Dear Charles
- 3 years ago
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Dear JohnChapter 8 free porn video
“Hey girl, welcome to Casa de Cord,” said Abigail.
“Thanks,” said Harriet Bridger. “So what’s the latest on the missing loved one?”
“Nothing, not so much as a post card. Frankly, I’m worried about the guy. I mean, I guess on one level no news is good news, but it is worrisome not knowing anything. He should be back by now. But, I guess he’s still over there,” said Abby.
“Hmm, yes, makes sense I guess or you would’ve gotten a whiff for sure. I mean the babies and all,” said Harriet.
“Yes, and the Army would have notified me if...” started Abby.
“Yes, them’s the rules. Well, they are since you’re still technically married, right?” said Harriet.
“Yes, and Owen checked that out for us. So anyway, I’m worried, but not terrified, not at the moment at any rate,” said Abby.
“Hmm, good,” she said. “He’s still just an office geek right?”
“Yeah, I guess. That’s the last I heard anyway,” she said. “I’d been kind a bad about writing him. In fact the last letter I got from him was him complaining that I hadn’t been writing often enough. He didn’t know about Owen then. But now he does and I figure that that’s the reason he hasn’t responded to my last letter to him,” she said. “He’s pissed and I don’t blame him.”
“Yeah, makes sense, I guess,” said Harriet.
“He’ll have to contact us at some point right?” said Abigail. “I mean he’ll want to see his children, right?”
“For sure, especially since it’s two little girls. He probably is worried that your new man will be taking his place with them. That would be almost worse than you divorcing him. I’ve seen stuff like that before. You need to make sure he knows that he’s the daddy and Owen is the stepdaddy or uncle or whatever,” said Harriet.
“In my letter to him I made that very point. I figured that he might be concerned about something like that happening. I made damn sure I spelled it out for him. I just hope he believes me. Know what I mean,” she said.
Since finding my downtown apartment—number 104 at the Gloria Arms—I hadn’t gone out much except to the nearby grocery store for food. I had no TV and didn’t want one. I was not going to be a couch potato, not on any level.
I was able to get around in my chair pretty much okay. I was doing a lot of reading. I was lucky there because there was a mobile library that tooled through the complex once a week. I’d never been a reader before, but my bud Jeff Michaels, ex-sergeant USA, had turned me on to reading when I was in country. No TV where we were, so I was kinda weaned off of the need for it I guess would be the way to say it.
Oh, and lest I forget, Jeff Michaels and Claire Cunningham had both moved to Tucson; talk about a lucky break for me. Claire was ex-lieutenant Claire of bad day in Afghanistan fame: she was the nurse in the Humvee that day.
I wanted to get a job and hopefully as a computer geek somewhere. I knew it was going to be tough looking the way I did and me being in the chair and all. But, I was hoping. I mean I did have a resume now, one from the United States Army. I was going to be hanging out at the local VFW to see if somebody there could turn me on to something, oh, and to drink. The only problem was that it, the nearest VFW, was a good three miles from the Gloria. Well, maybe I could find a cheap cabbie to get me there.
They’d been sitting on the couch together, his arm languidly resting on the back of it. Their conversation? About her ex-husband to be of course.
“It’s been too long,” said Owen. “The man doesn’t want to be found or contacted. Anyway, now that the divorce is final, how about we set the date?”
“Yes, it’s time,” she said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“June first?” he said. She smiled.
“Sounds like a winner,” she said. He came to her and took her in his arms.
She leaned into him and felt, something, safe maybe, secure. She thought back to her man overseas. She was never able to get him to want to be the provider he could have been. The one thing that she needed from her man, her used to be man, was to feel secure, and she never had. And now that lack, that weakness, had ended them. More’s the pity, she thought.
She felt the man graze her breasts with his hand and she shivered.
Her own hand rested almost absently on his thigh. He shifted trying to wordlessly encourage her to reach for his hardness. She smiled. He was no mystery to her. She knew what he wanted and she giggled temporarily denying him his need.
He roughly grabbed her breasts and squeezed them punishing her for teasing him.
“You gonna tease me you’re gonna pay,” he said, but he was smiling.
“Sorry master,” she said. “Was I teasing you?”
He didn’t even think of responding to a question that ridiculous. He pulled her down on the floor with him and began fiercely feeling her up. He slid down her legs, and, reaching under her, relieved her of her panties which he unceremoniously tossed aside.
His hand cupped her barren labia and a finger invaded her. She grunted her discomfort, but it was a good kind of discomfort. He was her master and she his plaything, and she loved it.
He rose to a kneeling position and loosened his belt. She found his zipper and pulled it down. She was no longer merely surrendering to a strong male; she was actively participating in her own inevitable screwing. Already damp from his manually teasing her slit she was ready for him to take her.
He loomed above her his face a mask of animal lust. He pushed at her pussy with the nob of his cock and gained a partial entry. He pulled back slightly and pushed again. He was inside of her. A few more push-pulls and he was all the way in. He paused; then, he began screwing her slowly.
“Time to get to it,” she said. “Now you’re teasing me. Take me, okay!”
He didn’t answer her but he did follow her instructions as he began ramming her mercilessly. He was panting from the effort and for her part she was squeaking out unintelligible mutterings. He stiffened but a millisecond behind her doing the same thing.
The heat from his cumming all but scorched her insides.
“That’s what I mean,” she said. “That is indeed what I mean.”
“Good, very good,” he said, as he rolled off of her gasping for breath.
Settling in, if that’s what I was, was turning out to be super boring. I ate, I slept, and spent some time on my little nothing six by eight semi-patio reading, and that was it. My whole life boiled down to food, sleep and pulp fiction.
I did have my $2K monthly to get by on. It was enough. It wasn’t like I needed a lot more; I didn’t have no woman. There weren’t any women out there that would be interested in a guy like me, not like me. I was nothing more than a taller version of Quasimodo. Oh, and the legendary Q-man could at least walk; I couldn’t even do that. Fuckin’-A even Quasimodo had more chance with women than me.
I had to get out of the house, well, apartment. A cab would get me to the nearest sawdust joint where I could scare the patrons into leaving for less distressing venues.
The good news for me was that the apartment complex I was calling home furnished phonebooks to all of us. I found the cab numbers, called one of them to get my ass picked up. I hoped it wouldn’t be a female driver: I didn’t need the look I was certain to get. A guy driver wouldn’t be so bad; I didn’t care what guys thought of my looks. Hell I could laugh right along with them. Too bad I wasn’t gay; there might have been some hope for me there; but then again, probably not.
The Roman Candle—they served what they claimed was authentic Italian pizza—wasn’t exactly a sawdust joint, but the tap brew was always just one dollar. I could afford that; a hundred beers a month and I’d still be in the chips, fuckin’-A.
Gert
- 08.02.2023
- 10
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