“How was it?!”“You want the details of my afternoon with Cecilia?” I asked her skeptically. “How was YOUR afternoon?” I asked pointedly.�...I’m just asking how things went,” she said defensively. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her, taking my bowl of soup out of the microwave to stir it and decide whether it’s warm enough or needed more time.“You HAVE to talk about it, John!” she argued immediately, like she hadn’t just finished telling me. He wasn't sure he could control himself to wait until their wedding, though. It would be so easy to slip out of one woman and into the other. His cock seemed to try to climb out of his underwear even as the thought crossed his mind.To further complicate things, it still gnawed at him that other men had used his wife. The other men were vague shapes in his mind, since he had no idea how many, or under what exact circumstances, but he had seen Ingles at the attorney's office. Bill knew the prick.. I could run your things up to your parents’ house while you cycle. OK?”“You’re sure, Bob?” She queried.“Yes. I was going to fill the car up later. Your parents’ house is on the way to the filling station.”“I accept. Thank you. I hadn’t appreciated how much I had accumulated in three years. I won’t need so much on Monday.”She handed me the cup of tea, exactly as I like it. Why not? We had known each other for years since we first started school in the same class. My parents had lived three doors. It was the best thing I had eaten in years. As soon as I finished I wanted another. The manager came over to be friendly and asked if I was a tourist. I said, ‘Sort of, I drove my Mom to town to visit with a friend.’ She asked me who and I answered Wendy. Her face went blank and then asked, ‘Are you Sean? Is your Mother Marti?’ I nodded yes, and she immediately screamed, grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen and told the chef, ‘Marti is with Wendy now, this is her son!’ He came to me.
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