A Real Honker

“Darryl, honey,” Lucille said. “Why do you put that stuff in your mouth?”

Darryl gave the can a few more pops, opened it, pinched some snuff, and stuffed it in his lower lip.  It was a real honker.

“It’s my diet, baby.  Long as I got this,” he spit in his cup, “I know I ain’t gonna eat nothing.”

“Honey, there are better ways to lose weight.”

“Name one.”

“Try exercise.”

“I have.  You always say you ain’t in the mood.”

“Well, I don’t like to when you got that stuff in your mouth.”

“Are you saying if I hadn’t got this stuff in my mouth, you’d exercise with me?”

“You got to spit it out, and you got to brush your teeth.”


Darryl rolled out of bed and waddled to the bathroom. It was Saturday morning. Lucille picked up the phone, dialed, and waited for Bob to pick up. She heard a spitting sound in the bathroom, heard the water running. When Bob picked up, Lucille said for him to call back in five minutes, then hung up. She heard the toothbrush tap on the sink. Then Darryl waddled back and collapsed onto the bed.

“Let me smell,” said Lucille.

Darryl opened his mouth. It smelled like toothpaste. It was a go. He started kissing her all over. He kissed her legs, her belly, her boobs, her neck, her face. He avoided her mouth for the time being. He rolled on top of her and got inside. The phone rang, and Lucille made to pick it up.

“Not while we’re exercising, baby,” said Darryl.

“It might be an emergency,” she said. She picked up and said hello.  It was no emergency.  It was Bob.

“What the hell does he want?” said Darryl, still working out on Lucille.

“What do you want, Bob?” Then to Darryl, “He just wants to talk.”

“Tell him we’re exercising, baby.”

Lucille told Bob they were exercising. “No, Bob, he spit it out. Oooh.”

Darryl knew what that sound meant. It spurred him on.

Lucille put her free hand behind her head, arched her back. “Aaah,” she said. “What, Bob?  You saw whooo?  Wahh!”

Darryl was really sticking it to her now. He was starting to groove on this phone thing after all.

“Bob, I … ahh, I can’t taaaaalk anymore!  Kiss me, Darryl, kiss meee!”

In the heat of the moment, Darryl kissed her on the mouth. Tongues wrastled back and forth. One of them found something it didn’t like.

“Dammit, Darryl!” Lucille gagged. “You said you spit it out!”

“Oh shit,” said Darryl.

“Get off me, you fat slob,” she said, “it’s over.”

Darryl rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed and the whole thing sagged under him. He spit into his cup.

Lucille said into the phone, “He did it again, Bob. He moved it to his upper lip so I couldn’t see it this time. I told him it was over. Come get me.”

Darryl quit the snuff after that, but Lucille left him for Bob anyway. Some Saturdays, Lucille would call Darryl and tell him to call back in five minutes. When he called back, she was usually exercising.

Darryl grew to be a very heavy man.

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