The inside of the trailer house was, to put it bluntly, appalling! Gene was sitting in a recliner chair that looked like it had been tossed out on the sidewalk and left there for weeks before he'd retrieved it and place it in his trailer house. Empty milk crates and wooden boxes made up much of the other furniture. The television was the sole nod to modern living, it was a large, flat-screen model that was perched on top of a large box. The kitchen held any number of unwashed dishes and what looked like an entire empire of roaches that skittered about in the near darkness (the only working light was from the television and a small lamp that sat on the floor in one corner of the living room. "Okay, what d'ya want?" he demanded from his throne before the television set.
With no place to sit, I had to stand as I said, "I came to speak to you about Melissa?"
"Your wife? Yeah. What about her?"
"Is what I've heard about you and her true?"
"I dunno. What have you heard?" Gene seemed completely unconcerned. My belief in his guilt wavered, but I was committed, I plowed on.
"Are you and her...having...relations?" I choked out.
"No relation I know of." Gene said and I relaxed, then he went on, "If you mean am I fucking her brains out, the answer is hell, yeah!"
"What...what...what?"
"Yep, every Tuesday afternoon." Gene said and swigged a belt from his can of beer. I hadn't noticed it until now.
I floundered. "You admit it?"
"Yeah, why the hell not?"
"But...but...she's my wife!"
"So what?"
"So...so...you have to stop it!" I burst out.
Gene considered this, shook his head. "Nah! I don't want to stop. Don't worry, I'll get bored with her and dump her after a while. She's a pretty boring fuck, but I don't have anything better for my Tuesdays right now."
How can you answer such a callous, cruel man? He knew what he was doing to me, and he didn't even care! "What...what can I do to make you stop seeing her right now?" I asked.
Find him another... "Oh, I can't do that!" I gasped out. "I don't know any woman like that!"
"Yeah? I'm already balling five other women in the cul-de-sac now." Gene took another swig of his beer, belched, and went on. "So find me someone to fill in my Tuesdays and I'll dump that bitch, no problem."
I was beaten and I knew it. I just put my face into my hands and moaned. "I don't know anybody like that, I don't!" I sank to my knees in my misery.
I heard the sound of Gene getting up from his recliner. He was going to throw me out of the trailer house. My God, I'd lost my wife, my beloved Melissa, my sweet angel! She wouldn't even let me touch her more than twice a year, but she was bedding this man every Tuesday afternoon? Oh, horror!
"You do know one person who could replace her, maybe." Gene told me from his new position standing right in front of me. "If he's good enough, that is."
And then I heard the unmistakable sound of a man's jean zipper being pulled down. I opened my eyes and looked and I was looking right at Gene's cock. Not stiff, it was like an obscene brownish banana dangling there from his fly, and his hand reached down and pumped on it and it rose up like a snake rising up to strike.
THE END OF THIS SAMPLE
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