An Amazing
Evening
by Michael A. Kechula
“You’re
truly amazing!” Cynthia exclaimed.
Fred nodded.
“I
suppose you’ll tell all your friends what we
did tonight.”
Fred nodded.
“Come to
think of it, why should I be the center of
raunchy man-talk, when I just gave you every
ounce of my love? I can imagine how you’ll
make this sound like the conquest of the century.
And all the twisted, sleazy words you’ll use
to impress your friends. And how this incident
will grow until it ends up splashed across the
front page of the International Tattler. My
career will be ruined. Men will flock to my door
waving money. Porno producers will haunt me,
asking me to repeat before their cameras
everything we did tonight. And we did everything
, didn ’t we?
Fred nodded.
“We did
things that don’t even have names yet---wouldn’t
you say?”
Fred nodded.
“Actually,
I kinda liked that thing with the rubber hose,
with one end in your nostril, and the other in
mine, while we jumped up and down on a
Tempurpedic mattress to see if a glass of wine
we’d set between us would spill. It was
sublime, don’t you think?”
Fred nodded.
“And how
we pressed our heels together while singing Three
Blind Mice thirty-five times in a row. Left me
breathless. Was it as good for you?”
Fred nodded,
then said, “I gotta go. How about removing
the chains that have me strapped to your
refrigerator.”
“Do it
yourself. I’m exhausted. That thing we did
with the orange juice carton took my last ounce
of energy.”
“You made
these chains so tight, I can’t move.”
“Are you
sure?”
“I
can’t even wiggle my fingers.”
“So
you’re completely helpless, eh?”
“Never
been so helpless.” Then he quickly added,
“Why are you looking at me so weird? What
are you gonna do with that straight razor?”
“I wanna
make damn sure you never tell anyone about this.”
“Don’t
do it, Cynthia,” he hollered, as she inched
toward him. “I’ll bleed all over your
linoleum. You’ll end up in prison. And you
won’t be able to do any of the things we did
tonight---ever again.”
His words
seemed to hit home. She dropped the razor.
“Atta
girl. Now loosen the chains.”
“Not
until you marry me. I’m no good to anybody
else. Not after all the things we did tonight.”
“OK.
I’ll do anything you say,” he said,
hoping she wouldn’t go bonkers and grab the
razor again.
Cynthia called
neighbors to help roll the refrigerator, to which
Fred was attached, to her pickup truck.
They woke up
the nearest Justice of the Peace. Ninety, and
partially blind, he thought the white
refrigerator, to which Fred was chained, was
the bride.
“Beautiful
gown you have there, young lady,” said the
justice. I know your husband-to-be is hot to go.
Can’t say that I blame him. But would you
ask him to climb off you long enough so we can
perform the ceremony?”
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