Dogs and Cats by John Coultas

This is a scene from Tripping Over Murder

Darleen pulled at a wayward strand of hair, twisting it around her finger as she read. “Darleen, did you read it?” Emma, tall, thin and blonde gushed. “Wasn’t it just the best?” Darleen head dropped, I don’t need this, not now.

Darleen pushed aside the remains of her lunch as she looked up to her friend. “Emma, have a seat.” How do I do this without hurting her feelings, but stay true to my beliefs? “Did you eat?”

“You know me, energy drink is all I allow myself,” Emma asserted her oft repeated mantra. Darlene should have known better. Yeah, one of the many sacrifices to be made while searching for Mr. Right.

“So, the book? Wasn’t he just such a man, strong, take-no-prisoners type.” Emma swooned a she sat next to her friend.

Darlene leafed the pages of the textbook she had been studying. “I’ve been working on my Trig assignment.” She rubbed at the side of her head to emphasize the mental demands of the work. Graduation just weeks away, major trigonometry test, and my good friend can only think of Mr. Hunk.

“Yeah…whatever…about the book?” Emma was not going to let an inconsequential trig test get in her way.

Darlene sighed. If nothing else Emma was tenacious. “Well, it was an interesting story.” Yes all those body parts flying here and there propelled by the macho hero, not to mention women tossed in and out of his bed chambers.


“Makes me think of dogs and cats,” Darlene offered.

“Dogs and cats? There weren’t dogs or cats in the story.” Emma was bewildered.

“No, something I remember…think it was Mark Twain…” Emma crossed her arms, knowing Darlene was on a major rant. “He said that dogs can be abused by their owner, time and time again, they stay loyal to the end. A cat, if abused just once, will never forget, and their loyalty is held back.”

“Huh?” Emma was puzzled. “That has nothing to do with the story…did you read it?”

“It has everything to do with the story. Your hero abused the heroine, cheated on her and she kept going back, pleading for more abuse. A woman should be more like a cat, not accepting ill treatment, being strong within herself.”

“Wha…but what kind of story would that make? That’s not interesting…not exciting.” Emma’s forehead crinkled recklessly.

“A woman should hold her head high, take pride in her self-worth. In a relationship she should be a coequal with her partner, they should respect and support one another.”

Emma was numb; Darlene’s response deflated her enthusiasm, what good was a story if you couldn’t share it with your best friend. Shoulders slumped, she drifted off to another table.

Darlene went back to her text book, flipping pages but not seeing the numbers and formulas. “That’s not exciting” kept echoing in her head. War, the clanging of swords, the ships scuppers flowing with blood, now there were images that over heated the brain. Living at peace within a community, or with a mate, how so very dull. She exhaled a sigh and went back to her study in earnest.

Down On the Farm

This is a scene from my Tripping Over Murder mystery, enjoy!

Janeane was unsure if this was such a good idea, stopping by Ian’s place unannounced. She found the turnoff that would take her there, a sign over the road announced Shangri-La. The sign didn’t seem to match the north woods; a tropical setting might be apropos. She paused to study the sign; it was a broad wood panel, the letters being composed of metal rosettes pounded into the wood. They appeared to be identical to the one in her possession; several of the metal ornaments were missing. She considered the implications, then shoved off down the hill.

She took her feet off the pedals allowing the bike to coast down the dirt drive to…well through the trees she could see a clearing and at the far end a manmade structure. The road opened out at the edge of a meadow, she identified orange hawkweed and the ever present lupine. Her wildflower study was progressing. And then there was the rustic cabin, nuzzled up amongst the trees. She got off, and walked toward the homestead.

“Hello!” He called out as he came on to the porch, hand waving a welcome. He extended his hand as she approached the steps.

“This is beautiful,” She looked around, in awe of the setting. “I don’t want to speak; I just want to listen to the quiet.” She kicked down the bike stand, and walked along the edge of the drive, she stooped to look at some of the small flowers hidden in the tall grass. “So small, so delicate,” her fingers reaching in to better view the varied colors and shapes.”

Ian crouched next to her, and whispered, “May I speak now?” He smiled, and she returned his.

“Yes, You may speak…but this is just so breathtaking, the openness, the colors, and the mountains off in the distance. To own this, to be a part of it is so special.”

Ian’s brow furrowed, “I don’t really own the farm, yes I have a deed with my name on it.” He stood, along with Janeane, “Some day someone else will come along, hopefully they will feel the same way about the land and the woods as I do. The farm should honor our ancestors, nurture those today who will eat our produce, and it should be fostered to sustain future generations.”

Janeane’s shoulders slumped, Ian had the habit of sucking air out of a rising balloon, or raining on parades, ever the philosopher. “Would you like to see our gardens,” He motioned with one hand. At a turn in the road, beyond an apple orchard stood acre after acre of vegetables. Janeane was able to recognize some of the basics: carrots, turnips, and spinach. Everything was so green, so tall, and so delicious to look upon. “We practice permaculture, no chemicals. The soil was thin here; we built it up with organic amendments, manures, and plant matter. Now we have soil that will produce quality produce as long it is cared for and loved.”

The word loved caught her attention, loving the land, is he a people lover, one who could have a relationship, Janeane wondered. “I hear you saying we.” She looked around, “Who else is involved with the farm.”

“I have a network of friends; you know that I write articles, for conservation and permaculture magazines? Friends will come up when I plant or harvest. We sell at farmers markets as well as bartering.” He chewed on the end of a weed. “It’s not about me; it’s about nurturing the land and having a community that lives in a sustainable way. It is all about we.”

Janeane nodded, damn he is a philosopher, one that likes to get his hands dirty in the soil, She had difficulty responding. “I know that you are from Boston, did you have farming experience before you came up?”

“No, I heard a lecture at my college that changed my life. My parents, many people I know strive to make change through politics; but nothing seems to change. This professor suggested that change needs to come from the bottom up. People should build communities that are autonomous, self sufficient. Everyone sees the big corporation coming to town as the answer, that only last a generation or two. Sustainable communities can go on forever, people nurturing one another’s needs. Buying local, building local, drawing upon local resources.”

God there he goes again, I need to keep my mouth shut. Her eyes glazed.

Ian stooped down, grabbed a handful of the dark earth, feeling it in his palm, “local resources for the local population.” Janeane noticed a tire track near his foot, that same tire, not with the rosette, but the same model. Mr. Flynn at the garage said it was a common tire for older cars, especially imports, like that VW van.

“You must have to do a lot of weeding, and spraying for bugs.”

Ian popped up like he was sprung from a jack-in-the-box, a frown on his face, “We have no sprays here, no chemicals.” Now she had done it, she had fallen down a deep dark well, and he would not help her out. If she hadn’t been thinking about that tire she wouldn’t have asked such a stupid question. Damn.

She melted back a step or two, his laser like gaze was more than she could handle. This was a wasted trip! There was the missing piece from the Shangra-La sign, and maybe that tire track. If only.

Ian realized that he had scared the hell out of the girl from the big city, she didn’t know any better. “I’m sorry.” He offered an apology. “And you made that long ride from town, you must be tired.” He looked up at the sun, “We can sit on the porch, I have juice in the frig.” He smiled.

Janeane gave him a tentative nod, and a sideways smile. “Okay.” Well I get a second chance here. Don’t blow it Janeane!


 Sitting on the steps in the shade Janeane thought about who comes and goes on the farm and what sort of vehicles might be involved.

“Here you go,” Ian handed Janeane a glass filled with a greenish liquid. She thought about asking what it was, her statistics with questions was abysmal. She smiled and drank. Then she gave an honest smile.

“Taste good.” But she was not going to ask, if he offered that would be fine, but no questions. She clicked the toes of her shoes together.

“It’s a natural fruit powder, from the health food store.”

Janeane nodded, deep in thought, “Do you use a tractor to plow your fields?”

“Oh, no, Mac Dill down the road has a team of mules. I do work for him and he lets me use his team. That kind of makes me a part-time mule.” He made a slight chuckle; the closest Janeane had ever seen him get to a laugh. Lighten up Ian.

“Have you had anyone helping you in the fields lately?” Janeane held her breath, she wasn’t sure if she was pressing too hard, asking intrusive questions. Please, please!

“Popper and his family have been here off and on.” There was another almost laugh, as he thought about Poppers work ethic. “Out beyond the gardens there are several camp sites, the Popejoy’s, Popper, his wife Natasha and the kids have been staying. I haven’t seen them for a few days. Like I said they come and go. He will help some.”

Janeane let that rumble around in her head. That’s it, no more questions; thank him for the farm tour, and the drink and you are on your way. She thought about what she had gathered from this outing: The source of the rosette, another tire track, and a name, the Popejoy family, not confirmed but possible.

The Picnic by John Coultas

This is a scene from Tripping Over Murder

Dan drove up past the old lighthouse, an abandoned cider mill and then into a parking area adjoining a meadow. He took Janean's picnic basket from the trunk, the detective leading the way along a trail through the knee high grasses and yellow sun flowers. He stopped, "This is the spot." Grabbing the ground blanket from his date he flung it out letting it settle onto the green stalks. She took in the setting, listened to the distant ocean and the calls of the seabirds.

Smiling at Dan she asked, "How is it you knew of this place?"

Taking on his professional face he imparted, "Many a time it was necessary to come up here to rescue an underage lover."

"Ah, so you brought me to a place where young women are known to be debauched." She feigned innocence for his benefit. "Some date this is." this

"One can only hope." He replyed with a shrug.

Janeane laid back on the blanket, staring at the fleeced clouds passing above. “Librarians are a lot like detectives,” She began her well rehearsed quest for details on Detective Kane’s investigations. “We need to be aware of the territory, what went before, what may be coming down the road.” Sitting up she looked at the seascape spread out to the east, pulling for elements to add to her waning train of thought. Her head nodded, deep in thought. “We need to look below the surface…” The tranquility of place, the grass, the bay below, the cloud dappled sky washed away her designs.

“And?” He asked.

Her head bobbed along with the fishing boat, her point of focus. “Hmm.”

“And?” His query came again.

“Oh, where was I?” She looked at Dan, surprised at her lapse in thought.

“I’m not sure where you were going; you were talking about looking deep, like below the surface; at what I am not sure.”

“Now I remember. Librarians deal with a vast amount of information, we sift through it, determine what is and isn’t relevant, and voila, the answer is found.”

“But you are searching for someone else, a customer. The customer asks the question and you find what they want, they determine the truth in a sense.”

“Truth, interesting, I never thought of it in that sense.” Her chin wrested on arms crossed at her knees, her eyes back on the bobbing fishing boat. “Hmm, truth is the answer…librarian think in terms or right or wrong, correct or incorrect…funny how truth carries such a strong, noble sound. Truth, justice,” Her head began the rhythmic bob, “They demand a lot of a person, of a system.” She looked at Dan who was rolling a stalk of grass between finger and thumb. He nodded.

“I try,” Was his somber response. “I work for the chief and the county prosecutor, they are my customers, they evaluate what I come up with.” He looked at the picnic hamper, “All these deep thoughts are making me hungry, how about lunch?”



Dan helped Janeane, putting the remains of their lunch into the hamper, a crust of hard bread, the last of the wine, and pieces of cheese rind. "I can’t imagine a more wonderful picnic,” She inhaled the ocean air, giving the officer-of-the- law a satisfied smile. He leaned to her, kissing her neck. Gasping she fell backwards and he on top. He rolled to her side, kissing her mouth, to which she pushed away. “No, not here. You never know who might pass by.” She sat up, and looked toward the parking lot.

“Are all librarians like this, so concerned with looking prim and proper?” Dan brushed grass from his slacks

“It’s just so public here; I mean someone could drive by.” She again stared at the road. “I don’t care for it, having to be circumspect, but it comes with the job. It feels hypocritical. Teachers and librarians are held to high moral standards.” She stood, “Help me with the blanket, and you can come back to my apartment, we will draw the curtains tight, finish off the wine, and what you started here.”

Dan offered a lascivious leer as he grabbed one edge of the blanket, “I think I can live with that.”



Janeane’s apartment was dark; she sat in the corner of the couch with Dan. He had returned to where he had begun, exploring her neck with his lips, moving on to her mouth; their arms and legs were entangled as the level of heat built between the two. She relaxed allowing the emotions to wash over her. “I’m going to be in need of help here.” He suggested. How could he need help, his practiced fingers lightly strummed her body?

“How is that?”

“I’ve never done it…you know…with a librarian.” He said. She couldn’t see his face but she could sense the wide grin.

“Well I have all the parts that other women have, and I hope they respond as they should.”

“They are,” He purred, “Oh, how they are.” His hands groped and her body arched and ached in kind.

“Oh Dan, I have never been stimulated like this before. Oh Dan, do it. Don’t stop.” Her body rose and fell against his.

“No! No!” Dan seemed to be losing control, “Damn!” His hands went to his pockets, Janine fell back panting; wanting more, not wanting the moment to end.

“Why did you stop it was so good, you were just…”

He pulled the cell phone from his pocket, “It was on vibrate.”

He scowled at the device, opened the clam shell and growled, “Kane!”

Barbarian Invasion by John Coultas

A scene from my Tripping Over Murder story

The nose of the skateboard skimmed along inches above the sidewalk, Grunge the navigator shot across the curb into Main Street traffic, avoiding collision with irate soccer moms and cautious seniors. There was the squealing of brakes and shouted epithets from startled drivers. At the opposite curb he jumped his board high in the air, spun and gave a flourish of the hand and a bow as he landed for the benefit of the not so amused motorists.

“Grunge!” Flyman called out, “Cool spin, and did you see that old broad flip you off, thought she was going to have one of those stroke things.” He snorted as he laughed.

Grunge flipped his board in the air, caught it with one hand and swiped at the hair hanging in his face. “That was Mrs. Egan, lives on my block, I'll hear about it from my Mom.”

“Not so cool dude.” Flyman offered. “Hey, there's Tops.”

Tops approached, and leaned back on his board bringing it to a stop, “What's going Dudes?” He mumbled, he was not a man of many words. “The cops chased me off Main Street, The big guy.”

“Officer Dan, he’s okay, didn’t write you up did he. I heard he knew how to raise hell in his day. He knows what it’s like.” Grunge informed, “That new librarian starts work today. I talked to her at the Burger Barn the other night, kind’a cute for a librarian I guess, lot nicer than those old ladies that work there now.” He shot out with his board, “Let’s go see what she’s doing over there, might be cool.” Flyman and Tops shrugged and followed.

They shouted, jumped and spun their way to the old Carnegie building. Stopping at the front, they eyed the eight steps leading up to the entrance. “What do you think, can we do it.” Grunge asked. Tops and Flyman thought it over looked out to the street and down the sidewalk.

“Don’t see that Officer Dan guy,” Was Flyman’s thought on the subject.

“Dude, don’t be such a weenie,” Tops didn’t care about cops; he had a reputation to maintain. They spread their legs wide on the boards and began a much practiced walk up the steps, shifting, twisting, and lifting the nose then the tail. It would have been quicker walking, but this demonstrated to the world who they were, and what they could do.


Miss Morrissey was behind the counter sorting cards. She took great pride in her work, for over sixty years she interfiled cards into the libraries catalog. Some would have considered such an assignment, “Cruel and Unusual Punishment.” The frail senior made of it an art form, not to mention it gave her lifetime job security. No other staff member could be convinced it was not a mind deadening occupation. Just as she was considering her next card, the broad oak paneled door was flung open. Standing in the door way, back lit by the afternoon sun were three imposing silhouettes. Boards in hand, gladiator-like figures stepped forward. Morrissey’s birdlike body shook, her quivering hands went to her face,” They’re here, oh my god they're here!” A trilling gasp could be heard reverberating around the sacrosanct reading room.

”Were here for the young librarian,” Tops proclaimed, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Yeah dude, that cute one.” Grunge added giving a melodramatic effect.

Morrissey’s body verged on shaking its self to pieces, her lips formed words but nothing came out. At last she gained control of her mouth, “Rape, murder,” She screamed.

Miss Morrissey ran from the counter, past the parting boarders, screaming her way out the front door. At the top step, in front of Somerset’s venerable library the octogenarian shouted, “Murder, help, crazed murderers.”

The Stalker by John Coultas

This is a scene from my story Tripping Over Murder

She hummed to herself as she wound along the forest road. John had offered to ride into town with her, she was insistent that she was an accomplished rider; she would have no problems, finding her way or avoiding catastrophes.

On the paved main road she sensed a car behind her, she kept to the shoulder to avoid a collision, giving the driver room to pass. Back to her humming she forgot about the car and focused on John. The warmth he generated in her. And what an accomplished person, building his cabin, surviving in the woods, baking and cooking, what a guy. He was the true Renaissance man.

Back to the real world she thought about that car, it never passed. Quick glances over her shoulder would reveal a flash of color behind or she would hear a distant crunch of gravel.

There was a rise above, at the top she would stop and look back to see who was following her. At the high point she did just that, she looked back upon vacant pavement, but around a bend there were wisps of vapor, such as that made by an idling vehicle.

There was a good grade down this side of the hill, she would put distance between herself and whoever it was that was following. She pushed off, and began pumping the peddles, keeping her head low, she whipped around the first curve. She could feel the tires slip a bit but she came out fine, ahead she was going to go through a dark tunnel of overhanging pine and oak. She remembered this turn, not as tight as the one above, another look over her shoulder, she thought her stalker was still there.

Inside the tunnel it was night like, and cold, again she pumped at the peddles, she knew that she would be going into the curve just as she came out into the light. Her eyes adjusted rapidly, she forced the handle bars into the turn, God no! Her peripheral vision picked up a brown blur, she was hit from the side, the impact felt like a Mack truck.


“Janeane,” She could here someone calling her name, from far away. It was dark, nighttime or was it a thick fog. “Janeane,” The voice called again, maybe closer. There was pain all over, her head felt as if it had exploded. Someone was pulling her arm, shaking it. Don’t do that it hurts, everything hurts, go away leave me in my pain! “Janeane, its Dan, are you okay?”

Her eyes flickered to narrow slits, “Ouch,” She complained, “No I’m not okay. Go away! Just let me die here.”

“Good, I thought you might really be injured,” Dan leaned back holding on to her hand.

“What hit me, all I remember was the force...and then my rough awakening? You need to work on your bedside manner.”

“A herd of deer came across the road. Lucky they butted you to the side, otherwise you would have been road kill.”

“Oh, deer," Janeane groaned,"Who would of thought Bambi could be so careless?”

“Lot of people get injured up here...even killed...by our deer, not to mention elk and moose.”

“So, how did you know that it was a deer that hit me?” She gave Dan the quizzical look.

“Oh, I saw, I was up the road.” Innocence planted on his face.

She winced as she sat up, “You were behind me? You were the one following me? You were the one that made me ride like a maniac down this deer infested road and almost killed me? Some help you aren’t.” Her hands went to her throbbing head.

“You want me to call the paramedics?”

“No, just take me and my bike back to town. Where is my bike?” She looked around.

“Like I said you were lucky they nudged you to the side...you could have died." His hand scrubbed at his ten o'clock shadow," The bike got trampled. I’ll put what’s left in the trunk and drive you back to town.” He offered shoulders slumping.

“My bike!” She began sobbing. That bike had been so important to her, her only means of transportation for years. She wasn’t sure she could survive without it. She gritted her teeth, restraining herself from putting all the blame on Dan. And why was he following me. She looked at him through her tear filled eyes.

All of this would have to be resolved in time. Right now she would have to shape up for work on Monday. Miss Chambers would disapprove of a battered and bruised librarian. She felt her face, a bump on the forehead, an abrasion on the cheek. With a sweep of hair across the bump, and the cheek would be covered by a slathering of makeup, that should do it.

The Bike Ride by John Coultas

This is a scene from a story Tripping over Murder

Janeane's hair flew out behind her; she inhaled the cool country air as she pumped at the bike pedals, swishing along the grass lined road. The green of the fields was broken by the occasional farmstead or the fiery colors of the woodlands. The track steepened forcing her to stand on the pedals, Stairmaster style, bursts of breath coming from her mouth. At the crest of the hill she stopped and looked down upon Somerset, the stiletto like white church spire, the somber brick town hall and further out on the cape the solitary lighthouse; she felt a warm surge from the picture card beauty, and from the exertion of the ride.

Putting her finger tips to her carotid artery she checked her pulse. If she was going to kill herself she wanted to know that the effort had been worth it. She smiled at the results, satisfied she had gotten a good workout. She flipped the bike around and headed downhill. The slope carried her along at a good speed, just coasting, enjoying the ride. She savored the g-forces going through the curves, and the breeze mussing her hair. And then, on the next curve there was a flash, something metallic on the road surface, then a bump, and a thump, thump, thump as she came to a halt with a deflated front tire.

Getting off she gave the wheel a spin, a thick screw was impaled in the tire. No spare tire obviously, no spare tube or tool kit, this was going to be a long walk back home pushing the bike. On the ride up she had not seen any cars, at one of those farms, she would phone. But who would she phone. Mary Smart? Officer Dan, he would give her a good chewing, going out without tools and a spare inner tube. She would have to get to a phone before that decision would be made.

She tried to make the best of the situation, there was warmth in the sunshine, the field exuded a fresh sweet aroma and the birds trilled from the groves. An explosion behind her shattered the quiet. She jumped. Turning she saw the source, bearing down upon her was a massive wall of yellow, splotched with flowers of multicolors, red, purple and blue. It screeched to a halt, smoke spewing from where the brakes probably were housed or not. As the window was rolled down, a sweet, heavy fog oozed forth; and a bandana wrapped head and sunglasses popped out to view the deflated tire, "Man, your bike is dead," The wearer suggested.


"Flat tire," Janeane countered.

"That too man," His head started nodding, it just kept going, it didn't want to stop. His hand came onto the scene with a funny, thin twisted cigarette, he sucked, and then it disappeared into the van. The head continued the bobbing, his lips pursed, "Yeah man, dead. Put it in back; give you a lift to town."

Janeane froze. Standing with the bike between her and the head bobber she could run for the field, maybe find her way to a farm before she became just another crime statistic. Bobber cracked his door open just as Janeane heard the drivers side pop as well. God, now she was in deep stuff. Two of them chasing her, she remembered the nature films where one pursuer comes on strong while the other holds back, then comes on for the kill, she shuddered. But then it was too late. Around the front of the bus came a figure, maybe six-four, muscular, denim vest, tight jeans, Harley cap snugged down over long flowing blonde hair. "Sweetheart let me help you with that." She gripped the crossbar with one hand, went to the back, flipped up the door and popped the bike in. Janeane's feet shuffled in the roadside grit unsure what to do; The Bobber just continued the bob, interrupted by intermittent drags on his smoke. Muscle girl/woman came forward to slide the passenger door open, exposing two children quietly sucking on their thumbs.

"Jump in," Muscles suggested. Behind the children there was space where camping gear and duffels were stacked. "We'll take you down to Somerset, that okay?" Muscles inquired.

Janeane gave this some quick consideration. They had her bike, there were kids on the scene, they wouldn't bump her off in front of the kids, would they? She summoned a wan smile and slid onto a low-lying duffle as the Bobber rolled the door closed. Then Mom and Dad sat themselves up front. Muscle Mom looked to her cargo, assured all was in order. From her vest pocket she pulled a cloth bag and a packet of Bugler roll-your-own paper. She pulled out a sheet, making a trough, sprinkled something from the pouch, folded and licked it sealed. Looking in the rearview mirror she held up her project, "Want one?" Muscles asked.

Janeane declined with a soft, "No thanks." She thought to herself, “Am I coming over prissy, Is that how I sounded...judgmental,” She tried to return a pleasant neutral smile. Mom lit-up, took a deep drag and then turned over the engine, it gave a pop, shudder and then the engine smoothed out to a gentle rumble. She eased on to the road, and the Bobber began rolling another, a family that ... well a family they are. Janeane was just glad to be on the way home. The open windows pushed the smoke to the rear, little wonder that children were so mellow. She ran her hand across her mouth hoping to avoid the smoke, somehow.

As the road descended into town the smokes were crushed, but saved to a pocket,

Janeane gave directions to the coffee house; she needed her drug of choice. The bus rattled to a stop. Bobs jumped out to open the side door and Mom got the bike from the back. Janeane gave thanks for her deliverance, and found her way to her coffee hangout.

The bike was pushed with one hand, Janeane's other held the paper sack with coffee latte and oatmeal cookies, that would be dinner, not nutritious but a dinner of sorts. Down the sidewalk to her house she went. "Oh, no!" Her interior voice shouted, at her house she saw the stakeout. Officer Dan in civvies camped on her front steps. She approached with caution, kicking down the bike stand, awaiting the critical assessment of her condition and that of her personal eco-transporter. He stood back taking in the disheveled hair and the flattened tire. "Appears you had one tough day," He exhaled as he stood, pulling Janeane close his nose twitched, and he pushed her back. "Where have you been and what have you been doing?" Came the gruff, professional cop voice. Frown lines grooved his forehead, hands on hips he hovered over her, and sniffed like a DEA drug hound.

Mona by John Coultas

Mona is a scene from my short story The Wheel

The tavern was empty save the presence of Dinky and Sanders. The proprietor, towel over his shoulder, elbows on the bar was attempting the posture of the listener. The customer sat opposite the barkeep, nursing a Seven and Seven, lamenting the life of the single man, living at home.

"My supervisor at the department, Mamma, they just won’t let me be...you know, make decisions. They are after me all the time. Do this, do that. Can't they just leave me alone let me do my job." Sanders whined. Dinky’s eyes squinted.

"And Mamma is always after me about getting a wife. Tonight she invited Mona over, you remember me mentioning my cousin Mona, the one I took to her prom and mine. She wants me to marry my second cousin. Mona the writer, went to NYU, writes stories for romance magazines. Goes to NYU for four years and the best she can do..."

Dinky would nod and emit a knowing grunt as the comments required. Sanders went on. "Mona's been after me for years, she's ok, she just isn't...you know, hot. Not the girl you dream about, the one you want to go home to at the end of the day, rip her clothes off and make love to. You know me Dinky, the way I am...respect women. I keep my hands off Mandie, not like Lenny. But it would be nice to have a hot wife." He snorted a laugh, and stopped to catch his breath, toying with his drink. Dinky leaned back, looked down the bar and around the room, slapping his bar towel against the counter.

Back to Sanders he asked. "Need a refill there." Dinky knew the answer, the one the kid always used. Sanders looked at the half filled glass.

"Better not, Mamma will know if I've had too much, better not."

Dinky smiled. "Gotta go in back a minute, verify a delivery I got this afternoon." He lied.


Sanders trudged up the steps to the brownstone, dreading the evening to be endured. Mamma yammering, extolling the talent and beauty of her favorite niece. Mona, bookish Mona, with the inch thick glasses and the steel mesh mouth. It had been two years ago, the last such fete.

As he reached for the knob the door was yanked open. There stood Mamma, all four-foot-ten inches of her. Her freshly permed curls, in their pink wash matching the chiffon gown that enveloped her diminutive form. "Archibald, how wonderful to have you home." Her arms reached up to her son, the falsity was the routine when guests were in the house. He bent to her, they allowed one another a quick peck to the cheek. She whispered. "You be nice to her." He sighed, the sigh of the depressed.

Mamma turned aside and motioned. "And Archibald look who we have here." Standing in the entry to the dining room stood cousin Mona. Dowdy, mousy Mona, replaced by someone having only a slight semblance of the previous incarnation.

Sanders stood transfixed. He was unable to take his eyes off the "little black dress", the dress all men fanaticize over. Mamma's little Mona was wearing that dress. The glasses, where were the glasses, she was blind with out them. Her eyes were blue, they had always been blue but the coke bottle lenses distorted the luster and sparkle he was seeing. Sparkle, that smile, where was all the metal, "Metal mouth Mona." That was my name for her he thought.

"Archibald, don't just stand there, say something to your cousin, give her a kiss."

Sanders faltered toward her, his lips twitching a vague smile. He pronounced. "Mona." And stumbled into her. His cousin steadied him, drawing him close, giving a full mouthed kiss. He was stunned, a deer in the beams of a Mack truck. It was the dress, the dark hair draping down to her shoulders, the deep "V" of her dress exposing small round breast, sumptuous, ripe ready to be picked. He inhaled her cologne, the room seemed to dip and swirl. His knees felt like they were going to slump.

"Archibald, what is the matter with you?" Mamma demanded. Tugging at his overcoat she turned him to her. She sniffed at him. "Have you been at that "Dinky" place again." She had her hands on her hips glaring.

"Now Mamma I just had one small highball." He motioned with his thumb and forefinger indicating a drink much smaller than that which he had imbibed.

"Mamma." Mona always referred to Mamma, as Mamma. "It' been two years since I saw Archie last. Let's enjoy being together" Archie, did Sanders hear that right, not Archibald. Archie was an improvement. She held his arm tight, she smiled up into his face. He was feeling woozy again.

"It's warm in here." Sanders began working at his overcoat buttons as Mamma and Mona guided him to a chair in the dining room, where he sat and removed the coat.

Sanders leaned back in his chair, Mona noted perspiration on his upper lip. "Mamma, Archie might needs some water, he doesn't look well." She patted his hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He relaxed and again exhaled a deep sigh.

"I've warned him about those places, and drinking." Mamma scolded as she went for the water.

"I've always admired your hair it is just so dark and thick." Mona cooed. Her eyes followed deep rich furrows her fingers created in his hair. Mamma returned, she stood in the doorway, the glass of water in hand, taking in her son, and Mona caressing his hair. Her dreams were fulfilled, her life was complete.


"Archie, you are such a gentleman to walk me home." Mona said. The snow crunched under their feet as they progressed down the sidewalk. "Why don't you hold my hand. We can steady one another, don't want to fall." Sanders reached for her hand, she giggled. "It is so quiet when it snows, the flakes muffle sounds. I guess that is why."

"I can't get over how different you are Mona. You are a woman now. You are just so changed." Sanders complimented. He was pleased with himself. And Mona rewarded him with a my hero smile. Just maybe he could strip away that little black dress.

Mona stopped. "This is my building Archie." She continued to hold his hand. "Thank you for walking with me. I would like to show my appreciation. Would you come up with me." She turned her face to him, she offered her lips. He hesitated, then moved to her, kissing her lightly, she slid her arms inside his coat, gathering him to her, pressing her open mouth to his.

She pushed back, giggling. "Come up Archie, we can have a drink, well chocolate, or coffee, Mamma would not approve of liquor."

Hand in hand they went up the steps and into the entry vestibule. A row of mail boxes covered one wall. At the far end a man stood, looking into his empty box muttering. "Guido had the winner, Guido had the winner."

As they took the stairs up to Mona's apartment Sanders asked. "Who was that?"

"Joe Ferrara, he owns this building and a hundred more in the city. This is the only nice one, he lives here."


Mona’s apartment was not small, but not large. It was neat and clean but modest in furnishings. Sanders was impressed by her accomplishment.

With an open hand Mona noted the apartment layout. "Here is my small sitting area, my dining table and kitchen nook. I am especially proud of this room. Mona slid aside two doors exposing a bedroom, large for the size of the apartment and a king sized bed. She allowed him to brush past her, her hand rubbing against him with intent. He sucked air and reddened. She moved to him, pulling away his jacket, tugging at his shirt, she slipped her dress from her shoulders, and with a free hand she slapped the light switch off. The room fell to darkness. "Archie do you want me." She asked.

"Oh, yes Mona. I want you, I have always wanted you."

She snickered. "Oh Archie you are just so big."

"Mona you are soft, so beautiful. Mamma would like it if we got married."

"Oh Archie, let me slip off your pants, you get your shirt. Oh, Archie. Now your shorts." Mona purred.

"Mona I've never met a woman like you." His voice cracked.

"You will never forget tonight Archie. Did you read my book?"

"Well...I...I was going to."

"Lay back Archie. Stretch out, relax. I want to be on top. You will enjoy me on top. I will be your master. I will entertain you."

"Oh, Mona you can do whatever you want." In the darkness there is a clicking sound...and then again. What is that Mona? My wrist I can't move my wrist." He protested. A metallic sound, metal scraping against metal could be heard.

"Shush Archie, you are going to hurt your self. It's a shame you didn't read my novel. It is all there. It's about us. I almost forgot I need to put this on."

"I think I need to leave now, undue the what...handcuffs, is that what they are?" There was a note of protest in Sanders voice.

There was a ripping sound. "In a while Archie, in a while you will understand. But first I'll put this on." Sanders felt something going across his face, he tried to turn away, fight it off, too late. Duct tape, the taste, feel and smell of duct tape. He pulled his wrist and twisted his head. Then she began pulling at his feet. Again there was the clicking sound. He was unable to move his legs. His body torqued up and to the sides.

"Ummff! Hlpfff! Mmmfff! Mmmfff!" His muffled screams and shouts became comic to Mona, she was enjoying her efforts.

"Too dark in here." She ran to the windows, flinging the drape open, allowing a gray glow from the street lamps to fill the room. "That's better Archie, I want to see you enjoying our time together." His eyes were opened wide, the defused light caught the terror within. Mona began removing the rest of her clothing. She flicked her finger at the tip of Sanders nose. "Now I remember you saying how you liked all the changes I've made." She turned in the light to let him see her body. Let him see what he was going to enjoy. "Do you like what I've done. Oh, and don't worry cousin, I've practiced with other men. I know how to give pleasure." She giggled her girlish giggle. "I'm good, every man I've had leaves with his tail dragging out of here."

“Ummmff! Ummmff! Sanders tossed sided to side arching his neck.

Her gaze returned to his eyes, eyes that expressed only fear. She was happy, the project was going well. She curled up next to Sanders kitten-like, her head on his shoulder, one hand toyed with the small patch of hair on his chest. "Archie do you remember my high school prom." Archie didn't respond. She lifted her head, he was studying the ceiling. She grabbed a handful of chest hair and yanked.

"Affffffff!" was Sanders only response. He thrashed for a moment then remembered resistance was useless.

"That's better Archie, I was afraid you had fallen asleep. Where was I. Oh, yes the prom. Do you remember?" She paused, there was no response from Sanders. Her grasp went back to his chest.

"Ummfff, ummfff." He responded. His eyes focused on her.

"Good boy, you are learning fast." She patted his head. "The prom, remember when you spent the night with the other boys, telling stories about me, reciting your favorite names for me. "Coke eyes, metal mouth, String Bean Sally." She rolled on top of him, leaning over him. "Not much of a string bean now. I saw the look at Mamma's house. You were taking me in, disrobing me, having your way."

She flicked the tip of his nose again, he winced. "How many years Archie, name calling, bullying, torment. Unfortunately Archie I only get one night. One night Archie is all I have, I have to make the best of it. Years of torment released in one night. I'm looking forward to it. Aren't you?"

"Nffff! Nfff!" Sanders protested. She stroked him. "Nfff!"

"Archie your a big boy." She examined his response. "Well not so big. You can handle it."

She stroked more. "Nffff! Nfff!"

Mona leaned forward, palms on his shoulders, stretching herself out, matching him head to toe. "I've had better Archie, well to be honest, much better. But you'll get the idea cousin, by morning most certainly you will understand."

Sanders body arched and quaked. "Affff! Afff! Afff!"

She was sitting on his chest again. "I don't think you will want to discuss this with your friends at Dinky's. It might be too, well too hard to live down. As for Mamma, I will have to explain that you were unable to fill my needs. She will be disappointed; she was so looking forward to grandchildren. She will understand, knowing you for the failure you are. She erupted into another burst of giggles as she brought Sanders back to life.

"Nfff! Nfff! Nfff!" He rocked back and forth on the bead.

"I'm enjoying it also Archie." She spewed more giggles.


Morning seeped into the room. Mona at the side of her bed stretched and yawned. She wrapped herself in a modest robe. Behind her lay an inert Sanders, surrounded by vibrators, stimulators, and other gadgets from the trade. All guaranteed to provide a good time. "Archie." Mona whispered. She touched his arm, giving him a slight shake. His bloodshot eyes shot open.

"Nfff! Nfff! Nfff!" He said.

"No Archie You are just too much a man for me, I couldn't possibly go another round with you." She patted his arm, he jerked away from her. She smiled a beatific smile.

"Archie you will really have to read my novel, and then you will understand the humor in this. I'm sure you will enjoy the story. The critics have just loved it." She smiled down at Sanders as she ripped the duct tape from his mouth.