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I Am Santo

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Luanne had seen enough. Fortunately, Jesse and Chuck appeared to be done with their fight, and after Jesse’s nose busted under Chuck’s boot, both men were laying on Luanne’s front lawn. This was what she’d wanted. Two flailing lovers duking it out before her to prove their worth. The thought had warmed the inside of her thighs more than any advance made by either of them; such average lays, yet she’d dreamed of their blood and sweat, cut eyes and fists all due to their wanting her. And so she called them both here, Chuck a half hour after Jesse, and the fires she’d fed with the kindling of lies and allusions blazed when Chuck walked in without knocking – as she knew he would – and found Jesse’s hands on her while they kissed on the couch. Luanne loved those kisses. She adored his meaty hands on her breasts and the hardness of him growing for her more than any other time they’d been together. Because when Chuck showed up, those lips would be split by anger, and those hands would bloody with passion. Hate was an aphrodisiac and she’d been brewing the potion for for three months. And God was it delicious at first. Frightening and urgent, her heart thumped hard as she snuck her hand below as they argued, suppressing moans as they grappled in the yard and when the hits started, she came quietly, shuddering with fear, revulsion and a bloom of lust that washed up from her belly and overtook her shoulders. But they kept on; their hate fueling the brawl well beyond the point where Luanne found her ecstasy. She was about to call the police when they finally stopped, their bodies slumped on the ground and their breathing labored. She’d not thought through what would be after, her bliss the endgame. So she stood and watched them, disappointed that this wasn’t all she’d hoped, once again reminded that love in this town was a sick joke.

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