Mowerman

Kate was struggling with Zeke. He was groping her, having ripped her t-shirt down the front, while her two frightened boys looked on helplessly.

Zeke never knew what hit him, but the dislocated jaw he would remember for months afterward. John waited while the police filed their reports and Zeke was taken to the hospital.

The officer sniffed the air. John and Kate both reeked of sex as they were both coated with the dried fluids of their afternoon and evening long tryst.

"If you just hit him once, how come your shirt's torn?"

"That happened earlier. It was an accident."

The officer's partner quizzed him again.

"I was at my front door when Zeke pulled up to the curb, just before Kate's friends dropped off the boys. Zeke got out. He was staggering drunk. I thought I'd better check up on Kate when I heard her scream. I ran around to the patio door…"

"I thought you said you tried the front door."

"I did. It was locked. I heard her scream and went around back. The patio door was unlocked. When I came in, he was assaulting her in front of her children. I decked him."

"And how about you Miss."

"My friends dropped off the boys. I went outside and waved to them as they backed out of the drive. I saw Zeke…"

"Is Zeke your boyfriend?"

"No, he's ..." Over and over the police quizzed them and quizzed the boys. Finally the police were satisfied.

"Do you want to press charges Ma'am?"

"I don't know. Thanks to John, he really didn't hurt me. He was drunk and got a little too fresh."

Once the dust had settled, John went back home. He noticed that the porch light was now on. "Oh shit," he muttered.

Margie glared at him. Gesturing to his torn shirt, John shrugged his shoulders and said, "I got into a fight."

"A fight! You're pathetic! You, a grown man, acting like a school kid! Is that why the police were next door?"

"Yeah. Zeke came home drunk and…"

"Her husband?"

"He's not her husband. He's a boarder and an old friend of her dead husband. He came home drunk and tried to rape her. I heard her scream and went over to help." He checked for her reaction before asking, "I thought you were staying at your mother's?"

"All my things are here. I have to get up and go to work tomorrow."

He could see that she wanted to talk, but John needed to end the conversation and get a shower before Margie got too close to take a whiff. "Well, goodnight." He turned and headed to the hall bath for a shower.

As he showered he discovered the teeth marks and the blue-black bruise on his stomach. Even with his thick body hair it was clearly visible. "Shit," he softly cursed.

He was in such a rush to get cleaned up that he forgot to get fresh clothes. He only had the torn shirt to hide his love mark. He decided that he would just hold a towel in front of him as he went into the bedroom and retrieved a clean t-shirt and boxer shorts. Then he remembered the scratch marks down his back from Friday. "Shit," he cursed again.

His only hope was to sneak into the master bedroom before Margie was in there. He looked down the hall; the bedroom door was shut; yet lights were still on in the rest of the house. Where was she?

John eased down the hall and tried the doorknob. It was locked. Through the locked door John heard Margie say, "Go away John. Go sleep in your other bed."

"I need some clothes."

"Since when?"

He couldn't see it but she was returning his obscene finger gesture. John turned and trudged off to the tiny twin bed in the boys' room.

John slept soundly until he heard the door slam shut. Without glancing at the clock, he knew it was 7:30 AM. He rose from the small bed. Normally the bed covers would be impossibly skewed and twisted by the morning. He had slept so soundly that the sheets were hardly disturbed. He glanced at the clock to confirm that it was indeed 7:30. Margie was gone for the day.

Naked, he plodded off to the kitchen. No coffee this morning and no cereal bowl laid out for him. That surprised him. In the past when they fought, she would still make coffee for him and lay out his breakfast, but not this morning. He fumbled around gathering what he needed to make coffee and a simple breakfast. He searched around but couldn't find the newspaper. That irritated him. "Fuck it," he mumbled as he realized he wouldn't be scanning the sports section that morning with breakfast.

*****

John found his trusty old gym shorts and yard shoes and headed for his shed. He pulled out the Ortho spreader and the bags of Scott's Weed-n-Feed. Then he set about treating Kate's yard to knock back the weed population and stimulate the neglected grass to grow. John knew that with a little rain, in a few weeks her lawn would be lush. As he walked back and forth, spreading the fertilizer, he envisioned rolling around naked in lush, cool grass, fucking the hell out of Kate.

"Hmmm," he said to himself, "we could do that now in my backyard." He grinned broadly as he went about his task.

Kate came out onto the patio, as he was finishing up the back yard. "What on earth are you doing John?" she inquired.

"Feeding the grass, killing the weeds."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not? Your grass'll look great in a few weeks. The boys will really love playing in it. Besides…"

"Besides? Besides what?" she asked with a smile.

"Besides, it's a great excuse to come over and fuck their mother."

"Sounds great! But you really don't need an excuse." She started to open her robe. "Ahh!" she cried startled as John scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her inside laughing. It was time for his planned morning activities.

For John, it was a wonderful week and Kate wasn't complaining either. At 7:30 AM, as soon as Margie left, John would go next door to see Kate and make love until noon. Then after choking down a bologna sandwich and bruised fruit for lunch, John headed off to work. When he returned home after midnight, Margie was asleep and he'd crawl into one of the twin beds in the boy's room. Next morning, at 7:30 AM, Margie was gone and he got up. By 8:00 AM his cock would be in action.

As he was coming home from work Thursday night, he felt a little guilty. He hadn't seen or spoken to Margie since Sunday night. He decided that he needed to at least initiate a reconciliation. Still he wasn't about to give her worthless bum brother another dime, no matter what; and her mother, next time he wanted to see her was at her funeral. He showered off before crawling into bed with her.

"What the hell?" he muttered as the cold, wet spots rubbed against his bare skin.

"Jack? Oh, shit! What are you doing here John?" said Margie in alarm.

John flicked on a light. "I live here. This is my bed and you are my wife." He pulled back the covers to see pecker tracks. "Who have you been fucking tonight?"

"Wha? How dare…"

"There're pecker tracks all over the sheets!"

John boldly reached between her legs and pulled his hand across her sopping snatch. He held up his wet hand. "You've been fucking! Who are you fucking in my house and in my bed, behind my back while I'm at work?"

"Oh god! John, I…"

"Who?" he demanded, his face twisted with mock rage as he stood up.

"I want a divorce," she said meekly fearing a blow.

"You got it! But listen up Margie, this is my house!"

"I don't want this crummy house!"

"Crummy?"

"Just get out, John. I don't love you, I don't want you near me."

"Fine! We are in agreement. I don't want to be near you either. Tomorrow, I'll call an attorney to draw up papers. No sense in prolonging this, and no sense in wasting everything away with attorney fees."

"You can't keep everything, I…"

"Don't worry, I'll be fair to you as long as you're fair to me. Agreed?"

"Yes."

"Good. Our marriage is over as of this minute. From now on you can go fuck anybody you like. It's none of my business! And what I do from now on is none of your business."

"You don't do anything I'm interested in," she shot back.

"Good, because it's none your business Margie. Now tomorrow, pack up what you need for the next few days and get the hell out."

"I can't wait!"

Realizing that kicking her out tomorrow might not be practical he asked, "Are you going to your mother's?"

"That's none of your business! But if you must know, I'll move in with Thurman."

"Thurman? Who's Thurman?"

"Jack Thurman. He's another teacher. He's kind, considerate and very smart. Not at all like you John."

"Well good. I wish you the best Margie. I really do. Just tell me one thing. How long have you been screwing him?"

"I, I.."

"Look, I don't really give a shit. Just be honest with me."

"Over a year now," she replied meekly.

John snorted and Margie watched while he calmly slipped into his shorts. Then with a clear conscious, he plodded bare foot and shirtless to the horny young widow next door, closing the door on 22 years of marriage.

THE END