"Larry, I wanted to see you privately because, well, you're going to be hearing things that may be upsetting and frankly we don't want you to be makin... waves about this."That wasn't quite how I was expecting things to go, and I guess it showed in the blank look I gave him."What you're going to hear," he continued, "is that Susan, uh, passed away last night. But it's very important that you make no effort to view her body, or claim it, or anything. Understand me?"I did. They'd moved her. She was. I heard Mom mumbling something, and then she said with a bitter tone to her voice, "I know damned well that your father is not sleeping on a sofa in his office. He's shacked up with that damned bitch of a secretary." Huh? You mean Miss Allison?" Yes, Miss Flossie Fucking Allison."I was amazed--not so much that my dad might be sleeping with Flossie Allison (she was something of a sex pot, even though she was older than Mom), but at the language that Mom was using. She must be really upset to. But even with full schedules, our ‘baby-making’ practice remained hot, heavy, and often. We were up to two or more times a day.It’s hard to explain how much we loved each other. Most people don’t have a spouse that was their lifemate from the time they were toddlers. I knew marriage was the binding of two into one, but Beth and I grew up that way. Have you ever seen two trees planted so close together that they became one as they grew? That was as close to an accurate description as I could. Smithregarding my evening attire is unusual. My customary apparel for thebeginning of the weekend consists of my formal service uniform inwhich to cook and serve them dinner. But when Mr. Jones phones aheadand orders me into my "sissy uniform" (as he likes to call it), I ammore than a little intrigued. And excited. He usually doesn't drop inon to enjoy my services like this, and I look forward to spending afew hours at his beck and call. As I scamper to my quarters to quicklychange, I am caught.