Houseboat

by Paul Shadinger

  Once I had my drink I wandered out to the front room and settled back in my favorite leather chair. I enjoyed the sounds of the air whooshing out of the cushion and filling the room with the smell of the expensive leather. It’s a big old chair with a huge ottoman, and they sit in a corner of the front room facing one of the large windows, overlooking the lake and the channel in the distance.

  When I first entered the room I’d started to put on some tunes, but then decided after the day I’d just been through I’d just rather sit in dark silence and brood.

  Once I curled up in my chair, BJ came to me and put her paws up on the ottoman, so I picked her up. She turned around once before she snuggled down in my lap, and we sat together in the chair, me petting BJ with one hand, and sipping my drink with the other.

  I stared off across the lake and at the canal beyond, seeing the bridges crossing over the canal as it trailed off into the distance. I wondered why anybody would be out on a night like this as I watched a pleasure boat slowly meandering up the slot, its reflected lights flickering off the water. Red lights illuminating the left side of the craft, green glimmering on the right. The lights of the craft highlighted the small waves surrounding the boat, as it splashed down the canal, and the rain falling outside seemed to fit my mood just fine.

  I’d managed to keep most of the details of the morning isolated from the center of my brain during the day, but now that it was quiet, keeping those thoughts at bay became a lot more difficult. So now I just allowed the flood of thoughts to cascade out and wash through my mind.

  One of my main thoughts had actually finally formed into a question. The question? That was easy. “Who could have disliked Slim so much they wanted to end his life in such a brutal manner?” With all the noises of the city surrounding the marina, a pistol wrapped in a pillow would have been difficult to hear, if not impossible. Then why use a knife? A knife is such a messy weapon.

  Back in the day, when I was a lot younger and somewhat dumber, I pulled a stretch with Uncle Sam, wearing his lovely shade of olive drab. At that tender age, I believed a lot of the nonsense they feed raw recruits. That was before I grew older, and began to realize it was all just a lot of hype. Anyway, at that stage in my life, I was buying what the government was selling, and I felt it had been my duty to go and stop the yellow horde from sweeping down from the north and overrunning the rest of all the rice-paddy lands.

  After enlisting, I ended up being selected for some extra special schooling where they taught many ways to end a life that I secretly hoped I’d never really have to use. I don’t know if I was especially motivated or I was just good at that sort of thing, but I excelled at their training. Several of the ways they taught us to kill people involved the use of knives. I hate to admit it, but I’ve had to use more of that training than I’d have liked.

  Over the intervening years, I concluded at times I had no choice but to use the wonderful knowledge, sometimes it was an issue of kill or someone kills you. But occasionally, the ugliness comes out in the middle of the night and I wish things could have worked out differently. Knowing you’ve brought about anyone’s death isn’t a pleasant thing to carry around inside your head.

  One of the facts they taught us about knives I remember most vividly. The lesson was: you have to make sure you’re very close to assure total success. Throwing the knife at a person might work, but it can also very easily hit a bone or something else and bounce off. To be sure, you have to feel the other person’s body heat, smell their personal smells, and then use the knife. It’s not like a gun where you can kill from afar. A bullet will travel for great distances and still be accurate.

  On the other hand, to use a knife effectively, to know for certain you have accomplished what you wanted, you need to hold the knife in your hand and push or pull it across the victim. For that reason, I always felt that murdering with a knife was committing a very intimate act.

  So with that thought, I kept coming back to the one big question. Who hated Slim that much? Who’d wanted him dead so badly they were willing to commit such an intimate act? Who’d possessed that much hate for ol’ Slim?

  Now when I tried to stand, I realized I was finishing up my third large drink. I also realized I hadn’t taken the time to eat anything all day.

  I stumbled into the kitchen, found a frozen dinner in the freezer and nuked it for the prescribed amount of time. It wasn’t that the dinner was so bad, it was just I really wasn’t very hungry. When I finished picking at it I realized I hadn’t even finished half of the dinner. I gave BJ a few bites and then I took her out to visit Mother Nature.

  The fresh air and the rain felt good against my face and I decided we should go for a walk. We ended up taking a very long and very wet walk, and when we returned, I was finally ready to go to bed. I dried BJ and then myself off with a towel. Once we were both dry, we crawled into bed and I guess I’d drunk enough Scotch because I fell right asleep.

  Gratefully.

  Chapter 8

  The next day was Thanksgiving Day and I considered going to a restaurant and ordering a turkey dinner. However, the idea of going out and dining alone didn’t appeal to me so I decided instead to go out and find a grocery store that was open and purchase a frozen TV turkey dinner. Not the best way to celebrate the holiday, but I just wasn’t feeling the least bit thankful or sociable. I know I have much to be thankful for and in so many ways I really am, but I just couldn’t seem to put the memory of Slim away and that pulled me down. His memory was present in both my thoughts and in my dreams. I’d seen worse over the years but I was having a very difficult time dealing with the memory of Slim’s death.

  As a feeble sun finally sank into the end of the canal on the first Monday of December, I’d been moping around for twelve long days in my apartment and I decided it was enough. I needed to do something about it. The last week or so had been so depressing and I realized it was partly because one of those days had been Thanksgiving and I was alone. Watching the pale, wan sunset made me realize I didn’t want to eat another meal alone. I wondered if Sharon was home yet.

  Sharon is a big, tall, honey blond who lives in the unit under mine. In stocking feet, she can almost look me in the eye. She’s in her middle thirties with the greatest gray-green eyes you’ve ever seen. I guess you’d consider her pretty, but I see more than that in her. Sharon might seem rather small breasted when she’s dressed, and because of her size clothes don’t really show how fantastic her figure is, but in the buff she is breathtaking. As someone once said about some athlete, the more she takes off, the better it gets.

  Sharon is a head ER nurse and she works in one of the hospitals on what they call Pill Hill in Seattle. The actual name of the hill is First Hill. First at what I haven’t a clue, but it’s the First Hill. Several hospitals look as if they’re interconnected. I’m sure all of them are actually separate entities, but since I have an aversion to hospitals, I really don’t care which one is which.

  There had been an “us” for a while but when Sharon finally moved in downstairs, we’d become just friends. One evening she showed up at my doorstep, sniffling, eyes all red, and seemed actually mad. It turned out the mad part was her anger with herself, she’d become too emotionally involved with a patient and the patient had died that afternoon. I held her as she cried. We then talked and laughed, and I held her again while she cried some more. When it came time for sleep she headed to my bedroom, slipped under the covers, and was instantly out.

  After I finished taking BJ for her walk, I returned to find that Sharon had been up long enough to remove all of her clothing, and was again asleep in my bed. I debated between the couch and the other half of my king-size bed. The bed won. After all, she’d chosen to sleep with me, and if this weren’t to her liking, we would deal with it in the AM.

  I’d met Sharon a couple of years ago through a mutual friend, and after a few dates, like I said, we’d tried a brief fling at a
physical relationship. We quickly found the sex thing seem was more of a competition between us than any form of tenderness. I knew she was the only girl in a family with five older brothers. I thought maybe she developed her competitive side from living at home with her brothers and trying to keep up with them, and somehow this attitude slipped over into her intimate side. It seems like she’s replaced intimacy and tenderness with aggression and trying to see who was the most skillful or something. Like she was looking for a prize. Whenever I’d change positions when we were having sex, she’d have to try to do me one better. When we stopped having sex I was greatly relieved, and I felt she was of a similar mind. The best part is after we stopped having sex, we actually became very good friends.

  Even though we’d stopped dating, we’d remained in close contact, and when one of my units came up for rent, I mentioned it to her, and she promptly moved in. I doubt if she’s aware she’s paying a small pittance of what the other tenants are paying, but since it’s my building, I make the rules on what I charge. We keep track of each other and make sure we’re both doing all right.

  I punched her number into my cell and she answered on the second ring. Although we were not physical any longer, I still enjoyed hearing her sexy voice. A hello from her seems to speak volumes. And what torrid volumes they are!

  “Hi, babe, it’s me. Matt! Hungry? It’s been rotten the past few days, and I really don’t wanna eat alone again.”

  “You pick the place and give me ten minutes before you pick me up.” The phone went dead in my hand.

  In my closet, I found a freshly laundered shirt, and over it I slipped on a sports jacket. Then I ran a brush through my silvering locks and briefly considered a shave. I say silver because silver sounds so much better than gray. Mom and dad were gray, I prefer being silver! Gray is slowly coming; however, I choose not to participate.

  I stopped in the kitchen, poured another good stiff drink of Macallan 10, (which is a third the price of Macallan 25) for the trip downstairs, and headed for the elevator. Since I own the building, I of course have the keys for each floor and I stopped the elevator at her floor. I stepped off and called her name. She stuck her head out of the bathroom and called to me. I wandered back through the apartment.

  When she saw my drink, she motioned me over. She took the drink out of my hand and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Afterwards she took a deep sip of my drink and then smiled at me. I couldn’t help but notice she was clad only in thong panties. Even though our relationship was supposedly past the sex point, I still enjoy looking at her body. Damn, but she’s an excellent looking woman. She stole my drink and took a second sip, and her smile made me realize she was going to keep it. I headed off to her kitchen to make myself a new one.

  She kept the door open so we could talk, and I proceeded to tell her about the past few days. I started with the card game, and how it came about I won my floating nightmare. Once I mentioned the houseboat she flew out of the bathroom with excitement and then I watched her excitement fade as I explained how they were evicting the thing from its moorage. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bathroom with her to tell her the rest of the story.

  It was obvious the bathroom was used by a woman. Two pairs of pantyhose hung over the shower curtain rail and there was a bra resting on top of the toilet. All sorts of great women smells filled the room and I watched her do her face as I continued with my story. I glossed over the part about finding Slim a few mornings ago as best I could. She asked me if there were any leads, and I told her I had been told not to leave town without asking for permission first.

  She looked at me in her mirror, “Why? Were you really that pissed at him?”

  “No...well, yes...but no, I mean...I wouldn’t do that...like murder him. But, it seems some of the other boat owners heard a dog barking in the night and the police are wondering if it wasn’t BJ. In addition, when we first got there, she ran ahead and tracked through the blood. Finding her footprints throughout the place didn’t sit too well with the detectives. A guy I went to school with is the detective in charge and he seemed to believe my story. Anyway, thanks to BJ I have to stay put.”

  I continued to watch her fix her face and hair until finally I had to leave and go back into the other room. There’s something very sexy, very alluring about watching a woman fix her hair. The lifting of her arms over her head so her hands can work in her hair was causing Sharon’s breasts to move and sway in very suggestive ways. The more she fixed her hair the more turned on I was becoming by the sight of those lovely breasts. As I said before, the less clothing she wears, the more you realize how fantastic her body is. I could feel my body starting to react and I was getting ideas about her we had agreed would be best to put away.

  A short time later Sharon came into the front room, still clad in just her thong, and asked if I was all right. I told her I was fine, but as much as I hated to admit it I didn’t feel immune to her sensuality. I continued on, telling her how for the past few days I’d been having some deep thoughts which had caused me to have several really crummy days. Because of the houseboat, and with Slim’s death, no moorage and on and on, I was feeling a bit vulnerable and rather lonely.

  Grinning at her, I tried to explain that I am not immune when I see her half-naked, and having seen Slim’s macabre dead body made me realize what a short time we all have on this earth. I also told her that other than two really neat daughters, I didn’t have a lot to show for my life. Sharon stepped over to me and cradled my head between her firm naked breasts. Finally, she kissed the top of my head and stepped back. “Would it help if we went in and laid down for a while?”

  I thanked her for the thought, but told her I really treasured our friendship, and wouldn’t want to jeopardize it by doing that. She kissed me again, and then she went off to finish dressing. As she walked away, I watched her naked bottom covered with just the string of her thong separating her darling cheeks. I started to wonder if spending the night together wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

  I need to make another quick explanation here. A couple of months ago I got a call from Sharon late one night, and she asked if she might come up. At that point, several months had passed since we stopped having sex together. It was well past midnight when she called, and I almost said no, but there was something in her voice telling me that she really needed a friend. As soon as she saw me at the door, she broke down, and started to cry. As it turned out, she’d gone on a date with a co-worker, and when they returned to her place, he’d tried date rape on her. Somehow, she’d convinced him to leave. But, when she tried to go to bed, she found she was more frightened and troubled by the experience than she had realized.

  We talked for a while, and then she asked if she could spend the night. I just held her for a while, and she fell asleep in my arms. The next morning I awoke to the feel of her hands between my legs, stroking my morning erection.

  “I thought we were over this, what gives?” I asked in a sleepy dazed tone.

  “Please be still, enjoy...trust me …” She continued to play with me, and then started to suck on my nipples.

  After a short time, I was at a point where I asked her once again because I doubted if I could stop. I asked her if she really wanted to continue and she nodded her head shyly, yes.

  As we made love, I found us doing things we’d never done before. She’d never allowed me just to have oral sex with her. Before, it had always been both of us together, with each one of us trying to make the other climax first. Now she allowed me to do the work, and she just lay there with her fingers entwined in my hair and verbally expressed her pleasure. She climaxed strongly, and then pulled me up so she could insert me inside of her. We began to make the most tender and passionate love we’d ever engaged in. This time there was no rush. I could hold her and kiss her face. There were times I just lay with her in my arms, so we could just enjoy the feeling of me inside of her and her holding me.
r />   Afterwards she lay in my arms and wept. At first, I didn’t understand. I thought I’d done something wrong after all. I was afraid I’d really screwed up our friendship. As the tears decreased, I asked her what was going on. Had I misread something? I was sick to think I might have fucked things up. Eventually, through the hiccups and a few more bouts of tears, she was able to explain. She felt so grateful to have these new memories of our just completed passion to replace the foul ones of the previous evening. After a while, as we talked about it, both of us got interested again. So we made love one more time, and it was as perfect as it could be. We were on the same page, and came to a screaming orgasm at exactly the same time. After we finished, we fell asleep with her soft bottom pushed up against my tummy. When I awoke again her side of the bed was empty.

  I looked down next to the bed, and her clothes were gone. I went to the kitchen to make some coffee and found a note under one of the magnets on the fridge. The note from her had just one word—Thanks! and a big happy face drawn below. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I can’t stand that stupid happy face symbol. But I decided that this time, she was the one percent exception.

  That evening she showed up with a bag of groceries and fixed me the best prawn and crab fettuccine I’ve ever had. She thanked me for being there and for being such a friend. I had to ask again about the bed thing.

  She stood there for a long time, and I could tell she was working out her thoughts. Finally, she told me that last night she knew I wouldn’t do anything unless it was mutually agreeable. I was safe. She also knew she didn’t want to sleep alone. With that explanation, she reached up, and pecked me on my cheek.