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Orchard Drive

The setting is a sunny Wednesday afternoon in the suburbs of the city of York Angeles. Quaint little tract houses with meticulously manicured lawns line the freshly paved blacktop streets. Usually, at that time of day, the neighborhood was perfectly quiet, save the occasional cries of a newborn or roar of a vacuum cleaner.

Of course, that day was a bit different. 26 year old school teacher, Marq Baxter played hooky from work to stay home and screw his boyfriend. They were both loud lays-- so if you walked past his house, instead of the blare of daytime television, you heard:

AAH! FUCK ME HARDER! AAARRG! YEAH, GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVE!

Is that a pimple or a bug bite?

Ingrown hair.

FUCK, YOU HAVE SUCH A TIGHT ASS, YOU HAIRY MOTHER FUCKER! AAH, IT FEELS SO GOOD ON MY DICK!

You need a shave.

Really? Is it really bad?

It's not horrible. But you could stand a shave.

AW YEAH, TAKE IT, MAN! YA LIKE THAT BIG FAT COCK UP YER BUTT, DONCHA? DONCHA?

GOD, YEAH! POUND THAT HOLE, YOU DONKEY-DICKED BASTARD! YEEAH, DRILL THAT ASS!

As you can see, this is a couple that's very comfortable with one another. They'd been seeing each other for more than a year. This ease however led to a sense of carelessness on their part-- for anyone home on Marq's block that instant would have heard their climax. Marq had to be careful becasue he was, in fact, married... to a woman.




Preston Laredo, a 25 year old grifter, usually steered clear of the "wife subject." But after a really good screw, when he felt particularly close to Marq, he'd bring it up.

Aw, geez, Preston, we've been over this. I can't leave Dani. Not yet.

Why the hell not? She can't make you feel the way I do. Don't you want that all the time?

I do... but I have to think of Dani. She's very fragile, you know? Sweet. Delicate. If I told her, who knows what she'd do? I mean, there's therapy... but she IS a therapist.

Well, there ya go. She can give herself therapy.

No. You don't understand. She was institutionalized once. Way before we met. Five years of marriage and I don't know the details-- we don't really talk about it. But she has these scars on her wrists...

Whatever. I don't think you're giving her enough credit. If she's smart enough to be a shrink, she probably already knows you like it up the ass.

She doesn't. And I don't want to be the one to tell her. At least not now. I just don't want to hurt her.

Preston sat on the edge of the bed and thought for a bit.

I'm gonna take a leak. Be right back.

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