She started reaching up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.“I like your beard,” she said, one day. “It’s soft.”“I like my beard, too,” I said, ... little confused. I’d had a beard ever since Lucy died and I was too distraught to go through daily rituals like that. It turned out having a beard wasn’t so bad, and then I found out it had some advantages, so I’d never shaved after that. This was the first time she’d talked about it, though.She reached up and brushed the back of her hand across my chin.“I. For you.”“When?”“Today!” she stated firmly.“Fuck that! I’m not putting my cock anywhere near you anytime soon. Mr Slimy managed to paint a whole portrait on and in you. Now I don’t know how many other whores he’s been fucking within the last couple of years, but I’m betting it’s probably more than one. Get the picture?”She looked confused, and then she looked horrified.“No! I made him wear a condom.”“What, even when he painted your tonsils? Because it didn’t look like it. You think your cunt is. More

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