when she saw the smile on Sammy's face.

"Mr. Coleman," Susan started.

"Ms. Morrison, please, just call me Sammy," Sammy invited. "When I hear 'Mr. Coleman' I think you're talking to my Uncle Rob."

"Oh, and that's another thing; his Uncle Rob..." Pam started to complain again.

"Ms. Hutchinson, I didn't ask you a question. Mr. Cole...Sammy didn't ask you a question. Sammy merely asked me to call him Sammy. Why do you think you need to interject anything here?" Susan said firmly.

"Well, his Uncle Rob..." Pam started.

"We're not talking about his Uncle Rob," Susan said.

"Well, I can see we're not going to get anywhere with this," Pam snapped and got to her feet.

"My fee's the same, whether you stay the full forty five minutes or not," Susan said cheerfully. "And according to Blair Waitley, Mr. Cole...Sammy's attorney, you are the one who is to pay for this session."

Pam didn't respond as she regally swept from the room. Sammy laughed as Pam attempted to slam the door but the hydraulic spring prevented the maneuver.

"So, Sammy, why did you marry Ms. Hutchinson?" Susan asked. "What was it that attracted you to her? What was it about her that made you fall in love?"

Sammy lost the smile as he paused to think about Susan's very probing questions. He was handsome, in a rough-hewn sort of way. He had thick blond hair that he had allowed to grow long; when it was loose, it reached down to his shoulder blades. His square face usually had a dark brown five o'clock shadow. His deep brown eyes sat underneath a thick brown eyebrow that stretched over both eyes. His nose, Sammy had thought of saving up some money and having his nose reduced; it was too big for his liking.

Sammy supposed he took after his father; whomever that might be. Everyone in the Coleman family was brunette.

Gladys Coleman had been a slut in high school and afterward. Throughout her myriad of low paying jobs, Gladys slept with anyone that said 'hi' to her. She had no standards and very rarely ever said 'no' to any request.

At age twenty three, Gladys again found herself in the family way, but instead of having another abortion, Gladys decided to carry Samuel Robert Coleman to full term. Gladys's parents, Samuel and Roberta Coleman had a bellyful of their wayward daughter and refused to help her. Samuel Jr. also refused to help his sister; he was tired of her embarrassing him. Rob, however, was a good, God-fearing man. The Bible told him that his sister was his responsibility and he took the Good Book's good words to heart.

Sammy was just beginning to crawl when Gladys got into the back seat of a married man's car. The man's wife put five bullets into her husband's cheating heart and one bullet into Gladys's head.

"You know, looking at pictures of her, my mom," Sammy said slowly, thoughtfully, "She was a bit of a porker."

"Mm hmm?" Susan asked, pursing her lips at Sammy's use of the word 'porker.'

"Anyway, when I met Pam, she wasn't anything like what you just saw today," Sammy said. "Sweet as sugar, up for anything from a simple hamburger at Frank's to a fancy Italian meal at Geno's."