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  “Chew better next time, ya thick-headed moron.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Daddy!”

  “You ever had fried twat, boy? I think we can take some with us.” Bubba Junior began carving out the woman’s vagina from between the bloody stumps of the leg/motorcycle amalgam. “Tastes better’n possum!” He reached into her twat and pulled at the string dangling out of the hole.

  “Oh sheeeeit …” Bubba Junior said, fishing out the surprise. “Come sit on my lap, boy,” he slurred, dropping his drawers, dangling the tampon dripping thick, black blood. He smiled real big. “I gots you a lollipop.”

  A SCALENE LOVE TRIANGLE

  Kerry G.S. Lipp

  There are some basic rules to life. That’s obvious. Then, there are different types of rules for different types of people. And, currently, Emma was breaking some very, very important ones.

  Rule #1: A teacher shouldn’t sleep with students.

  Broken.

  Rule #2: If you are in any kind of serious relationship, you have to remain faithful.

  Broken.

  Rule #3: If you ever break rule 1 or 2, you better not get caught.

  Unbroken.

  So far.

  Thoughts of rules should not be running through her head. Not now, not while Randy is inside of her. But they are and no matter how awesome the sex felt—that was really the only reason the affair was still going on—Emma couldn’t kick the lingering notion of how wrong this is. I’m cheating on my fiancé with a student. It probably didn’t help that her fiancé, Charlie, is the jealous type, either. Shit. How did this happen? The cause isn’t important, the effect is. Paranoia grips Emma at the worst moment causing her to squeeze her fingers into Randy’s back. She knows she can’t get caught, she’s got way too much to lose.

  “Emma?” Randy asks as his thrusting slows and finally stops. He’s still inside Emma, faces almost touching. Emma’s never been good at masking her emotions and Randy sees right through. “Are you ok? What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she says, forcing a smile. “Just a little lost in my own thoughts.”

  “That bad, huh?” Randy asks with an exaggerated frown.

  Emma smacks him in the side and laughs. “No! I guess I’m just thinking too much.”

  “This again? You’ve got nothing to worry about. You know me; you know I’ll keep quiet. It’s fine.”

  “I know but—”

  He flashes a cocky smile and says, “As long as you give me an A that is.”

  Emma smacks him in the side again, her flat palm smacking against his muscled flesh, and they both burst into teenage giggles. The sex resumes.

  At least one of the two men I’m sleeping with isn’t the jealous type. But what am I doing? Emma constantly questions herself and never comes up with a solid answer. She knows she likes Randy, he’s cool and cute and they have that crackle of electric attraction, but she’s also in love with Charlie, and has been for a long time.

  Variety, she decides. She’s not exactly bored with Charlie, but she’s also only been in a couple serious relationships and never really had a good time flinging around with guys for pure fun, pure pleasure, without the dependency or the prospect of building a future. Emma is not that needy. This is something most men don’t understand. Sure, occasionally a woman can be a psychotic cat boiler, but, in most cases, men are more clingy and needy than women, and in Charlie’s case, jealous. But at this point, Charlie has every right to be. Emma thinks Charlie’s jealousy is probably what drove her to stray in the first place, even though she loves him. So, she stumbled onto, or maybe seduced, Randy and she enjoys the non-serious fun that they share together. But it needs to stop.

  Emma forces the thoughts out for now, this feels too good to keep running bad thoughts around like moist laundry in the dryer. She moans and grabs Randy’s shoulders, stopping him. He gives her a look and she gives him a big seductive smile before wrestling him around, winding up on top of him, back arched, breasts perked and fingers tangled in her own hair.

  “Nice moves,” he says, a slice of moonlight highlighting his dark features. Emma throws her head back, hair flying and rides him before going in for a kiss. He grabs her head, kisses her neck and holds her close as they grind harder and harder against one another.

  This is the seventh time together, and even though the sex is playfully passionate, it stops there. Emma and Randy have a quirky, mutually unspoken agreement that the passion stops at the sex.

  He releases her, and, with his strong arms, flips her over and enters from behind. As always, she can feel his eyes boring into the tattoo on her back, a simple, yet provocative, equilateral triangle. Emma’s favorite shape. And even though he can’t see it, she smiles. An extra special assignment from his math professor. He speeds up and, sensing what’s on the brink, Emma excessively moans and talks dirty. Most girls do this when a guy is about to blow, whether she is going to cum or not. The moments leading up to the male climax become all about him, from both perspectives. Men are needy and are usually oblivious to even the worst acting if it gives them validation. Her words are nasty and sexy. He’s got two big handfuls of her disheveled hair, ad hoc pigtails that he jerks as he finishes. Head raised, she screams. It feels amazing. Emma hasn’t gotten off, but she knows it’s her own fault, and she scolds herself for being so distracted the whole time.

  He crashes down next to her, both of them breathing hard, laughing and staring at one another. Sometimes, Emma wonders just exactly how Randy feels about her.

  This is the last time, Emma decides. She prays she doesn’t end up breaking Randy’s heart. On top of the guilt, he’s got enough ammo to cut her in half.

  “Jesus,” he starts, “that was amazing. Our best yet.” He frowns. “Wait, did you umm, you know?”

  Laughing at how he approaches the subject Emma answers, “No, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t fucking good. It’s my own fault. I got paranoid.”

  “Yeah, that sucks. I’ll go down on you, we can keep it even.”

  “I can smell burning rubber all the way up here, don’t even think about it. It’s fine really.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, you’re gross,” he says, same cocky smile. Works every time.

  I really need to end this.

  “I’m shaking, I need to move around. You stay right here, I’m going to bring you a present,” Emma says.

  Walking out of the room naked, she can feel his eyes on her ass and tattoo. It’s not often that the student lands the teacher. She takes a left out of the bedroom and heads to the kitchen, keeping the lights off.

  The tile freezes her feet as she pads into the kitchen. Full moonlight subtly illuminates the room, and she does a little shiver dance, feeling sexy and flooded with gleeful just-got-fucked satisfaction. Half of Emma wonders why she doesn’t feel more guilty. And the other half wonders if the taboo of breaking so many rules increases the pleasure. It probably does.

  Over at the counter Emma opens a drawer and grabs a good sized kitchen knife. She holds it up, watching it glint softly in the moonlight. The ever present math teacher in her studies the shape of the knife; a scalene triangle. A triangle with the measure of the sides and angles completely out of whack. Holding it close to her eyes, she struggles to look at her reflection. Even though I’m a cheater, I’m better than a cheater. This is the last time.

  The refrigerator air is even colder than the tile. Her nipples stiffen and the liquid streaks on her thighs conduct a kind of cold electricity. Leaning in, she grabs two bottles of Corona and the half lime wedge wrapped in cellophane.

  After uncapping the bottles, she uses the knife to split the remaining lime in half, then mashes each wedge in that sweet spot so that it straddles the lip at the top of the bottle neck. She sucks the lime juice off one of her fingers. Drops of water collect on the sides of the bottle, making them cool and slippery, chilling her hands as she walks back to the bedroom.

  “Close your eyes,” Emma orders, just before entering.

  “And
miss that front? No way.”

  “Now. Or no surprise, mister.”

  “I doubt whatever you’ve got is worth it.”

  “Shut ’em.”

  She walks in and sets the bottles on the nightstand. Standing in front of them, she says, “Open.”

  His eyes open and he stares up at her. First, at her face, then quickly jumping to the rest.

  “Your mouth, you dork, haven’t you played this game before?”

  “So demanding,” he says opening his mouth.

  “Eyes,” she orders again and they go shut.

  Emma sticks a lime juice-covered finger into his mouth and he flinches a little at the sour sweetness. His eyes open again and he looks confused as she hands him his beer.

  “You are brilliant,” he says scooting over, making room. They pile some pillows against the wall so they can sit up together. After clinking bottles, they both take a long drink.

  “What time is it anyway?” Emma asks, holding the bottle with one hand and searching the nightstand with the other.

  “What you looking for? Another condom?” He grabs his phone, opens it and the light splashes on his face, just like the moonlight. And, again, she’s filled with that animal lust. He’s beautiful and I can’t explain it, can’t fight it, can’t do much but give in to the reptilian brain. Attraction isn’t much of a choice.

  “So funny. I’m looking for my phone to see what time it is. Where the hell is it?”

  “It’s time to go again.”

  “I’m serious, where is my fucking phone?”

  “Okay, okay, chill, Em. Let me call it.”

  After he pushes the send button, Emma’s phone rings and vibrates. It’s somewhere on the bed. Emma rustles the sheets and blankets and pillows around, looking. Finally, she sees the light and grabs it. Emma opens it and says, “Hello.”

  “Well, hello there, sexy,” Randy says, his voice coming from both sides of her head.

  “So mature.”

  “You answered it.” He had a point.

  Randy slips an arm around her and she relaxes into him, the whole time her brain screams this is not okay. They drink their beers in comfortable silence, while Emma tries to think of a way to bring up the idea that they cannot continue to see each other. In an effort to avoid this turn in conversation, she distracts herself with the phone.

  And every single system in Emma’s body stops. Blood stops pumping, air goes stagnant in her lungs, mouth and vagina race to go dry. She sees a sent call in the last thirty-one minutes. To Charlie. It lasted seventeen minutes. She blinks. It’s still there. She closes the phone and opens it again. Still there.

  I think I just broke rule 3.

  ~

  Charlie is already on his way to Emma’s house. To surprise her. He’s close. He knows she’s been a little distant lately and he thinks that she misses him and she might be a little depressed. While he’s on the way to surprise her, she calls him. He stares at his phone for one ring, two, three. He really doesn’t want to spoil the surprise. Four. He loves this girl, he can’t resist. He flips open his phone and says, “Hey, you.”

  Instead of her honey voice saying “Hey, babe, I miss you,” he hears silence. Then sounds. Voices he can’t really make out, music he can’t quite hear. It sounds like she’s at a party. Even before he knows what she’s actually doing, he’s jealous that she’s having a good time without him.

  Then the voices change a little bit. They become clearer. He makes out some of the words. He hears heavy breathing and moaning that he associates with the dance floor at a party or a bar. But next he clearly hears “Fuck me harder,” and “Yeah right there, don’t stop, oooooh yeah, oh fuck.” And it is clearly Emma’s voice. His fiancée. His love.

  Charlie is about an hour away and listens closely—against every instinct he has—to the rest. It lasts another ten minutes. Anger and jealousy increase with every frantic moan and filthy word he hears. When the call goes dead, he’s about thirty minutes away. He decides not to call her back.

  ~

  “Jesus Christ,” Emma says staring at her phone, and then glancing at the dumbfounded expression on Randy’s face. The fucker is trying not to laugh.

  He looks at her with his strong smirk, sips his beer and says, “Is what just happened what I think just happened?” He’s not at all hiding the fact that he thinks this is hilarious. And why wouldn’t he? He’s anonymous, I’m the one who’s ass is about to get deep-fried.

  “You’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Doesn’t he live in Toledo? That’s like two hours away,” Randy counters.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I need to think about this.”

  “Well, let me help you de-stress your mind, hot stuff,” he grins.

  Emma’s conflicting halves once again come into play. Half of her wants to shatter the Corona bottle on the top of his head, but sadly, the uncontrollable other half wants to fuck him again. And he’s right. It probably will help clear her mind. Even if Charlie is on his way, she knows he won’t be here for a while. Plus, she planned on ending this tonight anyway, and together they can do it one last time.

  “Relax, Emma,” he says and pulls her close to him, kissing both of her breasts then mouth.

  “This is my fucking fiancé,” she shouts at him. “This shit is not cool.”

  “I know,” he says. “Let’s do this one more time and then we’ll figure it out. It was a cell phone call, he probably didn’t even hear anything.”

  Part of her thinks he is right, but that notion isn’t enough to untwist her guts. This is not good. What kind of person gets horny at a time like this? What kind of person am I anyway?

  Emma remembers a time when she broke up with a serious boyfriend for no real reason and before the break-up phone call ended or her eyes dried, her vagina was dripping wet. Then she went out and fucked a stranger. It made no sense to her then, it doesn’t now. Apparently, it’s impossible to explain the wiring between brain, heart, logic, happiness, and sex organs. Shit just happens.

  Somehow thinking about how much trouble she may be in and looking at Randy drinking that Corona with the water droplets running down the side of the bottle and not getting off earlier has Emma on fire and she tells herself that if she’s already caught, it doesn’t really matter; and if she’s not caught, this was going to be the last night with Randy anyway so they might as well fuck for the fences one more time. Randy smiles and slides in; occasionally he hits the sweet spot and that’s all Emma needs. It doesn’t make any sense, but she cums hard this time. Almost immediately, and it never entirely stops. The irony hits her as she thinks: last time I was paranoid for no tangible reason and couldn’t get off. This time I’m paranoid for a very good reason and I got off real hard.

  ~

  Charlie is watching from the window. His face up against the glass. He holds a small knife in one hand; the other jerks his cock, eventually draining it against the side of the house. He’s never experienced any kind of voyeurism before. Something about watching his girlfriend getting fucked while holding a pocketknife got him raging, set him off. Jealousy is a weird, but potent, aphrodisiac. Subconsciously he twists the experience into something that Emma was doing for his benefit, like one of those live webcam streams on the internet. A special show just for him.

  Half of him screams to smash through the window and kill the cheating bitch, but the stronger half of him argues in favor of playing this out. He was glad it was dark out and that there was a slat missing from her blinds. Emma and her golden boy are rapt, completely oblivious to his presence. Charlie wonders how they will react when he kicks in the front door.

  He moves away from the window and finds the door has been left unlocked. Charlie creeps in quietly. He sneaks into the kitchen but doesn’t open the refrigerator, doesn’t grab a Corona. Instead, he grabs the biggest knife from the block.

  He stalks to Emma’s bedroom door. Even though it’s only a couple minutes later, he gets hard all over again. He list
ens. He looks at the knife and gets harder.

  ~

  Randy and Emma get loud and come at the same time. Droplets of his sweat land on her face and Emma can’t decide if it’s endearing or disgusting.

  They flop to the bed, sharing a pillow, sharing a blanket, sharing post ecstasy, sharing everything but love, arms and legs still tangled, breathing, drifting back to life. Trying to muster the courage to face the inevitable truth that’s looming in the background like a cinderblock knockout punch. It’s not love, but it’s something strong enough to make this difficult.

  “So what happens next, miss?”

  “You get out of my bed and I try to figure out what to do.”

  “He probably didn’t even hear anything; I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “Oh yeah, nothing. Did you hear any of those things that were coming out of my mouth? I just really hope he didn’t hear them.”

  “I really think you’re overreacting.”

  “You’ve got to go. I need to think. You’re great, but this is the last time. Ahhhhh fuck. I’ve got to take care of this.”

  “It’s okay, Emma,” Randy says. “Just know that on my end you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Thank you,” she says and kisses him hard, one last time. “This never should’ve happened, but it did, and it was good, but it has to stop. Know it’s been good. Real good.”

  Randy is getting dressed. “Yeah,” he agrees. “For a lot of reasons. Thank you, too, Miss Emma, and good luck with Chester.”

  “Charlie,” she corrects, a fleeting fraction of doubt in her voice and her eyes. She recovers. “Before you leave, prove to me you’ve learned something from me. Tell me about triangles.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nods and looks at him, stone-faced