Adults Corner #22

This posting is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY.

It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

These are parts of stories that are still being written. And therefore haven’t had a BETA read, let alone a editing from me.

This is the start of the next book I’m thinking of writing.

I’m tossing this up between a few, but I can’t decide, and since I can’t write seem to write anything at the moment, this is what’s left

Context will most likely change, if not modified as I work out the plots kinks

A Turn in Life

“Are you!”

     “Am I what?” Greg asked, he felt heavy.

     “Is she right, are you fucking gay Greg?” Marie nearly screamed, it wasn’t quite one though it was something Greg had become use to, the woman yelling at him without the rest of the world—without the kids, hearing a word of it.

     “’Course not,” Greg snapped shaking his head. Of course not.

     It was defiantly a question thought.

     “You sure about that?”

     “’course I’m fucking sure!”

     He was sure, wasn’t he…?

     Marie huffed, it was a sign.

     “I’m fucking sure, I don’t like cock. Your just trying to use this, to grab hold of some fucking reason why this isn’t your fault. That it’s all ‘cause of me, not the fact that you opened your legs to that wanker. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to the shed.” And off he stormed. his head full of hate, his heart full of hurt, his inside screaming for something he wasn’t going to give it. ‘cause if he did he’d end up like his old man, or worse, sitting in a jail cell cause he’d killed the arsehole who’d fucked his wife.

     He’s shed was first built for him to fix his car. It wasn’t much, but back then they didn’t have much so it didn’t matter. Four walls that would house his tools so some punk wouldn’t steal them and they be out of the missus hair. Of late, though the walls were all the same, it had become his refuge for the woman that seemed to hate his guts, and Greg couldn’t figure out why?

     The slam of the door had Greg knowing that he had opened back up again, but the slight cool air would be good for him, and really, he just couldn’t be arsed to turn back and close it. What was the point, he wouldn’t be able to. Not really, his head was so full of anger that all he wanted was to beat the shit out of something. Luckily for him, a red punching bag hung on black steal from the roof.

     Fist bare, he hit the bag, jabbing at it with anger, making the slam of leather sink deep into his bones. He shouldn’t be doing this way, he was too old to be hitting it bare fisted, but the pain will be welcomed. He tried he’s hardest not to picture anyone as he punched, he wasn’t sure whose face would come up first: the bitch who betrayed him, fucking some dude for no good fucking reason. Hell, they had been in counselling for nearly a month now for all the good it was doing them, he wasn’t even sure why they were bothering, he knew she didn’t want to be with him anymore, she just didn’t want to have to deal with the ramification of what she’d have to do if they got divorced.

     The little cunt who had fucked his wife. The punch arsed kid next door that thought he couldn’t do any better than his middle aged wife, who had let herself go over the years. It wasn’t really he’s fault. The kid was just being what he was, a kid, ruled by his dick and using the ‘neglected’—her words—wife as she sat at home keeping house—huh what a fucking laugh, he did more of the housework when he got home, simply because he wanted to live in a clean fucking house and not the dumb his bitch of a wife couldn’t be bother getting up to clean it herself.

     Or the pasty arse shrink that had, on actually, been seeing his wife more than him, more than them. And seemed to want to put him in the bad guy roll of this whole procedure where it was completely his fault for letting their sex life go down the drain. God forbid he have to work double shifts just so he could pay the bills, house and whatever the bitch spent all the money on. Hell, Christmas was coming up and his kids wanted something that was going to be putting him back and hundred grand.

     It wasn’t his fault that it took him a little longer to get it up ‘cause when he was tired and the woman wasn’t anything of what she used to be and he didn’t find her as attractive as he once did. but he could when needed, and he fucked her whenever she was willing enough to climb into bed so that he could cop his feel before he passed out, which wasn’t something she was inclined to do.

     Her bitch was that she didn’t want to go to sleep at 10 pm that it was his fault for not trying to fuck her on the lounge where she’d fucked the kid but not wanted a bar of it when he had tried that.

     “Mate. Greg, mate, you need to stop,” hands pulled him back from the bag, gripping him tight, not letting his go as he struggled with the suddenness of the attack.

Whatcha think?