The headline caught my eye yesterday. Despite the rain soaking and chilling me through to the bone, I simply stared at the newspaper the seller held under my nose.

“You gonna buy this lady, or what?” he barked as I looked like a scared jackrabbit confronted by the lights of a massive truck.

Once I got back home and peeled away the wet layers of clothing, I made myself a cup of camomile tea. Good for the nerves they say. Well, I was going to need my drink hot and well brewed. Once I switched on the heat and wrapped myself in my warm bathrobe I tentatively began to peruse the paper.

It was the name in the headline that sent a shudder down my spine followed closely by a tingle of pleasure and longing that I hadn’t felt for over twenty years: Brad Whitewood, Sr Dead! The article read “he had died in jail on Monday of a massive heart attack. The man convicted of murdering several people including members of his own family in 1978 would be laid to rest next week at a secret location.” I guess local feeling still ran high for the sins he had committed.

Even though my encounter with the man occurred months before all that happened, I always knew he had a powerful charisma about him. But I never thought for one minute he would shoot his own flesh and blood. Mind you, there were times he scared me shitless. I guess a man like that has a raw power that he can turn to whatever purpose he chooses. Unfortunately, he chose wrong too many times and paid the price for it. But, at least in my case, he worked a special magic that has never left me……

I had just turned twenty-one when I moved to Franklin, Tennessee in May 1976. Tim Harris and I had broken-up because of his binge drinking. It was a bitter and sad split from someone I had been involved with since I was seventeen. After that I just felt Nashville had nothing left to offer me anymore. Uncle Frank, dear Uncle Frank, came to my rescue. He was a truck driver, God rest his soul, and had a house in rural Tennessee. He took one look at my long face and suggested I stay awhile at his place. I’d have to work to pay my rent, mind, and not leave the place in a shit heap (as he put it) but I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed to. So I did.

I got a job at the local 7-11. I didn’t know anybody and Uncle Frank was away a good part of the time coming and going where his work commitments led him. I just worked my shift from 12 – 8 p.m., Mondays to Thursdays, day off Friday, work 8 p.m. – 2 a.m. on Saturday into Sunday and then start all over again on Monday. See? I still remember it after all these years. Despite all the monotonous mundane work, I must have really been living or was it just because Brad Sr had made me feel so alive?

I had been working hard non-stop for three months when I realised that’s all I had been doing. I hardly knew Franklin at all. So, one Friday afternoon I decided I’d branch out. There wasn’t much to do except visit the local bar, The Arsenal.

I kept my head down as I entered the smoke-filled room. I’m sure everybody was looking at me so I walked quickly to the edge of the bar nearest the door and timidly ordered a Diet Coke. Halfway through my drink, I asked the bartender where the ladies room was and he directed me down a long dark passageway. When I came back, another tall glass of Diet Coke stood next to the one I was struggling to finish.

The bartender saw my puzzled look, pointed and said “That man over there.” I looked in the general direction of 'That man over there' and could only see a group of men playing cards. Then one of them looked straight at me and held up his hand.

I don’t think straight at me is the best way to describe the look. It was almost a shifty glance followed by a smirk. I could feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. I’m sure this was one of the bad men Momma had always told me to avoid. I managed to smile weakly in response to his gesture and went back to the process of finishing my drink. My second drink would have to remain untouched. My main priority was to get the hell out of there.

As I quickly crunched on some ice, I sensed someone walking towards the door. I looked around and saw 'That man over there' making his way past me. How can I describe him? He towered over me by a foot, at least. I had to crane my neck to look up into his face. His hair! My God, he reminded me of someone…someone I used to see on the TV in old black and white films. Yes, he looked like Harpo Marx with added extra Viking Chieftain for effect: a crop of curly hair crowned his head and a somewhat bushy but basically well-kept moustache lived along his upper lip. But it was the look upon his face as he passed that held me in terror or fascination, I wasn’t sure which: he had an inscrutable smile and a lean look in his eye that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I’d seen similar looks on some of the shady characters that rode on the late night buses back in Nashville. He creeped me out, basically. I finished my drink and slunk away back home.

After our first encounter, I started seeing him come into the 7-11. Maybe he had shopped there countless times before but it wasn’t until my first and only visit to The Arsenal that I started to notice. I don’t know. Anyway, he would buy a pack of cigarettes or the six-pack on special for that week.

‘That man over there’ finished buying his cigarettes one hot and lazy August, made an obvious point of reading my name badge and uttered, “Thank you…Clarissa.” He smiled, gave me a wink, put on his sunglasses and sauntered out of the shop like a real hip dude.

Was I supposed to be impressed by it? I wasn’t, really, but it did move me to ask my boss, a fat little Jewish guy by the name of Arnie Silverstein, if ‘That man over there’ had a name. He promptly informed me that it was Brad Whitewood, Sr. He also revealed in scornful undertones that Brad Whitewood, Sr was not to be trusted. Well, call it female intuition but that revelation did not surprise me one little bit.

Female intuition did not prepare me for the next phase of my emotional whirlwind. I had to take time off in September because I caught the bad ‘flu bug making its way around everybody. Fall was also getting its claws into the immediate countryside: a definite chill froze the land in the early morning to a crystalline stupor.

I hated taking time off work but I felt too sick and dizzy if I stood longer than a few seconds. I couldn’t eat much either. Thankfully Uncle Frank was there to force me to have regular doses of chicken soup.

My mind was definitely affected by my illness. It must have been the fever. I woke up in a sweaty daze one morning and quickly recalled the dream that roused me with a start. Of all people, who should be in it but Brad Whitewood, Sr. No hint of a nightmare, far from it, but I felt rather ashamed that the dream had been so arousing. He entered it as silkily as a prowling cat. The dream had bits of it steeped in total surrealism but he had definitely scooped me up in his arms and taken me to bed. I could feel his hot breath on my skin as he caressed every inch of it with his lips. His moustache prickled me every so often. Getting closer and closer to my crotch, he took great care to examine every fold and crevice. His tongue found places of pleasure I had never known existed. When he caught me squirming he looked up and gave me that wink. Then I woke up.

I lay in bed for some time, embarrassed and stimulated. How could I have dreamt about such a wicked man? What would my Momma think? I came to the conclusion that, hell, it was only a dream and I had no control over what my subconscious thought. Then I started playing all those delicious aspects over and over again in my feverish mind. Arousal took over as my hand made its way to my swollen mound. My breath quickened as I began fingering my clitoris. Uncle Frank was in the next room so I couldn’t make any noise! I thought of Brad’s mouth all over my cunt lips, his tongue lapping greedily like a hungry kitten. I could feel my face growing hot. I wanted to make it last but the explosion was already starting. I stifled a scream and violently rocked my hips back and forth. Whether or not I liked to admit it, Brad Whitewood, Sr had wormed his way under my skin.

Not long after I recovered, Brad was in the shop buying a big bag of Doritos. I could not look at him.

“Is it…hot in here…Clarissa?” he inquired.

Seeing the confused look on my face, he gently brushed my cheek with his hand. “You look…flushed. Still feeling sick?”

“Ummmm, no, I’m o.k. I…I... was just down in the basement getting a case of potato chips,” I lied miserably.

I think Brad knew and made that inscrutable smile again. As he walked out of the shop I swear he swaggered even more than usual, what a sexy mother fucker (but I was too afraid to admit it at the time).

By mid-October, it was pitch black when I got home from work. But it didn’t matter. I always felt excited as Halloween approached. I still love that time of year. There’s just something in the air. Actually, I blame The Great Pumpkin. I watched Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin every year at Halloween as a kid and it never failed to get me in the mood. On this particular day, Mr Silverstein had let me decorate the shop and I had impressed him with my bat and pumpkin window display. All the little children came to gawk in wonder at it. So, despite Uncle Frank being away doing a job up north in New Jersey, I was feeling happy. I switched on the radio when I got home and an old Simon and Garfunkel tune came on while I was having my dinner. For some reason, Simon and Garfunkel songs had the opposite effect of The Great Pumpkin. By the time the duo sang “Kathy I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh…” I was in floods of tears. Something about that song America…its poignancy, innocence, sadness…I don’t know, it just tugged at my heart. I howled. There was no one in the house. I just let it all out. All this outburst of emotion surprised me. Maybe I still was not over what happened with Tim or maybe I really was not content with my life; that I wanted more out of it.

Suddenly, I heard the back door creaking. I immediately turned down the radio and stopped crying. I sat facing the door that opened onto the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Maybe it was a wee critter: a rat, a mouse or even a cockroach (it would have to be a mighty big one!). As I was thinking about the various kinds of vermin that could make the back door creak, the door I was staring at started to slowly open. I saw a figure, a large human one, walking through. I let out a very, very loud scream.

The figure turned out to be very tall, male, with a crop of curly brown hair and a well-groomed moustache growing the length of his upper lip. Oh my God, it was Brad Whitewood, Sr. I screamed again, even louder.

He raced towards me, crouched down and clapped a very large hand over my mouth. It was so immense that I had difficulty breathing. My chest heaved not only out of fear but also out of nearly being asphyxiated.

“Shut up!…SHUT UP! Now, you promise you won’t scream again…PROMISE!” he hoarsely whispered.

I just said a muffled “Mm Hmm” and he tentatively drew his hand away. His eyes flared at me as if warning of the consequences of screaming again.

“What do you want with me?” I panted.

“I heard…crying…I thought somebody was here…upsetting you.”

“You heard crying? You thought somebody else was with me?” I’m not a logical person at the best of times but I put two and two together. We looked at each other and he nodded as if he were reading my mind.

“Have you been…?” I trailed off the thought. I was suddenly very afraid again.

“Yes, I’ve been…watching you.”

“Please, go away, leave me alone!” I rose from my seat but he grabbed me by the arm.

“No”, and he let out a little evil chuckle.

“Please let go of my arm, you are hurting me.” He complied with my plea. I winced as I rubbed my forearm. A red weal indicated where had had detained me with his firm grip.

“We both want the same thing,” he proclaimed as he strutted around the living room.

“What?”

“You…and me…we want each other.”

“NO, I DO NOT!”

He thought I was going to scream again so he grabbed me by wrapping one arm around my waist and another clamped over my mouth. He dragged me into my bedroom. I kicked as hard as I could which wasn’t having any effect. I tried to prise his arms away but he was too powerful.

Immediately after he threw me on the bed, I tried to make a dash for the door. Grappling me effortlessly by my wrist he said, “Hey, you are a feisty thing…not like the quiet mouse I took you for.”

Seizing me by the waist, he drew me towards him. With one hand, he forced me to look up and then he bent down towards me. I was just about to spit in his face when he sabotaged my effort with an open-mouthed kiss. I was hitting him, trying to wrench myself away, slapping his broad back all to no avail. All at once, he had broken through my defences. I reached for his hair and ran my fingers through his curls. I began to reciprocate the longing and desire in my kiss. Oh God, no, I can’t, I mustn’t start falling for him. But it was too late.

He let go, testing to see if I would run away. He simply smiled, truly smiled, to see me still standing so close to him. His male scent intermingling with the spicy cologne he wore hit my nostrils. I became aware of every subtle nuance of his stance, every little change in his face. I noticed for the first time how big and warm and rough his hands were. I saw the huge bulge straining from his Levis and his chest panting through exertion and lust. Maybe I really did want Brad Whitewood, Sr after all.

He looked around and nodded approvingly at my full-length mirror and put a chair in front of it. Then he slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, kicked off his boots and socks and slowly unbuckled his belt. Brad made a gesture for me to start undressing so I nervously unbuttoned my dress and let it fall down. He admired my full hips and my breasts straining out of my ill-fitting bra.

“Mmm, I like a girl with some meat on her,” he purred. He unzipped his trousers and revealed an extremely large cock. He wasn’t wearing any underwear and his penis throbbed and pulsated as soon as his Levis slid away from his crotch.

“You like it…my dick?”

“It’s big. I don’t know…”

“Your last boyfriend…he had a small one…didn’t he?”

With my last boyfriend, it got to the stage where sex was a distant memory but I was not going to tell Brad my sob story. “Yes, yours is much bigger than his was,” I concurred.

“Good.” Without any warning, Brad was beside me thrusting a finger down my panties and felt the moistness. Withdrawing his hand, he smelled his fingers and then sucked them clean. “Mmm…pussy juice.”

He slid my panties off over my ample ass and undid my bra. Turning me around so that his stiff phallus prodded my back, he cupped my breasts in his huge hands and used his fingers and thumbs to pinch and tweak my nipples. I began to wriggle. My pussy was getting wetter and wetter.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” I blurted.

Brad lifted me up by my underarms and lined up his cock in the direction of my hot twat. My hole was so sodden that his massive prick just slid in. I screamed as he entered me but I had no desire to run away. I couldn’t even if I tried. I was well and truly impaled. Keeping an arm tightly around my middle, he made his way to the chair. As Brad bent to sit down, his cock slipped out. He merely shoved it back in which made me scream again. “I see…you are a loud bitch,” he rumbled.

The sight in front of the mirror nearly made me cum because it was so beautiful. We sat in the chair with me facing away from him. His rampant cock nestled snugly in my cunt and my legs were wrapped around his. There was no sign of his unnerving enigmatic smile: a look of contented lust appeared on his face. We sat still like that for many minutes. Whenever I was about to moan or make a sound he told me to be quiet. We were meant to just enjoy being joined together. Time did not seem to matter anymore.

“Start fingering yourself,” he ordered eventually. He cupped his hands under my breasts again and played with my nipples.

In between playfully nipping my back he quietly uttered profanities like “You fucking bitch”, “Whore” and “Fat-assed loud bitch” interspersed with terms of love and endearment: “You make my dick feel so good.” and “I want you”. As my climax neared, I moaned louder. He urged me on “Yes, feel my big prick twitching inside of you.” “I’m going to fuck you really hard, give it all to ya right now.”

I went over the edge. “Ohhhh God, on no, help, I’m cumming. Hold me, hold me tight! “

My vaginal muscles convulsed and I screeched, “Keep your cock inside of me!” He quickly put his hand down there in case I squeezed him out.

“It’s o.k., baby, I won’t let that happen,” he cooed.

I relaxed in his lap and felt totally exhausted. It was late and I had been through a gamut of emotions.

“Look at that!” Brad exclaimed, pointing to the bit of his huge dick that couldn’t quite get inside my vagina. “Look at all that pussy juice dribbling down!” Sure enough, a white trail of cunt cum slithered down the length of his shaft.

“I need to shoot my load inside you,” he growled urgently.

Brad carefully lifted me up and then instructed me to get down on all fours. “I wanna do it…doggy style. It lets me have a good look at my dick… going…in and out,” he explained huskily.

I willingly obliged. He observed himself in front of the mirror giving me a good fuck and when he looked down he saw my snatch taking all of him in. Brad moaned with pleasure. “Oh yes, I’m inside your hot wet cunt, it feels so fucking good.”

It didn’t take him long. He got a bit rough as he slammed it inside of me. “You fucking slut!” he bellowed as he came. His face contorted into a sublime grimace as the first squirts entered my vagina. He then started to laugh (with relief), whooped and hollered and even spanked my ass.

“Whoa! That was good,” he said. Brad helped me onto my feet. I felt a bit wobbly after that wild ride. Instructing me to get into bed, he tucked me in and started to get dressed.

“Won’t you stay with me?” I pleaded.

Brad and I French kissed for a long time and then he uttered, “I’ll stay with you…until you fall asleep…but…I will have to get back.”

He stroked my cheek lovingly, tenderly as I felt sleep take over. When I awoke in the morning, I smelled his cologne on my pillow. I breathed in deeply the sweet spicy fragrance. I lay in bed until I thought it was high time to get back down-to-earth and get ready for work.

A woman holding a bottle of bourbon and two packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups was next in line. I had never seen her before.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hi. You want anything else?”

“No, that’ll be it, thanks.”

“That comes to six dollars and forty-five cents.”

She handed me a crisp twenty-dollar bill. The word counterfeit jiggled my brain just as my boss came out of the office.

“Well, hello, I haven’t seen you here in a long time,” he warmed to the woman. Made up like a dog’s dinner, she looked a bit slutty for Mr. Silverstein. I didn’t think she would be his type. Mind you, I never really thought about what his type was (it would have probably turned my stomach if I had).

“Oh yeah, I’ve been busy,” she answered.

Definitely a night crawler I thought. I put her purchases in a bag and nearly shoved them in her face. She didn’t notice because she seemed in such a hurry.

Mr. Silverstein nudged me in the ribs as soon as she cantered out the door. “Know who that is, Clarissa?”

“No,” I said not wanting to appear too interested. My Momma told me gossip would get me into trouble, but still, it can make the day at work seem less of a drag.

“That’s Mary Sue Whitewood, you know, the wife of that guy who comes in every once in awhile.”

The look on my face indicated bafflement. He thought I had forgotten Brad coming into the shop.

“You know, the one with the curls, moustache, shady looking, acts like he owns the place?”

“Yes, yes. You mean, he’s married…to that?”

“Yeah, sure, what’s wrong with her?” he asked defensively.

“Nothin’, I suppose.” I went quiet after that.

It had been a couple of weeks since Brad walked into my living room and fucked the living daylights out of me. I had not seen him since then. I hated to admit it to myself but I had fallen totally and helplessly in love with him. Every night I had to masturbate just to get some sleep. It was like a sickness.

Now I find out the asshole is married. I felt as if my whole nervous system had been razed to the ground in one mighty swoop. Inside I was devastated while on the outside I had to listen to Mr. Silverstein go on about Mary Sue and her wonderful family (her father had once been mayor of Clarksville and her mother won copious awards for her civic duties), serve customers (with the semblance of a smile), stock shelves, check off deliveries and answer the phone.

Normally I could cope pretty well at work but today I was just a bag of nerves. I opened a case of spaghetti to replenish the stock and a whole packet dropped and spilled everywhere.

“Hey! What’s with you, Clarissa? I have a good mind to take it off your wages,” Mr. Silverstein said as he ran over with a dustpan and brush.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I cried but I really knew otherwise.

“It’s o.k. I was only joking. Anyway, it’s nearly Christmas. I wouldn’t do such a thing,” he replied as he cleaned up my mess.

“Do you celebrate Christmas, Mr Silverstein?” I inquired.

“Sure, why not? And Chanukah, too. It’s good to keep a finger in each pie.”

I laughed feebly at his answer.

“It’s good to see you smile again Clarissa. You o.k?”

“Yeah, I’m not feeling very well.”

“You wanna go home early, get some rest?” asked Mr Silverstein, looking genuinely concerned.

“No…no, I’ll keep working my shift.”

I hoped Brad would be waiting for me when I finished work that evening. Why the hell did I think that? She bought two packs of peanut butter cups. The other one must have been for Brad. How dare he torment me like this? I bet he was laughing all the way back home with her while they ate Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and sipped bourbon. I hope he puked when he got home.

Brad was not waiting for me but I saw Uncle Frank’s truck taking up the whole space in front of the house. I still felt so empty inside but at least I would not be alone for awhile.

In fact, Uncle Frank was home for a couple of weeks and stayed over Thanksgiving. Momma rang one night to ask if I was going to come over for a visit but I said no. I think she sensed something wrong in my voice but never questioned me. I just told her I loved her and maybe I would go and see her again in a few weeks.

Uncle Frank left to go to a big job in Florida and hoped he would be back in time for Christmas. As he drove away, I felt I could just about cope with being on my own again. There had been no sign of Brad for so long that I gave up the thought of seeing him again. After playing with myself I would usually cry myself to sleep. My heart was a deep dark bottomless chasm without him in my life. But I’d have to learn to live without and just get on with it.

The nights were bitter now and one night in December I hurried home in the wind and pelting rain. I nearly died when I saw an orange pick-up truck outside the house and the living room light on. I was not thinking straight when I ran into the house and bumped into Brad in the lobby.

“How the hell did you get in my house?” I shouted.

He smiled. “Oh…I have ways. How’ve you been…miss me?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Oh, that’s good, huh?” He grabbed both my arms, forced me back against the wall and gave me a long lingering kiss. “Now that’s more like it,” he said roughly releasing me from his grasp.

“You are a married man, get out of my house!” I ordered. I was so enraged that I did not care I was yelling at him, Mr. Big and Full of It, at the top of my voice.

“Ahh, so you’ve met Mary Sue,” he replied softly and he let out a little laugh.

“Did you like your bourbon and peanut butter cups?” I bitchily asked.

He shook his head. “No, I hate peanut butter. She’s addicted to the little pieces of shit. The bourbon was good, though.”

“Bastard!”

“Hey, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition? I’m here to see you, get my cock sucked,” he uttered half-jokingly.

“You’ll be lucky. I’m not your whore.”

“Only when I’m filling you up… with my cock,” he said like the total son of a bitch that he was and then added quickly, “oh, c’mon…of course I don’t think you’re a whore. Look…sit down…talk to me.”

I slumped on the sofa. Brad sat down and put his arm around me. His black shirt, left unopened at the collar, revealed a smooth firm skin and a strong bone structure. I could smell his cologne again and I was sinking fast. I wanted to be smothered in his kisses but did not like the idea of sharing him.

“How many other women have you got hidden away?” I inquired haughtily.

“Just you…and Mary Sue.”

I looked into his face. He was either being truthful or he was an extremely capable liar.

“Honest,” he said, as if reading my mind again.

“Look, Clarissa…I consider you…like family. I don’t shit on my family…you hear?”

I sighed. “You have sex with her a lot?”

“Yes, of course.” I began to rise from my seat and he pulled me down again. “I’ve got my…appetite…my needs.”

“Shut-up, you asshole.”

“What? You want me to lie…tell you a story that we live together in name…only?”

“I wish I never met you.”

“Really? Honest Injun? Cross your heart…hope to die?” he asked impudently.

“Don’t tease me, Brad, not at a time like this. I don’t know what I want at the moment,” I answered, rubbing my forehead.

“I ain’t lyin’ to you, Clarissa. I ain’t ever lied to you, just not told you everything.”

“Oh? And what else do I need to know?”

Brad stood up and left the room for a few minutes. He came back with a bottle of beer and a can of Diet Coke for me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“What else do I need to know?” I asked again nearly breaking a fingernail on the ring pull.

“Just that I care for ya.”

I let out a really big sigh. “I think you talk bullshit. Bullshit means no cock suck.”

Brad exhaled loudly, nearly choked on his beer, and then shook with silent laughter. Once he could speak again he said, “ You don’t like the idea of me being married now, do you?”

“If I had known you were married I’m pretty sure I would not be in the emotional mess I’m in now.”

“Well…the damage’s been done…you still want me?”

“Why have you been away for so long?”

Brad sat back on the sofa, arms outstretched, both legs on the coffee table. “I had things to do…people to…see. Look you gonna answer my question or not, girl?”

“Ummm, why do we meet when my uncle isn’t around?”

“What?”

“You seem to know when I’m on my own. Are you still watching me?”

Oh no, he let out an undecipherable smile. Not now, I don’t need this, please, I thought.

He reached over to me and cupped my cheek in his hand. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Brad shrugged. “That day…you remember…you went to that bar?”

“The Arsenal?”

“I saw you there…sitting at the bar. I ain’t ever seen anyone…like you…before. Yeah, I’m still watching you because…I care.”

“You’re talking bullshit again.” I said scornfully.

“No, I ain’t. Brad took hold of my arm and drew me close, “I knew then…and there…you were mine. I wanted you…you are mine. Now, answer my question,” he replied growling roughly.

“What?”

“You still want me?”

How could I resist him? His cologne and manly scent intoxicated my senses, his piercing gaze shot through my heart and his husky voice made me twitch with desire.

“Yes, I want you.”

We grabbed hold of each other. Our mouths and tongues met, licked, sucked and explored. Brad plucked me up off the sofa and guided me to my bedroom. We lay together fully clothed with our limbs entwined, kissing hungrily.

“I need you Clarissa.” He fumbled with his belt and trousers to reveal his massive erection. It was hard and angry red. “Suck it, put it in your mouth.”

I gladly did as he ordered. I did not have much experience sucking cock. Tim’s was tiny in comparison but I knew to keep licking, slurping and, most importantly, no teeth! My hands explored his hairy balls and he moaned, “Oh, that’s right, bitch, you do it so right.”

My hands went further down to his thighs. Oh God, they were beautiful: massive and muscular. I stopped my fellatio to start licking his thighs and smother my face in them. One of my hands started travelling towards my crotch.

“Oh no, you are not allowed to touch your pussy. Here,” he said, holding up his stiff cock, “this needs tending to.”

I opened wide. My tongue explored all around the sensitive areas of his knob. Bran moaned, “Mmmmmmm, oh God, swallow my cum.”

My hands fondled all around his shaft and balls as his profanities got louder, “Suck it, bitch, I’m gonna explode. You suck so good, mutha fukka, here it comes…oh Christ.”

I kept my mouth firmly over his cock while he shot his load inside. He yelled and contorted his face, baring his teeth and staring at me like he’d gone mad. He bucked his hips as the last drips oozed out his dick. He lay on the bed, beads of sweat on his brow and his chest heaved. He licked his dry lips.

“Jesus…Clarissa…where’d you learn to do that?”

“I’ve got a talent, I guess,” I replied as I lay beside him. My fingers travelled down to my privates. I was soaking.

Once he recovered well enough, he noticed the look of desperation on my face. I was well and truly fingering myself by then. With one deft movement he brushed my masturbating hand aside and replaced it with one of his own. His large hand cupped my mound perfectly. He had just the right touch. It was my turn to moan now. “Ohhhhhhh Brad, I love you so much.”

He smiled, kissed me and then stopped. Rising off the bed, he made me scoot down toward the edge so that my legs were in the air and my cunt exposed. “I love lickin’ pussy, “ he said.

It was electrifying: his tongue flicked the entire length of my vulva in a slow definite rhythm for many minutes and then licked and sucked on my clitoris. Brad used the whole of his tongue like a thirsty dog. The sound of lapping tongue drove me wild. I spread my legs wider so I could have more. I felt like a wanton whore. My cunt was hot and on fire. “Keep doing that, “ I said, gasping.

I could feel his moustache hairs tickling my twat. “Aaah, it feels so good. Oh, Brad, Brad, I’m yours, I want you so much!”

My legs were beginning to shake and my vision blurred. I was nearing the point of no return. He increased his lapping speed and I cried out. I looked at him beavering away and he gazed at me with an almost evil glint in his eye. My hips moved furiously and I grunted, “Fuck!” as one huge orgasm washed over me. He kept licking until I begged him to stop.

He went to the bathroom to wash. I lay on the bed peaceful and content. When he came back he looked at me and smiled. “You look like the cat who’s just had all the cream.”

“Well, I have, haven’t I?” We both laughed conspiratorially.

“I’m going to have to go back,” Brad said. It was like someone had just trickled an ice cube down my back.

“You have to go and do the same to Mary Sue?” I said sarcastically.

He held a finger to his lips, “Shhhhh! Don’t spoil the moment.” As he bent down to kiss me, I could still smell a faint hint of my vagina on his lips and moustache. That would give Mary Sue something to talk about. I laughed when he stood up.

“Brad, promise me one thing, “ I requested, rising up off the bed and standing next to him.

“O.k., I might.”

“Please don’t leave it so long until I see you again.”

He considered this and gave a nod. “You will see me again.”

As he walked to the door into the freezing night, he turned to blow me a kiss and waved.

I cried myself to sleep that night but at least I had one very contented pussy.

Old Mrs Du Bois had only bought a can of beans and then proceeded to stand by the cash register for half an hour. She complained that none of her family had visited her over Christmas, last year’s Bicentennial celebrations were boring (she probably remembered the Centennial celebrations, I swear to God she was old enough) and a band of criminals was stealing tractors.

I slowly felt like I was going to melt with insanity if I heard anymore of her gabbling. For a start, I had not been to visit my mother so Mrs Du Bois’ nagging made me feel guilty. But I didn’t give a darn about the Bicentennial as I had enough on my mind and as for the tractor-stealing criminals, Jesus Christ, give me a break.

As if someone mysteriously knew the torture I was going through, the phone rang.

“Oh well, I’ve gone on long enough, bye Clarissa,” Mrs Du Bois sprightly said as soon as she saw me looking pensively at the phone.

I picked up the receiver and shouted as she left, “Bye, Mrs. Du Bois, you take care now."

“Hello, can I help you?” I said down the phone in my most agreeable voice.

“More to the point…how can I…help you?” the voice replied.

Oh my God, Brad had resorted to phoning me at work. And, hey presto, Uncle Frank was conveniently away working. “Hi, Brad, I’m not supposed to take personal calls.” Thankfully Mr. Silverstein was out to lunch at The Arsenal.

“Hey…no problem. I’ll pick you up at your house…around nine o’clock. See you tonight.” And that was the extent of the conversation. No “Hello, Darling, I love you,” or “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you for nearly six weeks, please forgive me.”

I had begun to love/hate Brad for playing with my heartstrings; for making me ride on an infernally long emotional roller coaster. “See you at nine o’clock tonight.” That’s it? Well, at least I was going to see him. Thank Heaven for small mercies.

To be honest, I could not wait for my shift to end. I rushed home, had a quick shower and put on my prettiest pseudo-ethnic South American peasant dress. It was impossible to wear a bra with it. If I were not careful, one of my tits would pop out. I’m sure Brad would have something improper to say about that and enjoy the peep show. I was just combing my hair when I heard a deep voice shout hello.

“Brad, I’m in my bedroom.”

He strutted into my room like Elvis Presley wearing black trousers, black leather jacket and a blue and white Hawaiian-type shirt - two or three buttons left unopened at the collar. I swear my cunt twitched as I caught a whiff of his aftershave. He greeted me with a long French kiss.

“Mmmm, you look delicious,” he uttered approvingly.

“Where have you been? Why have you taken so long to see me again?” I immediately pounced on him verbally.

Putting a finger to his lips he said, “Shhhh!” I have a surprise…well…a few surprises for you…tonight.”

“What? What are they? Tell me now!” I insisted.

“Dang, you are greedy! You’ll just…have to wait,” he answered huskily. Brad noticed the pleading expectant look on my face. He loved every minute of this and smiled wickedly. “C’mon or else we will be late for the first one.”

Taking me by the hand, he led me to a dark blue automobile (don’t ask me what type, I was never one for remembering things like that). The drive to wherever we were going was uneventful enough. Brad asked me if I had had a nice Christmas. I wanted to say it was one of the loneliest thanks to him but I merely said that it was quiet. I did not get many presents.

“Well…I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I can sort a…make up for the lack…of presents,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

The drive took forty-five minutes. We ended-up parked in front of a pretty little Italian restaurant in Cookesville called Giorgio’s with…”the best pizza this side of the Mason-Dixon line” (so the sign said).

“Well, here’s surprise number one…you like it? You hungry?”

“Yes…and yes!” I exclaimed.

Brad turned out to be very gallant; the feminist movement was lost on him. He opened the car door for me and insisted I go first into the restaurant (while holding the door open for me, of course).

The headwaiter spotted us right away. “Aaaah, Good Evening, Mr White-a-wood. Your-a-brother, he-a-wayting for-a-you. Come-a-dis waye, plees.”

“Thank you, Mario,” replied Brad.

Did he say your brother, I thought? That must be surprise number two.

Sure enough, we were escorted to a table set in a corner of the restaurant. Used Chianti bottles decorated the wall above us. Another one sat in the middle of the table as a candleholder. A man with the eyes of a buzzard waiting for road kill eyed me intently. He had shoulder-length straight brown hair and a bushy beard.

“This is Dickie, my brother. Dickie, meet Clarissa.”

His eyes danced merrily as he shook me by the hand and said hello. Then he returned to his severe stare. I felt like I was being thoroughly inspected but not really sure why.

Brad and Dickie did not look alike except they both inherited a powerful serious intent gaze from somewhere in their gene pool.

The brothers were quiet for an awkward few seconds then all of a sudden Brad asked, “Dickie, did you pick-up that Polaroid camera, today?” with a strange emphasis on ‘pick-up’.

“Oh yeah, in fact, I brought it with me.”

“Yeah? Let’s see it, then,” Brad replied in a hushed manner.

Out from under the table Dickie produced a Polaroid still in its box. “Oh, is that for someone’s birthday?” I asked.

“Nah, I’ve just always fancied one,” answered Dickie, “hey, how ‘bout you and Brad smile for the camera?”

“Uh, well….” I stammered.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Brad chimed in and moved his chair closer to me.

“Wait a minute, let me get the damn film in!” After a bit of fiddling about and help from Brad, Dickie was ready for his first go with his new toy.

Brad put an arm around me and gave a wide smile for the camera. I was feeling rather overwhelmed with these two characters but I managed a shy grin.

They were like a couple of schoolboys: they looked very pleased with themselves when the picture developed before our eyes and ended up not looking too bad for a first effort.

“Here you are, Clarissa, you can have it,” said Dickie as he handed it to me.

“Hmmm, I look different in it somehow,” I mused, “must be the lighting.”

“Naw, that’s ‘cause you’re in love,” Brad joked and took a bite out of a grissini stick. The waiter had just plonked a tumbler-full on the table.

Dickie looked sheepish and laughed along. I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Awww, you’re blushin’ now,” said Brad as he took my hand and kissed it half-tenderly.

The rest of the evening went on as smoothly as it could. It was not everyday I had a meal with my unfaithful married lover and his brother. Mary Sue was not mentioned once. I wondered if that was planned and for whose benefit?

But the meal was good, I had to admit. The pizza was fabulous: lots of cheese meant lots of chewing and everything was fresh and tasty. Brad had an erotic way of eating: he would take a piece of pizza and rip some off with his teeth like a lion on the dry African savannah. When he chewed, I could see his jaw moving in a determined up and down fashion. I could not stop thinking about him eating me out. He would catch me watching him eat, then smile and ask if I was enjoying the meal. “Oh yes, definitely” and “Oh, I love it,” I answered. Yes, I sure did, in more ways that one.

After we left Giorgio’s, I waited about twenty minutes in the car while Brad and Dickie stood and chatted. Dickie was not coming back with us as he had the orange pick-up truck. After awhile, they walked over to the truck so I could not hear what they were saying. I did hear lots of raucous laughter so God knows what they were talking about.

Brad came back with a big smile on his face and he patted my leg. “Dickie likes ya…he likes ya real fine.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Was this meal tonight all about me meeting with Dickie’s approval?”

Brad shrugged. He didn’t say much as he got the car started and back on the road again. “Yeah…no…not just.” Total silence.

“Brad, you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s nothin’, stop puttin’ words in my mouth, woman.”

“Right,” I continued, “so that’s it then. Dickie likes me and you are going to take me back home now,” I said as a statement of fact.

“Somethin’ like that.” Silence again.

Oh God, I thought, I don’t think I can take much more of this. Why can’t he just stop and leave me alone? It’s killing me.

Brad did not offer me any more insight into the reason of tonight’s meal with his brother and I was not asking. I began to silently cry instead. At one stage, I unobtrusively brushed a tear away but Brad saw it. “You cryin’, girl? What you cryin’ for?”

Then I let out one big sob and blurted out, “I want to end this charade, Brad. I can’t stand it. I don’t see you for weeks on end and then you breeze back into my life as if everything is fine.”

“It is…fine…now. Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…don’t spoil the moment.”

“But it’s not fine for me. I miss you so much when I don’t see you.”

“Mary Sue…she’s left me.”

“What? My tears dried instantly.

He looked at me and nodded. “Yes…it’s true.”

“When did she leave?” I inquired breathlessly.

“Two days ago…look…let’s not talk about her.”

I wanted to ask why she left but decided against it. It was the first time all night that he looked troubled and I did not want to push my luck.

“You know what I’m going to do to you, tonight?” he asked after another long silence.

“Ummm, truss me up like a chicken?” I replied. One of the weights lifted off my mind made me feel light-headed and giddy.

“It’s an idea,” he chuckled. “No, I’m going to fuck you…slowly all night long.”

“ALL night long? You mean, you are going to stay the night?”

He nodded. Yet another wonderful revelation! My cup runneth over.

It was approaching midnight when we arrived back in Franklin. As soon as we got in the house he devilishly said, “You ‘ll be glad that you are having your day off tomorrow…you’re gonna need it!”

No sooner had we stepped in the bedroom than Brad’s hands were all over me helping me get my dress and panties off. He laid me gently on the bed and nestled close. “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” I asked.

“Shhhhh! Remember, we’ve got all night now.” As if a prophecy fulfilled, his mouth explored every inch of my body starting at my head. He licked, nipped and kissed on the way down, making a detour around my privates, heading towards my feet. Brad spent a long time there rubbing all the knots of tension out of my ankles and in-step and nibbled and sucked on my toes. I was beginning to feel drowsy when he proclaimed, “Turn around!”

And then he started going in the opposite direction. He gave my ass a bite or two and then a series of long licks on my back. That was heavenly. All of a sudden, he spanked me. “Wake up!” he ordered.

"I’m sorry,” I said, “it felt so nice that I was dozing off.”

“Well, it’s time to move things up a notch or two.”

Brad moved in towards my ass and playfully smacked it. “Ouch!” I yelped.

“You want me to stop?” he inquired.

“No, no. It feels good in a weird way.”

So Brad continued licking and gnawing on my big butt. Then he even managed to give it a hickey and finished off by spanking me really hard. “That’ll make a mark,” he said.

“What will?” I asked gingerly rubbing my buns, “the hickey or the spanking?”

“Both. Now turn over and get into the bed,” he commanded.

Brad took off all his clothes and revealed a semi-hard cock. He snuggled under the covers next to me. The feeling of having him here, beside me in bed, almost brought tears of joy to my eyes. It felt so right and comforting. I clung on to him tightly, not saying a word, just drinking up his presence. And something was rising for the occasion.

“You see…my trouser snake…he likes you,” Brad said as I looked down there.

“Mmm, and I love him, too.” I bent down to give him a blowjob. Trouser snake got even bigger and firmer in my mouth.

“Hey, tonight’s the night for serious fucking,” Brad said as he pulled his dick out of my mouth and began to lie on top of me.

I instantly put my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his hair. I closed my eyes as we began some heavy-duty French kissing. Our tongues twirled around each other; drool dripping on to my chest. I didn’t care.

He reached down to guide his stiff cock inside my very wet cunt hole. I shrieked as he entered me. I clung on to his shoulders. His weight bearing down on top of me as an act of possession, his look of total lust watching my every move excited and thrilled me. I thought I was going to cum then and there.

“Shut up you loud slut! This is meant to last a long time,” he instructed.

“Don’t move it then, keep still!” I wailed.

He smiled. “I know what I’m doing.”

We continued our French kissing, saliva going everywhere. I don’t know how long it went on for but the spit was rolling onto the sheets. Brad said it was a novel place for a wet spot.

“Ok, I’m going to move my thing really slowly in…and out of your pussy. You ready?”

“Yes,” I said gasping in anticipation.

It was like sparks flying everywhere: I remember Brad telling me to keep breathing and not to squirm. I shouted and swore, “Oh fuck! It’s so beautiful, your fucking cock!” and “Oh help, oh please, your dick is going to split me in two!”

He joined in with his own filth: “You fucking whore slut, making my dick so hard. I’m not going to pump it all in right away. You are going to have to wait!”

Slowly in and out all the way went his cock, spearing me again and again. I begged him to go faster and I wriggled in ecstasy. He stopped suddenly. I could feel his cock going into spasm inside of me. “Oh shit, I nearly came then,” he said, “reach down and play with yourself.”

My vulva was slimy and swollen. I fingered myself like a bitch on heat. I looked into Brad’s wild eyes. “You are so beautiful, Brad. I love you so much. You make my cunt feel so good.”

“You are going to cum soon, aren’t you?”

“I want to make it last. Help me!”

“Slow down then.”

“No, I don’t want to. Oh, it’s too good. Oh, Brad, oh God, aaaaaaaargh!”

Brad held me tight and rode me hard. He needed his release, too. “You cunt, you are going to make me shoot my load!”

“Yes, I want every drop, I’m your whore. I want your big dick, oooooooooh!” I shuddered as he thrust his cock deeply inside of me. He trembled and ferociously stared at me as he ejaculated. I lost all control of my body as orgasm after orgasm waved over me.

He collapsed on top of me. Both of us panted and could not speak for many minutes.

“Oh, Jesus, girl, that was some fuck,” he said as he rose and went to the bathroom. I don’t remember him coming back to bed. I was already fast asleep.

I have no idea what time it was when Brad gently called my name. “Clarissa…Clarissa…wake up!”

“Hmmm?” I mumbled.

“I’ve got somethin’ for ya. Feel this,” he uttered hoarsely. He steered my hand towards his raging erection.

“What time is it?” I asked, slightly befuddled.

“Mmm, about 4:30…in the morning,” he added cheekily.

It was my turn to give him a sly sidelong glance. “I didn’t think it was in the middle of the afternoon just yet. I need a pee, silly”

When I got back in bed, we cuddled spoon style. His big dick kept reminding me that it wanted some consideration.

“Have you ever done it like this?” inquired Brad.

“Like what?” No, obviously I hadn’t.

“I stick it up your pussy while we stay in this position.”

“Ummm, o.k.”

Brad did not deliberate. He lined his shaft straight up the mine and plunged in.

“Oh my God! It’s huge like this!” I cried.

“You o.k? You like it?” he asked, not wanting to hurt me.

“I will be, please take it easy.”

Very soon, feelings of pleasure started to dance around my nether regions. Brad placed a hand over my breast when I started to sigh with satisfaction.

“Mmmmmmmm, ohhhhhhhh, it’s so good Brad.”

“You not too sore down there?” Brad asked.

“I’m o.k. It feels wonderful.” I purred.

I took hold of his hand and brought his fingers to my mouth. Everything about Brad was big: his cock, thighs, hair, moustache…even his ego. But because I had such small hands, I was drawn to his massive paws. I put one of his fingers in my mouth and sucked contentedly.

“Oh yeah, baby, that’s good, that’s good,” he hissed with desire.

It was a long slow fuck executed in a half-dream state. Sucking on his fingers was pure pleasure that woke me up and heightened my arousal.

My hand found my clitoris. As soon as I began rubbing it I knew I was ready for another round. I moaned while Brad spoke the language of lust: “Oh baby, I need it, I need lots of sex. I want to fuck you all the time…I never want it to stop!”

His thrusts became firmer and deeper. The delightful feelings emanating from my cunt began seeping outwards warming my entire body, as I got ready for another blast.

“Let’s slow down…slow down, Clarissa. Not yet.”

We lay motionless except for me sucking on his fingers. His breathing was hard as he attempted to hold back his orgasm.

Brad began biting my back and I squirmed. I could not hold back anymore; my vulva was ripe and ready to cum.

“You fucking bitch…are you cumming?”

“Mmm Hmm,” I said in-between sucks.

“Oh God, here’s some more.” He thrusted vigorously and shouted as he filled me up again. I loudly squealed in extreme pleasure, tumbling past the point of no return. We lay out of breath like a mating pair…sow and boar…still joined after the servicing and too exhausted to speak.

I stopped sucking as I felt sleep take hold again. We remained in our spoon position and Brad held me close. I remember him gently kissing my neck and saying, “Love you, piglet.”

I could hear the fife and drum in the distance. Yankee and Confederate armies fired with proud hostility at each other. Robert E. Lee rode valiantly on his horse, sword in hand, ready to take on the next man in his path.

But this was not the real thing, surely. My Daddy used to take me every year to a re-enactment play of the Civil War when I was a little girl. Thing is, I could not see my Daddy anywhere. I must be lost but I can hear him shouting, “Clarissa! Clarissa!” No, wait, Daddy died when I was twelve years old.

Somebody was shaking me forcefully. I jolted awake and saw Brad sitting up in bed next to me. Uncle Frank, looking mad as hell, loomed over us.

He did not say anything but I knew he was livid. In my family, you know someone is really pissed when they go into a stony silence. Uncle Frank turned around, walked out of my bedroom and slammed the door shut.

“Oh shit!” I exclaimed trembling like a newborn fawn.

Brad kissed my cheek. “Now don’t worry. I’ll get dressed and…talk to your uncle,” he said in a hushed whisper. I could not believe how calmly he was handling our predicament.

“He’ll kill me Brad.”

In the middle of hoisting up his Levis, he turned to face me and a dark look flashed across his face. “I’ll kill him… before he does that.”

Taking a deep breath, Brad stopped before he opened the door, slowly spun around to look at me and winked. He silently mouthed, “I love you” and then brazenly walked into the next room like a man who felt he could get away with anything.

I never saw him again. Uncle Frank threw him out of the house before I even had a chance to get dressed.

The next few hours whipped around me like a storm. Uncle Frank knew damn well the notorious name of Brad Whitewood, Sr and felt it was his duty to get me away from his evil influence.

“Jesus, Clarissa, have you any idea who you have got yourself mixed-up with?” Uncle Frank asked exasperatedly.

“No,” I replied hesitantly. Well, I had some idea but love erases things like that.

“He’s known in these part for all sorts of stealin’ and cheatin’. Dang, there’s talk he’s even killed people. The police are just waitin’ to hang him by his balls once they get somethin’ definite on him.”

Oh God, I did not know he was this bad. I felt so ill, so confused. That very same day Uncle Frank delivered me safely back to my Momma. As Uncle Frank turned to leave I did not know what I was doing. “Wait! I have to go back! Mr. Silverstein is expecting me at work tomorrow,” I shouted.

My Momma held my hand as I tried to make a dash towards the open door.

“No, Clarissa, I’ll phone him first thing in the morning. I promise to send you any money you are owed in wages. I’m sorry it has to be this way.” Uncle Frank said.

He walked slowly out the door like a pallbearer. Uncle Frank always reminded me of a Dickensian character: he was long and thin and looked like just the sort of man who would be employed at Mr Sowerberry’s funeral parlour.

I remembered I cried and cried inconsolably for days. Momma kept a watchful eye on me in case I ran away. I did think about it but I had gone back to my old ways of being scared of him now that I knew he was capable of murder. I felt I could not talk to Momma at all about Brad.

Then there was a call one night. It must have been about a week after I was back home. Momma answered it. I only remember bits of the conversation: “No, Clarissa can’t speak to you,”…”Have you got any children, Mr. Whitewood?” There was a long pause as she listened. “Then you will understand how I feel about my daughter” and “I suggest you go find them then and look after your own. Good-bye. Don’t ever phone here again.” Slam went the receiver.

It took me months to finally open up to her. I was so afraid that Momma would condemn me with her sharp tongue but she never did. “Jesus said let he who has not sinned cast the first stone. I have no right to throw any stones especially at my own flesh and blood.”

She helped me to recover and get back on my own two feet both physically and emotionally. I never found the religious conviction that my Momma had but she never pushed it on me. I will always love her and be grateful for all she did. Momma died not that long ago; died peacefully in her sleep.

The following year after my affair with Brad, I went back to college. It took me four years but I did it. I teach young people to read and write at Thomas Jefferson Junior High School. I have been here ever since I graduated from teacher training college. I hope my enthusiasm for the written word will inspire my pupils to write their own unique life stories one day.

So now the camomile tea has gone cold. I read with a bittersweet fascination about the life and crimes of Brad Whitewood, Sr. It is well past midnight and I have an exam to prepare for my seventh grade class.

Emotions have been churned up; emotions I thought I would never see again. I suddenly feel awake and realise that there is something in the back of my mind nagging away at me. I energetically walk into my bedroom as if it is the middle of the day. I think what I want is there. My mind is racing. So much for the soporific effect of the few sips of camomile tea I had.

Fancy that, old Mrs. Du Bois and her tin of beans conversation. Little did I know the man who headed the tractor-stealing gang was furiously fucking me. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. At least, I had some of the most mind-blowing sex because of it.

But there was a sinister side to my being whisked away from Brad. About three months after I was back in Nashville with Momma, Uncle Frank was killed in a crash. Well, for some reason, the police found his truck smashed against a farmer’s barn with him quite cold and dead inside of it. At the time we thought it was a misfortunate accident but now a part of me thinks that Brad had something to do with it. I’ll never know. The other part of me thinks that since I’ll never know the truth for certain that I must give my lovely evil Brad the benefit of the doubt. And I do so willingly without thinking twice about it and without any shame.

The passing of all these years makes me feel safe to admit that I loved Brad as soon as he walked past me in that dirty dingy and smelly old bar. He never went out of his way to do me any harm. I guess, in time, he might have. But I still love him all the same with all my heart. To deny this would only rock my soul at its foundations. I love him …imperfections and all.

Ah yes, there it is. I keep it tucked well away at the bottom of my panties drawer. Well, it just seems the most appropriate place! That night at Giorgio’s, I still have the picture Dickie took of Brad and me. Gee, no doubt, the Polaroid camera was stolen, too, but I’m grateful because it is the only physical thing I have of Brad. The picture is a bit bent and faded but I still quiver with excitement and my heart skips a beat as I behold his manly features: bold, daring and a little bit scary. I haven’t seen this photo for years.

Even after all that sex, I never had his child. Perhaps it’s just as well considering what he did to his sons. Brad made me feel complete just the same. I guess no man has ever compared in masculinity, looks and downright cheek to him. I have never been able to settle down with anyone and I guess that’s the reason why. I have never realised this until now.

I wonder if anyone will be shedding any tears for him at his funeral? An old song enters my head as a memorial to him, appropriately by Simon and Garfunkel:

Time it was
And what a time it was
It was…
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences.
Long ago,,,it must be…
I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories,
They’re all that’s left you.

And I weep for Brad.