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Just
Sex
By Rob
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I'm screwing Joe's wife. On her kitchen table. She's howling, the table legs are
creaking, my arse is going ninety to the dozen. We do this twice a week. It's
just sex, nothing serious.
In walks Joe. Holding a gun. It's serious.
"I know what you're thinking," says I.
"It's not what you're thinking," says Pam.
"You think so?" says Joe. He looks at my weapon, raises his. I have an
impressive penis, but right now I'd swap his weapon for mine.
I look at Pam. Pam looks at me. We're still locked together. I'm about to die.
Fuck it. I might as well finish what I'm doing.
I'm screwing Joe's wife, on her kitchen table. She's howling, I'm hollering, the
table legs are creaking, my heart is going ninety to the dozen. Joe's watching.
He's not happy.
"I'm going to shoot," he says.
"Me too!" I say.
"Shoot!" shouts Pam.
I shoot. Joe shoots. Joe misses. The bullet ricochets around the kitchen, hits
Joe right between the eyes. He drops to the floor. Joe is one unlucky bastard.
I'm in no rush, finish Pam off and dismount. The table legs are grateful. Pam
looks down at Joe.
"What are we going to do?" says Pam.
"I think we should stop seeing each other," I say, reaching for my
pants.
"I mean, about Joe," she says.
"Not my problem."
"You bastard!" she says, and starts crying.
Joe sits up. Still holding the gun. Joe is one lucky bastard.
"Where am I?" he says.
"What do you remember?" says Pam.
"Nothing," he says.
"Honey, you just came home and found this bastard raping me."
"You bastard!" says Joe, raising the gun.
"You bastard!" I say.
He points. He shoots. He misses. The bullet ricochets around the kitchen, hits
Pam right between the eyes. Joe faints. Pam drops to the floor. She is one
unlucky bitch.
Fuck it. I'm done with Pam. It's just sex. I'm out the door.
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Rob is a blind, one-legged treefrog living deep
in a forest in Papua New Guinea. When not climbing trees, playing the mandolin,
chasing newts, or holding an umbrella, Rob enjoys hopping up and down on a
keyboard to see what it spawns. In his spare time, Rob likes to lie motionless
on his back, whistling, and staring at clouds. Rob is also a keen campaigner for
amphibian rights. If Rob were a person he would lead a mysterious life somewhere
in England with his wife and kids and Sony Vaio, close to some trees.
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