The girls still flocked to Paul. Josh was a red-head, five-ten, and a bit stocky. Me, I’m five-eleven, eminently forgettable brown hair, and an even...more forgettable average body. We ranged in age from 22 to 24. None of us displayed any symptoms of hypogonadism. That’s a fancy word for “testosterone deficiency.” We fucked our way through everything in a skirt, everything that owned a skirt, and everything that could spell skirt in seven tries or less. OK, maybe eight. Or nine. Some girls just. My wife called and we talked on the phone as we usually do as she drives home at the same time I know I have twenty minutes till she arrives watching the clock I figure it’s time to light the candles, turn off all the lights and put in a CD in the stereo and at a moderate volume for listening and talking. She arrives; I run and lay on the bed in my new blue silk robe. As she enters the house I could hear her lay her coat and purse down. I could hear sigh as I know after standing all day long. After a pause she stood up slowly and remained a moment by my side. ‘You’ve never embarrassed me, and from the very first day I have felt safe in your care. You’re a remarkable man, Dace Shepherd.’ Standing next to me, she seemed as were she the Statue of Liberty or Venus de Milo, majestic, imposing, striking in her person, engagingly beautiful to me, and suddenly in her increasing maturity as distant as those maidens of stone. She laid a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘Gute Nacht.’ For her to. ‘Make me, you pipsqueak motherfucker.’ ‘Remember you asked for this.’ Laurie turned the corner and saw that brute of her ex standing in John’s den, pieces of the broken shutter and window behind him on the floor. Just the sight of him sent a brutal chill down her spine and she dropped to her knees. ‘Leave him alone Fred.’ Her tone was quiet, but her words were forceful. The two men squaring off turned to look at Laurie as she kneeled in the entrance to the room. ‘Where the fuck you been… What.
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