Add to that the funeral of my best friend’s mum, and it became the antithesis of the season of cheer.Kelly Redpath’s funeral took place at Morden crematorium, not far from home (which we had now re-occupied after extensive building work). Harry seemed numb, understandably. I’d been in his shoes and knew how he felt. The police had interviewed him prior to the funeral about his mum selling me out. That muddied his feelings into an ugly mess of grief, anger and fear. In no way did I hold him responsible, and repeatedly tried to hammer that into his head.When we were alone at the end of the funeral day, he commented, “Well, I guess I really am alone now. At least I won’t have to tell ‘er ‘bout me bein’ a poof.”“29th of April, 1965”, I said with seeming randomness.“You wha’?”“29th of April, 1965. You remember that day?”“No, why? Wait — were that the day we first met?”“Nearly. It was the day before, the day that my parents were killed. That was the last day you were truly alone, ya daft. For now, all that mattered was getting my life back on track, keeping my marriage intact and retaining a firm hold on the only man who'd ever managed to make me feel like something more than just a dowdy housewife -- you, my Master.We found you easily enough, since I took him directly to the security office in the back of the building. You were there, watching us approach the door. I think, even before introductions were made, that you already knew who this man with me was. I stood, silently, as you both shook hands and went through the ritual of sizing each other up. I was so nervous. So excited. My pussy was on fire with yearning for release. Not from my husband, but from you, Master. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, I was surprised that neither of you noticed; even my mouth had gone dry. But, my body was shaking -- hard. I was that nervous of the encounter between the two of you. Now, here we stood, the three of us quietly assessing one another. Quietly contemplating the next.
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