They say that the male mind thinks a sexual thought every few minutes. Heck, I must be dead already. Indulging in such fantasies is a luxury, and it’s not as if there’s much to choose from these days, unless you like yours dead and rotting and foaming at the mouth. Kinda like my ex-girlfriends, but with more teeth. (Did they have that many teeth to begin with?)
Still, the thought of a healthy female intrigues me. Not to have sex with, just to talk to. No, seriously. She could be a thousand pounds as long as she had an ear to listen. Am I really that bad for desiring companionship of the female persuasion? Tomorrow I could die. Who else would understand how much I Ioved Bethany than another woman? Perhaps I can find some peace in talking about it. I’m only human.
Katey, Sierra and Lindy were my life. I love you, darlings! Somehow I must bury you in this heart of hearts and carry on. Then one day, when this is over and I’m sitting back in my padded chair, it will all come pouring out, page after page, volume after volume.
I will fill up entire libraries about you, my angels. Let others know how your nose flared when you were mad, Lindy, and you snorted like a piglet when you laughed. Or that you, Sierra, had won a spelling bee with the word ‘antitoxin’ a week before the outbreak. The world that never knew you will hear of you one day, and understand in graphic detail what the plague has cost us and why it must never be repeated again.
Rest well, my darlings. Daddy will be with you soon.
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