Richard James didn’t
care much for his wife. Sure, he liked her when she was fresh, young, and ripe. He liked her when she had no voice, and when she cleaned his sullied house, and when she kept the children quiet. But these present days were poles apart from the moist tart she used to be. Richard James just didn’t think she was pliable enough for him now. Gravity had gotten the best of her. Feminism ruined her skin. She kept leaving to meet her friends for coffee, like some yuppie Aristocrat who needed a name. He wasn’t about to play some attention game with her. Especially when that young thing at his office wears those low-cut blouses for the Monday night meetings. That sugar-bottom makes him feel like a King.
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |