"I'm Ashley. I'm sorry we had to meet like this. I'm not usually such a klutz!" I told her her my name and added, "You're not klutzy at all. I'm very happy I was there to catch you, Ashley. That could have been a nasty fall for you. I think this was a very fortunate way to meet." She smiled again, that wide pretty smile I love so much and said, "Yes! I'm glad you were there, Mr. Connors. I really need to run though or I'm going to be late." I told her I would take her shoe with me to glue and put into a clamp to make sure it set properly. "That's so nice of you!" she said. "I can pick it up tomorrow then? Will your wife be home if you're not?" I told her I lived alone, divorced, and that she could knock anytime tomorrow and I would be in. "You live alone? In that big three bedroom apartment?" Our floor plans were identical, but reversed. I told her, "I use one bedroom for an office and the other to store my books and old records and all the years of stuff I've accumulated. I didn't. They wanted me to prolong it, but I took that away from them. I held the power. I swallowed, licked my lips and said thickly, ?when you’re done with me, why don’t you fuck him like the little bitch he is,? I said, nodding at my husband. ?The reason I was never his willing whore is because he never had what it takes.? I forced a laugh. ?You’re not a real man; you’re a joke.? My husband jumped up, his chair flying across the room and into the wall. ?You shut the fuck up!? ?Why?? I said. ?What are you going to do?? I turned my head and looked at the leaky mildew-encrusted pipes over my head. ?Kill me?? The two men looked at each other, but said nothing. My husband looked absurd—his rigid cock swiveling when he moved, pants balled up around his ankles. Having established a pecking order, or so I thought, I realized that yes, my husband, as much as I loved him, was not a man I could whore myself for. Not until tonight at least. They were going to kill me.
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