Yapping Dogs

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

Disclaimers. Yes, I need an editor and no I don't want an editor. If that bothers you, quit reading. Yes, it jumps around too much, yes there's too many people to keep track of, yes it's too long, yes it's too short, yes this is in the wrong category, yes this is stupid shit, and yes, I am a horrible writer, hardly legible, barely literate. Honestly? Why do I even bother?

Simply scroll down to the end and leave your comments based solely on the disclaimers.

For everyone that has not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this little tale.

*.*.*.*

They were in full whine and even Anita Sanchez, the sweet woman that served as librarian was commiserating with them. The six Baylor Lake High School cheerleaders were bitching about how it was so hard to find a good man, a decent man, a man that loved and respected them.

Jared Broussard burst out laughing and the six eighteen year old girls and the thirty one year old woman looked over at him. Two girls looked curious at his laughter, two or three looked annoyed, and the rest glared with obvious contempt.

He wasn't a bad looking young man. He had thick wavy hair, warm brown eyes, and a sweet smile. But because Jared Broussard had no athletic abilities whatsoever, because his handsome face was stuck on a scrawny, short body, none of the girls looked twice at him.

"Oh, why is it so hard, oh why can't I find a nice guy?" Jared mocked.

Now all were glaring angrily at him.

"And why were you eavesdropping?" Tammy Hale sneered, her dislike of Jared dripping from her lips.

"Wasn't eavesdropping; impossible not to hear you whining, yapping dogs," Jared spat, showing them his ear buds. "Trying listen to a little Priest but unless I crank it to maximum overdrive and damage my hearing all I can hear is y'all."

"Whining..." Arielle sputtered.

"Yapping like this annoying little Pomeranian my mom had," Jared confirmed.

"Want to know why you stuck up bitches can't find a good man?" Jared spat, no longer smiling. "Huh? You really want to know why?"

"Oh, do enlighten us," Tamara sneered.

"Because you idiots keep shoving us out of the way," Jared said.

He pointed to Eric Miller, a fat, pimple faced kid that was writing in a spiral bound notebook.

"Eric's one of the nicest guys I know," Jared said. "Y'all know he's a published poet? Of course y'all don't, because he doesn't look like Ritchie Talbot. Ritchie. Really? Grown man, eighteen years old and still being called 'Ritchie?' Grow up. He's not big and cut like Tommy, another eighteen year old still running around with a little boy's name. He doesn't ride around on a motorcycle like Billy."

Jared then pointed to Clifton, a tall, lanky kid, also cursed with horrible skin.

"Or Clifton; y'all know he's going to U.S.C. on a full scholarship? Of course you don't. He's maintained a five point oh GPA for the last three years. But uh, Rochelle, heard you laugh in his face when he asked you to the Homecoming Dance. Went with Tommy instead. How'd you like that nice black eye he gave you? And why'd he give you that black eye? Huh? Oh yeah, because you didn't want to get an abortion, right?"

Rochelle looked stricken, then bolted from the room.

"Too bad about the miscarriage but heard getting kicked in the belly will do that to you," Jared called after her.

"That's enough, Mr. Broussard," Anita Sanchez warned.

"Go ahead, Thunder Thighs, give me the detention," Jared sneered at the chubby woman. "You do know that's what they call you behind your back, right? These stuck up bitches pretend to be your friend to your face, then make fun of you soon as you turn around."

Over the cacophony of 'that's not true' and 'you're such an ass hole' Jared continued his assault.

"Jack asked you out, didn't he, April? And why didn't you go out with him? Oh yeah, because you were with Chad-oh. Wow. Where's Chad-Oh now? Oh! That's right! He's going out with Sandra. Even after you sucked his dope dealer's cock for some meth for him. Gee, why can't you find a man that respects you? I really fucking wonder."

April looked horrified when a few of the people in the library looked at her. Then she burst into tears.

"Oh, why can't I find a good man? I'll tell you why!" Jared screamed at the silent room. "Because you're too God damned narcissistic see the good guys standing right in front of you."

He grabbed his text books.

"Know what? Y'all deserve the shit y'all get. Y'all deserve being shit on, cheated on, slapped around; y'all deserve it, y'all bring it on yourselves. Yeah, yeah, Thunder Thighs, I'll show up for my detention; see y'all," Jared said and left the library.

Three hours later, Jared walked into Mr. Cousins' room. The Science teacher looked up, a confused smile on his face.

"Needed to see me, Mr. Broussard?" he quietly asked as other students were sauntering in for their one hour detentions.

"Uh yeah, thought Ms. Sanchez sent in a slip?" Jared asked.

"No, no, didn't see anything," Mr. Cousins said, looking through the stack of slips that had been sent in from the other teachers.

"See you," Jared smiled.

"God, you're such and ass hole," Leslie Webb, one of the cheerleaders snarled as they passed each other.

"Fuck yourself, Lezzie, I mean, Leslie," Jared snarled in return.

"I am not a lesbian!" Leslie screamed and shoved Jared.

"What?" Jared feigned shock at her outburst.

"Ms. Webb, putting your hands on another student..." Mr. Cousins said, already writing a detention slip for the attractive girl.

"But he called me..." Leslie cried, tears streaming down her pretty face.

"Really? Really? Are we six years old?" Mr. Cousins chided.

"I called her 'Leslie' but I guess that is an ugly thing to say," Jared smiled.

"Oh that is not true," Leslie snapped.

Jared managed to catch his bus just before Bus number 144 pulled away from the school. He was grateful; otherwise it would have been a two and a half mile walk from Baylor Lake High School to his small home in Baylor Lake, Louisiana. Belinda Broussard, his mother greeted him as he walked in the room.

"Oh, why those girls aren't just swarming all over you?" his mother asked, affectionately running a hand through his thick hair.

"Their seeing eye dogs keep getting in the way?" Jared hazarded a guess.

"Got a letter from Vo-Tech," she said.

"Oh God, I hope, I hope," Jared said as he ripped open the letter.

"Yes!" he screamed a moment later. "Welding class! I passed the test; I'm going be a welder."

The next day, Jared tightened up his stomach and approached Leslie as the girl was putting her lunch bag into her locker.

"Leslie? Listen, I, I'm sorry," he said. "That was an ugly thing for me to say."

"Yes it was!" she shrilled at him and stomped away. "And because of you? I got another detention! All I need is one more and I'm suspended, ass hole."

Jared then went to Mr. Cousins and told the teacher what had really happened, why Leslie had reacted the way she had.

"But she still had no reason to put her hands on you," Mr. Cousins pointed out.

"But she was provoked," Jared countered.

"Fine, fine, Mr. Broussard, I'll tear this one up," the man said.

Leslie showed up for her detention, then stared in shock as Mr. Cousins told her that there was no detention.

"Mr. Broussard came in and told me what had happened," the man said as more students filed in for their detentions.

Leslie called April and told her best friend what had happened. April told Tammy Hale and the pretty red head thought about it for a long moment.

If that had been her, either Chad, or Billy, especially Billy would have made sure Tammy earned another detention. This close to graduation, with all the last minute assignments, all the preparations, all those tests and what little window for any extra credit work, a suspension could be devastating for anyone carrying a solid C minus. And Billy would have thought it all great fun watching Tammy scrambling around.

Before most of the cheerleading clique sat down for dinner that evening, they all knew what Jared Broussard had done. He had stood up for one of them, had done the right thing.

"But he's still an ass hole," Tammy muttered to Rochelle. "I mean, what was that shit in the library, right?"

Tammy was speaking to dead air for nearly three minutes before she realized they'd lost their connection. Tammy called Rochelle back, but it went to Rochelle's voice mail.

"Ha ha!" Tammy laughed into the cell phone. "I was just talking and talking; didn't see we weren't even connected anymore; guess you're doing the same thing! Call me back, love you."

Rochelle wasn't still talking. She'd closed her phone, severing the connection. She wiped a tear away.

She had been so happy, she'd actually sang for joy when she had seen the little 'positive' sign on the test strip. A baby. A beautiful little baby. If it was a girl, she could sit and teach her how to play jacks, they'd play dress up together, they'd go to ballet classes.

If it was a boy, he'd be big and handsome just like Tommy. They'd call their baby boy Trey, because Tommy was actually Thomas Huvall, Junior and Trey would be Thomas Huvall the Third.

And Tommy would teach Trey how to throw and how to catch and they'd be her two big handsome men.

"It ain't mine," Tommy had spat, handsome face twisted in bitter contempt.

And when he finally did accept that the baby was his, he demanded that she get an abortion.

"A what? Tommy!" Rochelle had sobbed. "It's our, how could you kill..."

The punch to her face had nearly knocked her unconscious. The savage kick to her belly had caused her to slip into unconsciousness.

She came to at the University Medical Center in Lafayette, Louisiana. When the DeGarde Police Department and the Lafayette Police Department contacted Tommy Huvall, Jr. about his girlfriend's injuries, about her spontaneous miscarriage, the young man claimed he had no idea. They'd been at a party, they'd had a fight, and she'd stormed out. What had happened to her after that? He was just as clueless as they.

"But you catch the son of a bitch..." he said, tears of pain trickling down his handsome face.

Rochelle did break up with Tommy. But he whined, he pleaded, he apologized, he promised things would be better. In time, she'd forgiven him and the makeup sex was less than spectacular. He got on, thrust four or five times, squirted and left to get some beer with Billy and Chad and Mikey.

Now, three weeks before their graduation, Rochelle Esposito wiped more tears away. She'd be seven, eight months along if Tommy hadn't caused her to miscarry. The baby would be kicking merrily, happily in Mommy's tummy. They'd be picking out names if the sonogram had shown it to be a girl.

"Gloria; that was Nana's name," Rochelle sniffled, remembering her beloved grandmother.

They graduated, many went to graduation parties, promised one another they'd stay in touch, they'd be friends forever. Almost none noticed that Eric Miller, or Jared Broussard, or Clifton or Jack or Barry had bothered to show up for any of the clique's parties.

A few of the parents did, though.

"Tammy, you did, you did invite Clifton Abrams, right?" Mrs. Hale asked her daughter. "What a beautiful speech that young man gave."

"Clifton, oh yeah, right, like I'd invite that loser," Tammy sneered.

"Loser?" her mother laughed, a derisive bark. "Tammy, a full academic scholarship to USC? USC? Uh, and where is Mikey going? Oh, that's right, he's not."

The summer toiled along. The few that had college plans did slowly drift away. The ones that didn't have college plans gave grudging attempts to find gainful employment in the small community. They were competing with other recent graduates, college graduates, even some experienced workers that were finding themselves out of a job and scrambling. The economy of 2009 was moderately sluggish at best.

Jared worked hard, studied hard, and soon was hired on with an oilfield company. Underwater welding was the next course of study for him. It was dangerous work, requiring him to learn scuba diving as well as flux-cored welding and gas tungsten welding.

But it was in high demand on the oil rigs and he never had shortage of work. In fact, more than once, he would be coming in when the boat would receive a shore to ship radio call that a boat was being sent to bring him to another rig where they had an emergency.

Jared had just come in from a few weeks off shore when his mother handed him a slip of paper.

'Call Leslie Webb' it said.

He did and Leslie squealed happily. She rambled for a few moments, telling him the latest gossip about this former classmate and that former classmate, the people he had no interest in. Finally, he cut off her happy squeals.

"Uh, Leslie, why are you telling me all this stupid shit?" he asked.

"Jared Michael Broussard, I did not raise you talk like that no," Belinda snapped.

"Oh! I uh, well, I mean," Leslie stammered, caught off-guard by his brusque behavior.

"Seriously, Leslie, I just got in, I'm hot, sweaty, tired. All I want to do is take a shower and die, so if there's a point to this? Please get to it," Jared sighed, turning his back on his mother's disapproving glare.

"Well uh, I mean, Tammy, you remember Tammy, right? She uh, she's having a party tomorrow, I mean, no big deal, just hanging out and..." Leslie stammered.

Jared made a 'hurry up' motion with his hand, but didn't say anything.

"So you want to go?" Leslie asked.

"What? Why?" Jared asked, truly baffled.

Leslie gave some lame reason and Jared shrugged then surprised himself.

"Sure; pick you up, what? About eight? Eight thirty?" he said.

"Well, I uh, I was thinking, you like Mexican? There's that place, out in Bender?" Leslie said.

"Manny's? Best salsa anywhere," Jared agreed. "Good, good, I'll pick you up at what, seven then?"

Jared let his mother scold him for being vulgar on the telephone, for being rude. But she was delighted that her handsome boy had a date.

"Oh! And this your first date!" she exclaimed.

"Mother, Denise Leblanc," he reminded her.

"Hmm? Oh! Oh, that's right. Whatever happened her?" Belinda asked. "She a pretty girl yeah."

"Committed suicide," Jared reminded his mother.

Jared dressed in blue jeans and tee shirt, his usual garb, but Belinda made him go back into his room and put on a nice shirt and a pair of khakis.

Clay Webb looked at the young man that claimed to have a date with his daughter and scoffed. The boy was neatly dressed, he didn't have scruffy facial hair, did not have any visible tattoos, and wasn't reeking of marijuana or alcohol.

In short, the boy was a geek, a dork, not cool enough for Leslie Webb.

"Daddy!" Leslie shrilled.

For the ten minutes they chatted, Clay looked on at Jared Broussard with contempt. Here was a man that still lived at home with his mother. He had a steady income, so why was he driving a piece of shit Toyota, instead of a good car, like a Dodge Challenger, or a Chevy Camaro?

"Bye," Leslie huffed, grabbing Jared and pulling him out of the Webb home.

"We'll never see him again," Clay said to Darlene. "Girl needs a real man, not some little pussy she can just jerk around. Seen way he let her drag them out of here? Needs a man with some balls."

Darlene shook her head, biting her tongue. Clay had been just like Tommy, or Mikey, or Charlie, Leslie's former boyfriends. Clayton George Webb too had peaked in high school but it had taken Clay nearly twenty years to figure out that he was no longer in high school. Their only income had been Darlene's inheritance from her father, and had her father not locked her inheritance down tight, Clay would have drained that money.

"What?" Clay demanded as Darlene didn't respond. "Huh? It wrong for a father want what's best for his little girl?"

"All my daddy wanted," Darlene agreed.

"Well, you got me," Clay preened smugly.

"Uh huh," Darlene said.

While Darlene was wondering why she'd ever fallen in love with Clay, why she'd ever let the buffoon get her pregnant, Leslie was prattling happily as Jared drove them to Manny's. Her happiness both amused and confused Jared.

He had asked Leslie out, once, when they were in their junior year of high school. He had just obtained his driver's license, and had bought his uncle's old Cutlass Supreme.

Leslie had laughed in Jared's face and had informed him if he was the last man on earth, she still wouldn't go out with him.

He also looked at her outfit. His mother had browbeat him into putting on a nice shirt, a nice pair of slacks. Yet Leslie was dressed in shorts, simple pull over blouse, and flip flops.

Leslie was thrilled when they pulled up in Manny's parking lot. Charlie, or Mikey would agree to go to Manny's, then at the last minute say that they were going to Clark's Drive-In instead. Or A Taste of Cicely, which she absolutely loathed.

Jared opened her car door, helped her out of the car, and opened the restaurant's heavy glass door for her. He let her order first, let her drink his glass of water when the fiery salsa burned her throat.

"So, uh, Leslie?" Jared finally interrupted her happy prattle.

"Yeah?" she smiled, tossing her long brown hair back.

"Not that I mind, but uh, last time I asked you out? You told me you wouldn't go out with me if I was the last man on Earth," Jared reminded her.

The happy smile faded. She looked down at the table top, then looked back up.

"Yeah, well, I was wrong for that," she admitted.

She grabbed his hands, his rough, calloused hands. She even twisted his hand so she could stare at his callouses.

"God, hands are rough!" she commented.

"Comes with the job; I wear gloves, but still," he shrugged.

"You uh, you remember you went to Cousins? Told him I didn't deserve that detention?" Leslie asked.

"Yeah?" Jared said, not really remembering the moment.

"I uh, Billy? He would have made fucking sure I got another detention, made sure my ass got that suspension," Leslie said.

"And it took you almost two years say thank you?" Jared asked as she traced his palm with her finger.

"Yeah," she admitted.

When they showed up at Tammy's house, Leslie's happy bubbly mood had returned.

In high school, Jared Broussard had very little in common with the popular clique. Two years later, he still had very little in common with them. Tommy and Charlie were loudly bragging how much they could bench press, Billy was showing Chad and Mikey and Ritchie his latest prison tattoo and the girls disappeared into Tammy's bedroom to laugh, squeal and gossip.

"Broussard, how much can you bench?" Chad sneered.

"Don't know, never tried," Jared said honestly.

"Think Wayne's still got his set in the garage," Ritchie, Tammy's boyfriend of the month offered.

"Hundred bucks says I can bench a hundred pounds more than you can, do twice as many reps," Tommy challenged.

Jared shrugged. He was still slight of build, but did lug his welding machine around, did lug his scuba gear around. And Tommy looked a little softer than he had in high school. His belly did protrude over his belt now.

"All right, let's say I do oh, one hundred pounds, uh, twenty times," Jared clarified. "You're saying you'll do two hundred pounds forty times, right?"

"Right," Tommy sneered.

The girls filed out of Tammy's bedroom and trooped into the garage. Jared showed them his one hundred dollar bill and Tommy had to beg borrow and threaten to scrounge together his one hundred dollars.

"Hmm," Jared said, testing the weight of one hundred pounds. "Let's add a hundred more, huh?"

Tommy began to sweat as Jared easily hefted the two hundred pounds and did twenty five reps in quick order.