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The damn rain poured down onto my uncovered head as I rushed through the mud and yuck to pop my application for the Murder Maker workshop into the mailbox. Since my slip up where I found myself bent over the hood of Kurt Gregory’s busted up Mustang, his wife Matilda, who just happened to by my mailperson, hadn’t given me any leeway when it came to punctuality. If the mail wasn’t in the box, flag up, before noon, I was screwed. Bitch really knew how to hold a grudge. I guess I was lucky tampering with the mail was illegal. If it weren’t, all my subscriptions would end up at the bottom of a pond. Don’t get me wrong, I knew screwing around with him was wrong, but they had filed for divorce. It wasn’t my fault they decided to get back together after our hookup.
I hurried back into the house and shook the water off my raincoat before pulling it off. Annoyed, I hung it on the hook, watching the water as it dripped to the floor. “At least it’s not snow,” I muttered then kicked off my boots. One thing I always detested was snow. It made my bones ache.
After drying off a bit, I debated on whether I should grab the trusty laptop and get down a few words. Writing had always been my escape. My kids always thought of it as a pain in their asses, but they sure did like the money involved. It’s the persona that came along with the words they detested. In ways, I always understood that part, but it still pissed me off to no end. I paid for two college educations, cars, and of course, many mistakes. It would’ve been three educations if it hadn’t been for the youngest being such a dumbass. There’s no way Jarrod would’ve made it in college. Hell, if I hadn’t been screwing his Chemistry teacher at the time, he would’ve flunked his ass out of high school.
The relationship between my kids and I has been rocky for years. It started back when their father, Drew, left. Well, supposedly left. They thought he left, let’s put it that way. What woman in her right mind wanted to tell her kids their daddy was screwing some whore from down on West Mooreland, who the powers that be decided to name Honey? Could he have been more discreet? Did he care that he was coming home reeking of her cheap ass body spray and smeared lipstick? No, he didn’t. That’s why I felt no remorse for what I did. My slut, Honey Harper was born, and I never looked back.
Grabbing the laptop, I ventured back to the kitchen counter. I’d been avoiding my office for the past few days. My shrine to the great Lee Mathews was in there. Every time I looked at one of his amazing works, or the picture of that shrewd son of a bitch, I felt the anticipation start to grow. I didn’t care about the possibility of dying. The opportunity to compete for a chance to be his successor was enough to get my blood boiling. I’ve lived a good life. If my time had come, so be it. Add in the fact death and murder was something I had to look at daily, well I was a shoo-in.
The story I had been working on was one of my favorites. I’d finally made the decision of a lifetime. Not only did I apply for Murder Maker, I’d decided win or lose, my life was changing. Hopefully, for the better. My alter-ego, the sultry vixen, whose name came in honor of the whore who ruined my life, was about to die. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Honey Takes It All, a simple title. One that would get my fans all worked up. It leaves the imagination opened to all sorts of fun, sexy antics. That’s not what I had planned though. Nope. In the final chapter, the end of my pen name, the end of the whore, and the end of my erotica run, Honey would take it all. My plan of killing that bitch in the most gruesome way possible had finally come to fruition. I had one last chapter left to write and it would all be over. Then Claire Thomas would be the one finally running the show for a change.
The moment my fingers touched the laptop it was like a fire had ignited inside me. I could clearly see the finish line and I wasn’t giving up until I reached it. A bit of snuff would be the perfect ending for her. I mean, she entered my life boning my husband, why not go out doing what she loved. Sure, I don’t believe in selling women or forcing them into anything they don’t want to do, but for Honey, it seemed fitting. The research I did on this woman when she was sleeping with my husband told me what she was all about. She thought he could get her out of the slums. It had been obvious considering the other men she’d been screwing. She was clearly wrong about my old man though. I had been the one footing all the bills. Most likely, I’m the one who paid for those massive fake tits she got while they were seeing one another too.
Drew started out as a good husband. He worked a good job, in the beginning. He even made sure he was present when each of the kids were born. He was slightly drunk when Jarrod came along, but he was sleeping his bender off in the reclining chair in the room. I guess in his tiny brain that amounted to something. Bastard. I should’ve gotten rid of him long before I did.
Honey was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back so to say. I worked my fingers to the bone cleaning houses and offices. I scrubbed shitty toilets so my kids could have a good life. It wasn’t easy, but it worked. At night though, that’s when I got to have fun. I wrote short stories, even submitted a few to contests and won. I had an imagination and I liked to use it. There weren’t many places in my everyday life to do that, so my writing gave me the outlet I needed.
When I first self-published my work, no one noticed. They weren’t sexy stories. Nope, they were the dark and twisted thoughts of a woman who wanted more to life. I sold a total of twenty books out of three publications. Drew called my writing a pipedream, told me to take on a couple more houses, and that was that.
The writing bug didn’t bite me again until the Honey issue. I was working later and later at night. When I would come home, he was there. Then, one night, he wasn’t. He’d left the kids home alone. My oldest, Abigail, was fourteen at the time, but I wasn’t happy with her being left in charge of her younger siblings while he was out gallivanting. I didn’t go in search of him that night or ask any questions. Instead, I started watching. I knew waiting for the right opportunity was my best bet.
I prowled through his phone several times, finding messages that blew my mind. The way his mistress talked was unheard of to me. She begged for his cock, which I knew from experience was nothing special. Five inches if that, rock hard. She talked about his obsession with butter and how she couldn’t wait to lick an entire stick off his chiseled abs. I knew instantly, she had to be paid or delusional. Drew hadn’t had an ab since his high school days of playing football. The reason for that was his obsession with butter and any other fattening substance he could put into his short, round body.
The idea of confronting him came to mind again, but I still decided against it. Nope. I wanted to see who she was. I wanted to catch him in the act. Before I could get a game plan down though, the rumors started. Everyone in our fucking town knew about him cheating on me. I couldn’t go to the post office without getting those pitiful stares. It did help at work though. The people I cleaned for took pity on me and were leaving me massive tips when I’d show up at their homes. When the name finally emerged around town, my trip down the rabbit hole began.
Honey McDonald was her given name. I never did understand why her parents chose Honey. Maybe they were obsessed with it like my husband had a butter fetish. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, but it irked me, nonetheless. I located her shithole of an apartment and decided to stake it out. I found out rather quickly, Drew wasn’t her only man. He didn’t know it, but everyone else did.
I never found the courage to confront her. Honestly, at that time, she didn’t matter to me. He did though. What he was doing to me, and our family, pissed me off. I was the laughingstock of the town. I only had one option left to save my reputation. I needed to face things head on and show them my butter-loving, small dicked husband wasn’t going to get the best of me.
Honey Harper, my pen name, was born on the night I saw the real Honey had her new implants. Like I’ve said, I do believe the three thousand missing from our joint account paid for those bitches, but what could I do? It wasn’t like I was going to go demand them back. Instead, I opened myself a separate account and decided I was going to have a career, far away from that sneaky, lying bastard.
My first Honey Harper book, Honey Takes Manhattan, was an instant success. I let her get screwed every way I could think of and people wanted more. I gave it to them. I wrote another Honey book before Drew every realized what was happening. Yes, I was using his slutty mistress to make money, and oddly enough, it started rolling in.
Before long, I was becoming a bit of a local celebrity. Newspapers were calling me up and asking to do interviews. The writing community was taking note of my words. I won awards. Finally, they wanted to put a face to Honey Harper. I didn’t want to lose the momentum, so I jumped at it.
To the world I was Honey Harper, divorcee. I loved traveling, meeting exotic men, playing the field, and being adventurous. When I did interviews, I talked about sex like it was my favorite thing in the world. It was all fun and games until it started affecting the kids. That’s when I realized my fantasy life was playing hell on my real one.
Abigail, my oldest, and Trina, my middle daughter, were catching hell at school. Abby was a sophomore and Trina was a freshman in high school. The kids couldn’t stop calling their mom a slut and talking about all the men she was banging. They knew it was all made up, but their friends didn’t.
Jarrod, the youngest, was still in middle school. Seventh graders didn’t really give a damn and he caught little to no hell. What angered him was his dad. In his mind, he thought everything was real and I was the one having an affair. When the truth came out about Drew’s mistress, he still blamed me. It didn’t matter that he was no longer a child. He still said if I’d spent more time with his dad, things would’ve changed. Maybe he was right, we’ll never know. I was always too busy cleaning toilets to be much of a wife.
When Drew caught on to the success and reason behind the pen name, he had no choice but to ask me about it. We were married, it was his right, or so he thought. That night plays over and over in my mind. I can’t say I regret what happened, completely. In ways, I do. In others, I know the bastard got exactly what he deserved.
***
THE KIDS HAD GONE TO my mother’s house for the week. She lived a couple of towns over, so when they visited her, she kept them a bit. It was the second week of their summer vacation and they were excited to be out and about. They were even more thrilled with being away from the Honey thing. Damn ingrates.
Their absence left Drew with the opening he needed. I came home from having a drink with our next-door neighbor, Francine, to find he’d cooked dinner. On the table were two plates with juicy steaks and all the fixings. A bottle of wine was sitting there, waiting to be opened, and candles were lit to add a romantic tone. It didn’t work for me though. Seeing the pat of butter melting inside the baked potato made me instantly question whether he’d used it on his penis beforehand and I had to hold back a gag.
“Did you have fun?” Those were his first words to me. He didn’t care if I had fun, he was making himself speak with me. Since Honey, I’d mostly been ignored. It bothered me at first, but after so long, you truly don’t give a damn anymore.
I answered his question then kicked off my heels. I walked across the room and immediately opened the wine and poured each of us a glass. He kept his front up while he pulled out my chair to let me get seated. The bastard even leaned down and kissed my cheek like he gave a damn about me at all.
I was raised as a child in the South. I moved up North by the time I was thirteen when my father accepted a better job that forced us to relocate. Manners have been ingrained into my being. If you didn’t show them, or use them when necessary, you’d get your ass busted. That part of my raising always stayed with me. Even though I knew this man was cheating on me, he was still the father of my children and I suppose in some way I felt he deserved some sort of respect, at first.
He took his seat then started a bit of small talk. “We were busy at the office today. I didn’t think I would ever get out of there.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know it can be intense.”
I didn’t really feel that way. I’d been at the office with Drew enough to know everyone else did most of the work. Most of his day was spent in his office reading up on things or speaking with his other buddies like he was so important. Asshole.
He stopped talking for a few minutes while he ate on his steak and acted like he was deep in thought. I knew what was coming though. In the back of my mind, I knew the conversation had to happen. Was I ready for it? I thought I was. In truth? No. The idea of facing the truth about Honey, both of her personas, wasn’t something a wife and mother wanted in her life.
“Things seem to be going good with your writing.”
There it was.
“Some of the ladies at work talk about your book. They love it. Seems like you’re making quite a bit of money from it.”
“Not tons, but it’s helping. I’m hoping to focus more time on it instead of cleaning soon.”
“That would be great. It would keep you at home more.”
“Yes, it would,” I agreed knowing what he was thinking. Me being home would really throw a wrench in his sick love life.
“Where did you come up with your pen name?”
I let the question roll around in my mind for a few minutes before I answered. I could’ve lied. It would have been easy as hell. I mean, I lie a lot. I’ve created a fake life for my readers. I live in fake worlds. The situation required truth though.
“Your mistress.” The sound of his fork hitting his plate echoed through the quiet house. I had shocked him. Good. He deserved to know how big of a dick he was being. It was the perfect timing for it.
I took a sip of wine, peeping up at him over the rim of my glass. The shock on his chubby face was comical. His cheeks were turning red, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was hanging slack like he’d been told the biggest secret in the free world.
“Are you okay, dear?” I asked politely.
He cleared his throat several times. I watched as he used his napkin to wipe the sweat from his forehead. If I weren’t in the zone, I would’ve busted out laughing at the display.
“How long have you known?”
“A while.”
“Why haven’t you said anything? We could’ve talked about it.”
“Not really. I saw a few of the texts between you and her. Nothing I could say would’ve changed what was happening. I’m not that naive, Drew.”
He physically took the time to choose his words correctly. It was the first time in ages, I truly felt like he was taking my feelings into consideration. He was trying to decide what to say and how to not hurt me. At least, that’s what I wanted to think. I’d never been so wrong in all my life.
“I can’t lie to you, Claire. I’m in love with her. I have been since the day I met her. She’s something else.”
Oh, that son of a bitch.
“I’ve wanted to tell you about her. I just didn’t know how to do it and not hurt you or the kids. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping, maybe, you would consider us keeping things the way they are. There’s no need in us divorcing. It would hurt the kids too much. It would change our lives too much. I’m sure, considering what you write, you know some marriages are open like that.”
I waited. I could’ve spoken my mind at that moment, but I wanted to see how far he was willing to go.
“I mean, there is the money issue too.”
“Money issue?”
“Yeah, I mean, we’re married. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. If we divorced, with me making so much less money, I’m sure they would require you to give me some of the secret account you made.”
The look he gave me across the table sent a fire up my spine I’d never felt before. I wanted to jump across the table and beat his pudgy face senseless. He wanted my money. He saw what the whore I’d created could bring me and all he could think about was how much he could do with it. Not a thing about what his affair could do to me.
I stared him straight in his dead eyes. I saw no concern, no love, no compassion there. All I saw was greed. “You truly think a judge would give you half of my money knowing you are the one having the affair?”
“Of course, they would. I mean, I could fight for the kids. You know how upset they are about the whole slutty writing thing. They’d prefer to be with me. Then you’d be paying child support too. I could most likely use what you’re writing to take the house if I want.”
That was the final straw. Nothing else he had to say would change the hatred that was boiling up inside me. Yes, the man was cheating on me. I could’ve lived with that, but to try and take my kids, the kids I’d worked my fingers to the bone to give everything they ever wanted, wasn’t going to fly.
My mind was racing. I didn’t know what to think or what to say. I tried to look away from him. Just looking at his face made me want to throw up. That’s when my eyes fell on the butter. The goddamn, fucking butter. That’s when something inside took over. It was something angry, something jealous, and something instinctual. I was done.
I don’t know how I moved so fast, but I quickly grabbed the fancy knife he’d put on the plate holding his gross-ass butter. He didn’t react. I guess he never imagined what I was about to do. I understand that considering I never thought I would do it either. In two large steps I was on his side of the table, burying the knife into his fat neck.
I’m a fan of horror. I always have been. When I was young, I watched horror movies late at night after my parents went to bed. Sure, I had to sneak down into the living room and keep the television turned down low, but I did it. The older I got, the more enthralled I became. In all honesty, horror would be my preferred genre in the writing world, but a woman needs to make money first and foremost. If I could win Murder Maker, my entire life could change. It would be amazing.
The blood seeping down my hands didn’t faze me. I stared at it, in disbelief for a minute, then realized I was beyond the point of changing my mind. Instead of pulling the knife out or jumping back in shock, I drove it deeper, hoping the bastard could somehow taste the butter still on it.
Over the years, Drew had gained weight. It never bothered me. I loved the man, for a while. In the situation I’d created for myself, his weight became an issue. His fight or flight response kicked in finally, and he came alive, coming to his feet and tossing me to the side like a ragdoll. I scrambled to my feet and watched as he fumbled with the knife in his neck. His first instinct was to pull it free of its chubby confines. That was his biggest mistake. The moment it came out, blood spurted across the fancy dinner he’d set up for us. Even his precious butter became drenched in his cholesterol-infused blood as his body shook several times then collapsed back down into the chair.
“Cl...Claire...what have you done?” he moaned, still clenching his throat.
He didn’t deserve my words. He didn’t deserve my concern. He damn sure didn’t deserve the respect I’d tried to show the father of my children. No, this bastard was nothing. Nothing.
I waited. I don’t know why, but I did. I’m not even sure how much time passed before I moved. The one thing I did know: Drew was dead. The cheating, lying, money hungry bastard was finally out of my life. But he’d left me with a situation. How could I explain that to the police? Would they buy any story I could make up? I’d just murdered my husband in a fit of rage and had no idea how to come out of the situation without spending the rest of my life in prison.
The sound of his phone going off is what pulled me out of the abyss I’d found myself drowning in. I crawled across the floor, pulling the phone free of his pocket.
“Babe, did you talk to her? Is she giving us some of the money? Me, you, and the kids could start a new life far away from here. I’m waiting to hear. I have the butter chilling when you’re ready to come over. Love, Honey.”
I wanted to crush the phone in my hand. I wanted to message her back and tell her the butter man was swimming in his own blood and she would be next, but I didn’t. No, that’s when my mind finally began to work. I began to formulate a plan and a reply text was the start of it all.
“Sorry, sexy, she isn’t going for it. She’s giving me some money, not tons, but told me I had to go. I can’t afford to take you with me. I wish I could. I have to do what’s best for me. I’m leaving town, on my own. You and the kids aren’t worth all this trouble. Sorry.”
I sent the text, then took a seat in the chair across from my dead husband. I could feel the smile spreading across my face. I could do it. I could figure out a way for Drew to vanish, with no one being the wiser to where he went. I already had all the tools at my disposal.
***
JAPANESE CHERRY BLOSSOM trees have always been one of my favorite things. I bought a few, hoping Drew would plant them in the backyard and help me set up a relaxing, sitting area to use for my writing. Of course, he kept claiming he would but never got his butter-loving ass moving. Like with everything else in my life, I decided to do it all myself. The timing of said planting could be looked at as a way to hide what I did. Sure, that’s what I did, but still, those trees had been bought for a while. They needed to be put in the ground. The same for my cheating-ass husband.
I was glad the kids were gone for a few days. Cleaning up from a murder is much harder than I realized it would be. Blood is always a factor for authors who write mysteries or horror. For horror lovers, they want to see the blood, know how the kill went down. For mystery authors and those who write crime dramas, cleaning it up is extremely important. I’ve read a lot of those types of books. More importantly, I cleaned for a living. I knew how to get it out of my house.
My first step was to do something with Mr. Butters. I made my way out to the shed out back. I always thought it was sad that I spent more time doing things around the house than he did, but at that moment, that nugget of information was working for me. I found the roll of garden plastic. I had bought the latest roll in early spring when the time had come to start planting my new flower beds. There wasn’t much left, but I hoped it would be enough.
Stepping back into the kitchen, I unrolled the plastic, then used canned peas to hold it down so I wouldn’t be left struggling with rolling issues while I worked. Moving Drew would be hard enough. He was twice my size, bloody, and most likely oozing butter from every orifice.
The sound of a dead body hitting the floor isn’t something you easily forget. He was already stiffening; his body had even begun the natural elimination of things. Honestly, it was gross. Yes, there’s a normal thump, but the sloshy sound was not what I had expected. Several times I had to pause to avoid vomiting. When he was finally situated on the center of the plastic, I rolled him up in a neat little butter taco, then used my handy dandy duct tape to seal him up so I didn’t need to look at him again. Then the cleaning began.
I had always been a lover of natural wood floors. When we first moved into the house, the floors weren’t in the best of shape. It took me years to save enough money to have them replaced with floors I loved. I was determined to save those expensive ass floors. Mr. Butters, who actually appears in my final Honey book as the sick bastard who does her in, wasn’t going to take away something I’d worked so long to have.
The team who installed the flooring had left me tons of care instructions. I’d packed them away in my office for situations just like this one. It didn’t take me long to read through the instructions on how to clean blood. Honestly, it was easy. Apparently, you only have massive issues if you have carpet. Still, I didn’t want to use anything to take the shine off my beloved floors. Peroxide quickly became my best friend.
Once the supper dishes were washed, all the blood was gone, and the leftovers had been taken out back to the dog, I was left with the body. It was nighttime, the perfect setting for discarding a dead body, but dammit, I was getting tired. Still, I had a mission. I had a life to save – my own.
I hummed a church hymn while I dug the hole. In the back of my mind, I was praying to the good Lord to forgive me for what I’d done. They say if you ask for forgiveness, you shall receive it. I have no idea if that’s true considering murder is one of the worst things you can do. But Mr. Butters had committed adultery and that’s a no-no too, so maybe it will cross itself out in the end. At least that’s something I can hope for.
The hole was dug and waiting. That’s when the hardest part came into play. How the hell was I supposed to move a large man, who was also dead and stiff as a board? I needed a winch, but things around the yard would have to work. Instead, I settled on my lawnmower.
I’d paid a pretty penny for a great riding lawn mower. My yard was immaculate. Even after working crazy hours, I kept it looking its best. Rigging up some rope, I tied it around Drew’s feet then led it though the kitchen, finally tying it to the back of the mower. My nearest neighbor worked nights so I wouldn’t need to worry about firing up the lawn tractor in the middle of the night.
Using the headlights, I drove through the yard slowly, watching as the black lump carefully lurched its way toward the backdoor. I debated in my mind whether he would come through easily, but Drew hadn’t gained that much weight. His head bounced down the back stairs one at a time, until he hit the grass. I drove on until he was as near to his final resting place as possible before killing the engine and hopping off to take care of the final push.
I thought seeing Drew’s body in the hole would haunt me. It didn’t. Honestly, I haven’t thought much about the bastard since. I wanted to cover his ass up that night and be done with him, but I had more I needed to do. His cell phone was in my possession and texts needed to be made. Things needed to be tended too before Drew could run off into the sunset to find himself another Honey and live a great life. That’s what everyone else needed to think. I would always know better. I would always know the real Mr. Butters and exactly where the son of a bitch ended up.
The hardest part was the next day. Sending out texts to the kids, seeing their responses, and ignoring the calls when they would try to reach their dad. The girls took it like champs. Yes, there were a few questions about them going too, but I made it clear their father was done with the life he had, and they were better off with their mother. Jarrod was the one who took it the worst. He literally begged Drew not to leave him with me. It hurt, but I expected it. The boy and his father had been close.
Emails to work, friends – all the rest were sent off from Drew’s computer upstairs. I even wore gloves just in case something happened and the police dusted for prints. I had my own computer and had no reason to be on his. Oddly enough, no one was surprised with his departure. Most wished him well. A few asked if Honey was going along. I made it clear to all of them Honey was not part of the deal and the only way he could wrangle money out of me was to just go and leave her behind. They bought it hook, line, and sinker.
I finished up all the emails, the final texts, and all that. Then I packed his clothes. No man would leave his family without packing his things. It’s strange when you realize a man’s life can fit into two suitcases and a duffle bag. It shows just how shitty he was in the life department. Once he was packed away, even his trusty toothbrush, I tossed all his shit in the hole with him.
I debated on tossing the cell phone, then thought better of it. The kids knew we were all on the same plan. If they thought he had his phone, they would constantly be trying to get in touch with him. Instead, I kept it. I wiped it clean, then left it laying on the kitchen counter. It would be the best way to prove to them their dad was truly gone and they wouldn’t be hearing from him unless he chose to get in touch.
By the time Mr. Butters was completely buried, my new Japanese Cherry Blossom trees were in the ground and looking great. What I did barely phased me, but the excitement of finishing the sitting area was rejuvenated. Within the week, I would have a graveled enclosure where Adirondack chairs would allow me to bask in the sun while I wrote. No one needed to know what was going on beneath the ground, only me. I suppose it was my way of showing Drew, even in death, that I’d won.
When the kids came home, things were hard at first. I was yelled at quite a bit. I was blamed for not caring enough, willingly giving him the money, and even told I should’ve let the affair continue so he would’ve stayed with us. I let it happen. There was no need in me arguing with them. The texts I’d seen and the words that were spoken showed me how my kids truly felt about me. It was hard to stomach, but I’ve always been a strong woman. I could deal with it.
I gave it a month before I relaunched my life. Honey Harper would become the queen of smut. I started doing more interviews, playing up the divorcee lifestyle the readers wanted to hear about. To the world, I was running around having so much sex it was sinful. I was a cougar, a woman after the young, hot guys. I was also adventurous, a woman who would try anything once. In all honesty, at that point, I hadn’t found the bravado to delve into the things I was writing about. It didn’t take me long to get there though. Killing Drew gave me a new awakening in life. Honey gave me something I never imagined I needed. It was turning out to be a good thing.
Some call what happened to me a sexual awakening. I don’t. I call it practicing what you preach. How could I let Honey Harper have all the fun on the pages? I couldn’t keep coming up with stories about a life I knew nothing about. I had to live a little and that’s exactly what I started to do. I mean, I tried to be a good mom and they hated me for it. So, what other choices did I really have? I could be wild. I could be sexy. I just needed to get out there and do it. So, I did.
***
AFTER I SENT Honey Takes It All to my editor, I waited. I knew she wouldn’t be happy with seeing Honey go, but I hoped she would like the way it went down. She was a fan of the darker sides of life, but like me, she liked the money Honey made us. What I didn’t expect was the correspondence to show up in the mail the same day.
I was out in the front yard, enjoying a bit of sunshine, when I saw Matilda’s car flying down the road toward the house. The neighbor on the other side of my place, an older woman by the name of Betsy, liked to tease me about the mailperson’s reaction to delivering mail. It was kind of funny, but I hated the fact most of my shit ended up on the ground, especially in the bad weather. It was a nice day that day, and I was outside, so when she tossed it and flipped me off, it wasn’t that big of a deal.
I strolled out to the edge of the road, picked up the mail, and began to leaf through it. When I saw the answer from the Murder Maker workshop, I damn near fainted standing in the grass. I was in complete shock until I heard Betsy’s shrill assed voice call out my name.
“Claire! Claire, darling, is everything alright? Is something wrong?”
I whipped my head around to look at her and couldn’t keep the smile from erupting on my face. Whether I was accepted or not, I’d been noticed by Lee Mathews and his team. That was enough for me. I could live with whatever was inside the envelope.
“I’m fine, Betsy. I think I may have won the best award ever for my writing.”
“Oh, Claire, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! You’ve done so great since that bastard Drew left.”
She was right. Things in my life had improved over the couple of years Drew had been gone. Money was getting better and better. My popularity as a writer was growing. Everything was looking great, but I was purposely ready to blow it out of the water.
“Thanks, Betsy!” I called back to her in return. I could tell by the way she was acting she wanted to come over, but I didn’t have time for that. No, not that day. I had too much to take care of. Too much needed to be done.
Back in the house, I knew it would be best to open the letter in the library. I called it a library. Drew used to call it a shrine. Yes, I had lots of Lee Mathews memorabilia, but fangirling is a normal thing. Even for old people like me.
Entering the room, I immediately walked over to the framed photo of Lee, kissed the palm of my hand, and touched the glass. Yes, it was like a ritual. I couldn’t help it though. The man was my hero. Add in the fact he was sexy as hell and it makes complete sense that my blood boiled every time I thought about meeting him. I can’t lie and pretend he wasn’t on my mind some nights when the trusty bullet came into play. Hell, he even popped in my mind when I was fucking the cute ass Frenchman named Pierre who was hung like a horse and dawned the cover of several of my Honey books.
I shook like a leaf as I opened the envelope. I didn’t know what I was more excited about, the opportunity to meet Lee or the possibility of learning his secrets. Yes, being part of Murder Maker meant I was going to take the chance of dying but at that point in my life, I didn’t give a damn. My kids hated me. My youngest had moved in with his older sister to be free of me. To the world, things were perfect. They weren’t. The only genuinely good thing in my life was the sex. Yes, I enjoyed it and had it every chance I got. Thanks, Honey, you fucking slut.
I read the letter several times before the squeal of excitement escaped my mouth. I had been accepted. I was going. I would be allowed one item, my bullet of course, but I would be part of history. Who cared if I had to sign waivers and basically give my life over to the threat of death? I would meet Lee and be part of something amazing.
Before I could start getting my things in order, I had to slip off to the bedroom and have a little me time. A few orgasms in celebration was a great thing. I even planned on giving Pierre, the lovely Frenchman, a call for a nice romp later that night. Most importantly though, I needed to get my affairs in order. A will needed to be drafted. If I was chosen to die, hopefully at the hands of Lee himself, I needed to make sure things happened the way it wanted.
The first draft of my will seemed simple enough. I left all the money to the kids, to be split evenly. I insisted the house be sold and split among them as well. None of them wanted to live under my roof, so giving it to them after the fact seemed like a bit of bullshit. I also didn’t want one of them to decide to put in a pool or some shit and find Mr. Butters under the vibrant Japanese Cherry Blossom trees. If he was found, let it be by an outsider.
Personal items weren’t a big deal. The kids didn’t give a damn about things like that. I simply stated I wanted all my possessions to be given to them to do as they chose. One thing, though, was left for Betsy. I’m only allowed to take one item to the workshop with me. I decided on my vibrator, the rechargeable one. It was the most powerful one and would allow me to easily take care of my secret Lee Mathews wet dreams. The rest of my toys, though, needed a home. Betsy, the nosy neighbor who obviously needed to get laid, would be my heir. I decided to pack all of it away, the dildos, the other vibrators, the nipple rings, the sex swing Pierre loved so much, even the butt plug. The box would include a personal letter to Betsy with Pierre’s phone number and information on his obsession with what he called cougars. I knew she would need a little help, so I decided to write out some instructions on use, toss in some toy cleaner, and even all the extra batteries I had stashed around the house.
Pleased with my will, I decided to wait until closer to time for the workshop to take it to my lawyer’s office. She was a no-nonsense type of woman, but she was also a closet freak. Yes, the two of us have licked and played a bit, so she would completely understand everything included in the draft. That just left me with one last thing to do. On the pages, Honey had already bit it, in the biggest way ever. It would only be fair for the real Honey to go down in a similar manner.
***
THE APARTMENT HADN’T changed. I didn’t expect it to, but it had been a few years since Drew died; you would’ve thought his slut would’ve found a man to drag her out of the slums during that time. No, she was still there.
I leaned back against the seat of my car and waited. The lights were on inside which made me believe she had company. When she was fucking Drew, she was never alone. I doubted that had changed either. Once a slut always a slut, that’s my motto. Even my alter ego adopted that perspective.
It had been a few years since Drew left, according to everyone else, and I had been free of his mistress. I know how people look at things like my husband’s affair. They always say the mistress isn’t at fault. In some cases, like what happened with me and my mailwoman, Matilda, that’s true. I thought Kurt and Matilda were finished. The entire town did. Honey? She knew me and Drew were still married. Their texts proved that. She wasn’t some innocent mistress who didn’t know about me or my kids. No, she thought she had a sugar daddy. She was willing to take on his kids and let his wife be thrown to the side just to have a shot at his money, my money. It just didn’t work out in her favor. For that, I felt like the heifer deserved to pay. That night was judgement night for Honey, both of them.
I played with how to put Honey out of her misery. I knew one thing I planned on doing was cutting those fake tits out since I’d paid for them. The rest, like how to finally be completely free of her, I was still debating on up until the moment the door of her apartment opened. When I saw the person who stepped out, I busted out laughing uncontrollably.
Kurt Gregory, the man I allowed to plow me in a parking lot, was strutting his way out of Honey’s apartment, still zipping his pants. She appeared in the doorway, those massive tits shining like they were beacons of sunlight in the illumination of her outside light. I knew what I needed to do. I snatched my cell phone and immediately started snapping photos. Kurt wasn’t the kind of man that could walk away from a piece of ass easily. I’d been there. I knew. Our romp in the parking lot had gone on for ages. Those tits quickly worked him back up. I could see the boner from my car.
I snapped pic after pic while Honey wiggled her bubbled ass down until she was on her knees. Like a true pro, she worked Kurt’s pants open again, freeing his cock, which I must admit is nicely sized, and snatching it in her mouth. Watching her work reminded me of why she became the model for my slutty alter. It took her a matter of minutes to blow Kurt so well he needed the threshold of the door to hold himself up afterward. The best part, I had pictures of all of it.
Kurt offered her a last kiss, a deep one, most likely tasting himself, then wandered off across the parking lot. I hadn’t noticed his vehicle when I first pulled up. He’d hidden it quite well. In a matter of minutes, he was tearing off through the lot, a smile smeared on his face as he passed by me.
I debated what to do at that point. I could go through with my plan. Killing Honey would be easy. Hell, I could even make it look like Kurt did it. His DNA would obviously be all over her whorish ass. But did I really need to? Was it smart to push my luck again? No one questioned things about Drew. They simply assumed he took off like he’d wanted. Honey had family. I’d already investigated that. They could try to find her. They could push for something to be investigated. I didn’t need all that.
Saying goodbye to the past wasn’t easy. I lingered in the parking lot, watching her through her open window as she traipsed around her apartment, tits still free like a porn star. It would be enough for me to know she died in the pages of my book. At that point, Honey had become someone else’s problem. I just needed to let Matilda know about it. I didn’t even give Kurt time to get home. Instead, I texted the pics of Honey giving him head to the woman who’d been giving me hell. It seemed kind of fitting for Matilda to have a new outlet for all her anger since I would be leaving for the workshop and chasing my dream.
***
THE PHONE CALLS WITH the kids were easier than I’d imagined. For the first time in years, they actually showed a bit of concern for me. I didn’t hold anything back about Murder Maker. I told them of the waivers I would be agreeing to and that I may not come back. They’d been a bit more open to communications with me after they realized I’d killed off my erotic harlot and had decided to move away from that type of writing.
Book world wasn’t pleased with me after Honey’s demise. Some begged for me to invent a new icon of the culture. In my interviews, I made it clear, I wouldn’t be returning to the world of erotica. I didn’t rule out more snuff writing though. It had been a lot of fun. My invented life would slowly fade away and I would have the opportunity to create another one. I’ve always been one hell of a liar.
I duct taped the box in my closet, then used a black marker to write Betsy’s name on it. If I didn’t make it back, I damn sure wanted that bitch to get off for a change. She needed it. Hell, I even told Pierre about her the night before while he was ensuring my world was thoroughly rocked before I left for the workshop. I’d miss that hot ass of his. If I survived, I would look him up again. That cock was legendary.
I wasn’t a fan of planes or other means of transportation. I would be driving to Murder Maker myself. If I perished, surely Lee or his assistant would see to it being returned to the kids. I turned off all the lights, made sure everything was locked down, and carried what I needed for the drive out to the car. Betsy had my spare key and had agreed to come over once a week to water my plants, collect my mail, and make sure things were alright.
Before taking off, I waited for Matilda. It was nearly time for the mail to run so there was no reason for me to let it pile up for Betsy to deal with. Since I’d sent her the pics I took of Kurt, she hadn’t tossed my mail on the ground once. Hell, the bitch even waved from time to time. Turning her on to what was happening between her husband and Honey had gotten her off my ass.
Seeing an unfamiliar car coming up the road, I watched as a face I wasn’t familiar with stopped at the mailbox, stuffed the mail inside, then drove away without a second glance. Curious, I walked down the driveway and grabbed the mail, including the paper. I didn’t take the time to look at anything until I was already in the car, cranked up and ready to head out. I ruffled through the mail, not noticing anything of importance, then tossed it to the passenger seat before unfolding the local newspaper. The headline made my mouth drop. Local Mailwoman Arrested for Murder of Husband’s Mistress.
I scanned the story, reading about Matilda’s actions. She wasn’t denying what she’d done. That wasn’t the kind of woman she was. In fact, she was owning up to everything. She’d followed Kurt to Honey’s house where she watched through the wide open window as they fucked like rabbits. When Kurt left the apartment, she kicked the door in, and a struggle ensued. After kicking Honey’s still naked ass, she proceeded to choke the slut to death with what the newspaper article described as an abnormally large dildo. She then called authorities and waited for the police to arrive on the scene.
I wasn’t sure how to feel. In Honey Takes It All, I’d taken my slutty vixen out in a remarkably similar fashion. It was a real cock she choked on though, not a dildo. It left me wondering if Matilda had read the story before going after the woman who was boning her man. I’m sure she knew about Drew and Honey, the whole town did. Perhaps that’s why she decided to use the technique I imagined using to take out the whore who’d helped ruin my old life.
I held to the steering wheel, letting things run through my mind. My story had truly come full circle. Honey was gone in every sense of the word. I was no longer tied to the persona I’d created or the fabricated life I’d created. I was finally free, and Lee Mathews had been the one who inadvertently led me to the Promised Land.
“I’m on my way, Lee. I hope you’re ready for the real me!” I laughed out as I threw the car in reverse and sped down the driveway. I couldn’t wait any longer to be part of Murder Maker.
