dontravis.com blog post #526
Image courtesy of commons.wikipedia.org.
Image courtesy of commons.wikipedia.org.
Hope everyone had enough turkey and dressing last week. As promised, I’ll get back to storytelling this week with a mystery. For better or for worse, here we go.
AND THE WIDOW WEPT
As the widow wept in the front row of the church, I recalled the April Wine lyrics:
Weeping widow, don’t you cry. Dressed in black, I don’t know why.
I sat close enough to see the broad brim of her black hat tremble as she sobbed. Other members of Zorn Mendes’ family mourned as well, but not so ostentatiously as Lynnann.
Chess, the Mendes’ eldest son sat at her right, reminding me strongly of his father, even from the back. His legal name was Chester, but he’d been Chess as long as I could remember. Edwin, to his brother’s right, more closely resembled his mother but had more of Zorn’s personality.
Cecily was more of a blend of her parents, and at twelve, had been the favorite of both parents. Nobody even made an attempt to hide that fact, and neither boy, now 19 and 18, respectively, appeared to resent the favoritism at all. In fact, you might say Cecily was the family favorite, and that included Chip their Yorkie mutt and Sylvester, her goldfish. So far as I could see, the girl wasn’t weeping at all, but when she’d arrived with the rest of the family, she wore a vacant look. Probably still in shock.
Zorn should have been laid out in a bronze casket crowned with white chrysanthemums and red roses, looking as handsome as ever. But this was a memorial service as he already rested in his grave. That was dictated by the prolonged investigation into his untimely death. He’d only been thirty-six at the time he’d been found in his home clubbed to death with his own nine iron. I trembled with rage at the thought of the decades we’d been cheated out of.
The day we graduated elementary school—yes, elementary school—Zorn had looked me in the eye and declared we were going to be partners. He’d waved a childish hand in front of him as he created an imaginary sign. “Zorn Mendes and Andrew Gainer, Attorneys at Law.” His father was a prominent lawyer; mine was a realtor. I didn’t know how I felt about standing at the bar, but the thought of being with my best friend in the whole world snuffed out any doubts.
The dream survived high school, where we were known as the dynamic duo. Zorn threw passes, and I caught them. Won us lots of admirers, and we took advantage of that whenever we could, especially Zorn. By our senior year, his reputation was such that parents were reluctant to let daughters go out with him. Some took false comfort in the fact that we often double dated. Little did they know that Zorn dominated our friendship. He was definitely more venturesome than I, but on occasion, I could bring him back from the edge.
Toward the end of our senior year in high school, I noticed a slight change in his behavior. He still chased girls, and we doubled more than ever, but he wasn’t as aggressive in pursuing them as he once was. It got so we went home “unfulfilled,” so to speak, more often than not. It didn’t bother me all that much, but I figured it drove him crazy.
One night, we parked as we usually did after taking the girls home to discuss the evening. This time, he picked the deserted end of the city park. He shut off the motor and leaned back against the headrest like he was worn out. No reason for it. He hadn’t done anything to get worn out tonight.
He sighed into the moonlight. “Man, I hurt!”
“Hurt? Hurt how?”
“Not your first one.”
“Just the worst one.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “Come on, she wasn’t that hot of a date, and you knew it going in.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m in pain.”
I laughed aloud and said the first witty thing that came to mind. “So take care of it now instead of waiting until you get home.”
“You won’t mind?”
Caught off-guard, I sputtered. “G-guess not. Won’t be the first time I’ve seen your dong. Not after years in the locker room.”
Surprising me yet again, he moved the seat back and hoisted his hips to slip his trousers down. “First time with me in this condition.”
The night was bright enough to give me a good glimpse of his massive erection. Something liquid glinted on the end.
“Whoa!” I said without understanding what I meant by that word. “You wet already?”
He paused, and I knew something was coming.
“Naw. Over you.”
“Me!” I squealed.
“Touch me, Drew.”
It was my time to pause. “Okay,” I said. I reached over and tapped the end of his prong with a finger. It happened to land in the dewdrop at the end.
“Not like that. Touch me. For real.”
Why not? I shrugged, and reached over to grasp him.
“Now pump it.”
“You cum all over my hand, I’m gonna clobber you.”
“Ahh! Feels good.” Before I knew what he intended, he reached over and covered my groin. “You got a boner too, bro.”
“Well, why wouldn’t I. I’m sitting here pumping air in your tire.”
“Come on, show me yours.”
So I obediently slid down my clothing to wave around in the cool night air. I didn’t exactly compare, but I’m sure Zorn did. He had me beat.
I about came off the seat when he grasped me. Damn, that felt good.
He grabbed my hand and guided it back to where he wanted it. “Both at the same time,” he said, beginning his rhythm again.
This wasn’t the way I expected to finish off my evening. But in all honesty, it wasn’t bad. No siree, not bad at all.
Okay, so Drew and Zorn started doing it in high school. Now at age 36, Zorn is dead. Murdered in his home with a golf 9 iron. And there’s a widow, two late teen sons, and a twelve-year-old daughter. Hmmm.
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