Page 32 of The Fed Sex Man

“No, you didn’t?”

“I sure as fuck did. Fell flat on my ass. When I hit the ground, the shotgun went off. Shattered the fucking window. Glass and Cheetos went everywhere. So, the meth-head came running out of there covered in orange dust, and when he did, I was trying to stand up.”

He paused and glanced at each of us.

“Now, there’s a part I haven’t told you yet. When I was in there getting my chili dog, I got a little plastic baggy full of jalapenos and put ‘em in my hoodie pocket, because I love those little fuckers on my chilidogs. It’s the same baggie you slip the hot dog in if you’re taking it home to eat it. The bag’s open on one end, so if you tip it over, everything spills out. At this point, I haven’t eaten any of ‘em, because my drunken ass forgot I had ‘em. So, back to the story. I’m on the sidewalk half-drunk and scared this wigged-out weirdo’s gonna shoot me before I shoot him. When this crazy-eyed Cheeto-covered weirdo’s running out the door, I’m trying to stand up. As soon as he sees me, naturally, he points his gun at me. I’m struggling to get up, and the barrel of his pistol’s wobblin’ all over the fuckin’ place because this fucker’s all strung out on whatever he’s strung out on. For a minute, time kind of stands still. At that exact instant, when life was closing in on me, it dawns on me that the one who survives is the one who pulls the trigger first. I’m struggling to get up and he’s trying to point his shaking pistol at me, and all of a sudden…”

He threw his arms high in the air and shouted, “WHAM!”

I’d heard the story a hundred times. Jo and Jenny, of course, hadn’t. While they recovered from nearly jumping from their skin, Shawn continued.

“I slip on a pile of fuckin’ jalapenos and fall flat on my ass. Again. When I hit the ground, the shotgun went off. Again. That time, the shot blew the meth-head’s arm clean off right above the elbow. His fuckin’ arm hit the ground with the pistol still clenched in his dead hand. This one-armed fucker looks at his arm, looks at me, and just stands there like, did that really just happen? I said, ‘don’t move, motherfucker, or I’ll blow off the other one.’ The clerk was so appreciative of me saving him that he gave me all the free chilidogs I could eat. By the time the cops got there, I’d sucked down four more of ‘em, and was as sober as a nun.”

“Ho-Lee-Shit,” Jenny exclaimed.

Shawn grinned and nodded. “They labeled me a hero and put me on the morning news. Ends up the meth-head was on a three-day streak of robbing gas stations, banks, and grocery stores. They sent his one-armed ass to prison for twenty years.”

A puzzled look washed over Jenny. “They didn’t sew his arm back on?”

She’d asked exactly what Shawn was hoping for. While I waited for him to tell the rest of the story, I glanced at Jo.

Enthralled by Shawn’s tale of the one-armed meth-head, she was waiting intently for him to continue. While her eyes were fixed on him, I allowed her flattering black outfit to hijack my thoughts.

Before Shawn finished his response to Jenny’s question, my cock was at full attention. Slightly embarrassed, I pushed my hands into the pockets of my shorts and struggled to hide my satisfaction in how Jo’s choice of clothing accentuated her body’s perfect curves.

If things went the way I planned, I’d be balls-deep inside her in less than twelve hours. My stiffening cock tingled at the thought of it.

“What do you mean ‘they never found it’?” Jenny asked. “It was a freaking arm. Where’d it go?”

Shawn shrugged. “It disappeared.”

“An arm doesn’t just disappear.”

“Maybe someone took it,” Shawn responded.

“Who would have taken it? There was the guy inside, the cops, the paramedics, you, and the ambulance attendants.”

“Maybe some drunk who had chilidogs on his breath did something with it. Out of spite. Or boredom. Or, maybe he was just disgusted.”

“Oh. Emm. Ghee. Tell me you didn’t steal that guy’s arm.”

“I didn’t steal it, I just put it somewhere.”

“Tossed it on the roof?”

Shawn shook his head.

“In your trunk?”

“Nope.”

“Dumpster?”

“Negative.”

“Oh my God. Tell me.”

“The one-armed dude was duct-taped to the light pole, and I was sitting on the curb eating chilidogs like a madman while I waited on the cops. I kept lookin’ at that bloody stump, and it was creeping me out. The pasty white fucker was just lying there on the sidewalk gripping that pistol. So, knowin’ the cops would want the pistol, I unhitched it from that clammy hand and set it on top of the bottled water display. Then, I tossed that nasty arm in a manhole beside the building. When the cops questioned me, I told ‘em I didn’t know where it was. They didn’t believe me, so I let ‘em search my car. After they didn’t find it, they assumed someone took it. I figured they’d bust down my door down one day, saying they had me on film tossing it in the sewer.”