Raging Hard(8)

By: B. B. Hamel

Besides, I was used to this by now. This was rich husband number four, or at least I thought it was husband number four. Hopefully the guy was smart enough to make her sign a prenup. I could still remember the phone call I got, the day after I got out of the hospital. She kept saying over and over that this was different, that she really loved him, and that he made her happy.

Which, if it was all true, would be great. I’d love to see Lucille happy. It would help keep her off my fucking back and maybe help relax the branch that was constantly shoved up her asshole. For most of my life, I was the disappointment, the child star that never panned out. She wanted me to be a professional athlete or a singer or some other bullshit, but the United States military beat any notion of stardom out of my head. Now, the only thing I loved more than pussy was fighting for freedom.

Still, I had to try my best to be nice. Even if Lucille was pulling her usual bullshit.

I closed my eyes and started to drift off to sleep with thoughts of Claire’s full ass in my hands.

I was up at 0600 the next morning, ignoring the tinges of a hangover, for my usual run. I wound my way along the beach, my breath coming in deep and heavy, my body drenched in sweat.

There was nothing better than running early in the morning along the beach. I loved the smell of the ocean and the feeling of the sand between my toes as I pushed my body to its limits.

Afterwards, I showered and dressed. It was 0900, and Lucille would be expecting me by 1000 for breakfast, or brunch, or whatever the shit she was calling it. Then I’d meet her new man and his daughter, smile and be all polite and shit, and then hopefully get the fuck out of there to start hunting down the girl that had promised to suck me dry.

I did some quick body-weight drills, getting my muscles back into shape after the long stay in the hospital. My leg ached still, but I didn’t mind a little pain. Sometimes the pain just made all the good stuff that much sweeter.

Finally finished, I hit the road, walking into town. I was supposed to meet her at this little uppity restaurant to catch up first before meeting her new man, probably because she wanted to feel me out before bringing me back home. That was typical of my mom, always expecting me to fucking embarrass her. Which was ironic, because I spent most of my life either trying to ignore her or feeling embarrassed by her shit.

I found the place around 1010 and started to walk inside. The skinny blond man with a thin mustache standing at the station out front gave me a huge frown when he got a look at my sneakers, tattered jeans, and tight black T-shirt. However, Lucille caught my eye and waved me over before he could make some comment about their dress code. I gave him my most winning smile as I walked by.

“Nathan, dear!” she said, standing up.

“Hi, Lucille.” We hugged, a little awkwardly, and sat back down at the table.

“It’s great to see you. You look thin!”

“No, I don’t.”

“Is the army not feeding you?”

“I’m not in the army. And they’re not feeding me at all since I’m on leave.”

“I know that, dear, but before.”

“I was in the hospital, or do you not remember?” Of course she had never once visited me. I couldn’t imagine Lucille stepping foot anywhere near a military-affiliated place, let alone an actual VA hospital.

She frowned and took a sip of her drink, a Bloody Mary, which was Lucille’s usual breakfast.

“Of course I remember that, dear. I’m just making an observation.”

“Understood.” I opened the menu and sighed at the options. “Can’t a man just get some damn normal pancakes?”

Mom laughed. “Oh, Nathan, you haven’t changed. They have pancakes here, just ask.”

“So what’s with this breakfast, anyway?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah? Or did you want to feel me out before taking me to meet your new guy?”

“Honey, that’s enough. I don’t know why you’re always so suspicious of me.” She paused and sipped her drink again. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t made a scene with men in the past.”

I nodded, not surprised at her confirmation. Those “scenes” she was referring to were more like “punching an asshole for treating me like I was a little kid.” I regretted that particular moment, but then again, the guy turned out to be a total dick. Went to jail for embezzlement, cost his company and his employees a lot of money. Lucille got out of there pretty fast, and I had felt a little vindicated.

The waiter came over and I ordered a black coffee and a stack of pancakes. Lucille asked for toast and another Bloody Mary.

“Okay. Tell me about this new guy,” I said to her once the waiter left.

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