Rachel has been married for about as long as Mark and I have known each other. Time enough to get sick of her hubbies cock, anyway. And Andre has a nice one. Yes, I peeked, one time when we went swimming. She's bored and wants new adventure.
The old ten year rule... that's your allocated relationship time up. Please deposit all residual feelings in the marked container at the door, as you take your exit. Quietly Please! No sniping, thanks.
Or is it that they get harder after ten years? (I reckon I made it to eleven years, on a rough calcualtion. I'm not sure what year I stopped and what year Luke started?)
Rachel doesn't want to have sex with Andre any more. I told her she should at least blow him semi regularly, to keep the peace. Jesus, I'll blow Andre weekly if it means smoother sailing for Rach.
She asked me the other day what it all meant. What was the meaning of life.
I told her Greek boy's cocks. (A touch subjective, nah, not me) The world is a smorgasbord, after all.
There was a young good looking, Greek, real estate agent after her, not so long back. He kept asking her out for coffee, despite knowing Rachel wasn't in the market for a new house. Rachel's gorgeous, I'm not surprised. Twenty five, did you say? Six foot and handsome. She's going to give him a call.
Organise a day time visit.
That's my girl.
Of course, this is actually advice against a personal vow, no cheating... or is that no lying? I learnt years ago that every lie comes back to get you. Some may take longer than others, but they, uncannily, come back.
So I don't tell lies. Actually, I get the opposite usually. Chris, do you have to be so goddamn honest!
Joe Cocker sings, You are so beautiful.
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