CONTEST for $15 AMAZON GIFT CARD Winner was Louis:  ”Distraught by her husband’s betrayal, Christine goes looking for a pet only to realize there’s probably not a pony inside every manure pile.”

Christine Bacon has a fatal attraction. To all things fatal. A veteran hypochondriac, her near-death experiences are exacerbated when her husband proposes they have a menage a trois with Eleanor, his busty British massage therapist, to “shake things up.”

            They were truthfully too big to be called “perky.” Thing One and Thing Two were up and out. My breasts, on the other hand, were not only small (32 B minus) but had turned into saggy, limp skin sacs with droopy areolae and indifferent nipples from two years of nursing babies. So it was very much unappreciated that my husband wanted to invite someone with a cup size further along in the alphabet than mine to join us under the covers.

It had all started with a trigger point. Richard had been complaining of his upper back muscles being tight, and since I knew he’d been under a lot of stress at work, I got him a gift certificate to a local spa. Eleanor, a transplant from England with what Richard called a “killer accent,” was his massage therapist. After about four sessions of seeing her, Richard mentioned that someone at the office had engaged in a threesome, and then said what did I think of that. I said a twosome was more than enough for me, and the conversation had ended. The morning after his sixth massage, he told me over breakfast (while the girls were upstairs getting ready for school) that he thought he might like to try a threesome, and what did I think of that. I had stirred my coffee a bit too vigorously so that some of it slopped onto the table. I had not known what to answer, and thought it wise that I refrained from my initial response of what the FUUCKK?! After a few moments, I whispered (so the kids wouldn’t hear) why didn’t we just watch some good porn instead?

            That’s not what I’m talking about, he snorted. I feel like we need to really shake things up here. Make it exciting again.

            Aren’t I enough for you? I asked. I didn’t understand this; we’d had sex three times last week, and I’d gone down on him every time. Even when he hadn’t showered immediately before.

            I need a change, he had answered. Sorry, but I’m just being honest.

            That was when I got scared. And I said, okay.

Tracy H. Tucker is a middle school teacher with a Master’s Degree in Literacy.  A new empty-nester and fighting it big-time, Tracy plans to keep busy inspiring the youth of America, writing, tending her small farm, and occasionally speaking to her husband.

See I Kill Me: Tales of a Jilted Hypochondriac at Amazon Follow Tracy on Facebook

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An Aussie Adventurer and a Lady Marine take on a mystical force. Romance & Adventure from Dana Taylor–JAGUAR JACK