.. What?” he said, with that stupid wobble in his voice he always had when he was surprised.What the hell. I’d said it now. It was finally out there. Go for broke, girl. Let it all out.“Yeah, I do. Jesus, Jeff, you can’t possibly have not noticed how pissed off I’ve been over the past six months? I mean, even in your poor-ass deluded state you’ve got to have an inkling that I’m ready to walk? Surely?”“Well, yeah, I just thought...”His voice trailed away. Oh, this I had to hear.“Thought what?”“Well...” he squirmed, obviously uncomfortable. “I thought ... well, you are hitting your late ... forties. I thought ... Menopause?” The last word was almost whispered.I sat there, speechless. He actually thought I was going through menopause? This fucking clueless moron. I started feeling better about my outburst. He deserved it.“I’m forty-six, you mother-fucker,” I hissed through clenched teeth.“I can still have kids for years. Unlike you, you fucking waste of space. When was the last time you. We both looked like a couple of street hookers. She would slowly stock me as we made our way through nightclubs, liquor stores, and adult arcades in the red-light part of town, teasing and harassing everyone we came across. When she caught me she would pin me to a wall and ravage me, pull my clothes aside and grope me or force me to the ground by my hair and shove her cunt in my face. We got some fool to yell “Rape” one time. It would always end up in some real heavy love making, often before we could make it home.She had a friend who staged “Performance Art” back in its infancy and knew about our game. He hired us to present a work he called “Yin and Yang” that we would perform at various wine and brie gatherings. She would enter from one side wearing black buccaneer boots, a black corset, long black gloves, and carrying a black cat-o-nine-tails. I would enter from the opposite side in a white merry widow, white stockings, white lace gloves, a wedding veil, and carrying a bouquet of.
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