..” she giggles lightly, squeezes that growing bulge in his pants, “go upstairs, I’ll meet you there.”She can see that he’s heard her, but ...oesn’t know how to proceed; she spanks his ass hard, and he jumps in surprise. They laugh together, and he starts up the stairs.When she joins him, he sees his surprise: a long, silver package with red and tan stripe, red Du Maurier name written across the top in scrolling letters. She rips the plastic away, shakes out a cigarette and holds it unlit. But I know I shall end up a walking ghost, an anemic skeleton.I'll bleed to the last pint.I guess the first thing to do is to stop this self-pity. But I can't. Not yet.I am entitled to some self-pity, am I not? For God's sake, it has been an hour now. Leave me some slack, will you? Please, for a minute hold back your damned advice on how a real man should act. Fuck you. I don't even believe you have a wife yourself. So stuff your easy shit talk.I should hate her, you say.But what shabby hate is. More

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