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July 2010 Volume 12 , Issue 7 submit to us!

by Cara Fidler -- Contributing Author [Email This Story]

Lilly sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette, nervously swinging her right leg back and forth, consumed with thoughts of her husband, Willard, who was an outstanding lover, doing what he did best at this very moment with some double-jointed-big-breasted trollop at the bedding store where he'd recently taken a job as the store manager working the late shift.

They'd be lined up around the block once word got out that he was a magnificent lover.

She knew that he had a wondering eye and tolerated it, but, in truth, she despised his propensity for ogling other women of all shapes and sizes.

Horndog that he was, she imagined him swaggering up to a voluptuous young tart like a ravenous dog that gets a whiff of a greasy pork chop and asking, "May I show you our top of the line super comfy pillow top?" in that oily way of his that made her nostrils flare.

Then she would lie down on the bed, posing seductively, her double D-cup jugs on display like two ten-pin bowling balls beneath a tight, low-cut top, and he would pounce on her like a feral cat on a mouse rolling around on the bed in a heated frenzy.

A determined, adrenalin-fueled Lilly, who'd never driven a car in her life, got up from the kitchen table, took the spare car key out of the kitchen drawer and threw caution to the wind as she made a beeline for the front door and got into the old, but dependable red Buick, thinking, how hard can it be, as she started up the engine, never imagining the path of destruction she would carve en route as she put the pedal to the medal, white-knuckling it all the way, lurching up over curbs, the car's wheels straddling the sidewalk and the asphalt, driving willy-nilly down sidewalks as people screamed and ran for cover, plowing through neatly manicured hedges, between and around trees, careening down dark alleys into trash cans and barbed wire fences, until she finally pulled into the parking lot of the store where he worked, sweating profusely, her breathing labored, only to find that the store had already closed for the evening.

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Features -- July 2010 -- Mid Month Issue