I loved him, or the person I thought he was. Whether that was an illusion or not, it was real to me. Now I’m alone.”“Alone? Belinda The Body alone? I don’t believe it. You just have to snap your fingers, wiggle your hips, shrug your shoulders to make your tits jiggle, and you’ll be surrounded by admirers.”“Who look at my tits and not me. Except you, Alan. Why are you alone? We’ve been talking about me. What about you? Why no girlfriend? Don’t you like women?” “Yes,” I sighed. “I like women. I loved one. We were engaged. That’s why I’m here. She didn’t like the conditions of my old job as a basis for marriage…”“Why not?”“I would have been travelling too much, too far for too long. She wanted a husband who would come home at six o’clock every evening, not be sending her a telegram from Austria, or Australia. So I resigned and took a job here.”“And then what?”“She decided she didn’t want a commuting husband either. She didn’t want to live in a London suburb. She wanted to live in her. She pulled off her panties and assumed the same position as had her mother, spreading her legs and bending over the table, throwing her long dress over her head... The man slid into her, gave her a few rapid shoves, then pulled out and splashed his seed on Gina's buttocks. The man crowed again, pulled up his shorts and left, without a word to anyone.Gina wiped herself up and pulled her panties back on. She remembered the tragic look of shock he had worn at the wife's funeral. Married for forty years, now suddenly alone, he seemed to be ready to die himself, if only to rejoin his beloved Edith. He was too numb to cry, so Gina cried for him. He withdrew into his house in the days that followed, hardly ever emerging. Now he seemed to be happy, if a trifle confused. During his more lucid moments he was a charming and interesting fellow. Gina often stopped to chat with him as he watered his lawn or tended his garden. He had traveled and done much during his life and loved to relate his.
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