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I slammed by bat in to the door again. Don't move dumb ass I'd love nothing more than to beat your ass. So stay put, and no one will get hurt so that way when you leave you can take the whore with you. The woman on the bed said Please don't hurt my husband besides she invited us. Why did she have to say that, DAMN, DAMN, DAMN! I felt like the world biggest moron, married to a slut. Could my day get any worse?As we all stood there, I asked the guys wife, was the whore any good? She said, yes, and she has been getting better each time we fuck. That was news to me, my soon to be ex wife was a carpet munched.I looked at the lover's wife and said, thanks for that. At least you're honest enough to let me know this wasn't the first timeIs there anything else I need to know, am I the kid's father or is that another lie you told me. As I said this she looked a little pale. (Note to self get a DNA test done on the kids) It was time to wrap the happy little gathering up.I don't care who you are. I was just twenty-one, when I somewhat nervously applied for the job as Junior Matron, to a boys 'Approved School', a University educated ministers daughter, bright, vivacious, and virginal, somehow by today's standards, hard to believe, but my strict upbringing and repressed sexual development, belied my physical being, standing tall at just under six feet, with long flowing blond locks, that cried Scandinavian, small breasted and tight waisted, buttocks similar to boys, and a dark murmurings of my preference of girls, probably started by the very men desperate to bed me, but failing at every attempt.There was truth in my admiring the female form, I thought all women beautiful and had over the years slept with friends, sleeping wrapped in embrace and both naked, and yes it was reciprocal, as they were lesbian, so I need say no more other than they were as feminine as I, and what transpired under those sweaty sheets, I leave to your imagination.Having gone as far as to admit to this.
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I was melting in her presence. We walked outside and I wondered where her car was. ‘I usually walk home. My apartment is only a mile or so down the road,’ Jennifer said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘I don’t have a car. I used to, but I couldn’t keep up the payments.’ ‘That’s okay. We can take mine,’ I said, and I unlocked the passenger side door for her. ‘Thanks, John,’ she said in that sweet voice of hers. I didn’t know where this was going, but I was just glad to be with her at the moment. We soon arrived at her apartment building, which looked like a motel, and not a very good one. I suddenly felt worried for Jennifer, living here on her own in this place. It didn’t seem safe. Her apartment was sparsely furnished but well-kept. She walked in and put her pocketbook on the table. ‘You want some orange juice?’ she asked, walking into the small kitchen. ‘No thanks. This is a pretty nice little place.’ ‘Really?’ she said, ‘I thought you’d think it’s a bit of a dump.’ ‘No, I like it. It.

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