#118 Love Hurts


Love Hurts

“This is going to hurt me more than it does you,” my stepfather always said when he beat me with his belt.

“Then why are you going to do it?”

“Because I love you,” was always his answer.

So I learned early on that love hurts. To show my wife how much I loved her, I’d smack her face, but before I slapped her, I always said, “This will hurt me more than it does you.”

When she told the judge what I said, he granted her a divorce. She got the kids and the dog. Everything I loved disappeared from my life. That’s why I took a job in the slaughterhouse. I loved animals of all kinds, but to show my love, I’d send them on to a better world and would try to kill them with the least amount of pain.

Working at the slaughterhouse filled my needs until Sue came to work, and I watched her skin animals alive. The sight moved something inside that had never moved before. This was real love. It wasn’t for her looks because, in the dark, she could have been mistaken for a pig hanging on a hook. My love grew from the pain she inflicted, but I can’t say why.

After watching her bloody her hands for over a month, I asked her to meet me at the Pigsty for a drink after work. When she agreed I almost shot myself in the foot with the bolt gun, I used to kill animals.

I had never been in the Pigsty before, but the name suited Sue to a T because she spent her day surrounded by dead and dying pigs. The place was full of slaughterhouse workers who drank every day. The aroma was the same as it was at work. Probably that was why only workers from the plant came there since no one else could appreciate the rotten smell of death and decay the workers carried on their clothes.

I arrived first and saw Sue waddle through the door. Silence descended as she walked down the aisle along the bar to where I sat. All the men in the place watched her ham-sized hips move and caught their breath at the beauty.

“Hello, Sue,” I said in a breathless voice, “I’m so happy to see you without a knife in your hand.”

“Hello Joe, I’m happy to see you without a gun in your hand.”

“What do you want to drink, Sue?”

“A Bloody Mary. What else?”

I should have known. Me, I drank shot after shot. I wanted to be sure she mellowed out before I told her of my love. Once my brain and tongue got numb, it was time to speak.

“I’ve been watching you on the killing floor, Sue. The gleam in your eye as you rip the hides off and the joy on your face, when you find they’re not quite dead, has filled my heart with love for you.”

“I’ll admit the feeling is reciprocal. When I see you use that gun sending a bolt of death into every brain you touch, thrills me to no end. I think we’re a match made in heaven.” Sue stuck out her chubby hand. I took it in my gun hand and watched her thrill from the power she must have felt flowing through it.

I murmured words of love into her ear, “Take my heart and nail it to a door. A trivial thing like that won’t stop it from beating just for you.”

“You’re so romantic Joe. Whisper more in my ear. Please?”

The way her eyes squinted and her nostrils curled, I could see she was getting excited by my words of love. “Rip out my tongue and words of love will keep flowing through my head for you.”

“Oh Joe, I’ll do anything you want, just keep those romantic words flowing.”

Telling her my feelings, I had her eating out of the palm of my hand. “Rip off my member if you want, but I’ll always remember the good times it had just with you.”

She swooned. I worried that if she passed out from ecstasy and fell to the floor it wouldn’t hold her 450+ pounds. I figured I’d give her the final line before that happened. “Nail me to a cross and I’ll happily give my life for you. All this for my devotion for you.”

I shouldn’t have used that last line because she did fall off the stool. As I expected, she went right through the floor into the basement. I jumped through the hole she had made to rescue her. I landed on her stomach, and she puked a bucketful of Bloody Marys.

“Are you hurt?” I didn’t see any blood oozing through the mess that covered her.

“Not seriously, but I feel like a stuck pig.” She rolled onto her stomach, put her hands on the floor, pulled one knee up under her body and then the other. Once she had both knees under her, she straightened up and put one leg in front, showing she wanted me to take her hand and pull her erect. I didn’t think I had the strength, but with her helping, we stood her up.

“You’re so romantic Joe,” she said just before she put her open mouth over mine. I tasted regurgitated Bloody Mary’s along with some sour bile.

I really loved this woman, so when I said, “This will hurt me more than it does you,” she smiled.

“You’re so romantic Joe.”

I drew my bolt gun and shot her in the brain; she didn’t feel a thing.

The End


For more stories, poems, & other stuff. <http://joedibuduo.com/> <http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=joe+DiBuduo>



For more stories, poems, & other stuff. <http://joedibuduo.com/> <http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=joe+DiBuduo>

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at <http://www.amazon.com/Cryonic-Man-Paranormal-Joe-DiBuduo/dp/0692381287/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425870872&sr=8-1&keywords=Cryonic+Man>

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR$1. A MONTH TO ENABLE ME TO CONTINUE WRITING A STORY A DAY. IF I CONTINUE FOR A YEAR, I WILL WRITE 365 STORIES. You’ll receive them all for $1. A month. <https://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=1772333&u=423048&alert=3>



Social tagging: >

I'd love to hear your comments on my posts.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.