The golden Couple

(after a tabloid claim of brad’s addiction to phone sex being the last straw for the marriage)

Brad left the awards ceremony arm in arm with Jennifer. The crowd gasped in delight, envy and shameless adoration as at denizens of another world. So feted, the most beautiful glittering couple in all of Christendom returned by rolls Royce to their fairy tale mansion set in a fold in a secluded canyon looking out over the full moon lit ocean toward the west through pristine air spun from the poles and transported south by the obedient trade winds then warmed and dried over the desert and sent gently bathing the little valley like an invisible stream of orgone goodness healing and cleansing all within. Once the choreographed sequence of gates and doors – humming in sympathy with the car and the spinning earth – once the final door had closed in the wake of these two Olympians they moved apart and after a brief curt exchange with their butler re tomorrows arrangements went separately to opposite wings of the mansion. She reached her suite and wearily discarded £3000 of clothes on the bedroom floor and vanished into the steam of the bathroom with an expression of absolute despair on her face pausing only briefly at her dressing table to extricate two prescribed tablets to ensure oblivion as painlessly and as rapidly as possible. Meanwhile up in the turret of the west wing brad sits huddled on the bed telephone receiver clenched to his ear his pants unbuttoned and his right hand desultorily moving up and down the shaft of his half erect penis. "Oh you dirty bastard" says the middle-aged woman on the other end of the phone in a nasal shopping mall whine shriek, "fuck me with your big cock" as she knits and leafs through a showbiz magazine occasionally drifting off into resentful phantasies of the inhabitants thereof - brad Pitt for example - who indeed she is looking at as she remembers with a twinge of irritation and self-pity the fucking john on the phone some ugly little pervert no doubt who’s only chance of getting near a woman was this 50 cent a minute call – "fucking jerk off" she muttered. "yes that’s right!" said brad, avidly listening up in his eyrie, cock beginning to really stiffen at last, "I’m a fucking jerk off". "Jesus" said the woman. Meanwhile 100 yards away Jennifer finished rubbing herself with her shampoo slick fingers as a climax round about 1.5 on the Richter scale wrought a barely audible hiss from her lips and she flopped still damp into the pristine bed after struggling to negotiate the linen frippery that wisteria’d all over the 4 poster. The pills were kicking in and she felt dizzy sick and blurred - clumsy, mind and body. Fuckim she thought as she spun into the abyss for precisely 3.5 hours. Fuck him.
END