Sure, we’d been physically separated by work and other things during those twenty-four years.But this was different. We were apart now, and I was alone, as she was in another man’s bed. A man I’d allowed her and maybe even encouraged her to meet. A man who was a caricature for masculinity and virility, and who had bedded Claire that night and given her more pleasure than she’d ever had from me in bed.My tears started up again as these thoughts surged through my brain, like the destructive and panic inducing flood waters of a Tsunami. And as these thoughts and tears returned, my mind’s eye replayed the sights and sounds of when Claire had told Jason how much she loved his body, masculinity, and big cock, and told him that his love-making was better than mine. I cried like a baby, grateful that there was no one to hear or see me.As I went into the house to refill my glass, I couldn’t help but stare longingly at the images of Claire in our family photos: Claire by herself, Claire with. Rachel looked at me, and said nothing. I didn't feel like talking either, so we had dinner in silence, and then we went and had our respective showers, and went to bed.One day, about three weeks after the attack, I was at home on the computer looking for information on something, and I heard the front door open, and I heard Rachel say, "Just go in, and I'll be with you in a minute!"Then a stunning red-haired girl shyly walked into the living room, and she gave a start, and said, "Oh! I'm sorry. Rache' said for me to come in. I sorry if I disturbed you!"I was about to say something, but I noticed her shortened version of Rachel's name, and that confused me for a moment, and so I got up, and held out my hand, and told her that my name was Alfie Marks, "just call me Afie."She smiled, and the sun shone a bit brighter there in my living room. Then she looked at her hand in mine, and I let it go, saying sorry, and I asked her if she wanted something to drink. She looked around, and then it.
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