"Where are you going?"
She was hurriedly putting on her jacket, her hair and makeup faultless. Perfume clung to her skin, pervading the surrounding air. She looked surprisingly hot. Sexy even. Not that he was about to tell her; he couldn't have her feeling good about herself.
"Are you going to answer me, piggy?"
He stood behind her; she could feel him glaring at her. Spinning on her heel, she returned his steely gaze, hands on hips. "It's none of your business. After what you've done today, you don't deserve any answers."
"Hey, I already told you that was your fault!" Poking her soft belly with his index finger, he emphasized his point.
She shook her head, exasperated. "Every time you make fun of me, you make it less and less of your business what I'm up to. Now why don't you go and set your derriere down in there and make yourself comfortable. The kids will be back in an hour, so relax while you can!"
"My derri what? You think you're so bloody clever don't you?" She didn't answer, brushing past him to get her bag from the kitchen. "You're not going anywhere porky, this is my Friday night out. I've got it marked on the calendar." Standing in her way in the corridor, he folded his arms across his chest. "What you going to do now? Use your weight to knock me over?" He laughed at his own joke, closing his eyes and arching backward until he was facing the ceiling, rocking on his heels at his own hilarity.
Taking a chance, she gave him a swift kick to the balls. Surprise was etched all over his face as he doubled over, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, his hands at his crotch, his mouth shaped in a formless 'O'.
"Don't wait up," she hissed, walking past him and opening the door before turning back to look at him. He was panting for breath, leaning against the wall. "Oh and darling, your dinner's in the trash can." With that, she turned and strolled out the door, slamming it behind her.
Mary Jo felt a sense of freedom as she steeped outside, the cool night air brushing her glowing cheeks. She climbed into her red Plymouth Sundance, smiling, happy that her poor excuse for a husband was missing his precious poker night.
Starting the engine she pulled out of the drive, not entirely sure where she was headed. She had nothing planned. Her friends would already have their own agendas and she quickly dismissed the idea of visiting her sister, deciding that she needed something more than a quiet night in with a sympathetic ear.
So what could she do? Stopping at a red light, her eyes focused on the poster tied to a lamppost. The Chippendales! Now there was an idea. Tonight was their big night in Scanton. Hell, why not? It would be the perfect escape from her tedious existence in Wilkes-Barre, and more importantly, from her nasty-ass cheating husband. She shoved her
50 Cent
tape into the player and made for the highway, her head nodding in time to the beat.
As she drove, Mary Jo thought about Scanton's reputation for housing more than its fair share of shady characters. Even with that in mind, she wasn't worried. Surely it wasn't possible for anything else bad to happen to her today. Upon arriving home from work early, she'd found her husband bending a stick insect of a girl over the dining table with his pants round his ankles, screwing her with twice the energy he'd ever put into their lovemaking. What really made her angry, however, was that the stick insect was having what sounded like the biggest orgasm in the history of the universe.
The insensitive bastard then had the nerve to tell her that he'd only done it because she was fat and unattractive. She'd have been crushed a year ago, but she was different now, a new woman. For starters, she'd shed over eighty pounds in the last twelve months. Okay, so she wouldn't describe herself as slim at 160 pounds, but compared to what she used to weigh, she felt amazing.
Then there were her cyber-admirers. Since discovering the wonders of the internet, she'd met her fair share of men on line (not to mention a couple of admiring females) who thought she was anything but a 'fat piggy'. A few choice photos of her thong-encased ass or bra-free 44DD's usually had them either groveling for more, asking for her phone number, or sending her pictures of their own naked bits. In one case, she'd even received a proposal of marriage! She laughed at the memory. Some people were just crazy! Shame none of the good-looking younger ones lived nearby. She'd have been round there before you could say, 'what's good for the goose...'
* * * * *
Gary Fitzpaldi was nervous. Tonight was his first night on his new job, and this was no ordinary job. His instructions from his boss, Guiseppi, were to flag down the female client in the red Plymouth Acclaim, pretend to need help, make sure she gave him a ride to Scanton, and on the way make her pull over and rape her. His cover story was that he was a Chippendale and if he didn't get help, he'd miss tonight's performance. She was a fan of the male dance troupe and a sure-fire bet to help him out. Her husband had set up and paid for it. Her biggest fantasy was about to become a reality and it was his responsibility to make certain that it lived up to all her lurid expectations.
She knew it was going to happen, she just didn't know when or how. Her husband had booked it two months ago and they had a six-month window in which to grab her. Gary felt comforted by that, since she was less likely to freak out when he made his move. Even if she did go nuts, his instructions were to get on with it. Their customer satisfaction surveys had shown that the majority of women enjoyed it more when fighting back against their captor.
He was trying to remember the woman's name as another truck roared past him on the dusty highway. He couldn't drag it from his memory and it didn't really matter. Probably for the best that he didn't know who she was. When he'd taken the job with the
Turn fantasies into Reality
company, he'd envisaged only fun scenarios. He hadn't banked on the women being the wrong side of forty with larger than average figures, which was exactly what he was getting tonight. Hopefully, his next assignment would be a little more appealing. All he had to do right now was think of the money. He had a cool $100 burning a hole in his pocket, another $100 to come after the job was complete, and a bonus $100 was up for grabs if he delivered 'extra satisfaction.'
His eyes continued to scan the approaching traffic, focusing on a red dot on the horizon. He wasn't great with cars but he knew the Plymouth Acclaim looked a little like an old Volvo -square shaped, with rectangle headlights. His aunt had owned one. "Excellent safety features," she always said when taking him anywhere, as if to compensate for her lack of competence behind the wheel.
The red dot drew larger and it looked like a match. Single driver. Yeah, this looked like her. He stepped off the edge of the road as it grew nearer. The driver was female. It had to be her. His white linen shirt flapped in the wind as he raced to the centre of the road, waving his arms about like a crazed human windmill.
Mary Jo saw him late and hit her brakes hard, closing her eyes and bracing herself for impact. Fortunately the car responded with aplomb, smoke blooming from the tires as it ground to a halt, inches from the crazy man's knocking knees.
Shakily, Gary made his way around to the driver's window, his heart beating ten to the dozen, his palms clammy.
"H-hi," he stuttered.
"What the fuck do you think you were doing?" screamed Mary Jo, winding down her window. "Did you want to kill both of us?"
