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“It’s over.” That was it. Nothing else. He stood there looking at the phone, confused. Minutes passed before realisation hit him: It’s over – the waiting is over. Despite it making no sense, it was the only explanation – the woman who pushed passed him, ignoring him. She was the dead man’s Wife… his Wife! He thought he’d been at the Funeral of his Foster Brother – but he hadn’t… it was his own! People had talked about the accident on the approach from the cars to the graveside, he’d overheard them but had paid them little attention, but now, thinking about it, he couldn’t remember anything leading to the moment of passing through the graveyard’s gates. One minute he was walking down the street, the next he’s standing over a collapsing grave in the pouring rain. He’d no recollection of preparing himself for the day’s events, no memory of travelling, dressing, nothing! The accident they’d described was his. He hadn’t survived like he’d originally believed… he’d died. He couldn’t. She stood smiling at him, his now rampant prick standing proudly from his groin, his eyes roaming over her shapely curves with a piercing gaze that bored into her skin. Arms at her sides she slowly turned a full 360 degrees, so he could see the whole body. She had forgotten the recent stripes across her butt, still red and bruised only remembering as he drew in his breath at the sight, she knew she would need to explain that to him later. She led him to her bed made him kneel at the side, then lay before him like a sacrifice, flat on her back, she told him to explore her, he could touch anywhere he wished, ask whatever he wanted, and not be afraid or shy. He began on her breasts, familiar territory perhaps, his touch like a butterfly, sending shudders through her whole body as the found her nipples. the breasts flat now like jellies, the erect nipples like cherries on two Belgium bun`s. He instinctively bent and kissed first one and then the other, it had the effect of an electric.
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