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Frank Cooper - God's Gift to Lesbians Everywhere
By Wonko


Frank would be lying if he said he didn't give Natalia and Olivia a second thought.  After the initial shock, pain and heartbreak he'd actually given them both quite a few second thoughts.  After all, they were both beautiful, sexy women - beautiful sexy women he'd seen naked, as it happened.  Imagining them together wasn't difficult, and it sure was sweet brain candy.

And they were everywhere.  He'd walk into Company and bam! There they were, canoodling in a booth, or feeding each other ice cream.  Chocolate sundae, lots of whipped cream.  Natalia's favourite.  He wondered in what other circumstances she enjoyed whipped cream.  He imagined Olivia's sharp, dangerous tongue licking that gorgeous olive skin.  Damn.  He was only human, after all.

And it wasn't just Company.  Towers wasn't any safer.  They were there often, eating spaghetti, laughing over 'banana pancakes' (whatever that meant.)  Worst was Farley's, where they seemed to appear every other night to play pool.  Olivia in jeans bending over the table was a sight to behold, and he could see from Natalia's flushed skin and narrowed eyes that he wasn't the only one who appreciated it.

There was probably room for a pool table in the basement at the farmhouse.

He wondered if Natalia had ever thought of buying one.

He wondered if she'd thought of buying one so she could bend Olivia over it and fuck her into next week.

So yes, he definitely spent a fair amount of time thinking about Natalia and Olivia.  But no more than most red-blooded Springfield men, he assumed.  And it never occurred to him to be amused that these two women - ex-lovers of his, both, should have found love together.

That is, until Eleni Andros fetched up on his doorstep.

She wasn't really there to see him, of course.  She was there for Marina.  She had some big news for her, apparently.  Big news that arrived the next day, dressed in leather from head to foot, riding a Harley Davidson.

Roberta "call me Bob" McClean was a sight to behold.  Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, with a handshake like a vice and a smile like a shark's.

Frank felt positively feminine next to her.  He looked it too, with his floppy hair and fleshy chest.  He'd been a hunk once, hadn't he?  He remembered the day when women used to fall all over him.

He went to the barber the day after his ex-wife and her girlfriend left and got himself a crew cut.  Then he got himself a gym membership.

It was while he was in the gym one day, lifting weights and breaking out in a sweat, that he realised that three of his ex-lovers had developed a liking for the fairer sex.  How very, very odd.  Funny really.  Maybe Mindy would share in the joke.

When he got home that night he fished out his little black book and dialled her number in Paris.  He hadn't accounted for the time difference though.

"Mmmmph...bonjour?" a sleepy, feminine, French, decidedly not Mindy-sounding voice said, after a few rings.

"Uh...Mindy?  Sorry...uh,  désolé, wrong number."

"Non, non," the voice continued.  He heard the rustle of bedclothes and a softly whispered: "chérie, c'est pour toi.  Il est Américain."

Now...no, this couldn't be, could it?  Not Mindy too.  How many husbands had she had?  Four?

One fewer than Olivia, of course.

He slammed the phone down before his ex could speak and bolted from the house.  He wandered the streets for an hour or so, thoughts clashing together like pool balls in his head.

Pool balls.  Olivia bending over the table, Natalia's eyes like dinner plates.  Eleni standing in front of him with another woman's arm wrapped round her waist.  Mindy lying in bed halfway across the word, tangled up with a soft, feminine body.

"Hey, watch where the hell you're going!"

Frank's hands came up to protect himself as he walked straight into someone.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "Wasn't looking where I was going."

Doris glared at him.  "Frank, you'd better get your hands off me before I reassign you to traffic duty."

Frank pulled his hands away as if he'd been burned.  No, standing dumb in a street at night with your hands on the mayor's chest wasn't really the best plan.  "Sorry," he mumbled again, then smiled when he saw who was with her.  "Blakey!  What a surprise.  Want to maybe come get a drink with me?"

Blake smiled at him, and then at Doris and it was clear to him who'd got the better deal.  "No thanks Frank," she said.  "I'm sorta busy."

He watched them walk away, arm in arm, his mouth hanging open like a fish.  Blake?  Blake too?  Olivia, Natalia, Eleni, Mindy, and now Blake?  Five of his ex-lovers, all deciding they liked women almost exactly at the same time?

He turned away and walked blindly once more through the streets.  When he reached the church he wasn't sure how he'd ended up there.  Father Ray was on the steps, locking up.  "Frank," he called with a wave.  "How are you?"

And, in fits and starts, the whole story came out.  "Is God punishing me for something Father?" he asked at last, once his tale of woe was finished.

Father Ray shook his head.  "I don't think God's punishing you," he said at last.  "But this is not a coincidence."

Frank raised his head, staring out into the darkness of the night.  "What should I do, Father?" he asked bleakly.

Father Ray regarded this man, Frank Cooper, a man who could apparently take the most man hungry of women and turn them gay in as little as one night.  The Midas of lesbians.  "Tell me," he said, thinking of damage limitation.  "Have you ever thought about becoming a monk?"

The End

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