Howl at the Moon

“Where are my pantyhose, Mary?” I hollered across the house to the fiery redhead who’d be my wife, if I’d the balls to marry her.

I continued flinging things in a fevered search, waiting for a reply. She never answers when I holler, and doesn’t come when called, but she knows a trick or two, and on Friday nights, if I’m lucky, she makes me howl at the moon.

A life of crime ain’t always easy, but we get by.

“Where’s my pistol? I can’t rob anyone without a pistol. Am I supposed to point my dick at them?”

“No, that’s too small.” she said.

“Oh, you’re funny. I know I left it right here.”

“If it was up your ass, you’d know where it was.”

“I already checked there, lovey-doll.”

“Oh? Then you probably found your brains too.”

I didn’t bother to respond. There’s no way to win, and besides, it was Friday evening. I didn’t want to take any chances. She might get mad, and not do that thing she does so well; I was feeling frisky, and the full moon was due.

“Here!” she said, handing me a set of her lacy panties fresh off the clothesline. They were still damp. “Put these over your head.”

“I still need a pistol.”

She handed me a toy gun left behind by a kid we’d kidnapped for ransom a while back. The little pecker had drawn dick and ball pictures all over the walls I’d just painted. He kicked, and bit, and spit, and called me names. Finally, I took him back for free. I didn’t even stop the car to let him out. I just pushed him and watched him bounce into his driveway in the cracked rear view.

“That’ll do.” I said, agreeably, “Thank you, honeybee.”

I sped off into the evening, headed for the liquor store. In the lot, I put the panties over my head, backwards. Peering through the lace-flower ass, the world became silky silhouettes.

The Oriental clerk laughed when I walked through the door, toy gun pointed, and stumbling, nearly blind with lacy panties on my head. Then he karate chopped me. I never saw it coming.

When I came to, Mary was bailing me out of jail. She looked angry. The moon had already fallen, and Friday night was gone. I howled anyway, and she slugged me, hard.

6 Replies to “Howl at the Moon”

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