Sex Kills.A Story by WoodyLet's say I'm experimenting something.The black BFTX Jag came
down the street at a sedate pace then slowed down and finally stopped in front
of a two-storey house, at the end of the block. When the driver finally cut off
the engine, the soothing noises of the early afternoon reached him through the
open window. Birdsong and the droning of the bees, a clear indication that spring
was finally here. Woody Harrington took
off the Raybans and tossed them on the dashboard. He opened the door and
stepped out. The sun hit him full in the face, making him squint. He formed a
bill with his hand to shield his eyes and looked at the patch of garden where a
drop-dead gorgeous blonde was mowing the lawn. He could hear her singing in a
husky voice: Baby if you give it to me,
I’ll give it to you, I know what you want.
Sandy was wearing cut-off Jeans that showed
unending tanned legs and a white tanktop that had trouble containing her ample
bosom. She looked the picture of health. Her eyes twinkled and her full lips
curled into a welcoming smile when she saw the visitor. “Mornin’, Wood,” she
said. Woody nervously fingered
his zipper and replied: “Eer.. Morning, Sandy.
Mike in?” “Yep. Go right ahead!”
[Aah, I can almost see the frown on your faces. I should’ve started from the beginning, sorry. So let me tell you how it all started.] Let’s Rewind: Woody walked backwards
down the driveway. Sandy: “daeha thgir og!” Woody: “?ni ekiM. ydnaS,
gninrom..ree” Woody fingered his
zipper and Sandy said: “dooW ninrom” Woody continued to do the moonwalk as Sandy broke into a strange song while grass started spilling out of the mower and planting itself back into the ground. Woody reached the
road and stopped to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun then climbed
into his car, backwards. He put his Raybans back on, started the car then
reversed to the top of the street.
[Press “Play”].
Six weeks earlier.
“You look worried,” said
Woody, after he pressed control/s to save the document he was typing. Mike, his office mate, had stopped working a while ago and was staring out the window, lost in his
thoughts. “Woody,” he said,
snapping out of his trance, “I need your help. Badly.” "What’s on your mind,
buddy?” “You know Sandy and I
are no longer getting on well.” “I know and I told you a
divorce was in the interest of all concerned.” “Never!” he didn’t mean
to snap but his friend didn’t seem to notice. “A divorce would rob me of what’s
rightfully mine.” “How’s that?” “Well, for one thing
there’s her Lexus. Then the farm her late father left her.” “Oh I didn’t know her
father was dead.” “Yeah, he’s dead
alright. Cancer.” “Cancer? What is it?” “It’s an incurable
disease. Predictable really. He was a chain smoker. Breast cancer. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” “Go ahead. Tell me.” “I want to..”, said Mike
and looked at the closed door. “I want to kill her.” “Hahahaha, you’re a
funny gu.. Wait! You ARE serious!” “Oh, yes, I am. Only I
can’t think of a foolproof method. You know how good they are these days with
DNA and hair fiber and all that s**t. And that’s why I need your help.” Woody blew his cheeks,
thought a moment then declared: “Listen, Mike. I know a
way. No shooting or stabbing or poisoning involved. It’s a method used by the Phookaz
tribe. Somewhere in the Andes. “Never heard of them.” “I’m not surprised. Just made it up. Anyway, wanna hear it?” “Come on, you know I do.
Tell me.” So Woody told him. “Make love to her as frequently as you can and she dies. No. don’t roll your eyes. Makes you look like a frog.
Hear me out. Women’s endurance in the sex department is overrated. Make love to
your woman twice or three times a day for two months and I guarantee she’ll
snuff it.” Mike didn’t need much
convincing. He took a leave of absence and followed his friend’s advice.
Woody didn’t see his
friend for almost two months. He decided to pay him a visit. [This next part, I’ve
already told you so let’s Fast Forward, shall we?] The black BFTX Jag came
down the street at a breakneck speed and screeched to a stop in front of a two-storey
house, at the end of the block. The driver took off his Raybans and threw them
on the dashboard, jumped out of the car, made a quick military salute then
walked jerkily up the driveway where a drop-dead gorgeous blond was hastily
mowing the lawn. She was singing a rap song in a high pitched voice. - M"MorninWood." - "Eer..MorningSandyMikein?" -
“YepGorightahead!" [Hit Pause II] Back to normal speed. “He’s in the bedroom,”
said Sandy, resuming her mowing. “The bedroom? What is
it?” “It’s a room with a bed
and a wardrobe. That’s where we sleep.” Woody shook his head and
proceeded inside the house. “Hey, Mike!” He
hollered. He thought he heard a frog croak. Puzzled, he followed the sound and
pushed the door to what he assumed was the bedroom and stopped dead, mouth
agape. Mike, or what vaguely
looked like Mike, was propped up in bed, offering his friend what passed for a
smile but was in fact a ghastly grimace. Mike had lost weight. His
cheeks were sunken, his eyes threatening to pop out of his head, what’s left of
his hair’s all over the place. “WHAT THE…?” said Woody.
“You OK?” “Never better,” said
Mike and smiled again. “I haven’t seen you for
over a month. You got me worried.” “Worry not, my friend. Been
busy lately, if you see what I mean.” “you mean you went on
with the plan? Twice a day?” Mike was suddenly racked
by a vicious cough. Woody expected to see his lungs pop out of his mouth
any minute. When the cough subsided, Mike said with a wheezing voice: “Not twice. Not three
times. Four.” “Jesus! Where did you
find the semen, I mean the stamina?” “Not just a pretty face,
am I? You know Woody, I almost feel sorry for her,” said Mike, labouring to
breathe, “She doesn’t know she’s got only a couple of weeks to live.” © 2017 WoodyAuthor's Note
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Added on May 26, 2015Last Updated on February 12, 2017 Tags: break up, divorce, killing, love making. AuthorWoodyMateur, Bizerte, TunisiaAboutok, time for an update I think. my old friends have come to know me pretty well, I trust so this is for the new comers. I'm a Tunisian 60-year-old teacher-cum-translator, book worm who enjoys writing.. more..Writing
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