Refer All Inquiries To God

“Smells like love on her breath,” Rad said, kissing her. The woman began to scream and Muffin Man gagged her with her own panties and bungee-corded her wrists and ankles to either side doors. Paralyzed with confusion and panic, the woman ceased feeling human anymore. She was a caged animal and the most horrific moment of her life was about to begin with the grim realization that she was no more significant than a slice of holiday ham.

“I got her ass,” exclaimed Muffin Man.

“I want that nice little mouth of hers!”

“I’ll take care of the dude!”

“Wait, I changed my mind. I want her mouth,” Muffin Man reneged.

“Well, big boys go first. So, take a back seat,” Rad barked.

“Fine. I’ll get to that when I’m done.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute! Hold everything.” Captain H interrupted. “Done with what? You still plan on fucking her up the ass?”

“Yeah.”

The woman tried to scream.

“And then coming in her mouth?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You can’t do that! You understand, Irish man? There’s an order ya gotta to do these things in, and you’re in reverse. I mean, sweet Mary of Jesus, we don’t go sticking things in people’s mouths that have been up their own ass. That’s just not ethical.”

“Who gives a shit?”

“I do!” Captain H began slapping Muffin Man’s face to the rhythm of his pronunciation, “Just-be-cause this is-a-rape, doesn’t mean-we-can’t-be civil-ized.”

“And remember,” noted Rad, “good oral hygiene is essential to the development of healthy teeth and gums.”

“You wouldn’t do this sort of thing at home, would you?”

“I live with my mother!”

“Just answer the question.”

The woman was starting to get antsy and impatient. Whatever they were going to do, she wished they’d do it and get it over with so she could begin the healing process more sooner than later.

While everyone was arguing over their piece of the pie, Floyd had inched his way to the end of the street. He looked in both directions of the cross street once, then twice, then again. He was making sure they were in the clear.

Floyd hadn’t planned on this night unfolding like it was. He liked to make an extra buck or two helping Captain H hot wire cars, steal radios or crack safes and whatnot. Whatever. It was fun work. It was money and replaceable goods. Insured goods. The woman in the truck was irreplaceable. Floyd knew this. What bothered him more was that, he knew the other three knew this, too. That made them even worse. Worse than the idiots who don’t know any better. They knew they were doing harm. They just didn’t care. The naked woman reminded him of his own female-birth-giver, who was also in her thirties and very sexy. He wondered if the woman in the truck had family or maybe even kids his own age that he knew in school.

“Okay, how ‘bout I fuck her in the ass and then cum in his mouth. Is that okay?”

“Now that would be a chuckle.”

“It would, now wouldn’t it,” agreed Captain H. “Shit, why don’t we just work the dude over. To hell with her.”

“What are we, a bunch of queers here or something?”

“If you have to ask – ”

“She’s hot! You know…for her age. Let’s fuck her, man.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” explained Rad, “it wouldn’t have the same comedic impact as violating this semi-unconscious dude every which way, now, would it?”

“When did we become the three stooges of sexual assault?”

“Just shut up and stick it to him.”

The woman was growing more offended with each passing moment. It was demoralizing enough to be the rape victim of three young men. It was another altogether to, then, be denied any sort of attention from those three young men and passed over for an ugly forty-five-year-old man. And, all of this coming after they had thoroughly inspected her goods. The ‘for her age’ remark wasn’t sitting well with her either. She was almost pouting, but still relieved, as she stared down admiring her own breast and flat stomach. She watched on with a perverse jealousy as the twisted event unfolded for the salesman.

“Five-O, Five-O! Run! Run!” Floyd shouted running towards them. He was flailing his arms all over to get their attention and then ducked out of sight, running like mad through backyards and hopping fences, over and onto other blocks. He was gone.

While he was doing that, the others wasted no time in getting their asses out of there. “Shit! The cops! Move it! Move it!” Captain H ordered. Muffin Man and Rad kicked the man’s naked bleeding ass under the truck and made their way back to the Benz. Fun was fun, but Grand Larceny and Rape were another matter. And if they didn’t get the car to where it had to be, for whatever reason, well that was another form of Hell they’d rather not think about either. They sped out like lightning and never looked back.

The woman, still naked, was too gripped with fear to cover herself before the cops came. She just sat in the front seat crying; stripped of dignity, independence, and self-worth. Another minute passed and she found strength to put some clothes on. A minute after that, she stood up and looked around the street bewildered.

Except for the sobs of the injured salesman under the truck, it was quiet. Very quiet. And, she was not hurt. Not really.

There were no police.

She puzzled a moment and suddenly remembered the odd look Floyd shot at her and started crying tears of joy. She closed her eyes and gripped her customized vanity diamond crucifix against her bare chest, and uttered, “Thank-you, God, thank-you. I’ll never be a bad girl again. I promise.”

She was lying.

 

Insert Extraneous Footnote Here:

Overtime, the head salesman began frequenting gay bars and S & M clubs as he now found difficulty maintaining an erection without the aid of some bizarre roll play or the presence of another penis. Alone, defeated, ashamed and unable to come to grips with what the whole experience had made of him, he murdered himself.

The authorities found him in his garage with the car running. He was naked except for one of those black and orange ‘FOR SALE’ signs hanging around his neck. Written in the rectangular white space of the sign, in ruby red lipstick, were the words ‘Refer all inquiries to God’.

 

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

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