Jimmy stepped up to the stoop from the sand and peaked over the wall into the master bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Smith stood on opposite sides of the bed. Jimmy didn’t like them because Mrs. Smith yelled at her smarmy daughters and slapped Jeff that one time. Mr. Smith had a heavy scratchy face and swayed from side to side every evening. Those evening he gave off a pungent sharp smell that made Jimmy gag. Mommy and Daddy didn’t like them either. Mommy said they were probably going to get a divorce. Jimmy didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded awful.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith weren’t wearing any clothes. Mrs. Smith had her backside to the window. She had a funny rear end, like the curdles of cottage cheese gone bad. Jimmy gagged again. Her blonde hair wasn’t tied into a skin-tight ponytail like it usually was. She had it so tight, her eyes popped out of her head like that Martha Mitchell lady who was always yelling on TV. She looked like Martha Mitchell, too – except that Jimmy liked Martha Mitchell.
Mr. Smith faced Mrs. Smith and he was naked, too – but he looked funny. His penis stood up all by itself, like it was Peter Pan or something. Jimmy felt a wave of excitement come over him when Mr. Smith put his leg up on the bed – and then Mr. Smith looked out the window and saw Jimmy staring at him.
Jimmy ran and ran and ran back to their own cottage. “Mommy, I saw Mr. Smith attacking Mrs. Smith in their bedroom and then he saw me. I’m scared he’ll hurt me, Mommy!”
“I always knew they were trouble, Jimmy. I think they’re headed for a divorce.”
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