| What I Loved About Barbara (MfMMMM, bd, sm, snuff)
[Warning: If it is illegal for you to read sex stuff, my condolences, but
fuck off. The events depicted in this are performed strictly in the
imagination of a professional. No not try this shit at home. If you read
on, please maintain at least one hand on your controls at all times. If
you wanna’ publish this for profit, ya’ better ask me first. Finally,
tell me what you think at <<Abelard_fra@hotmail.com>>.]
The sad of a woman possessed. If you are squeamish about heavy
bd/sm and/or sexual killing, don’t read this story.
WHAT I LOVED ABOUT BARBARA
What I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look. She was a
little with the “god help us” face of a waif. Oh, she was nervous in
a jumpy sort of way, but I just wrote that off to her shyness, which I found
sweet. At five foot two, and less than a hundred pounds, she looked as if
I could just fold her up in the palm of my hand and hide her completely.
And she acted as if she would like me to do just that. Just a scared little
bunny out in the big wide world.
That’s when I her. She was eighteen; I was twenty-five. (An
older man…to take care of her…that’s what she said.) We made gentle,
friendly, caring love. My little fuck-bunny. . Her little were
mostly all nipple, and her flat, flat stomach ended in just little wisps of
pubic hair. At eighteen, she could have passed for twelve.
But after about six months of marriage, her passion began to cool.
Barbara just didn’t seem that interested any more. I thought maybe the
poor kid was just overwhelmed by the demands my big cock was
making on her, even though I was still being very gentle. I loved being
very gentle with her.
We talked about it, and what she said nearly blew me away. She finally
confessed to me that she had been raped by her and her uncle.
My innocent little angel! Raped by two men…one of them her
for Christ sake! Not only once, but …repeatedly…over a period of a four
years, starting when she was fourteen. RIGHT UP TO THE WEEK
BEFORE WE WERE MARRIED!! No wonder she was jumpy!
She said that her and her uncle weren’t particularly rough with
her…just indifferent. They’d come in her mouth or in her cunt, OR EVEN
IN HER ASS (something I certainly had never tried!). And then they’d just
go back to drinking beer and watching the football game. She tried to tell
her mother, but her just didn’t believe her…or didn’t want to
believe her. Major denial there. After we were married, she said, they
wanted to keep on fucking her, but so far she had been able to avoid
them. But her lived only four blocks away…
So anyway, as I said, after we had been for about six months,
Barbara began to lose interest in our gentle and loving sex life. That's
when she told me about her past with her and his brother. The odd
thing is the effect it had on me. At first I wanted to kill both of them, of
course, but then I began to have these disgusting fantasies…like,
watching her being fucked by her father…who was by then forty-five. Or
by her uncle, who was a couple years younger.
I got turned on by the fantasy of these indifferent fucking
Barbara while I watched, and began to think of her as a slut who liked it
that way. This led me to start to get a little rougher with her. I began
screwing her harder. Then I started talking dirty and calling her names.
She liked it. The first time I slapped her in the face while we were
making love, she gasped and got very hot. It was as if a dam had broken.
She began fucking me back, hard, and thrashing around, moaning and
generally grabbing her own pleasure from me. This was very unusual for
her, of course, but I loved it. Afterward, however, she lay there crying
I felt bad, and tried to make it up to her by cuddling and promising never
to slap her again. That’s when she said, “No, I’m crying because I’m so
ashamed that I liked it. The idea that you didn’t care about me, that you
just wanted to use me, turned me on. It was like I was with dad or Uncle
Buck all over again, only different…like I could let go, like I could indulge
myself or something. What does that make me, some kind of pervert? Do
you think I may be crazy? “
I said, “No, sugar, I think it makes you a woman who sometimes likes it
rough. A lot of women do. Probably has something to do with Joe and
Uncle Buck, but shit if I know what.”
“Hell, I don’t know, I’m no psychologist. But I’ll bet it does. Did you ever
get turned on, did you ever like it, when your and your uncle
were…(I looked for the right word here)… abusing you?”
“NO!! GOD NO!! I hated it, hated it, HATED IT!!! At first I’d shut my
mind off, like I’d go somewhere else in my mind, and try to pretend it
wasn’t even happening. But I couldn’t control my reactions. I hated my
own reactions. I didn’t WANT to get hot. I didn’t WANT to get wet…but I
did…I couldn’t help it…AND I HATED IT!! I’d get this sicky, dying, feeling
when they made me strip for them. I’d go into a sort of a fever, and I’d
get wet between my legs. Then I would sort of slip inside that feeling, and
pretend that I WAS sick, and they were just taking care of me…you know
giving me injections (in my mouth or in my vagina) and stuff. But then, of
course, they didn’t really care at all. They’d just use me and throw me
away like an rag. And I’d have to pretend that I hadn’t felt anything.
That it didn’t mean anything. And then I found you. And you were so
sweet and gentle and loving and caring, and I loved you…and I loved
“Oh, Barbara, God, I’m so sorry. Honey, I love you. You and I, we will let
it go…or close it off… or get beyond it. I’m here for you. I’ll never hit you
again, I promise.” I really felt bad that I had slapped her and opened up
this Pandora’s Box.
Barbara was quiet for a while, and then she said, “No, Tommy, I don’t
think that’s the answer. You and I…well, you know, we have been kind of
slowing down (which was true). It just isn’t as good for me anymore, this
way. I think, somehow I have to work through it, or work WITH it, or
something. It’s just too big a thing to keep the doors closed on and
ignore. I think I NEED it rough. Oh God, is that perverse, or what?”
Well, I didn’t quite know what that meant…and it made me sad to think
that she wasn’t as satisfied with me anymore. But then I began to think
about it some more, and realized that it wasn’t me that was turning her
off, but her own mind and her past. For some reason she NEEDED
abuse. I began to speculate to myself about how we could work this out,
and I must admit that it turned me on a little. As I said, I had already
started to have rape fantasies about my wife, and what she was saying
sounded like maybe she did too.
Slowly, carefully, we worked out that she needed permission to be a
whore, and if I saw her that way, and treated her that way, (at least in the
bedroom) she could get really aroused, and really hot, and really sexy.
She needed permission to indulge in that “sicky” feeling again, to feel that
“fever” again, and not to deny it…not to suppress it, but to let it out…to let
it fly…to rise with it to a realm of sexual ecstasy. She needed to think that
feeling “sicky” was alright, was okay, was normal. She needed to admit
that she wanted her daddy…and her uncle…and her husband…maybe
even all at the same time…maybe mauling her, and pawing her, and
slapping her, and hurting her…and ignoring her. Maybe then, she said
(perhaps a little dubiously) she could let it all go, and get back to what
was REALLY normal.
So we started to play the game, and she loved it. And the fantasy part I
loved too. She told me that once her uncle had held her down while her
father fucked her…so I tied her elbows behind her and put a rope around
her neck and tied it to the top of the bed, while I tore off her and
fucked her roughly. Or I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees
and shoved her face onto my cock, and fucked her mouth. Or (a first for
me) I spread her wide and fucked her in the ass from behind…with only
my spit for a lubricant. The first time I twisted her nipples hard she came
for five minutes straight.
All of this kept her happy for about another six months or so, and I tried to
slap her and hit her where the bruises wouldn’t show, but it began to take
more and more to get her off. I’d have to throw her onto the floor, and
fuck her ass hard, and then on her face while I was pinching her
nipples…and still, sometimes, she couldn’t have an orgasm. But simple,
gentle, loving sex…which was beginning to look better and better to
me…just left her absolutely stone cold…and even contemptuous. I longed
for the days when we crooned to each other, and kissed a lot, and were
loving with each other. She, on the other hand, began to make fun of me
for wanting it that way. And it began to me off.
The first time she called me a queer for wanting it gentle, I punched her in
the face and broke her nose. On the way to the hospital she made me
stop, and she was desperate for me to fuck her in the mouth…and she
came like a ton of bricks, just from me off… while her nose bled
all over my underpants. I remember thinking this was really getting sick.
When we arrived at the emergency room, she with still on her face,
she told the intern that we had been having oral sex in the car (fully
consensual, she assured him) and that she’d lunged away as I came and
banged her nose on the steering wheel. The doctors were more amused
After that, my attitude toward Barbara began to change. No longer was
she the pretty shy little I had married, or even the pretty, shy little
with a major fetish. I began to see her really as a slut, a whore, an object
to be used. I began to fantasize threesomes again…
When I finally got around to suggesting that she fuck somebody else
while I watched, she didn’t even blink. Instead, her eyes got wide, and
she got a sly grin. “Oh, Tommy…could I? Would you? Oh, God, I’ve been
fantasizing that for the past three months. But I was afraid to say
anything…I do love you.”
Yeah, right. As if the bitch even knew what the word meant.
So I got Ralph, a buddy of mine, to come over one night. He’d never met
Barbara (who was, by this time still only nineteen) and when she came
into the living room with a tray of drinks, he was polite, but distant. When
she went back into the kitchen for the rest of the snacks he whispered to
me, “Tommy…what the hell is your doing here? I thought you
When I told him that that wasn’t my daughter, it was my wife, I could
practically see his hardon rising! “OH, WOW! SHE’S the one? SHE is
who you want me to fuck?” She came back in with the snacks, and I
introduced them formally. She smiled up at him shyly, and made a timid
little squeak. She sat down in a chair across from us, blushing. We sat
around after that, pretty uncomfortably, trying to make polite conversation
about the weather, and Monica and Bill, and internet stocks. Barbara,
who was wearing a simple cotton skirt and blouse, ankle socks and light
sneakers, was sitting opposite us with her legs tight together, her heels
on the floor, very prim and proper, and very scared.
Finally, she asked me to come with her into the kitchen to get some more
dip. When we got there, she grabbed me and gasped, “Tommy! MY
GOD! he looks JUST like my uncle! Did you realize that!” Well, I didn’t
think he looked anything like Uncle Buck, and I almost said so, but then I
stopped. I realized that whether he did or not, she wanted him to look like
Uncle Buck. So I just mumbled something inane and got the dip.
When we came back into the living room, Ralph looked up expectantly,
and I figured it was now or never. I had worked out in my mind how we
could proceed, so I just simply said to Barbara, “Okay, girl, there’s a ball
game on channel 7. Go turn on the and then take your clothes off for
Uncle Buck and me.”
Ralph said, “Who’s Uncle Buck?” And I said, “You are.” And he said,
“Huh.” Meanwhile Barbara was getting more and more agitated, and she
began to blush and fidget. After she turned on the tube, she came back
in front of me and began whining, and lifting the hem of her skirt (which
was a full, light cotton number, just a girl’s summer print skirt, with no slip
“Aww, please, Daddy…I don’ wanna. Don’ make me take my clothes
off…please?” She began writhing in fourteen year agony…or
ecstasy…it was hard to tell which, and she pulled her skirt up, clear to her
chin like a six year old, revealing her plain white cotton underpants.
“Girl, do what I tell you, now. Don’t get me mad at you!” I was
improvising here, trying to guess how her had approached it.
However close I was, it seemed to be working. Barbara stopped whining
and took off her blouse, skirt, sneakers and ankle socks. She stood
before Ralph and me in her bra and panties. Ralph/Buck was practically
drooling has he looked over my wife’s skinny little body. She was built
wide legged, so that there was a gap between her legs at the top, which
was emphasized by her thinness. And her hardly filled the A cup bra,
so that there was even some loose fabric in the cups. She really still
looked about thirteen, even her face, which was now flushed and excited.
“Now give me my beer, girl.” She picked up my beer from the coffee table
and tried to hand it to me. I pulled her into my lap and popped her bra
hitch. Then I took my beer from her as she shrugged the bra off her
shoulders. When it was down by her wrists, I held her by the shoulder
with one hand and touched the cold beer can to her left nipple. She
gasped as her nipple hardened. As I said, she has practically no tit flesh
at all, just these marvelous puffy nipples, one of which was now tight and
hard and wet.
Ralph was sitting beside me to my left on the couch. Barbara was in my
lap with her knees hitting his right knee. He hesitated for a second,
looking at me, and I said, “Go at her, boy, she’s all yours.” That’s all he
needed. He quickly spit on his left hand and rubbed it on her other tit,
which now glistened and hardened like her left one. He pinched both her
nipples and stood up, pulling her up by the tits, and her close to
him. She stood pressing against him, his fingers still pinching her tits.
She bent her head way back and looked up at him, wide eyed. “How did
you know…? Oh, God, you ARE Uncle Buck… Oh, God, please
don’t…please don’t do that…please d…d..do that…Oh, do that…do
Barbara dropped her hands limply at her sides, and sagged against
Ralph, her knees threatening to buckle. She was a rag doll, completely
available to his every whim. A fuck doll. An abandoned whore, willing to
let him do anything with her. He raked her off her, scratching her
belly with his fingernails, leaving angry streaks. He pushed her down
on the carpet in front of me, and rapidly shed his clothes. She lay there
naked, her legs bent, her open. She gasped as his angry purple
hardon popped out of his underpants.
Ralph practically threw himself on top of her, and she all but disappeared
beneath him. He slammed into her hard, sliding her four inches up the
floor, undoubtedly giving her rug burns on her shoulders and butt. He
humped her hard for several minutes, both of them sweating and
groaning, growling and gasping. She locked her legs around his back
and fucked back as hard as she could, bucking, shoving. Then she put
her feet on the floor and was practically bridging, with him on top of her,
lifting his whole weight with her pelvis, her cunt. She was screaming,
“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, fuck, fug,
fug…fu…fu..Oh, God! Oh, fuck, Oh, piss, Oh, Buck, Oh Fuck, Oh, Buck
fuck, Buck fuck, Bu..Fu…Oh, mmm. Oh…ohh…oooooh…
While all this was going on, I got out of my clothes too, and was sitting on
the couch, mesmerized by the scene in front of me. I couldn’t keep my
hands off my own erection, which swelled with every gasp and whimper
my was making.
Suddenly Ralph pulled out of Barbara, knelt back on his haunches,
grabbed her legs, and flipped her tiny body roughly into her stomach. Her
reddened ass, high and rounded, rose as if by itself as she struggled to
her hands and knees. Ralph shoved her shoulders back down, and
spread her ass cheeks. He spit into her crack and began working his
cock into her rectum. She groaned, and then howled as his knob
penetrated her anal sphincter. Then she went limp again like a rag doll.
When he was well seated in her ass, he lifted her around her chest,
pivoted both of them on one of his knees, and virtually threw the top half
of her into my lap. He continued to fuck her in the ass while he grinned at
me. He said to her. “Okay, little missy, suck your daddy. Fuck your
daddy with your mouth, while I fuck your ass with my big cock..”
Barbara was sweating, and drooling, and sobbing, and her nose was
running, but she was also in a trance. She really was just a little fuck doll,
a hot, wet piece of meat to fuck and throw away. I loved her and I hated
her. She disgusted me and attracted me. I felt the need to come IN her
and ON her and OVER her and even THROUGH her. I wanted to kill her
and to save her. I came as hard as I’ve ever come in my life, practically
half way down her throat, and I kept fucking her mouth and fucking her
mouth…until I began to realize that she was gagging and choking and
nearly unconscious. I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she lay
gasping and panting on my leg. Her saliva and my drooled out of
her slack jaw. Her hot and tearstained cheek rested on my thigh, her wet
I gradually realized that Ralph had come some minutes ago, and was
really just holding Barbara up so I could fuck her mouth more easily. He
backed away, leaving her kneeling in front of me with her head lolling in
my lap. “Far fuckin’ out,” was all he said.
Ralph and I then just turned our attention to the ballgame on TV. We
were just flopping there on the couch in the nude, drinking our beers.
Barbara eventually got up and went upstairs, with Ralph’s and a little
blood running down the backs of her legs. Ralph finally grinned
sheepishly at me, and started to find his clothes. “God damn, Tommyboy,
you got one hell of a vixen on your hands there. No wonder you needed
help.” But I could tell that he was feeling a little uncomfortable too. The
experience had been pretty intense, and not altogether positive…even for
him. I don’t think he liked what he had learned about himself very much.
And I was beginning to feel depressed too. I had had an intense orgasm,
gone into outer space even, but, I mean, where the hell did we go from
here? How would I get my shy, loving little back? Eventually, Ralph
went off home, and I went up to bed. We made no plans for a repeat
Barbara was quiet and serious for the next couple of days, and we even
made love gently once or twice. But it wasn’t the same, somehow. It was
like we were being formal and careful with each other while she
convalesced from some illness. After a week or so our reactions to each
other began to get a little more normal (or pre-fetish normal), and I began
to have hopes that maybe that was it. Maybe we had exorcised the
bogeymen and Barbara was getting back to her sweet, shy self.
That’s when I caught her with the magazine.
She was in the bathroom, sitting in the nude on the like some
teenage boy, masturbating to heavy S & M pictures. She was so
engrossed in the activity that I actually walked up and looked at the
magazine for maybe ten or fifteen seconds before she realized that I was
even there. The sequence I saw showed a woman literally hanging from
five or six hooks actually imbedded in her back. (They showed the “after”
pictures too, where her back was lacerated and the wounds looked
dangerously angry, so they were really doing that to her). [Author’s note:
if you think I’m exaggerating, try<<alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.torture>>
some time.] The poor woman was dangling there, suspended on wires.
Her was shaved completely, and hooded moved around her
wacking her with switches while they jerked themselves off.
Then I spoke.
“My God, Barbara. What the hell is this?” She jumped and dropped the
magazine on the other side of the toilet. Then she sat up like she was
just going to the bathroom, but she looked up at me with major guilt all
over her face.
“I… oh…I, well I was just…”
“I know what you were ‘just,’ Barbara. What I don’t know is why. What
the hell is going on in your head?”
Barbara broke down and started sobbing, but she managed to say, “ Oh,
Tommy, I don’ t know…It’s like I have this demon inside of me that’s just
got to have this stuff….Did you SEE that woman? My God what that must
I said rather coldly, “Barbara, I don’t want to talk about that woman. That
woman is sick or a victim, or both.”
“I know. But maybe she likes it…or some part of her likes it….maybe
she’s like me.”
I knew I was being co-opted into this sickness, but I couldn’t help it. I
should have just cut off the discussion, but I was still trying to reach her,
to pull her back from the abyss. So I said, “ But Honey, look at her, look
at how sick that is.” And this meant, of course, that Barbara now had to
look at her again. She had to pick up the magazine and open it to those
terrible pages, and study them. And I had to look at them with her.
We went into the bedroom together, and Barbara lay on the bed in the
nude, holding the magazine. I stripped down to my boxer shorts and
joined her on the bed. I intended to croon and cajole her into putting down
the magazine and making tender loving love. But first we had to look at
the magazine. So we studied it, and I found it more and more repulsive,
and she found more and more erotic. I began to get really frustrated. I
didn’t see any way to get back to the gentleness.
Finally I knocked the magazine out of her hands and knelt up facing her.
“Alright, Barbara, you want it rough?” She looked scared, but I grabbed
her arm and wrenched it behind her back, twisting it up painfully. The
fevered look came to her eyes. I grabbed a hairbrush from her bedside
table and scratched the inside of her thighs with it, leaving marks
where the hard plastic bristles raked her skin. She was gasping , and
clearly going into some sort of sexual frenzy. I forced her onto her
stomach and rammed the handle of the brush up her ass. I left it there
while I jammed three fingers up her from behind. Then I grabbed her
hair and began banging her head against the headboard. She was so
small, and helpless, and at the same time so wild and crazy, that I
couldn’t help myself, something sort of broke inside me. . I flipped her
over (the brush still in her ass, now being driven into her by the bed under
her), and began slapping her face while I forced my whole hand up her
cunt. I was fisting her and crying…and then I threw up.
That night I slept on the couch in the living room. The next day, I had to
take Barbara back to the emergency room. The hairbrush had done
some damage to her rectum. The doctors took care of her efficiently, but
this time they were considerably less sympathetic toward me. The same
intern who had fixed Barbara’s nose several months ago now insisted on
taking a statement from me. What the hell was I going to say? They sure
weren’t going to buy that it was “all her idea.” I finally settled on, “Well,
we just got a little carried away, sir.” Fortunately, Barbara meekly
corroborated this version of the truth, and the doctors (and the nurses)
settled for just glaring at me and treating Barbara with even greater
Barbara spent that night in the hospital. I went home and stuffed the
S&M magazine into the back of my closet. Don’t ask me why I didn’t just
throw it away. When Barbara came home the next day she was moving
very gingerly. She had four stitches in her ass. I was feeling very sorry
for her (and for myself) and I was very solicitous. I began to like taking
care of her…at least it was a gentle undertaking…one where I could
indulge my desire to be loving and kind. But it occurred to me that maybe
being loving and kind was a kind of fantasy too…at least it didn’t seem
quite “normal” anymore.
Well, things calmed down again…for about three weeks…while she
Then I came home one day a little early, and caught Barbara on the
phone. “Oh, god, Oh god. YES! I WANT you to cut my nipples off…Yes,
YES, shove that knife up my cunt. Cut me, make me bleed. KILL ME,
Horrified as I was, I just stood in the doorway and dropped my briefcase.
Barbara whirled around, caught sight of me, and slammed the phone
down. She had her blouse open, and was toying with a razorblade. I
screamed at her, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
“OH, Tommy! Oh, god…I didn’t expect you home for another half hour…I
was…I was just…”
“Jesus, Barbara! No ‘just’ about it this time. Good Christ! Who the hell
WAS THAT? “
She looked down, “I don’t know. Just a guy.”
“You don’t know? YOU DON”T KNOW?? You’re talking to strangers
about having them KILL you??”
“Yeah, well… See he called here about a week ago. Just an anonymous
dirty phone call…and I began… talking to him. He wanted to do all these
silly, conventional things like come on my face and stuff, and I began to
think ‘Well now, here’s a guy I could really educate. No harm done…all
talk.’ …So I started talking to him.”
“About killing you? Jesus, Barbara, don’t you realize how dangerous that
could be? He’s got our phone number…He could get our address…”
Barbara was silent.
I screamed. “HE ALREADY HAS OUR ADDRESS…DOESN’T HE?”
Barbara nodded glumly. Then she said, “But it’s not what you think. He
“HOW DO YOU KNOW? How do you know that he would never?”
“Because I was talking to my Uncle Buck.”
The room started moving. I sat down hard on the kitchen floor.
After that, things went down hill fast. A week later Ralph came into my
office with the personals section of an underground newspaper…just the
sort of thing he would be reading, I thought nastily. But in it was this ad:
Fuck my while I watch. Anything goes.
Come in her ass. Tie her up. Beat her.
All races, either sex. Bring the gang.
Anything short of the hospital or the morgue.
Incredibly, it had MY phone number on it! Ralph said, “Did you…?”
I was too stunned to respond at all. I thought, of course, that Barbara
must have put that ad in the paper herself. I was so upset that I left work
right then (It was about ten o’clock in the morning), and went storming
home. I should have known better.
There were three strange cars parked in front of my house, and one more
in my driveway. I didn’t even want to go in. With great trepidation I went
around to the back door. I let myself in quietly…I’m not sure exactly
why…but maybe I thought if I snuck up on this quietly it wouldn’t be as
bad as I feared. Maybe it was four women who were just gabbing away
over coffee in my livingroom. Yeah, right! Good luck… The smell of cigar
smoke disabused me of that illusion almost immediately.
I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the livingroom. What I
saw made me just turn right around and just sneak back away. Nobody
there even noticed me.
Barbara had a noose around her neck, which was attached to the hook in
the ceiling where we hung the swag lamp. There was a stranger behind
her, fucking her in the ass, and one in front of her fucking her in the cunt.
A third was sitting on the couch watching and jerking off, and Uncle
Buck (good Uncle Buck) was burning Barbara’s with a lit cigar!
But it was the look on Barbara’s face that finally got me. She was in a
fevered sweat, her eyeballs were rolled back in her head, she was
gasping in the throes of an intense orgasm, going limp, sagging on the
weight of the rope around her neck.
After I fled, I stayed away all night. I just drove and drove and drove
Anyway, about six o’clock the next morning I went home. Barbara was
apparently just asleep in our bed. I didn’t disturb her. I didn’t want to look
at her. I showered and changed, and went to work.
About two o’clock that afternoon the police came and arrested me. Her
mother had found her when she came to pick Barbara up to go shopping.
So that’s my your honor… ladies and gentlemen of the jury.
Yes, the rope that strangled her was mine. Yes, I smoke that brand of
cigar. Yes, you found the S&M magazine in my closet. Yes, You heard
from the doctors. (It’s ALWAYS the husband’s fault, right? ) Yes, you
heard from the newspaper. Maybe they’re telling the truth when they
testified that it was a man’s voice who placed that ad, but it wasn’t mine.
(Did he sound like Uncle Buck I wonder?). And yes, you heard her
act outraged that I would even suggest that he had abused his darling
little daughter. Even Ralph told you that it was me who invited him over.
But, so help me God, all I ever wanted was a quiet, shy, loving little
wife…what I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look.