Back in the present, Helen waved away another boring middle-class couple: glasses, plain clothes, middle-of-the-road c***d with nothing interesting to...say for himself. She looked at her notes for the next c***d, aware that her parents were sitting: Jane Taylor. A pretty, popular girl – in other words: a bitch: the kind of girl she hated when she was at school, and who still went out of her way to be nasty to her. Helen looked up – and it was as if all the bl**d drained from her body. The girl’s. The first three weeks I took my wife out dancing and she had to wear no undergarments, everything went fine. Towards the end of each night she would be so drunk I would usually have to get someone to help me take her out to the car. Then I would drive her home, carry her in the house because she would be passed out, and fuck her until I couldn't do it anymore. The last Saturday she had to go without undies we decided to go to a different bar. We thought the band started playing at 8pm but it. More

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