1. Bouncing Bunny


    Date: 9/23/2015, Categories: Interracial, Author: Bob_6, Rating: 13, Source: LushStories

    I felt ill and I had been sick a couple of times in the afternoon at work and really wanted to go home and lie down. I couldn’t get to talk to my husband, confounded new phone kept losing signal and going off-line,. Didn’t matter, I’d see him at home. Not sure what the problem was: something I ate? Something I was coming down with? It certainly wasn’t pregnancy, I'd been on the pill for over four years. All I knew was that I wanted to go home. Oh, by the way, my name is Nichole, but everyone calls me Bunny. I have curly blonde hair, I’m nearly six foot tall, slim and people have called my build athletic. I told my boss I was not well and I left about two hours early. On the way home I thought I should visit the pharmacy to see if they could recommend something for me. At a mall I parked and headed straight for the pharmacy, passing a lot of restaurants and the sight and smell of food made me nauseous. I tried not to look through the large front windows. I got to the counter in the pharmacy and, to my embarrassment, I promptly vomited. The manager was very helpful and had the floor cleaned up without any fuss. He took me into a side room to check me out and told me to rest there for a while. I took the medicine he recommended and lay on a bed. I fell asleep, apparently for half an hour. The pharmacist checked up on me and I told him I was a little better and no longer felt nauseous. I said I was okay to drive home and I walked back towards my car. I had to pass the ...
    glass-fronted restaurants, of course and, as I passed one eating house, I had to retrace my steps to check what I had seen. I must be wrong. But I wasn’t. My husband, fucking bastard, was with some girl. He was supposed to be at work but he was lightly patting his hands on hers which lay flat on the table. He was oblivious to his surroundings and clearly had not noticed me standing there, staring at him through the window. I rushed away to my car and drove home, my mind in a whirl. My husband and I had been married for three years. We married on my twenty first birthday. He was Jamaican and I was his white English rose. He is a year older and his parents came over to England for the wedding and then, a year ago, things changed. My parents retired young and relocated to Spain. Three months later, my husband’s father, who was then a widower, lost his job and came to England and found work in a ship-building yard. While he looked for a place of his own, we said he could use the spare room in our place. So, that day when I got home, I ran and sobbed in my bed. I did not realise that anyone my father-in-law, Salt was at home. Salt was his nickname. Everyone called him that because his skin tone was much lighter than most Jamaicans. I lay on my bed, still not feeling well and made worse by what I had seen. My world was at an end. What was he doing with her? Who the hell was she? How long had it been going on for? I tortured myself with questions and tears ran down my face. I felt a hand on my ...
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