ALL THAT HAPPENED AFTER...
Los Angeles, July 2009...
"What the fuck was that all about?" Miranda said, standing and suddenly kicking her chair away.
The woman she's swearing at stepped back, giving herself a little more room,
"It's called a divorce." She said.
"Hey! Well fuck me! It's not as if I never did a divorce case before. Are you fucking selling me short Wendy?"
"No I'm not. You know the ground rules and about the pre nup."
Miranda shook her head and sighed, "The fucking pre nup! Why didn't anyone think to let me know about that before? I go right in there and try and help this guy out and it feels like I just got fucked!"
"Not by me Miranda, I think you're taking this out on me. The case file was on your desk, you should've fucking looked at it!"
"I fucking did!" Miranda replied, almost shouting.
"So when did you miss that part? It's the first thing you'd have seen. Open his file and there it is in black and fucking white!"
"It was not in my file. I'd have fucking seen it. Someone playinng fucking games with me?"
Wendy walked towards Miranda, "We can reschedule for Tuesday, go at this again." She said, her voice is so much softer now.
Miranda scratched at her forehead, "Okay let's do that and get me the fucking file, I want to see that pre nup. If this pile of shit costs me a dime, I'm gonna kill someone!"
Wendy stood near the door, "Do you want a coffee?"
"Yeah, extra cream and sugar, I need the buzz." Miranda said.
She then walked to the windows and looked down, hands on the glass and slowly her breathing returned to normal.
"Wendy I'm sorry. I wasn't taking this out on you."
"I know," Wendy replied, "just one of those things I guess."
Miranda nodded, "Yeah, one of those things."
"Is there something distracting you?" Wendy asked.
Miranda looked back at her, "Not something. Someone." She said.
Wendy looked surprised, "Oh?"
"Yeah, I didn't think about it but it happened anyway."
"Do you want to tell me?"
Miranda turned from the window, looking at Wendy who had stayed by the door,
"Yeah, me and you. I'm not sure if this is going to work."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm in love with you and it just feels like all we're doing is fighting. I don't want that. I just want to be in love and not do this shit. It's not healthy."
Wendy stepped away from the door, "So what do you want to do?" She asked.
"I spoke to Jefferson yesterday, There's an opening in Denver. I might take it up."
Wendy looked horrified, "Denver? What the fuck do you want to go there for? That's a dead end, Miranda please don't."
"I think it's a little late for that. I said I'd take a look."
"So you'll just fuck off and leave me here? Thank you so much! I must be so fucking stupid!" Wendy said, stopping anymore steps and looking back at the door.
"I might not go Wendy, it's something I'm thinking about, that's all."
"No it isn't," Wendy said, "if that's all it is then you would have said something Miranda, not leaving all this shit like this!"
"I'm not leaving anything! Now, can I have the correct Peterson file and that coffee?"
Wendy almost tore the door from its hinges. Miranda looked on as Wendy stormed off.
Oh that went so well, didn't it? She thought.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The invitation...
It is of an invitation of which I now speak.
It was offered to me by my long standing friend Kevin. I have known him since our school days, sometime in the murky passed now.
He and I keep in touch, at least once a month and this request that I call and have tea is a pleasant surprise.
He himself would be at work, but his wife Barbara would take great pleasure in seeing me.
Of that I doubt very much. I am well aware of the love Kevin has for this woman, she literally is his night and day and may god forgive him for it.
It is since several months ago that we last met and it is an experience that I do not readily wish to have again.
However, my good friend Kevin has asked and I will not simply dismiss his ask out of hand.
I love him, as my best friend and in no other way, lest it raise more questions than answers.
It may help you digest the story that ingloriously unfolds as I introduce who I am.
I am Richard Matthews, I am thirty seven years old and I was married , to the what I once believed was the beautiful Antonia.
However, as I found out to my near cost, she had planned to 'Do me in' as the saying goes.
I was lucky in my detection of this and following our rather hurried divorce, I banished her to Clonakilty, of which she remains, convinced of things that live in her garden that are not based on any reality we would recognise.
Too many doses of Echinacea and strong black coffee's I would say are to blame, along with the novels of Jodi Picoult.
However, I am being drawn into an account of my somewhat confused ex-wife.
It lacks any redeeming appeal, so I apologise.
I stand approximately six feet tall, my complexion would be on the blue side, although my hands are often seen as bright red, no I do not know why I appear so. It seems to me to be quite natural and not something that I should interfere with. My hair would be quite dark, but turning grey to white. I shave only when the need arises, therefore I appear quite rough and perhaps the term here that I look like a 'Nacker would apply itself.
To note, I am a writer of graphic novels. They are not comic books, it would displease me so to hear you refer to them as such. It is simply not the case.
So. it is here that I should stay with the invitation from Kevin and tea.
I dress formally, I wear my morning suit and I stand tall and then take a taxi cab to friend Kevin's dwelling.
The house is a terraced abode and decorated accordingly. The front door is shockingly horrific, hideous in its 'dayglow blue look'. I dread to think what really happened the day that accident took place.
I press the door bell and hear nothing.
I assume the device is broken, maybe that is not the case but I do not know this for certain.
the thing that answers the door is as appalling as the door itself. It appears thin and quite unfed, hair that has things growing in it, that is a misconception on my part, the hair is of different colours and that is what misguided me.
It looks female, I could not at this stage be certain of that, wearing a grey track suit and having a telephone glued to its ear is not helping.
It looked at me with eyes that although not quite crossed, but as if it hasn't finished squinting.
I really do not want to look at it.
There are growths of some sort upon its face, as if it has stood too close to a pizza that has suddenly exploded.
I try and raise a smile but I fail.
"What?" It says, a queer look in its blood shot eyes.
"I'm Richard." I said, I spoke clearly and politely.
The poor creature could not have understood me, "Yeah, so what?" It replied.
It then suddenly spoke into its telephone, words that I would confer upon you as quite shocking,
"He shagged Shazza! When was that?" It said, sounding undeniably horrible as it spoke.
I was quite prepared to leave, but this thing then brought me inside and pointed to a room,
"She's in there." It said, turning away from me and I will admit I was relieved it had.
Barbara sat in an armchair close to the window.
She was engrossed in reading The Guardian, a publication I dismissed as being too poncey for its own good. Too many words for too few subjects.
"Hello." I said cheerily.
She looked up at me and I was hoping that I could be in the presence of someone else.
Barbara stood up, placing that paper to one side, I now got a reasonable view of her in daylight for once, anything I knew of her evaporated in front of me.
She was quietly displeasing, my somewhat hidden look on her did not take too kindly in what I saw.
She appeared quite bulky, as a builder might, one who has worked for so long carrying bags of cement from one place to another. She should not have worn a skirt with legs that did resemble thick posts for a gate. Her stance was that she couldn't close her legs, her feet looked quite red and obscenely wide.
They were so solidly planted there, I wondered if she could move quickly at all.
"Hi Richard." She said and her voice was nothing like the rest of her.
Barbara sounded so soft, as if she would never shout and as if to confirm this, I had never heard her shout, only to not perhaps sound as she did.
"Sit down, sit down." She then said and I did as I was asked.
If only I could listen to her, then I would never open my eyes on her again. She sounded so sweet and I was so taken with her voice.
The rest of her is just pig ugly.
"Kevin said you might call." She said.
I nodded, "He asked me to call, so here I am." I replied, I sounded quite nice myself and Barbara smiled.
As she sat in the chair, I could not but admire the strength of those buttons on her blouse, I feared that at any moment, they would let go and fly across the room and do some serious damage. I was prepared to duck, but as luck would have it, the need did not arise.
She seemed to be aware of the hazard and adjusted herself accordingly.
"So how's your dad?"
"Oh, he's fine." I said, "he's dead, so I suppose he should be."
"I didn't know. When did that happen?"
"It was last month, the funeral was very quiet." I said.
Barbara nodded knowingly, "Sorry." She said.
"Oh, it's okay. He died in his sleep."
"Was that at home?"
I looked at her and I found myself lost in her look, as if she were taking me shopping at B&Q for wallpaper, why I thought that I do not know.
I shrugged, momentarily waking me from her look, "No, he was at his girlfriends house." I told her.
Barbara smiled, as though she had just found out about a naughty secret.
it was no secret. My dad would chase anything in a skirt and who was I to try and stop him?
"Now, what can I get you?" She asked.
I found myself wanting to hear her speak so much more, as if I were to be haunted by her voice and I felt so lost within her sound.
"Tea would be nice." I said.
It would, of that there was no lie, I would stay and have tea with her, I would listen to her and beg her to speak as her tones and softness would caress me.
We shared tea, Barbara and I and much more than that. I will disgrace either herself and me in openly saying what adventures followed, it would not be below me to say. I think you should hear of such things. The privacy of our meetings remain as such and I will openly speak of them, but not at this juncture.
The thing that had answered the door to me was in fact Barbara's son's girlfriend, Kaylah. Evidently, Barbara's son needs glasses , or to just keep it in his trousers. It is my belief that he should try the glasses first.
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways Part 4. Written by Jim Hewitt)
It was offered to me by my long standing friend Kevin. I have known him since our school days, sometime in the murky passed now.
He and I keep in touch, at least once a month and this request that I call and have tea is a pleasant surprise.
He himself would be at work, but his wife Barbara would take great pleasure in seeing me.
Of that I doubt very much. I am well aware of the love Kevin has for this woman, she literally is his night and day and may god forgive him for it.
It is since several months ago that we last met and it is an experience that I do not readily wish to have again.
However, my good friend Kevin has asked and I will not simply dismiss his ask out of hand.
I love him, as my best friend and in no other way, lest it raise more questions than answers.
It may help you digest the story that ingloriously unfolds as I introduce who I am.
I am Richard Matthews, I am thirty seven years old and I was married , to the what I once believed was the beautiful Antonia.
However, as I found out to my near cost, she had planned to 'Do me in' as the saying goes.
I was lucky in my detection of this and following our rather hurried divorce, I banished her to Clonakilty, of which she remains, convinced of things that live in her garden that are not based on any reality we would recognise.
Too many doses of Echinacea and strong black coffee's I would say are to blame, along with the novels of Jodi Picoult.
However, I am being drawn into an account of my somewhat confused ex-wife.
It lacks any redeeming appeal, so I apologise.
I stand approximately six feet tall, my complexion would be on the blue side, although my hands are often seen as bright red, no I do not know why I appear so. It seems to me to be quite natural and not something that I should interfere with. My hair would be quite dark, but turning grey to white. I shave only when the need arises, therefore I appear quite rough and perhaps the term here that I look like a 'Nacker would apply itself.
To note, I am a writer of graphic novels. They are not comic books, it would displease me so to hear you refer to them as such. It is simply not the case.
So. it is here that I should stay with the invitation from Kevin and tea.
I dress formally, I wear my morning suit and I stand tall and then take a taxi cab to friend Kevin's dwelling.
The house is a terraced abode and decorated accordingly. The front door is shockingly horrific, hideous in its 'dayglow blue look'. I dread to think what really happened the day that accident took place.
I press the door bell and hear nothing.
I assume the device is broken, maybe that is not the case but I do not know this for certain.
the thing that answers the door is as appalling as the door itself. It appears thin and quite unfed, hair that has things growing in it, that is a misconception on my part, the hair is of different colours and that is what misguided me.
It looks female, I could not at this stage be certain of that, wearing a grey track suit and having a telephone glued to its ear is not helping.
It looked at me with eyes that although not quite crossed, but as if it hasn't finished squinting.
I really do not want to look at it.
There are growths of some sort upon its face, as if it has stood too close to a pizza that has suddenly exploded.
I try and raise a smile but I fail.
"What?" It says, a queer look in its blood shot eyes.
"I'm Richard." I said, I spoke clearly and politely.
The poor creature could not have understood me, "Yeah, so what?" It replied.
It then suddenly spoke into its telephone, words that I would confer upon you as quite shocking,
"He shagged Shazza! When was that?" It said, sounding undeniably horrible as it spoke.
I was quite prepared to leave, but this thing then brought me inside and pointed to a room,
"She's in there." It said, turning away from me and I will admit I was relieved it had.
Barbara sat in an armchair close to the window.
She was engrossed in reading The Guardian, a publication I dismissed as being too poncey for its own good. Too many words for too few subjects.
"Hello." I said cheerily.
She looked up at me and I was hoping that I could be in the presence of someone else.
Barbara stood up, placing that paper to one side, I now got a reasonable view of her in daylight for once, anything I knew of her evaporated in front of me.
She was quietly displeasing, my somewhat hidden look on her did not take too kindly in what I saw.
She appeared quite bulky, as a builder might, one who has worked for so long carrying bags of cement from one place to another. She should not have worn a skirt with legs that did resemble thick posts for a gate. Her stance was that she couldn't close her legs, her feet looked quite red and obscenely wide.
They were so solidly planted there, I wondered if she could move quickly at all.
"Hi Richard." She said and her voice was nothing like the rest of her.
Barbara sounded so soft, as if she would never shout and as if to confirm this, I had never heard her shout, only to not perhaps sound as she did.
"Sit down, sit down." She then said and I did as I was asked.
If only I could listen to her, then I would never open my eyes on her again. She sounded so sweet and I was so taken with her voice.
The rest of her is just pig ugly.
"Kevin said you might call." She said.
I nodded, "He asked me to call, so here I am." I replied, I sounded quite nice myself and Barbara smiled.
As she sat in the chair, I could not but admire the strength of those buttons on her blouse, I feared that at any moment, they would let go and fly across the room and do some serious damage. I was prepared to duck, but as luck would have it, the need did not arise.
She seemed to be aware of the hazard and adjusted herself accordingly.
"So how's your dad?"
"Oh, he's fine." I said, "he's dead, so I suppose he should be."
"I didn't know. When did that happen?"
"It was last month, the funeral was very quiet." I said.
Barbara nodded knowingly, "Sorry." She said.
"Oh, it's okay. He died in his sleep."
"Was that at home?"
I looked at her and I found myself lost in her look, as if she were taking me shopping at B&Q for wallpaper, why I thought that I do not know.
I shrugged, momentarily waking me from her look, "No, he was at his girlfriends house." I told her.
Barbara smiled, as though she had just found out about a naughty secret.
it was no secret. My dad would chase anything in a skirt and who was I to try and stop him?
"Now, what can I get you?" She asked.
I found myself wanting to hear her speak so much more, as if I were to be haunted by her voice and I felt so lost within her sound.
"Tea would be nice." I said.
It would, of that there was no lie, I would stay and have tea with her, I would listen to her and beg her to speak as her tones and softness would caress me.
We shared tea, Barbara and I and much more than that. I will disgrace either herself and me in openly saying what adventures followed, it would not be below me to say. I think you should hear of such things. The privacy of our meetings remain as such and I will openly speak of them, but not at this juncture.
The thing that had answered the door to me was in fact Barbara's son's girlfriend, Kaylah. Evidently, Barbara's son needs glasses , or to just keep it in his trousers. It is my belief that he should try the glasses first.
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways Part 4. Written by Jim Hewitt)
Monday, June 1, 2009
Being quiet...
"Ssshh."
"Why are we whispering?"
The other woman laughed,
"Caroline, you know why, bloody hell!"
Caroline moved, squashing herself against the others body,
"This is nice. Do you want to er..."
"No. Now stop it and get to sleep."
"Hannah?"
"What?"
"Have you got cold feet?"
"Yes, why?" Hannah replied and struggled not to laugh out loud.
"No, it's okay, just making sure it's you." Caroline said and she settled again, but sleep isn't what she's thinking about.
"We could you know." Caroline said.
"Keep your voice down." Hannah said and her voice is just as loud.
"I'm not tired." Caroline whispered.
"Just shut up!"
"Hey!"
Caroline obviously hadn't got Hannah's hint about shutting up,
"Now what?"
Hannah had convinced herself that she really needs to sleep, but Caroline isn't prepared to let her go just yet.
"I love you."
"I know. I love you."
"What time is it?"
"What?" Hannah replied, annoyance is quite clear in her whisper.
"The time." Caroline said.
"I don't know. Shut up."
"Are we there yet?"
"Caroline?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up!"
Now, Hannah's voice is slowly getting louder and ever so slightly angrier.
"I only want to play." Caroline whined.
"Okay, but not now!"
"Why not?"
"Oh shit, Caroline! Let me get some sleep. Jesus!"
"Are you tired?"
Hannah turned over and looked at Caroline,
"Is there something wrong with you?" She asked.
Caroline laughed, "No. Isn't this fun!"
"Fun? Oh god...!"
Hannah did her best to settle, turning on her side again , but she felt Caroline's hand slowly make its way under her vest, moving around to her breast. She giggled and Caroline is tickling her , her fingers touch her nipple and Hannah nearly screamed and then kisses on her shoulder and her fingers that moved so slowly.
"If you keep doing that, you're gonna be in trouble." Hannah said.
"So can we?"
"Maybe if you're quiet."
"Quiet, me?"
Hannah should know better. Being quiet is not one of Caroline's best qualities, but she does try and Hannah does think that sometimes it's a little put on.
"If you promise to be quiet, we can, yes."
"Really?"
"No. Now shut up."
"Oh."
Caroline doesn't take her hand away, leaving it rest where it is and sleep takes her and the gentle sound of Hannah snoring...
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways' Part 1. Written by Jim Hewitt)
"Why are we whispering?"
The other woman laughed,
"Caroline, you know why, bloody hell!"
Caroline moved, squashing herself against the others body,
"This is nice. Do you want to er..."
"No. Now stop it and get to sleep."
"Hannah?"
"What?"
"Have you got cold feet?"
"Yes, why?" Hannah replied and struggled not to laugh out loud.
"No, it's okay, just making sure it's you." Caroline said and she settled again, but sleep isn't what she's thinking about.
"We could you know." Caroline said.
"Keep your voice down." Hannah said and her voice is just as loud.
"I'm not tired." Caroline whispered.
"Just shut up!"
"Hey!"
Caroline obviously hadn't got Hannah's hint about shutting up,
"Now what?"
Hannah had convinced herself that she really needs to sleep, but Caroline isn't prepared to let her go just yet.
"I love you."
"I know. I love you."
"What time is it?"
"What?" Hannah replied, annoyance is quite clear in her whisper.
"The time." Caroline said.
"I don't know. Shut up."
"Are we there yet?"
"Caroline?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up!"
Now, Hannah's voice is slowly getting louder and ever so slightly angrier.
"I only want to play." Caroline whined.
"Okay, but not now!"
"Why not?"
"Oh shit, Caroline! Let me get some sleep. Jesus!"
"Are you tired?"
Hannah turned over and looked at Caroline,
"Is there something wrong with you?" She asked.
Caroline laughed, "No. Isn't this fun!"
"Fun? Oh god...!"
Hannah did her best to settle, turning on her side again , but she felt Caroline's hand slowly make its way under her vest, moving around to her breast. She giggled and Caroline is tickling her , her fingers touch her nipple and Hannah nearly screamed and then kisses on her shoulder and her fingers that moved so slowly.
"If you keep doing that, you're gonna be in trouble." Hannah said.
"So can we?"
"Maybe if you're quiet."
"Quiet, me?"
Hannah should know better. Being quiet is not one of Caroline's best qualities, but she does try and Hannah does think that sometimes it's a little put on.
"If you promise to be quiet, we can, yes."
"Really?"
"No. Now shut up."
"Oh."
Caroline doesn't take her hand away, leaving it rest where it is and sleep takes her and the gentle sound of Hannah snoring...
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways' Part 1. Written by Jim Hewitt)
Marshmallow quilt
"Oh that's right, you fuck off down the pub and I'll take care of mum!"
Why is she having a go at me?
I can see her standing in the doorway, my wife, Ann Wilson and I still don't know what it is I'm supposed to have done.
"Do you want to start again?" I asked, probably a stupid question but fuck it, I ain't got anything to lose.
Ann doesn't look too happy, clinging onto the bedroom door like she's superglued to it,
"Oh I bet you'd say that. Typical of you. Moan, whinge, fucking moan! That's all I ever fucking hear from you these days!" She said.
Now I hate to correct her, but what she's just said is completely fucking wrong. We hardly talk at all, so where is she getting all this shit from? I don't drink so why would I fuck off down the pub?
Why would she let me look after her mum? I tried to kill her last week, so that's not a good idea at all.
Ann lets the door go, I can't understand what she's having a go at me about. But it's clear that she hasn't finished because she's walking towards me and I suddenly feel afraid.
"You Mr. Brian Wilson are a fucking pain in my arse!"
I like the way she talks, so pleasant and comforting.
"What have I done?" I moan back, I figure I have to say something at least.
"Look at you! You fucking spineless worm!"
Well at least she got that one right. I don't tell her she's right, I don't want to ruin this. Nor do I want to die.
"Everyday the same shit!" Ann shouted at me, "I do all the stuff around here! And what do you do? Well come on, what do you do?"
She has a point there. I have to tread carfefully, if I say the wrong thing or make a joke of it, she will seperate my head from my shoulders.
"Ah, now Ann, you know how busy I've been and well, you know how it is."
Did I just say that?
If that was me, then what the fuck happened?
That's the worst thing I could have said.
Ann has a look on her face like she's gonna explode,
"Is that it? Is that the best you can do? You can't even fuck me properly!"
She gets so loud, I'm sure she can be heard several miles away.
As for the fucking part, I do quite well thank you. I mean, I get what I want...
"The last time I let you do me, it took you eight seconds."
How the fuck did she time that?
"That, my dear Brian was from start to a very lousy finish."
I shrug. What can I say?
I was quite happy. I got mine.
I tell myself, please don't say anything. Just let her fire all this crap out at me and she might let me escape without too much pain.
I say nothing. I'm clever, me.
My wife with the oh so fucking high IQ just stares at me.
Ann steps so close to me I'm feeling dizzy. I hope she's calmed down, she grabs hold of my arm.
My panic alarm goes off. She's gonna hurt me!
She doesn't.
I can breathe again.
She drags me kicking and screaming to our bedroom.
She throws me on the bed.
I don't like where this is going. I don't mind it a bit rough, but fucking hold on a minute!
"Now, what we're going to..." Ann said and then paused, looking at me and I'm wondering where she keeps the sharp knives, "Sorry, that's wrong." She finished.
She sat next to me on our bed and took my hand.
Ann smiles and that's pretty fucking gruesome, even in the hours of daylight.
"Brian," She said softly, caressing my hand, "I would like you to fuck me and this time do it properly!"
So is that what all this shit has been about?
I get home from work and I get this?
She can forget it. I'm not doing it!
But she squeezes me between my legs and her smile is so fucking evil,
"I bought marshmallows," She said, "I'll let you have the pink ones."
Well, that makes all the difference, doesn't it?
The last time we did it, it was what, eight seconds? How fast does she want to go?
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways, part 3. Written by Jim Hewitt).
Why is she having a go at me?
I can see her standing in the doorway, my wife, Ann Wilson and I still don't know what it is I'm supposed to have done.
"Do you want to start again?" I asked, probably a stupid question but fuck it, I ain't got anything to lose.
Ann doesn't look too happy, clinging onto the bedroom door like she's superglued to it,
"Oh I bet you'd say that. Typical of you. Moan, whinge, fucking moan! That's all I ever fucking hear from you these days!" She said.
Now I hate to correct her, but what she's just said is completely fucking wrong. We hardly talk at all, so where is she getting all this shit from? I don't drink so why would I fuck off down the pub?
Why would she let me look after her mum? I tried to kill her last week, so that's not a good idea at all.
Ann lets the door go, I can't understand what she's having a go at me about. But it's clear that she hasn't finished because she's walking towards me and I suddenly feel afraid.
"You Mr. Brian Wilson are a fucking pain in my arse!"
I like the way she talks, so pleasant and comforting.
"What have I done?" I moan back, I figure I have to say something at least.
"Look at you! You fucking spineless worm!"
Well at least she got that one right. I don't tell her she's right, I don't want to ruin this. Nor do I want to die.
"Everyday the same shit!" Ann shouted at me, "I do all the stuff around here! And what do you do? Well come on, what do you do?"
She has a point there. I have to tread carfefully, if I say the wrong thing or make a joke of it, she will seperate my head from my shoulders.
"Ah, now Ann, you know how busy I've been and well, you know how it is."
Did I just say that?
If that was me, then what the fuck happened?
That's the worst thing I could have said.
Ann has a look on her face like she's gonna explode,
"Is that it? Is that the best you can do? You can't even fuck me properly!"
She gets so loud, I'm sure she can be heard several miles away.
As for the fucking part, I do quite well thank you. I mean, I get what I want...
"The last time I let you do me, it took you eight seconds."
How the fuck did she time that?
"That, my dear Brian was from start to a very lousy finish."
I shrug. What can I say?
I was quite happy. I got mine.
I tell myself, please don't say anything. Just let her fire all this crap out at me and she might let me escape without too much pain.
I say nothing. I'm clever, me.
My wife with the oh so fucking high IQ just stares at me.
Ann steps so close to me I'm feeling dizzy. I hope she's calmed down, she grabs hold of my arm.
My panic alarm goes off. She's gonna hurt me!
She doesn't.
I can breathe again.
She drags me kicking and screaming to our bedroom.
She throws me on the bed.
I don't like where this is going. I don't mind it a bit rough, but fucking hold on a minute!
"Now, what we're going to..." Ann said and then paused, looking at me and I'm wondering where she keeps the sharp knives, "Sorry, that's wrong." She finished.
She sat next to me on our bed and took my hand.
Ann smiles and that's pretty fucking gruesome, even in the hours of daylight.
"Brian," She said softly, caressing my hand, "I would like you to fuck me and this time do it properly!"
So is that what all this shit has been about?
I get home from work and I get this?
She can forget it. I'm not doing it!
But she squeezes me between my legs and her smile is so fucking evil,
"I bought marshmallows," She said, "I'll let you have the pink ones."
Well, that makes all the difference, doesn't it?
The last time we did it, it was what, eight seconds? How fast does she want to go?
(From 'An Ordinary Day in Extraordinary Ways, part 3. Written by Jim Hewitt).
Saturday, May 30, 2009
My means of transport.
My favoured means of getting around. This is 'Baby'.
She's nearly 10 years old and needs a bath.
This photo was taken a few weeks ago at Ringaskiddy on a Sunday morning.
The first test.
I'm doing this just to see how this works out. Knight Rider has just started on the Sci-Fi channel. I was watching Thunderbirds.
As I said, this is just a test.
As I said, this is just a test.
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