Chapter 1

 

Marge Watkins leaned over the handrail and peered down at the water. She was standing on the footbridge in a city park. It was early spring and still chilly. She didn't notice the icy wind tugging at her coat. She wasn't actually looking at the water or the ducks that gathered below for a handout. Her mind was somewhere away from the park, the water, or the ducks.

She had come to the park directly from her lawyer's office. Actually her deceased husband's lawyer. Marge and Howard Watkins had only a few months previously celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary. Her Howard had done what so many other men had done. He worked himself to death. He had let the stress of running his own business put him down. Stress coupled with little or no exercise and a deplorable diet had killed him as surely as if he had put a gun to his head. Now she felt she had arrived at the end of something.

These thoughts and other similar dark thoughts passed through her mind as she stood on the bridge. At forty-one she was totally and completely alone for the first time ever and she was frightened. Now she was faced with the idea that she had to start all over and it was a frightening thought.

She and Howard were childless. Not because they didn't want children, but because he was unable impregnate her. Howard's sperm apparently had no mobility at all. Marge and Howard had talked about adopting, but for some reason it hadn't happened. It seemed the time was never just right.

Howard had taken care of all their business affairs and Marge had been surprised at the amount of insurance he carried on himself. She had also been shocked at what the lawyer told her the business was worth and there was a buyer standing in the wings ready to pounce.

"Let them pounce," Marge told the lawyer. "I hate the damned thing and everything connect with it. Sell it!"

"Fuck it," she muttered to herself, looking at one of the ducks. "Fuck you too, duck." Fuck was a fairly new word for Marge. Of course she was aware it existed, but it hadn't been a word she habitually used. Since the news came from the police that Howard was dead she had used it a lot. "Fuck a duck," she said then laughed remembering the ditty she heard way back in elementary school. 'Fuck a duck, screw a pigeon, go to hell and get religion.' She laughed aloud. It was just as silly now as it had been then, but it felt good to laugh if only for a moment.

"Next time, ducks," she said. "Next time I'm in the city, I'll bring something to throw you. I promise."

"Hey lady, if you jump all you'll get is wet. That water is only a couple feet deep." Marge turned to see a teenage boy and girl standing behind her holding hands. The boy was a light colored black kid and the girl was blonde and white. The contrast of their skin was startling yet erotic to Marge.

"I'm not planning suicide," Marge said to them. "Just looking at the ducks."

"Oh," the girl said. "It looked like you were going to jump." She sounded disappointed.

"Not today," Marge said. "Have a nice day." The two teens went on over the bridge hand in hand and out of sight around a curve in the path. A few minutes later Marge left the bridge and headed back to where she had parked her ten year old station wagon. She was driving a ten year old piece of shit and had just authorized the sale of a five point seven million dollar company. Something needed to be done about that, she thought. Howard's five year old Volvo was totaled when he hit that utility pole seconds after his heart stopped working. She spotted the two teenagers sitting off the main path on a bench. Their faces were stuck together and the boy had one hand under the girls skirt and his other hand was tugging to get the girl's breast out of her shirt.

Without conscious thought, Marge stopped and watched the two kids. She stood rooted in place while they kissed and made-out. The girl cautioned the boy not to tear her panties and helped him get her pert boobs out of her bra.

Marge shook herself and moved on away from them. Were they going to do it right there on the bench? It certainly looked like it

 

***

 

Three days later, Marge still thought about the kids she saw in the park. Interracial sex wasn't something she had thought about much. Not that the idea repulsed her. She maintained a 'live and let live' attitude about those kinds of things. Poor Howard had been a bigot of the first water. He didn't hate blacks, Asians, or any race or minority. He simply refused to acknowledge they existed. At first Marge tried to change and to liberalize him, but soon gave it up as a waste of time and energy. Howard was Howard and nothing was going to change that. No, she corrected herself in her mind. Something had changed and she hoped that if Howard went to heaven, he had changed his thinking at the last moment. Marge was sure there would be plenty of minorities behind the pearly gates.

It took three months for Howard's estate to finally get settled. The company was sold soon afterward. Howard and Marge lived in a big two and a half story house in an older suburban neighborhood. Marge was surprised when she hired a realtor to sell the big house. The house was worth four times what they paid for it and the house sold quickly.

Wanting a change, Marge, moved out of the suburbs and back into the city. She bought a nice two bedroom condo complete with security and doormen who were on duty twenty-four hours a day.

Marge found herself going out to eat a lot. Cooking for two had always been a problem, but cooking for one just wasn't worth it. There was, within walking distance, several nice restaurants so her newly acquired car stayed in the parking garage much of the time.

Her condo was also within walking distance to the park where she had seen the young black and white couple. She went several times over the next few weeks, but never saw them again even thought they were on her mind a lot. She didn't understand it, but there was something intriguing about the mingling of black and white.

Spring turned into summer, and one day, on impulse, Marge rescued her new convertible from its parking place and went for a drive. She drove out of the city and toured the countryside for several hours. On her way home she missed her exit and found herself in the heart of downtown. She knew where she was, but wasn't sure how to get out. She had a city map in her console so she pulled into a parking place and consulted her map.

When she raised her eyes from the map she saw a woman standing a few yards away. From the way the woman was dressed Marge presumed she was a prostitute. The hooker was white with extremely large breasts that threatened to burst out of her dress.

Marge started her car, but for some reason she didn't pull away. She curiously watched the woman. Considering the neighborhood she decided, while she was stopped, she would put the top up. The rising top caught the hookers eye. Marge saw the woman leave her spot and stroll toward the car.

"Hi sugar," the hooker said leaning down at the passenger's window giving Marge a view of her ample cleavage. "You lookin' for me?"

"Huh? Why...No, no, I'm just getting my bearings. Why would I be looking for you?" The question just slipped out.

"Never know," the woman said. Up close she wasn't as young as she appeared from a distance. Marge guessed her age at over thirty. Maybe closer to forty. "I gave up trying to figure people out a long time ago. Different stroke, they say."

"Women come here looking for...you know?" Marge finished lamely.

"Sure, now and again," the woman answered with a grin. "Ah, shit," the hooker said. "You mind if I sit in your car a minute?" she didn't wait for an answer. She opened the door and slid in. "Frog is coming and I don't feel like fuckin' with him right now."

"Who's Frog?" Marge asked startled by the turn of events.

"Asshole pimp," the woman said. "He claims this part of the neighborhood as his territory. He don't like it that I'm workin' here. Always putting the heat on me to come in with him."

"I take it you don't have a pimp," Marge said watching the tall skinny black man approach.

"Hell no," the woman said with a snort. "Who needs a fuckin' pimp? I know how to spend my money good enough. Besides, I had one once. The son of a bitch was either fuckin' my ass or whippin' it. I made thirty grand and he damned near got all of it. Fuck that shit."

"I thought you had to have a pimp," Marge said. The tall black man was only a few yards from them. "I mean for protection or something."

"Protection my ass," the woman said. "I got a straight razor in the waistband of my panties and I got some pepper spray. I'm my own fuckin' protection. That skinny mutherfucker couldn't protect me anyhow. If big Hal came for me, Frog couldn't do shit."

"Who's Big Hal?" Marge asked. For some reason she found it stimulating to talk with the whore sitting beside her.

"Big Hal is the man with the biggest set of balls around. He's the main man around here. He runs most of the whores in this part of town. Now that Big Hal is one mean mutherfucker. Don't nobody mess with him." Frog looked in at the woman with a smirk and went on down the street.

"Your razor wouldn't help with Big Hal?"

"Shit no! If Big Hal came and told me to suck his cock, I'd be on my knees suckin' like crazy. He say shit and I'd say how much. Big Hal want some pussy, I'm goina give him some. Nobody fucks around with him. Where'd that fuckin' Frog go?"

"He went inside that store back there," Marge said. "I watched him in the mirror."

"Fuck," the woman breathed. "You let me wait here with you and I'll suck your cunt for free."

"Oh, ah, you can wait, but I'll take a rain check on...your kind offer," Marge stammered.

"What? You ain't never had no chick eat your pussy? Shit, girl, you don't know what you're missing. You never had a woman eat you, sure enough?"

"Only once when I was in high school," Marge confessed wondering why she was telling the woman anything at all. "My girlfriend and I messed around a little. Didn't amount to much." She didn't feel obligated to mention the times in college. In fact she didn't know why she was even talking to the woman at all.

"She stick her tongue in your snatch?" the hooker asked with a big grin.

"Yes, but just a little," Marge said aware her face was flushed. Shut up, she told herself.

"Feel good?" Marge nodded. "You eat her cunt?"

"Yes, a little," Marge said chastising herself for talking to the woman. "Her parents came home and we had to stop. They moved away soon after that."

"Pity," the hooker said craning her head to see where Frog was. "Ain't nothing like a woman's tongue on your snatch to make the world go away. 'Course a stiff dick is pretty good, too. Where'd that prick get to?"

"He just came out and is standing there looking this way," Marge said looking in the mirror.

"Miserable asshole," the hooker said. "He's on his way to the pool hall to play with the other sorry cocksuckers, Big Hal let's hang out around here. He'll move on pretty soon. You sure you don't want me to polish your pussy for you?"

"No thanks," Marge said aware her mouth was dry.

"Up to you," the woman said. "I'm Dottie. That's my street name. You change your mind, you come on by and I'll suck you good. What's that prick doing now?"

"He's leaving, going the other way. You want me to drop you somewhere? Maybe around the corner?"

"Naw, I have a few good customers that look for me on this corner. Ain't none of my business, but if you're down here looking for some cock, you need to stay away from Big Hal. That bastard is hung like a bear. If you ain't used to big cock, he might be too much for you to handle."

"How big?" Marge asked. She asked herself why was she was keeping the conversation with Dottie going.

"I ain't ever fucked him, but they say a full ten inches long and as big around as a beer can. That's a lot of meat anyway you cut it. They tell me he likes to make women scream when he pokes them. Especially us white women. I'll see you around and thanks," Dottie said getting out of the car.

Marge drove away wondering why she found that conversation so arousing. She knew she was wet between her legs.