The Widow
When my best friend died we, his wife and I, went up a hillside and
strewed his ashes about. The wind was against us and some of his
ashes landed on my lips. Going down from the hill, his widow was
very tender, clung to me. Back in my house we made love or rather
she made love to me. Inexhaustible, she wanted to do everything
even things I didn’t know about. I, being a man, enjoyed it, but in
the back of my mind bells rang. Finally she fell asleep, I got up had
a shower and sat in the living room watching TV. When she woke,
I drove her home, she didn’t speak, neither did I. A few days later
she took a plane back to Britain and I never saw her again.
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