John got up from the couch and headed down to the apartment complex laundry room. He wished that they would get washing machines and dryers right in the apartments like management had promised but he had to do what he had to do.
John was in his first year of college and his folks had helped him get this off campus place. He was an accounting major of all things and a bit of a recluse. He wasn't bad looking. John was 6' about 180 and had a lean athletic build. For all of that he was still a bit shy with the ladies though.
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I was determined to make it the best summer of my life.
I'd graduated college the first week of May and immediately received an offer for a dream job in San Diego. It meant moving clear across the nation, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up.
The job started in September, so I had several months on my hands. I'd be working fifty hours a week come autumn and probably for some years after, so I decided a prolonged vacation was in order and had just the place in mind.
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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.
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SUNDAY
It was my third time in England and the big British Airways jet came in over London and touched down at Heathrow thirty minutes early. As usual, it seemed to take almost as long to taxi and disembark as it had to cross the Atlantic, but finally I made my way with the other passengers along a carpeted corridor with a one way mirror at the end and came out into the baggage area. I had my laptop, as usual, and a bottle of Scotch I'd bought at O'Hare.
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Shortly after I turned thirty-nine my mother died suddenly of a coronary thrombosis. Dad had died seven years earlier. So since my brother Kenny, a journalist and my only sibling, was living in London at the time, and my daughter was in her second year of college, I was left alone with the task of going through my mother's things and deciding what should be kept and what should be thrown away.
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Coming home after four long months in hospital was indescribable. My wife, Robyn, fussed over me, ensuring my comfort. There was still a long road ahead with physiotherapy twice a week for at least the next six months would. The doctors assured me a return of 80% of what the drunk driver took from me when he hit me head-on. A good part of the 20% that would never be returned was my ability to achieve an erection due to damage done to that area.
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We have never been the type of people to be worried about showing our bodies. We have always walked about the house naked, even when the kids were still at home it was just as natural for them as it was for us.
Dave and I have always made love with the lights on, in just about every room in the house and, yes, of course we have fucked outdoors as well! I just do not understand how some people can spend a lifetime making love in the dark.
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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.
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"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,
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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.
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