Like Wilie Willy, some prison guards are pretty darn clever. Big Dummy isn't one of them. Like Amicable Jake, some prison guards have personalities; not Big Dummy. Big Dummy has the personality of a dromedary and the IQ of a turnip. Those limitations are no bar, however, to the whining of his pining gonads. The poor dears crave a honey. My friend, North, always says that "there's a lid for every pot." Big Dummy is the proof of the adage. He's got a new girlfriend, Broad Becca, the non-male prison guard with the personality of a Bactrian and the IQ of a parsnip. There's nothing much wrong with Broad Becca if all you want is a bedraggled nest for your friendless marbles. She's about forty (but looks older), hefty and possessed of misaligned incisors with which she's continually chewing gum like a resiliant wad of cud, giving her the countenance of a bereft llama. Neither her years nor her numerous past paramours have used her kindly. Broad Becca would benefit from substantial renovation. To Big Dummy, with the IQ of a turnip, Broad Becca seems an ideal match. They share so much! Both are intellectually challenged prison guards. Both have the plodding gait of a slavering ruminant. Both are voyeurs and both are fond of the ladies. It takes very little to be a talented prison guard, even a camel could do it. Big Dummy is good at looking at prisoners' ID cards and, of course, at shuffling his mammoth treads around the prison grounds like a slack-jawed caravan-beast. Since her girlfriend got the clap, Broad Becca agreed to shack-up with Big Dummy. She likes to search through his drawers, not the ones he wears, but the one in the bureau. As a prison guard, her talent, such as it is, is to snoop around through men's stuff. Sometimes they have dirty pictures of naked women. She likes that. Sometimes they have dirty letters from naked women. She likes that even better. Naked women are luscious to her. Big Dummy is too stupid to realize it. At home, he enjoys inspecting her employee ID card and warning that he'll be keeping his eye on her. She excitedly peruses his girly magazines. They are dog-eared from years of masturbatory over-use. Since he forgets the first photo by the time he gets to the last picture, recycling them is no impediment. Big Dummy might be dense as a turnip, but his frustrated pebbles know what they needed, no matter how badly it smells. As my friend North says, "balls have a mind of their own and luckily, they've got no nose." So, of course, sometimes, Broad Becca has to give out with some of her badly mauled trough. Like a stagnate marsh, it requires liberal dousing with feminine hygiene-spray. She buys cases of the store-brand. It's cheap. She's cheap. With ease, Broad Becca dominates her panting ungulate. He does whatever she requires. He doesn't know any better, no matter how badly it smells. For her, it's not so bad, he has a tongue the size of a Shetland pony's and a nose that sniffles her fetid ravine like an anteater ferreting an illusive clitoral termite. If he does it often, Big Dummy realized that he gets the heaves and a toxic headache, but, luckily for Broad Becca, balls have a mind of their own. He eats even stuff that makes him retch. While, in most respects, he's elephantine, the dummy lacks substance in the personal areas. It's just as well with Broad Becca. She has enough maleness for them both and what the oaf lacks in genital adequacy he makes up for with lingual fervor - so long as he doesn't become nauseated. But, they share so much more than just randy tussles over the frayed ottoman. Unlike many couples, they talk together, albeit in monosyllables and grunts. They talk about the prison and the prisoners. The convicts are much more interesting that either of the guards. They talk about clothes, especially underclothes. They both wear the same style, striped boxers. They talk about bondage, one of Broad Becca's favorite fetishes next to the testicular punt. Big Dummy doesn't know what a fetish is, maybe a cheese. He thinks he knows what bondage is, but, when you're his size, you don't have to tie the mare down. Once in the saddle, the old hag can't fidget a fetlock. The couple doesn't care much for one another, but then again, lots of normal couples can't abide one another. Nobody much likes the Big Dummy. Even among his prison guard peers, he's the object of cruel ridicule. Most of it goes over his head. Broad Becca is rather less disliked. That's mostly because her fellow workers are men and, as I've mentioned, balls have a mind of their own. My friend North thinks that most men would hump a halibut if it would say yes and they could locate a likely aperture. Though each guard destines the other, the couple often go out to eat. Neither can do much cooking and after twenty minutes at Broad Becca's trough, you've got to watch those greasy foods and slimy sauces if you want to keep your stomach contents confidential. They don't go out together for fear that people will know that they're a couple. Broad Becca frequents a lesbian bar while BD eats a lot of beans. His honey likes to hear him pass bellowing blasts of intestinal gas. It rumbles like a tuba, a foghorn on the cesspool. Sometimes the pair go to the movies, but never together. Often they go to the bars. Both like to drink. Many prison guards are alkies, always cheap stuff and lots of it. BB likes beer. It makes her piss. She likes to lift her leg beside the pick-up and spray the fender the way a dog might douse a hydrant. The old GMC's rusty and reeks from her illicit watering. Big Dummy is a beer drinker, too. He uses a keg and a length of fish-tank hose as a straw. He gets tired of sucking before he gets drunk. Broad Becca gorges him with downers to speed his buzz. When he's groggy, groggier than usual, I mean, BB can sometimes get him into the sheer pink nylon panties that she had specially made in football player size and get him buckled up onto the closet wall. It's decorated like a dungeon. He flatly refuses to squirm into the bra. It tangles his chest hair and chafes his armpits. Give BD's pink pantied crotch a few liberal swipes with anchovy oil and, for Broad Becca at least, it's like old times in the stalls of the girl-recruits barracks; yummy! Realizing that if it's to endure, a relationship needs more than beer, beans, sex and shackling Big Dummy to the closet wall of his mobile home, BB suggested broadening their relationship. At first the couple talked about doing some business together. They quickly abandoned the idea of a little boutique: Panties and Cheese. Who likes cheese? They needed a hobby to do together, something more than repeatedly trying to bounce the trailer from its moorings with seismic copulation. Killing things is a good hobby. Big Dummy used to like hunting. He had to give it up after the unfortunate sasquatch incident where a hunter shot him twice before realizing that he was a fellow sportsman. BD ruled out venturing into the forest where anyone else might have high-powered firearms. They settled on gardening as their hobby. In sounds a lot like guarding. In a tiny plot along the sunny side of the house trailer BB grows cucumbers and zucchini, her favorites. Big Dummy grows pansies, tomatoes and hops vines. Hops are used for making beer, but, with time, he's gotten more and more discontent with the relationship. He keeps asking himself: "can a fellow be happy being called Thelma by his girlfriend?"