I grew quiet as I listened to Marge snoring her self to sleep. I knew the sound meant that my cigarette would have to wait until night, when I'd incinerate it and put it in my pants. What the hell, my manhood was protected by Mutual of Omaha.

I thought the humidity was going to landslide through the window and into my naughty bits and I hadn't allowed for the possibility that I'd fall asleep. I was working on reflex and my reflexes wanted to dick Marge before she woke up and started singing about how exhausted she was.

-I'm awake, Brad.- She said, snoring.

-I know, I was just gonna pee.- I said more from routine than from actual lying. I had to sit on the toilet because my cock was as large as my anguish.

-God I want her.- I heard Marge say in her sleep. -I don't want this soap opera impersonator.-

I came all over the toilet bowl when Marge made a direct reference to parting Sister Angelica's cunt lips. I didn't know how else to react.

I could hear more of her words but they weren't about anyone's animal lust, they were about converting to Catholicism. On any other occasion I would have asked, but not on this one.

This reminded me of the time Elaine and I had drank wine together: Now I understood that she had meant to be sarcastic when she had my dick out, was about to sit on it and then said that for all these years my marriage had been one of mutual convenience and that it was a tribute to my indifference.

I plastered the cigarette into the sink. Marge was still jabbering about God as she slept. I went out to where she was on the couch, made sure no one was in the room, took out my hard cock and rubbed it against her shoulder, fantasizing Sister Angelica with her habit up. Marge's head turned and with a murmur took my dick in her mouth. Her eyes were closed as I pulled out of her mouth and came all over the back of her head. I felt bland and tranquil. Her breathing returned to normal and her snoring resumed.

I would always be an asshole and tonight was no different. I went outside and howled at the moon until first light filtered through my amplified anger.

A week scurried by with no sex. My howling had been 7 days late and an octave low. I wore my Frankenstein's bride's costume when we returned to the hospital. All the world loved a cross-dresser:

Sister Angelica, the receptionist...anyone with sense. The patients, the employees, even the ordinary screwballs, they all loved a man with a good rinse and set. The doctor, even if she was a little pissed, had to admit that there'd be no parting-out this extraordinary man. That and I had Marge on my arm.

-Yes, you're very cute.- The doctor said and I thought "¡Fetch this!" -I know you've been thinking a little about your son and a lot about my ass, so can the corn and come see him.-

We couldn't speak and we couldn't see and we smelled awful. Our hands were dirty so they made us put aprons on before bringing us into Brad's room. He was a little light in the head and his elevator shoes didn't help any more than did the decorative laptop computer. Every other part of the room reminded me of a Pullman car.

Marge and Brad jumped into each others arms like two arrows that had missed their targets and gone straight through caramel instead. They rained kisses on each other. The poor fin didn't know if the sun was up or down or if it existed any more. His hand moved into mine and I was as sober as a banana-eating saint. I felt like the conductor in a Pullman nightmare and in this spirit of animosity Brad said:

-¡Oi! ¡Papa! ¡Looks like I'll be waxing poetic soon!-

I went to the office, directing traffic from the airport. Dad was legging Marge and Junior directly home (they did NOT pass GO).

I legged it to my office by nine and the office was vacant. I had a lot of work to avoid. I closed the door and began sharpening pencils that had been left there, dull as my senses. I had ten bucks that said Bob Levi had been a set-up. His entrance had coincided with the precise moment that I had become all sentimental.

When Bob had heard that my voice was on good relations with Matt Brady he knew all his clients would say "See ya in the Haight, daddy-o," and that all his work to become Senior Partner would dissolve. Bob had to admit that his car could do without a major cauterization. I imagined that his wife and his daughter were both virgins and they both WANTED me. Infidelity ran through me like sugar.

It was almost 10 when I stopped sharpening pencils.

-¿Where is God when I need her to blow me like a gentleman?-

I had accidentally pushed the public address button.

-¡Brad!- ¿Are you you?- Mickey said, sober as saltpeter.

-¡No, I'm nineteen and I'm FANTASTIC!- I said in a voice that was true and false.

At that instant all the employees of the office sat reunited in my office, all stretching out their man and/or womanhoods. They all seemed so pretty and I wanted to touch all of them, their cunts, their dicks, but mostly I wanted to see everybody's birthmarks.

Bob, that son of the Byzantine Empire, who had a dandy birthmark on his ulcer, said:

-¡We have until 12:30 to eat the new President of the Consolidated Corporation of the Zero!-

-¡And I'm buying!- I contested.

-¡And you're also pimping for these tan Prometheans! They'll straighten your office after they've had their way with you.- Bob sure was agreeable.

I laid down, reconciling my self with my fate, and said:

-I don't know what the heck I'd do without sin, Bob.-

He sat right up and contested:

-I know I won't respect you in the morning. But I'm curious: ¿Is it true you made it with a nun?-

-¡It's true!- And it's also true that you're a jackass.

The journey to here was mixed up in everything but normality. A little later, after the bacchanal, Mickey entered my office trying on a grey hat.

-The man who sold this to me said it made me look like a cat.-

-Well, then set your pussy right here.- I said and she deposited her self in my lap.

I liked it when Mickey visited. One moment she'd be telling me about her accordion lessons and the next moment she'd be tying rope around my stiff prick. And tomorrow was our anniversary. Six years. It was hard to believe that we had been running around the desk that long. I remembered the day I had left Jeanie at junior high. I came back to the office and lunged at Mickey, but only succeeded in ripping my coat.

-In case you're wondering, I have a riding crop in the car.- I told Mickey. I also had a call girl, a bullwhip and plenty of oil--all personal favorites of Elaine.

-¡Elaine!- I exclaimed and sat down, my hands paralyzed with seasoned salt.

I had promised to call her but had only ten opportunities and now I had one left. A million years ago men didn't have to worry about who called who and when.

Cold goo on the telephone. I had dialed the Inter-Urban Conference number and was asking for Hal Jalikakik when Bob's head came through the door.

-¡I have such a headache!- He said. -¡Hey, you can't make crank calls! Come with me, interfrastically.-

Cold, cold goo on the telephone. My dick was hard even though I had left her.

I would call her after lunch. I put on my boots and my hat and dragged my self to the door. I felt bad about not calling Elaine but when you're dead, what's another twelve hours.

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To chapter, ¡Help! ¡I'm Sitting On A Muffin!: An Epilogue

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