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At the Motel With The Mitchells	By : Wendell Urth Category: Comics > Dennis the Menace Views: 5893 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dennis The Menace, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 13: Fuck Buddies.
Eventually the Mitchell’s left town. Suddenly Henry packed up the family and left… or fled. There was something shady about him. I never quite understood what. All those sudden and unexplained business trips. My last meeting with Dennis, he was crying. Alice, a kiss on the cheek and they were gone. At least for now.
I found an afterschool job coaching little league and working at the rec center. I still had to pay for my phone. I used to eye the kids and wonder which ones had been fucking Dennis or his mother. I knew of at least 4, were there more? That know-it-all, little Margaret Wade used to get under my skin. I’d sometimes wonder which of their parents were having sex with their kids. I knew about Mrs. Anderson, really didn’t want to know about any others.
My cousin Marie got her own place and we settled into a relationship. Not lovers, just “Fuck Buddies,” whenever the mood struck us. Maybe once a month, sometimes twice a week or three times a day. When we were in the mood…
We were both dating around. In fact, Marie got engaged at some point, so we stopped... for a while. I never liked the jerk. I told her so once and she slapped me on the back of the head and told me to shut up. I did. He reminded me too much of Henry Mitchell. When he took up smoking a pipe, she broke it off. Both the pipe and relationship. When she came to tell me, it became one of those three times a day things. Then slapped me on the back of the head for letting her get engaged to that guy. Wisely, I kept quiet.
Marie hated Henry Mitchell, deeply. Something had happened. To this day, I’m not sure what. Her business.
A few years went by. I realized that I loved Marie. Deeply. When I told her, she slapped me on the back of the head and called me a dork again. And burst into tears. “So, what are we going to do about it, ‘cousin’?” emphasizing the word like a curse.
The problem that we faced is was the law against first cousins marrying. It isn’t just a simple ‘Yes you can do it here… but No you can’t do it a mile from here.’” It’s more a ‘Yes’ you can do it here and ‘Yes you can do it there - but not always’. Then, ‘No, you probably can’t do it over there - but maybe/sometimes’... Not to mention that over there it’s ‘Hell No!. And then there are the ‘Fucking No, you’re going to jail then to hell’ states.
On top of that there’s the social stigma attached, even when you live in a maybe/sometimes ‘Yes’ state.
Why get married at all? Well, there are a lot of property and tax advantages to being married, other reasons too. What with our families, there was no way I could marry my cousin. Never mind that she was a few years older, our families would never accept it. We could move away and live together, but that wouldn’t solve anything. People would suspect two unmarried cousins living toether. Stigma!
So, Marie went out and solved the problem. She found me a wife. No one batted an eye that she was nine years younger than me. We married and then she invited her best friend to move in with us to share expenses. “And, oh! What a coincidence, that her best friend just happened to be my unmarried cousin.” If anyone suspected anything, I never heard about.
She found a new age preacher who for $25.00 was willing to remarry the three of us. He would married us to one of the coyotes I mentioned earlier for $25.00.
I haven’t described either of my wives. Marie is 5ft 11, she still plays tennis and has run in the Boston & NY marathons. She forces me to train with her, so I’ve taken to hiding in the ravine. My other wife Margaret is 5ft nothing and very curvy. Her hair is still red, but thank God she no longer has all those ringlets, though it is still curly. She is still a know-it-all, but she really does know all. She worked for several years as a crime reporter and publishes crime fiction, bad romance novels and science fiction under an assortment of pseudonyms. Actually, we collaborate on the science fiction. She complains that my grammar and punctuation are atrocious. I remind her that she couldn’t spell “atrocious” without spell checker. When I do, she gets Marie to smack me in the back of the head.
You must be thinking, “Oh man, sleeping with two sexy women, tall and short, athletic and curvy, dark and light… must be a three-way orgy every night.
Keep dreaming. I am.
Truth is that the women in my life have put me on a schedule. I have no idea which one I’m sleeping with or when. I think Marie, who is an independent programmer and app developer (whatever the hell that is) came up with an algorithm or random number thingee to determine which one keeps me happy, three or four nights a week. If you wonder if they’re getting it on together the other nights when I’m alone, then it’s none of your business. Shit, if it’s none of my business, it’s certainly none of yours.
When they finally (!) passed same sex marriage Margaret began regularly threatening to divorce me and marry Marie. Marie laughs and slaps me in the back of the head when I complain to her. She says not to worry, they’ll keep me around for laughs… and because I’m the only one who knows how to keep the air conditioner running. I mutter to myself, then check out the A/C unit. As I said before, there are too many ravines and coyote around here for my peace of mind.
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At the Motel With The Mitchells