Fir barish me mujhe bulayi. Main fir gaya. Jis din pahucha. Usi din raat ko phone aaya aur boli ghar aao. Maine bola kaise aaun. Fir usne bataya peeche k raste se mere ghar ki chath par aao aur jab utroge ghar me meri khat udhar h.Maine waise hi kiya. Darr bahut lag raha tha. Koi dekhega to ky bolega.Fir maine himmat karke chat se uske ghar me gaya. Woh mera intezaar kar rahi thi. Main use pakad kar kiss karne laga. Woh boli thoda shant ho. Woh batein aisi karti thi. Jaise koi shadi shuda jankaar mahila itni choti hone k baad b woh badi badi batein karti thi.Main uske chote chote boobs dabaye ja raha tha. Woh aaahhhh uuuuuaaah kar rahi thi aur bole ja rahi thi manoge nahi. Maine kaha, nahi ek saal tak intezaar kiya.Uski salwar alag kar diya aur kapde utar diya aur muh me uske chote chote boobs bhar k chusne laga. Woh pagal hoti ja rahi thi mera zor zor se pakad kar apne boobs par daba rahi thi aur zor zor se awazein nikal rahi thi. Main b pagal hote ja raha tha.Fir maine apni lungi. How could God be so cruel as to take her husband from her. The muttered condolences from her husband's friends and coworkers meant nothing to her. Standing by her side was her thirteen year old son, Paul. The c***d of a wartime marriage he had been born when his mother was just sixteen. Now almost as tall as his mother, he held an umbrella over her head to keep the rain off. Finally he touched her shoulder and said, "We should go, Mom. I don't want you to get sick too." Reluctantly, Sharon allowed Paul to lead her from the cemetery and take her home. She just hoped that the others would leave her alone for a while. She hated them all for still being alive. But her wish was not going to come true. As she left a pair of eyes was studying her and making plans. Tom Miller was, he was perfectly willing to admit, a real asshole. He was already making plans to visit his best friend's widow and "comfort" her. He had a lot of experience with mourning women during the war.
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