"Harry, you're the biggest loser I've ever met. Why did I ever leave Jim, for you? This is the last straw. I've definitely had enough of your bullshit. I refuse to lower my knickers for you anymore, ...I'm leaving you!"
"Haven't you had fun, Mary?"
"That's not fair and you know it, ...interesting is more like it, but all this bullshit is too much for me to handle."
**************
So, you think your life is boring? In a rut? Working your balls off to cover your nut? Wife constantly wanting more and driving you crazy? Wish a lightning bolt would strike you, just so you can be jump started into something more than normalcy, or removed from the same old, same old? Careful what you wish for, and always remember, ...more people die from lightning strikes, than survive them.
**************
As I sat in the old wooden chair, being starred at by these bloodthirsty boring men, the sweat dripped from my forehead. I wondered how many people have sat in this very chair over the years, which were as stupid as I was? 'Humiliated' wasn't a strong enough word. Where do I start? This has been such a screwy day, ...no matter where I start, ...you'll never believe me anyway.
I repeated my story to these fat bastards for the, ... well, I lost count hours ago how many times I told them the exact same story: The first time I saw the mystery woman was this morning in the teller line at the local Savings Bank on Main Street. My wife had overdrawn my checking account, again, over the weekend, and at five minutes to the nine o'clock opening of the local bank this morning, I was standing by the front door hoping I could get some cash in my checking account - before the mortgage check bounced, again. Then, the old wicked witch of the west (I hate that old bitch) Teller Supervisor opened the parking lot entrance (probably on purpose) before opening the front door entrance, where I was standing. Otherwise, I would have been the first one in line, ...just an hour, or so, late for work, and none of this crap would have ever happened.
It was a Monday, and being a slow banking day, there weren't very many tellers working, and the few that were working, were still setting up their booths, so everyone had to wait a few minutes for service. I couldn't tell you who else was in the bank, or what they were wearing, ...and if it wasn't for 'that damn red dress' the mystery woman in front of me in line was wearing, I probably wouldn't have noticed her either. My mind was thinking about much more important things, ...like making a deposit in my damn checking account before my account was overdrawn, and then getting to work late, again. Then, I looked at her in that wonderful red dress. It looked as if the damn thing had been hand stitched to fit her perfect erection producing body.
I was standing behind her in line, patiently waiting my turn, looking at the back of the sexiest woman I had probably ever seen, ...without ever seeing her face. She wore black spiked heels, black stockings (or at least I fantasized they were stockings, and not pantyhose). She was tall, slender, had long beautiful legs, and the most beautiful ass I had ever seen on a woman, ...especially in 'that wonderful form fitting short red dress' she was wearing. On an average height woman, it wouldn't have been as short, but it still would have been almost as sexy. No panty lines were visible at all. (The thought of not knowing what, if anything, was under that dress brought a smile to my lips, and an unexpected twinge in my crotch.) The dress was cut several inches above her knees. It was short, but not a mini, but on her tall statuesque body, it looked absolutely perfect, and shorter than it actually was. I couldn't help but stare, ...besides, who would know? She was facing ahead anyway, and she would never know that I had my eyes glued to her wonderful ass - as probably were everyone else's eyes in there too.
Then, 'you know what' slowly started to wake up from its sleepy existence. Before long, it was saluting her beautiful ass for all it was worth. (The trouble with 'things' is, they seldom listen to your brain. They are like disobedient little children, and only a good spanking will cure the problem - no matter what society says.) When you want them to listen, most times they won't. And, when you want them to be still, they won't listen either. It's a no win situation for men. They aren't very smart either. Like it really believed in its heart of hearts that this gorgeous mouth watering creature would even consider riding the pony with 'my little Johnny', ...let alone even look at it, ...other than to giggle at it.
Soon, my little Johnny was about as big as it possibly could be, and I started to get self-conscious about it, and I looked around the bank to see if anyone had noticed my predicament, (with the emphasis on the 'dic' part of the word). Then I wondered if that was where that word originated from? Laughing under my breath, and trying my best to avoid looking at that mouth watering ass of hers in that wonderful red dress, I nervously looked at the ceiling, and softly hummed a patriotic tune, ...desperately hoping that old serpent of mine would go back to sleep for awhile in its dark and confining cave.
Finally, it seemed, the line started to move and soon the mystery woman was being waited on. After a moment or two, she turned around, sexily winked at me, and left the bank. (The front of her was more breathtaking than the back.) Somehow, I thought, she doesn't belong in this sleepy quiet little town, and certainly not dressed that way at 9am on a Monday morning. I just stood there puzzled. Did she know I was staring at her? Did she know that 'Johnny Boy' had been aimed right between her cheeks for several minutes? Then I heard the wicked witch of the west say, "Sir, ...Sir!" I immediately turned toward her and walked up to her booth, ...as she gave me an even more scornful look, than usual.
I handed her my deposit, and she processed it. As she did, she gave me some nasty looks. Somehow she seemed even more miserable today, than usual. Yes, I had the torturous pleasure, over the years, of sitting down with her in her cubicle on the other side of the room, to try and explain the several overdrafts to my checking account. Somehow she seemed to never believe me when I told her it was my wife and not me, who had made the errors. She always charged me the full penalties, and never once did she ever budge an inch - and never once did she ever act a little compassionate. After the bank closed, the bank manager probably put her in the vault and plugged her in to recharge her batteries for the next day?
All joking aside, she probably had a boring uneventful lonely weekend, and was grumpier than usual, so I desperately tried to think of something else while waiting for her to process my deposit. After awhile she handed me my deposit receipt, and then she handed me a large envelope. I asked her what the envelope was, but all she said was, "Take it and leave". So, not wanting to hold up the line any longer, I did.
As I walked out of the front door of the Savings Bank towards my car across the street, I stopped at the curb to let a few cars pass by before walking in the street, and then I casually looked at the large envelope the witch had given me inside the bank. Probably some promotional literature from the bank - maybe I'll get a new toaster for opening up a new account? As I was about to step in the road, suddenly startling me from my neurotic thoughts, a gorgeous red Mercedes Benz 450sl from the parking lot in back of the bank loudly sped around to the front of the bank, and stopped right next to me by the curb, screeching its tires. The window quickly went down nearest me, and the mystery woman from inside the bank forcefully said, "Get in!"
Don't ask me why I did, and I still can't understand why I did, ...but I did. As soon as I was in her car, she quickly proceeded down the street very fast again screeching the tires loudly. The car suddenly turned the corner, past the County building, and took another quick left, until she hit German Street, and then headed out of town past the new high school. As we proceeded up Oak Hill, she suddenly swerved the car into the cemetery, and drove deep into it. After turning and twisting around the narrow dirt roads at a high rate of speed, she drove past the white fenced in Jewish section of the cemetery, and proceeded even further back, until we were in the remotest and oldest part of the cemetery, where the tombstones were a least a hundred fifty, or more, years old.
Then she stopped the car as fast as she had started it, and turned towards me. I was just sitting there, I hadn't had time to put on my seat belt, and all I could do was stare at her wonderful sexy body, in that wonderful red dress, in that wonderful red sports car, dumbfounded. The way she was seated in the car, her dress was hiked up even shorter than how it looked in the bank when she was standing in line The tops of her stockings, and a little creamy white bare thigh flesh above them, were clearly exposed. At that moment, I thought that I had died, and this was my just natural reward for being an obedient taxpayer, worker, and husband - NOT! Then, out of all the things I could have been thinking about at that moment, I thought, "I knew they were stockings!" My disobedient 'little Johnny' was holding up my shorts, like the main mast of a circus tent.
She reached out and quickly grabbed the large envelope that was in my hand, and she hurriedly opened it. Then she said out loud, but not necessarily to me, "Perfect, ...all hundreds." Then she looked at me - my jaw was hanging, drool was probably coming out of the side of my crooked little mouth, I was dumbly staring at her legs, as she noticed my circus tent. Then, a large smile came to her angelic face.
Then she said to me, "Because you have been such a good little boy today, here's a little treat for your obedience." She moved a little closer to me, and proceeded to open up my circus tent, and relieve the pressure on my main mast. I just sat there not saying a word. Not because I was anticipating what would happen next, but only because I was unable to rationally think, or do anything coherent at that point. A zombie ax murderer could have jumped out from behind one of the nearby tombstones, and I still would have just sat there in that beautiful red sports car, dumbly starring at this wonderful creature in the sexy red dress.
As she proceeded to lower her head to my lap, I looked at her shiny radiant red thick hair, (which I knew was a wig). Obviously, this was not the first time this sword swallower had been to a circus. This beautiful woman gave me a sinfully expert and wonderful blowjob. She sucked my erect cock as a wine connoisseur savored a fine and rare vintage of wine. I tried to remember the last blowjob I had (which didn't even come close to this one) and my best recollection was a few years back, just before I said 'I do' to Mary.
As the waves of sheer ecstasy filled my body, I stroked her fiery fake red hair with my hand, as if it were real, and I dumbly stared out the window at the nearby tombstones.
One of particular interest caught my eye. On it was 'R.I.P.' and the name 'John Spencer'. 'Born 2/15/1753 - Died 12/3/1813'. Under that it stated that he was a local patriot who fought bravely in the Revolutionary War against colonialism, and had been wounded. Under that it had one word: 'Grateful'. Suddenly, my entire body became rigid, and I fired my cannon in that beautiful woman's mouth who was wearing that wonderful red dress, in salute for this man's sacrifice to our young nation, and I too was 'Grateful'.
Then, the mysterious woman suddenly opened the door on my side of that wonderful sports car, and abruptly said, "Get out!" Don't ask me why I did, and I still can't understand why I did, ...but I did. Then she sped off in that wonderful red sports car, spraying me with dirt, dust, and small pebbles from its spinning tires, as I dumbly watched it become smaller, and more distant, as it sped it's away around the twisting roads of that old cemetery. After a few seconds, I couldn't see the car, or her, again.
I just stood there for a few minutes contemplating what had just occurred. After regaining some sense of clarity, I felt a cool breeze between my legs. I looked down and saw 'Johnny Boy' dripping and hanging out of my pants. I fastened up the front of my paints, and slowly started to walk out of the cemetery, contemplating what had just occurred.
Within a few minutes I was walking off the hill and looking at the new high school, and heading back towards town with a broad grin on my face, ...trying my best to comprehend the last 20 minutes of my normally uneventful life.
Suddenly, a speeding police cruiser came up the road and whizzed by me a a high rate of speed. Then, it's tires loudly screeched to a halt behind me, leaving long black tire tracks in the road. The cruiser quickly turned around and headed in my direction, screeching his tires again, as it stopped near me. I just stood there watching, as the window slowly came down, and one of the two fat cops in the cruiser said to the other fat cop, "He matches the description, ...grab him!"
I said, "Bob, ...it's me, Harry. We went to school together, ...you live right down the street from me, ...our kids play together. You know who I am."
The cop nearest me jumped out of the car, pointed his service revolver at me in his best military stance, and said, "Don't Try anything funny, mister".
I just looked at him strangely as Bob handcuffed me, and put me in the back of the cruiser. I feebly tried to say something to them, but all Bob said was, "Shut up, ...you're in big fucking trouble, asshole!"
Within a moment or two, we were pulling up in front of the Savings Bank on Main Street. 'The witch' was standing on the curb. The officer seated nearest the curb rolled down his window and then mine in the back. He said, "Is that him, lady?" She responded, "That's the creep!"
Then the police cruiser was moving again, and it didn't stop until we were in front of the Police Station a few blocks away.
When the fat cops took me out of the back seat, people were standing all around the car. Jim, the local newspaper photographer (and my wife's ex) snapped my picture. I was lead into the building and locked in a temporary holding cell. I sat in there for over three hours, and nobody who walked past would speak to me.
Finally, I was cuffed again and led into an interrogation room nearby. In there was the Chief of Police, (my cousin through marriage) Bob, and the other fat cop who brought me to the police station, a BCI agent, and a FBI agent. They just scowled at me as I was sat down in the old wooden chair in front of them.
After a long period of silence, the FBI agent angrily said to me, "What the hell got into you this morning, ...Boy!"
I just stared at him blankly. Then he showed me a note that he said 'my mystery woman' had given the bank teller this morning. All the while, the police, BCI agent, and the FBI agent just stared at me like I was the prize fish in the annual local fishing derby. I nervously read the note as my hands uncontrollably shook. The note stated: "Give the next guy in line behind me 100 hundred dollar bills in an envelope, or else he and his accomplices inside and outside of the bank will kill everyone inside the bank. Wait 15 minutes before notifying the police or sounding your silent alarm, ...or else you will be the first to die."
Then, I proceeded to relay the morning's events to them exactly as I have to all of you. After I was done speaking, they all had strange and confused looks on their faces. Then, for the next several hours, they made me repeat my story for them several hundred more times, ...desperately hoping to trip me up, or get me to say something different. I didn't!
It was exactly 3:16am when they finally let me go home for the night, not knowing for completely sure if I was telling them the truth, or not. Seeing I was a local, and never had been arrested previously, and known in my small community, they probably figured I wasn't a flight risk. Besides, my story was just too bizarre, and too lame, not to be believed.
After walking back up to Main Street to pick up my car, I ripped the yellow police tape around it off. Then I noticed the overnight parking ticket on my car. After ripping it up and throwing it on the ground, I proceeded to drive my car home, dreading getting there, and what was in store for me once I arrived there.
Half way there, I was pulled over by yet another police cruiser. The first thing the fat cop said to me was, "Have you been drinking tonight, Boy? I told him that I definitely had not been drinking tonight. He didn't believe me, and soon I was made to walk the center line in the road, and breath into the little tube of his machine. The cop had a strange and disappointed look on his face when it registered that I hadn't been drinking after all. Soon he was radioing my driver license info into the local station. After about fifteen minutes, he came back to my car with a big grin on his face. All he said was, "Harry, get your dumb ass home, and try to stay out of trouble for awhile!"
When I opened the back door of my house, Mary was standing in the hallway with an angry look on her face. I was tired, humiliated, and hungry, and didn't want to face the upcoming inquisition, ...but I knew there was no way to avoid it, or postpone it. She showed me the previous evening's local newspaper which had my face prominently displayed on the front page - being led handcuffed into the local police station the previous morning. "The main headline stated, "Local Man Robs Main Street Bank - Coordinated Police Dragnet Nabs Him Within Minutes - Female Accomplice Still At large."
I tried my best to explain what had happened yesterday morning, (leaving out the BJ part, of course) but she'd already been interviewed several times by the authorities, and my story had already been told to her by them. Then, I foolishly said to her, (probably because I was tired, humiliated, and hungry) "If you hadn't of bounced the damn checkbook last weekend, ...none of this shit would have ever happened."
Then she said:
"Harry, you're the biggest loser I've ever met. Why did I ever leave Jim, for you? This is the last straw. I've definitely had enough of your bullshit. I refuse to lower my knickers for you anymore, ...I'm leaving you!"
"Haven't you had fun, Mary?"
"That's not fair and you know it, ...interesting is more like it, but all this bullshit is too much for me to handle."
***********
Well, that lightening strike occurred in my dull life a few years back. Mary is back with Jim, ...I still get snickers and stares from my friends and neighbors, ...and my life is more boring than it ever was. People still ask me, "Where's the money, Harry?" Local treasure hunters still dig up in the old cemetery looking for the loot - thinking I buried it up there somewhere, and that I was waiting for the opportune time to dig it up and skip town.
So, always remember, my friend, ...lightening does strike out of nowhere, occasionally, but even if it you're lucky enough for it to not kill you, ...you'll never, ever, be the same again.
...But, I'd be lying to all of you, if I didn't tell you that there isn't a day that I don't think about my mystery woman in the wonderful red dress, and her beautiful red sports car, ...and smile a bit. They never did catch her, and I often wonder if today she is in another creepy cemetery, with some other obedient jerk, bringing a smile to his crooked lips, ...and he's stroking that damn red wig of hers?
R.I.P. John Spencer - I'll never forget you!
"Haven't you had fun, Mary?"
"That's not fair and you know it, ...interesting is more like it, but all this bullshit is too much for me to handle."
**************
So, you think your life is boring? In a rut? Working your balls off to cover your nut? Wife constantly wanting more and driving you crazy? Wish a lightning bolt would strike you, just so you can be jump started into something more than normalcy, or removed from the same old, same old? Careful what you wish for, and always remember, ...more people die from lightning strikes, than survive them.
**************
As I sat in the old wooden chair, being starred at by these bloodthirsty boring men, the sweat dripped from my forehead. I wondered how many people have sat in this very chair over the years, which were as stupid as I was? 'Humiliated' wasn't a strong enough word. Where do I start? This has been such a screwy day, ...no matter where I start, ...you'll never believe me anyway.
I repeated my story to these fat bastards for the, ... well, I lost count hours ago how many times I told them the exact same story: The first time I saw the mystery woman was this morning in the teller line at the local Savings Bank on Main Street. My wife had overdrawn my checking account, again, over the weekend, and at five minutes to the nine o'clock opening of the local bank this morning, I was standing by the front door hoping I could get some cash in my checking account - before the mortgage check bounced, again. Then, the old wicked witch of the west (I hate that old bitch) Teller Supervisor opened the parking lot entrance (probably on purpose) before opening the front door entrance, where I was standing. Otherwise, I would have been the first one in line, ...just an hour, or so, late for work, and none of this crap would have ever happened.
It was a Monday, and being a slow banking day, there weren't very many tellers working, and the few that were working, were still setting up their booths, so everyone had to wait a few minutes for service. I couldn't tell you who else was in the bank, or what they were wearing, ...and if it wasn't for 'that damn red dress' the mystery woman in front of me in line was wearing, I probably wouldn't have noticed her either. My mind was thinking about much more important things, ...like making a deposit in my damn checking account before my account was overdrawn, and then getting to work late, again. Then, I looked at her in that wonderful red dress. It looked as if the damn thing had been hand stitched to fit her perfect erection producing body.
I was standing behind her in line, patiently waiting my turn, looking at the back of the sexiest woman I had probably ever seen, ...without ever seeing her face. She wore black spiked heels, black stockings (or at least I fantasized they were stockings, and not pantyhose). She was tall, slender, had long beautiful legs, and the most beautiful ass I had ever seen on a woman, ...especially in 'that wonderful form fitting short red dress' she was wearing. On an average height woman, it wouldn't have been as short, but it still would have been almost as sexy. No panty lines were visible at all. (The thought of not knowing what, if anything, was under that dress brought a smile to my lips, and an unexpected twinge in my crotch.) The dress was cut several inches above her knees. It was short, but not a mini, but on her tall statuesque body, it looked absolutely perfect, and shorter than it actually was. I couldn't help but stare, ...besides, who would know? She was facing ahead anyway, and she would never know that I had my eyes glued to her wonderful ass - as probably were everyone else's eyes in there too.
Then, 'you know what' slowly started to wake up from its sleepy existence. Before long, it was saluting her beautiful ass for all it was worth. (The trouble with 'things' is, they seldom listen to your brain. They are like disobedient little children, and only a good spanking will cure the problem - no matter what society says.) When you want them to listen, most times they won't. And, when you want them to be still, they won't listen either. It's a no win situation for men. They aren't very smart either. Like it really believed in its heart of hearts that this gorgeous mouth watering creature would even consider riding the pony with 'my little Johnny', ...let alone even look at it, ...other than to giggle at it.
Soon, my little Johnny was about as big as it possibly could be, and I started to get self-conscious about it, and I looked around the bank to see if anyone had noticed my predicament, (with the emphasis on the 'dic' part of the word). Then I wondered if that was where that word originated from? Laughing under my breath, and trying my best to avoid looking at that mouth watering ass of hers in that wonderful red dress, I nervously looked at the ceiling, and softly hummed a patriotic tune, ...desperately hoping that old serpent of mine would go back to sleep for awhile in its dark and confining cave.
Finally, it seemed, the line started to move and soon the mystery woman was being waited on. After a moment or two, she turned around, sexily winked at me, and left the bank. (The front of her was more breathtaking than the back.) Somehow, I thought, she doesn't belong in this sleepy quiet little town, and certainly not dressed that way at 9am on a Monday morning. I just stood there puzzled. Did she know I was staring at her? Did she know that 'Johnny Boy' had been aimed right between her cheeks for several minutes? Then I heard the wicked witch of the west say, "Sir, ...Sir!" I immediately turned toward her and walked up to her booth, ...as she gave me an even more scornful look, than usual.
I handed her my deposit, and she processed it. As she did, she gave me some nasty looks. Somehow she seemed even more miserable today, than usual. Yes, I had the torturous pleasure, over the years, of sitting down with her in her cubicle on the other side of the room, to try and explain the several overdrafts to my checking account. Somehow she seemed to never believe me when I told her it was my wife and not me, who had made the errors. She always charged me the full penalties, and never once did she ever budge an inch - and never once did she ever act a little compassionate. After the bank closed, the bank manager probably put her in the vault and plugged her in to recharge her batteries for the next day?
All joking aside, she probably had a boring uneventful lonely weekend, and was grumpier than usual, so I desperately tried to think of something else while waiting for her to process my deposit. After awhile she handed me my deposit receipt, and then she handed me a large envelope. I asked her what the envelope was, but all she said was, "Take it and leave". So, not wanting to hold up the line any longer, I did.
As I walked out of the front door of the Savings Bank towards my car across the street, I stopped at the curb to let a few cars pass by before walking in the street, and then I casually looked at the large envelope the witch had given me inside the bank. Probably some promotional literature from the bank - maybe I'll get a new toaster for opening up a new account? As I was about to step in the road, suddenly startling me from my neurotic thoughts, a gorgeous red Mercedes Benz 450sl from the parking lot in back of the bank loudly sped around to the front of the bank, and stopped right next to me by the curb, screeching its tires. The window quickly went down nearest me, and the mystery woman from inside the bank forcefully said, "Get in!"
Don't ask me why I did, and I still can't understand why I did, ...but I did. As soon as I was in her car, she quickly proceeded down the street very fast again screeching the tires loudly. The car suddenly turned the corner, past the County building, and took another quick left, until she hit German Street, and then headed out of town past the new high school. As we proceeded up Oak Hill, she suddenly swerved the car into the cemetery, and drove deep into it. After turning and twisting around the narrow dirt roads at a high rate of speed, she drove past the white fenced in Jewish section of the cemetery, and proceeded even further back, until we were in the remotest and oldest part of the cemetery, where the tombstones were a least a hundred fifty, or more, years old.
Then she stopped the car as fast as she had started it, and turned towards me. I was just sitting there, I hadn't had time to put on my seat belt, and all I could do was stare at her wonderful sexy body, in that wonderful red dress, in that wonderful red sports car, dumbfounded. The way she was seated in the car, her dress was hiked up even shorter than how it looked in the bank when she was standing in line The tops of her stockings, and a little creamy white bare thigh flesh above them, were clearly exposed. At that moment, I thought that I had died, and this was my just natural reward for being an obedient taxpayer, worker, and husband - NOT! Then, out of all the things I could have been thinking about at that moment, I thought, "I knew they were stockings!" My disobedient 'little Johnny' was holding up my shorts, like the main mast of a circus tent.
She reached out and quickly grabbed the large envelope that was in my hand, and she hurriedly opened it. Then she said out loud, but not necessarily to me, "Perfect, ...all hundreds." Then she looked at me - my jaw was hanging, drool was probably coming out of the side of my crooked little mouth, I was dumbly staring at her legs, as she noticed my circus tent. Then, a large smile came to her angelic face.
Then she said to me, "Because you have been such a good little boy today, here's a little treat for your obedience." She moved a little closer to me, and proceeded to open up my circus tent, and relieve the pressure on my main mast. I just sat there not saying a word. Not because I was anticipating what would happen next, but only because I was unable to rationally think, or do anything coherent at that point. A zombie ax murderer could have jumped out from behind one of the nearby tombstones, and I still would have just sat there in that beautiful red sports car, dumbly starring at this wonderful creature in the sexy red dress.
As she proceeded to lower her head to my lap, I looked at her shiny radiant red thick hair, (which I knew was a wig). Obviously, this was not the first time this sword swallower had been to a circus. This beautiful woman gave me a sinfully expert and wonderful blowjob. She sucked my erect cock as a wine connoisseur savored a fine and rare vintage of wine. I tried to remember the last blowjob I had (which didn't even come close to this one) and my best recollection was a few years back, just before I said 'I do' to Mary.
As the waves of sheer ecstasy filled my body, I stroked her fiery fake red hair with my hand, as if it were real, and I dumbly stared out the window at the nearby tombstones.
One of particular interest caught my eye. On it was 'R.I.P.' and the name 'John Spencer'. 'Born 2/15/1753 - Died 12/3/1813'. Under that it stated that he was a local patriot who fought bravely in the Revolutionary War against colonialism, and had been wounded. Under that it had one word: 'Grateful'. Suddenly, my entire body became rigid, and I fired my cannon in that beautiful woman's mouth who was wearing that wonderful red dress, in salute for this man's sacrifice to our young nation, and I too was 'Grateful'.
Then, the mysterious woman suddenly opened the door on my side of that wonderful sports car, and abruptly said, "Get out!" Don't ask me why I did, and I still can't understand why I did, ...but I did. Then she sped off in that wonderful red sports car, spraying me with dirt, dust, and small pebbles from its spinning tires, as I dumbly watched it become smaller, and more distant, as it sped it's away around the twisting roads of that old cemetery. After a few seconds, I couldn't see the car, or her, again.
I just stood there for a few minutes contemplating what had just occurred. After regaining some sense of clarity, I felt a cool breeze between my legs. I looked down and saw 'Johnny Boy' dripping and hanging out of my pants. I fastened up the front of my paints, and slowly started to walk out of the cemetery, contemplating what had just occurred.
Within a few minutes I was walking off the hill and looking at the new high school, and heading back towards town with a broad grin on my face, ...trying my best to comprehend the last 20 minutes of my normally uneventful life.
Suddenly, a speeding police cruiser came up the road and whizzed by me a a high rate of speed. Then, it's tires loudly screeched to a halt behind me, leaving long black tire tracks in the road. The cruiser quickly turned around and headed in my direction, screeching his tires again, as it stopped near me. I just stood there watching, as the window slowly came down, and one of the two fat cops in the cruiser said to the other fat cop, "He matches the description, ...grab him!"
I said, "Bob, ...it's me, Harry. We went to school together, ...you live right down the street from me, ...our kids play together. You know who I am."
The cop nearest me jumped out of the car, pointed his service revolver at me in his best military stance, and said, "Don't Try anything funny, mister".
I just looked at him strangely as Bob handcuffed me, and put me in the back of the cruiser. I feebly tried to say something to them, but all Bob said was, "Shut up, ...you're in big fucking trouble, asshole!"
Within a moment or two, we were pulling up in front of the Savings Bank on Main Street. 'The witch' was standing on the curb. The officer seated nearest the curb rolled down his window and then mine in the back. He said, "Is that him, lady?" She responded, "That's the creep!"
Then the police cruiser was moving again, and it didn't stop until we were in front of the Police Station a few blocks away.
When the fat cops took me out of the back seat, people were standing all around the car. Jim, the local newspaper photographer (and my wife's ex) snapped my picture. I was lead into the building and locked in a temporary holding cell. I sat in there for over three hours, and nobody who walked past would speak to me.
Finally, I was cuffed again and led into an interrogation room nearby. In there was the Chief of Police, (my cousin through marriage) Bob, and the other fat cop who brought me to the police station, a BCI agent, and a FBI agent. They just scowled at me as I was sat down in the old wooden chair in front of them.
After a long period of silence, the FBI agent angrily said to me, "What the hell got into you this morning, ...Boy!"
I just stared at him blankly. Then he showed me a note that he said 'my mystery woman' had given the bank teller this morning. All the while, the police, BCI agent, and the FBI agent just stared at me like I was the prize fish in the annual local fishing derby. I nervously read the note as my hands uncontrollably shook. The note stated: "Give the next guy in line behind me 100 hundred dollar bills in an envelope, or else he and his accomplices inside and outside of the bank will kill everyone inside the bank. Wait 15 minutes before notifying the police or sounding your silent alarm, ...or else you will be the first to die."
Then, I proceeded to relay the morning's events to them exactly as I have to all of you. After I was done speaking, they all had strange and confused looks on their faces. Then, for the next several hours, they made me repeat my story for them several hundred more times, ...desperately hoping to trip me up, or get me to say something different. I didn't!
It was exactly 3:16am when they finally let me go home for the night, not knowing for completely sure if I was telling them the truth, or not. Seeing I was a local, and never had been arrested previously, and known in my small community, they probably figured I wasn't a flight risk. Besides, my story was just too bizarre, and too lame, not to be believed.
After walking back up to Main Street to pick up my car, I ripped the yellow police tape around it off. Then I noticed the overnight parking ticket on my car. After ripping it up and throwing it on the ground, I proceeded to drive my car home, dreading getting there, and what was in store for me once I arrived there.
Half way there, I was pulled over by yet another police cruiser. The first thing the fat cop said to me was, "Have you been drinking tonight, Boy? I told him that I definitely had not been drinking tonight. He didn't believe me, and soon I was made to walk the center line in the road, and breath into the little tube of his machine. The cop had a strange and disappointed look on his face when it registered that I hadn't been drinking after all. Soon he was radioing my driver license info into the local station. After about fifteen minutes, he came back to my car with a big grin on his face. All he said was, "Harry, get your dumb ass home, and try to stay out of trouble for awhile!"
When I opened the back door of my house, Mary was standing in the hallway with an angry look on her face. I was tired, humiliated, and hungry, and didn't want to face the upcoming inquisition, ...but I knew there was no way to avoid it, or postpone it. She showed me the previous evening's local newspaper which had my face prominently displayed on the front page - being led handcuffed into the local police station the previous morning. "The main headline stated, "Local Man Robs Main Street Bank - Coordinated Police Dragnet Nabs Him Within Minutes - Female Accomplice Still At large."
I tried my best to explain what had happened yesterday morning, (leaving out the BJ part, of course) but she'd already been interviewed several times by the authorities, and my story had already been told to her by them. Then, I foolishly said to her, (probably because I was tired, humiliated, and hungry) "If you hadn't of bounced the damn checkbook last weekend, ...none of this shit would have ever happened."
Then she said:
"Harry, you're the biggest loser I've ever met. Why did I ever leave Jim, for you? This is the last straw. I've definitely had enough of your bullshit. I refuse to lower my knickers for you anymore, ...I'm leaving you!"
"Haven't you had fun, Mary?"
"That's not fair and you know it, ...interesting is more like it, but all this bullshit is too much for me to handle."
***********
Well, that lightening strike occurred in my dull life a few years back. Mary is back with Jim, ...I still get snickers and stares from my friends and neighbors, ...and my life is more boring than it ever was. People still ask me, "Where's the money, Harry?" Local treasure hunters still dig up in the old cemetery looking for the loot - thinking I buried it up there somewhere, and that I was waiting for the opportune time to dig it up and skip town.
So, always remember, my friend, ...lightening does strike out of nowhere, occasionally, but even if it you're lucky enough for it to not kill you, ...you'll never, ever, be the same again.
...But, I'd be lying to all of you, if I didn't tell you that there isn't a day that I don't think about my mystery woman in the wonderful red dress, and her beautiful red sports car, ...and smile a bit. They never did catch her, and I often wonder if today she is in another creepy cemetery, with some other obedient jerk, bringing a smile to his crooked lips, ...and he's stroking that damn red wig of hers?
R.I.P. John Spencer - I'll never forget you!