My wife Cynthia died on a Monday. She had been unconcerned when she started spotting between her periods and didn't bother me with the concerns of her gynoclogist until the diagnosis came back, uterine cancer. The cancer was stage IV and highly aggressive, the doctor didn't sugarcoat the results. Cynthia fought hard, surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, but in the end the diagnosis had come too late.
read more
I knew the coming discussion would change my life, yet I debated with myself whether it was for the better or worse. My wife decided that we could not live together anymore and filed for divorce. The court served papers on me today.
I spent most of the day packing my clothes and personal belongings into a small U-Haul. The discussion we began was how to split joint property. I knew she wanted the property in town with higher real estate value.
read more
"Going anywhere nice this month Mr. Tunny?" the nurse asked as she watched Harold get his coat on and head for the door
"Oh just for a stroll and maybe to the shops nurse" the old man smiled back as he put his hat on and went to kiss his wife goodbye before he went out.
Harold Tunny was 73 years old and lived with his 78 year old wife Angela in a cosy little retirement home, over the course of their lives they had made some good money and could have stayed in their house which was rather spacious,
read more
I was on my way over to Karen's little home studio, Bob Segar was wailing away on my stereo, I was feeling fine.
Karen always made me feel fine, if you saw her you would know just what I mean.
Maybe 30 at the most, she is a Licensed Massage Therapist. ALL massage therapists should look like her, long dark hair, a set of boobs to die for. Just a trace of a pouty Bardot type tummy and sway back, blending down to an ass that gave me a reason more than once to reach for my dick.
read more
Her passing had been very sudden. We had been sat together watching nothing in particular on the TV and she had slipped into a sleep that I realised, eventually, was death. The family had been caring, the funeral sensitive and then followed the lowliness -- that awful sense that something was missing in my life.
Our children had all left home, but living close, they had kept in touch, not oppressively, but supportively.
read more
Mrs. Khanna ran into Mrs. Sorabji as the latter was stepping out of an exclusive shoe store at Nariman Point in Mumbai.
"Hi Yasmin," exclaimed Mrs. Khanna," haven't seen you in ages! How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. And you?"
"Oh, vadhiya ji vadhiya," said Preeti Khanna jovially, then her eyebrows knitted into a frown, "you are a clinical psychologist, right?"
read more