The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind (16 page)

Judy gave a fist pump and
shouted, "Yeah! I can't wait to test out that custom, plush-bottom
seat." She hung up the dress and pulled on her blouse. "I'll send
Pru back for this. I think it's perfect, don't you?"

He nodded--his mind
obviously on other things. "Look what else Lew gave us." He held up
a little chain with a bosomy blond pin-up girl dangling from a key
ring.

"Betty Grable," Judy cried
snatching it to her heart. "I love it. Now, we'll have a little
piece of Buddy Fusco memorabilia with us wherever we go." She
looked at Wiley soberly. "You know, if not for Buddy, we might
never have met."

Wiley blanched. "Maybe we
should put that key fob in our safe deposit box instead of
attaching it to a bike lock."

Judy laughed. "No way.
Hanging on to stuff was never Buddy's style. He'd want us to look
at Betty and smile every time we lock up our bikes. Having fun--and
making love..." She reached down to cop a quick feel. "...were
Buddy's two favorite pastimes."

She knew Wiley didn't like
to ruminate on the convoluted quirks of fate that played into their
meeting. Judy didn't obsess about the past anymore, either. But
she'd never forget her old friend, or the life lessons he taught
her.

Thank you, Buddy,
Judy thought, tucking the garish little hunk of
pot metal into a side pocket of her purse.

She took Wiley's hand and
followed him to the street where Pru stood waiting--or, rather,
stood flirting with a twenty-something traffic cop. A friend of
Fletcher's apparently.

Judy tuned out the
conversation, her thoughts still on Buddy.

If not for Buddy's
example, I might be sitting on my ass in my trailer watching
Storage Wars with Pru at this very moment.
"You gotta keep the juices flowing to avoid getting old and
senile," Buddy used to say. Was his gentle nagging what made her
start working out at the gym? Possibly. Certainly, his friendship
and admiration helped her begin to think of herself as a sexual
being again.

Judy looked at her
handsome, sexy husband and felt her heart swell with joy. She got
lucky.

She knew Wiley would say he
was the lucky one in their relationship. He never expected to fall
in love again. He didn't think he deserved a third shot at
happiness. Silly man. Nobody deserved love more than Wiley
Canby.

And she intended to prove
that to him for the rest of their lives--one orgasm at a
time.

###

OTHER books in the SCREW SENILITY
series:

Book I - Bang! You're Dead
- a short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind.

Think: Ethel Mertz meets
50 Shades of Gray. Judy Banger is done apologizing for her name,
her weight and her sexuality. She is sorry–really sorry–about Buddy
Fusco–the dead guy in her bed.

Excerpt:

Judy Banger had one goal and one
goal only: survive the humiliation of having sex with a man old
enough to be her father. Or grandfather. Although she wasn’t sure
that was possible since she was fifty-four and Buddy Fusco wasn’t
exactly doddering. Quite the opposite, actually. Bud looked pretty
good sitting on the foot of her bed, legs spread, wearing nothing
but a shit-ass grin. With the help of the little blue pill he’d
made a point of popping the moment he walked through the door of
her double-wide, he was flag-pole stiff and, obviously, proud of
it.

“
Hot damn, Judy, look at the size
of this woody. Shit, I should have tried this stuff years
ago.”

Judy stared at his reflection in
the mirror of her antique dressing table. Her bed was just a few
feet away behind her but unlike a rear-view mirror, objects were
not smaller. Not at all.

She had to lick her lips before she
could apply a coat of Flaming Coral lipstick. The salesgirl had
assured her the color was, “Sexy mama hot.” She might have thought
sexy grandma, but she’d been PC enough not to lose the
sale.

“
You’re gorgeous, gorgeous. Come
over here. Let’s play.”

Gorgeous. When was the last time
anyone called her pretty? She honestly couldn’t remember.
Compliments had never been Shawn’s thing.

She looked at her reflection and
smiled. Despite the butterflies wreaking havoc with the coffee and
cream cheese Danish Buddy had brought and insisted they share “…for
endurance, baby cakes,” it felt good to dress for a man, to splurge
on new perfume and lipstick. She liked the idea of feeling
desirable. It had been too long.

“
Coming, Buddy. I want to look my
best.” As she fluffed out her artfully frosted hair–her one big
splurge, she caught his gaze in the mirror. The look of tenderness
in his eyes made her remember: he’s a friend. This might turn out
okay after all.

“
I love you, Judy. You know that,
right?”

She did. But she also knew what he
truly meant. “I love the fact you’ll let me fuck you, even though
I’m old and this could be the last time anybody lets me fuck them.
Ever.”

That had been her rationale for
conceding to Buddy’s three-month long “seduction.” He’d taken her
to a boatload of dinners, more lunches than her waistline could
afford, plus, he’d paid to have her front porch fixed–and she
wasn’t talking a boob job. The redwood steps and landing of her
double-wide had just about rotted through when Buddy called a
contractor friend of his to rip out the whole thing and build a
brand new, extra wide porch with a handicap ramp. She’d vacillated
about the ramp because it seemed to cry “one step closer to old
age,” but, as Buddy pithily pointed out, “If I don’t have to exert
the effort to climb your steps, I’ll have more energy for other
things.” He meant sex, of course.

I’m about to have
sex with an octogenarian, she thought.
 
I should be
ashamed
.

She was. A little. But she also
suffered from a deep abiding sense of fairness, and, dammit, Buddy
had earned this booty call. And what the hell! Sex was good for you
and she hadn’t done the dirty in a long time. Way too long. God,
what if her body forgot how to play this game? Or, her juices had
dried up like that uncovered can of fruit cocktail in her
fridge?

She glanced at the array of
products on her dressing table. The tube in the pretty purple box
promised more sizzle for her “big moment.” The damn thing cost
twenty-five bucks. She’d better see freakin’ fireworks or back it
went.

“
You’re sweet, Buddy. I like you,
too.” A truthful rejoinder. She did love him…like a friend, as Pru
would have said. Judy’s BFF, Prudence O’Riley–flame-haired,
ninety-pounds dripping wet and one wealthy male consort away from
earning her AMEX Gold Digger card–had even expressed a fleeting
hint of interest in Buddy until “Mr. Platinum” showed up on the
scene. “Did you check with your doctor about those pills like I
asked?”

“
Sure, baby. Anything for you. Come
on over here. Let’s get you naked.”

Bang!

~~~

Book II - In With a Bang!
- a second, short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger
kind.

"Pending an administrative
review at work, Judy Banger has time on her hands and much, too
much, on her mind. Is Buddy Fusco's son really going to sue her for
his father's wrongful death? Is the hunky carpenter Judy hires to
eradicate the bad juju in her bedroom really more interested in
laying her than a new floor? Might the sweet young cop,
Officer
Candy
, be
persuaded to stall the autopsy until Judy has a chance to talk some
sense into Lewis Fusco? The combination has all the makings of an
X-rated episode of
I Love
Lucy
. Judy Banger, you've got some
'splaining to do."

Excerpt
:

"Facebook? Somebody wrote
about me and Buddy on a social media site? That's disgusting. The
poor man's only been dead forty-eight hours."

Judy Banger sat on the
floor of her bedroom, back to the wall, legs splayed in front of
her as she stared at the bed where Buddy Fusco drew his final
breath.

"Frankly, I'm surprised
there wasn't a photo," Pru replied after that awkward long, long
distance pause. Prudence O'Riley--Judy's best friend--was cruising
the Mediterranean with her current sugar daddy--or as Pru
preferred, "My low-cal sweetener sweetie." "Everybody and his
brother carries a cell phone with a mega-pixel camera. Yesterday, I
saw a tourist take a picture of dog poo in the parking lot near the
Acropolis. Fresh stuff, not classic Greek petrified
poo."

Judy owned a wannabe
iPhone. She'd snapped a few shots but had yet to attempt
downloading, sharing or any other technological challenges. As she
told the Heritage House residents who attended her "Basic Computers
for Basic Dummies" class, "I've yet to meet a computer that doesn't
make me feel stupid. Which, of course, is my mother's
job."

"You can stay in my
apartment until the bad juju passes," Pru offered. "I won't be home
until Friday."

"Thanks, but I've got
Nester, the cook's helper at Heritage House, coming to haul away my
bed. Knowing him, he'll probably turn around and sell it at a flea
market."

"Eiouw," Pru shrieked.
"Sleeping in a dead man's bed. Yuck. Did his organs let go once he
stopped breathing? Pee and you-know-what does not come out of
bedding no matter how much bleach you use."

Judy's already touchy
stomach sent a shot of bile upward. She refused to ask how Pru came
by this knowledge.

"If you're buying a new
bed, be sure to get a king. More room for sexual
gymnastics."

Right. Like that's ever
going to be an issue.
Once word got around,
Judy figured her chances of getting laid would be on par with
winning the lotto--unless you counted men over eighty with a death
wish. Mature, healthy, "normal" men would run from Judy with the
same degree of ardor they were drawn to Pru, red-haired
will-'o-the-wisp, who embodied--and made up--the slogan: "Fifty is
the new thirty-five."

"I'm picturing a futon,"
Judy said, trying not to sound bitter. She'd loved the
soft-yet-firm pillow-top she bought to replace the saggy, stained
mattress she'd gotten as part of her divorce settlement. And for
most of yesterday, she'd tried to convince herself Buddy's death
couldn't have permanently tainted the mattress. But every time she
approached the bed her heart would begin to palpitate and her hands
would shake. If she closed her eyes, she'd see Buddy's cold, naked
body sprawled in all its lifeless glory.

Nester had agreed to take
the sheets and bedspread, too.

She worked her fingers into
the nap of the ugly brown carpet she detested. "I'm also taking out
the carpet to put in wood flooring. I might turn this room into a
yoga studio or home gym."

"OMG! That's so Judy," Pru
cried with a laugh. "I can't wait to see it. Gotta run.
Ciao."

Ciao? Isn't that
Italian?

Judy rolled to one hip to
pull her feet under her then stuck her phone in the hip pocket of
her denim capris and stood. What was "so Judy" she wondered?
Remodeling her house while on leave from work pending a
"disciplinary review"? Or rethinking her entire life after a good
friend's death?

Purging the bed and carpet
and changing the wall color seemed a cheap and reasonable
alternative to slipping away in the night and joining the
circus.

Her mind made up she walked
to the kitchen to call Buddy's contractor friend who re-built her
deck a few months back.
What was his
name?
Jed Something. She remembered how
embarrassed she'd been when she looked at his business card and
inanely joked, "So, your parents named you after your great-uncle
on the Clampett side of the family, huh?" He'd faked a polite smile
and nodded agreeably. She gave him props for his people skills, but
he'd obviously missed her reference to The Beverly
Hillbillies.

"How old do you have to be
to know Jed, Jethro, Elly Mae and Granny?" she muttered, scrounging
through her junk drawer for a business card with gold lettering.
One of the few benefits of being a packrat is she never threw out
anything.

"Ah," she exclaimed a few
seconds later. "Jed Blassingame. Let's see if you're up for an
estimate."

She punched in the numbers
and waited.

"This is Jed. I must be
working. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as
soon as I can. Thanks."

Nice voice. Husky and quite
a bit sexier than she remembered. "Jed. This is Judy Banger over at
the Mountainview Mobile Home Park."
I must
not be working since I'm calling you in the middle of the
day.
"You did a deck for me...well, um, for
my friend, Buddy Fusco." Her throat tightened as it always did when
Buddy's name came up. "Give me a call when you have a chance," she
added with a Betty Boop squeak.

Too late, she debated the
wisdom of calling someone who knew Buddy. Either he'd heard about
Buddy and blamed Judy, or he hadn't heard and she'd have to be the
one to break the news.