Becky's blond hair snapped forward and back as my voice halted her advance in mid stride. Then her hair gracefully swirled as she turned on the spot to face me. Before I could think, she had Phil's revolver aimed at my chest. She broke into a toothy, snarling smile when she saw my shotgun pointed at her chest.
"You should have shot me in the back, Pussy," she said with sorrow in her voice. "I wish you did." I could tell she was in one of her drunken moods. I was all too familiar with this beast. Becky could be a quite sensitive, compassionate soul. But I would not be talking to Becky tonight. Instead the raging, ruthless animal that hatches from whiskey bottles was the thing holding the gun.
"I won't let you kill Staci," I said.
"And I won't let you kill Phil," she replied with a darkening of her eyes. Despite her severe inebriation, she held the revolver quite steady with two hands. A warm breeze breathed on the night causing a lazy rustle of leaves in the trees and an occasional flutter of my loose fitting T-shirt. The thought of its thin fabric being all that separated me from one of Phil's bullets was chilling. "Though, maybe I should let you kill Phil. He deserves it,” she added. We were standing in Phil and Becky's driveway on a moonless night. The spotlight over the garage splashed the scene with yellow glare and elongated shadows that contorted Becky’s normally voluptuous frame into a demonic specter. Summer moths circled noiselessly over our heads.
"So you were going to do it tonight?" I asked. My brain was spinning its wheels. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say or how to defuse this.
"Kill your wife?" she said. "You pussy. Say what you mean. Yes, I am going to kill Staci- just like you hoped to kill Phil tonight."
"I don't know what I-"
"PUSSY!" she half screeched, half whispered. "You should kill Phil! You should want to kill Phil! You should want to blast his beautiful cock right off his body!" She took a deep breath to try and calm the mad frenzy within. "You should have killed him three years ago! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
We stood in silence for some time after this- weapons still aimed. She had asked the question- THE question. The one I have asked myself continually for three years now. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Finally I spoke. "You know better than most what is wrong with me," I said feeling hurt in spite of everything. "I thought you at least understood a little about me."
She sighed and a droop in her shoulders told me she was relaxing by degrees. I hoped she was sobering up too. The revolver stayed level, however, and I knew she was a good shot. "I suppose I do. You are just wired that way. But it has gone too far. I am going to end it. I am going to end because you are too much of a fucking pussy."
"We did this to ourselves," I said. "You and me. We are the ones who-" I may have had more to say. I may have been able to talk sense into her but at that moment we were interrupted by all too familiar sounds drifting down from the second story bedroom window above us. The sounds that have dazzled and haunted my waking and dreaming life for three years. Phil and Stacy were fucking... again. Like Pavlov's dogs, we stood for a while in a trance of conditioned erotic stimulation. It had been three years of this... whatever it was.
"Are you turned on even now, Pussy?" Becky taunted. "Would it turn you on even more if I shot your cock off while Phil fucks Staci's perfect little body? Would it? You cuckold freak," she said derisively.
"You like watching Phil with other girls, don't you? You get off when-"
"It has gone too far!" and the mad snarl returned to her face, the raging animal once again unleashed. "It's more than just physical between them now and you know it! This Caribbean yacht trip... it's ... it's ..." Tears from her vivid blue eyes interrupted her anger and she took her left hand off the revolver to wipe her face. Her right hand still held steady with the gun so I dared not move. When did I dare do anything really?
"Maybe it should end like this," she whispered in flat, even tones that ratcheted up my fear even more. "Maybe you and I should leave them… together."
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I thought I knew.
"I couldn't do it myself," she said. "I've tried! I'll bet you have tried too. Have you thought about killing yourself?"
"Sometimes," I said honestly. "But that isn't-"
"But if we do it together... we could ... kill each other, right?" There was a mad hope in her voice. "I shoot you... and you shoot me."
"What!"
"We could kill each other and … leave these two fuck birds in peace." She was sounding calmer now. I didn't like it.
"We can work it out," I said. "We can make this work."
"Huh! That's what you always say , isn't it? We can 'make things work'. Your wife starts fucking around to fulfill your weirdo cuckold fantasies and you say 'we can make this work.'' You don't really believe that anymore, do you?" she said. "That's why you were going to try and kill Phil. You were going to try, weren't you?"
I didn't answer. I just sighed.
"Pussy!" she snarled. Staci's pleasure suddenly jumped to a new level, and her moans pierced the night. Having watched Phil and Staci fuck for three years now, I could see it happening in my mind's eye. I was sure he just flipped her over and started fucking her from behind.
"He's taking her from behind now," Becky said clinically with a twitch of her head toward the window. "He's probably standing next to the bed and she's probably-"
"she's bent over with her head on the bed and her ass up," I finished. In spite of everything, we both laughed. For a wild moment, I had hope that reason would prevail on Becky's whiskey soaked brain.
“What a pathetic pair we are,” Becky sighed. I wanted to hug her but the drawn weapons trumped simple humanity.
We stared at each for several moans and shrieks from above. Finally I said, "I still love her," and my voice broke. "Please don't kill her. It’s my fault she got mixed up in all this."
Becky was silent for some time as we listened to one of Staci's never ending orgasms. "I will kill her," she said coldly. "I promise you, Daniel. On this night, I will put a bullet in the back of that home-wrecking slut's head."
"Hey now!"
"I am going to count to three," she said. "Okay, Pussy? I will count to three and then we will both fire."
"Come on, Becky-"
"If you don't pull the trigger," she said. "I'll just kill you AND your cunt wife. Got it, Wimp?"
"No," I was crying. "Please!"
"You want to save her life, right? Then on three, pull the damn trigger, okay Cuckold? Shoot something into a woman for a change." She gave a harsh laugh.
"I won't shoot!" I said.
"You have to," she said. "Don't you see? We are damned, you and me! We tried to get pleasure in ways you just aren't supposed to- unnatural pleasure. We got burned. This is how it has to happen. You and me, Daniel. We were meant for each other in some fucked up way."
"No..."
"Daniel?" she asked and her tone was suddenly soft. "Do you remember that night, by the pool?"
"Of course," I said hopeful that this new tangent would help disarm the situation. “Last summer.”
"That was our night, our special little moment. It was just you and me and it was... nice," she said. "I liked it."
"Umm, thank you," I said. "I liked it too. Do you want to maybe go sit by the pool with me and we can-"
"ONE!"
"Becky, NO!" I yelled. "Let's talk about this! We can make ti work!"
"TWO!"
"I need to see her again! I need to see Staci again! Don't you need to see Phil? Don't you-"
"THREE!"
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