"Yeah, but only because I like to cook."
"Um-hmm." Ajax wasn't convinced as he browsed around with his beer. It was a modest but nice new house, appointed in light tones and new furniture. "Decent crib," he approved. But when he turned back around, Dean was walking away up the dark stairs.
Some host. Ajax followed. "Ah, the love den," he observed when he found Dean standing in the bedroom. "So this is where you get it on with your beautiful wife... once a month?"
Dean wasn't listening. He rummaged for something in the opened closet, his back to Ajax. "You got me remembering," he murmured.
"What?"
Dean pulled out a moving box full of books, sat down on the bed with it. He swigged more beer, then began to search through the books.
"Let me ask you something," Ajax said. "How the hell can you chew that funky tobacco and drink beer at the same time?"
"Fifteen years of experience, that's how. Every day from age ten to twenty-five, I pinched a can a day."
"Back in the old days, huh?" Ajax grinned. "The horn-crankin' days."
"Any rancher with balls eats and drinks with a lip full of Skoal. Only pussies don't."
"I'm edified," Ajax remarked. "And what are you looking for?"
"Just... something... "
"You're acting weird, man. I like it." Something in the back of the closet caught his eye, something long that reminded him of a giant pair of pliers. He walked over, pulled it out, then weighed it heavily in his hands. Parallel steel handles, two-feet long, intersected at the business-end, sporting twin half-circles lined with sharpened serrations that interlocked when you drew the handles apart. "What the hell is this thing?"
Dean looked up, disinterested. "My torque-plier."
"What the hell's a—"
"My horn-cranker," Dean corrected.
Ajax' eyes widened on the tool as if knowing what it was gave it some strange heat. "So this is the thing you used to tear the horns out of innocent bulls."
"Steers," Dean corrected. "A young gelding. They're not full-grown; the horns are pretty much just nubs about three to six inches long."
"And you just yank 'em out like teeth." Ajax hefted the tool in his hands. "Say, do you ever go back the DeSmet to defend your championship?"
"Hell no. They don't even have a state horn-cranking competition anymore. It's not like the old days now. Everything's automated. Now they have these mechanical things on rails that move down the cattle-gate line and extract the horns automatically. Just pops 'em out one right after another."
"Progress sucks, huh?"
Ajax put the torque-plier back. "Come on, admit it. You miss all that shit at least a little, don't you?"
Dean didn't answer.
"Come on? The old days on the ranch? Cranking horns and chewing Skoal? Humping any and all available pussy? Gettin' pissy drunk in the bars every night and slapping your bitches around?"
Dean didn't answer.
Ajax nosed around while Dean continued flipping through his books. He noticed a half opened dresser drawer. Hmm, he thought. Then—Oh, Christmas!
The drawer was full of lacy women's under garments a la Victoria's Secret. Tough stuff! Ajax thought. He ran his fingers over the smooth, shiny garments. A quick glance over his shoulder, then he deftly grabbed a pair of devil-red panties trimmed in black lace, and stuffed them in his pants. Hell, she'll never miss 'em. Then he plucked another pair out—cornflower-blue and crotchless—and held them up. "Holy shit, man. I can't imagine a prettier picture in the world than Daphne walking around in these."
Dean glanced over, shrugged, then got back to his books. "It gets dull after a while."
Ajax gaped. "Yeah, you're acting weird, all right. A woman with Daphne's bod walking around in these can never be dull. It's perpetual wood, man. It's Hard-On City."
"Let me tell you something, Ajax," Dean said aside. "Show me the best-looking woman in the world and I'll show you a guy who's sick of fucking her."
Ajax gaped. He almost choked on his Tsing Tao. "You're telling me... you're sick of fucking Daphne?"
"That's right. Sick to death. She's a bossy, prissy bitch. She never wants to have sex anyway and, between you and I, that's fine with me. I'd rather fuck a pumpkin than stick my cock in her hole again."
Ajax gaped.
"Ah, here it is." Dean pulled out a black-covered hard-back book entitled Incubi by some chump author named Edward Lee.
Ajax squinted. "What's that, a horror novel? Only idiots read that stuff. People who take drugs and shit."
Dean had opened the book. "Here's one box I never got sick of fucking." The inside of the book had been cut out, creating a secret compartment. Inside lay a stack of polaroids. He flipped through the photos, then passed them to Ajax.
Ajax... gaped. And got wood. The dozen or so polaroids showed different poses of the same girl. Beautiful. Stark naked. Pert breasts with nipples sticking out like rose-pink thumb-ends, long honey-nut hair and ocean-blue eyes, a tight flat stomach and a perfectly shaved—
"Man oh man," Ajax muttered. "This is the same chick you showed me at Anthony's. Your last ex in DeSmet."
Each lewd pose punched him in the eye like glaring pornography. Lying on a bed with her long legs straight up, fingers squeezing her cherry-sized clitoris. Hands and knees, grinning wickedly over her shoulder, perfect ass upthrust. Lounging on her side with a dildo the size of a gourd stuck up in her to the end. And much, much more.
"Arianne," Dean whispered.
Ajax was shaking his head back and forth over and over, pressed by disbelief. "This girl's hotter than a rock in a campfire... and you dumped her?"
"Didn't just dump her," Dean reminded. "I cheated on her, treated her like shit, and beat the crap out of her. More times than I can count."
Ajax' gaze widened on Dean. "You're fuckin' nuts. This girl's even hotter than Daphne. Ten times hotter."
"And ten times hotter in bed. Arianne had a pussy that would suck your cock like a mouth. Every time we changed positions, she'd give me head. And she had an asshole so tight, you'd think you were fucking a puppy. She was the best lay of my life. She'd fuck my brains out every day and fall asleep with my dick in her mouth every night."
"Hardcore," Ajax muttered, still eyeing the pictures and pitching an uncomfortable tent. "Your wife ever let you take pix of her like this?"
"Aw, fuck no. That fickle cunt? She wouldn't be caught dead. If I even suggested it, she'd make me see a counselor. Look, I know you think Daphne's cheating on me, but here's why I know she's not. She's a fussy prude, she's frigid. I know I'm good in the sack. Just ask any girl in DeSmet. But Daphne? She could care less about sex. She acts like she's doing me a fucking favor every two months when she puts out. But I'll tell you, whenever I fuck that snitty hosebag... I pretend she's Arianne. Arianne was the ultimate hot number, and she really loved me. Christ, she'd fuck my balls dry, wash my clothes, clean the apartment, cook my meals—shit, she did everything for me."