On Channel 12

Entering the house, he saw his wife snuggled up on the couch with the smirking Stan Monroe.

"Cheryl, I done told you, I don't like that no," Milt said.

"We uh, I, listen, uh, Milt, there ain't no easy way say tis..." Cheryl said.

Milt quickly, discretely turned his small recorder on.

Cheryl, with occasional taunts from Stan, came clean; all three of their children were actually fathered by Stanley Monroe.

"But when you said I done raped you?" Milt asked.

"Put some steroid in your diet coke," Cheryl admitted. "I was already pregnant with Sierra and if Stan had married me, he would have lost his scholarship and..."

"Oh, but it all right I lose mine?" Milt yelled, outraged.

For years, he'd held the shame of raping his wife, for years he'd held the shame that he'd brought shame to his momma and dad, to his big brother.

For a moment, Milt felt a white-hot rage; felt he really could do some harm to the woman he'd supported, sacrificed for, tolerated for so many years.

Stan, with years of training on the police force, recognized how dangerous the situation had suddenly become and placed his hand on his service revolver.

"What?" Milt thundered. "Going shoot me now?"

Cheryl continued talking about division of assets, unaware of the dangerous situation.

"You make any sudden movements, I will," Stan threatened.

"Man come in my house, ain't got no business being in my house and threaten me with his gun," Milt said.

"And of course, half of the cook book, what that's going be?" Cheryl prattled on.

"You ain't getting half of nothing," Milt snapped "You done got more than you deserve, that's for sure."

"Where are you going?" Stan barked.

"Get me some clothes; still my house," Milt said.

"Sit down; we're not done," Stan ordered.

"I'm done listening any more of this," Milt said.

"I said..." Stan bellowed but Milt marched up the stairs.

Milt jammed his clean work clothes into his duffel bag. He also threw in a few of his trademark black pullover shirt and olive green slacks and some toiletries.

"Mother fucker, I tell you we're not done, we're..." Stan snarled, storming into the bedroom.

"That's right, he's one of your police officers, Stanley Monroe," Milt said into Cheryl's cell phone that he'd seen on the vanity.

"Dispatcher wants to know you on duty?" Milt smiled as Stan's face got dark. "Said you ain't got no call come to this address."

Milt handed Cheryl's cell phone to Stand. He then grabbed his duffel bag and left the bedroom while Stan sputtered into Cheryl's phone for ten seconds before he realized he was talking to dead air.

"That God damned cock sucker, I swear to fucking God," Stan screamed as he stormed down the stairs.

"Um!" Skye gasped, shocked at the filthy language Mr. Stan was using.

"Skye, Honey, you didn't hear any of that," Cheryl said.

"Where the fuck is he?" Stan snarled.

"Left," Cheryl said, urging a still shocked Skye toward the kitchen.

Maybe some cookies would erase the girl's memory of the bad language Stan was using.

Stan threw Cheryl's cell phone at the coffee table as he stormed out the door. It struck the table and smashed the screen.

Milt's truck turned the corner just as Stan managed to get into his cruiser. By the time he turned the vehicle around, though, there was no sign of Milt.

Milt drove straight to his brother's house. DebbiAnn, Clark's wife, smiled as she opened the door for her 'favorite brother-in-law.'

Man, should have been an accountant yeah," Milt smiled as he bent and kissed the girl.

"Accountants are so boring," DebbiAnn laughed. "Give me an oil man any day!"

The dogs yapped, Andrea, DebbiAnn and Clark's four year old daughter clamored for Uncle Milt's attention, and Clark Jr. wobbled unsteadily as the two year old boy tried to grab one of the many Yorkshire Terriers that ran around the house.

"Man, this is home, huh?" Milt smiled and hugged his brother.

"Yeah, remember when it used to be all quiet and stuff?" Clark laughed. "You eating?"

"You fixing eat?" Milt asked.

The two brothers cooked, Milt gave Andrea and C.J. attention, hugs and kisses, and teased DebbiAnn about being pregnant again.

After dinner, Clark and Milt sat on the back porch, throwing the balls for the yapping yorkies to chase while Clark listened to Milt's taped confrontation with Cheryl and Stan.

"Milt, I'm so sorry," Clark said as tears trickled down his face.

"Man, what you crying for? That's my wife, not yours," Milt asked.

"Milt, I God, I, Milt, I was so mad at you," Clark sobbed out. "How could you? I mean, later? Yeah, you done the right thing but still..."

Clark blew his nose.

"Then come find out, I'm mad at you about nothing?" Clark said angrily.

DebbiAnn watched through the window as the two brothers hugged.

"DebbiAnn, Milt going be staying here a few days, that all right?" Clark asked as they entered the house, a stampede of Yorkies following them.

"Well since you asked, yeah, that good," she smiled.

"But I'm scared be all alone so I'm sleeping with y'all, that still good?" Milt teased.

"Uh, no!" DebbiAnn declared, getting a sheet and a few pillows for the couch. "Got all kind of room in the garage, yeah, garage be good for you."

A few times in the night, Milt did wake up, confused. Then the anger would descend again.

In the morning, Milt drove to St. Elizabeth's Public Utilities and had the power turned on in the garage apartment.

Then, he drove to the offices of Richards, Pellichet and Jones.

While Milt was moving ahead with life, Stan was contemplating Cheryl's murder.

It had been one thing to have sex with the fat pig; she even let him have anal, something his beautiful Heidi never allowed. Then, finding out that Milt was about to start pulling in some real money just after transferring to the DeGarde Police Department seemed like a wonderful opportunity.

He'd bounce on Cheryl a few times, talk the gullible cow into divorcing the sucker, take half of the dumb ass's money; the man always pays half, and then leave.

"No, why even leave? Fat bitch can sit there and whine for her money back, fuck her," Stan had thought.

Talking Cheryl into a divorce had taken all of about two seconds, less time than it took for the stupid slut to suck his cock down to the root in her fat face.

Then telling Milt; Stan's blood boiled at how easily Milt had seized control of the situation, had not gone exactly as Stan had thought it should. Milt was supposed to come in, get the news, cry, maybe even make a few threats. If he made a few threats, Stan would gladly defend himself; he still smarted over how easily Milt had thrown him out of that small garage apartment so many years ago.

But finally, Milt's love for Cheryl and for the three girls would cause the man to cave in to Cheryl's demands.

Now, at the breakfast table, with the ignorant cow shooting him loving looks, and three blonde headed beauties shooting him hateful looks, Stan wanted to punch Cheryl; he remembered blackening her eye the first time she'd told him she was knocked up, and finding Milt and slowly working the dumb ass coon ass over.

He wouldn't kill Milt, but he'd sure make Milt wish he were dead.

"Where's Daddy?" Skye asked. "He ain't off-shore no; where he at?"

"Working on that TV show," Cheryl said and shot Stan another adoring look.

Stan had said they needed to let the girls warm up to him before they told them the truth. Cheryl had wanted to tell the three girls immediately that Stan was their actual father and that finally, they were all going to be together, as they should have been all along.

But, as always, she deferred to Stan's wishes.

On the floor of the station, Bill Henderson signaled the end of a taping.

"And that's a wrap; good work everybody!" Bill called out.

"Mr. Milt? I been watching, and you ain't said nothing about your wife or your kids and you always got you some story about them," the intern Kathy said, looking into his brown eyes.

She gasped and put her hand to her mouth as his brown eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Mr. Milt, what happened?" she whispered, clutching his hand.

While the other interns, both glaring at Kathy for not helping them, cleaned up the mess and also got out the foods for the next taping, Milt told Kathy about his troubles.

"And you staying with your brother for now?" she asked as Bill began calling out that they were ready for the next segment.

"Yeah, my old apartment," Milt smiled sadly.

While Milt was telling the camera how to do a cast iron catfish fry, Donald was preparing paperwork.

"Stacy Vickers on line two," Ethel's voice cut through.

"Hi Stacy; I'm sending you tax returns for Milt Duhon; need you to figure out how much he's paid for the last sixteen years for one girl, then for the past eleven years adding a second daughter, and then the last eight years for the third," Donald said, getting straight to the point.

"Mr. Boudreaux is on line one," Ethel's voice crackled when Donald disconnected the call with Stacy.

"Richard, how are you? How's Bernie?" Donald smiled. "She still putting up with your ugly ass?"

Then he grew serious.

"Need you to serve some papers but it's a dangerous one. What? No, he's not a dope dealer; he's more dangerous than that. He's a cop," Donald said.

Chapter 7

Milt had always assumed Cheryl was good at cock sucking; he had always enjoyed when she would do that for him. But Milt had only been with one woman his entire life. His dad had only been with one woman and in Milt's mind, that's how life worked. You found your woman, you married your woman, and you stayed with her, even if she had put on a few extra pounds. Even a few hundred extra pounds.

So his knowledge of cock sucking skills was limited to Cheryl, and what he'd seen on the Internet pornography sites he occasionally frequented.

But Kathy Kroff was certainly expanding Milt's knowledge.

Milt had answered the knock at his door and had been stupefied to find a smiling Kathy at the door, twelve-pack of beer in hand. The young intern had come in, helped him with his cooking, then sat and drank beer and ate dinner with him.

As soon as the dishes were done, she splashed a little water onto her blouse and exclaimed. "Oh no! I better get out of these wet things!"

The hair on her head was a light brown, just a few shades darker than honey blonde and the fur that covered her crotch was a full bush of dark brown. Her large breasts were capped with half-dollar sized brown aureole with hard pencil eraser sized nipples. Her breasts were large enough to sag naturally on her slim frame and she smiled, almost shyly as she flung her long brown hair back and hefted the heavy orbs of flesh.

"I love when someone creams them," she whispered.

"Aw cher I'm 'bout to, yeah," Milt groaned as she stroked his fat cock, teasing his cock head with her tongue.

She pulled his cock out of her mouth with a 'pop' and aimed his throbbing cock at her heavy breasts.

Kneeling before him, smiling up at him, Milt couldn't help but yell as the first spurt of his sperm shot out and splashed onto her chin. She laughed and let the second jet splash onto her neck.

His third, fourth and fifth one did spurt onto her breasts and nipples and she groaned happily, feeling his hot semen strike her skin.

Then, still kneeling in front of him, she smiled up at him as she rubbed his semen into her breasts.

"Okay, now that we got the first one out the way," Kathy cooed, laying back on his small love seat, long legs spread wide. "Why don't you show me that a coon ass really will eat anything?"

Milt did, kneeling between her legs; he did give her pussy some long licks.

He couldn't help but reflect that Kathy tasted very different from Cheryl. Kathy had a strong, musky smell and taste, whereas Cheryl had always cleaned hers to the point of stripping it of any flavor at all.

"Oh yeah!" Kathy encouraged as Milt worked two fingers into her tight slit.

"Fuck yeah!" she cried out as Milt licked and fingered her to an orgasm.

Then, cock hard again, he lined up with her slit and pushed himself in.

Milt had no idea what these Kegel exercises were, but he was glad the young twenty one year old did these exercises. His cock was in a very hot, very tight pussy that felt like a hand was stroking him.

"Fuck yeah!" she screamed out as another orgasm welled up and spilled over.

"You going talk like that I got my kids with me?" Milt almost asked her, and then remembered, he didn't have any kids.

"That was great," she enthused as she pulled her blouse and shorts back on.

"Yeah, that was pretty..." Milt agreed.

"Listen, I uh, I mean, you know," Kathy said, suddenly a little shy, a little nervous.

"You fixing tell me you in love and we need get married?" Milt teased and she giggled.

"No, but I am glad you understand," she said happily.

"Want rest of them beers?" Milt asked.

"No, Baby, you hang on to them; might have some thirsty intern pop up, need them a beer," she said, kissed him and left the small apartment.

Milt felt elated, for about a minute, then he felt empty, hollow inside. Yes, he'd just had sex with a very attractive, very sexy young lady.

And then, she left him. There was no cuddling, no basking in the afterglow of loving. There had been no tender touches, no soft kisses

Just a quick suck and then a quick fuck.

He opened another beer and gathered up the three they'd already drank, making sure to rinse the cans out.

Then he drank and rinsed the fourth can of beer and took all four cans down to the small recycling bin DebbiAnn had set up outside of the kitchen door of the house.

"Who was that young lady?" DebbiAnn asked, opening the door the moment he dropped the cans into the bin.

"Kathy, Kathy Kroff, I think; she one of them interns at Channel Twelve," Milt shrugged.

"She's cute," DebbiAnn remarked.

"Yeah, but she got her a dirty mouth; I don't like that no," Milt said.

"Then put something in there shut her up," Clark said. "Oh, hi, DebbiAnn, I meant uh..."

"Uh huh, I know exactly what you meant," DebbiAnn giggled, putting her arms around her husband.

Milt playfully slapped his big brother's butt, and then went back up the stairs to the apartment.

While Milt was upstairs in his apartment, looking for something good to watch on television, Stan and his partner, Georgie Sanders were in their cruiser, patrolling through DeGarde.

Stan looked at the attractive young woman and shrugged. She was pretty enough, with a pleasant round face and ever present smile. But he'd seen her in just shorts and sports bra in the exercise room at the station and had nearly thrown up. Her arms, legs, abdomen and back were grotesque, so muscle bound was she.

And she let him know, before he even got into her cruiser, that she was happily married. Happily married, to a black woman. And they even had a young daughter together.

"Dinner, where?" she asked as she watched some youths playing basketball in the park.

"Dead End is free," he suggested.

"Uh huh; so's Best Wings In Bender," she said, then squinted as a man wandered, seemingly aimlessly, toward the youths.

She pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park.

"Shit gives me heartburn," Stan argued then frowned as Georgie suddenly got out of the cruiser.

"No, we ain't seen no puppy; why you didn't use no leash?" one of the boys asked the man.

"You, ID, now," Georgie barked at the man. "Hi kids; how you doing?"

"Hi, Miss Georgie," one of the boys said, recognizing the police officer that had spoken to his class.

"I wasn't doing nothing," the man protested. "I was just..."

"ID now, sir," Georgie barked.

The man dug his wallet out and pulled out his driver's license. Georgie saw the red square that outlined his picture and nodded tersely.

"Now, Fred, you know you're not supposed to be within a thousand yards of this playground, right?" she said, pulling her handcuffs off her belt.

"But I wasn't doing nothing," Fred whined.

"Dinner's going be out the machine at the station," Georgie informed Stan as she shoved Fred into the rear of the cruiser. "Caught Fred Steinwick here violating probation."

"But I wasn't doing nothing!" Fred whined.

While Stan and Georgie processed Fred, Cheryl kept sending Stan little loving text messages. Finally, rage threatening to boil over, Stan sent her a message asking that she cease and desist while he was on duty. Then he punished the heavy bag in the exercise room while Georgie gave the weights a few repetitions.

"Got three kids," she said as she benched two hundred pounds.

"Thought you and Rayanne only had..." Stan said, actually surprised he remembered her wife's name.

"We have Charisse, and when I was married to Ronnie, he and I had Ronnie Junior and Sandra," Georgie corrected. "Anyway, RJ's now a third grader and Sandra's in Pre-K."

She put the bar back on the rest and sat up.

"And I see people like Fred?" she said, wiping her face with her towel. "Makes me just want to punch the shit out of them. God help me, but I really think, you do that shit to a kid? They ought to just fry you, you know?"

"See you back at the car in fifteen," Stan said.

"Roger that," she smiled.

"So, how many kids you got?" she asked as he drove the cruiser.

"Three, six," Stan said.

"Wow, are they twins?" Georgie laughed. "Not sure if you should count them once or twice?"

"No, no," he smiled tightly. "Had three with my wife. My ex-wife. And this... This woman; we got three daughters also."

"All of them girls?" Georgie asked as she drank deeply of her water bottle.

A radio transmission interrupted them and they drove out to address a domestic disturbance.

The husband was drunk and loud and took a swing at Stan.

Georgie pursed her lips tightly; yes the man had taken a very drunk, very poorly executed swing at Stan, but Stan's reaction was borderline brutality, in her eyes.

So, both husband and wife wound up at St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center while the wife's sister watched the two frightened children.

Both Georgie and Stan were bone-tired by the end of their shift. They wished each other a good night and Stan felt like screaming when yet another text message came in from the fat cow.

"But you know what? Fuck her up her ass; she gets any shit on my dick she can lick it off," he said.

Plus that, he might be able to persuade Cheryl to make breakfast in the morning. Stan hated to admit it, but he really missed Heidi's breakfasts. She made waffles; she never did tell him the secret, but her waffles were so fluffy, so airy. He'd eat three or four of them, along with her special waffle syrup.

"That and some sunny side up eggs," Stan mused.

When she got Stan's text, Cheryl brushed her teeth and put on a teddy that Milt had bought for her. She had looked at the black lace outfit and sullenly told Milt Hell would freeze over before she put on such a Whore outfit.

She finished pulling on her robe just as the knock at the door came.

Stan looked at the outfit and almost laughed. But he wanted a blow job and he wanted breakfast so put on a leer that let Cheryl know he approved of the garish get-up.

Stan felt like he had not been asleep for longer than a minute and Cheryl was waking him up for breakfast.

Instant grits, runny eggs and microwaved bacon were waiting for him. Along with three glaring brats.

"Why Daddy ain't here?" Skye again demanded.

Before Cheryl could answer, before Stan could sneer and tell the little blonde bitch what a loser her 'Daddy' was, there was a knock at the door.

"Stan squared his shoulders and approached the door. He none too gently kicked Mr. Bill away from the door and opened it to find a smiling man standing on the stoop.