From Dark Treats

Copyright 2024 Ray Gregory

 

Pet Peeve

Ted walked into the kitchen and halted. He glared at the countertop. Of all the bowls Jenn could use, why his? It was the only bowl big enough for his cornflakes, and there it was, stranded on the dish rack, peppered with dried specks of her granola. One “speck” as big as his thumbnail! He remembered how his mother had once been a slovenly dishwasher too, before his dad... He grabbed the bowl, wheeled, hurled it at the stone-tiled kitchen floor.

Jenn, still in only her cotton nightshirt, gasped. Where the hell had she come from? The bone-white bowl exploded right before her bare feet and legs. A ceramic shard grazed her shin.

Cherry, who’d been cowering by her dog bowl waiting for her breakfast, scrambled out of the kitchen, slipping and sliding on the tile floor.

A red trickle inched down Jenn’s leg. She clenched her fists. “You prick! Are you fucking crazy?” She spun and ran through the dining room, then back upstairs. “Prick!” Ted heard her scream again, just before she slammed the bathroom door.

“Shit!” He exhaled, long and loud. Creeping up on him like that? What the hell did she expect? If he’d known she was right behind him, he could have saved that bowl, popped her instead. “If only,” he muttered, then huffed. Now he’d have to eat his cereal out of one of those stupid little bowls. “Fuck!” Jenn knew better. She always knew better. Why’d she have to make him do that?

Halfway to the stairs, he noticed Cherry hunched and trembling by the living room sofa. She couldn’t help it. Miniature schnauzers were famously high-strung. He turned back to the kitchen, poured out Cherry’s breakfast kibbles, added some extra to make up for the trauma. “C’mon. That’s it, c’mon.” After Cherry crept to the bowl, he stroked her head as she gobbled. “Sorry ‘bout that, girl.” She hadn’t done anything wrong.

He trudged up the stairs, drifting further back in time with every step, all the way back to middle school when his mother learned her lesson. His old man hadn’t stopped at one bowl either, hadn’t stopped with the bowls. Old-school maybe, and hard as nails when he had to be, but there was a guy with standards. Mom, who looked as hot as Jenn back then, wore over-sized sunglasses for weeks after that. But from then on, she kept the new bowls and dishes Dad bought her spotless.
Before he moved up to management in the union, Dad had done real, physical work. He never had to go to any “pansy-ass gym” to keep in shape or let off steam. Got all the exercise he needed on the job and in the sack, he liked to brag. Sure, money was often tight back then, but things were a lot simpler too. People knew their places, knew what was expected of them. If they didn’t, or they forgot, they got straightened out quick.

He reached the upstairs bathroom. He jiggled the doorknob. Locked, of course. “Why use my bowl?” he shouted at the closed door. “Why’d you make me do that?”

He took a long breath. “Look, sorry about your leg, okay? I didn’t see you...”

“Go fuck yourself!” Jenn’s voice was piercing, even through the door.
He clenched his jaws, then unclenched them, took another breath. “How was I supposed to know you were right behind me? The way you sneak around...” He shook his head, sniffed. Her leg was barely scratched. But by now she’d probably doctored her “wound” with antiseptic ointment, even applied one of those giant band-aides she kept in the medicine cabinet.

He took another breath, let his mind’s eye roam its way up Jenn’s legs, admiring the curve of her calves, her creamy thighs, and how she could spread them! The flimsy nightshirts she wore barely covered her ass. And the way they hung over her tits, highlighting every jiggle, rousing her nipples! He felt the heat rising in his groin again, the heat and the swelling. As he told his buddies when they bitched about tiresome their wives, adrenalin wasn’t just for anger.

“C’mon, baby. Lemme kiss it, okay? I’ll make it better.”

“Just fuck yourself.” But she sounded more petulant than angry now.
He grinned. “Would if I could, babe. Now, c’mon, open up for daddy. C’mon, baby. Lemme kiss it for you.”

 

Jenn bit her lip as Ted pleaded. She loved the sound of his voice, how it got so deep and hungry, especially when he wanted to make up. Why had she used his bowl? She did know better.

She unlatched the door, creaked it open, peeked out at him. He’d thrown on his baggy chinos and a bleached-cotton work shirt. It was Saturday. He was probably planning to mow the lawn or tinker in the garage. The moist morning glow of his skin, his fresh-out-of-bed smell, his ripped abs lurking in the shadow of his unbuttoned shirt.

“Come here, babe. C’mon now,” he barely more than whispered as he eased through the doorway. His hands snugged her hips, pulled her to him, to his lips. When his tongue slid between her teeth, she invited it with hers. She ripped the silly band-aid off her leg, flung it over her shoulder as he tugged her toward the bedroom....