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Subject: {ASSM} Abelard: What I loved about Barbara (FM+, bd, sm, snuff)
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 13:10:21 -0400
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What I Loved About Barbara (MfMMMM, bd, sm, snuff)
(C) 2000
by Abelard
[Warning: If it is illegal for you to read sex stuff, my condolences, but
fuck off. The events depicted in this story are performed strictly in the
imagination of a professional. No not try this shit at home. If you read on,
please maintain at least one hand on your controls at all times. If you
wanna' publish this story for profit, ya' better ask me first. Finally, tell
me what you think at <<Abelard_fra@hotmail.com>>.]
The sad story of a woman possessed. If you are squeamish about heavy bd/sm
and/or sexual killing, don't read this story.
WHAT I LOVED ABOUT BARBARA
What I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look. She was a petite
little blonde with the "god help us" face of a waif. Oh, she was nervous in
a jumpy sort of way, but I just wrote that off to her shyness, which I found
sweet. At five foot two, and less than a hundred pounds, she looked as if I
could just fold her up in the palm of my hand and hide her completely. And
she acted as if she would like me to do just that. Just a scared little
bunny out in the big wide world.
That's when I married her. She was eighteen; I was twenty-five. (An older
man...to take care of her...that's what she said.) We made gentle, friendly,
caring love. My little blonde fuck-bunny. Her little tits were mostly all
nipple, and her flat, flat stomach ended in just little wisps of pubic hair.
At eighteen, she could have passed for twelve.
But after about six months of marriage, her passion began to cool. Barbara
just didn't seem that interested any more. I thought maybe the poor kid was
just overwhelmed by the demands my big old cock was making on her, even
though I was still being very gentle. I loved being very gentle with her.
We talked about it, and what she said nearly blew me away. She finally
confessed to me that she had been raped by her father and her uncle. My
innocent little angel! Raped by two older men...one of them her father for
Christ sake! Not only once, but ...repeatedly...over a period of a four years,
starting when she was fourteen. RIGHT UP TO THE WEEK BEFORE WE WERE
MARRIED!! No wonder she was jumpy!
She said that her father and her uncle weren't particularly rough with
her...just indifferent. They'd come in her mouth or in her cunt, OR EVEN IN
HER ASS (something I certainly had never tried!). And then they'd just go
back to drinking beer and watching the football game. She tried to tell her
mother, but her mother just didn't believe her...or didn't want to believe
her. Major denial there. After we were married, she said, they wanted to
keep on fucking her, but so far she had been able to avoid them. But her
parents lived only four blocks away...
So anyway, as I said, after we had been married for about six months,
Barbara began to lose interest in our gentle and loving sex life. That's
when she told me about her past with her father and his brother. The odd
thing is the effect it had on me. At first I wanted to kill both of them,
of course, but then I began to have these disgusting fantasies...like,
watching her being fucked by her father...who was by then forty-five. Or by
her uncle, who was a couple years younger.
I got turned on by the fantasy of these indifferent older men fucking
Barbara while I watched, and began to think of her as a slut who liked it
that way. This led me to start to get a little rougher with her. I began
screwing her harder. Then I started talking dirty and calling her names.
She liked it. The first time I slapped her in the face while we were
making love, she gasped and got very hot. It was as if a dam had broken.
She began fucking me back, hard, and thrashing around, moaning and generally
grabbing her own pleasure from me. This was very unusual for her, of
course, but I loved it. Afterward, however, she lay there crying quietly.
I felt bad, and tried to make it up to her by cuddling and promising never
to slap her again. That's when she said, "No, I'm crying because I'm so
ashamed that I liked it. The idea that you didn't care about me, that you
just wanted to use me, turned me on. It was like I was with dad or Uncle
Buck all over again, only different...like I could let go, like I could
indulge myself or something. What does that make me, some kind of pervert?
Do you think I may be crazy? "
I said, "No, sugar, I think it makes you a woman who sometimes likes it
rough. A lot of women do. Probably has something to do with Joe and Uncle
Buck, but shit if I know what."
"You think?"
"Hell, I don't know, I'm no psychologist. But I'll bet it does. Did you
ever get turned on, did you ever like it, when your father and your uncle
were...(I looked for the right word here)... abusing you?"
"NO!! GOD NO!! I hated it, hated it, HATED IT!!! At first I'd shut my
mind off, like I'd go somewhere else in my mind, and try to pretend it
wasn't even happening. But I couldn't control my reactions. I hated my own
reactions. I didn't WANT to get hot. I didn't WANT to get wet...but I did...I
couldn't help it...AND I HATED IT!! I'd get this sicky, dying, feeling when
they made me strip for them. I'd go into a sort of a fever, and I'd get wet
between my legs. Then I would sort of slip inside that feeling, and pretend
that I WAS sick, and they were just taking care of me...you know giving me
injections (in my mouth or in my vagina) and stuff. But then, of course,
they didn't really care at all. They'd just use me and throw me away like
an old rag. And I'd have to pretend that I hadn't felt anything. That it
didn't mean anything. And then I found you. And you were so sweet and
gentle and loving and caring, and I loved you...and I loved being loved."
"Oh, Barbara, God, I'm so sorry. Honey, I love you. You and I, we will let
it go...or close it off... or get beyond it. I'm here for you. I'll never hit
you again, I promise." I really felt bad that I had slapped her and opened
up this Pandora's Box.
Barbara was quiet for a while, and then she said, "No, Tommy, I don't think
that's the answer. You and I...well, you know, we have been kind of slowing
down (which was true). It just isn't as good for me anymore, this way. I
think, somehow I have to work through it, or work WITH it, or something.
It's just too big a thing to keep the doors closed on and ignore. I think I
NEED it rough. Oh God, is that perverse, or what?"
Well, I didn't quite know what that meant...and it made me sad to think that
she wasn't as satisfied with me anymore. But then I began to think about it
some more, and realized that it wasn't me that was turning her off, but her
own mind and her past. For some reason she NEEDED abuse. I began to
speculate to myself about how we could work this out, and I must admit that
it turned me on a little. As I said, I had already started to have rape
fantasies about my wife, and what she was saying sounded like maybe she did
too.
Slowly, carefully, we worked out that she needed permission to be a whore,
and if I saw her that way, and treated her that way, (at least in the
bedroom) she could get really aroused, and really hot, and really sexy. She
needed permission to indulge in that "sicky" feeling again, to feel that
"fever" again, and not to deny it...not to suppress it, but to let it out...to
let it fly...to rise with it to a realm of sexual ecstasy. She needed to
think that feeling "sicky" was alright, was okay, was normal. She needed to
admit that she wanted her daddy...and her uncle...and her husband...maybe even all
at the same time...maybe mauling her, and pawing her, and slapping her, and
hurting her...and ignoring her. Maybe then, she said (perhaps a little
dubiously) she could let it all go, and get back to what was REALLY normal.
So we started to play the game, and she loved it. And the fantasy part I
loved too. She told me that once her uncle had held her down while her
father fucked her...so I tied her elbows behind her and put a rope around her
neck and tied it to the top of the bed, while I tore off her panties and
fucked her roughly. Or I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees and
shoved her face onto my cock, and fucked her mouth. Or (a first for me) I
spread her wide and fucked her in the ass from behind...with only my spit for
a lubricant. The first time I twisted her nipples hard she came for five
minutes straight.
All of this kept her happy for about another six months or so, and I tried
to slap her and hit her where the bruises wouldn't show, but it began to
take more and more to get her off. I'd have to throw her onto the floor,
and fuck her ass hard, and then cum on her face while I was pinching her
nipples...and still, sometimes, she couldn't have an orgasm. But simple,
gentle, loving sex...which was beginning to look better and better to me...just
left her absolutely stone cold...and even contemptuous. I longed for the days
when we crooned to each other, and kissed a lot, and were loving with each
other. She, on the other hand, began to make fun of me for wanting it that
way. And it began to piss me off.
The first time she called me a queer for wanting it gentle, I punched her in
the face and broke her nose. On the way to the hospital she made me stop,
and she was desperate for me to fuck her in the mouth...and she came like a
ton of bricks, just from sucking me off... while her nose bled all over my
underpants. I remember thinking this was really getting sick. When we
arrived at the emergency room, she with cum still on her face, she told the
intern that we had been having oral sex in the car (fully consensual, she
assured him) and that she'd lunged away as I came and banged her nose on the
steering wheel. The doctors were more amused that skeptical.
After that, my attitude toward Barbara began to change. No longer was she
the pretty shy little girl I had married, or even the pretty, shy little
wife with a major fetish. I began to see her really as a slut, a whore, an
object to be used. I began to fantasize threesomes again...
When I finally got around to suggesting that she fuck somebody else while I
watched, she didn't even blink. Instead, her eyes got wide, and she got a
sly grin. "Oh, Tommy...could I? Would you? Oh, God, I've been fantasizing
that for the past three months. But I was afraid to say anything...I do love
you."
Yeah, right. As if the bitch even knew what the word meant.
So I got Ralph, a buddy of mine, to come over one night. He'd never met
Barbara (who was, by this time still only nineteen) and when she came into
the living room with a tray of drinks, he was polite, but distant. When she
went back into the kitchen for the rest of the snacks he whispered to me,
"Tommy...what the hell is your daughter doing here? I thought you said..."
When I told him that that wasn't my daughter, it was my wife, I could
practically see his hardon rising! "OH, WOW! SHE'S the one? SHE is who
you want me to fuck?" She came back in with the snacks, and I introduced
them formally. She smiled up at him shyly, and made a timid little squeak.
She sat down in a chair across from us, blushing. We sat around after
that, pretty uncomfortably, trying to make polite conversation about the
weather, and the latest political scandal, and internet stocks. Barbara,
who was wearing a simple cotton skirt and blouse, ankle socks and light
sneakers, was sitting opposite us with her legs tight together, her heels on
the floor, very prim and proper, and very scared.
Finally, she asked me to come with her into the kitchen to get some more
dip. When we got there, she grabbed me and gasped, "Tommy! MY GOD! he
looks JUST like my uncle! Did you realize that!" Well, I didn't think he
looked anything like Uncle Buck, and I almost said so, but then I stopped.
I realized that whether he did or not, she wanted him to look like Uncle
Buck. So I just mumbled something inane and got the dip.
When we came back into the living room, Ralph looked up expectantly, and I
figured it was now or never. I had worked out in my mind how we could
proceed, so I just simply said to Barbara, "Okay, girl, there's a ball game
on channel 7. Go turn on the TV and then take your clothes off for Uncle
Buck and me."
Ralph said, "Who's Uncle Buck?" And I said, "You are." And he said, "Huh."
Meanwhile Barbara was getting more and more agitated, and she began to
blush and fidget. After she turned on the tube, she came back in front of
me and began whining, and lifting the hem of her skirt (which was a full,
light cotton number, just a girl's summer print skirt, with no slip
underneath).
"Aww, please, Daddy...I don' wanna. Don' make me take my clothes off...please?"
She began writhing in fourteen year old agony...or ecstasy...it was hard to
tell which, and she pulled her skirt up, clear to her chin like a six year
old, revealing her plain white cotton underpants.
"Girl, do what I tell you, now. Don't get me mad at you!" I was
improvising here, trying to guess how her father had approached it.
However close I was, it seemed to be working. Barbara stopped whining and
took off her blouse, skirt, sneakers and ankle socks. She stood before
Ralph and me in her bra and panties. Ralph/Buck was practically drooling
has he looked over my wife's skinny little body. She was built wide legged,
so that there was a gap between her legs at the top, which was emphasized by
her thinness. And her tits hardly filled the A cup bra, so that there was
even some loose fabric in the cups. She really still looked about thirteen,
even her face, which was now flushed and excited.
"Now give me my beer, girl." She picked up my beer from the coffee table
and tried to hand it to me. I pulled her into my lap and popped her bra
hitch. Then I took my beer from her as she shrugged the bra off her
shoulders. When it was down by her wrists, I held her by the shoulder with
one hand and touched the cold beer can to her left nipple. She gasped as
her nipple hardened. As I said, she has practically no tit flesh at all,
just these marvelous puffy nipples, one of which was now tight and hard and
wet.
Ralph was sitting beside me to my left on the couch. Barbara was in my lap
with her knees hitting his right knee. He hesitated for a second, looking
at me, and I said, "Go at her, boy, she's all yours." That's all he
needed. He quickly spit on his left hand and rubbed it on her other tit,
which now glistened and hardened like her left one. He pinched both her
nipples and stood up, pulling her up by the tits, and drawing her close to
him. She stood pressing against him, his fingers still pinching her tits.
She bent her head way back and looked up at him, wide eyed. "How did you
know...? Oh, God, you ARE Uncle Buck... Oh, God, please don't...please don't do
that...please d...d..do that...Oh, do that...do that....DO THAT!!
Barbara dropped her hands limply at her sides, and sagged against Ralph, her
knees threatening to buckle. She was a rag doll, completely available to his
every whim. A fuck doll. An abandoned whore, willing to let him do
anything with her. He raked her panties off her, scratching her belly with
his fingernails, leaving angry red streaks. He pushed her down on the
carpet in front of me, and rapidly shed his clothes. She lay there naked,
her legs bent, her cunt open. She gasped as his angry purple hardon popped
out of his underpants.
Ralph practically threw himself on top of her, and she all but disappeared
beneath him. He slammed into her hard, sliding her four inches up the
floor, undoubtedly giving her rug burns on her shoulders and butt. He
humped her hard for several minutes, both of them sweating and groaning,
growling and gasping. She locked her legs around his back and fucked back
as hard as she could, bucking, shoving. Then she put her feet on the floor
and was practically bridging, with him on top of her, lifting his whole
weight with her pelvis, her cunt. She was screaming, "Fuck me! Fuck me!
Fuck me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, fuck, fug, fug...fu...fu..Oh, God! Oh, fuck, Oh,
piss, Oh, Buck, Oh Fuck, Oh, Buck fuck, Buck fuck, Bu..Fu...Oh, mmm.
Oh...ohh...oooooh...
While all this was going on, I got out of my clothes too, and was sitting on
the couch, mesmerized by the scene in front of me. I couldn't keep my hands
off my own erection, which swelled with every gasp and whimper my wife was
making.
Suddenly Ralph pulled out of Barbara, knelt back on his haunches, grabbed
her legs, and flipped her tiny body roughly into her stomach. Her reddened
ass, high and rounded, rose as if by itself as she struggled to her hands
and knees. Ralph shoved her shoulders back down, and spread her ass cheeks.
He spit into her crack and began working his cock into her rectum. She
groaned, and then howled as his knob penetrated her anal sphincter. Then she
went limp again like a rag doll. When he was well seated in her ass, he
lifted her around her chest, pivoted both of them on one of his knees, and
virtually threw the top half of her into my lap. He continued to fuck her in
the ass while he grinned at me. He said to her. "Okay, little missy, suck
your daddy. Fuck your daddy with your mouth, while I fuck your ass with my
big old cock.."
Barbara was sweating, and drooling, and sobbing, and her nose was running,
but she was also in a trance. She really was just a little fuck doll, a
hot, wet piece of meat to fuck and throw away. I loved her and I hated her.
She disgusted me and attracted me. I felt the need to come IN her and ON
her and OVER her and even THROUGH her. I wanted to kill her and to save
her. I came as hard as I've ever come in my life, practically half way down
her throat, and I kept fucking her mouth and fucking her mouth...until I began
to realize that she was gagging and choking and nearly unconscious. I
pulled my cock out of her mouth and she lay gasping and panting on my leg.
Her saliva and my cum drooled out of her slack jaw. Her hot and tearstained
cheek rested on my thigh, her wet eyelashes flicking.
I gradually realized that Ralph had come some minutes ago, and was really
just holding Barbara up so I could fuck her mouth more easily. He backed
away, leaving her kneeling in front of me with her head lolling in my lap.
"Far fuckin' out," was all he said.
Ralph and I then just turned our attention to the ballgame on TV. We were
just flopping there on the couch in the nude, drinking our beers. Barbara
eventually got up and went upstairs, with Ralph's cum and a little blood
running down the backs of her legs. Ralph finally grinned sheepishly at
me, and started to find his clothes. "God damn, Tommyboy, you got one hell
of a vixen on your hands there. No wonder you needed help." But I could
tell that he was feeling a little uncomfortable too. The experience had
been pretty intense, and not altogether positive...even for him. I don't think
he liked what he had learned about himself very much. And I was beginning
to feel depressed too. I had had an intense orgasm, gone into outer space
even, but, I mean, where the hell did we go from here? How would I get my
shy, loving little wife back? Eventually, Ralph went off home, and I went
up to bed. We made no plans for a repeat performance.
Barbara was quiet and serious for the next couple of days, and we even made
love gently once or twice. But it wasn't the same, somehow. It was like we
were being formal and careful with each other while she convalesced from
some illness. After a week or so our reactions to each other began to get a
little more normal (or pre-fetish normal), and I began to have hopes that
maybe that was it. Maybe we had exorcised the bogeymen and Barbara was
getting back to her old sweet, shy self.
That's when I caught her with the magazine.
She was in the bathroom, sitting in the nude on the toilet like some teenage
boy, masturbating to heavy S & M pictures. She was so engrossed in the
activity that I actually walked up and looked at the magazine for maybe ten
or fifteen seconds before she realized that I was even there. The sequence
I saw showed a woman literally hanging from five or six hooks actually
imbedded in her back. (They showed the "after" pictures too, where her back
was lacerated and the wounds looked dangerously angry, so they were really
doing that to her). [Author's note: if you think I'm exaggerating, try
<<alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.torture>> some time.] The poor woman was
dangling there, suspended on wires. Her cunt was shaved completely, and
hooded men moved around her wacking her with switches while they jerked
themselves off.
Then I spoke.
"My God, Barbara. What the hell is this?" She jumped and dropped the
magazine on the other side of the toilet. Then she sat up like she was just
going to the bathroom, but she looked up at me with major guilt all over her
face.
"I... oh...I, well I was just..."
"I know what you were `just,' Barbara. What I don't know is why. What the
hell is going on in your head?"
Barbara broke down and started sobbing, but she managed to say, " Oh, Tommy,
I don't know...It's like I have this demon inside of me that's just got to
have this stuff....Did you SEE that woman? My God what that must be like..."
I said rather coldly, "Barbara, I don't want to talk about that woman. That
woman is sick or a victim, or both."
"I know. But maybe she likes it...or some part of her likes it....maybe she's
like me."
I knew I was being co-opted into this sickness, but I couldn't help it. I
should have just cut off the discussion, but I was still trying to reach
her, to pull her back from the abyss. So I said, " But Honey, look at her,
look at how sick that is." And this meant, of course, that Barbara now had
to look at her again. She had to pick up the magazine and open it to those
terrible pages, and study them. And I had to look at them with her.
We went into the bedroom together, and Barbara lay on the bed in the nude,
holding the magazine. I stripped down to my boxer shorts and joined her on
the bed. I intended to croon and cajole her into putting down the magazine
and making tender loving love. But first we had to look at the magazine.
So we studied it, and I found it more and more repulsive, and she found more
and more erotic. I began to get really frustrated. I didn't see any way to
get back to the gentleness.
Finally I knocked the magazine out of her hands and knelt up facing her.
"Alright, Barbara, you want it rough?" She looked scared, but I grabbed her
arm and wrenched it behind her back, twisting it up painfully. The fevered
look came to her eyes. I grabbed a hairbrush from her bedside table and
scratched the inside of her thighs with it, leaving red marks where the hard
plastic bristles raked her skin. She was gasping , and clearly going into
some sort of sexual frenzy. I forced her onto her stomach and rammed the
handle of the brush up her ass. I left it there while I jammed three
fingers up her cunt from behind. Then I grabbed her hair and began banging
her head against the headboard. She was so small, and helpless, and at the
same time so wild and crazy, that I couldn't help myself, something sort of
broke inside me. . I flipped her over (the brush still in her ass, now being
driven into her by the bed under her), and began slapping her face while I
forced my whole hand up her cunt. I was fisting her and crying...and then I
threw up.
That night I slept on the couch in the living room. The next day, I had to
take Barbara back to the emergency room. The hairbrush had done some damage
to her rectum. The doctors took care of her efficiently, but this time they
were considerably less sympathetic toward me. The same intern who had fixed
Barbara's nose several months ago now insisted on taking a statement from
me. What the hell was I going to say? They sure weren't going to buy that
it was "all her idea." I finally settled on, "Well, we just got a little
carried away, sir." Fortunately, Barbara meekly corroborated this version
of the truth, and the doctors (and the nurses) settled for just glaring at
me and treating Barbara with even greater sympathy.
Barbara spent that night in the hospital. I went home and stuffed the S&M
magazine into the back of my closet. Don't ask me why I didn't just throw
it away. When Barbara came home the next day she was moving very gingerly.
She had four stitches in her ass. I was feeling very sorry for her (and for
myself) and I was very solicitous. I began to like taking care of her...at
least it was a gentle undertaking...one where I could indulge my desire to be
loving and kind. But it occurred to me that maybe being loving and kind was
a kind of fantasy too...at least it didn't seem quite "normal" anymore.
Well, things calmed down again...for about three weeks...while she healed.
Then I came home one day a little early, and caught Barbara on the phone.
"Oh, god, Oh god. YES! I WANT you to cut my nipples off...Yes, YES, shove
that knife up my cunt. Cut me, make me bleed. KILL ME, KILL ME..."
Horrified as I was, I just stood in the doorway and dropped my briefcase.
Barbara whirled around, caught sight of me, and slammed the phone down. She
had her blouse open, and was toying with a razorblade. I screamed at her,
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"
"OH, Tommy! Oh, god...I didn't expect you home for another half hour...I was...I
was just..."
"Jesus, Barbara! No `just' about it this time. Good Christ! Who the hell
WAS THAT? "
She looked down, "I don't know. Just a guy."
"You don't know? YOU DON"T KNOW?? You're talking to strangers about having
them KILL you??"
"Yeah, well... See he called here about a week ago. Just an anonymous dirty
phone call...and I began... talking to him. He wanted to do all these silly,
conventional things like come on my face and stuff, and I began to think
`Well now, here's a guy I could really educate. No harm done...all talk.'
...So I started talking to him."
"About killing you? Jesus, Barbara, don't you realize how dangerous that
could be? He's got our phone number...He could get our address..."
Barbara was silent.
I screamed. "HE ALREADY HAS OUR ADDRESS...DOESN'T HE?"
Barbara nodded glumly. Then she said, "But it's not what you think. He
would never...."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW? How do you know that he would never?"
"Because I was talking to my Uncle Buck."
The room started moving. I sat down hard on the kitchen floor.
After that, things went down hill fast. A week later Ralph came into my
office with the personals section of an underground newspaper...just the sort
of thing he would be reading, I thought nastily. But in it was this ad:
Fuck my wife while I watch. Anything goes.
Come in her ass. Tie her up. Beat her.
All races, either sex. Bring the gang.
Anything short of the hospital or the morgue.
Incredibly, it had MY phone number on it! Ralph said, "Did you...?"
I was too stunned to respond at all. I thought, of course, that Barbara
must have put that ad in the paper herself. I was so upset that I left work
right then (It was about ten o'clock in the morning), and went storming
home. I should have known better.
There were three strange cars parked in front of my house, and one more in
my driveway. I didn't even want to go in. With great trepidation I went
around to the back door. I let myself in quietly...I'm not sure exactly
why...but maybe I thought if I snuck up on this quietly it wouldn't be as bad
as I feared. Maybe it was four women who were just gabbing away over coffee
in my livingroom. Yeah, right! Good luck... The smell of cigar smoke
disabused me of that illusion almost immediately.
I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the livingroom. What I saw
made me just turn right around and just sneak back away. Nobody there even
noticed me.
Barbara had a noose around her neck, which was attached to the hook in the
ceiling where we hung the swag lamp. There was a stranger behind her,
fucking her in the ass, and one in front of her fucking her in the cunt. A
third man was sitting on the couch watching and jerking off, and Uncle Buck
(good old Uncle Buck) was burning Barbara's tits with a lit cigar! But it
was the look on Barbara's face that finally got me. She was in a fevered
sweat, her eyeballs were rolled back in her head, she was gasping in the
throes of an intense orgasm, going limp, sagging on the weight of the rope
around her neck.
After I fled, I stayed away all night. I just drove and drove and drove
around.
Anyway, about six o'clock the next morning I went home. Barbara was
apparently just asleep in our bed. I didn't disturb her. I didn't want to
look at her. I showered and changed, and went to work.
About two o'clock that afternoon the police came and arrested me. Her mother
had found her when she came to pick Barbara up to go shopping.
So that's my story your honor... ladies and gentlemen of the jury.
Yes, the rope that strangled her was mine. Yes, I smoke that brand of
cigar. Yes, you found the S&M magazine in my closet. Yes, You heard from
the doctors. (It's ALWAYS the husband's fault, right? ) Yes, you heard
from the newspaper. Maybe they're telling the truth when they testified
that it was a man's voice who placed that ad, but it wasn't mine. (Did he
sound like Uncle Buck I wonder?). And yes, you heard her father act
outraged that I would even suggest that he had abused his darling little
daughter. Even Ralph told you that it was me who invited him over.
But, so help me God, all I ever wanted was a quiet, shy, loving little
wife...what I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look.
The End (Oh ... Ralph got twenty years to life.)
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