BY GREGORY ALLEN
He waited impatiently in line for his turn. Apparently, this store had an affirmative action policy for the hiring of mentally impaired cashiers. He heard giggles from further up in the line and glanced once again at the pair of high school girls. He looked at them, appreciating their young, fresh beauty. One felt a gaze upon her and looked up and past him, not seeing him, scanning the line, looking for anybody worthy of bestowing with their young beauty. He was non-existent to her, not worthy of notice. He was too old, too bald and too un-cool. He tried not to notice them, focusing on the slow moving cashier, trying to will him to work faster. At last, he got through the line and on his way home.
He leaves the groceries on the counter goes into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, still able to see the strong, young man through the thinning hair and sagging muscles. He takes off shirt, sees only slight paunch, ignoring the pasty, bloated torso and fat-filled, woman breasts. It's not that he had any interest in the high school girls beyond eye candy, but they should have showed him the appreciation that was his due.
He vaguely wondered where his useless wife was. It is not like she worked or did any of the marketing. She had never done any of that. It just made her too tired and wouldn't he be a dear and do it for her. When he had first met her, he didn't mind doing those things. He wasn't rich or particularly good in bed; just a regular guy. She had been a beautiful prize that he had landed, despite the odds. He had been grateful for the opportunity to do anything for his prize wife.
That was then. In the 7 years they had been married, she quit working and added another 80 pounds to her petite frame. She lay around all day sleeping and watching her soap operas or occasionally spending his money at shopping malls; often accompanied by their sluttish next door neighbor, the one with 4 kids and 3 fathers. He didn't know how they afforded to live there, probably made more off the state than he made working. The liberal establishment rewards those who have no self control.
Even the sex became less interesting. In the beginning, it had been fresh and exciting, looking into that beautiful face while they made love. Now, as he looked at her mascara-caked, puffy face, glazed eyes staring into space, their love-making now resembled a coupling of him and some creature from the planet of warm goo.
He made himself dinner, not bothering to make an extra portion for his late-arriving wife. She was usually late and usually remembered to feed herself, not bothering to take him into consideration. The fact that he worked all day to provide for the lazy bitch meant nothing to her. He sat on the couch, eating the simple meal, watching the latest of the reality shows. Another show about stupid people acting even more stupid. He didn't know why anyone watched these things. Perhaps, he reflected, if their lives sucked as much as his did, they needed to watch others enjoying real lives. Perhaps there was something to it and he should give these shows more of a chance.
As the idiot box showed some tanned, buff, young bimbo putting unspeakable things into her mouth, he sensed movement at the edge of his vision. He quickly looked in that direction, but, as usual, there was nothing there. Many times, he sensed things just at the edge of his perception, but always there was nothing. He'd heard that such things were a common trick of visual acuity.
Annoyed that he had been distracted and missed the bimbo puking some sort of animal entrails over her tight t-shirt, he returned and finished his meal. He watched two more hours of focus-group approved prime-time television for the mentally impaired and went to bed, not worrying about his missing wife. Eventually, she would be home, or not. He didn't care either way.
Past midnight, he heard her thumping around. He saw her, looking even more sloppy than usual, struggling to get into her night clothes that had not fit in a long time. He watched her undress in the near darkness, not commenting on her late arrival. She crawled onto the bed, the springs moaning in protest. She fell almost instantly asleep, the snoring beginning already. Nauseated at what he saw, he got up and sat staring out the living room window. He was not nauseated by seeing her naked, he was used to seeing her fat, stretch-marked form. His distaste arose from the fact that when his wife undressed, he had seen that she didn't have on any panties. His wife wore panties like an obsession, probably fearing that her putrid secretions would mar her clothes from that horrifically expensive fashion shop for women with eating disorders The missing underwear could only mean one thing.
He expected to feel the hurtful sting of betrayal, the pain of knowing that someone else was enjoying his betrothed, but he felt nothing but apathy. Instead, his thoughts traveled back to the high-school girls and their taut bodies, much like his wife's had once been. In his imagination, they were all his, grateful for his slightest attentions.
It could be worse, he reasoned wryly, with luck and the assistance of modern medicine, he had only 40 or more years to live and suffer. For the hundredth time, he considered divorcing her, but the realist in him knew that she would take half of his money along with alimony and, potentially he could end up with someone worse, or nobody. Even occasional warm goo was better than the frequent firm hand.
Sighing, he decided he better get back to bed so he could rise early and earn more money for his fop of a wife to spend. He didn't care who the man (or woman?) she was banging. Maybe the guy would do him a favor and throw her off the roof.
Again, he sensed movement and with delayed, bored reflex, looked in that direction. This time, there was something there. He froze in instant terror, feeling a cold malevolence and watched as a dark silhouette advanced upon him. As the thing came into the moonlight from the window, he saw that it was an indistinct, flowing black mass, the only feature being distinct cat-shaped red eyes. He could not find his voice and instead voiced a silent scream of terror in his head as the thing absorbed itself into him. The thing went into every cell of his body and every thought in his head. Just before he passed out he could hear the thing saying how this is what they both wanted.
He awoke some hours later, early dawn just beginning to creep above the horizon. He instantly realized that he had not been dreaming. He could feel the other's presence in his head and thoughts. He reveled in the feeling of lust and strength of the other's thoughts. He could feel its power. He knew that he was no longer going to shuffle through life as everyone else's doormat. He had now become a person of significance, a player in life.
He went to the bedroom and looked down upon his sleeping wife. This was the first thing that had to change. As a spectator in his own body, he watched as his hand ripped the covers from the bed. He shared the lust with his newfound brain companion, as his wife was repeatedly and forcefully taken. Her eyes were no longer glazed and looking at the ceiling. She stared at him wide-eyed and he knew that she knew he was now a person to be reckoned with.
Yes, things were going to change. First, the fat bitch was going to learn to diet or she would die. Second, he was going to visit this little lover of hers. He could see him and knew where to find him with his now expanded mind capabilities. He smiled as he thought of the pain he was going to inflict upon him as he tortured him to death. And, yes, maybe he would pay a visit to those little school girls.