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A Short Story : The Story Of A Story

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The Bad News is there is no Good News

Jerry came home from work later than usual that Friday night. He didn’t say hello when he found me in our bedroom, but thrust the glittery pink bag at my chest and waited with half of a grin.
Underneath thin, white sheets of wrapping paper was a skimpy black and white bunny costume. I raised it to the front of my face so I couldn’t see Jerry’s big blue eyes staring at me, the tip of his tongue now resting on his lips as he waited for my reaction. I saw college girls roaming around North Philadelphia in the same outfits when I walked home after the pet store closed that Halloween. I squeezed the white cotton tail, which felt stiffer than it looked, then threw the outfit at his chest.
Fuck off,” I said, but smiled.
Jerry turned the bunny over in his hands. He squeezed the tail like I had and looked down at it sadly, his tongue going back behind his lips.
“Come on Sandy, we haven’t had sex in months. I just want to have some fun,” he said.
I was ten years older than Jerry and was about to turn fifty. There were plenty of things I had done that kept our relationship interesting and that constituted as fun. Especially for him and his imagination that was always fresher than mine. Whips, candle wax, spiders I brought home from the pet store once. Years ago, when Jerry was stuck working late shift security at the hospital and came home before the sun rose, I waited for him, naked under our covers with chocolate glaze painted in the

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