Loverman

I spend a few days with my parents. My husband never comes. He's almost as old as my father. Never say anything to each other. For months nows. My parents I've been thinking about more often. I tell myself maybe I've treated them unfairly. I go, but as soon as I'm there I can only think of getting away.
You say I've blossomed. When I left you said: 'You get more and more beautiful. How is it possible? Do I have this effect on you?'
To get fucked so well makes me happy. I want to tell the world. It's good for the complexion. I restrain myself.
I receive a great big bunch of flowers from you. My sister, well, she doesnt give a damn, or pretends not to. The story of my married man with children sticks in her throat. She can't help herself. She must project herself into the role of the victim. The women betrayed and humiliated. She goes on about my husband, asks if I ever think about how much I am hurting him. We only have one bloody life I tell her and that I do not have to tell him. Marriage doesn't vaccinate you against love I add, nor does having children. I ask if she's ever cum more than once in a week. Now I know I'm being cruel.