2 comments/ 52101 views/ 2 favorites Ashes to Ashes By: Macbethian The cigarette burned my fingers, damn it, how long had I been holding it without taking a drag. The tiny filter slipped from my fingers and sparked briefly as it came to rest on the ground, on the hard pavement outside the apartment complex. I had been watching the complex for what, two hours now? What did it matter, I filled my lungs with the midnight air and felt enriched by its scent. My prey was close, I could feel it. At the moment the two story apartment was filled with a few lights, reading lights most likely. I closed my eyes and imagined what was going on inside. She had pulled out a book, and after her evening shower was laying on the bed naked, except for a long flowing terry cloth robe. The book in her hand would be something thick, but popular, something that she had pulled off of the best seller list. Despite what she thought about herself, she was the ideal of a yuppy business woman. Intelligent, independant, lived alone with all of her money. Maybe, just maybe, as she lay there reading about spies and espionage she would let the book fall to her side, and her eyes would close, the mental images of those tall, dark and handsom spies burning in her mind. She would slowly sink down into the covers, and with one hand she would flip off the bedside lamp, but with the other she had business left to attend. The covers would be warm, the fresh scent of her showered body would dampened them slightly and make them aromatic, filling the room with her musk. With that other hand she would slowly, at first, begin to pleasure herself. It would begin with rubbing, just slightly, as though she were relieveing an itch, but the itch would need to be more than just scratched. Then her body would tense and... I saw it, the last light flipped off. A quick glance at my watch showed that it was quarter to midnight still, she had stayed up late tonight, probably because it was thursday and she could feel the weekend coming. Some people have told me that I am psychic, at least slightly, because I can read into the actions of what others do, and often can guess their next move. I was always told as a youth that I should go into business, make lots of money, rub elbows with people like the woman I was about to rape. But that wasn't for me. I was a creature of the night, I was a predator of the innocent, and I could not come out in the daylight. I have always had an aversion to the day, I could never explain it, but now I can see why. It is my destiny to become like this, I am one of God's predators, preying on the weak and the helpless, one of the shadows in the night that people lock their doors to keep out. Yes, I was in touch with God, at least on some level, I could feel his presence within me, and I could feel how powerful I was at that moment, just before I took their innocence from them. I grabbed my crowbar and my bag of stuff, and began walking to the darkened apartment. It was a very nice apartment, at the end of a row in the complex, and the nicest model that was offered. It was also secluded, surrounded on three sides by forest, and only sharing one wall with another apartment. Of course, the woman's bedroom was on the opposite side, so that she wouldn't have to deal with the noise of the neighbors. The apartment also had glass doors which opened onto a patio in the rear, and he had seen that she only locks the hand lock, and does not put in the pin which would make opening the door a lot tougher. I was correct, and only a quick yank with the crowbar and it opened. She also never set the alarm, living in a world that she felt was safe for her to not have to set the alarm. But just in case, as I went through the now opened house I went straight to the luandry area where the circuit breakers were, and flipped them all down. That way there would be no hideous lights to interupt me, and the alarm would not be able to be activiated, since it did not have its own power supply. Now if I guessed it correctly, the alarm company would call within an hour to check on her and make sure that everything was okay, since they actively ping the boxes to see if they are functioning properly. But I knew that they did that for this area only at quarter 'till, and that just came and went. I had an hour to do my work with the prey. Upstairs a crept, smelling the air become thick with her scent, it filled my lungs and made be become aroused. She wore some sort of expensive perfume, like Chanel 5, or something very sweet and elegant. I took out of the bag a mask, and while standing just outside her door I donned the mask and looked at myself in a hallway mirror. I am powerful, I am beautiful, I am a GOD. I stand about six and a half feet tall, and have always been blessed with a chiseled body. Lets just say that I am not the person you would want to meet in a dark alleyway. I was wearing a black jumpsuit with combat boots and a black skimask, I looked the part. I am the angel of darkness, swooping down from heaven to take the innocence from society. I rubbed the bulge in my jumpsuit, and felt that it was time. The door was of course unlocked, and I turned the knob ever so slowly, it was well built and did not squeek once. The room was full of the after-shower scent of her, and I felt as though I would explode. The phone was beside the bed, and since I could hear the heavy breathing of her slumber, I went to it and pulled it from out the wall, but left it in place. In case she wanted to call the police, she would have to use her cell phone, or plug this one in, since the phone downstairs had been cordless and needed power. Slowly I climbed onto the bed, so that my legs naturally pinned her down, and pulled a long black piece of fabric out. With the fabric I tied her hands together, and the whole time she just sat and watched with unbelieving eyes. She of course leapt to life, totally predictible. Her bigs eyes looked up into mine, and for a moment she just lay there dumbstuck by what was happening, by what was about to happen. I whispered in her ear very calm like, "If you make no sounds, and are a good little girl, I will let you live. Otherwise, this will be a lot more painful for you than it needs to be." She nodded very slowly and I felt her body was rigid underneath me. I backed off of her for a moment, just to pull the covers back, and I saw that she was, in fact, totally naked already. My job was made easier. She was gorgeous, even more so in the low light of the bedroom. In her late twenties, she had a tight and youthful body despite, and I could tell that she worked out regularly. Her hips were toned, and her breasts were smaller, but very perky and showed no sign of drooping. I ran over her body with one of my gloves hands, and as I did I pulled at her nipple and cupped her small breast in my hand. I could feel her body twitch under me as I did so, and so I said, "You like that, don't you. If you release yourself to my darkness, then you will enjoy this a lot more." As I examined her I knelt down to look at her vagina, it was sweet smelling, and had the scent of recently being cleaned. It was also wet, probably after the late night stimulation she had just put herself through. Well, it was about to get a lot more stimulation than just a couple of fingers. I reached back into the bag and brought out a gun, it was rubber and not real, but it felt real in my hand. I pulled myself up to her face, and her eyes got much bigger as she looked at the semi-auto pistol that she thought I was holding. I held it against her head, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. With my other hand I unzipped the bottom of my jumpsuit, pulling my solid member out to the air. I am also gifted in that area, and I could see her eyes widen as she looked at me, thinking how she would ever take that into her. Well, first I needed some moisture. "Alright, listen to me very carefully, if you bite, I will put a bullet through your neck and down into your heart," I repositioned the rubber gun at the nape of her neck, "So just take it and then I will move one. Understand?" She nodded slowly, as if she were a child. I pulled closer, and with my free hand grabbed some of her ample brown hair, it was silky in the grip of my glove. All of a sudden, I pulled her face to my sex, and she opened her mouth obediantly. I have often been refused sex by otherwise willing partners because of the size of my member, and very few willing ladies have been able to take it. Because of all this, I always make my victims take it, even if they throw up in the process. As the ip touched her open lips, I pulled her head further, and she took the first few inches into her mouth. I began to pull her head a little closer, all the while thrusting into her mouth. The interior of her mouth was hot with sleep, and it felt wonderful on me. She relaxed a little, thinking that I wasn't going to push all of it down her, but then I did. I rammed myself deep into her mouth, and could feel the back of her throat spasm as I pushed down her until her nose was buried in my bush. I held her there only for a moment, as I felt she would probably throw up soon, and that was never pleasant. I pulled away, and she gasped for air as I pulled out. "Good girl," I whispered into her ear. She retched a couple of times, but never puked anything out. Now my penis was fully erected, and covered in spindles of spittle, so I felt ready to enter. She looked on in wonder, and horror, as I positioned myself at her crotch. I pulled her legs up so that they were over my shoulders, and without further warning buried myself into her. She let out a gasp that could have easilly become a scream, but she restrained herself. Her pussy was wet, but it still had not been ready for what I had to offer. I pushed deeper and deeper with each thrust, until I had buried myself inside her all the way. I could feel her cervix as I thrust myself into her, and I began to pound her harder and harder. As I did so she began to push back with each thrust, and her head rolled back from the royal fucking that she was receiving. To hell with masturbation, this was the way to go! That encouragement drove me wild, and I lowered the gun to let myself be taken over completely by the pleasure of the moment. Her innocence had been torn from her, it was my doing. Just because she wasn't a virgin doesn't mean she had lost her innocence until this point. Now it was mine. I pumped harder and harder, she began to moan softly, and I could feel her spasm beneath me, soaking my crotch with her fluids. I felt ready, so I pulled out of her and jumped up. She looked confused, until I pulled her face down to my sex again and forced her to it. She opened her mouth much quicker this time, and even reached up to grab me and jerk me into her mouth. I jerked, and she pulled me to her, sucking hard on my cock as I blew an incredible load of hot liquid that burned down her throat. She sucked it all down, and continued to do so until I had begun to soften. I was unsure where to go from here. I had never experienced such... enthusiasm, but I figured old tricks are the best tricks. "If you scream, I will kill you." I took the fabric off of her hands, and she relaxed visibly as I did so. I pushed it back into the bag, and my limp and soaked member back inside my jumpsuit. She watched me as I turned to leave, but then she took me totally off guard. "Bring friends next time." Ashes to Ashes Even sitting inside the metal cocoon of the Mercedes John could hear the wind howling through the trees, whipping around the cloud draped hill as if it were alive, alive and angry and hungry. What should have been a gentle drizzle was torn apart and driven against the windows in a miniature storm. Common sense said to wait, it couldn't last forever after all and in a few minutes it would doubtless have eased enough to make the short walk more pleasant. But he knew full well there would be nothing pleasant about it, even if it were a perfect summers day, in truth he welcomed the foul weather, it seemed somehow appropriate for the task in hand. With a sigh he left his umbrella on the passenger seat, pulled his collar up around his throat and stepped into the world. Immediately the wind pulled at his body, surprising him with its strength and chilling his flesh even through the thick wool coat that was lifted up, snapping around him, wings of darkness as he turned and started walking. Step Sunlight, crisp and pure, glanced off the white tops of waves as they broke against the shore, a day so perfect it was as if God himself had decided to show every artist that drew breath what a masterpiece truly was. The sand was fine beneath Johns bare feet, not golden but white, rising up into curving dunes and, far far beyond them, the green expanse of valleys and mountains that sheltered this bay from the harsh world outside. The sun itself was still low in the sky, the faintest hint of mist clinging to the very edges of the distant mountains, but none of this occupied his attention as he stared, enchanted at the sight before him. The long, curving beach was practically deserted at this time of day, but even so a single towel was stretched out on the sand. Its owner however was not, opting instead for the cool waters of the bay, gliding through the small breakers about twenty yards from the shore as if born in the ocean. A cap of red hair spread out in the surface, slicked back to her skull as she powered her way over a larger than normal wave, tantalizing glimpses of flesh teasing and exciting him as he stood, spellbound, on the sands. Suddenly he was moving, rushing down the beach towards the waiting water, pulling his t-shirt over his head and wading in up to his waist, not caring how much noise he made, or how little subtlety he was displaying. One thought alone consumed him, the urgent, desperate need to introduce himself, to hear this vision speak and learn her name. She must have seen his headlong dash as she'd stopped swimming and now floated in the water, waiting for him as he marched out to meet her. "Good morning." She said as he was still a few yards away "lovely day for a swim isn't it?" God, John thought, her voice was beyond anything he could have expected, anything he'd dreamed of. Low, seductive, playful and all she'd done was say good morning. "Uh, yeah, yeah it's a great day for a swim." He replied and winced at just how much of a tongue tied geek he must seem at that moment, sure he'd blown whatever slim chance he may have had. To his surprise a soft laugh rewarded his stammered attempts. "Well, I must admit it's getting a little boring swimming alone, want to join me?" She asked, playfully splashing the surface and, somehow, managing to soak his face despite the distance. "I... uh, yeah, yeah I'd love to." John said, feeling both a goofy grin and his blush spread over his face. "Come on then" she laughed, splashing him again. "Alright I...." John took a step forward and felt the bottom drop away from his feet, the water closing over his head. He came back to the surface spluttering and brushing his hair away from his eyes. She was floating about ten yards away now, and the grin on her face was plain. "Careful, it gets deep about there!" She yelled over to him before twisting and diving under the waves. With a single breath John followed her, the cool greens of the world beneath the surface relaxing him immediately as he caught a glimpse of her lithe form swimming in a straight line along the shore, seemingly cruising through the water. He felt an almost predatory mood take him and shot straight for her, closing the distance quickly. As he got closer he realized with a start just how stunning she really was. The water still made a clear view impossible, but even so he could see her long, shapely legs, leading up to a set of curves that could have stepped off the catwalk of the highest circles of fashions. Underwater her hair fanned out behind her, rippling like a liquid curtain as she seemed to slide through the water. Closer and closer he got, now barely five foot behind her and for a moment he saw a clear view of smooth skin, flawless arches and perfect toes. A moment was all the sight he got though as she twisted, turning along the length of her own body, dashing past him in a flash of flesh and fingers, fingers that trailed down his stomach and goosed his ribs, the motion slowed by the water but enough to tickle nonetheless. He gasped, instinctively tried to breathe in and came to the surface in a spluttering eruption, trying to clear the water from his eyes as he sucked air back into his lungs. Even as he recovered he felt something pass close by him underwater and another flash of fingers, this time against his thigh and he felt a most unmanly giggle escape his lips. Not wanting to give her an easy target he dove back under the surface, back to the chase as she twisted and arced through the water like a fish. Again and again he tried to catch her, again and again she managed to evade his attentions and sneak brief, devastating, wonderful, teasing, tantalizing touches against his flesh, more often than not resulting in a repeat performance of his gasping rise to the surface. Over and over again... until finally he realized a way to trap her. Slowly, subtly he steered her towards the shore, towards the steep drop off where the ocean became a paddling pool. Once more she turned to attack, and once more he rose spluttering. This time though he had been ready for her and had managed to hold his breath, faking the laugh as he rose. She turned and swept back for another strike. He grabbed out as she went past and caught her thighs in a bear hug. Instantly his hands were at her skin, wriggling and tickling as best he could under water. She gasped, howling with unexpected laughter as she found herself in the shallows with nowhere to twist or turn. She clawed and crawled her way forward, both of them fighting for air and control, John barely able to believe this was happening, that his hands were touching this beauty who hadn't even told him her name. Eventually they struggled to shore where, exhausted by her efforts, she lay on the white sands, her feet now trapped under Johns arm as he raked her soles. "N...NO! Ssstoooop! PLEASE!" She laughed, exhaustion clear in her voice now. "Tell me your name! Tell me your name and I'll stop." John teased, twisting his fingers between her wriggling toes. "E...E...Elizabeth!" She gasped. "It's Elizabeth!" Instantly, though with more than a little regret, John stopped his assault, released her from his grasp and laid alongside her on the sand. "Pleased to meet you Elizabeth, I'm John". He said, and on the spur of the moment stuck out a hand. As tired as she was Elizabeth managed a giggle at the curiously old fashioned gesture before taking his hand in hers and shaking with a strength that surprised him. A surprise that melted in the force of the next as she took his hand to her lips and started to kiss each finger in turn. The rest of that day seemed to flow into a single melting pot of images and emotions, his entire being feeling freed and truly at peace for the first time he could remember. Yet despite it all there was one image that stayed with him, that overrode all else. Elizabeth's face titled to his, her head pillowed on his chest, whispering a simple message that thrilled him beyond measure. "I love you." Step Rain hammered down on the fabric a few feet above his head as John twisted in the sleeping bag, cursing the unseasonable weather as the chill air closed in, always looking for a way to slide down next to his skin. Grumbling to himself he had to admit that maybe camping out in the middle of April wasn't such a great idea after all, even the site manager hadn't quite been able to believe his eyes when he'd seen them pull in and ask for a pitch. They had the entire field to themselves, although that did assume there'd still be a field left come the morning and they weren't swept out to sea. The sound of a zip being ripped open scythed through him and he glanced up, the dim outline of a female figure all he needed for reassurance that they weren't being robbed. Robbed, he thought with a snort, like any self respecting thief would be out on a night like tonight. From the living area of the tent he heard quiet cursing as the new arrival seemed to be inventing some new form of yoga to get out of her soaked waterproofs without getting the rest of her soaked in the process. As fascinating as the process was to watch John could feel the night air nipping at his flesh once more and rolled over, pulling the sleeping bag a little closer around him and almost immediately starting to doze off, lulled by the warmth and familiar scent on the fabric. Only to be startled awake by someone yanking the zip down on the sleeping bag, diving in while somehow closing the zip behind them and a pair of lips finding his. For a moment he surrendered to the kiss, caught unawares and lost in the moment, in the pleasure and care it promised. A moment only though as the lips pulled back and a voice whispered in his ear. "Hi handsome, mind if I join you?" "I'm sorry Miss, I think you must have the wrong tent." "Oh well, that's just too bad, you don't mind if I spend the night do you, it's raining cats and dogs out there." "I don't mind, my wife might though." "Oh come on, she wouldn't object too much to finding a naked lady in your arms would she?" "Well.... not if she could join in the fun I guess." "You pig!" Elizabeth laughed, kissing him again and moving closer to his body, her naked flesh chill against his skin. "And here I thought I was woman enough for you." "Hey Liz, you can't really blame me for wanting a menage a trois with you and your imaginary twin sister you know." John teased, lifting his hands to pull her close in his embrace. "Oh no?" She replied, and he picked up on the note of challenge a half second too late. Suddenly ten fingers were wriggling and writhing in his armpits and in a moment he was lost. Laughing without hope of control, any chance of fending her off dependent now on getting his own hands into play. A slim hope, and one that she quickly squashed by rolling to her right, trapping his hands between her and the airbed, holding him with her own body weight as she explored his flesh. John felt an all too familiar feeling creep over him as he descended into hysterics and madness. Liz simply knew him too well, knew every spot and point on his body to send his senses into overdrive. Her fingers busied themselves in his armpits, dancing briefly down his sides and ribs, even traveling as far down as his waist, her breath tickling around his neck and ears, his roars of laughter matched by her own delighted giggling as she felt him writhe above her, reveling in the power she held over him, luxuriating in the sure and certain knowledge that he would never do anything to hurt her no matter what she may do or how she provoked him. John for his part felt his eyes cloud with tears, his entire body demanding relief now, strength seeping out of his muscles as he flopped down on top of his lover, his goddess. Over and over she explored his flesh, somehow managing to find new and interesting ways of tormenting him with every passing moment. Her tongue darting out to trace his collarbone as her fingers flew over his ribs. Her lips closing on his, swallowing his laughter as she wormed a finger down into his navel. The lightest of light touches teasing and tickling his cock and balls as she ground into his helpless body, and all the while his hands still trapped behind her flesh. He felt her shift slightly, wrapping her thighs around him, her hips grinding against him as she pushed against his thigh. Her fingers returned to his armpits and dug in, hard, much harder than before. With renewed energy he howled and thrashed trying to pull his arms free, trying to get away from her, with no success. In seconds he felt her tense, a muffled cry escaping her lips as her body dove over the edge and into pure pleasure. For what seemed like an eternity he saw her face twisted in delight, and as always, he felt a pulse of shock and wonder at the fact she offered such a gift, such trust and affection, to him. Slowly, oh so slowly, she came back to him, staring at him from half lidded eyes, a shadow of a grin visible on her face as she snuggled against him. Her lips moved up to his ear, whispering in a voice still shot through with pleasure. "Ohhh, you're wife is going to be pissed she missed that." Even in his current state John couldn't help but chuckle at the joke, aware as always his wife was that little bit faster on the draw than he. "But what's this...." Liz said, mock surprise in her voice as her fingers traced Johns straining member. "Does someone need a little relief of their own?" It was all John could do to grunt as he was overwhelmed by the sensations she was causing with the barest touch of a fingertip. "I love you" she whispered as she arched her back up and freed his hands, rolling with him into a ball of fingers, tongues, hair and anything else that came to hand to tantalize the senses. Step John woke with a start, finding himself lying on the couch, his hand still holding the copy of last weeks productivity report he'd been reading before he'd nodded off. Shaking his head to clear the familiar 'wrapped in cotton wool' feeling that he always suffered when he napped and slid his feet into a pair of slippers. The rubber soles clicked softly on the wood floor as he padded into the kitchen, pouring a glass of water before heading upstairs. Glancing down the corridor towards the master bedroom he set his glass down on a small table in the hall and walked in the opposite direction. Stepping through the open door he smiled as he saw Elizabeth staring down into the crib, the look on her face reminding him of the first day he'd met her, an angelic air that seemed to make her timeless, perfect. A quiet snuffling from his right told him where Buster was lying and he reached down to pat the bullet head as he passed, rewarded with a quick lick against his wrist as the dog shifted slightly, permitting Johns intrusion the general vicinity of what John would swear Buster thought of as his own offspring. John walked over and slipped his arms around Liz, still marveling six months on at just how much his wife had changed while carrying Paul, his body still remembering holding her like this back then, and how different, how right it had seemed to feel his son growing in the woman he loved. Liz sighed and slipped into his embrace, reaching back and running her fingers over the nape of his neck, utterly at peace in his arms. How long they stayed like that neither of them could say but neither were in any rush to break the moment. At that time, in that place, John knew he had everything he could want in his life and he felt tears prick his eyes as he gazed at his son. A single tear fell landed on the curve of Liz's neck and she glanced up at the man she'd fallen in love with so many years ago on a beach hundreds of miles away. Time may have changed the details but she saw clearly the face she'd known, from the first moment she'd seen it, would be with her until her dying day. Smiling she turned in his arms, reached up and kissed him, her hands sliding over his cheeks and wiping away the wet track the remained. Breaking the kiss she walked softly to the door, turned and whispered to him: "Don't take to long love." John took one last look at his son, reached out and smoothed the blanket covering the tiny form, shaking his head in wonder. As he moved to the door he heard Buster pad over to the crib and, with a slight clink from his collar, stand up on his hind paws to look in. John grinned in the dark, Buster was so protective of Paul it was surprising the boy wasn't part Alsatian. Still, he thought, glancing back and seeing Buster lying down in front of the crib, his head towards the door alert as always, if anyone ever wanted to harm Paul, they'd better be willing to take on ten stone of pissed off Alsatian before hand. Entering the bedroom he almost tripped over his own tongue. Liz was lying in bed, face down and seemingly asleep, her body covered by the thin sheet and, clearly, naked underneath it. From the end though, her smooth, perfect feet hung, the soles facing him, lit by the flickering light of a single candle sitting on the dressing table. Grinning he slid to the floor at the foot of the bed and placed his hands at the small of his back. Leaning down he kissed first one sole, then the other, working his lips over her skin, his beard tickling her slightly as he moved. It was an odd experience he thought, teasing and tickling his goddess this way without restraining her, relying on her own self-control to allow him to continue, but it was not an unpleasant one by any means. Moving to the heel of her right foot he started working his way down, light caresses of his lips against her flesh mixed with long, slow, luxurious laps of his tongue over the flesh he'd already touched. Her legs twitched almost constantly and, as he took her toes into his mouth he glanced up the length of her body. The sheet covering her had fallen aside and her flesh seemed to gleam like liquid gold in the flickering light, her every curve as perfect to him now as the day they'd met. Her face was pressed into the pillow, her hands bunched into fists as she tried to muffle her laughter, to keep quiet despite everything he was doing, matching her will against his in a contest she knew she couldn't win. John let her foot fall from his mouth, pausing only to regain his balance before moving over to her left foot and starting the whole process again. Now, as he wormed his way down her sole, he paid closer attention to her body, his eyes practically rolling into his head as he tried to both lick and watch at once. To his amusement he saw her hips twitch and writhe against the bed as his tongue lapped against her flesh and, as he watched he felt desire wash over him. Throwing his gentle, teasing plan out the window he caught her toes in his mouth, scraping his teeth over her toes and diving in between her toes with his tongue. Instantly Liz howled into the pillow, her entire body writhing now, yet somehow leaving her feet where they were, allowing him access despite the horrific tickle torment he was gifting her. Shifting, John came at her feet from the side, working his chin to tickle her right foot as he sucked and licked the toes of her left. Liz let out an odd mix of hysterical laugh and scream of passion, all partially muffled by the pillow, and he felt every muscle in her body tense at once then literally pulse with pleasure as she lost control, John still licking and sucking her toes throughout. Running a hand gently up the back of her legs to the knees he felt every muscle relaxed beneath his fingers and, with a smile, slid up alongside her, taking her body in his arms, pulling her close and easing her to sleep with the words that burned in his heart. "I love you" Step All around John there was frantic activity but he seemed to simply ignore it as he stared at the plain white wall in front of him. The sharp tang of disinfectant pulled at his senses, a perfect match for the sense of dread that had settled over him like a cloud. Ashes to Ashes "Mr Evans?" The voice belonged to a tall man clad in a white lab coat, shirt and suit trousers beneath. "Yes." John said, standing and facing the doctor. "I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do. She's fought it as far as she can but..." "How long?" "A few days, maybe a week, no more than that though. I'm sorry, I wish there was something else we..." John cut him off "Sorry? For what Doctor? It's not your fault, you didn't cause this after all. No, thank you, for everything you've done for us. It's meant more than you could know." All the usual phrases John thought, disgusted with himself even as he said the words. They were right, true, but of no comfort to either man now. "You can see her if you wish, she's stable for now. If... if it's any consolation, she will feel very little pain before..." John nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. Turning away he took a single deep breath and walked into the room. To his surprise there seemed at first glance to be very little wrong with the woman in the bed, a single sensor connected to a pulse monitor and an IV drip were the only obvious things that set the scene apart from an evening at home. "Hey." Liz said, her smile seeming to lift years from her face as he walked over. "How are you love?" "I've been better Liz. I... I presume they..." "Yes, they told me. John, this isn't a surprise to either of us, we've known this was coming for a long time now..." "That doesn't make it any easier!" "No, no it doesn't love. But it does give you time to think, lying in here I mean, and I think I've realized something I might not have ever told you." "What?" "I can't imagine now, looking back, ever living a life without you. You've made the years worth living John, every day worth fighting for." "You've told me that before Liz". John smiled at her, reaching out to her hand, slipping it into his. "I... I have? When?" "Every time you smiled. Every time I heard you laugh and every time I woke up with your head nestled on my shoulder. Every single time I was with you Liz, you told me." A pause filled the room, and to John's surprise he saw not tears in her eyes but a compassion and caring so deep it stunned him. "I love you, you know that as well, right?" Liz asked. John didn't reply but lent over and kissed her, gently, carefully, feeling her spirit, as strong now as it ever was, pulsing through him for those few brief moments before he was forced to pull back. "Did... did you bring it?" Liz asked, her voice catching in her throat. "Yeah, but I was wondering if you'd mind... if you'd mind if I read it to you." John replied, his own throat feeling as if there was a tennis ball lodged there. "God, of course not, please." Liz sad, settling back slightly against the pillow and half closing her eyes. John pulled a single sheet of paper out of his pocket and, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the other patients in the ward, started to read. It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-- Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-- That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Step The wind died, John's coat fluttering down around his body as he stood before the simple marble marker on the hillside. Slowly he crouched down before it, his fingers brushing the engraving, cleaning away the water. "Elizabeth Evans. In Loving Memory" As he looked at the inscription, John felt against all expectation a sense of peace wash over him, the grief and pain lessening for the first time in month as finally he realized what he had come here to say. "I miss you." Ashes to Ashes "Don't have any more whisky Arthur, please, you don't want to get drunk again." Helen Kray spoke quietly to her husband, not wanting to attract attention. "Oh shut up woman!" came the alcohol slurred reply,"I can handle my drink you know, listen, the Wilkinson's invited us to this party and who am I to refuse their hospitality." Helen had been married to Arthur for close to 30 years now, she knew how difficult Arthur became under the influence of alcohol and did not discuss the matter further; the party was almost finished and she did not want to cause an ugly scene. "I feel bloody knackered woman," said Arthur, tottering from one foot to the other, "Let's say our good byes and get off home, I'm fed up with these idiots here anyway." Helen helped steady Arthur to try to hide just how inebriated he was, as they said their farewells and headed for the front door, at least the people at the party would think he was sober even if he was not. "Right, you get in the passenger seat Helen, I'm driving." Hiccuped Arthur, he could hardly get the key in the ignition. "No, come on Arthur, don't be silly, you are in no condition to drive, give me the keys I'll take us home" "I've bloody warned you woman, I'm not drunk. I'm quite capable of driving my own car to my own home, now shut your mouth and get in that bloody seat!" Helen could see the other guests starting to leave and she did not want a blazing row in front of them and so complied to her overbearing husbands drunken wish. Arthur started the car, stalled it, then set off to a rather jerky journey home. Along the motorway Arthur pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator, the 'cats eyes' in the road shot past alarmingly fast. Helen's hands were clenched tightly in her lap, the knuckles turning white with fear. She hated it when Arthur was drunk, especially when he drove while in that condition. It was impossible to argue or reason with him, he was such a domineering character. Helen screamed, Arthur had hardly noticed the lorry in front of them, he slammed on the breaks hard, too late! The small car smashed right into the back of the lorry, both he and Helen were catapulted forward against the windscreen, Helen's head struck first, taking the full impact of the crash. Arthur remained unconscious for just a few seconds, he shook his head to try to help clear his foggy mind. He felt his face, there was a cut above his eye, his left hand felt broken, the fingers were stiff and painful. He pulled Helen back into the car, her head was resting on the bonnet. He tilted her back into her seat then nearly vomited; her head had almost been severed, the hard edge of the bonnet had sliced through her windpipe, right down to her spine, she must have died instantly. He looked up, he could see the driver of the lorry stumble from his cab and stagger towards them. He quickly crawled over his wife and dragged her into the driver's seat, pain shot through his broken fingers as he took her weight, it must be done he thought, if the police found out he had been driving in his condition he could go to prison for a very long time. He felt sick and guilty about this cowardly act but self protection over ruled all notions of decency. "Are you all right mate? What happened?" the ashen faced driver pushed his head through the space where the windscreen had been. "My wife fainted while she was driving." lied Arthur, "there was noting I could do." "Okay mate, keep calm, how is she, is she breathing?" "No." said Arthur, the reality of the situation striking home properly for the first time, "she's dead." A mist formed in front of his eyes and he fell unconscious for the second time that night. ______________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________ It was a simple funeral but Arthur had invited most of their friends and relatives. Helen was to be cremated, the accident had left her body in such an ugly state it seemed the appropriate thing to do. Arthur was to keep her ashes in an urn. In a few weeks time he was going on holiday to France, where they had spent their honeymoon together. Before leaving he was going to sprinkle her ashes off the cliffs at Dover; a rather touching gesture, anyway, it would get rid of them, he did not relish the idea of having the ashes in the house as feelings of guilt still gnawed at his mind. "A terrible thing eh?" said Arthur's brother Ron, "She was a fine woman Arthur, it must be a terrible loss." "Yes it is," replied Arthur, "If only I had been driving then it would have been me dead, I keep thinking, over and over, it should have been me who died!" his lies flowed like water. "Don't be silly Arthur, it was an accident, it wasn't your fault, Helen fainted, you can't blame yourself for that." "No, but I still can't help but feel guilty Ron." Arthur had repeated these lies so often he was almost starting to believe them himself. "Well, life goes on brother." said Ron, helping himself to another sausage roll and glass of sherry. Deep inside, Arthur did feel guilt about his wife's death, as he should, being fully responsible but the feelings were not as deep or sincere as they should be. Arthur had always been a selfish man, always putting himself first and though he would admit it to no one, he was glad it was Helen and not he, who had died. He knew it was wrong to think this, but he felt it just the same. "It should have been me! It should have been me!" he repeatedly told his friends and family, not meaning a single word. The funeral had finished and everyone vanished like spirits into the night. Arthur set off for home in his car, whistling a jolly tune. On the back seat of the car lay Helen's remains, they may well just have been cigarette butts in an ashtray, Arthur had forgotten them already. "Well, she's dead now," thought Arthur, "no point in crying over spilt milk, I've still got a life to lead." The car entered the drive to his house, he was just about to close the car door when he remembered the ashes. He took them inside, they looked out of place on his mantle piece but they would only be there for a while. _____________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________ A few weeks passed, it was now the middle of summer, in a few days time Arthur was to set off for France, he was looking forward to it greatly. He needed a new pair of sunglasses, the shop on the corner sold them, he picked up his wallet and set off to buy some. "Hello Mr Kray, how are you feeling? You look much better now." Mrs Brent, the shopkeeper smiled as Arthur entered the store. "Oh I'm bearing up Mrs Brent, thank you, but I still have these feelings of guilt, even now I think it should have been me that died and not Helen, she was such a lovely person, she deserved to live, not I." this lie had become second nature to Arthur by now. "Don't you be so silly Mr Kray, it was nothing to do with you, it was a terrible twist of fate that your wife fainted when she did, you can't blame yourself at all." He smiled and shook his head. Arthur bought the sunglasses, said farewell and set off for home, he had a holiday to look forward to. He stepped through his front door, the smell of cooking that usually greeted him had gone, along with Helen; he missed it. Since Helen had died the house seemed larger, almost empty. If he missed anything about her it was her presence in the kitchen. He had loved her in a selfish, overbearing way, he did genuinely miss her but he thought that life without her was better than no life at all. This, he decided justified his appalling actions at the scene of the crash. It was getting dark, he felt like retiring early tonight but first he would help himself to a large brandy or two; even though this slow poison had been the main reason for his wife's death, he still indulged and still to excess. He settled in an armchair and downed the contents of the glass with one swallow. The room seemed unnaturally quiet, so quiet he could hear his own breathing, he held his breath, yet the breathing continued. His first thoughts were of burglars, he picked up a poker from the fire place and walked towards the window, the breathing had come from that direction. He could hear it clearly now, it was outside the window, close to the ground. It was a snuffling, husky wheeze, not human at all. He pulled back the curtain then laughed out loud, it was a hedgehog, a tiny, spikey hedgehog. He looked closer, to his disgust the tiny animal was devouring a slug. He pulled the curtains shut, not a pleasant sight, he thought. He laughed at himself again, burglars indeed! He helped himself to another brandy, then retired to his bedroom. Just as he kicked the shoes from his feet he heard a noise, it was coming from the living room. It was a strange noise, like someone tapping a knife on a plate but louder and duller in sound. He pushed open the living room door and switched on the light, the room looked strange, there seemed to be a light haze all about the place almost as if several people had been smoking cigarettes in there but that was impossible, he was totally alone. Again he heard the metallic tapping noise, it was coming from the direction of the fire place. He looked towards the mantle piece. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks. It was Helen's urn, it was moving up and down on the marble shelf, as if some invisible hand were raising and lowering it. The movement of the urn became more and more violent, it leapt high into the air and smashed hard against the floor, the lid flew off and Helen's ashes were strewn across the ground. Arthur was transfixed, I must be over doing the booze he thought but what happened next was too horrific for even alcohol induced hallucinations. A cold, shivering sensation crept up his spine as he watched the ashes move and undulate on the floor, they seemed to be moulding themselves into some bizarre shape. A heavy smell filled the air, it was Helen's perfume, it was everywhere. He looked again towards the ashes, he was horror struck, they had taken on the shape of a woman, a hideously, grey and twisted form of a female, a grotesque mockery of a woman. This disgusting creature hobbled and stumbled towards him, it's horrific clawed hands raised before it. Arthur could not move, all he could do was stare with unbelieving eyes as the monstrosity moved ever closer. The thing was almost upon him, he felt like vomiting, he could smell it, it an appalling mixture of Helen's perfume and burnt ash. The hideous, misshapen, horror leapt upon him, it's unholy form enveloping him, it's grotesque face, pressed close to his. He opened his mouth to scream, as he did so, this thing rammed it's hands into his face, the thick, heavy ash filled his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. He felt the stinking, filth force it's way down his windpipe, into his lungs, into his stomach, into his whole body, the obscene, grey dust forced it's way into every orifice. He could not see, he could not scream, he could not breathe! He was suffocating! This disgusting grey, filth had permeated every part of his being, smothering him. As the last seconds of life deserted him, he could hear a voice, it seemed to come from within him, it was Helen's voice, "You were right Arthur," said the voice, "it should have been you!" Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust This is a Earth Day contest story. Please vote. * Earth Day means different things to different people, but few hold the meaning that Earth Day means to Henry. Henry worked as a gravedigger for the town. He spent his day digging out holes and filling them. After a funeral, once the family left the gravesite, he'd fill in the hole he dug and bury the dearly departed with loving and respectful care, as if he was burying his own. Piling dirt in a hole was a sad ending to a life lived whether long or short, and/or good or bad. Since he knew everyone in town, those who died were all either his acquaintances, friends, neighbors, and/or relatives. Filling in the graves of such a small, close knit town gave him closure. When not digging graves, he worked as a volunteer fireman, spending his nights and weekends fighting fires. After a bad fire, especially with those folks who lost everything and were homeless, he'd do whatever he could to help the family find food and shelter. Knowing that the others would do the same for him and his family, even if he had to board them in his house temporarily, until they got back on their feet and found another place, he felt it was the right thing and the neighborly thing to do. If you asked him why he worked two jobs, one job he wasn't even paid to do, he'd tell you that he loved helping people. He'd tell you that he loved his relatives, his friends, his neighbors, and his town. He'd tell you that working so hard was his way of giving back for the good life he had been so blessed to have. If you asked anyone about Henry, they'd tell you that he was a good and kind Christine man, who'd literally give a person in need the shirt off his back and whatever money he had in his pocket. They'd tell you that he wouldn't have to wait to get in Heaven. Standing at graveside, nearly a weekly witness to death and with the spiritual belief there he go before God, fortunately, there were more births than deaths in the town where he lived. Being that he lived in a small town, where everyone knew everyone, whenever someone died, he couldn't help but feel, as if he lost a family member and a friend. Most times for funerals, the whole town turned out to pay their last respects to a neighbor, a relative, and/or a friend. That's just how it was living in a small town. Just as was a wedding, a community support party, a small town funeral was another reason to gather and to spend time with neighbors and friends. Because of his job, he's seen more sorrow, grief, and tragedy than others would see in a hundred lifetimes. He's buried children, teenagers, parents, and grandparents that have succumbed from diseases, accidents, suicides, violence, illnesses, and natural causes. All of them lived a life and, whether happy or sad, with no two alike, they all had a unique story to tell. Literally and figuratively, burying the dead is a dirty job but someone had to do it and he did his job with kind sensitivity. After a while, he's seen so much death, misery, and sorrow that it desensitized him, especially when it came to burying his own. A day he hoped would never come but always feared that it would, wishing and hoping he'd be the one to go first, it was his turn to bury a loved one. Today, Earth Day, even though he was excused from grave digging duty and ordered to take some time off, he wanted to be the one to dig his wife's grave and bury the mother of his children. After she spent her life loving him, caring for him, and doing so much for him, obligated to the memory of her and owing her an immeasurable debt for making him the man he is today, he felt that burying her was the least that he could do, under such tragic circumstances. Being that he was the one who buried everyone else in town, it was befitting that he'd be the one to bury her, too. To say that he loved his wife, Kathryn, was as gross an understatement as asking him if he missed her. Married much longer than he's been single, she was more than just his wife. She was his life. She was his beloved partner and his loving wife. In his eyes, while he had her and she was his, women didn't get any better than her. Kind, giving, caring, and sexual, she was the only woman he intimately and sexually ever knew. With her in his life, he never wondered about the hidden charms of another woman. She was everything he bargained she'd be when he took his forever vows, 'til death do you part at the altar, before his friends, neighbors, and family and before God. The remainder of his life would never be the same without her, another understatement. When he went to bed that night, after her funeral, after his final good-bye, after his reality check of covering her coffin with dirt and knowing that she was really dead, gone, and buried, and after all his friends, family, and neighbors left him in private to grieve, he thought the worst thing about no longer having her in his life was sleeping alone. No longer having her there to talk to, while lying in bed, to kiss goodnight, before closing his eyes, and to spoon, when he turned to her in the night for comfort and for warmth, he felt the absence of her immediately more, when he tried to fall asleep and couldn't. Even if awakened from a deep, sound sleep, instantly knowing she wasn't there, but feeling she was somewhere, he wondered where she was in the vast universe. Was she watching over him? Could she see him? Could she hear him? He talked to her, as if she was still there and could still hear him. He missed her with a suffering sadness that broke his heart, ached his soul, and hurt his bones. Only, he quickly learned that he was wrong. The worst thing about no longer having her in his life was waking up without her. Having to start his day without the smell of coffee and the sound of her voice asking him what he wanted for breakfast, something he smelled and heard for 30 years, he felt he had died, too, the day she died. Eventually, he'd fall asleep and for those few hours, soundly sleeping and in his dreams of her, not knowing if she was alive or dead, he'd have a peaceful sleep without the horror of missing her. Yet, as soon as he awakened, with her forever gone from his bed, but her voice always in his head, the loss of her hit him all over again. Having to go through his whole day digging more graves and putting out more fires, while knowing that she's dead, was worse than he could have imagined. Even when he forgot about her for a few moments, out of nowhere, she'd pop in his head, and he'd hear her voice. There was always something or someone to remind him of her, a friendly face, a song on the radio, a sudden memory, and every time he remembered her, he'd say a prayer that her departed soul made it to Heaven. "Hail Mary, full of grace...Amen." If he prayed to Mother Mary once in the course of his day, he prayed to her a hundred times. He missed his wife. She was a good woman. More than her voice, more than the fragrance of her perfume, more than an errant strand of her hair on her pillow, and more than the memory of them making love, her laughter haunted him the most. He could hear her laughing, as if she was sitting there with him on his digger. He could hear her laughing, even over the siren of the fire truck. Wherever he was, he could hear her joyously laughing. She was always laughing and always happy. Even when he was sad, she injected him with her happy spirit and made him laugh, too. She had to die for him to realize how much he loved her and how much he'd miss her without her in his life. The quiet without her there in the home, was as if the house was holding its breath waiting for her to return. Dare not to breathe, dare not to talk, dare not to make a noise, he didn't turn on his television or radio for fear that he'd miss hearing her voice, if by chance she spoke to him from the dead. With more than half of the house consumed by fire and the rest structurally compromised and beyond repair, when she died, it was fitting that the house died, too. Still, it stood, as if a sad, leaning, and crumbling monument to her. Just a smoky remain of what their house used to be, half of it was already a pile of rubble. Not wanting to build again on this empty lot and content just to sell the lot, without her here to share his life, this was no longer his home and he collected what he could salvage, before the town tore it down and filled over the land in the way he dug and filled in so many graves. Nearly the entire town showed up to help him go through the debris hoping to find something he'd cherish, something that would ease his pain, and soothe his suffering sadness. Respectful of his possessions, it was the townsfolk unspoken way of helping someone, who had helped so many in their time of sadness, grief, and sorrow. There were so many people carefully stepping through his crumbled home, as if afraid to break anymore than what was already broken, he couldn't have salvaged all that he had without their help. They found things that, in his grief, he would have missed. The sight of the huge work party was eerily chilling how no one spoke but just worked picking through the pieces of his life, as if the charred remains were a giant jigsaw puzzle with every piece looking alike and nothing worth anything, but to him. As if looking for the borders of a puzzle, they searched, so that he could have a helping clue on how to start his life anew. Just as she was the one who kept him grounded, she was the one who made his life meaningful. Missing her when he walked out his front door, he couldn't wait to return home to tell her about his day over a cup of coffee, before dinner. She was always interested in that part of his life she didn't share. Then, long before she died, all that changed. Long before she died, their marriage had already died, too. Only, not there for the funeral of their long relationship, not even knowing his marriage was terminally ill, he didn't know, until his broken heart was already buried beneath the rubble that their life together was over. He stood across the street from where his house stood looking at what was left of his life. How could he be so happy before and so sad now? In the blink of an eye, his life went from perfect to ruined. Blinded by love, he was blindsided by her infidelity. He should have known something was wrong, when she no longer asked him about his day. He should have realized then that she didn't care. He should have read the signs that she didn't love him anymore. Only, he didn't know that she loved another. How could he? He trusted her. Now, as if it was Chinese water torture, the ticking of the kitchen clock was unnerving. Still hanging on the kitchen wall, somehow, the clock remained unscathed. With the wall split nearly in half with a deep crevice that ran as long and as deep as the crack in his heart and as wide as the gash in the back of her head, the tick, tick, ticking sound drove him so mad that he tore it from the wall and threw it in the pile of rubble. Tick, tick, tick, tick, imagined or real, still it ticked and as if the sound of it was amplified, he could still hear it ticking. With her out of time, he couldn't stand his clock counting down his and he smashed it with his foot. Now, it was official. With their clock stopped, a wedding gift from her mother, and with her dead, 'til death do you part, their marriage was official over. Before cemeteries, people buried their own on their property. Having worked for the cemetery for so long, he couldn't help but feel that this cemetery was his private parcel of land, an extension of his property. He bought her the best plot in the cemetery, one beneath an old, oak tree to shade her from the hot sun and to shelter her from the rain. So that she wouldn't be cold, he even planted bushes to protect her from the chill of the wind. She was his world and now that she's gone, his world is crushed, as is his heart. Being the one to literally bury her, digging out and filling in her grave helped bring him closure. Now, after grieving his loss, he can get on with his life, especially after having received a six figure life and house insurance settlement. A fairytale love affair, he met his wife, Kathryn, more than 30 years ago at an Earth Day celebration. They were just 18-years-old, when he held her hand and kissed her for the first time. So long ago, now that she's gone, dead and buried, just as it feels as if it was yesterday, by the same token, it feels as if it never happened. Surrealistically, it all feels as if he dreamt the whole thing and it's not until he visits her grave with their children that the sadness of her demise returns. If he could, he wished he could turn back the clock to a time when they were the happiest, a time before she fell out of love with him, and a time before she took a lover. Knowing what he knows now, he would have been a better husband and given her the attention and affection that she obviously still needed. In those last few years, expecting her always to be there, expecting her always to remain faithful, and expecting her always to love him, he took her for granted. If he was to put the finger of blame on anyone, he'd blamed himself. So sadly prophetic that they met on Earth Day, and 31 years later, he buried her on Earth Day, too. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, if there were trades that subscribed to the evidence of that epitaph, it was gravediggers, firefighters. and holy men. Only, even though his reality was digging graves for others, he never thought about digging a grave for his beloved wife. With him being so overweight, he always figured he'd be the one to go first. Just as she did every year since they met at that venue, she was manning an Earth Day educational booth and passing out flyers. Earth Day was fairly new then and she took her job of educating the public about recycling, conservationism, cleaning up the environment, helping to preserve the planet, and other quality of life issues very seriously. She had real passion, when talking to people about things that were important to her and, besides Thanksgiving and Christmas, Earth Day was her favorite holiday. Most people don't even know there's a day devoted to the Earth, but if it was up to Kathryn, she'd educate the world. She was so stunningly attractive. With her long, mahogany hair, rich brown eyes, and a shapely body with 36C breasts, she resembled a younger and taller Raquel Welch. After getting up the courage to ask her out, and after having a torrid, six month romance, they married. Madly in love with her, he was the happiest man in the world. Just as every married couple has, they've had a few bad patches, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a dozen, long stem roses, a romantic dinner, a bottle of wine, and some hot sex. With Kathryn being such a sexually, adventurous woman, there wasn't a room in their house that they didn't have sex. Where he was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, preferring to have sex in bed and in the missionary position, she was the sexually uninhibited type, especially after seeing the remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice with Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange. When she saw that kitchen scene where Jack pushes Jessica back on the kitchen table and takes her right there with the baking flour flying everywhere, well, that's all Kathryn needed to see to light her fire. Hot for him for weeks to recreate that steamy sex scene with her, she had a sexual fire that matched any man and dwarfed his. Working two jobs, he was too tired to give her what she needed every time she needed it. While her sexual libido was peaking, his was dwindling. Finally, in a moment of horniness, he relented to do her on the kitchen table, along with tossing a flour filled, stainless steel bowl off the counter. Now, with him being well over 200 pounds, he never was a small man. At 5'6" tall and 135 pounds, Kathryn was more proportional in height and weight. Even though it supported their more than 350 pounds of combined weight at first, once they started humping and rolling around the table, laughing through the whole thing, they broke the kitchen table, while laughing some more. It was a memory he'd have for the rest of his life and, unfortunately, a memory that had become sullied and tarnished by her. From that moment, Kathryn was hot to have sex in different positions and in every room in the house. They had sex in the bathroom with her bending over the bathroom sink and him fondling her big breasts and fingering her hard nipples. They had sex standing in the shower and not giving a care to how much water they wasted. They had sex with her sitting on the toilet and blowing him and with him cumming on her tits. They had sex in the cellar, in the garage, in the attic, in the backyard, on their front porch, and in every room of the house. They even had sex in his car, while parked in the driveway. As if still on their Honeymoon, even after being married for a dozen years, there was not a place in that damn house that he didn't have a memory of them making love to his beloved wife. Now that she was gone, every room inspired a sad memory. While standing at the kitchen sink in the early morning, she especially liked it when he surprised her and took her from behind. Lifting her nightgown to her waist and parting her ass cheeks with his cock, it made her wet with desire, when he reached up and cupped her breasts, while fingering her nipples and making love to her doggie style. Not that he's had a lot of sexual experience, but based on how his friends complained that their wives were frigid, she was the most sexual woman he's ever known. Rather than going out for fast food with someone else, when having a full course, gourmet meal ready at home, whenever he wanted it and wherever she wanted to do it, never is when he'd ever cheat on her. He had no reason to desire any other woman, while he had her always so ready and willing. She was into role playing, too, and made sex fun and erotic and never routine and boring. She had wigs in every color, costumes in every style, and she enjoyed pretending she was some celebrity. Caught up in her excitement, he gladly went along with her and played dress up, too. Even rehearsing her dialogue and copying their body language, she had him believing that he was having sex with Cher, Madonna, Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, or Natalie Portman. Playing dress up was erotic fun because she made it that way and he never knew if he'd be coming home to Christina Aguilera, Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts or dozens of other actresses and singers. There was never a dull sexual moment with Kathryn and because of the way she loved him, made love to him, and made him feel so special, he never thought she'd cheat on him, but she did. All the woman he wanted and needed, he thought that he was all the man that she wanted and needed, too. He truly loved her and he thought she truly loved him, but she didn't. He was devastated, when he discovered differently and the fact that she gave herself to another man tore at him, as if he discovered he was an orphan. It was that kind of shock to be so betrayed and to feel so alone and abandoned. Still, now that she's dead and buried, it didn't matter that she had been unfaithful to him, he missed her. If he could bring her back, he would. Wishing he were dead, after having buried so many people, he couldn't help but wonder what it was like to die and to be dead. He wondered if there was life after death. He wondered if there was a Heaven and a Hell. For sure, if there was a Heaven, she'd be there knocking at Saint Peter's door and he'd be admitting her to Heaven. She was a saint and his angel, that is, up until the recent time, when she was tempted by the Devil. That was when she lost her wings and turned in her halo for the love of a vile and evil man. Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust For his last birthday, the last gift she bought him before her death, she gave him a striped shirt that she loved. Yet, because the shirt was green with yellow horizontal stripes, it made his pot belly look like a watermelon and he never wore it. Determined to go on a diet and lose enough weight, so that he could wear the shirt that she so loved, he never did. Just as she was, when they first met, she was big into helping to save the planet and preserve the environment. Before recycling was the norm, she took it upon herself to be responsible for establishing recycling drives and helping to clean up the town streets of trash, mainly bottles and cans. She was instrumental in changing how he and others thought about the planet. Not even returning his empty beer cans for their deposits, he didn't think he'd recycle a damn thing, had it not been for her. More than thirty years ago, when people are just now embracing recycling, she was ahead of her time. Just as she met Henry at an Earth Day event 31 years ago, she met John last year, too. Twenty years her junior, he didn't know that they were lovers. He'd never suspect his wife of having an affair, especially with a man young enough to be her son. In the way she loved him, he'd never suspect she'd cheat on him. How could she be unfaithful, when he trusted her with his life. The mother of their three children, she was his loving wife. If he couldn't trust her, who could he trust? When she broke that trust and ripped that bond, he was devastated. Then, when she untied their knot of forever love, by falling in love with another man, he was broken. Filled with revenge and a mad man's rage that he's never felt, he was insane with retribution and revenge. Now that he's old, bald, and fat, he's not much competition for a young, good looking, 28-year-old guy with a body as hard as his cock. To say that he was hurt, angry, and jealous that she had cheated on him, especially with a man twenty years her junior, is a gross understatement. Every time he thought of Kathryn sucking and fucking this young stud, he was enraged enough to kill. After he heard they were intimate, he was preoccupied with imagining them together. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. He made stupid mistakes at work. Knowing how sexually adventurous Kathryn was, when he was working at digging holes in the cemetery and filling them in after the funeral with dirt, he couldn't help but imagine John was working at digging his way in her life and filling in her holes in his bedroom, living room, bathroom, basement, his man cave, and in the kitchen. Then, when he found residues of baking flour beneath the stove, the refrigerator, and under the legs of the kitchen table, he knew that Kathryn had recreated the Postman Always Rings Twice scene with John, too. How could she? That was their special sexual scene, their private time together, and their memory. Along with everything else, she smashed that memory of that for him, too. Ruined, it was all ruined. They were together for 30 years, his whole life was devoted to her. Now, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Feeling nothing and caring about nothing, as if suddenly a zombie, but not allowing himself to fall over, he was the walking dead. It enraged him, when he imagined that John not only saw his wife naked but also felt, caressed, sucked, and licked her everywhere that no man should ever touch another man's woman, especially when that woman is his wife. He didn't understand how someone could cheat, lie, and have an extramarital affair. They took a vow to love, honor, and to be faithful, 'til death do they part. Well, now that she's dead, indeed, they parted. Officially, their marriage is over. Once he heard that Kathryn was having an affair, there wasn't a room in his house, where he could find peace and comfort that wasn't violated by the imagined image of her having sex with John. If he went in the bathroom, he thought of Kathryn having sex with John at the bathroom sink. When he took a shower, he imagined him fucking her there, too. When he sat on his toilet, he imagined her sucking John's cock and him cumming on her tits, just as she had sucked his cock and allowed him to cum on her tits, so many times before. So livid with rage, so angry that he saw red, he couldn't think straight. When he went in the kitchen, he imagined Kathryn fucking John on the kitchen table, in the bedroom on his bed, in the living room on the living room carpet, down the cellar on his pool table, in the garage on his workbench, and in her car, while parked in the driveway. No matter where he went in that damn, God forsaken house, he couldn't stop himself from thinking of Kathryn fucking and sucking John. Then, he started finding things. He found a pair of gloves in the front hall that wasn't his gloves. There was a half finished cigar in the ashtray and his beers, even after he just bought some, were routinely missing. He was devastated. Kathryn, the love of his life, his baby, and the mother of their children, was fucking and sucking another man. How could she do that to him? Why would she do that to him and to them? It was a small town and John and Kathryn had been seen around town together holding hands and kissing. With not much else to do in a small town, where everyone knows everyone, people were talking and the gossip finally reached him. Just as husbands are always the first suspected of foul play, when a loved one dies suddenly, husbands are always the last ones to know when their wives are unfaithful. Not a man to sweep things under the rug, he confronted Kathryn's lover and John was a brazen bastard about their sexual affair. If he had a gun, he would have shot him dead right there. He couldn't believe it, when he saw John wearing the shirt that Kathryn had bought him for his birthday, the one that she so loved, the green one with the yellow stripes. It made him look fat but the shirt fit John's muscular body perfectly and made him look hot. Nonetheless, a birthday gift from his wife, that was his shirt and not John's. She gave it to John because he didn't wear it and he had planned on wearing it, as soon as he lost some weight. How could she re-gift him his birthday shirt? If he was a younger man, he would have torn it off of him. "Yeah, so I'm banging your wife and she's on her knees sucking my cock," said John with a face full of disrespect and defiance. "So what?" He laughed and his laugh was loud enough and mean enough to make Henry quake with what he planned to do. He had the kind of laugh that no judge and no jury would convict him for killing such an evil man. "What are you going to do about it, fatso?" The movie Bugsy with the scene where Warren Beatty, playing Bugsy Siegel confronts Joey Adonis, played by Lewis Van Bergen, for disrespecting his fiancé, Virginia Hill, played by Annette Bening, flashed through his mind. In the movie, Bugsy tells Joey to show him his cock. When, Joey is reluctant to expose himself, Bugsy pulls down his own fly first and reaches his hand inside. While Joey's attention is diverted and he's looking down watching, Bugsy hits him with a sucker punch followed by a barrage of knees to the face. Henry wished he was man enough to do that now to his wife's lover. He wished he could beat the crap out of him. Only, physically, he was no match for him. Digging his own grave without his help, Henry couldn't believe the audacity of this young stud. Actually, he was right, there wasn't much that he could do about him having an affair with his wife. Not now, anyway. John was younger than him by twenty years and much stronger than him but, to his favor, having lived life longer, Henry was smarter and wiser than him. "I'll fix him," he said to himself. "I will. He'll be sorry he ever looked at my wife, never mind touched her, kissed her, and fucked her." Digging is what Henry does and after doing some digging of his own, he discovered that no one liked or trusted this John guy. A newcomer to his beloved, small town, he was viewed as a stranger and an interloper. Rather than have a public altercation, one that he'd lose, no doubt, and one that would put him in a bad light with the townsfolk, make the police take unduly notice of him, and, with nothing much else to write about, maybe even make the front page of the local Tribune, he confronted his wife. Still not totally believing his wife was cheating on him, totally in love with his wife to trust her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt, he needed to hear from her lips that she was having an affair with this asshole. Maybe with flowers, a bottle of wine, some hot sex, and some understanding and forgiveness on his part, after seeing a marriage counselor and talking to their priest, they could get through this rough patch of her sudden infidelity and be happy again for the next thirty years. He's big enough to accept some of the responsibility of her cheating. Maybe he hasn't been as attentive and as affectionate as he was in the past and obviously still needs to be now. Maybe hormonally, she's just going through something. Still in love with her, even though he'd never cheat on her, he'd never forget how she hurt him. Yet, he was willing to forgive her. Only, thinking it was just a sexual affair, when he scratched beneath the surface, he discovered that it was much more serious than that. It was love. "Sit on the sofa with me, so that we can talk, Kathryn. Tell me what happened between you and this John guy," he said calmly. "I need to hear it from you and in your words." "I'm sorry, Henry," she said wringing her hands, while looking down at her lap. "He blanked my mind with his kisses. It was the kind of kiss that you used to give me, so long ago," she said finally looking up at him and making eye contact, but not with sad eyes but with happy ones that showed she was in love, but not with him. So, she kissed him. That's okay. It's just a kiss, no big deal, he thought. I'm always kissing my dog and that doesn't mean I'd have sex with Buster. She probably just kissed this guy and that's all there is to it and nothing more than that, he thought in a feeble attempt to convince himself otherwise. "So you made out with this guy? I can understand how you were lonely and with him being so much younger than you, you felt flattered. I get it. I really do. Between my job at the cemetery and volunteering as a fireman, I haven't been home much lately." "You're gone from morning to night, Henry. During that time and in that separation, we've grown apart," she said in a quiet, albeit detached voice. "I realize that I haven't given you the attention and the affection that you obviously still need and I'm sorry that I neglected you, Kathryn. I'm sorry. It's all my fault that you had to find that kind of sexual comfort elsewhere. Please forgive me," said Henry biting his tongue, but willing to say and do anything to get his wife back in his life. "With you unable to maintain an erection, Henry, it's been a while since you've sexually satisfied me in the way that John does and can." Until John, both virgins, just as she was the only woman that he's ever known sexually, he was only man she's ever known sexually and he couldn't believe that she'd actually have sex with anyone else but him. Even though he heard his wife say the phrase sexually satisfy, he felt hurt that she'd blame her having an affair on his inability to maintain an erection. He took that as a direct affront to his ego and, after all the years she spent fortifying his confidence with positive thoughts, he couldn't believe how emasculated she suddenly made him feel. For good or for bad, through sickness and in health, that's not fair and no reason that she'd used him not being able to maintain an erection as an excuse and as justification to have sex with another man outside of their marriage. If she, God forbid, had breast cancer and they removed her breasts, is that his green light to be with another woman, one who had tits? Not in his book. He'd never hurt her in the way she just hurt him. "Okay, now that I know your reason for cheating, we can fix what's wrong. I'll get the doc to give me a diet plan to follow and a prescription for Viagra. Also, I plan on quitting my volunteer fireman job and taking some time off from digging graves. We haven't had a real vacation in a while and I have several weeks of vacation time coming to me. Maybe we can go to Vegas or wherever you want to go. We can visit your sister in California." "It was more than just kissing, Henry," she said still showing happiness and excitement rather than sadness and remorse. "There's more? What else? What else do you want to tell me? Tell me everything. Let's clear the air. You may as well get it all out now, so that we can start with a clean slate later." Only, it was obvious to him now that Kathryn didn't want to start with a clean slate, at least, not with him. "He made me so hot, Henry, when he started feeling my breasts and fingering my nipples through my blouse and my bra," she said, as if apologizing to him, finally, instead of rubbing it in his face, which was what she did anyway. "Then, when he put my hand on his cock and I felt his big, hard prick through his pants, especially after you haven't been able to maintain an erection lately, I was so aroused that I allowed him to go up beneath my blouse, lift up my bra, and take out my tits." "We can get through this," he said in a defeated whisper. "I'll do anything to make it right. I promise I'll be a better husband." "Oh, my God, Henry, I was so wet, so very wet," she said, as if talking to a girlfriend, instead of her husband. Then, as if he wasn't even there in the room, she closed her eyes and grabbed herself, as if she was about to play with herself. Then, her eyes popped open, in the way that he imagined her nipples hardened, when John touched her tits. "I was as wet as I used to get with you, so very long ago, Henry. I swear, I thought I was going to have an orgasm, when he started sucking my nipples, while going up my skirt and fingering my pussy through my panty." There's his inability to maintain an erection again. For sure, without doubt, he'll go see the doctor on Monday and have him prescribe some Viagra. Okay, thought Henry quietly to himself, so they did a little touchy feely, as if a couple of horny teenagers at a movie. So what? That's no big deal. She's still my wife. We can get past this. "So, let me get this straight, Kathryn," he said looking at her, while suspecting that this guy probably forced himself on her. "So, while kissing this, John guy, he felt you up, felt your tits, sucked your nipples, and fingered your pussy through your panties, while forcing you to fondle his cock through his pants. Is that right?" "Yes, except for forcing me to fondle his cock. I wanted to feel his cock, Henry. I needed to feel his cock. It's been such a long time, since I felt a hard cock and I so wanted to touch him," she said resting her hand on his knee. "To be honest, Henry, with your cock the only prick I've seen and felt in my hand, and with you no longer able to get an erection, I was curiously excited to know what his hard cock felt like and looked like." Flashing red with clanging sounds, in the way his firehouse does, when there's a five alarm fire, his brain was a pinball machine that nearly went on tilt. He just wanted to punch her in her face. Now he understood how Mel Gibson could lose his temper, along with his mind, over his live-in ex-girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva. Whether accidental or on purpose they all knew which buttons to push and when to push them. When he looked at her now, he saw John touching and sucking her tits, and fingering her pussy through her panties, while she fondled his hard cock through his pants. The image flooded his brain, as if he was watching their disgusting sexual video on a wide screen TV and he couldn't see anything else. Still, knowing that she wasn't big on blowjobs, even though he knew that she hadn't, he needed to ask her the big question. Feeling a bit awkwardly embarrassed asking his loving wife and the mother of his children this question, not yet even thinking of her as a cheating wife, but just a touchy feely wife, while knowing full well that she'd never do that with anyone but him, he asked the question anyway. "Did you blow him, Kathryn?" "You know me, Henry, once I start kissing," she said with an uncomfortable smile. "One thing quickly led to another. French kissing, as if we were teenagers at a Prom, he touched me in all those places where you used to touch me. He made me feel wanted, needed, and desired. He made me so wet, Henry. I was so wet and so horny that I'd do anything." Anything? What did she mean by anything? She still didn't answer his question, but he let it slide for now. Fearing he'd hear her give him a different answer, even though he needed to know, he didn't want to know, if she blew him. "Did he finger fuck you?" "Yes," she said without hesitation, as if she was excitedly talking to him about redecorating the house and was eager to share the her ideas with him. Gees, that bastard had his fingers in my wife's pussy, he thought. He's gonna pay for that. I'll make him suffer for that. I surely will. He'll be sorry. "Did he give you an orgasm with his fingers?" "Yes," she said squirming and fluttering her eyelids, as if just the words orgasm made her think of John fingering her pussy. He was afraid to ask the question, but he did anyway. "With his mouth?" "Yes," she said suddenly closing her eyes, putting her head back, and putting her hand to her breast. "Oh, my God, Henry. I've never cum so hard, as when he was eating my pussy." Then, when she opened her eyes and seeing the hurt and angry look on his face, no doubt, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Henry." Only, her apology was as empty as their marriage and as cold as their bed had been recently. He wanted to backhand her, but didn't. Never could he hurt the love of his life in the way she was hurting him now. Figuring she was going through the change of life, he never pushed her for sex, but he never figured she was getting what she needed from someone else. Having already gone past the point of no return, he was losing his patience, along with his temper. He could only control his temper for so long and never has he had to confront the fact that his wife was nothing but a cheating, fucking whore. "With his cock?" "Yes," she said looking at him wide-eyed, as if he was the image of John's cock. "We make love, Henry, but he fucks me, really pounds me. Oh, my God, Henry, he has such stamina. He's a fucking fuck machine. I've never sweated, while having sex, but I do with him. He's such a generous and experienced lover." "Just answer me this. Other than me, was John the only man you've been intimate?" "Good God, Henry. Yes, he's the only other one. What do you think I am?" "To be honest, I don't know anymore and I'm trying to figure that out, Kathryn. Suddenly, I don't know who you are, but I'm beginning to get a good idea of what you are." "I'm still me, Henry," she said touching his hand, but he pulled away from her touch, as if her hand was on fire. "So, he fucked you?" "Actually, to be honest, Henry, after he fucked me those first few times, I fucked him." They fucked more than a few times? They had sexual intercourse. That bastard had his cock in my wife's pussy. That no good, dirty, son of a bitch whore fucked my wife. Just wait. I'll fix him. Just wait. I'll fix him good, he thought to himself. Tense with anger, quaking with rage, it took all the control he had not to explode. Still, already knowing that she didn't, she'd never blow him, she barely blows him, he still needed to ask her the question. He didn't know why a blowjob was so important and so symbolic of her infidelity, but it was and he still needed to hear the answer from her mouth. Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust "Did you blow him? Tell me, Kathryn, did you suck his cock? Did you take his prick in your mouth?" Turning a bright red with either embarrassment or excitement, suddenly Kathryn went silent and he already knew her answer. He couldn't believe it. He was numb. He was incensed. His wife had another man's cock in her mouth. How dare she? How could she? Now, with that knowledge, never is when he could kiss her again. The smoldering fire that burned inside of him before was a raging inferno of hate and disgust now. As if dousing the fire with a fire hose, before it flamed up again, he kept his cool temporarily. "Yes," she said. "I sucked his cock. I blew him. I did." "Oh, my God," he mumbled under his breath, while slowly shaking his head. He's been to a lot of fires, but he's never been as hot as he was now. He couldn't believe it. She had his cock in her mouth. She blew him. She sucked the cock of another man. Even though he couldn't wrap his brain around it, somehow he could imagine her sucking John's cock and loving it. "I'm just curious, Kathryn, how many times did you blow him? Just the one time? Right?" "God good, Henry, I don't know. I don't know how many times I sucked his cock." "C'mon, you owe me that much," he said forcing out a smile to show her that it didn't bother him in the least, when, in fact, it made him crazy mad. "How many times did you suck his cock, Kathryn?" "I don't know, Henry, lots of times. He loved my blowjobs." He loved her blowjobs? If he was being honest, he hated her blowjobs. She barely gave him half a blowjob. Just as he was building enough excitement to cum, as if she instinctively knew, she pulled him out of her mouth to stroke him. Always, she ended her blowjobs with a hand job and with him cumming on her tits. Every time she did that, removed him from her mouth, before he had a chance to cum, it was a big let down and he suddenly lost the momentum and went soft. He couldn't help but see John's big, hard, hairy cock in her mouth now and he had to look away from her and from her mouth not to see John's prick buried in his wife's mouth. His heart hurt and his whole being ached with the thoughts of her fucking and sucking John. Already knowing the answer, afraid to ask the next question, he asked anyway. "Did he cum in your mouth?" He didn't even have to ask her question, he knew but still couldn't believe that she'd allow another man to cum in her mouth, when, even after supporting her for thirty years, she never gave him that pleasure of having that kind of sexual excitement with her. "Yes," she said. What the fuck? Are you kidding me? He couldn't believe it. If he was a cartoon, he'd have smoke coming out of his ears and his head would be spinning around on his shoulders. John cumming in her mouth really bothered him. He imagined him putting a hand to the back of her head and fucking her face and humping her mouth, in the way that he always wanted to do. That was the one thing, that she'd blow a stranger and allow him to cum in her mouth, that put him over the edge. If he thought there was any chance of it before, there was no saving this marriage now. It was over and, even though she was still sitting beside him, she was already gone from his life and no longer his wife. He had always wanted to cum in her mouth. With her being the only woman who's ever blown him, the only woman he's known sexually, he always wanted to feel what it was like to cum in her mouth. Always, she pulled him out of her mouth and only allowed him to cum on her tits and he respected her reasons, whatever they were, not to allow him to cum in her mouth. In thirty years of marriage, she never allowed him to cum in her mouth. Unable to broach the subject with her, sensitive to the fact that she was a lady, his wife, and the mother of his children, but in the way she was so sexually adventurous otherwise, he never understood why she didn't allow him to cum in her mouth. It just didn't make any sense to him. "Tell me," he said. "It's okay, but I need to know," he said with an engaging smile. "Did you swallow?" "Yes, of course," she said, after a long, silent pause, as if she was remembering the experience of swallowing John's cum. "Swallowing a man is part of the oral sex experience, Henry. You know that." "Actually, Kathryn, I don't know that, as you never allowed me to cum in your mouth." "I'm sorry, Henry. I really am," she said, even though he could see in her eyes that she wasn't. "I don't understand, Kathryn," he said looking at her without speaking for a long, awkward moment. "How could you do that to a stranger, when you don't even do that with me, your loving husband? Even though I wanted to so very badly, you never allowed me to cum in your mouth," he said. He could feel his face redden with rage. His voice quivered and his eyes filled up, when he asked her the question. More than anything else, even more than the jealousy that he felt before and that would consume him later, he was hurt. He felt rejected. He felt used. "I love him, Henry." As if he was detached and watching a sad movie, instead of having a soulful conversation with his wife, as if he was having an out of body experience and soaring higher and higher, he heard her say that she loved him. The words hit him without meaning but, even though they stopped his interstellar flight, he floated away from her, as if he was finally free of her. Even though it hurt, it was somehow freeing that he wasn't the one she loved. She loved him, that other guy, John. She didn't love him, her husband, anymore. As if traveling through space in time at light speed, he returned in time to see his wife smile. Unable to conceal her happiness for the love of John, she could have spared his feelings, after all they've been through in their thirty years of marriage. She could have looked sad and acted as heartbroken as he was now. She could have shown him some sympathy and sensitivity, but she showed him none. That hurt him more than her falling out of love with him and falling in love with another. "You love him?" Henry thought he was going to jump up screaming. His blood pressure gave him a blinding headache and he had to stay seated, so as not to fall down and collapse on the carpet in a heap of hurt. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, as if confronting the Devil in his own house. He needed to see her eyes. Whatever lies she tried to hide, her eyes would confess the truth. "You allowed him to cum in your mouth and you swallowed his cum because you love him?" Now, it was more than her blowing him, having him cum in her mouth, and her swallowing him. She just admitted that the reason she didn't allow him to cum in her mouth was that she didn't love him. If he knew cumming in her mouth was her barometer to love, he would have ended this marriage long ago, when she never gave him that pleasure and that sexual satisfaction. "Yes. I love him, Henry. I do. I really do with all my heart." "Why Kathryn? I don't understand." He was now too sad to be angry. He'd save that anger for when he needed it, but not now and not here. "Even after you shower, Henry, when coming home from a fire, you still smell of smoke. Then, there's you digging all those graves and burying all those people. Eww. Gross. I know it's wrong but when I blow you, I can't help but feel that I'm blowing Smokey the Bear or the Grim Reaper." "Smokey the Bear? I'm an animal? A cartoon figure? The Grim Reaper? Is that how you perceive me, as death? In the way that I've helped so many people in this town during the worse times of their life, you think of me as the Grim Reaper, when so many people in this town have told me that I was their Angel?" He stared at her long after she stopped looking at him. "I'm your fucking husband!" "Henry, you're frightening me." "Frightening you? Sorry, but you're horribly hurting me," he said taking a breath, while trying to calm himself. "So, I disgust you, is that it?" "Not all the time, Henry," she said in a lowered voice, while patting his fat knee with a hand that he saw her holding John's cock with, every time he looked at it. Not all the time? That's not much of a consolation for being faithful to a woman for thirty years. Even though he already knew, he needed to ask the question. He needed to hear it from her. He needed to know. "Does that mean that you never allowed me to cum in your mouth because you don't love me, never loved me?" "Of course I love you, Henry, but I'm not in love with you in the way that I'm in love with John. Now, that I'm so in love, I know what it feels like to truly be in love and to be so blissfully happy. I never loved you in the way that I love John. I'm sorry, Henry," she said as if her apology would make everything okay, but it didn't. "I don't know how you could have stay married to me all these years and have three children with me, if you never really loved me and, especially, if I disgusted you." "It was different back then, Henry. For better or for worse, I was young and inexperienced. Like you, I was a virgin, too. Regretfully and admittedly, when you came along, I didn't know any better. I thought I loved you, but not in the way that I love John. I never felt that way about you then that I feel about him now. I'm sorry, Henry. I really am," she said in the way she'd say to a customer service representative, when returning merchandise that didn't fit or something she didn't want. In all the years he was married to her, this was the first real time seeing her. In love with her, he never saw through his feelings of love to see her for who she was. Coating her with a layer of sweet sugar, the love he had for her always changed his perception of her for the better. Then, as if hypnotizing him, her beauty mesmerized him and he always thought that he was the luckiest guy in the world to be with someone like her. Now, if he had a gun in the house he would have shot her dead, where she sat for hurting him in the way she had. He was glad he didn't own a gun, never did. Working in a job that was all about death, he could never take a life. "How could you love him? You're old enough to be his Goddamn mother." "I don't care," she said making eye contact. "I love him and I want a divorce to marry him." "You what?" He stared at her and she didn't answer him. "You want a divorce?" He looked at her, as if she had suddenly lost her mind, as he was losing his. "I don't want to be married to you anymore. I want John, Henry. I want to marry him and I want you to agree to a divorce." It wasn't bad enough she had cheated on him. It wasn't bad enough she blew another man, allowed him to cum in her mouth, and swallowed him, when she didn't even allow him to do that. Now, after already backing him into a corner, she kicked him, as if he were an abused dog by telling him that she didn't love him and never loved him in the way she loved John. Then, to ask him for a divorce was as if she was trying to kick him into submission, but he'd never submit, not on this and not after all she confessed to him. He had spent a lifetime of giving her whatever she wanted. No more. Her wanting a divorce was the last straw. He'd never divorce her, never. "I'll never give you a divorce, Kathryn," he said. "It's against my religion. No one in my family ever divorced. My parents were married for 58 frigging years." "Don't make this difficult, Henry," she said with a cold and detached insensitivity, an aloofness that he's never seen before. "We don't have that kind of money to waste on lawyers," she said looking at and paying more attention to her fingernails, than looking at him. "We? You don't have any money, not now, especially not now. The house is in my name, Kathryn and I'll mortgage this house to the hilt and give every last dollar I have to a lawyer to fight you in not giving you a divorce." The house no longer meant anything to him now, anyway. It was just a thing, a shelter and no longer a home. Crushed that she had an affair and in every room of his house, he was devastated that she didn't love him and loved John instead. If that wasn't enough, he was beside himself that she wanted a divorce to marry her young lover. He was still hung up on the fact that she allowed John to cum in her mouth. She swallowed John's cum, when in all the sex they had over the years and in every room of the house, she never allowed him to do that, not once, not ever. Never. None of this is right. It's just not fair. He was always there for her. He was loving, kind, and good to her. He freely handed her his paycheck every week. What has John done for her, except ruin her life and her marriage? He doesn't even have a job. It wouldn't surprise him, if she gives him his money. "Henry, we'll talk about this later, when you're not so upset," she said patting his knee again. "Just answer me this one last question." "What?" "Do you give him money?" "Not much, just a few dollars to--" "You give your young lover, a man capable of working, but who doesn't work, my money," he looked at her with a face full of hate. "It's not bad enough that this guy takes my wife, twists her head around by giving her sexual orgasms, so that she's lost her senses, and then you give him my money, too." "It's my money, too, Henry. Just because I don't have a job, doesn't mean that--" "How dare you support your lover with my money." "I won't give him anymore money, Henry. Okay?" He sat staring at her without speaking. As if she was the one hypnotized and mesmerized, this man had turned his wife into a sexual slut of an idiot. Always thoughtfully intelligent, before another man interfered in their marriage, they could talk about anything and everything. Now, she was in a place where he couldn't reach her with reason. She was gone from him, as if they had already divorced. She was no longer with him. Unable to stop himself from harping on the one issue, he blurted it out again. "In thirty years, Kathryn, you never allowed me to cum in your mouth," he said, as if in a daze. Even he couldn't believe with all that they discussed, all that she confessed, and all that he discovered, that not allowing him to cum in her mouth was the one thing on his mind. Still, he was hurt and angry that she did that for John and not for him. "Is that it? Is that what you want? Is that what's bothering you, Henry? I'll suck your cock. I will. You can cum in my mouth," she said falling to her knees, unzipping him, unbuckling his pants, and taking out his fat, little cock. "Okay? I'll do that for you," she said stroking him, before taking his cock in her mouth. "If that's what it will take to make you feel better, you can shoot your warm, oozy load in my mouth and I'll swallow," she said removing his cock from her mouth to speak. "Okay?" She looked up him, not with love, but with resignation, as if he forced her to do this by giving her no alternative. "Alright, Henry?" He hated her talking to him like that, as if she was a common whore, a back alley prostitute, when she was his wife, the love of his life for so long, and the mother of his children. She never talked to him like that before. Always a lady, if anything she was modest and sexually inhibited, except when she was with him behind closed doors. Now, look at her, she's common and no longer special. She's a slut and a whore. In the way she said she'd blow him and allow him to cum in her mouth, he couldn't help but think that this was her silent agreement for him to grant her a divorce, one blowjob and cumming in her mouth the one time, after thirty years of marriage. A one-sided contract that was lope-sided, after discovering that she routinely blows John and allows him to cum in her mouth and swallows him all the time, without having him agree to anything wasn't fair. Only, even though he was focusing on a mere blowjob, it wasn't the blowjob that upset him. It was everything. The fact that she had cheated on him and had an affair was the one issue and the fact that she loved John and no longer loved him was the real issue. As soon as she took him in her mouth, he put his fat hand to the back of her head, pushed her forward, and impaled her mouth with all of him. He wished his cock was bigger, so that he could choke her with it. He imagined the coroner ruling her death accidental during oral sex. Only, just the thought of her dead sickened him. Even after all she confessed, even after she so deeply hurt him, he still loved her. "Suck my cock. Blow me, bitch. Suck it! Suck it, you dirty slut." Never, in all the years married to her, had he called her such vile names. As soon as she started sucking him, he got hard. Only, with the thought of her sucking John and John cumming in her mouth, he lost his erection. The harder she sucked the softer her got. He couldn't remove the image of John cumming in his wife's mouth and her swallowing his cum. "How's that baby?" She removed his cock from her mouth to speak, while looking up at him. "Does that feel good? Do you like it, when I suck your cock?" She took him in her mouth again and started sucking harder, while stroking him faster. Sadly, she was more experienced in sucking cock now. His wife, who would only allow him to cum on her tits and never allow him to cum in her mouth, was a real cock sucker now. Even though she was giving him the best blowjob she ever gave him, it didn't matter. She wasn't exciting him in the way she did before. "Just tell me one thing," he said. "What?" She removed his cock from her mouth to speak. "How many times did you fuck him?" "How many times did I fuck him?" She looked at him, as if he was crazy to ask her such a question, while she was giving him a blowjob. "Gees, Henry, I don't know," she said with a nervous laugh, before taking his cock in her mouth, again. "Once, twice, three times--" "A few dozen, several dozen probably, maybe more," she said removing his cock from her mouth again to speak. "I have no idea. We fucked lots of time," she said before stuffing her mouth with his cock again, appearing as if she was anxious to get this done and over. A few dozen? Several dozen? Maybe more? Where was he when they were fucking all those times? He was working digging holes for dead people, filling holes with dirt, and putting out fires, no doubt, while John was digging for a sugar Mama, filling her holes with cum, while giving her an orgasm with his hard hose." "Just answer me this." "What, now?" She removed his cock from her mouth again but this time with a look of exasperated impatience on her face. Just by that one look, it was painfully obvious to him that she didn't love him anymore. He believed her now, finally. She didn't love him. Still, after all these years, after all they've been through, the good and the bad, he couldn't believe it. How could she just stop loving him? How could he have not noticed the changes in her? Yeah, sure, she's been working out and has lost some weight and looks the best she's looked in years. She's been wearing perfume lately and more makeup, buying new clothes, having her hair done more regularly and getting a manicure, but he never suspected infidelity. He thought she just needed a bit more maintenance to keep her looking pretty and sexy for him and not for another man. How could he be so stupid? Easily duped, he loved her. Easily deceived, he trusted her. After all these years, he never saw her for what she was or for who she was. Now, he realized, had he not had the two jobs, gone from the house for so many hours of their day, this marriage may have been over long ago. Free to do whatever she wanted, she probably preferred him not being home. She didn't have to work. He made enough money to keep her shopping at the mall. Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust "Where did you fuck him? Did you fuck in the house or did you get a--" "You know me, Henry, we fucked in every room of the house," she said with a dirty, sexy laugh that made him want to choke the life right out of her. He thought that was something they only did. To hear that she fucked her young lover in every room of the house and that John was wearing his shirt, and that his shirt looked better on him, and that she sucked his cock and swallowed his cum, and that she loved him, he was beside himself with rage. He wanted to slap her, but he didn't. "You're nothing but a slut, Kathryn, that's what you are. You're a slut, a whore, and a dirty cunt," he said pushing her away, standing up, and putting his cock back in his pants. He couldn't get an erection anyway. Perhaps, had he been able to get hard, he would have had her blow him and he would have experienced cumming in her mouth for the first time, but with so much on his mind, he couldn't. "Henry, how dare you talk to me like that? I'm your wife." "Not for long," he said. "So, you'll give me my divorce?" Still there on her knees, when he looked down at her, she was looking up at him smiling, as if happy with the thought that he was agreeing to a divorce. He didn't answer her. Hurt that she loved John, it was worse knowing that she didn't love him anymore. Just as she didn't love him, he knew that John didn't love her. John, no doubt, just wanted his house. He was just trying to weasel himself into everything that he had worked so hard to have. He's worked the two jobs all his married life. Working hard for everything he has is the only way he knows. Along with his wife, John, no doubt, wanted his life. It made him insane to think about John sitting in his recliner, drinking his beer, and watching his big screen TV, while fucking his wife in his bed. Then, when he thought about her blowing him, sucking his cock, and him cumming in her mouth and she swallowing him, well, who'd blame him for being angry enough to kill? Right? Having known his wife for more than 30 years and being married for most of that time, he never knew his wife was like that, a slut and a whore, hungry for the cock of another man and willing to fuck some kid, nearly half her age. How could she do that to him, after all he's done for her? There was no way that he could reconcile with her now. It was over. Everything was a mess. How could he compete with John? There was just no way. He couldn't. In his heart, no longer his wife, as if she was already dead, she was gone from his life. It was then, even before she died, that he mourned the loss of her. She made him feel old, empty, and rejected. He felt like such a fool not knowing that all this was going on behind his back all this time. Now to know that they fucked several dozen times, lots of times, too many times to remember to even keep count was more than a betrayal. It was an organized attack perpetrated on him. After all they were to one another, how could she do that to him, to the children, and to herself? Enraged and wanting to bash her over her head with something, but not wanting to make this a police matter, he controlled his temper. Something that he needed to take care of himself, this was his personal business and he wanted it kept private. He didn't want anyone to know that he knew about their affair. He'd bide his time. He'd wait when they were alone together. He'd wait until he had a solid alibi. Since he's good at digging, he did some digging on John's background and discovered that, as a juvenile, he spent a year in Juvie Hall for setting fires. He did his time for his crimes and after being released, he had to serve a two year probation. Now, it was easy for Henry to put a perfect plan in place. Gossip travels fast in a small town and he spread the word around town that John was stalking his wife, after she had rebuffed his advances. He wanted to paint John as a scorned, vindictive lover and Kathryn as a loving and faithful wife. It wouldn't take much to cast doubt in the eyes of the town folk that his wife was the unwilling victim. Everyone loved Henry and they all liked Kathryn. Having moved to town a couple of years ago, John wasn't born here. He wasn't a regular townie. No one liked him. Certainly, no one trusted him. Henry had public opinion on his side. None of his friends and neighbors would ever think that Kathryn was a dirty slut and a no good, two timing, cheating whore. Only, an unfortunate accident and an act of rage, he hadn't planned on killing Kathryn, too. It just happened, when his rage escalated out of control. John was the one he wanted dead and not his beloved Kathryn, but when he told his wife that he had just torched her lover, she tried to hit him with a marble statue and when he grabbed it away from her, she spit in his face. "I don't love you anymore," she said. "I love John! You killed him and for that, you'll rot in jail for the rest of your life!" When she turned to call the police, in a rage, he bashed her across the back her head. Reflexive, it just happened. As if made of water, he watched her crumple to the floor. He thought she was dead, but she was still breathing. In an act of love, he put his photo in her hands and, in an act of desperation, he wiped off his prints and planted a pair of John's gloves in the room, beside the statue. Even though he knew she wasn't dead, he couldn't finish her off. He couldn't kill his beloved wife and the mother of his children, not now, not in cold blood. He wasn't himself, when he hit her that first time. Even though she could kick him, when he was down, he couldn't hit her again. It was easier for him to give his fate up to God. His destiny was in God's hands now. He figured he had several minutes to make good his escape. If she awakened before the smoke filled the house and killed her, he'd go to prison. If she didn't awaken, she'd be dead, too, and he'd be free. With John in the garage on fire, he left Kathryn where she fell and returned to work. Within minutes of returning to the cemetery unnoticed by co-workers, he received a call and a message on his cell phone that his house was on fire. He left his cell phone in his truck and headed for the men's room. He stayed in the men's room, until his supervisor received a call and came looking for him. Already over, it was enough of a delay that, by the time he returned to his house, he was the last one on the scene. With the flames already extinguished, his friends and neighbors rushed to his side to keep him away from his house, as the coroner removed the bodies. "I wanted you to know, Henry," said the coroner laying a hand on his shoulder. "Kathryn died peacefully from smoke inhalation. There wasn't a burn mark on her body. She must have hit her head trying to flee the house and was knocked unconscious." "Thank you," said Henry. "That's comforting to know." "We found a pair of gloves lying in the room with Kathryn and an unfinished cigar. Knowing you don't smoke, Henry, we sent them both to the lab to analyze, but my guess is that John's fingerprints are inside the gloves and his DNA is on the cigar. There was a marble statue lying beside Kathryn's body. I figure that's what he used to knock her unconscious, before going in the garage to set the fire to the house," said the Police Chief to Henry. "She was in the living room holding your picture, when she died, Henry. That must have been the one thing she thought of saving from the fire," said the Police Chief. "And what about that bastard?" Henry appropriately cried. "We found him in the garage. The gas can he was holding exploded and was the origin of the fire," said the Fire Chief. "Unidentifiable, he was burnt to a crisp, but his truck was parked outside." Henry hid his face in his hands, crying. He was comforted by the thought that no one knew that he doused John with gasoline, before setting him on fire in his garage. A few days later, unable to keep him from work, with the town getting ready for the upcoming Earth Day celebration, Henry was hanging Earth Day decorations in the town square. After an investigation, the arson investigator ruled that the fire that destroyed Henry's house and killed his loving wife was arson and set, no doubt, by John in a murder/suicide plot. They identified the gloves and the cigar, as both belonging to John. After Henry filled in his wife's grave, adorned it with fresh flowers, and said a prayer, he left her grave to fill in John's unmarked grave on the pauper's side of the cemetery. When word got around town that he was a grieving, albeit wealthy widower, the single women in town flocked to his new house with baked goods and offers of condolences. Now early retired, Henry goes to the gym and lives the good life with a new wife, Susan, one who allows him to cum in her mouth, swallows, and truly loves him. * Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading my story.