the dark night

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Continuing from here

Monday came, and with it, my Laura-less life. She gave me a wide berth at work, and eventually I gagged out a congratulatory email about her engagement. Saturday, we assembled at my house for the final decorations party. And sometime that night, I adopted a new ethic:

Twenty, schmenty.

The sparks flew between Kristi and me, and everyone saw it. Especially Laura. By the time Kristi and I'd planned a date, Laura was all but juggling and riding a unicycle to get my attention. She draped herself on me. When that failed, she burst into tears and crumpled on my floor, wailing about what a bad mother she was. At some point, she and Kristi wrestled me to the ground to give me the good spanking I so richly deserved.

Is this heaven? No, it's Redmond.

• • •

I will resent my father until my last breath for not telling me to pit one hot chick against the other. I had to discover this for myself? At 30! Irredeemable fucker.

• • •

A third admin asked her husband, the only other man present, to run to the store and get some ice. He was despondent. "Please don't make me leave. There's gonna be nudity soon..." he whimpered. To the store he went.

Laura stood atop my coffee table and danced. And then, in front of her co-workers, her subordinate, my neighbors, and her five year old son, she stripped. When she was done, she threw me her thong.

It should have been more enjoyable than it was, but the whole...son...thing mitigated any carnal pleasure. Laura flipped the switch back to waterworks, seeking assurances again that she was not a horrible mother. The crowd found those assurances harder to come by this time.

The husband came back with ice. He was inconsolable. "I never get to see stuff like that anymore," he sighed.

I put Laura and her son in my bed, telling her to sleep it off and warding off her sloppy advances. And then I went out in the living room, where Kristi awaited.

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On Sunday, neither one of them would leave. There was no discussion about it. They just. Didn't. Leave. They sat on my couch under blankets, asking for more food and movies, please, until about 11pm, at which point they seemed to telepathically decide to go to their respective homes.

On Monday morning, I had a horrible flu and called in sick. Sometime around noon, drugged out of my mind, I answered a knock at my door. There was Laura and about six inches of cleavage, barely constrained in what appeared to be a teddy, blazer and miniskirt. They were collectively holding a soup pot.

Next installment: Batshit Returns