Daryle knew she was the desperate type just by looking at her. She was fumbling through her cheap purse in the grocery line with a toddler in one arm and another (slightly older one) clinging to her leg. Both children were little girls and no older than three. The one in her arm must have just turned two. He looked at what she had on the conveyer belt - a small bag of Huggies disposable diapers, baby formula, some fruit, a pack of Malboro cigaretes, and a half gallon of milk among other odds and ends. He watched her withdraw some food stamps from her purse and lay them out clumsily on the counter. She looked totally disorganized, desperate, and above all else - exhausted. Her jeans looked cheap and worn to the bone. It looked like her clothes hadn't been washed in a while.
Daryle eyed her up more closely. She had platinum blonde hair and was in her early 30's. She was a bit heavy in the middle and her face looked much older - like that of someone in her 40's. Smoking, along with sixty hour work weeks, had apparently taken their toll on this single mom. He could tell she was single due to the absence of a wedding ring and an obvious lack of money. The stupid cunt probably got knocked up by a loser boyfriend who refused to hang around after the second baby got plopped out. Now she was on her own with two young tots and very little to show for it.
Daryle had dated this type of woman before. He knew all the symtoms and signals of a desperate single mom. He had systimatically used them, gotten into their personal lives under false pretenses of love and financial devotion, then molested their children several times over before leaving unannounced and unexpectedly. He made sure never to reveal his real name or where he worked to his helpless victims, and he never married. The stupid cunts never pushed him into marrying them either. They knew the score - keep the man happy (even if it meant letting him have his way with their babies) and hopefully he would stay on as a "suger daddy" without actually marrying.
There was a line forming behind them as the desperate mother finished emptying her purse and began pleading with the cashier to give her a pass on the one item she couldn't afford - her stupid cigarettes. The cashier remained cold and unbending.
"If you can't afford it you'll have to put them aside Mam." Said the middle aged woman.
"Please I...it's all I've got!" The desperate cunt pleaded.
Daryle knew this was his cue to step in and "help."
"I've got you covered sweety." He chipped in holding a small wad of dollar bills.
The mother looking him over briefly before accepting the money. She really didn't have a choice. Any man paying attention to her in her current state of distress was a blessing. She needed the money badly.
"Thank you mister..."
"Call me Daryle." He interupted and extended a warm hand to hers. "I can help you carry your bags to the car if you like. I can see you have your hands full."
The single mom nodded silently and allowed him to follow she and her children out to a cheap Ford Taurus outside the supermarket.
"Oh I...I don't know how to thank you." she replied choking back tears of desperation and guilt.
"You can thank me by letting me help you and sharing your aquaintence with me over dinner. I don't believe I have been properly introduced to these pretty ones." He suggested admiring the little tykes with his deviant eyes.
"Oh I'm so sorry Daryle. The little one is Dana. She just turned two about a month ago - 'say hi Dana sweety'..."
The little tyke in her arms just gurgled and flapped one of her arms. She was dressed in pink pajamas and sucking on a pacifier. She had the cutest strawberry red hair with precious little locks and curls in it. Her cheeks looked so pale white and soft. A little bit of drool seeped out of her soft baby lips. She was perfect!
"The other one is Alice...she's three and a half." The cunt mother continued.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Wednesday, March 26, 2008