Porn Again

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FREE Excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Sweet oblivion. Pure, sweet, uncorrupted oblivion…that’s what she tasted like on our first night together, and I dined on her soul like a madman in the most beautiful prison in which there was no escape. Candace Rhodes was her name…’Candy’, as I liked to call her, and man did she ever taste like the sweetest candy on Earth. Fresh out of college, the employment boom in South Florida wasn’t so much a boom for me as it was a faint trickle; a stark reminder of the challenges of life in the Bush economy. Somehow, the dream of one day owning a nice, palatial home in Miami withered down to a modest 2-bedroom dwelling in the Victoria Park section of Fort Lauderdale. Still, those early years with Candace made it all the more enjoyable and special.

“Don’t worry love, we’ll make it work. Just stay positive,” she would often say with that playful gleam in her eye that suggested she knew something I didn’t. That was often the case.

Even now I can still see her standing there, with the brilliance of the morning sun enveloping her like something out of a classic film. Her voice, delicate yet filled with passion; sometimes I still can’t get enough of it. Introduced to her by my piece of shit brother who shall remain nameless, she too was fresh out of college and working in an art gallery. Personally, I don’t care too much for art. To be honest, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Monet and a Dali, and neither could my brother for that matter. When the son of a bitch introduced us, it was on a double date that he’d setup. Candace had a college friend in town for two weeks that she was entertaining and thought it might be a great night out for all of us. Needless to say, my brother had that famous Craigslist look in his eyes the first time he saw the poor woman’s nipples peeking out from behind a modest blouse. I should’ve seen this coming sooner. To this day, I still can’t remember what her name was, but I do remember why my brother’s interests along with his hormones were on high alert. His latest potential victim was nearly the spitting image of that 80’s movie star and teen icon Molly Ringwald. Star of such popular John Hughes films as Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club, nearly every guy in America had a major crush on that woman at some point. It must have been something about those lips, and if you’ve never heard of Molly Ringwald, you missed out. True, they were cool films but personally I was always a classics man, Casablanca in particular.

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine…”

Eager to make a great impression or a believable show of bullshit, my brother decided that we should all visit an art gallery, followed by dinner, drinks and drunken ass fucking for the rest of the night. Granted, he didn’t put it in those exact words, but you get the idea. The bastard even dressed for the occasion, donning his best clearance suit from the Men’s Warehouse complete with a rolled up tube sock stuffed in his pants to make his dick look bigger than it really was. Sometimes I couldn’t tell what was worse, the idea that he thought that actually worked, or the fact that he always managed to find a woman dumb enough to fall for it. My brother, the failed attempt by our parents of breeding what could be considered a decent, respectable male was a nymphomaniac jackass from the beginning. For instance, back when we were kids…

***

A much younger version of the man in question finished his daily routine of raking leaves off the freshly mowed lawn and bagged them up near the side of the house. Another bright and sunny, picturesque day in South Florida, he thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the neighbor across the street watering her lawn. Mrs. Harrison. ‘Darling’ as she was affectionately known in the neighborhood, every man on the block went out of his way to be nice to her. Whether it was helping her move new furniture into her home or little kids helping carry the groceries back from the store, she almost never lifted a finger on her own. Maybe it was her sunny disposition and affectionate nature…or maybe it was just the biggest pair of boobs a growing kid had ever seen complete with a body that both Bettie Page and Marilyn Monroe would’ve killed for. The ‘Mrs.’ part came from the fact that she had been married for six years, although very few in the neighborhood ever saw her husband. Some said he was in the military. Others claimed he was a traveling salesman, but no one really knew for sure. What was known was the fact that everyday at 4 p.m. when Mrs. Harrison would head outside to water her lawn, it was definitely MUST SEE TV. Decked out in one of her tightest summer outfits, she always gave a great show, bending over in poses that she had to know people were waiting for, especially us kids. While most of us along with the adults pretended not to notice, my brother was usually perched high up in the tree just outside our bedroom window with his trusty camera. For 50 cents a pop, every kid in the neighborhood got their own personalized Polaroid snapshot of Mrs. Harrison in her finest poses. A dollar got lucky customers nude shots directly from her bedroom window, which was somehow always cracked open. She was quite the exhibitionist, as we kids could attest to from all the weird noises coming from her bedroom late at night, to which either the mailman or local preacher always had to sneak out before morning.

Heading inside for a fresh glass of juice, he grew visibly frustrated from the absence of his older brother who was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was a virtual collage of trash, dirty dishes and scraps of food scattered everywhere, with loud music blaring from one of the upstairs rooms. The parents were nowhere to be seen. The little boy stormed up the stairs in a huff, his run-down sneakers nearly burning holes in the carpeted steps as he made his way up. A scowl slithered across his face as he stepped into his bedroom…but all that changed very quickly.

Much to his shock and dismay, the room was littered with pictures of completely nude women ripped from the pages of Playboy Magazine, along with other graphic pictures torn from their father’s hidden stash of porno magazines. Breasts, asses and photos of men and women doing things the kid could have never dreamed of were all over the place. On the edge of his freshly made bed sat none other than his brother…stark naked with a sly grin on his face, magazine in hand…and a rather large tube sock stuffed over his penis…

See what I mean?

***

Back to the night in question. It was a high class, sophisticated, bourgeois and rather boring affair filled with indecipherable banter of ‘post-modern this’, ‘expressionistic that’. Personally, I could’ve cared less about some poor bastard who went crazy and cut off his ear. The only thing I could think of…was Candace. Even now I can remember what she was wearing. A very form fitting black dress, which kissed every curve of hers beautifully, caught my attention from the moment she said hello. She had these big eyes, nervous and shy, complete with that smile that stirred something deep within. After the initial introduction, she and I hit it off very well, spending hours on the phone like two high school teenagers talking about everything from favorite movies to books. It was the first time in my life I’d found a female that I felt completely comfortable confiding in, which was great news for our parents. For years, they all but ignored the exploits of my brother and instead focused on my love life, or lack thereof. Yet when Candace came along, that changed everything.

In spite of my complete ignorance of all things artistic, Candace was such a sweetheart, grabbing me by the arm and teaching me things that I’d never cared about before. She playfully educated me on the greatness of artistic giants like Van Gogh, Salvador Dali and Barnett Newman. Every time she casually touched my hand, I could feel this intense electricity just from our fingertips meeting. My brother on the other hand, his grubby paws were all over that poor woman’s ass the entire time. To his credit, she seemed to enjoy it. In spite of this, I was completely under Candace’s spell for the duration of the night. Ever had one of those nights that you just never wanted to end? Well that’s what this was. Every step of the way, I could feel my heart beating faster and faster. It was almost as if the paintings on the walls were suddenly coming alive, and I was now drowning in some surrealist portrait straight from the hallowed confines of the world famous Louvre itself. I couldn’t help staring at her, blushing at the way she ran her delicate fingers through fiery red locks of hair…and those freckles? Oh my God! She was the perfect ginger if there ever was one. The more time we spent walking along the corridors of the gallery, I couldn’t help but find myself strolling a few steps behind her to catch a faint glimpse of her figure. Every line of her was sublime perfection; every movement of her was picturesque poetry in motion, from the curl of her neck all the way down to a very nice and toned ass just waiting to be tasted. And those legs were the stuff of a dancer’s dream. Every now and then, she would look back and catch me undressing her with my eyes, to which she’d always flash a playful wink and smile. I could do nothing more but smile back.

Dinner that night was a dizzying blur of stimulating conversation, wine and subtle flirting that was beginning to make me sweat. Candace had this way of drawing a man into her eyes, nearly draining him of all sense of logic and reason. I tried desperately to listen to her words and respond in kind, but the blood in my brain couldn’t stop rushing down South. We playfully fed each other from our respective plates along with dessert. God, I wanted to taste her so badly. Across the table, I could sense my brother’s usual charm working its magic, as I caught him whispering his usual pornographic sonnets in his date’s ear. Her face lit up every time, and I could easily sense him slowly guiding her hands underneath the table to his crotch. Yep, it was going to be one of those nights…but somehow I didn’t give a damn. I had been blessed to spend time with an absolute ravishing woman…and those freckles. Goddamn those freckles! They caught me every time. She inched closer to me and we continued whatever the fuck we were talking about. Her fragrance suited her perfectly, dulling my senses even further. She was so close; I could feel her breath on me, welcoming it…tasting it. Once again, our fingertips just barely grazed each other, and I could feel the perspiration building as our eyes met. Her lips were so close, and I wanted to feel them so badly that the anticipation was maddening. I’m pretty sure she could feel me bulging below, to which she welcomed it with a wicked smile. I could quickly feel my stomach sinking as she placed her hand in my lap, stroking the length of it…waiting for it. She wouldn’t have to wait long.

The cab ride back to my brother’s apartment could’ve easily been something out of Taxicab Confessions, as the driver, a tall and gangly Eastern European by the name of Yorge quizzed us on some rather personal shit that was beginning to annoy me. I probably would have said something if it hadn’t been for Candace siting on my lap, making a playful habit of adjusting herself on my crotch in an attempt to feel the full effect of it. Having her skin so close to mine drove me crazy. Silky smooth and delicious, I eagerly awaited the answer as to just how tasty she really was. When we got back to the apartment, I never got a chance to admire my brother’s sudden talent for keeping a tasteful and clean living space. With several glasses of wine coursing through our systems, Candace and I wasted no time in making our way to the couch, kissing as if it would be the last time we would ever see each other again. My brother eagerly dragged his all too excited new trophy into his bedroom where there was no telling what sick and depraved shit he had in store for her.

Candace’s eyes locked deeply into mine, and everything got dizzy. My breathing quickly intensified as we stripped each other completely bare. My mind urged me to savor the moment and slowly undress this beautiful work of art standing in front of me but…fuck that. I couldn’t wait any longer. Goddamn. She truly was the perfect ginger. Her lips locked on to mine again, tasting like the sweetest death and the sweetest life all into one. Tongues merging into one, I grabbed a full mane of red, curly hair, pulling her back as I took my time tracing the surface of her lips, making my way down her neck.

“Aww fuck yeah bitch! Suck my cock! Suck it you fucking whore!”

I swear to God, my brother was a complete fucking asshole. We could hear nearly every word and grunt coming through the wall along with that God-awful sound of his date gagging on him. It almost sounded as if some sick bastard was choking a seal. Candace kissed me softly, directing my attention back to her. In the faint light creeping through the huge windows, she looked as if she was the epitome of love’s greatest design…and somehow I was but a mere mortal blessed with the opportunity to be with her. My body hovered over hers’ savoring every last sight of the meal as her soft legs suddenly wrapped around me. We kissed each other for what seemed to be an infinite moment, with time no longer becoming a concept either one of us could fathom. The way she smelled and tasted could drive any man crazy…and I was just getting started. No motion was wasted, spending every moment to take in the essence of her, kissing every inch on my way down. Every nerve of hers was responsive to the touch, and I could feel her nipples growing even more erect as I made my way toward them, nibbling, kissing and sucking along the way.

“That’s a good girl. That’s such a good girl. Take it all the way down. Take it balls deep! Oh my God, you nasty bitch!”

         “Don’t stop,” Candace whispered as she could feel my brother’s antics really annoying me. Still, I couldn’t help but lose myself once again in her. Every bit of flesh was exquisite, as I could almost taste her heartbeat, softly tracing my lips down her body. She was so warm, yet I could easily feel her shivering with anticipation. Matching in intensity was my own growing erection that was nearly rubbing a hole in the cheap carpet on the floor. I continued making my way down, kissing her waist, followed by her hips and inner thighs. She relented with only a faint whimperas the anticipation was growing to such an extent that it could’ve killed us both. I playfully kissed everywhere except for one spot, but even I couldn’t hold on any longer. Candace quickly arched her back as if a jolt of electricity shot through her as I kissed it softly. There’s something about the very first taste of a woman that you just never forget. Now if you’re one of these typical male ego-dominated jackasses like for example-

“Take it you fucking slut! Whose pussy it? Whose pussy is it???”

Yep…like this ignorant fuck in the other room, you never truly learn the very important fact that tasting a woman isn’t just something you do to apologize for whatever you fucked up this time. It also isn’t something you do just because she asked for it and won’t stop talking about it. Tasting a woman, ‘eating pussy’ or whatever you want to call it is nothing less than a privilege that most men never fully learn to appreciate. Sadly to say, it took me quite a long time to finally figure this out. Granted I had my share of wild days in college, but being with Candace was different. Somehow, she’d unlocked something deep within me that had been repressed for a while, and I wanted to thank her in kind. That first taste was like being baptized all over again, and I savored every drop as if I would never see her again. Like I said, there’s something about that first taste that you just never forget. In that moment, you realize that not only is a woman the greatest thing God ever created…you also realize that in creating her, He was just showing off. She had a taste that lingered in one’s memory like the sweetest of fruit, and every time I could feel her inner thighs twitch, I wanted to please her even more. Her slick wetness dripping from my fingers, we shared the taste of her in between sessions of pleasing her more, dining on her relentlessly. It all felt like the greatest dream…

Drowning within a sea of pleasure and pain, I see my reflection magnified through your energy, sparking chakras into flame. I can’t find my way through this maze, but to be lost in the nightmare is as sweet as Sunday morning, as tempting as the first bite and as beautifully painful as a climax before death. Dancing circles in each other’s existence, can I be with you? Or better yet can I be you? Can I exist within the surface of your flesh, sparking the blood to boil? Can I be the catalyst that sparks the mind, or the water that cools the soul? Can I be the fire that burns through your memory? Can I be the quiet whisper in your dreams? Can I be the nightmare you love to relive, injecting your planet with my memories and fears? Pain and passion intertwined with venom and virtue, till we wake up in the mirror…till we become the mirror, till we are the same reflection. So potent is the perception of becoming both your friend and enemy, the energy is so explosive. The fear is so potent, it will consume us eventually-until we become but ashes and passion, burning within the surface of the mirror. Can you see me? Can you be me? Can you feel my thoughts at your weakest point? Can you feel us destroying each other, only to relive the danger again…and again?

         It seemed almost an eternity that I had her thighs wrapped around me, enjoying the very breath of her. I didn’t want to tear myself away from the taste, but I had to enjoy her in every way. Quickly she clung to me as I sat up, clutching on to me as she kissed me deeply, wanting to once more feel the taste of herself from my lips. I wasted no time in lifting her up, her thighs tightly wrapped around me before slowly letting her drift down on it…

Letting her feel just a bit…and then right back out.

It wouldn’t be that easy, and the anticipation was staggering, judging from the bite mark she placed onto my shoulder. As did I, she wanted it so badly. Something had to give. I laid her back down on the floor, staring deeply into her, giving her the sweetest of kisses as I began to tease her again…

Giving her a bit more…and then right back out once again.

The sight of her biting her lips in frustration was beginning to turn me on even further. Her body began to shake, begging for it as she tired to position herself forward. Every single time her precious lips got close to taking it in, I would pull back, feeling that familiar slick wetness drip down to the floor.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

And how could I resist? How could I not indulge myself once more in what had to have been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? I leaned in slowly, and she pulled me deeper into her…

All the way…

Every single bit of me inside her, we both nearly struggled to catch our breath as I held every bit of it deeply within. Grabbing me from behind, she pulled me even deeper inside, as we ravished each other madly throughout the seemingly endless hours of that beautiful night. It came as a surprise to no one in the months that followed how close we grew as a couple…all the way up to the day we exchanged vows. Sweet oblivion. Pure, sweet, uncorrupted oblivion…that’s what she tasted like on our first night together, and I dined on her soul like a madman in the most beautiful prison in which there was no escape. Candace Rhodes was her name…’Candy’, as I liked to call her, and man did she ever taste like the sweetest candy on Earth. I was truly a man living the most beautiful and picturesque life…but unfortunately, that all seemed like ages ago. Fast forward to several years later…

***

Fuck my life. It’s quite amazing how shit happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re stepping out into a brave and beautiful new world with the love of your life on your arm and success on the horizon. Next thing you know you’re stressed out, reeking of beer, piss, cheap perfume and drinking away your sorrows in a place reeking of sweat, semen and sorry ass motherfuckers. For instance, this quality piece of work over here…

His weary and bloodshot eyes ventured through the dismal fog of cigarette and cigar smoke permeating the club to one of many patrons sitting at a table off the far right of the stage. Dollar bills and drinks danced throughout the club like banshees, as statuesque strippers danced, frolicked and mingled about in search of their next hustle. It was another hectic Friday night at Sensations, one of the most upscale and premier clubs in the area. Yes sir, the most perfect tits and ass that surgeons could supply were on full display tonight. None of this mattered to the man, as he stared off at the slightly rotund gentlemen entertaining a stripper enticing him for a lap dance. Even through the fog of smoke, the man could easily notice that distinctive marking on his ring finger; the one that a wedding ring leaves on the skin after someone finally takes it off. That cheating son of a bitch.

Now here is this fat fuck throwing away his car payments, house payments and possible future child support payments on some stripper whose cunt has probably been banged to shit in the back. Fucking disgusting man. Absolutely fucking disgusting.

The man then turned his attention in the direction of a rather obnoxious and drunken group of older women at another table, all cheering one of them on as another stripper was grinding on the birthday girl and rubbing her tits in the woman’s face. He could do no more than shake his head as the others cheered loudly while smacking the dancer’s ass. For them, it was probably the first time in their lives that they’d ever touched another woman’s ass…probably acting out their repressed L Word fantasies straight from DVR or Netflix. Fucking posers.

It never ceased to amaze me how these so-called ‘cougars’ manage to escape their quaint, middle-class, White-bred, shithole lives and head down South in search of some young hump to replace the hapless and cheating bloke back home. Seems like every weekend after another, they come to town hitting up the local bars and hotspots with their knockoff fashions and makeup; diving for dicks in Dolce, or cunnilingus in Cavalli. These poor souls were either looking to have a statutory fling to remind themselves of their youthful fire…or to replace old heartache back home with new heartache, a light purse and a possible yeast infection. Some people just never learn. You can dress it up, doll it up and drink till you can’t stand straight or remember the previous night, but in the morning…all the stress and strain of the cheating husband, the kids’ soccer practice, the mortgage and the inevitability of age itself will be right there with that first Bloody Mary waiting for you. Bottoms up…

Having enough of the dreadful scenery, the poor unfortunate soul spun around on his stool, facing the bar. The man sitting directly to his right was overly drunk and engrossed in his conversation, leaving his freshly lit cigar unattended. The man thought about it for a moment, and figured why the fuck not, before swiping the cigar and taking a long, slow drag from it. The taste was robust and memorable, his first cigar in quite a while, harkening back to that bright, beautiful morning after his night with Candy. To his immediate left, a woman was being enticed by another dancer. Damn shame that she should leave a perfectly concocted drink sitting so lonely at the bar. Fuck it, he thought as he confiscated it and gulped it down. Oh my God. Who the fuck drinks Chartreuse in a strip club?

Oh, I almost forgot…pardon my manners. Harper Downman’s the name, but my friends and overbearing family call me Happy. What the fuck do I have to be so happy about? Who the fuck knows? Happy lifted the bracing glass of alcohol to his freshly bruised black eye, wincing a little from the pain of what came before. And what about me you ask? Why do I seem so cynical and bitter? What did I do to be so black and blue?

Bear with me…

PART ONE

Another boring day in paradise, Happy mused to himself as he carefully studied the annoying flash of the cheap alarm clock staring at him. Morbid, maniacal and outright disturbing in its cadence, his seemingly innocuous glance erupted with fervor as he slammed his hand down hard on the device, silencing it. Slowly lifting himself from the soft and secure confines of his bed, Happy studied every corner of his modern yet tasteful bedroom. Everything from the wallpaper and furnishings to the rather extravagant king sized bed reeked of a virtual Pottery Barn catalogue. If he didn’t know better, he could almost envision prices materializing before his very eyes to the tune of Candy’s voice as they debated for hours on the layout and overall palette when they first moved in. Perfectly polished and pristine wall sconces framed a beautifully grand mirror that directly faced their bed.

Man if that mirror could speak, the shit it could say…

No matter what anyone says, morning sex was always the best. The first crack of dawn when you get that erection that’s just too stubborn to go down no matter what, and she rolls over on her side, draping her leg over you…goddamn. Before you know it, you’re both biting and clawing away at each other, tearing into flesh, and you’re pulling her hair back and fucking her so hard she gets dizzy…and you know damn well you’re both running late for work. The best was always when you convinced her to call in sick for work. She struggles to catch her breath while attempting to maintain a conversation with her boss. Everything seems to go well, and just when she least expects it, you enter her deeply, nearly making her scream. Good times man. Good times…

Fast forward to today…

Surveying his bedroom, Happy took a moment to notice the abundance of simplicity and monotony that had long gored its tentacles into a once youthful life. The morning breeze bursting through the window swayed through the fine fabric of his pajamas, annoying an erection that now only bulged in mechanical redundancy. He staggered to the mirror, taking in the sight of a man whose once vibrant outlook on life had now been beaten down, homogenized and weathered by a world of bills, car payments, mortgage payments and the like. He would have loved to take a boat out for some fishing, or drive down to Miami Beach for a decadent night of bright lights, dancing and much needed frivolity. Alas, dinner dates with either family or friends over useless banter now became his routine, albeit in between rather sparse occasions of what might be considered lovemaking with the wife. Now in his 30’s, Happy had fallen victim to the very morbid realization that married couples didn’t have sex, and they certainly didn’t fuck. They simply engaged in ‘coitus’ every once and a while. Yeah, that’s right…coitus. It’s a much more reserved, more civilized word. Sophisticated, refined, clinical…and completely fucking dreadful. And on most nights, even that didn’t happen. For example…

***

A few nights prior while living off the high of finally mustering the courage to go to the gym, Happy decided to try his newfound stamina in the bedroom. Not that he was exactly out of shape, his once youthful figure was now only slightly stocky, with barely visible signs of love handles and the usual wear and tear of life in your 30s. Not much in terms of stretch marks, but his overall lack of energy and fire coupled with the faint sight of blooming grey in his otherwise bushy hair was beginning to get to him. A friend suggested cardio training; 30-45 minute sessions on the elliptical. Happy instead insisted on going for an hour. The place was a virtual gleaming palace of technology, coupled with the grunts and groans of clanging and banging…clanging and banging. Jacked up, way too tanned douchebags with frosted tips obsessing over Smart Water and calorie counts worked on their dips, delts and squats. Women stretched and moved in ways that Happy hadn’t seen in a long time…and I do mean a long damn time. For a moment, it was hard to maintain consistency not to mention his fragile male pride when there’s some arrogant fuck bouncing 225 off his chest and another kid working traps and looking as if he was carved straight out of granite. His pride took another hit as the woman on the elliptical next to him smiled playfully as she continued working the hell out of the machine, pumping faster and faster. Happy couldn’t help but look over, noticing that her machine was set to a resistance level of 10. Motherfucker. Just keep moving Hap. Just keep moving.

Reinvigorated from his workout and the shower that later followed, he emerged from the bathroom to catch the first sight of his wife in bed wearing nothing but a loose tank top and underwear while reading a book.

“Don’t forget, we’re having dinner with Stacy and Rob tomorrow night,” Candy mumbled.

“Who?”

“Seriously Hap, I’ve introduced you to her like five times already. Your memory’s getting ridiculous.”

“Is this the Stacy who sells those ridiculous thingamajigs?” Happy asked dreadfully.

The absurdity of the question caused Candy to lift her eyes from the book she was heavily engrossed in, flashing him that condescending look that she became known for.

“Those thingamajigs? I believe they’re called couples’ products,” she snarled. Yes Hap, she sells couples’ products and makes quite a decent bit of money doing it. Lord knows it’s not exactly a bad idea in this economy.”

Here we go with the dreaded economy again, Happy thought. As if the day’s full out assault on his pride wasn’t enough, the last thing he needed to hear was more pissing and moaning about the shape of the nation’s economy. ‘The Great Recession’, they were calling it. Bush got the blame for everything: the economy, the war, and the healthcare circus that raised more than just pulses. Yet in spite of this, America actually believed that somehow Obama was actually going to wave a magic wand and fix everything. That’s the way it always was in this country: blame everything bad on the guy going out and roll the dice as hard as you could on the one coming in. In the end, it really didn’t matter whom you placed your bet on. As they say in Vegas, ‘the house always wins’. Still, Happy was always one for thinking positive, but Barack Obama??? Give me a break.

“Don’t bring the Lord in this,” Happy commanded. “Somehow I don’t think God is somewhere telling people to sell sex toys as a means to cope with the economy. Stacy does that because she’s a freak, pure and simple.”

“Oh my God, you have to be one of the most closed-minded people I have ever met,” she said as she threw a pillow at him. “There is nothing wrong with selling couples’ products Hap. It’s a legitimate business that’s thriving. Lots of women and men are doing it nowadays as a side gig. It can be a lot of fun not to mention informative.”

“I’m sorry love,” Happy laughed. “I just fail to see how a dildo of all things is going to fix the deficit. And wait a minute…did I just hear you say that men are selling these things now?”

“Yeah. And?”

“And I’ll bet I know exactly what type. Gay men.”

This had been a sore subject for a while between the two. While Candy was the more liberal and open minded of them, Happy was always a bit conservative, especially on the subject of same-sex relations. Thanks to his conservative upbringing, marriage was considered a sacred union between a man and a woman only.

“Hap, don’t start that again. It’s not funny.”

“Let me guess,” he continued. “They can sell the hell out of those butt plug things,” he playfully quipped as he jumped on the bed, arching his ass straight up in the air.

Candy erupted with laughter as she climbed on top of him, pinning him down to the bed.

“So you’re saying you want a little ass play every now and then?”

The question alone offended him.

“Hey! We talked about this before. Real men do not take it up the ass! Where are you getting this sick shit from anyway? Is it Stacy? Is this the type of bullshit that she and Rob do behind closed doors?”

“Why does everything always have to be so serious with you?”

Happy didn’t respond. The indignant look slithering across his face was more than enough.

“Forget about it Hap. Forget I said anything. You know, it would be nice to communicate with you every once in a while about these-“

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, nearly startling her.

“What?”

“Rob takes it up the ass doesn’t he?”

“Oh my God! You’re completely ridiculous!”

“Son of a bitch, I can’t believe it! He’s a total half a fag!”

Candy gave him a hearty punch in the gut.

“Don’t talk about my friend like that. Rob is a good person. You could learn a lot from him. He not only listens to Stacy, but he supports her 100% in her new business venture.”

“And to think I went out for a beer with him once,” Happy mused to himself.

“Unlike some people I know, Rob’s a great listener and receptive to Stacy’s needs. He’s passionate, sophisticated, open-minded-“

“Yeah, I remember him recommending this place over in Wilton Manors. So weird, there were all these rainbow colored flags around the area-“

“He’s artistic, intellectual, a great conversationalist,” Candy continued.

“Yeah he’s totally half a fag,” Happy quipped. “Oh my God, does Stacy know about this?”

“Will you stop calling him that? I don’t like that word, and you should know better, Mr. Christianity.”

“Look, don’t try to bring our religion into this as if it’s a burden,” Happy replied. “I’m just sick and tired of this…thing that’s getting out of control.”

Candy flashed him a disturbed look.

“This ‘thing’? What on Earth are you talking about?”

Happy chose his words carefully, seeing that he was virtually in the doghouse already.

“Look, I’m not saying that people don’t have the right to live their lives as they please, but I do believe in certain ethical and spiritual boundaries.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the simple fact that a man could never give me what God has created in a woman for me. The act of two men conducting themselves in that fashion is not natural…and flat out wrong. It goes against both God and nature itself.”

“And I suppose bombing innocent people for oil profits over a lie is perfectly Christian?” Candy fired back.

“Don’t get all Hans fucking Blix on me right now, you know exactly what I mean, and you can’t possibly equate that to this.”

Candy slammed her book down on the nightstand, growing more and more frustrated.

“I’m not trying to equate anything Hap, I’m just saying that maybe the reason we ‘Christians’ get such a bad wrap is because of the fact that we’re so quick to judge and condemn what we don’t understand. Have you ever considered looking at it from their perspective? Could you even attempt to open yourself up a bit?”

Happy gave her a rather confused look.

“That’s not what I meant asshole,” she giggled. “You know exactly what I was talking about.”

“Ok look, let’s cut the crap,” Happy said. “I’m just saying that maybe there’s a part of me that’s sick and tired of this ‘gay agenda’ that’s popping up all over the place.”

“And what exactly is the gay agenda? Please explain.”

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy,” Happy continued. “Everywhere you go nowadays, all you hear about is ‘Gay Pride’ this, ‘Gay Awareness’ that. A regular stand-up guy grows up the right way, never gets into trouble with the law, goes to college, graduates and becomes a respectable American…and nobody gives a damn. Yet if that same guy were to take it up the ass and publicly announce it to the world, all of a sudden it’s a big spectacle that we all have to be a witness to. Why can’t they just keep their ‘business’ to themselves like normal people without broadcasting it all over the Internet and television? I mean for God’s sake Candy, kids are watching.”

At that moment, the words struck a raw nerve deep within the woman, directing her attention out the window. This had been a nagging issue between the two for a while. While Candy was moderately happy with her life and career, what she wanted most, as many women often do, was the one thing that she didn’t have. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of trying. While Happy often daydreamed of the idea of coming home to see their darling little girl or boy playing in the backyard without a care in the world, some things just aren’t meant to be. A virtual success in every other aspect of her life, it was the one thing left that haunted Candy deep within, leaving her feeling unfulfilled.

“Babe, you know I didn’t mean it that way,” Happy pleaded. “I just…shit, I don’t know. I just got carried away with all this Rob talk.”

“I just wanted you to open up a little,” she replied. “And for the record, Rob’s not gay. He is dating Stacy after all.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not taking it up the ass somehow,” Happy fired back.

“You know what asshole, sleep on the couch tonight.”

“The couch???” Harper pleaded.

“Yes, the couch. Look at it this way; you won’t have to worry about ‘taking it up the ass’…and most of all, I won’t have to fake it again.”

A confused, yet defeated look flashed across Happy’s face; the kind most men get when their women finally clue them in on something they should’ve known all along, but didn’t out of either love, respect or whatever the fuck convinces them to remain with the poor bastard. The air taken out of him, he retreated to the bedroom door, desperately searching for something clever and redeeming to say. Nothing came to mind.

“Can I at least get a pillow?” he begged.

In a flash, Candy threw the book she’d been reading directly at him. He caught it just as he stammered out the door. Retreating down the stairs to the living room, he nearly went crashing to the floor as he slipped on something from the floor. Batteries. Three small batteries scattered across the living room from the force of his weight. It was always their usual routine to head over to the local supermarket to stock up on batteries and other supplies for the annual hurricane season. They’d amassed such a collection that now all of a sudden stray batteries were popping up all over the house. With much on his mind and a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Happy slunk deep into the couch, staring out in the darkness of the room surrounding him. Still holding the book in his hand, he looked down at the cover. The title read: SHE COMES FIRST.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another…

***

Happy surveyed the room, still wincing from the memory. As he later ventured through the house, he noticed just how much of his personal prizes he’d compromised away as a married man. Gone were some of his prized possessions, from a trophy of the huge bass he caught years ago with his jackass brother to his framed Miami Dolphins jersey. He knew going in that it was either Candy’s way or the highway when it came to furnishing the new house…and how could he ever argue? With the playful flash of her smile or the flutter of her eyelashes not to mention the very real threat of no sex if she didn’t get her way, there’s was no way he could argue. Fuck Dan Marino…it wasn’t that serious.

Speaking of ‘no sex’, what started out as playful attempts at one-upping each other later drifted off into this abyss of a lackluster lifestyle to say the least. Happy thought again about the rigid yet comfortable bedframe; attempting to remember the last time they’d put it to good use. In the beginning, he and Candy nearly wore each other out, disturbing the neighbors with their sessions…now, not so much. God bless the married life. For someone who stood up in front of God and said ‘I DO’, Happy wasn’t doing much of anything these days. What’s worse was the fact that Candy wasn’t doing much in terms of complaining either. Between her work at the art gallery and his meager and obnoxiously boring gig running the bookstore, it was the routine itself that was killing them both. A typical modern American marriage if there ever was one. His daydreaming soon became subdued by the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom. Normally this would be the time when he’d intrude on Candy’s shower time with some early morning loving…but even that fell to the wayside after a while. She was certainly stingy about her hot water in the morning, which normally meant either a lukewarm or flat out cold shower for him. Not that it was a rarity, coupled with the cold shoulder he’d often get from her.

Happy later surveyed his closet, eyeing his future wardrobe for work. ‘Wardrobe’ itself was a word that was too elaborate and magnificent for the mass display that presented itself before him. Comfortable yet meager Doc Marten shoes usually rounded off a muted color display of slacks and shirts ripped from the pages of a J. Crew catalogue…last season. Perfectly crisp, polished and clean, Happy later studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror, observing the emerging strands of gray, wondering where the time went. After another daily round of brushing and flossing, he practiced that familiar smile that often did its best to mask what was lingering deep inside. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he was longing for that young kid with the whole world in front of him to finally reemerge, igniting a fire that married life had seemingly extinguished.

“Dad left a message for you earlier,” Candy called from the bedroom. “He wants to know why you hadn’t been by to see them. Figured you were too busy.”

As if he didn’t already have enough to think about, the last thing Happy need was his father delighting himself in another session of ‘I told you so.’ A very successful doctor, he often wasted no time in reminding the elder son in the error of his life choices. Yet when it came to his brother, very little was uttered, if anything at all.

“Also, you never mentioned the drapes.”

“The drapes?” Happy muttered.

“Oh never mind, forget it,” Candy groaned.

“Babe, one minute you’re talking about my father and the next you’re mentioning drapes. What are you talking about?”

Happy’s eyes drifted from his defeated expression in the mirror over to his wife. Whereas he was your typical personification of workforce dull, she was looking rather sexy today. Gone was the usual librarian’s dress coupled with ballerina flats. In its place was a very sexy and form fitting black dress complete with moderate yet eye-catching heels that accentuated her fiercely toned legs. Someone definitely had a new spring in her step today.

“The new drapes I bought last week, the ones that you agreed to go shopping with me for and you bailed.”

“I didn’t bail babe. I told you, I had to spend a few extra hours at work. In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of a recession and everyone’s panicking. Had to lay off two more of my staff. That wasn’t easy, trust me.”

Candy groaned as she took her time applying her lipstick.

“Everything with you is work,” she complained. “You never take the time out to breathe and enjoy life just for a moment.”

“And shopping for drapes is enjoying life?”

“Forget about it,” she muttered. “It just would’ve been nice to get your opinion.”

“You want my opinion? Ok, I don’t like them. I told you I didn’t like the green.”

Candy studied her figure in the mirror as she grabbed her purse.

“Well it’s too late now Mr. Downman. You’ll just have to get used to them. And try not to be late coming home tonight from work. We’re having-“

“Dinner with Rob and Stacy tonight. I got it,” he murmured as he leaned over to give her a kiss. Much to his dismay, she wasted no time in breezing straight out the door.

“I love you too,” he whispered as he looked back at himself in the mirror.

The big plasma screen in the living room that usually projected everything from football to boxing now erupted with every news station going on and on about the state of the economy. This was definitely the bad time. People were losing their jobs, their homes and even had to face the burden of choosing between food and suitable healthcare. Whereas the local supermarket was usually packed with customers stocking up on groceries, now Happy barely saw anyone except a minimal number of employees milling about the aisles. The banks were foreclosing on homes all throughout the state of Florida, where the recession seemed to be taking its toll the hardest. Those perfect, picturesque beachfront homes that the snowbirds from New York all clamored for didn’t seem so perfect now. America had gone and gotten itself in a major pickle. Between the ongoing struggle to withdraw from Afghanistan, the car industry crisis, healthcare and housing issues on top of owing China money, this was a bad time indeed.

In spite of all this, Happy managed to keep his composure as he exited his home and headed for his car. Buying a Prius was definitely a smart decision, he thought to himself as he opened the door. Not the most for style or substance, but what it made up for in economy was all that mattered. The days of the flashy SUVs and sports cars speeding up and down A1A were soon coming to an end…or maybe not…

In the driveway of the house next to his sat one such flashy piece of a sexy American dream. A Diablo red Ferrari, owned by his next door neighbor, made Happy feel just about as important as a nerd on prom night making a bad decision. Sitting in his perfectly impish Prius, he tried desperately to make himself feel bigger over the fact that he was spending far less on insurance than the other guy. And the gas mileage on that high price piece of shit? Forget about it. Happy was never really one for flash and style. He was prudent and frugal, which was a great thing to be in these tough times. However, prudent and frugal didn’t get you what he saw next.

Parked inside the car was his next-door neighbor, a buffed up, tattooed and intimidating presence of a Black man, reclining back in the driver’s seat without a care in the world. He looked like either one of those rappers you hear about or one of those ripped models in the underwear ads. At first, Happy thought the man might be sleeping off another night of drunken partying with his girlfriend. Their frequent romps in the sack certainly made their rounds in the gossip circle of the neighborhood. Marcus. Marcus Halloway. For obvious reasons, all the neighbors knew his name, and the women all fantasized about him, somehow attempting to live vicariously through his girlfriend, or girlfriend for the month. Rumor had it that he didn’t keep the same woman for very long, and with looks like that, it wasn’t often hard to imagine why. Some guys have all the damn luck.

Happy peered out from his window, studying the man in his car, wondering if he should go over and check on him. They’d never really spoken to each other with the exception of the occasional small chats here and there. His interests mainly centered around art, to which Happy still could’ve cared less about. Candy was able to give him a few tips here and there though. Guy didn’t seem all that bad. As Happy continued his gaze, all of a sudden, he noticed something he didn’t expect to see early in the morning. Out of nowhere, the head of a woman was soon spotted bobbing up and down in the seat next to him. His dark, ebony hands gripped the steering wheel intensely, struggling to maintain himself. In a flash, Marcus looked over and caught Happy staring at him. The man did nothing more but smile and nod while grabbing a mane full of hair and pushing her head down deeper onto him. Completely embarrassed, Happy hit the ignition and took the Prius as fast as it could go.

***

Crossroads Books, the leading supplier of Christian fiction and non-fiction in the country, was a booming marketplace of the finest titles from both established and up-and-coming authors. For the last four years, Happy had grown to become one of the top if not the top leader in the company. Taking a fledgling bookstore in the Fort Lauderdale area and turning it into the biggest performer in the market was no small feat, and he knew it. With his store’s sales dominating for quite some time, word was that he was next in line for a promotion to District Manager. Even though the recession had taken a massive chunk out of his sales and overall performance, Happy was their go-to guy, and in his view, it was about time he got some well-deserved recognition for all the hard work he’d put in.

As the car pulled into the lot, Happy immediately became displeased with the fact there were no other cars present. For a store manager, this was not a good sign. An empty lot meant no business, which was not something he needed at this point, especially after having to lay off two staff members already.

“Morning boss,” a rotund, freckled face redheaded kid beamed in his direction as he exited the car.

“Morning Clayton, and why aren’t you inside helping customers?”

“There aren’t any customers Hap. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh Lord,” Happy groaned as he surveyed the parking lot, doing the usual checks for trash or visible wear and tear on the building. If there was one thing that Happy understood was the key fact that in business, presentation was everything. It didn’t matter what you sold, whether it was cars, appliances or yes, Christian books. Presentation usually accounted for roughly 60-70% of the sale. If it was one thing Happy couldn’t abide by, was his store looking even remotely subpar. He continued to glance throughout the parking lot, and later over at the businesses across the street. A towering mall filled with everything from Forever XXI to Guess to Victoria’s Secret stood in his opposition, not to mention the Starbucks next door that was always packed. It was a damn shame. Even in the middle of the recession when people are struggling between paying their mortgage and health insurance, they would always find an excuse to go carousing for the latest jeans that were way too tight, skimpy lingerie or over-caffeinate their brains courtesy of their double tall, soy what-the-fucks. Even from across the street, Happy could see that yet again, there was some sort of melodrama brewing over at the popular cafe.

“I’ve been mulling some things over,” Clayton continued as they entered the store. “You always say that presentation accounts for roughly 60-70% of the sale right?”

“Right?” Happy replied, wondering where this was all going.

“I’m just thinking out loud here Hap. It’s the summer time, crazy hot, bright, beautiful skies, and we have this massive parking lot that’s empty.”

“I’m not getting your point,” Happy replied as he surveyed the sales floor, tidying up book displays and swiping his hands across the front tables for dust.

“With this recession getting worse, we’re going to need something to boost awareness and get people back in the store. Last month our numbers fell behind plan by 30% and I’m thinking we need to bring some excitement back into this place.”

Happy studied the young man, noticing his exuberance.

“And how did you know how far behind we were in sales last month?”

Clayton’s smile beamed even brighter.

“Well I took your advice from last month’s staff meeting about being more proactive and taking initiative, so I ran some numbers. Not only were we below sales plan by 30%, but also our DPT was well below the $50 standard. I was thinking maybe if we moved more of the bookmarks and key chains we got in to the front counter, we could easily use them as impulse buys. That way we could not only affect our DPT but also our overall conversion rate.”

Happy’s wariness soon settled, impressed with Clayton’s assessment. DPT stood for dollars per transaction. It generally meant that for every customer that shopped in the store, the goal was to attempt to sell him or her at least $50 worth of merchandise. A book alone wasn’t enough. Why not sell them a bookmark or a key chain or a gift card as well? Happy preached not only the numbers but also the overall importance of knowing them in nearly every staff meeting. Priding himself on building a knowledgeable team of future leaders, he knew he was going to need someone to take over the store for when his eventual promotion came. For an Assistant Manager on the rise, Clayton was proving himself to be quite capable.

“That’s a great idea,” Happy replied. “I’m glad to see you taking more of an active interest in the store. Anything else?”

Clayton steadied himself.

“Now just hear me out Hap. This could be huge.”

Happy prepared himself for what came next.

“What would be better? What would be bigger? What would create more excitement on the block and get more eyes on our store than a bikini car wash right here in the parking lot???”

The words struck Happy numb.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Think about it Hap. We get some girls in bikinis to wash cars in the parking lot all day, $10 a pop. Any customer who drives up gets a discounted coupon to the store. We could even give a percentage of the money to a local charity.”

Happy stared at the kid as if he were nuts.

“Clayton, not that I would ever be the one to deliberately try to kill this entrepreneurial spirit you got going here, but when exactly was the last time you looked around this store?”

“I don’t follow.”

“This is a Christian bookstore Clayton, not Hooters. We cater to a fine, upstanding and conservative consumer base that also includes children. We’re located in a neighborhood that’s made up primarily of fine, upstanding and conservative families that also include children. Roughly 50-60% of our monthly sales are directly contributed from fine, upstanding and conservative customers who also happen to have children. Now all of a sudden, you want to turn our parking lot into a strip club just because of this recession business?”

“But Hap, we could really do this man. I know some real bad bitches who would just love-“

“What the hell is wrong with you Clayton?” Happy fired back. You’re a spoiled, middle-class White kid from Orlando. What do you know about ‘bad bitches’?”

“Sorry boss. I was only trying to help our bottom line, and I really do think this could help.”

Happy gave the young man a hug and patted him on the back.

“Look son, I’m proud of you for standing up and taking more of a leadership role in things, but a bikini car wash in the parking lot of our store is only going to attract the wrong type of attention, not to mention get us possibly picketed. Right now is definitely not the time to do anything out of the ordinary that could cost us any further business. Let’s just focus on the things we’re doing well and come up with some other ideas that are a little less controversial.”

“Sorry Hap, and you’re right. I guess I don’t know what got into me.”

“Just do me a favor,” Happy replied. “Leave the ‘bad bitches’ and hip-hop flash cards at home. That’s not exactly a good look for you.”

Clayton laughed. “You got it. By the way, you have a visitor waiting in your office.”

“In my office? Who? Is it the District Manager?”

“No,” Clayton giggled. “Your father.”

Oh fuck…

***

The office space was a perfectly polished and pristine oasis of finely sorted reports, folders and mailboxes attached to the wall next to a dry erase board outlining the current monthly sales standings. A 30% drop in sales last month was beginning to look pale in comparison to what was in store this month, judging by all the numbers in red on the board. For a Store Manager who lived by the adage ‘never let them see you sweat’, Happy was beginning to sweat more than a little. Still, his track record prior to the recession spoke volumes by itself.

“I told you a long time ago to get out of this racket,” a booming voice sounded back at him. Sitting at his desk was a tall, distinguished and more successful version of himself, tapping his fingers along the edge of the finely cleaned desk in that manner elementary school teachers did when they were about to discipline a child. The esteemed Dr. Chas Downman was one of the most respected members in the community, appearing in the local newspaper and magazines several times a year. He even rubbed elbows with both the mayor and the governor. Impeccably dressed from head to toe, the light shone off the surface of his balding head like a halo. Every single hair in his gray beard was perfectly trimmed and positioned in its proper place, as his glasses gracefully hung from the bridge of his nose, which seemed forever pointed downward toward Happy.

“Pop, don’t start this with me again,” Happy pleaded. “And what are you doing here anyway? You almost never come here.”

“Do I look like I need another Bible son? Or one of those tacky bookmarks this fat ass on the sales floor was trying to pawn off on me right as I walked in? I told you from the beginning to invest your skills into something that was more recession proof, like healthcare for instance.”

“Pop please. I really don’t need another round of ‘I told you so’. It’s bad enough I have to hear this from Candy.”

Chas studied him from head to toe, searching for the truth.

“Are you two having problems?”

“Everything’s fine Pop, I just don’t need a lecture on how I’m either ruining my life or not opening up right now. What are you doing here? And can I have my seat please?”

Chas wasted no time in getting out of his way while handing him a cup of coffee.

“Here, try to settle down and drink this.”

“What is it?”

Chas gave him a perturbed look. “It’s Starbucks son. I thought I’d be nice and bring my son a cup of coffee this morning. Is that acceptable?”

“That’s fine Pop, but what’s in this?” Happy asked.

“The barista, this nice Jewish girl recommended it. It’s a double tall, soy what-the-fuck or something, I forget. I’ll tell you something else, that’s probably the last time I’ll ever go in a Starbucks. Could you believe these two women in line were about to get into a fight with the kid at the bar over almost running out of soy milk? I mean actually to the point of nearly cussing and threatening physical violence! Vultures! I tell you, this recession is starting to make people lose their minds. And now this Obama guy, can you believe this piece of work we got in office?”

“Pop not now please.”

“I’m just saying son. Just saying…I just never thought in my wildest dreams we’d see a Muslim in the White House. It’s fucking un-American I tell you-“

“Pop stop it right now. The guy’s not Muslim. That’s just his name-“

“My ass,” Chas snorted. “Have we forgotten 9/11 all of a sudden?”

“What the hell does 9/11 have to do with Obama dad? Please explain that connection to me!”

“You watch your tone with me Harper,” his father commanded. “I was simply trying to make my point.”

“Well make your point then, but don’t come in to my place of business implying that Obama’s a terrorist along with whatever else you’ve got cooked up inside your head.”

“Did you vote for him?” his father asked.

“Of course not, that’s besides the point. I don’t even know what the hell we’re talking about here.”

Chas studied his son, making him feel even more uneasy in his chair as he loomed over him, glancing occasionally at the dwindling numbers marked in red on the sales board.

“I told you Pop, I have everything under control.”

“As I can clearly see,” Chas mumbled. “What I am simply saying is this Harper. We’re in for some major changes on the horizon, all of us. While I have the luxury of knowing that the healthcare industry, of which I am a proud member of, is virtually recession proof, this little racket you got going on here is not. While I admire and respect my son for wanting to help spread the word of God in the