Category: Meme

Meme – 7

     Harry was expecting a phone call from the teenager, so he was surprised to find the young man at his front door.

     “Good evening, sir. May I come in?”

     More polite than most his age, Harry thought. “You must be Jesse. Come in, come in.”

     The boy unslung his backpack and dropped it on the sofa, glancing quickly around the room, including the art work, which he recognized would impress his sister. He also noticed the lady who had spoken to him outside the clinic, stretched out before the fireplace and looking rather sultry. He wondered if he had interrupted something, but it was too late to worry about that now.

     As far as he knew, nobody in town had ever been inside the MacOliver home. It was known he was well-to-do, but he kept pretty much to himself. Jesse considered himself privileged to be there. “The lady said you wanted to talk to me?”

     “Yes indeed. Helen told me you were recording the protest and our little contretemps?”

     “If that means when you totally destroyed that lady, you’re right.” He went to his backpack and extracted a laptop and a CD. “It’s all on this CD. If you don’t have a PC, we can view it on mine.”

     Harry gestured toward his office. “I think I have something to view it on. Come with me.”

     The boy followed Harry into his office and stopped short, laughing at himself. “I guess you do have a PC or two. You’ve got more stuff here than my high school computer lab. What’s that?”

     “That”, Harry said, “is a real computer. An IBM mainframe. I don’t use it as much as I used to , but it’s still the best thing for crunching passwords.”

A big grin began to spread across Jesse’s face. “Hacking? Is that how you found out about that woman having an abortion?”

     “No’, Harry laughed. “The world of secrecy and digging up secrets didn’t start with computers. Let’s see that CD.”

     Harry slipped it into one of the PCs with a big screen daisy-chained to the monitor Mrs. Howe and the entire entourage blasted to life on a 60-inch screen, chanting and praying and shouting their message of fundamentalism and hypocrisy.

     Helen came in and the three of them settled down to watch the confrontation. It was just what Harry had hoped.

     “This is going to be your class assignment?”, he asked. “What do you think the teacher is going to say about it?”

     Jesse laughed. “She’ll have a heart attack. Our projects were supposed to be combined into an hour-long show for the TV station, but there’s no way she’ll let me put this footage on the air. And I doubt if the TV station would have the guts to show it.”

     “You’re probably right,” Harry said with a grin, “but it seems a shame to deny the world the opportunity to observe such grand hypocrisy, doesn’t it? Maybe Youtube?”

      Jesse grinned broadly. “At least. There are a lot of places you can post videos. But what do I do if she sues me?”

     “Well”, Harry said, “she can sue me, presumably for slander and recording it might make it libel – I’ll let my lawyer worry about that –but truth is a good defense and the truth is on my side in this case. You are just a citizen journalist, so all she could do to you is try to browbeat you into taking down the video, but I have some ideas about that. If you’re interested in doing more things like this, exposing the assholes of the world, we can discuss it over pizza. You game?”

     “Yessir! And I know some other people who would be happy to help.”

     “Good. One advantage to being rich is you can hire good lawyers, good programmers and hackers, lots of hardware and bandwidth and PR people. With a bit of luck I fully intend to torpedo a lot of careers.“

To be continued…

Meme – 6

     Harry drove home, satisfied that he had fired the opening salvo of what he fully intended to be a war.

     I thought that woman was going to have a heart attack”, Helen said. “And a lot of the others weren’t much better. How’d you know she’d had an abortion when she was 18?”

     Harry smiled. “My cousin ran the camp where she was a councilor and he arranged for the abortion. Knowing her parents, he felt sorry for her and kept it quiet at the time. He met her again years later, after she had gone all holier-than-thou and her hyporisy ticked him off. He told me all about it. As far as the others, it was really a guess, but did you notice how many of them reacted?” He chuckled. “And I did a little digging into the past of that preacher. He got his degree from a diploma mill and started his own church mostly because established congregations didn’t want him. Ten years ago he was living hand-to-mouth, running a tiny mission in the seedier part of Chicago. Two years ago he showed up here with enough cash to build a church. I’m still tracking it down, but it seems he hooked a wealthy, senile patron who willed him her estate and died before the family found out about it. There was a lawsuit but it never went to court. I suspect the legitimate heirs paid him off just to go away. Morally questionable at the very least.”

     Helen laughed. “Okay, one down and one to go. Who’s your next target?”

     “I haven’t decided, but I’ll tell you something. In this day and age, privacy is pretty much non-existent. The only people who are unknown are those business and government don’t feel are worth the trouble. They probably know a lot about me but probably very little about you. Homeless people don’t interest corporations or governments unless they make trouble. Then they’re just stepped on but are still mostly anonymous.”

     “Yeah, we always told ourselves we were nobodies, at least nobody anyone cared about. It hurt at first, but you get used to it.”

     “Nobody should be treated like a nobody”, Harry said. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life and whatever it takes to remedy that.”

     “You can’t support all the homeless”, Helen said, “no matter how rich you are.”

     “No, but I msy be able to change things so that homelessness is no longer socially and politically acceptable. I don’t have to do it all by myself. What did you find out about that kid?”

     “He was there was as an assignment for his journalism class, documenting an anti-abortion protest. He thinks they’re a bunch of assholes and was delighted when you shot down Mrs Howe. He recorded the whole thing.”

     “I’d hoped it was something like that. Did you ask him to give me a call?”

     “Sure did. He promised to call you tonight. He has a serious case of hero worship.” She grinned. “He could have done worse”.

     Harry smiled.

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Meme – 5

     They got out of the car and approached the clinic. Several middle-aged ladies – including Mrs. Howe – and a local preacher were circling around, holding protest signs and singing hymns, ready to pounce on any female daring to enter the clinic. On one side was a teenager, evidently capturing the event on video. Harry and Helen started towards the door and the protestors converged on them, calling down hellfire and brimstone. Harry stopped in front of Mrs. Howe and eyed her coldly. “Hello, Grace. I see you’re up to your usual bullshit. Thought you’d be tired of it by now.”

     Grace Howe bristled and puffed her self up even more than her usual haughty state. “I will never tire of doing the Lord’s work, protecting the unborn from the baby killers. And people like you,” she added, with a glance a Helen, who promptly gave her the finger.

     Harry smiled and deep inside him a door was unbarred. “Tell me Grace, do all of your friends here know you had an abortion when you were 18?”

                        ————

     Grace Howe stopped in her tracks like he’d dropped a load of bricks on her head. She staggered back two paces and plopped down on bench. “Why, who, what, how?” she sputtered. Her face got beet-red and she started breathing so heavily Harry was afraid she was about to have a heart attack. He thought of asking Helen to have one of the doctors from the clinic come out, but Grace seemed to be weathering the storm, surrounded by her solicitous companions.

     “What have you done?” shouted the preacher. “Mrs. Howe is one of our most respected members! She’s a deaconess, for heaven’s sake. A true Christian lady! She would never consider abortion under any circumstance!”

     “And she’s a full-blown hypocrite.” Harry replied. “Ask her. Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, 1960. She was 18 and a councilor at a summer camp. A little hanky-panky down by the lake, and voila! She knew what would happen if she came home in that condition. Her father was a preacher like you and a bigot to boot. And the baby’s father was Mexican. So she aborted, and denial has fit in well with her snobbish upbringing and pretensions ever since.”

     He noticed the teenager was beside himself with excitement and zooming in on himself and on Mrs. Howe. He’d initially thought the boy was part of the protest group, but evidently not. He reached into a pocket and extracted a business card which he passed to Helen as he whispered something to her. She nodded and went over to talk to the boy. Harry turned to Mrs Howe and the protestors. “I know for a fact that Grace Howe isn’t the only hypocrite among you. You not only oppose abortion, you oppose contraceptives and counseling, but some of you use birth control yourselves. So I will say what your Good Reverend should say, but won’t: ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her – John 8:7′. And as long as we’re being biblical, you might check Matthew 7:1 and Luke 12:2. The world is about to discover that in this day and age, privacy is a thing of the past. And it starts here. With you.” He smiled sweetly, then turned on his heel and headed back toward his car, with Helen at his side, giggling.

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Meme – 4

     Only one thing wrong with this big fancy house of yours.”

     “What’s that?’ Harry asked.

     “The air conditioning is too damn cold! “. Helen sat up and gathered her robe around her. She cast a critical eye at him. “Eighty? You don’t look bad for eighty. Course, I’ve only got old Pete-The-Skinny-Wino for comparison. “

     “Thanks, I think. I take it Pete-The-Skinny-Wino is an old friend of yours?”

     “Friend, yes. He’s actually only 68 but he looks older than you.”

     “That’s what a hard life does to people, I guess. For someone who lived like you’ve been living, you’ve managed to keep yourself in wonderful shape.” He reached out and pulled back her robe, unwilling to let the lovemaking pass.

     She laughed. “Enough for now, you dirty old man. Next time will be in bed, where I won’t freeze my ass off.” She looked at him softly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

     Harry nodded. “Too long, too long. But we have something to do today. It’s Wednesday.” He reached for his clothes.

     “What’s special about Wednesday?” Helen asked.

     “You’ll see. This particular Wednesday will forever be known in Doman, NY as the day Mrs. Howe’s world collapsed. Now you’d better get dressed, unless you want to become a nudist. That might actually fit in well with my future plans – no concealment , let it all hang out. Or down, as the case may be.”

     With a deep chuckle, Helen headed down the hall to find something to wear.

     Harry realized how much he had missed having a woman around. Not just for sex, but simply because he liked women and found the way their minds worked a stimulus to his own thinking. He hoped she would stay.

                                      ———-

     Harry parked about a block before the Women’s Clinic. “When’s the last time you had a physical? Mammogram? PAP test?”

     Helen shrugged. “Ages ago. When you’re trying to survive, you don’t have time for luxuries. Besides, under those conditions, increasing my life expectancy didn’t seem like doing myself any favors.”

     Harry smiled. “Helen, I like you. For one thing, you’re honest. Maybe it’s because you have nothing to lose, but I think that’s just part of who you are. I’d really like it if you decided to live with me. “ There. He’d said it and couldn’t take it back.

     “And you like to fuck me, too, eh?”

     “That too, but I hope I don’t disillusion you by saying that’s not the main reason for my wanting you around. Fact is. you’re good for me in several ways. You motivate me to get off my ass and do what I should have started doing ten year ago. If you decide to leave, I’ll understand and do what I can to help you on your way. I’ll miss you, but I won’t try to stop you doing what you feel you have to do.” He looked at her expectantly, only to see tears running down her cheeks.

     “Harry, Harry, I like you too. It’s just the first time in 30 years someone has wanted me for anything besides my cunt.” She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “I’’ll stay with you. I’ll stay as long as you want me to and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. But I don’t want to marry you. Do you understand that?”

     “I think so. I wasn’t thinking of marriage, really. Besides, given my intentions to tell the world to go take a Flying Fuck, living together out of wedlock would be more appropriate.”

     She laughed. “It’s a deal! And between thumbing our noses at the world, we still get to screw now and then. Now, why are we here today?”

     “Ah,” Harry said. “Down the street is the Women’s Clinic. Full range of health services for women – yearly physicals, specialists as needed, contraception, mammograms, Ob/Gyn, abortion. And every Wednesday the local Fundamentalists get off their fundaments and parade around outside. They are opposed to contraception, although to my personal knowledge several practice it and none are out there adopting the byproducts of unwanted pregnancies. They are naturally very opposed to abortion, believing devoutly that the unborn are more important than the mothers – and all too happy to disclaim responsibility and support for babies once they’re born. And just like with contraception, there’s a fair amount of hypocrisy involved. I’m going to expose some of that today. Come on.”

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Meme – 3

     Officer James Brucier looked a little embarrassed, as Harry opened the door. “Hello, Jim. What brings you to my door today?”, Harry asked.

     “Well sir, it’s like this. We got a complaint. Seems someone was concerned something untoward was going on here.”

     “Might as well come in. Untoward? Just what sort of untowardness did this complaint specify?”

     “Nothing specific sir, just wanted us to check up.” He nodded politely to Helen. “Ma’am.”

     “And may I enquire as to who lodged this complaint?”, Harry asked. He was beginning to get a bit pissed off. He had no doubt one of his neighbors had observed his arrival home, with Helen in tow. Probably Mrs. Howe, who spent her time on her upstairs balcony, watching the neighborhood through her opera glasses. He vaguely recalled her coming out of Safeway about the same time he did.

     “Now Mr. McOliver, you know I can’t tell you things like that.” Jim all but ground his toe into the carpet, wishing he were somewhere else.

     “Jim, if an official complaint was filed, it’s your job to follow up. I understand that and I don’t blame you. But if the matter ever comes before a judge, you should know three things. First, I’ll win. My lawyer is the salt of the earth. But in court he’s a mean son-of-a-bitch, my mean SOB. Second, whoever brought the complaint will have to come forward – accused gets to face the accuser, remember? Third, I will totally destroy whatever persons meddle in my life. I’m a private person, doing nobody any harm – and I don’t like being hassled. “

     “Please, Mr McOliver. I’ll just go back to the office and say it’s all right here. Okay?”

     “No, Jim, I want the name. I have my suspicions, but I want to nail it down.” He paused, considering. “Jim, you recall 3 or 4 years ago? Your wife was working two jobs to support you and the baby while you were going to school. Your car broke down and wasn’t worth fixing, even if you’d had the money, which you didn’t. You bought a good used car – think your wife still drives it – for $1, right? How come it only cost you $1?”

     Officer Jim Brucier looked thunderstruck. At the time, he’d been broke and had zero credit. He’d been told it was a gift from a friend, although none of the friends he knew could have afforded to give him a car. The truth sank in and left him helpless. “It was Mrs. Howe”, he admitted.

     “Thank you, Jim. You can report that there is nothing untoward going on here. I will deal with Mrs. Howe in my own good time and my own way.”

     The officer almost ran for the door.

     “Just a minute, officer”, Helen said. “On my behalf, please. Tell this Mrs. Howe person that the silverware hasn’t been stolen or Mr McOliver murdered. Tell her you that you just found us naked on the floor fucking like teenagers.”

     Officer James Brucier stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Helen in astonishment, then a chuckle erupted and turned into a guffaw. He nodded to the two of them and left, shaking his head.

                          ————-

     Harry laughed. “I think that’s the last we’ll hear from Mrs. Howe. I’d wish he would actually quote you, but I expect he’s too polite. But it does make up my mind for me about something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. This may be the straw that broke the camel’s back. If you want to see the shit hit the fan, stick around.”

     “I haven’t anything better to do”, Helen said. “What do you have in mind?”

     “You’ll see. It’s time for some people in this town to be taken down a notch. I’m gonna make it happen.”

     “Good!” Helen said. “Always wanted to see the high and mighty get their comeuppance. You might be a pretty decent person after all, despite your fancy house.” She grinned at him and he grinned back.

     “Now, let’s see what clothes we can find that fit you. I suggest you junk what you brought and we’ll run over to Target and outfit you.

     “Soon”, Helen said, and there was a new tone in her voice. “Just in case the officer does quote me to Mrs. Howe, we wouldn’t want to make a liar out of him, now would we?” And she let the robe slip off as she sank to the floor.

     “Helen”, Harry began, “you’re sexy as hell but I’m not a young man any more.”

     “Do you need me to teach you?” she asked. “Take your clothes off, Harry. Now.”

     With a smile which was partly resignation and partly anticipation, Harry complied.

Continue…

Meme – 2

     They were sitting at the table, Harry sipping his coffee and watching Marilyn eat like it was the first time in a week. She was wearing a light blue robe and the wide collar turned up to frame her face. She needed a hair cut and styling, a manicure and probably a pedicure, but she was fundamentally a very pretty woman. Not exactly what he’d call beautiful, but quite attractive. He suspected she knew and could use her attractiveness.

     After her second helping of eggs and the last of the bacon and toast, she leaned back and stretched her feet out, wiggling her toes. Harry felt they were wiggling at him. “Now what?”, she asked. “Is this where the quid pro quo kicks in? You got me cleaned up and fed. What do you want from me?”

     Harry ignored the question. “You know art?”, he asked.

     Marilyn shrugged. “Another life. It doesn’t matter now.”

     “Would you want that life back?” Harry asked

     “Never! At least not the last 30 of it.” She smiled at some memory and said, “The early years when I lived in the Village and Paris and Rome – that I miss.” She studied him speculatively. “You want to support a starving artist?”

     “It’s none of my business, but what happened?” Harry asked.

     “Shit happened. A particular shit named Andre Mackler”.

     “I’ve heard of him. Vaguely recall some scandal – fraud, absconded with funds. Don’t remember the details. “

     “He was a high end lawyer and investment guru. He looted his clients’ estates and investments and ran away to Brazil. Now I think he’s somewhere in Croatia or maybe it’s the Caribbean. I don’t know. Or care. What I do know is he left me to face the consequences.”

     “How so?”

     She looked at him. “Thirty years ago I still had my looks.” She flashed him a smile. “Maybe not Marilyn Monroe, but still good. I had a name as an up-and-coming artist and art curator. I could talk the language of all his filthy-rich clients. So he made me his trophy wife.”

     “Living the high life and all of as sudden the bottom dropped out. Surely you weren’t held responsible for his debts.”

     She snorted. “No, not for the stolen money. But they took everything except my clothes. My car, my jewelry, even some of my own artwork that was in the houses. I had nothing. And when the word got out, people treated me like dirt, like I must have known and been party to all his schemes. People I thought were my friends cut me dead. One offered me a secretarial job – provided he got a daily blowjob. I told him I’d rather live on the streets.”

     Harry thought for awhile. “Tell me, if you could go back to being an artist, would you? Could you?”

     Marilyn looked hard at him. “I might try. The artist crowd isn’t so judgmental, and I could be happy painting and sculpting again. But I’d still have to deal with the pricks who buy the paintings and that whole class. What pisses me off most about them is that they are so busy screwing each other and the rest of the country, they’re worse than Andre was. He stole from the millionaires and billionaires. Most of them steal from the poor people and the middle class. They do it in business, in politics, in religion – you name it, wherever money and power reach, they’re there, getting their pound of flesh. And the money and power reach pretty much everywhere, these days.”

     “A succinct social and political commentary”, Harry remarked. “And pretty much on the mark. But you’ll never get most people to see it that way. The upper class is at war with everyone else, but we don’t fight back because we don’t understand it’s a class war. We like to pretend there are no classes in America, despite the evidence to the contrary.”

     Marilyn smiled. “And what class do you consider yourself? This place isn’t exactly a hovel. How many peons did you have to pee on to be able to afford this house?”

     Harry had been expecting the question. “I grew up rural, working class. Did manage to finish college because it was quite cheap or even free in some places. I started a software and consulting company fifty years ago. It was quite successful. I didn’t have peons. My employees were well paid, good benefits. Once they demonstrated their competence, I gave each of them a piece of the company. By the time a good buyout offer came by, there were 36 of us and I only owned about 30% of the company. The employees owned the rest. They voted to accept the buyout. We all took their money and ran. The buyers ended up owning a corporation with a great reputation but no employees.”

     Marilyn leaned back and roared with laughter. “Marvelous! And what did the buyers have to say?”

     Harry shrugged. “Wasn’t’ much they could do. Not my fault they were too tight to hire a good lawyer when it came time to draw up the takeover contract. With judicious investments, I’ve done pretty much what I pleased for the last thirty years.”

     “And what have you done for the last thirty years?”, she asked, rather softly.

     He smiled. “Spent a lot of my time trying to help people who need help. Some charities are okay and do good work, but I like to get more personal.”

     “Like with me.”

     “Like with you.”

     “My name isn’t Marilyn Monroe”, she said. “It’s Helen.”

     “Hello, Helen.”

     “Hello Harry whover-you-are.”

     “McOliver,” he said. “Harry McOliver. And even if your name isn’t really Marilyn Monroe…”

     “Yes?”

     “You’re still a damn fine looking woman.”

     And the doorbell rang.

Continue…

Meme – One

                       Meme
                       By R L Saunders
                       (work in progress)


© 2013 R. L. Saunders
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

     By the age of 80, Harry McOliver had learned that while a day that starts out bad usually stays bad, a day that starts out well does not necessarily stay that way. It was sunny and mild, a good day for working on the flowerbed or putting his feet up on the front porch and sipping the new Bernkastler Spaetlese. He had set out to run a few simple errands; mail a package, get the car gassed up, buy some groceries.

     It was when he came out to the supermarket parking lot that things started to go awry. One of the Safeway employees was trying to wrestle a shopping cart away from an elderly woman, who had filled it with what appeared to be all her worldly goods, in garbage bags and an old suitcase. She was on her way down the street when discovered. Much to Harry’s amusement, the teenage boy was losing the battle with the old lady. His obligation to his employer was obviously at war with how he had been taught to treat little old ladies. Finally, he decided to do it the good old American Way by passing the buck. He threw up his hands and shouted, ‘Fine, lady! I’m gonna call the cops!” and stomped back into the store, while the woman made her escape as quickly as her age would permit, which wouldn’t be fast enough if the town police actually responded. For no reason he could later justify, Harry made a decision.

     He got into his car and drove down the street past the old woman, then pulled over and waited for her to come abreast of the car.

     “Ma’am, I’d suggest if you don’t want to spend the night in jail, you toss your stuff in my trunk and let met take you somewhere safer and more comfortable. And maybe get you a bite to eat, in the bargain.”

     The woman looked at him suspiciously,. “Who the hell are you? What the hell you want with me?”

     “My name’s Harry and I don’t want squat from you. I just hate to see anyone get hassled when what they need is a leg up. We can discuss my philosophy later, but if we wait too long, you’re going to be talking from the county jail.”

     The woman considered a moment, then began hoisting her baggage from the cart as Harry popped open his trunk. A minute later, they were on their way, the shopping cart standing lonely and useless in the middle of the sidewalk.

     “You got a name?”, Harry asked, once they were out of the downtown and the risk of pursuit by angry teenagers or police was minimal.

     The old woman pondered a moment. “Marilyn,” she said. “Marilyn Monroe.”

     Harry chuckled and the old woman gave him a defiant look. “You got something against that name?” she asked? “Maybe I’m not sexy enough to suit you?”

     Harry pulled into his driveway and parked, then turned and looked her up and down. “You’ll do”, he said, “after a shower and some clean clothes. And maybe some breakfast.”

     Harry gathered his few groceries and offered to help with her bags but she slapped him away. “Lemme be! Nobody touches my stuff but me!” She looked at Harry’s house, then around the neighborhood of more-or-less identical homes. “Pretty fancy. Sure you want to risk letting me in? I might steal the silverware or something.”

     Harry laughed. “I’ve got more of most everything than I need or would miss, but I don’t think you’ll do that.”

     Marilyn followed him into the house. “Holy shit!”, she said. “You weren’t just whistling Dixie!” She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her grimy feet in the deep pile of the carpet, gazed wonderingly at the paintings on the wall. “Is that a real Fragonard?”

     Harry followed her glance. “No, it’s a print. It’s called The Swing.”

     “I know what it’s called. Probably know more about art than you do.”

     “That wall holds originals. The rest are prints.’

     Marilyn studied the original art, then glanced at him with a glimmer of respect. “Some nice pieces. That one’s derivative but well executed. The others are good’. Who picked them out for you?”

     Harry laughed. “Meaning it couldn’t have been me? I selected them all. Sorry to disappoint you.”

     “Humph! Must have gotten a Liberal Arts education on daddy’s dime before you inherited the business. Never met a rich gent like you that knew anything about anything but making money.”

     “Maybe you shouldn’t be so closed-minded,” Harry suggested. “You haven’t met everybody in the world.”

     He clapped his hands, “Now, first things first. You probably haven’t had a hot shower and decent meal for awhile. First room on the left down that hall is a bathroom. Second room is a guest bedroom. You’re about the same size as my late wife, so I’ll lay out her robe and some of other things in case you want to launder your own things. While you’re taking a shower, I’ll see what I can find for brunch.”

     Marilyn looked long and hard at him. “You really expect me to get undressed with you lurking around?”

     With some impatience, Harry said, “Lady, I’m 80 years old. Even if I had rape on my mind, consummating it would be questionable. That’s assuming I wanted to fuck a grimy old fart dressed in rags, who thinks she’s a sex symbol!”

     Marilyn laughed and the laugh sounded 40 years younger. “We’ll see”, she said. “Maybe you’ll think differently when I’m cleaned up.”

     “I can hardly wait”, Harry said with a smile. “Now get on with you and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

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