Many Lives and Loves of Richard 08

Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica. Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

**..**

It was still a surprise, the heat and humidity of the Massachusetts August. Richard O'Shea was drenched in sweat by the time he wearily climbed the concrete steps from sidewalk to front door of the apartment building.

"Son of a bitch!" he cried out when the door knob scalded his skin.

Grabbing the flap of his suit jacket, he grabbed the knob again and managed to open the door of the apartment building. Stepping into the lobby, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the single 40 watt bulb that illuminated the lobby of the building. Once he could see again, he moved to the mailbox kiosk and checked his mailbox.

"Damn it," Richard groused, plucking the utility bill from his mailbox.

He did not bother trying to push the elevator button. The elevator had not been working when he had moved into the building. The 'Out Of Order' sign was still taped to the door; someone had scrawled 'then fix the fucking thing' on the Out Of Order sign.

"I am too young to be feeling this old," Richard said aloud as he slogged up the two flights of stairs to the third floor landing.

He opened the door for the hallway and entered, his key already in hand. Just as he reached the door of Apartment 3C, the door for Apartment 3A opened. Naturally, he turned to verify who might be stepping out of Apartment 3A; the door of 3A was directly behind himself.

His neighbor, an attractive African-American girl scowled at him as she exited her apartment. She did not return Richard's head bob and mumbled 'Hi' as she stomped to the door of the stairwell.

Even though he was six feet, three inches and was still at his high school football playing weight of two hundred and ten pounds, his neighbor did somewhat intimidate him. As a child, he hated confrontations; he supposed his mother bore some of the blame for that. If any feelings contradicted her own, his mother would invalidate his feelings. So, he learned to go along to get along.

The neighbor's skin was dark brown, not quite black, but very dark brown. Her hair was worn in a loose, easy Afro style, framing her round face. Her eyes would be lovely eyes if she were not always scowling at him. Richard wondered if he were the only recipient of that scowl; it tightened her plump lips into a tight line on her pretty face.

Her legs were dark, slightly stubby. She usually wore dripped denim shorts that displayed her legs, and when she turned, displayed a beautifully chunky backside. Her snug tops also emphasized her large chest and the thinner tops usually magnified the fact that she did not often wear bras with her snug tops.

"What? You like black girls now?" Richard asked himself as he unlocked the door to Apartment 3C.

Entering his apartment, he grunted at the stifling air in the room. Fiddling with the thermostat did cause the air conditioning to come on with a groan then rattle. He stripped out of his sodden suit and cursed. He really did not have the money to get this suit and the other two suits dry cleaned just yet; payday was three days away.

"Well maybe if you'd quit wasting your money on foolish things; throwing good money after bad," his mother would say.

But Richard knew he'd pared his expenses down to the bone. His only extravagance, other than Iron Barrel Chocolate Whiskey was the occasional purchase of marijuana from the pot shop three blocks away from the apartment building.

"Still have, what? Five? Six joints?" Richard asked himself as he rinsed that day's sweat from his muscled body.

"After supper," he told himself as he pulled a Connelly Cougars Baseball tee shirt and some purple nylon shorts on.

The crock pot had managed to cook the pork stew to perfection and he started a pot of rice to go with the savory dish. An angry knock rang out on his apartment door and he looked up in surprise. In the five months he'd been in his apartment, no one had ever come to his door.

"Who is it?" he called out even as he bent to peer into the peephole.

The scowling face of his neighbor glared up at him and he shrugged. He opened his door and she thrust an envelope toward him.

"Was in my mailbox," she barked at him, shaking the envelope for him to hurry up and take it from her.

"You know, I didn't put this in your mailbox," Richard snapped, snatching the envelope from her outstretched hand. "So, don't need to be so ugly to me. Thanks for doing the right thing and bringing it by though."

With that, he slammed the door in her face before she could snarl a response at him.

"Oh! Oh no, oh no, oh no," Richard mumbled, seeing that the envelope bore Althea Ridge's professional letterhead.

"Oh! Oh, man! You, you have got to be kidding me!"

And, a check of his bank account showed that Surefleet had sent in a stipend, minus Althea's fees. Richard goggled at the amount; this was more than he had brought home from Cosgrove's Department Store last month.

He ate his stew with real gusto, noisily smacking his lips as he did so. He finished the meal with a slice of white bread that he wiped around the edges of the bowl to sop up any gravy his spoon might have missed.

After dinner, he jogged down the stairs and out of the front door of the apartment building, his three suits slung over his shoulder. He checked both ways then crossed the street.

"Lucky, lucky, lucky," the old man smiled, glancing from Richard's sweating face to the clock over the counter. "Three more minutes..."

"Yes sir," Richard wheezed. "That's why I ran."

From there, he leisurely walked to the pot shop. He splurged a little, buying some St. Genevieve's finest, a wicked looking bong and a pack of disposable cigarette lighters. Then he hustled back to his apartment building, package clutched tightly to his chest.

He'd just entered the apartment and set his goodies on the table when there was another hard knock on his door. He wondered what had his irate neighbor unhappy this time; surely there was not another letter of his in her box.

"My friend says I need apologize to you," the woman snarled, cell phone in her hand.

"Oh. Okay," Richard said and waited for the apology.

With that, she turned, preparing to enter her apartment. Apparently, she believed that her statement that her friend believed she owed him an apology was sufficient to serve as an apology. She snapped into her cell phone then huffed in impatience as some squawks and screeches sounded.

"Here," she snarled at Richard, thrusting her cell phone toward him.

"He... hello?" Richard asked.

"I swear she can be so ignorant sometimes," a female voice laughed, then launched into a long, rambling nonstop monologue. Richard stood, unsure of what he was supposed to do. As he stood there, his neighbor grew more and more agitated. Finally, she snatched the cell phone out of Richard's hands.

"Need shut up!" she barked into the phone. "Running that mouth he just standing there don't even know what you saying."

With that, she stormed into her apartment, slamming the door. Richard shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his thoughts, then entered his own apartment.

"Say hello to my little friend," Richard said and prepared his bong for that christening smoke.

The next day, arriving home from another long, arduous day tolerating ill-behaved children and their even more difficult parents; they'd had him substituting in the Maternity department, Richard checked his mailbox. This time, there was a sales flyer from Ichabod's Grocers and a notice that his lease would be expiring soon. The note from the landlord went on to talk about incentives to sign up for a full year's lease versus a six months' lease or simply living month to month.

"Fifty bucks more a month?" Richard asked, astounded. "Seriously? Place ain't worth what you charging now."

"Maybe you fixed the God damned elevator," Richard was still cursing when there was an angry knock at his door.

The angry knock was followed by a softer knocking. Richard paused in removing sweat soaked suit jacket and sodden necktie and marched to the door.

"Do you know any other way of knocking? I lose my security deposit because you punched a hole in my door..." Richard bellowed at the angry young woman.

"This my friend," was the angry young woman's response as she shoved another African-American woman forward.

"Don't ever come knocking on my door like that," Richard yelled as the angry neighbor gave him the finger over her shoulder.

"I swear, she is just like that," the young woman laughed as the door to Apartment 3A slammed closed. "Should seen her in school!"

"Yeah, I'm sure she was just a real treat," Richard said, now looking at the newcomer.

She stood approximately five feet four inches in height; her cheap plastic pumps had some very high heels to them so it was hard to judge her actual height. Her eyes were large, deep brown pools, her nose was slim and her chin was sharp. Her skin was the color of peanut butter; Richard's mother would have said the young woman obviously had some cream in her coffee because of her light coloring.

Her top was very low cut, displaying ample cleavage and her jeans looked painted on. Richard could see a prominent camel toe as she stood, smiling a wide smile, displaying a gold upper tooth. Her most striking feature however was her brassy blonde hair. The hair hung down to just below her jaw lone and was lemon yellow in appearance.

"I'm Mia," she smiled, holding out a dainty hand. "Mia Johnson.

"I, uh, hi. I, I'm Richard. Richard O'Shea," Richard said, shaking her hand.

He did not know how, but somehow, Mia was in his apartment. She eyed his bong with real interest as she chattered nonstop about some girl named Tina and high school and some teacher named Mr. Franks and... Richard deduced that the extremely unfriendly neighbor across the hall must be Tina; this was confirmed when Mia pointed toward the front door, indicating the apartment across the hall.

"Why you keep it so hot in here?" she finally asked and waited for an answer.

"Because I'd go broke if I ran the air conditioning all day long," Richard said, fiddling with the thermostat.

She ate a bowl of pork stew. This of course brought on a conversation about some boy named Jamiir she'd know who couldn't eat no pork. Not even bacon. Then, sitting side by side, they packed the bong and smoked, passing the bong back and forth.

Then she kissed him. Richard felt nauseated; her mouth tasted horrible. He realized, his own mouth must taste just as bad; pork stew and marijuana was not a pleasing combination.

His first sight of her firm breasts stilled any thoughts of the taste of her mouth. They were slightly teardrop shaped as they hung down. They were the color of peanut butter, with brown areolae and hard nipples. They felt spongy and yet firm as he fondled them and her nipples were very receptive to his touch.

She continued to kiss him and he continued to fight down his reaction as they kissed. Suddenly, he thought to offer her something to drink. He had a can of powdered fruit punch drink mix in his miniscule pantry; he'd had the container for several months, bringing it from his last apartment.

She agreed she was fairly parched and he hurried to the kitchen. He was grateful that there were no bugs in the light red mix. But, somehow the powder had solidified and he had to break off a chunk to make a drink for her and for himself.

He almost dropped the two tall glasses; she'd taken the time to strip completely. The sight of her slightly soft belly, her round hips, and her thick profusion of black hair between her stubby thighs was a pleasing sight. When contrasted with her brassy yellow hair, the dark forest of pubic hair was oddly stimulating to him.

"Bet there's a poem in there somewhere," Richard thought as he admired Mia from fake hair to sassy smile to large breasts to heavily carpeted crotch.

She took a few gulps from her glass, then put the glass onto the table. He paused in removing his shirt to pick her glass up and put the glass onto the coaster that had been sitting right next to where she just casually put the glass. If she noticed, she said nothing, just smiled a sassy smile at him.

Wiggling out of his shorts, Richard suddenly thought of the myths and legends he'd heard over and over about the endowment of African-American males. His throbbing erection wilted as he worried whether or not he could compete with Mia's previous lovers.

Even touches and caresses could not bring Mr. Dick up. He did tongue and finger her incredibly hairy box to a grunting climax. Rising from his perch on the living room rug, Richard saw that his cock was standing proud and immediately slid himself into her snug depths. To his extreme horror, he ejaculated before he was fully inside of her.

They smoked another bong of marijuana, kissing and touching one another. But he could not achieve an erection. She dressed and left his apartment a few minutes later.

"Oh, Jesus. Really?" Richard snarled when his cock came to life a few minutes after the door shut behind Mia.

For a long moment, he debated with himself; smoke another bong or... Instead, he got his laptop out of the case, put it on the coffee table and began to type. Word after word, giving a full dexcription of his failings, his shortcomings; he smiled wryly at that unintended innuendo.

Three days passed since his meeting and subsequent failings with Mia. Richard arrived at the apartment building again drenched in sweat and wondering why he had not already turned in his resignation from Cosgrove's Department Store. His mailbox was empty and he wearily staggered up the stairs to his apartment.

Just as he reached to unlock his apartment door, the door to Apartment 3A opened. Richard instinctually turned; a normal reaction when there is a noise behind yourself. He saw the smirking face of his unfriendly neighbor.

His mind shut down, broke when Tina taunted him about his dismal performance with Mia. She did not have time to scream when he grabbed her about her throat and shoved her backward into her apartment. She fell back across her wobbly couch with an 'OOMPH!' when he savagely thrust her away from himself.

She groaned, then tried to scramble away as he fell on top of her. Her hands came up and attempted to claw at his face. She froze for a long second when she saw the rage in his eyes. Then her movements became even more frantic.

He kissed her on her plump lips. She screamed obscenities at him. Her shorts ripped easily enough; they were frayed denim that had seen far too many washings. She returned his kiss as he entered her.

She hurled curse words, racial epithets, promises of retribution, retailiation as they fucked.

"Oh, I, I, oh, oh God, I... Aaieegh!" she howled, wrapping her pudgy legs around his middle.

She demanded he fuck her. She insulted him, his heritage, and his manhood. All the while, she met him, stroke for stroke. Suddenly, he stiffened and pumped his semen into her clutching pussy.

"I, I, oh, oh God, I, Jesus," Richard gasped, truly horrified at what had just happened, what he had done.

Richard looked around frantically, looking for some way to escape what had just taken place in his neighbor's apartment.

The apartment smelled like burnt cooking oil. The couch was wobbly, heavily stained. Other than the bookcase that propped up a small flat screen television, there was no other furniture in the small living room. He could not see any furniture in the kitchen, no table, no chairs. He was sure the bedroom was just as sparse.

"Fuck! You crushing me," his neighbor complained, breaking Richard from his frantic search for escape.

Richard hefted himself up and bolted from her apartment. He fumbled frantically with his keys, finally managing to unlock his door and hurl himself into the temporary sanctuary of his living room.

The AC grumbled to life. His suit was discarded onto his neatly made bed; he was sure his neighbor did not make her bed. In the tepid shower, he relived over and over what had just happened. His cock came to life, demanding his manual attention.

He used the erratic microwave to heat up a frozen dinner and guzzled a beer while he waited. Then he ate quickly, sure the police would be hammering on his door at any moment.

After an unsatisfying meal, Richard packed his bong and smoked; he was sure they did not allow marijuana in prison. When that bowl was fully consumed, he once again packed it full and smoked, waiting for the sounds of heavy footfalls, a hard, insistent knocking at his apartment door.

His laptop came out and he again typed and typed. To his shame, the description of his attack on his neighbor caused another erection.

The dreaded knock did not come. Richard smoked another bong then went to bed. He did not set his alarm; he was working the late shift the following day.

At work the next day, Yvette, a chubby coworker let Richard know that there were two apartments available in her building. She claimed that the apartments were clean, well-maintained apartments. And, despite the wedding ring and engagement ring on her left hand, the portly woman hinted that she would be a very good neighbor.

The apartment building was one bus away from Cosgrove's Department Store. Since he was off the following day, Richard scribbled the address down and promised Yvette he would let the manager know it had been she to recommend the apartment.

"Yeah, I get ten bucks if you look at it," Yvette prattled happily. "And you rent it? That's a hundred off my next month's rent."

From the bus stop, Richard hustled to the door of his apartment building. He had the key out, ready by the time he scampered up the steps and cursed; someone had carelessly left the door unlocked. An unlocked security door was just asking for trouble.

Stomping up the stairs to the third floor landing, Richard entered the hallway. He heard the door of Apartment 3A open and turned in time to see Tina step out from her apartment. At the sight of Richard, she let out a squeak and ducked back into her apartment. She slammed the door shut and Richard heard the deadbolt engage.

"Hey," Richard called out, knocking lightly on the door of Apartment 3A. "I uh, hey, I, I'm sorry. Hear? I, I'm sorry. I know 'sorry' don't fix it, but, I'm sorry."

Even though the words were sincere, Richard had to admit; they sounded hollow. He repeated his apology then walked across the hall and let himself into his apartment.

He got his laptop computer out and wrote some more. He heard Tina's door open and debated with himself; should he run to the door, open the door and apologize again?

"Leave her the fuck alone, O'Shea," he ordered himself, packing the last of the St. Genevieve marijuana into his bong.

The apartment was a hundred and fifty dollars more a month than his current apartment. But, the neighborhood was nicer. The security door was a self-locking door; no more careless tenants unintentionally allowing vagrants into the building.

The apartment itself was a little larger and also smelled fresh and clean. It was not the smell of new paint; Richard was used to landlords just slapping a new coat of paint onto the walls to make an apartment look nice.

"Hmm? Yvette? Yvette, oh! Oh, married to that Artie fellow?" the manager asked as Richard mentioned his coworker.

"I believe so; I've never met her husband," Richard agreed.

His current landlord was less than pleased that Richard would not be signing a new lease; he even made some noises about knocking a few dollars off the first month's rent. Richard shook his head and admitted he'd found a more suitable apartment. He prayed fervently that nothing would break for his last few weeks living in Apartment 3C, knowing that this manager would be in no hurry to fix anything.

For the rest of the month, Richard kept his eyes and ears open for his neighbor. Their paths never did cross again ad, on a blistering hot day at the end of August, Richard moved to the new apartment building. The three burly men made very quick work of everything; with a smile, one of the men pointed down the hall to his own apartment.

"Oh! So you know where the best..." Richard smiled, tipping the three men for their labors.

"The best pussy? The best pizza, the best Mexican restaurant, the best Chinese restaurnat, oh, oh and the best pot shops," the new neighbor agreed, laughing. "Yeah, I'm your man."

"Excellent!" Richard smiled. "Hiya, neighbor."

Richard ran the vacuum cleaner over the bare floors in his old apartment, wiped down every clean surface, then wiped out the old refrigerator. Taking a chance, he knocked on the door of Apartment 3A. He heard Tina's heavy steps, then saw the peephole darken for a moment.

She did not open the door. Richard called out once again that he was truly sorry. He called out that he had moved out that morning; their paths would most likely never cross again.

"I, uh, I hope you're well," Richard called out, then hefted his vacuum cleaner and old kitchen towel.

After checking his mailbox for the last time, Richard dropped the keys into the slot on the top of the box nailed to the wall next to the manager's office. Then he wondered if the bus charged extra for lugging a vacuum cleaner onto the bus. A man with an upright vacuum cleaner did get some looks, but not as many looks as Richard had expected.

Yvette and Artie welcomed Richard to the apartment building. Richard disliked Artie upon meeting him; Artie was an extremely effeminate man with very flamboyant mannerisms.

"Hmm," Artie sniffed, turning his nose up at the sight of Richard's furniture. "Well, Cosgrove's doesn't pay very well, now do they?"

In the morning, Richard and Yvette rode the bus to work. The store was surprisingly slow so the two had time to talk.

As they talked, Richard let it slip that he had a brisket in the slow cooker, marinating in barbeque sauce. He'd already prepared the potato salad and the baked macaroni was just waiting to be put into the oven.

"Artie's going to be at the gallery tonight," Yvette disclosed. "Some exhibit. He told me all about it but honestly? I quit listening about two years ago."

They enjoyed the brisket and the potato salad and baked macaroni. Yvette declined to smoke; she was clean and sober, going on three years. Richard was trying to think of how to politely get rid of her when she removed her top, baring her pendulous breasts.

Yvette did pack nearly seventy extra pounds; all of her was thick. Her crotch was shaved hairless and she admitted she had shaved it in the hopes of enticing Artie. Artie had not been enticed, but Richard found the sight of her plump pubic mound very enticing indeed.

"Oh!" Yvette sighed happily when Richard put his mouth to her mound.

He tongued and fingered her to a grunting orgasm; Richard thought she sounded like a pig as she climaxed. Then, while she was still panting, Richard thrust himself into her with one long stroke. She again grunted, wrapping her heavy legs around him.

After their sex, Yvette smiled a sassy little smile as she waddled out of the apartment. Richard felt disgusted with her, with her husband Artie. Mostly, he felt disgusted with himself.

"Yeah, well, Little Ricky don't have no morals, does he?" Richard said aloud, squeezing his semi-erect cock through his boxers.

After a long moment, Richard packed his bong and smoked. Then he got out his laptop and wrote.

"Bet she'd love that," Richard giggled, changing Yvette's ethnicity to an African-American woman.

The fourth time they fucked, Richard was debating with himself about this relationship. He felt very guilty; she was a married woman. Whether he liked her husband or not was unimportant; she was still married. Just as he was preparing to smoke a bong, there was a hammering at his door. A glance through the peephole showed a very angry Artie glaring up at the peephole.

The gun made a deafening roar. Richard felt a hard punch to his chest, then a burning sensation. Then total blackness engulfed him.

The University Medical Center patched him up and after a few days, sent him home with a fistful of painkillers. Alternating between pills and marijuana, Richard typed and typed.

"You know, at first, I thought this was just some absolute racist bull shit," Dee Frankel, his editor admitted. "But about twenty pages in, I realized it was about your own guilt and shame and had nothing to do with the color of their skin."

"Yeah," Richard agreed, even though he had believed that it was about the color of 'Tia's' skin and the color of 'Millie's' skin and the color of 'Jolanda's' skin.

"I love it, I love it, I love it. Now, let's see how much Surefleet loves it," Althea Ridge, his literary agent enthused.

'Sexy' 'Disturbing' 'Unapologetically Honest' were some of the comments being used to describe 'The Stain of Shame.' Richard was grateful he'd put out a few dollars every month on Supplemental Insurance with Cosgrove's Department Store's insurance plan; he was collecting his paycheck while at home recuperating. While home in his apartment, the stain of his blood still imbedded in the carpet fibers in front of his door, Richard wrote, smoked weed, wrote, popped painkillers and wrote. So stoned was he that he never realized that Yvette had not once come to see how he was recuperating.

"Richard, Richard, Richard," Dee sighed into the telephone. "Almost makes me wish you'd been shot sooner."

'Chilling' 'Compelling' 'Searing' were some of the words being used to describe 'Cold Eyes.' Richard had portrayed Artie as a psychotic homosexual serial killer who finally gets caught after killing his own partner after his partner has a fling. After this book was published, Richard now considered himself retired from Cosgrove's Department Store.

Seeing Mia in the local Ichabod's Grocers grocery store a few blocks away from his apartment, Richard almost turned to leave the store. Then he chided himself; he had no reason to avoid the young woman.

"Oo, oo, Tina is some mad at you," Mia laughed when Richard approached her.

"How about you? Are you mad at me?" Richard asked, feeling his cock harden as he remembered the sight of her sitting nude on his couch.

"Why I would be mad at you? You ain't got me pregnant," Mia smiled an inviting smile.

"We can work on that," Richard offered before he realized the implications of what Mia had said.

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you? Oh I bet you would," Mia laughed, playfully slapping him on his arm.

"Please, please call her. See if she'll talk to me," Richard asked even as Mia was entering his new address into her phone.

Tina was unwilling to meet with Richard. Mia was almost gleeful as she read Tina's scathing text message aloud to Richard.

Weed, painkillers and familiarity helped Richard as he and Mia reclined on his bed. They made love, slow, tender love. Then, Richard flipped Mia onto her hands and knees and hammered her hard and fast. She objected when he brushed her rosebud with a spittle wetted finger so he ceased.

In the morning, Richard discovered that Mia had helped herself to a handful of his painkillers. Richard then came to the decision that he needed to cut back on the weed and booze and painkillers.

'God Help Me' was about the hellish struggle to cut back, then quit altogether when his efforts to cut back were in vain. Mia quit coming around when she saw that Richard had no more weed or booze or painkillers to share with her.

In the midst of a horrific hangover from yet another failure, another relapse and another attempt at quitting, Richard received a message from Tina. Through one bleary eye, Richard read her words and smiled tightly.

"I need, I need something, ANYTHING," Richard said aloud, trying to type out a response with horribly shaking hands.

They met at a Sloane's Pizzeria; she did not want to come to his apartment. She insisted on getting the Swiss and was irritated when Richard ordered a large thick crust Swiss for her and a large Mighty Meat on cracker crust for himself.

They talked. She barked out her hatred of him, hatred of being pregnant with his baby, hatred of everything. Richard quietly confessed his shortcomings, his failures, and his attraction to her.

From the Sloane's, Richard arranged for a ride share. When the car pulled up in front of the old apartment building, Tina changed her mind; she wanted to see Richard's new apartment.

"Oh! This is nice," she admitted, looking around at the exterior of the building.

"Yeah, they keep it clean," Richard agreed, unlocking the door.

"Elevator works," Tina commented as they took the elevator to the fourth floor.

"Nice, isn't it?" Richard smiled sardonically.

"Can tell you a guy," Tina smirked, looking at his heavy brown leather furniture, and at the lack of art on his walls.

He kissed her. At first, she stepped back, startled. He kissed her a second time and she returned the kiss.

She did not get to critique his kitchen; they went straight from living room to his bedroom. She did smirk at his neatly made bed. She gasped, grunted then squealed in climax as he used fingers and tongue on her neatly trimmed patch of dark curls. Then he made slow, gentle passionate love to her.

She moved into his apartment at the end of the month. Richard soon discovered the difference between fucking a woman and living with a woman. Living with a woman meant there was no escape from that woman. She was never leaving; she was already home. The demands never ceased, especially as her pregnancy progressed.

And, sitting at his laptop, Richard discovered that his well had run dry. Althea was demanding the next 'The Stain of Shame' or the next 'God Help Me' but Richard had nothing.

"Why you don't write about me?" Tina smiled, hand cradling her heavy belly.

Richard stared at Tina. Didn't she realize he had tried just that? Didn't she realize he had tried to put into words the challenges of being in love with someone he really didn't like, of living with someone that contributed nothing but chaos to his surroundings?

And one morning, Tina woke him with slaps and kicks. She was in labor and was not happy about it. In the ride share from the apartment building to the University Medical Center, Tina punched him in the face with all of her might.

The moment Amalie Kristina O'Shea was born, Richard forgot all of his pain and misery, even as his bottom lip was swollen. The six pound two ounce biracial girl had a small knot of black hair atop her scrunched up little head, dainty ears, chocolate brown eyes, and very healthy lungs.

"Hi," Richard gushed. "Hi. It's me, it's Daddy. It's Daddy."

Upon arriving home with mother and baby, Richard felt compelled to write. Dee was nonplussed and Althea was mystified; what would they do with a children's' book?

'A Tiny Queen' started the series of childrens' books about the magical realm of Underbrush. Along the forest floor, tiny creatures lived, loved, laughed, and struggled. A tiny queen named Amalie ruled with love and fairness. Each book introduced a fearsome predator or a lovely friend or a new season in the Underbrush world.

He had a test audience; his little girl lay in her crib or her playpen, deep brown eyes watching 'Dada' with rapt attention as he read the latest exploits and trials of Queen Amalie to her.

"I am absolutely in shock that Surefleet now has a children's' book section," Althea admitted. "And, I'm even more shocked at the amount of money they are willing to pay you for this stuff."

"Our Daddy is the smartest man in the world," Tina assured their little queen.

"Luckiest," Richard corrected, smiling as Amalie reached for him.

Lucky or not, that blackening, ever thicker cloud kept descending. Lying in bed one night, both of his women sleeping, Richard had a thought come to him. As with most of his thoughts, Richard could not let the moment pass; he quietly got out of bed and grabbed his laptop.

'I Don't Belong Here' was a gripping suspense novel. Dee had only a few edit points and Althea admitted, she'd been equal parts titillated and frightened reading the erotic thriller.

He also submitted nine more Underbrush books and a book of poems. 'Tree in a Forest' all dealt with aching loneliness even when in a crowd. He wrote a total of ninety seven poems about his sense of isolation and feelings of being disconnected. Not even his Amalie could allay those feelings.

"The book on fire safety in Underbrush should be required reading," Dee said. "And a skunk comes to visit? So damned cute I almost wish I had a kid to read to."

"All the Underbrush royalties are to go to Tina. For Amalie," Richard instructed. "I'll have a bank account set up for the other books."

"Richard, where are you going?" Althea demanded to know.

"Home," Richard cryptically said. "I don't belong here."

**** **** ****

August in Oakleaf, Texas was brutal. And because it was a dry heat, it was deceptive, quite dangerous indeed. Sitting on the back porch of his mother's home, Richard sat, laptop in front of him. The cursor blinked, waiting for him to strike a key, type a letter, type a word.

"Shit! Just. Shit! I guess I don't belong here either," Richard brooded, closing his laptop again.

"You know," his mother said, stepping out onto the porch. "No matter where you go? When you get there, there you are."

"What the hell does that even mean, Mother?" Richard snapped, the blackness engulfing him.

"Can't run away from you," his mother said, taking a seat at the table. "Did you get the latest pictures of Amalie; that girl is growing like a weed, I swear. I think it's high time she comes to visit Grandma; what you think? Richard! Where are you going? Richard! Come back here this instant. Richard Eugene O'Shea, you get back here!"

The End

**..**

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you for reading my stories. Likewise, I thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my works, those that 'Favorite' my words.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.