To F. K, in Memoriam.
My friend Pepe was renowned for his dexterity and his steely determination. He moved across spaces at blinding speed, defying gravity and disregarding physical barriers. I suppose, like all creatures on earth, he possessed some positive qualities, but he was not a handsome individual; his hairy body, short legs, and enormous eyes made him repulsive to others’ sight.
Pepe was base and liked tasting rotting flesh and foul matters. He also craved the warmth of people’s skin, the greasier the better, and to invade the coziness of their home, which made him always an uninvited guest. But it was his compulsive need to touch others that, in the end, laid the seed of his destruction.
II
We resided in a cul-de-sac, in a white, three-bedroom house, with two large mahogany doors and big windows. Its high-pitched roof, mixed with colonial elements, and high ceilings gave it a look of grandeur. Also, its white painted facade, with plantation shutters and a small porch, made it eye-catching.
Despite the odd mix of styles, colonial and Cape Cod, my wife, Dianne, loved our small house with the same intensity as I loved her. “My house”, she used to say, savoring each syllable that slid off her lips, like water down a fall. She kept her home immaculate, pristine, and its walls so delicately decorated that our friends, with well-hidden envy, always praised it as belonging on the front page of Architectural Digest or other similar magazines.
Our life was simple; we had two kids, Annie and Albert, Dianne’s cat, Lino, and my dog Ginger. To others, we were an iconic image of the so-called American dream, minus, of course, the white picket fence, which my stylish Dianne considered “Hill Billie décor.”
However, a closer look revealed that we were a dissimilar couple; she was artistic, sophisticated, and in love with styles and the harmony of color patterns.
I admired most her ability for deep thought and reflection; her sensitive, delicate soul of high nature. My delicate rose, I called her in my moments of ravenous passion.
I, J.K., on the other hand, am a simple guy. I’m not an orderly, tidy, or high-minded person. To me, a living room in disarray, filled with scattered toys, stained cushions, screaming kids, cat and dog fighting, was the ideal home. I am practical.
“A little bit of dirt won’t kill you”, I liked to tease Dianne.
I learned with time that women, especially Dianne, are very protective of their space. When it comes to a house, their home becomes their entire domain. You, the Man, becomes just another possession.
III
One hot sunny day, Dianne left the back door open while she carried a bucket and a mop to the deck, and Pepe made his first entrance into our lives. I saw him before Dianne and quickly became fond of him. I found Pepe unique, special. I did not mind his presence because I had shared a single-man room with others like him when I was a bachelor in New York City on the Lower East Side. I found his type annoying and persistent, but one learned to live with them. My rule was that they stayed in their wall, away from my meals, and I had no problem with them.
Pepe first ambulated around our kitchen, leaning against the walls, buzzing around the stove, and looking around with his gigantic eyes as if exploring his surroundings.
Finally, Dianne saw him. All hell broke loose. Her demeanor changed from peaceful to enraged. “I got to kill him!” she said with the determination of an aggrieved lover. She felt violated by Pepe. How dare he hang around her kitchen? She yelled hysterically around the kitchen.
Pepe did not care. In fact, he seemed to have taken a sick pleasure in eluding her, mocking her each time that she tried to electrocute him.
Dianne was the most peaceful woman you would ever meet, so seeing her so enraged quickly reminded me of the few occasions when, overcome by desire, I had approached her in the heat of my passion. Her reaction often was one of disgust and rage. “Just let me sleep!” she would usually say dismissively, as if swatting an insect.
Over the years, I became convinced that she no longer loved me, or at least she did not enjoy her intimacy with me; she always complained of my greasy skin or the room being too humid. Or other handy excuses, such as “I have a headache…I have my period.”
Anyway, she was enraged and chasing Pepe around. He escaped. “I will not go to bed until I kill you!”. It took me a couple of hours to convince her that he had left.
A few days later, again, I saw him briefly around my office. Again, I did not care. It was evident that Pepe had taken residence in our home. I didn’t say a word to Dianne because I knew it would ruin her day.
After a few encounters, I recognized him. He had a yellow stripe on his back that reminded me of a guy I knew. He was unwelcome at our gatherings; always lingering uninvited, like a pestilence. His name was Pedro, Pepe for short. Thus, I named Dianne’s archenemy Pepe.
After a few days, we forgot about Pepe and went on with our lives. Dianne loved her home, and I loved Dianne with insatiable affection. I must confess that I am a guy with a high sex drive, I have been told. I am also very determined. When I like something, I find it hard to stay away from it. Most of my former girlfriends like that about me; I was always all over them.
On the other hand, Dianne liked her private space. She liked keeping the space between her and others as pristine as her home: everything in order, at a clearly demarcated distance. Others touching always met with an icy stare. By now, you can imagine that she detested closeness or embrace.
I was the opposite; I just could not stay away from her. On the rare occasions when she was greasy and sweaty, I desired her the most. Perhaps that’s why I looked forward to early morning sex; her skin would be moist and warm. “Something is wrong with you”, she would say.
It was only natural that we drifted apart a bit. My wanting Dianne never ceased to torment me, but most of the time I respected her choice: “No means no”, even if deep down it meant yes. Like they say, “La donna e mobile”.
IV
One summer night, a few weeks after Pepe’s first appearance, I was particularly horney. I have been looking forward to getting into bed with her since early in the evening. I had done everything right in the hope of being in Dianne’s good graces. “Maybe I get lucky”.
It was a warm night; she only wore her silk pajamas. My imagination was wild. I was in my element, my erection, hotter than one of a bull’s, dripping with desires like a broken faucet.
“Honey…come on”, I implored. “J. K. just don’t start, okay!”.
I was not about to give up. It was not in my nature. If pleas won’t do, touch may. I rubbed my burning penis against her thigh, and she made a small gesture toward me. She surely wanted it, I thought. Big mistake!.
I started getting on top of her, and as my hips touched hers, I felt a tingling in my left earlobe. It was like small legs, crawling around my ear. The tingling then turned into an itch around my ear. I did not have a chance to really know what was going on when, suddenly, like a thunderclap, I felt the most intense stabbing pain one can feel in one’s eardrum, as if someone had punctured one’s ears.
Dianne yelled, “I got you bastard!” as she slapped my face with all her might. Unbeknownst to me, she also hit Pepe, who was hanging out around my ear, with such force that he landed in my eardrum.
The last thing I remember was screaming in pain as I felt someone stabbing my head with an ice pick. I passed out.
The next day, when I regained consciousness, I was in a hospital bed facing the ceiling. The hospital’s walls were white, very clean, impersonal, and official. Then I was surprised at how sharp my eyesight was. My eyes seemed able to capture all angles of the room simultaneously, in bright colors. My sense of smell was also extraordinarily sharp. The air smelled sanitized; a mix of chlorine, iodine, but punctuated by some doctors’ bad breath… and Dianne. The sweet, powdery scent of my Dianne. Clean, fresh.
There was a small crowd around me. Most looked terrified; others disgusted. Some had teary eyes. I could not move. My back seemed to have taken a concave shape. I was very weak. I managed to gaze at my arms and legs and became nauseated.
My arms and legs were not two pairs but two pairs of three, hairy, and very skinny limbs. My belly had become round and covered with greasy scales. A pair of large, thin moving mustaches constantly obstructed my sight.
I saw the look of disgust on Dianne’s face, and I recognized the same expression she had for Pepe. But he was not here. The doctors debated that I might have undergone some genetic mutation,” a Metamorphosis”, I overheard them say.
The only scientific explanation, postulated the Doctor with the big, bold head, as he caressed his goatee, faking a pensive stance, was that my changes were related to bites by the insect they found inside my left ear. All the test results were screwy -my words, not theirs. –
One of the doctors, whom I presumed was the chief, based on his grandiose, authoritative gaze and over-rehearsed manners, turned his glance toward me and asked Dianne what to do for my discharge.
“Whatever you want, Doctor!” she said, her voice stern, as she shook her head with resignation and disgust.
“Just don’t send him to my house.”
P.R. Thompson
September 18, 2025
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