Allan’s been gone two months now. A drunk driver. Fat feckless and over fifty. A life needlessly snuffed out. It happens, far too often. We’re killing each other in droves far more efficiently than some vague shadowy organisation that our government scares us with. The car is a most lethal weapon of mass destruction and nothing is being done about this carnage. Sorry, I’m just so angry. He was only 42.
I was shocked when I saw Allan’s son at the funeral service. I haven’t seen the boy for at least 4 years. He’s 16 now and is a ringer for his dad. Is it me, or are kids maturing much more quickly these days? I must be getting old. Even policemen look far too young.
Paul and I didn’t attend the wake. I couldn’t bear seeing anymore of Allan’s mousy, stupid little wife or hear her irritating Home Counties English accent. More to the point, I couldn’t accept the ghost of Allan in the shape of Jamie, his son.
Paul has taken Allan’s death far harder than I have. From the beginning I was aware that he and Allan were bi-sexual. That never bothered me. In fact, it added a big dash of spice to our relationship and I enthusiastically encouraged them. While Paul had sex with Allan, Allan would be servicing me. The first time that that happened was an incredibly erotic experience and one which we were to repeat countless times, with numerous permutations!
Paul has now taken to sleeping in the spare room and our sex life is non existent.
I need sex, regularly. Two months without is far too long. I need a man! Better still, two men!
Last week I received a nasty little letter from Allan’s wife. Apparently she’d arrived home early and caught Jamie watching a filthy, disgusting and degrading video. No need to guess who was in it.
‘How can any decent, self respecting woman do those unnatural things?’ she wrote. ‘Not only have you corrupted my husband by your vile actions you are now corrupting my innocent son! You are worse than a whore, at least they do it for money!’ My first reaction was ‘no way did I corrupt your dead husband honey!’ Then I thought ‘she must have watched a fair bit of that video!’ And as for her son! Tell me what 16 year old boy hasn’t watched porn on the web?
Allan had only married the sour faced, skinny English bitch because he desperately wanted children. If either he or Paul had made me pregnant he would have been happy. It wasn’t to be. Within months, in which we didn’t see him, Allan’s new wife was with child. Once the morning sickness and the aches and pains of pregnancy had set in he was back. Me corrupting her husband?
OK, if I’m going to be accused of something I didn’t do I may as well do it. I’ve decided to seduce her ‘innocent’ son. The thought of having sex with my dead lover’s son is making me feel quite moist…
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