The Livingroom

I looked at my watch again.  Time had stopped and my anxiety began to make it to the surface in the form of sweat beading up on my lip.  I quickly dragged my sleeve across my face hoping that no one noticed.  Natasha was walking from the kitchen and I could see her working her face into a smile.  By the time she reached the coffee table her face was stretched into a tight grin and her very white teeth were beaming.
         Mr. Corsette returned a genuine smile and shifted himself forward on the sofa with his empty glass extended.  Natasha poured him a third glass of pink lemonade.  He was a pleasant man who had been thrust into an uncomfortable situation, that I suspect he had no idea about.  His wife, Mrs. Bonnie Corsette, was a brash loud woman who even when straining to be pleasant sounded as if she was barking orders.  Mr. Corsette was no doubt ordered to come along for moral support.
         I sat in one of the two straight back chairs in the room with my left leg thrown over my right with my ankle balanced at the knee.  I looked at this slight, balding, rather mousy man and wondered how he was as a young man.  I tried picturing what he might have looked like in high school or college; did he begin to bald early in life or did life and marriage force his hair to fall out? I tried imagining what he looked like when he was courting Mrs. Corsette when she was Bonnie Bladwell.  And I couldn’t explain why I knew her maiden name.
         Bonnie was at least three inches taller than Mr. Corsette, whose first name escaped me as soon as he would ask me to call him that instead of Mr. Corsette.  I will let my memory serve me and say that his name was Ira.  I really can’t say with any conviction if that is even close,but that is what my mind conjures up when I think of him.  And Bonnie outweighed Ira by almost seventy-five pounds. 
I was directly across from the banana and the cantaloupe and as hard as I tried to focus on the matter at hand, I could not stop thinking about what their sex life must have been like.  It would seem that such an obscure and personal matter would have absolutely no bearing on what was to be discussed.  But to my mind it was really what was important.  I wanted to know how life could go so far off the course that one day you wake up and you are a browbeaten banana taking orders from a hulking cantaloupe. 
Bonnie began to speak directly to Natasha in her loud patronizing tone and I immediately tuned her out.  All of my attention was on the smiling little man sitting on the sofa sipping his lemonade and looking at the decor of the room.  He was trained well and when Bonnie made reference to him or wanted some form of support he nodded and agreed.  I knew he was not paying attention, nor did he care in the least.  I began to respect the man more by the minute.
         I could picture him standing in the bathroom totally nude checking himself out. 
He would be sideways looking at his reflection in the full length mirror adjusting his dick and balls, changing the position of his leg to get the best view.  He would be mentally preparing himself to have sex with Bonnie.  I suspected it happened rarely and on schedule.  The room would be dark and there would be little emotion.  The act was probably over as quickly as it started but at least he was getting laid.  I admired his ability to carry on and still smile through life after being subjected to that kind of ritual.
         But then another thought struck me.  Maybe Ira was a chubby chaser that had huge equipment and once he got Bonnie in the bedroom he ordered her around.  And like a good girl, that’s what he would call her when she obeyed, she would undress and sit and beg for the little man with the big dick to mount her and make her beg for mercy.  She would squeal with delight and push her gigantic mushy breasts together and cry out “Ira, Ira, you’re an animal,”.
         The thought of Bonnie sitting on her haunches on their bedroom floor in white panties and bra the size of ship sails and all that milky veiny flesh waiting for Ira’s crank made me wince.  I tried to clean my minds eye by thinking about Natasha in her tiny pink panties and her bare breasts.  It worked and a broad smile broke out across my face.
         It was the first sign of emotion that I made all day, and of course it came at the exact moment my name was being thrown into the conversation.  I was abruptly brought back to reality by Bonnie asking, rather demanding to know if I thought what she had to say was amusing.  I had no answer.  I wanted to say something polite for Natasha’s sake.  I wanted to have a glib witty remark on the tip of my tongue so I could quickly diffuse the situation.  I had no idea what had been said in the last eight minutes.  I was going to have a problem.  I wasn’t really all that concerned until I saw the look of fear in Ira’s eyes.  He looked at my like a motorist looks at a dog they hit on the road.  His eyes said “I’m so sorry old man, I didn’t see you there trying to cross this treacherous road, and I struck you.  You are going to die, we both know that.  Here let me hold your paw,”.  Short of holding my paw, Ira was there for me.  His look of compassion was comforting and made me feel like I was going to be okay.
         My initial reaction would be to tell Bonnie to shut the fuck up already and stop making problems where none existed.  I felt the words sitting on my tongue like hot salt.  I wanted to spit them all over her smug fat face.  I wanted to stand up and slap her face.  A clean sharp slap right in the cheek; maybe even a knuckle filled back hand.  I would look into her big eyes as they welled up with tears and shock and tell her “ahhh, shet up already,” in perfect black and white movie gangster-ese.