Sep 27, 2018 | Blog - Mary Marcus
“Ever do it with one of your patients?” This, she asked him a few minutes after one of the best orgasms of her life. She was still underneath, he was pressed against her, covering the back of her on the examining table where he’d thoughtfully laid a long cushion and placed a pillow for her face. Both smelled faintly of the antiseptic they used here at the vet hospital.
“Depends on what you mean by done it?”
“You know what I mean!”
“Are you calling me a dog fucker?” He laughed and she liked his deep hearty laugh, which was cheery, and sort of bark-y.
Photo: Joel Goodman
He rolled off her now. She in turn rolled over. Her skirt was hiked up. She pulled her underwear up. And he smoothed her skirt down. She sat up, and he hoisted himself up and sat down right next to her on the examining table.
“What do you weigh? Should we go weigh you before I tell you about it?”
She followed him out of the examining room and into a larger office where there was a great big metal scale, the kind suitable for four legged creatures.
“Step on!” he told her and patted her backside again.” That’s a good girl.”
“One forty one.” And patted her behind again. “Too many treats!”
Why weigh her? It seemed kinky at best. But maybe there was a deeper, darker reason, like how much would it take to put her out?
A chill shuddered down her spine. A minute before, she’d been elated, now she was terrified. She glanced over at him furtively.
He, Dr. T., though many years older than she, unlike her husband, or herself or her stepchildren for that matter, was in nearly perfect trim. No excess gut, lovely muscled arms, and what had felt like equally muscled thighs, not that she really saw that much. She wished she were still in therapy. She’d walk in and announce, “I did it with the vet doggy style!” But maybe she’d never see any shrink again. Could it be he lured her here to fuck her then kill her?
“Go sit on the couch in the waiting room and I’ll join you in a sec,” Dr. T smiled. She did as she was told in so far as going back to the waiting room. But she stood staring at the bulletin board, the one that had started this whole ball rolling, so to speak.
It had been last week when she brought in Freddie, their long haired dachshund who had erupted with hot spots, following a very intense week long Santa Ana at the end of September. The hot dry winds were over now, thank God, and so were Freddie’s hot spots. But she, her husband and her step-children were still going at it. Freddie was her only comfort. Her husband defended his children, they knew it and wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say, even if it was she who was home cooking for them after work, checking on their homework, scheduling their appointments, while he stayed as long he wanted to and needed to at the office. Sometimes until 9 at night. God she hated teenagers, especially teenagers who still needed to be driven places. The nerve of them, just sitting there with sullen faces, thinking they deserved this and more.
She’d been standing in front of the bulletin board staring at the adoption notices. A five-year-old yellow mix breed looking for his forever home. Same thing with a white cat, a teacup poodle. All God’s children want their forever home.
At that moment, the thought entered her mind: I’m in my forever home and I’ll never have fun again.
One thing led to another, and here she was after sex with a sex maniac vet or a serial killer or both. She thought of running out the door, but she was desperate to hear his story.
He entered the waiting room carrying two large plastic cups full of wine. He sat down quietly next to her. He was as quiet as a cat she thought. She took a sip. Delicious expensive wine. Drugged?
“I did have an affair with the most beautiful German Sheppard I’d ever laid eyes on. She was golden with black marks, and the minute our eyes met it was love at first sight. For both of us.”
“Oh my God!”
“Her owner had left her to be spayed, but I couldn’t. She weighed more than you. She, how can I forget, weighed one forty five!”
“Like me, too many treats! What was her name?”
“Renata!”
“What happened how did it end?”
Dr. T. stared straight into her eyes. He had deep dark velvety eyes that looked right through her.
“I’m a vet. I don’t fuck animals. That was a shaggy dog story.”
“Shaggy dog?”
“Jesus,” he declared. “You come from a whole different generation. How old are you?”
“Forty three!”
“And how old are you?” she ventured.
“Never mind! Finish your wine and I’ll walk you to the car.”
It was very dark in the parking lot. Off toward the ocean a sliver of a moon with a star shined and twinkled near by. They stood together and he turned to kiss her. It was a beautiful kiss that she was almost sure meant goodbye.
“May I ask you something?”
“Go right ahead.”
“If I came to you, with some horrible disease, and I was suffering terribly, would you put me down?”
“Probably not.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“Where are you going?” she asked presently. “Home, to your wife?”
“I’m divorced,” he stated matter of factly.
“You?”
“I’m going back to my forever home. You know how it is.”
He shut her door, she started the engine and the last time she saw Dr. T. his chin was raised to the sky. It pleased her to imagine he was howling at the moon.
by 
Sep 20, 2018 | Blog - Mary Marcus
“Over there!” she called out cheerily. “There are towels in the bathroom. Take your time, forget the drought. While you’re in the shower, I’ll leave you some fresh clothes outside the door. You’re a little taller than my husband, but I think the stuff will work.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “You’re great!” And then he pulled out one of his brother’s old phrases, “This will be life-changing!”
Her laugh was relieved, she was glad to be helpful, this good hearted woman who knew how lucky she was, why else take a bum in off the street, let him use her shower, give him some clothes, even if she was dead wrong about who he really was…
She lived in a fancy townhouse in West LA. And this was the first floor, an office, it looked like, hers? And this was probably the guest bathroom. In former times, on his once a month dinner with his twin brother, they used to go eat noodles near here at one of those noodle joints on Sawtelle where you could eat for ten bucks. Probably those restaurants were gone now too. After the shower, he might walk over and see.
Photo: Joel Goodman
On the ride here, it was obvious, the neighborhood had changed. Santa Monica had changed radically in the past ten years or so. And now it was happening here. Down with the little bungalows, up with the three-story town homes with plate-glass windows and the BMW’s parked in front. He was currently living in an old van, pan handling, and so far, so good. No one suspected who he really was, why should they?
Like his twin, he was tall, he was thin, he was still handsome. His straight hair was silver and he wore it in a ponytail at the base of his neck. His shirt, one of his brother’s, was pretty dirty today. But it was obvious it had once been respectable. The half glasses on the end of his nose, the soft voice, all copied from his brother and all good. Unlike his brother, who had always held a respectable job, he’d always been a druggie, a bad ass, a cheat: the list went on and on. Though they looked almost exactly alike, they were as different as night is from day, good from evil, or jail was from this fancy joint with the thick towels, and the tile floor with its nice soft mat.
He stepped out of his clothes, and even to himself who was used to his stench, they smelled bad. How could she have let him in her car? He took the plastic bag out of the trashcan, and stuffed everything in. Even his thongs fit in. This trash bin was large for all the stuff they had to throw away. The king size of everything. He had to steal sample sizes because they fit in a pocket or stuffed easily down his jeans.
When the big bookstore where his brother had worked for years, closed a few months ago, he had gotten the idea. His brother moved to San Francisco to live with some chick he knew, and got another job. That’s when he started standing in front of the big empty bookstore panhandling. People would come up to him, people who knew his brother, “My God!” they’d say. “It’s the end of the world!” “Fucking Amazon!” –and hand him a twenty. Once a fifty. They didn’t stay too long. It worried them enough to make them far more generous than they’d normally be with just a bum. She, the angel today, he figured out right away, must once have had a thing with the bro. Her stricken face, her hand on his shoulder… the soft way she said his brother’s name.
Yes, he could hold it together long enough to look humble, to look grateful, to look like his brother always was, gentle, a bookworm, always working on some book himself, he’d never finish, but never behind on his rent, or his card with its modest credit line. The nearest his bro had ever gotten to jail was visiting him!
The hot water rushing down felt great; he could see the grime leaving his arms and legs, swirling down the drain, the skin becoming an all-new color. How kind this woman was to let him have the gift of hot water and soap. He didn’t want to hurt her, he wanted to thank her. To tell her how good she was. She was Jesus. She was Mary. She was Joseph and all the Saints. Clean clothes. Soft towels. People were good, people were kind, people knew on some level, they were just a few steps away from where he was, naked in a strange shower in a house he’d never see again; at the mercy of strangers completely alone in the world.
When he quit the shower stall, the mirror was fogged; he opened the small window above the toilet, to let the steam out. Then he cracked open the door and grabbed the new pile of clothes, put them on. Dressed, holding the bag of dirty, he called out to her.
She came down the stairs smiling, holding a brown paper bag, no doubt, filled with good things to eat.
She beamed at him.
“Ready? Great! Here, I’ll let you out.” And she turned.
He had his eyes on her back, a nice back, narrow in the shoulders, her shoulder blades just discernible under the thin athletic shirt she wore.
He stepped forward softly, not breathing and sprung on her, hands on her neck. She was one of the ones when surprised, do not cry out. But he could imagine her face, the terror on it. He liked the terror but felt sorry for both of them. He always felt sorry for a bit before it passed.
He left her in the front hall in a heap. He was mad at himself for killing her, so he kicked her.
He called his brother that night. There were still a few pay phones left.
“I bumped into someone the other day who thought I was you.”
by
