Arequipa by Mike Gibson

A destination wedding turned out to be a great idea, it certainly kept the riffraff away. Only Maribell’s parents, her closest friends and Feldman’s best man, Terrence, were in attendance. Feldman’s parents had both passed away when he was very young, leaving him to be raised by his grandmother, Mildred. As far as Maribell was concerned she did a fantastic job. Feldman was a perfect gentleman.

Feldman was tall and handsome and owned his own lucrative consulting business, which left him plenty of time to spend with Maribell and Trinity, Maribell’s eight year old daughter from a previous marriage. Trinity absolutely adored Feldman, and he had been a wonderful male influence on her since the death of Maribell’s first husband, Trevor. Maribell felt like the luckiest woman in the world, and Feldman couldn’t believe he snagged the sweetest, sexiest lady he’d ever met.

Maribell was statuesque and refined, her long, silky, auburn hair reached the small of her back and when she looked at Feldman with those complex brown eyes he often felt himself transported back to the carefree days of his adolescence when he would sit in front of the TV set in his grandmother’s living room, lusting after Morticia Addams; before he even knew what lust really was.

The ceremony took place in a monastery in Arequipa amidst the breathtaking beauty of southern Peru and the reception was held in a beautiful colonial mansion overlooking Colca Canyon, the second deepest canyon in the world, twice as deep as the Grand Canyon.

After the party, the happy couple said their goodbyes to family and friends and set off on a romantic trek down to the canyon floor. Massive condors soaring through the chasm, aimlessly exploring the abyss made the experience just that much more incredible.

The flawless evening culminated in an intimate dinner in their hotel room: Seco de cordero, a delicious Peruvian lamb stew and a bottle of heavenly Pinot Noir. Maribell and Feldman made love on the terrace, bathed in moonlight. Shortly after midnight they shared a shower and slipped into bed. They kissed each other goodnight for the first time as a married couple and drifted off `into a blissful, tranquil sleep.

Maribell’s eyes slowly opened as the light began to leak through the blinds and creep across the floor toward the bed, she was still caught up in Feldman’s arms. They were both lying on their sides, her head resting on his left bicep. She stirred as a strange aroma filled the room, Peruvian coffee? It didn’t smell like any coffee she had smelled before, surely it had to taste better than it smelled.

Feldman rolled onto his back still immersed in sleep. Maribell turned to gaze lovingly at her new husband but became distracted by that odd smell that seemed to be getting stronger. Her eyes were drawn to a rather large, dark mass on the bed between the happy newlyweds; barely visible beneath the thin, white sheet.

Time slowed to a crawl.
Brown, syrupy liquid was slowly seeping upward through the linen and it became very clear that it wasn’t coffee. The aroma of feces, vaguely reminiscent of lamb but with the added stench of rotten, decaying bodily waste filled the room as Maribell tossed the sheet aside. Feldman’s light snoring abated momentarily. He snorted and then the rhythm continued.

Maribell’s heart stopped. She looked over at Feldman, her mouth gaping and froze. Terror filled her body, mind and spirit as her thoughts raced and her heart pounded. She clasped her hands over her mouth as she heard herself whisper aloud, “Please, don’t wake up.”

She reluctantly turned to survey the chunky pool of her own excrement that occupied the space between them, it seemed to slop and slosh against their bodies as if their backs were the banks of a river. The vile liquid was still dribbling in erratic bursts from her spasming anal opening.

Maribell gagged and vomited a small amount of lamb and pinot flavored bile into her mouth. She began to weep quietly as she reluctantly swallowed. Almost completely immobilized with fear, Maribell turned her head back and forth between the molten horror in the middle of the bed and Feldman. She was in shock, terror stricken.

Eventually, cold logic overcame emotion and Maribell began to consider her options. She heard a maniacal giggle escape her lips as she thought to herself, “Surely someday…surely we’ll both look back on this and laugh.”

Her heartbeat quickened by the millisecond and she gasped for breath. “There’s no way I can clean this up without waking him, it’s already all over his back for Christ’s sake!”
Maribell died a little inside.
“Oh who the fuck am I kidding? He’ll never look at me the same way again, and I might as well fucking FORGET about anal sex!”

And Maribell LOVED anal sex.

“That’s it,” Maribell resolved.
“I have no choice! I have to slit his throat, cut him into little pieces, sneak him out of here in my goddamn luggage and dump him in the fucking ocean!”

She realized she had to work fast. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom and rummaged through Feldman’s travel bag in search of his straight razor. Feldman had maintained the “Mr Clean” look for several years now and Maribell found it quite attractive, he definitely had the physique to pull it off. One of her favorite things to do was rub oil all over that shaved head of his and let him massage her naked breasts with it. She found herself curiously aroused, perhaps more titillated and excited as she had ever been before.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”
she thought.
“I’m about to murder the man I love just because I don’t want to live with the humiliation of shitting the bed on our honeymoon!”

And then another sobering thought crept into her brain, “What if I get caught?”
Maribell ruminated on that notion for a few moments, then chuckled.
“This is Peru for fuck’s sake! Hell, what’s another disappearance of one more American tourist in South America? Sure it would make the papers and cause a stir for a few weeks maybe, but then it would be forgotten. It would be like it never even happened. And there’s no way ANYONE would suspect ME! Sweet little ol’ Maribell! No fucking way!”

Maribell finally located the straight razor in Feldman’s bag and a surge of heat coursed through her veins. She opened the razor and stared at the gleaming blade. She caught her reflection in the  stainless steel and declared to herself powerfully, through clenched teeth, “Fuck it! Let’s DO this!”

She raced to his bedside in the blink of an eye and as she held the razor to his throat his eyes sprung open. Maribell hesitated, giving Feldman time to grab her quivering wrist with both hands. A single drop of blood ran down Feldman’s neck where the blade had nicked him just a shade.

Feldman was suddenly wide awake.
“Whaaa… what are you doing, Bell?” he stammered.

“I’m so sorry honey, my sweet beloved angel, but you have to die.”

Feldman shrieked as he struggled to restrain his surprisingly strong new bride.

Maribell bawled uncontrollably.
“Oh god!!!” she screamed.
“I shit the bed!”
Her tears cascaded down her face, a waterfall of shame and humiliation mixed with repressed anger and murderous lust.
Maribell thought about how she hated the way Feldman spent more time in the mirror than she did, and the disgusting way he slurped his soup; just like their flappy jowled bulldog, Walter, slurping at his water bowl.

She bear down on him with all her body weight, her knees planted firmly on his chest, her freshly manicured toenails digging into his groin for leverage.

Feldman thought back to his days on the wrestling team in high school and he could almost hear coach Brawley screaming encouragement, “Elbows in, Feldman! Elevate! Elevate!”
And with all the explosive force he could muster, Feldman propelled Maribell upward. She fell backward, bouncing off of the shit-soaked mattress and onto the floor. Feldman jumped to his feet and waved his outstretched hands at his panting, sweaty wife and pleaded, “Baby! My sweet, sweet, darling Maribell! Love of my life!”
Maribell seemed to calm down a bit but was still huffing and puffing.
Feldman gulped and fought to catch his breath.
“I don’t care if you shit in the bed, baby. We can get past this I swear! It doesn’t change the way I feel about you one bit, sweetheart. My god! I love you, baby! Always and forever!”

“Really?” Maribell smiled.
She focused on the razor in her hand and giggled.
“Well,” she looked up at Feldman.
“I guess that was close, huh?”

“Yep, sure was.”
Feldman extended his hand to help Maribell up and she smiled sweetly.
“Oops!” she said in her adorable little girl voice that Feldman loathed with a beastly passion.

He swiftly snatched the heavy, ceramic lamp off of the night table and bashed her over the head with it, killing her instantly. Her lifeless body hit the floor with a sickening crunch like a sack of turnips.

Feldman muttered to himself, “Crazy bitch!”
Mike Gibson was born and raised in Ft. Worth, Texas. He currently resides in Palm Springs, California.

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