Never on Sunday

Charles refused to allow negativity to invade his Sundays. He would sit under an umbrella in his yard, sipping seltzer, reading The Times, trying to simplify his day. He also was reading a collection of short stories, Plowed In by a Joe Del Priore. Good stuff.
Then Gwen entered the picture. She was renting the house next door. Attractive, worked from home, she said. Charles was intrigued.
The few times they spoke when she was out gardening, she seemed pleasant. Charles noticed how strong she was as she yanked out weeds.
He found himself thinking about her all week.
One Sunday, as he engaged in his routine, he suddenly heard slapping sounds coming from Gwen's house, followed by the whoosh of a whip. Accompanying this were moans and grunts. Charles was alarmed to the point where he debated calling the police. He put down that terrific collection of stories, walked inside and paced the living room.
He decided to ring her bell and investigate. As he approached her walkway, the door opened and a neatly dressed middle aged man emerged. He was rubbing his bottom, face flushed with excitement. He looked familiar. The man got in his car and drove off.
It wasn't until he had gone back inside and resumed reading that Charles recognized the man. He was on the cover of the excellent collection of stories he was reading--Plowed In--More Switchblade Stories.
Now Charles spent ALL of his time thinking about Gwen.