(Chapter 1, Chapter 2)
My Cousin Vinny projected from the 40" HD screen mounted on the wall opposite Walsh's headboard. Walsh's wife was something that was mounted as well. Foreplay was not an option at this point, as Walsh was steadfastly inside her. Even if she wanted out, Walsh was staying in until he was satisfied. This copulation was out of spite, vexation, and several levels of despair.
Within one day, Walsh had lost a long-time reputable partner, been assigned a rookie detective that had no experience in the field, and had spilled both hot and cheap coffee all over the crotch of his olive green Haggard slacks. He had to release this frustration, and he was going to take it out on his wife's back wall. After 90 seconds of nonrhythmic pelvic pummeling, and after about 100 dangling buffets Walsh's wife Debra took from the golden crucifix around Walsh's neck, the crude and repeatable insertion/de-sertion session was over.
Walsh exited her birth canal, rolled over, lit a cigarette, and muttered "god dammit." And then caught the last 45 minutes of My Cousin Vinny on A&E.
This was Walsh's regular routine when he was frustrated. Only that there was no 'Debra.' There was no 'wifey,' and 99 times out of 100, there wasn't even a woman involved. It was all a re-occurring masturbation fantasy.
The only thing true about this experience was the 40 inch flat screen, and My Cousin Vinny playing in the background. Everything else was fabricated fantasy and he accepted it as near-reality.
Truly the hardest part of repeating this fantasy was lighting up a cigarette with over-moisturized fingers.
Walsh had been single ever since he joined the force. At first, he tried really hard to settle down with the woman of his dreams. Then he tried really hard to settle down with a woman that was at least a 6 out of 10. Then after several more failures, he did what most men of his delusional id do, he adopted the label of "playa." He was now a man that chased tail, and told the whole world if he ever got any.
