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AFTER I'M MARRIED

by

Mr. Gingerbread

(Searching in my husband Will's hard-drive, I found a few stories. Here's one of them. He didn't "tell me everything" after all, damn his soul. Gingerbread.)

It was evening. My secretary was driving me in her car. We were in a residential area where a little dale ran along back of some houses and in front of others. It had grass and trees and some swings, picnic tables, even two gravel paths wandering along with the contours of the land. It seemed well kept. She stopped the car, put it in park, leaned her head back against the headrest, subtly raising her lovely breasts—- the rest of her body was ample, plump, but her breasts were so smooth, so round, so fully-packed, they were breath-taking. She sighed, acting bored.

"I brought him here last night," she said.

She was referring to her husband-to-be, Fred, an executive in our company, who was a few years older than she. Mary and I had been lovers—- not really lovers, just fuckers-- for a year or so. Exciting ...

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