A DIRTY VALENTINE

Chapter 2

The cold winter breeze woke Jane up. She had forgotten to lock her window. And the breeze had seeped in. We'll even if she had,the window was spoilt. The cold would have still seeped in. She never thought of her life for once. That cold was dangerous. Her late husband always said "it will cause you pneumonia..."

But where was he now? No one to tell what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and where to do it. Somehow, widowhood sounded pleasing. A bit of solace. But not perfect. Just a bit enticing for the sorrows suffered and pain felt. She looked around the empty house. It was too quiet. Too lonely. No one visited... And she visited no one. She just stayed in the house. She merely lived in it. It was not a home. At all. It was just a house. She wondered why she hadn't had children. She had never had any. Martin had said that he wanted her to keep her shape. She wondered why that had meant. Though she was still in her twenties, the need for children had always been there. But she didn't really know what to make of them. She had always wanted children. But Martin refused. So each time they made love, she always took contraceptives. And some occasions Martin used a condom.

Their love life was a bit satisfying. In woman affairs, Martin was a beast. He boasted that that he only could sleep with all the women in Manchester and still have time for her. She had always laughed. He thought too much of s*x and not of love. Which was bad for a man.

Very bad for a man. It wasn't too good. s*x was his weakness. Whenever she was angry at him and wanted him to apologise, all she would do was to dress sexily and wait for him. He would first come in, pretend not to see her, go upstairs and finding the door locked, he would have to come back down. Then when he came down, he would pounce on her. In between the love making, she would voice out her anger and they would become cool again after that. But now she was lonely. Too dull for herself.

Maybe a cigarette would light her up. She lit a stick and inhaled slowly. Into her mouth…. She closed her eyes. This was good. Really…. Really good. Men…. So she had been missing out…. No wonder her husband called her a few derogatory names. She inhaled and exhaled again. She could smoke all day. She felt she belonged in that circle… A bad addiction. Very bad one.

When she woke up, it was late. She had smoked a bit too much. The pack contained twenty cigarettes. And six were left in it. So she had smoked fourteen? Nah…. It wasn't real…. Maybe it was just fantasy. She won't up to take a shower. But before that, she disposed of the cigarettes and the ashes. Then she went up. A million soaps….. Liquid, solid…. Lined her bathing table. She had always spent expensively on herself. All the soaps… With their tapering bottles, rounded bottles,and cartons were too much to be finished in the next five years to come. That was even if she bathed six times a day…. Ridiculously large for a widow.

****

The pot roast was too salty. Her husband had always hated that. He'd always said…you are a bad chef. I wonder what your daughters will look like. Learning from someone who cannot make a standard meal. She had always felt bad. But he never apologised. He always told her that insult was the best form of correction. Which in her idea wasn't always the best. Insult could cause more pain than a gentle warning. And if the insult went too far, it could be used as a yardstick for violence. And the heart of man was deep and wicked. Who knew what was beneath it….? Nobody could predict. So she bore the insults… Manfully…. No complaints. Like the dutiful and doting wife she was supposed to be. She looked up George's number again. She dialled it. It didn't even ring. She put the phone down and sighed. The owner of friggins. That multimillionaire business. It had survived the hardships, recessions, higher taxes, dwindling customers and most recently near bankruptcy. The company was painted with pride in London and neighbouring Wales and Ireland. Everyone wanted to be a part of the company. If she could even get to sleep with the owner, she thought, she might become rich. The next heir to the throne of wealth. Enough money. But what could she do? This was only fantasy… She could see his big c**k. Forcing its way into her. She could feel her self moaning softly. Her skin turning pale. She could feel his hands on her. She opened her eyes. Fantasy. She had to shower.

The bathroom wa quiet as usual. She touched her self. Sweet pain. She had this feeling of Euphoria. She had to finger herself. No s*x in almost two years was a long time. She put her fingers in her mouth to moisten it. And then, she removed it and put it between her legs. She moaned softly. ‘ah… Ah… Ah….ah….ah…’in delicious pain. Her c****x didn't come easy. It never came easy.