All in the Family by Taft Sowder Page B

through that window.” His hand quaked. What if she screamed? What if she fought back? Damn it, Ryan, you ain’t nothing but a punk bitch running round with an empty gun. His mind raced. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
    “Aw, Honey, all you had to do was ask,” Loretta said in a soothing voice. “Now give me that gun, and I’ll take you for the ride of your life.” She smiled her usual smile.
    She took a step toward him, and he took a step forward as well. Gun still up. “Back up, bitch.” She stopped. He smiled.
    He grabbed her bare arm, firm and yet somewhat gentle. Her skin felt soft under his grip. He knew she would feel good, better than his hand or that rubber glove he used to use.
    He led her down the hallway until he found the bedroom. It was her bedroom, he knew it, he could smell it. Her perfume scent was stronger in that room and the feminine vanity told him all he needed to know. He forced her toward the bed and closed the door.
    On her pillow, a folded piece of paper lay. Her name was written on it in ink. It was Herman’s hand writing. She unfolded it and began to read.
    My Dearest Loretta,
    My love, my life, I professed my love to you all those years ago. I found that I myself do not profess that love as I used to. I blame myself mostly, and the business, but from now on, I promise to tell you that I love you more often. I also promise to show you more often.
    My dear, you may wonder why I am writing this. It wasn’t easy for me, but I saw it. I saw you with that other man, fucking his brains out. I just have to wonder how many other men have shared our bed with you. I am writing this to you because if I was to confront you directly, I may well do something that we may both regret.
    Speaking of things that I may regret, we need to talk about Bob. Frank as you liked to call him.
    Until then and with much love,
    Herman
    Memories came back to her now, memories of the love that they shared, the moments they had enjoyed together as young fools in love. She saw Herman, on bended knee, a gold ring between his thumb and forefinger. They were in the park, the birds sang, and the sun shined as brightly as ever that day. It was an early summer day, the first of June.
    “So what do you say?” Herman asked. He smiled at her, or more squinted in the bright sunlight. He was lanky back then, thin and wiry. That was something that she liked about him. Dark circles around his eyes told the tale of his long nights of work after school. He still bore the dark circles.
    She remembered the feeling that his question had brought that day. She could almost feel it all over again. Then she felt something else. A slap across her rump made her jump and brought her out of her momentary day-dream.
    “What the fuck is that? A love letter?” Ryan stood, with his pants unbuttoned, his boxers showing slightly. “Well get to work. You know what to do!”
    She worked his pants down. His boxers had little hearts on them. She smiled at him and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She found him limp under the soft cotton. He was small and thin. He pressed the gun to her head, as if to warn her not to laugh.
    He took a breath, and she took him in her mouth.
    It had been near of fifteen minutes, and he was on top of her pumping hard and working equally as hard not to spill himself too soon. Sweat rolled off his forehead and splashed on her naked breasts. He gripped her breasts with both hands, working her soft flesh, his gun long forgotten on the bed beside them. He had never had a woman like her before. She knew the ropes; she knew what she was doing. He slowed as the sensations became almost unbearable.
    She moaned loudly, more or less trying to hurry him along, and yet still enjoying a man inside her. She noticed his slowing and urged him along, raking her nails along his thighs. That tickled him, and he almost stopped. She worked herself, wriggling on him, working him deeper inside her.
    Just as he was ready to explode in her, the door