Family is everything. That was what my grandfather, Filmon, who I was named after, had once told me when I was six-years-old. I wasn’t sure if he had mentioned it to his son, my father, who’d escaped responsibility to an unknown location, leaving a wife and two boys in a struggling household.
If I ever have two boys, I will never leave them, my heart and mind harmonized.
Family is everything....
In a sour mood, I grumbled all the way home from a tense day at work. A few of my coworkers had been on my case, envious of my promotion to Wildlife Waste-Handler, at a prominent national park. Previously, I’d held an assistant-supervisory position in the Beaver Creek Sanitation Department, located inside a three-story office building. But now my duties took me outdoors in the sweet, fresh air, among frolicking animals and under a vast, picturesque sky. Jealously had always seemed to percolate with my coworkers whenever I’d moved up the ladder of opportunity.
It was Halloween night, and there I was finally at home, sitting on my pleather recliner, eating a gourmet microwave dinner, and watching my favorite reality TV show, The Bachelor. I turned off all the lights in the house because I once again forgot it was Halloween and didn’t buy any candy.
“I hope the neighborhood brats will get the hint and don’t come ringin’ my doorbell,” I muttered to myself, still feeling a bit grouchy.
Two eight year-old twin boys dressed up as Batman and Robin stood tiptoed, pushing their faces up against the glass portion of my front door.
“Trick or treat, Mr. Trout! We see you in there!” the little Batman shouted.
I scooted further down in the recliner and mumbled, “Clueless kids. Don’t they know when the lights are out, people are out.”
“Come onnnn ... Mr. Trout, open up! Don’t be a cheap bastard againnnn ... this year!” screamed the little Batman brat in a dragging, blistering tone.
“Yeah, we saw you duck down!” the Robin twin added.
I shook my head in frustration and exhaled, “I gotta get outta here.”
A moment after the twins had left, I slipped through the rear door of my house and hopped over a wooden dog-eared fence that separated my backyard and a narrow alley. When I dropped down onto the alley street, an annoying sigh flushed out of me when I eyed the caped-crusader twins and two other costumed midgets at the alley’s west entrance.
I closed my eyes and froze, hoping they wouldn’t see me in the alley at night. Unfortunately, I was standing under a high-powered nightlight exposing me like I was the lead in a Broadway show.
“Hey, there’s Mr. Trout!” a squeaky voice yelled.
“Let’s get that cheap bastard!” another bratty voice screeched.
“Yeah!” agreed the others at the same time.
I stretched out an eyelid and muscled an eyeball to the side, shocked to see four preteen brats heading my way, seemingly with mob mentalities. “Dammit!” I was pretty sure I could kick one eight year-old’s ass. But four? I took off in a sprint.
Although I couldn’t kick all of their asses, I was positive I could out run them—I had been second alternate on my junior-varsity track team. It wasn’t long before I put enough distance between us that they soon quit, flashing me several farewell-middle fingers. I then turned around and raised my arms in triumph.
“Ha! Losers! I still got my speed, baby! Beavercreek junior-high in the house!”
After I celebrated my victory, the contents of my dinner gushed out of me and onto the sidewalk. Three long breaths later, my dizziness and exhaustion faded, and I found myself across the street from the local cemetery called Mac and Donald’s Burial World, owned by two brothers who'd lost a lawsuit for placing two large golden arches at the entrance. Now there was just one ash-grey arch. As my breaths slowed, I heard a strange noise coming from the outer edge of the cemetery. It sounded like a woman moaning as if she was bumping the nasty dance. Surely it was my duty as a concerned citizen to investigate.
I used soft steps, activating the peeping Tom … I mean ... investigator in me, toward the area where I had heard the sound. Under celestial lights, the cemetery glowed an indigo hue which allowed me to see my way through the shadowy backdrop of Red Cedar trees. It was quite creepy to be in a cemetery at night, but my horniness tends to shamelessly override budding fear. I then suddenly cringed from a cool, stiff breeze that slapped at the back of my partially sweaty t-shirt which pushed into my skin, giving me a sharp, uncomfortable tingling sensation and regret for entering the cemetery in the first place.
I soon reached a large patch of grass in which an opened grave lay in between two enclosed grave sites. There, in the semi-darkness, I was suddenly startled from a fully-clothed woman climbing out of the opened grave. When she appeared with her clothes on, I was definitely more disappointed than startled. My expectations weren’t always what I expected.
“Excuse me, Miss. Are you all right?” I asked. My voice was calming.
She seemed spiritless but managed to nod back at me. She then leaned back on a small mound of dirt, her feet dangling from the upper edge of the grave.
I crept toward her in an unthreatening manner, hunched over. Then I peeked down into the grave and saw that it was empty. “Do you want me to help you up?”
Without a word, she nodded again.
“Okay, up we go,” I said, placing both of my hands under her arms and gently raising her.
As I escorted the young woman out of the cemetery and onto the sidewalk, I couldn’t help but notice how cold her arms and hands were. But she wasn’t shivering. Also, she was drifting beside me in a dreamy state, almost lifeless as though she was sleepwalking. I became worried. I halted our steps and asked her where she lived.
She turned around and pointed a bent finger back at the cemetery.
I crunched up my face. “You mean … you were sleeping in the grave?”
The young woman looked embarrassed, slightly shrugging her shoulders and nodding.
I wondered if she was a homeless mute. “Can you speak?”
She hit me with another nod. Yet this time she opened her mouth and struggled for words, “Ye … Yes. I ...”
“What’s your name?”
“Mil … Mildead. Mildead Pierce.”
She shook her head. “Mildead.”
“Mil … dead?” My response was slower but clear.
She gave me one big nod.
Poor thing … can’t pronounce her R’s, I thought to myself. “My name is Filmon Trout.... Listen, Mildead, you can’t go back to that grave. It’s not safe for a young lady to be out alone, late at night ... especially at a cemetery. Would you like to stay at my place for awhile? I do have an extra room.”
She grinned and said, “Yes, of course. I would love to stay at your place. Thank you, Filmon.”
I half smiled, mildly surprised from her sudden burst of connecting words.
We strolled along arm in arm like a longtime couple in love. I had to admit it felt good to hold a woman again, and it didn’t matter that we’d just met. It was quite awhile since I’d been with a woman —4 years, 10 months, and 24 days, give or take a few hours. I wasn’t sure why it had been so long since I’d dated a female. I wasn’t shy and approaching women wasn’t a problem for me. Although it was possible that my rap game needed work, and maybe my brother Zeke’s suggestion of hi, will you have sex with me? hadn’t been a good pick-up line after all.
I’ve always thought I had this suave demeanor that women lusted for, and the ladies loved thin men who wore eyeglasses. Well, that was what my mother, bless her soul, had passed on to me when we had the “sex talk” on my thirtieth birthday; maybe women didn’t get my complexity. Anyway, Mildred … I mean Mil-dead—cute girl, didn’t appear to mind that I was holding her firmly, and she seemed to like me … so I thought.
Once Mildead and I arrived at my house, an avocado-green two-story stucco, I insisted that she take a shower. She stunk like a dead antelope. Of course, I hadn’t said she stunk. My mother had raised me to be tactful. I had simply commented that she didn’t smell like anything living on this earth. Clean-liness is next to goblin’s nest, my mother had often said. Before Mildead took a shower, I had gave her a few of my mother’s sleepwear and undergarments: a silk nightgown; longline bra; a nylon half-slip; and a thong. My mother had always loved to mix together past and modern fashion.
When Mildead emerged from the shower, I noticed how pale she was—as shades of green and light-blue blended together—sort of sickly, and her basalt-colored eyes, tired and bloodshot. I promptly showed her to the guest room and sat her down on a queen-size bed. Although she looked ill, she sure didn’t act like it. Mildead was a bit frisky, checking me out from head to toe, licking her lips as if I was a piece of prime rib.
“Mildead, are you ... horny?” I guessed, hoping she appreciated my naughty talk.
She shook her head and replied, “I’m hungry.”
A saucy expression bloomed on my face. “Are you hungry for me?”
Her eyes widened, nearly popping out of her head. “Yes … hungry for you!” She came at me like a vampire in heat, knocking me down to the floor. Next thing I knew she was on top of me.
“Easy, girl. There’s enough of me to—Aieeeee!” I screamed, after she bit me on the hand. “Mildead, I’m not into that rough stuff!” I stretched out my arms to keep her at bay. “I’m delicate!” I managed to push her off me and sprang up on my feet.
She countered with her own athletic maneuver to be upright, using a wrestling kick-out from the floor. I then reversed my steps away from her, but she kept creeping toward me.
“I’m hungry for you, Filmon,” said Mildead, snapping her teeth.
“I’m hungry for you, too. But maybe we can leave out the biting....”
I backed out of the bedroom while she kept following me with dog-hungry eyes. I wasn’t scared, just a bit confused—I never had a woman who was horny for me. I soon felt the wooden banister at the top of the staircase, rubbing against my lower back. I then backpedaled down a couple of a steps, all the while getting a bit horny myself.
I decided to stop, allowing her to catch me. But before I made my sexy move, the combination of jerking my head back and dancing the Running Man, Mildead tripped on her own foot and tumbled forward. I reached out to get a hold of her, but she slipped from my grasp and toppled over my shoulder, taking me with her down the staircase. “Dammit!”
I woke up a moment later in a daze. I was at the bottom of the stairs, stretched out on my back. When my mind cleared, I began to warily move different parts of my body, hoping nothing was broken. Relief soon enveloped me after I realized there was nothing more than an ache on my bum. I then raised my head and was shocked to see Mildead on her knees, picking up her teeth one by one from off the floor.
“Mildead, are you okay?”
She turned to me, expressing a wide, toothless grin.
Shock hit me hard. “Mildead, you have no teeth!”
That instant, she opened both of her hands and showed me practically every single tooth that was once in her mouth—incisors, canines, molars, and even a gold tooth. Apparently, she had landed face first on the bottom step, for there was a three-inch chip in the wood. I picked myself up from off the floor and raised Mildead to a standing position. It was odd, she didn’t seem hurt at all; it was like nothing had happened.
“How ’bout you? Are you otay, Hilmon?” Mildead asked.
“Huh?” It was difficult to grasp her current toothless language.
“Are you otay?”
“Oh, yeah. I … I’m okay. I’m just worried about you.”
She smiled. “Dun werwee, I heel hine.”
She may have said, don’t worry, I feel fine. Or, don’t worry, high heels are mine. I believed it was the former.
Mildead was indeed a tough woman, and I was turned on by that; I loved the fact that she was resilient. However, she now sported a granny smile, showcasing a dark, cavernous mouth which I certainly didn’t mind one bit. I proceeded to put my arm around her waist and guided her upstairs to the guest room. I promptly laid her down on the bed and kissed her on the cheek. But before I turned to leave, she patted the bed, motioning for me to join her.
Excitement jumpstarted my loins, and I leaped up and bellyflopped on the bed, crashing down next to her. Without hesitation, I attacked her with kisses.
She retaliated by gumming my neck.
“Hey, that tickles,” I said, giggling.
Soon after the giggling and gumming we began to make love, stirring up passion and emotion— two things I never thought I had. Mildead was indeed a greedy gummer. It was probably a new thing that women did these days; I even started to gum her, but I just folded my lips. Other than sloppy kisses, the only negative about our sexy time was that her skin was cold to the touch. But I didn’t mind it much since my body was overheated anyway, balancing things out.
It was a good Halloween.