Mindy stayed about a week. I introduced her to my friends. We went places. But nothing was resolved. I couldn’t climax. She didn’t seem to mind. It was strange.
Around 10:45 PM one evening Mindy was drinking in the front room and reading a magazine. I was lying on the bed in just my shorts, drunk, smoking, a drink on the chair. I was staring at the blue ceiling, not feeling or thinking about anything.

There was a knock on the front door.

Mindy said, “Should I get it?”

“Sure,” I said, “go ahead.”

I heard Mindy open the door. Then I heard Lydia’s voice. “I just came over to check out my competition.”

Oh, I thought, this is nice. I’ll get up and pour them both a drink, we’ll all drink together and talk. I like my women to understand each other.

Then I heard Lydia say: “You’re acute little thing, aren’t you?”

Then I heard Mindy scream. And Lydia screamed. I heard scuffling, grunts, bodies flying. Furniture was upset. Mindy screamed again—the scream of one being attacked. Lydia screamed—the tigress at the kill. I leaped out of bed. I was going to separate them. I ran into the front room in my shorts. It was a hair-pulling, spitting, scratching, mad scene. I ran over to pull them apart. I stumbled over one of my shoes on the rug, fell heavily. Mindy ran out the door with Lydia right behind. They ran down the walk toward the street. I heard another scream.

Several minutes passed. I got up and closed the door. Evidently Mindy had gotten away because suddenly Lydia walked in. She sat down in a chair near the door. She looked at me.

“I’m sorry. I’ve pissed myself.”

It was true. There was a dark stain in her crotch and one pant leg was soaked. “It’s all right,” I said.

I poured Lydia a drink and she sat there holding it in her hand. I couldn’t hold my drink in my hand. No one spoke. A short time later there was a knock on the door. I got up in my shorts and opened it. My huge, white, flabby belly hung out over the top of the shorts. Two policemen stood at the door.

“Hello,” I said.

“We’re answering a disturbance of the peace call.” “Just a little family argument,” I said.

“We’ve got some details,” said the cop standing closest to me. “There are two women.” “There usually are,” I said.

“All right,” said the first cop. “I just want to ask you one question.”

“O.K.”

“Which of the two women do you want?”

“I’ll take that one.” I pointed to Lydia sitting in the chair, all pissed over herself.

“All right, sir, are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The cops walked off and there I was with Lydia again.