The Winner: Part Eleven

"It's okay. You don't gotta worry. Things like this happen to guys sometimes."

Apple is sitting naked next to me on the bed, petting my thinning hair. I'm naked as well and I stare upwards blankly, trying to find indescernible patterns in the texture of the ceiling. I say nothing and the silence between us is thick.

"You want to put on a movie? Sometime watching a nudie movie helps Luke when he can't...you know."

Luke...that's a name I've been trying not to think of. My curiosity gets the better of me and I break my silence, "How's he doing?"

She shrugs, "Fine I guess. I ain't seen him in a couple of days. He's goes away a lot when he's working for his friends. Why you askin'?"

"I don't know," I say. "I just...want to know."

Apple smiles. "I know you don't like him, but he's not tempermental all the time. Most the time, he's a sweetie pie."

"I'll take your word for it," I say.

I have a theory that my current impotence has something to do with ordering him to be murdered. Now, I don't have any problems rationalizing it or really have a moral problem with killing. Whatever Apple says, Luke is a scumbag. Despite knowing this, I feel nothing but lethargy, and a deep feeling of guilt. I feel this inspite of myself. I wish I was soulless.

"Apple," I say. "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"I don't know. When I was a youngun, I mostly just wanted was for my daddy to quit touching me where I pee," and then, for some reason, she giggles at this. "Mostly I just wanted to be a momma. To have a couple of sons and raise 'em up right. So I guess I got everything I want right now. What about you?"

"I wanted to be a cowboy," I say, even though I didn't.

Apple smiles. "There ain't no cowboys anymore. No real ones at least."

"I mostly just wanted to be one so I could kill Indians."

"Aww. Why you wanna do that? Injuns ain't all bad."

"Nevermind," I say. This conversation is pointless. I'm in a foul mood and I need to take a crap. I get off the bed to go get myself a bottled water from the minifridge I have in my bedroom.

"So Poopy," Apple says sheepishly. "Even though we didn't...you know...are you still gonna help me out?"

I'd promised her another thousand dollars to come over here. I'm pretty sure I'm her only source of income now. Though I know that fucking her isn't really the point anymore (in fact, I feel myself becoming less turned on by her every day) the cheapskate in me still thinks it's a pretty anticlimactic way to spend a grand.

Then an idea occurs to me. "Yeah, I'll still help you out. Come over to the bathroom with me."

She hops off the bed and walks over to me. I lead her over to the bathroom and flip on the light switch, all the bright porcelian gleaming white (my spic housecleaner had been in earlier today). "What's going on?" she asks.

"Now, I want you to lay on your back in the tub."

Apple complies. My tub is huge with whirlpool jets so it can act as a hot tub as well. Once she's in the tub I step in, stand over her and squat. I let loose a loud fart.

"Eww!" she says, grimacing. "What are you doing?"

"Don't move!" I snap. "If you move, I'm not giving you any money. Just lay there, nice and still."

She stops moving, but I can see the disgust on her face as I take a shit on her. The turd is a strange, beige color which quickly darkens as it's exposed to air. It coils up like a snake on her belly. "How does that feel, bitch? Tell me."

Apple looks too horrified to say anything. Eventually, she stammers out: "It feels...warm. And it smells really bad."

I fart the last of the turd out of my butt and she starts crying. Yes. This is what I wanted to see. I pull a couple sheets of toilet paper off the roll and wipe my ass with it, then toss the mess which is matter with my butt hair into the tub with her. "Now, rub it on your tits."

"Do I have to?"

"Do it or I won't pay you."

She sobs even louder as she smears my spongey brown crap over her tiny breasts. I can see undigested bits of the mango corn salsa I ate last night in it. The smell is horrific. She starts wretching in spite of herself and barfs all over herself as well. Apple is completely covered in a slime of shit, puke and tears. I'm sweating just watching her laying there all humiliated. I start popping wood for the first time all day.

After a few minutes of this, she pleads, "Please, can I leave? I want to leave. I don't like this anymore."

I leave the bathroom and go over to my dresser where I have her money. I walk back in and throw it in the fouled up tub. "Wash yourself off and leave."

I shut the door behind me and hear her turn on the shower almost immediately, followed by some more wretching. My cock is throbbing now. I walk into the kitchen and jerk myself off into the sink, not caring that there are still dishes in it. I come in less than a minute and clean myself off with a paper towl. I feel so powerful right now.

I put on my cashmere bathrobe and walk over to the couch and think about playing some more Resistance, but I've already finished that game three times now. Instead, I start picking through the mail on the coffee table. The volume of pleas for my money has finally started to dwindle off. Most of it is bills now that I put in a stack to pay later when I feel like it.

One letter catches my eye. It's addressed to me from that Ugundo fellow from Africa who wrote me a few weeks ago. I tear it open and read it:

Dear Mr. Peanutz

Myself and my village rejoices that you have responded to our letter regarding the well building! It has brought tears of joy to all three of my wives that you wish to help us. We had to fill in our previous well because it became poisoned when guerillas did a first massacre of our village and left the bodies inside to rot. Many died after the slaughter too because of bacteria. This will be a great asset to us.

Gratefully, our village is not in a very elevated place, so we are not far from the water table. We estimate that it will only require ten-thousand US dollars to pay for the hoes to dig the well, and to pay bribes to our local governors. Quite a bargain!

We know that many are distrustful of people from Africa asking for money. We invite you to visit us and know we are not distrustful people. If you arrive, we would slaughter a glorious gazelle for a feast in your honor.We hope your correspondence comes to us in haste!

With sincerity, Ugundo Olowokere.

While I'm reading the letter, Apple has gotten out of the shower and put her clothes on. She walks briskly out of the bedroom. I look up and say, "Can we meet maybe tomorrow?"

Apple doesn't say anything or even look at me. She yanks the front door open and slams it shut as she leaves.

I toss the letter from Ugundo back on the coffee table, unsure if my plan to crush her soul is succeeding, or if it just failed.