I'm Jimmy Plunger, I hadn't been feeling well for a while, for differing reasons.
I knew my slut of a wife had started cheating with my cunt of a best friend a few weeks ago, but for a few months I just had felt ill and had gone to see my doctor, Dr James McNab. He'd been our family doctor for maybe 4 decades and was close to retirement. He had done some tests at the start of the previous week and I had an appointment on Tuesday for the results.
I should have been in the prime of life but certainly felt far from it, both physically and mentally. A cheating slut of a wife will grind you down very quickly, the fact that is was with my best friend made it ten times worse, two people you hoped you could rely on, especially now when I was ill and needed those I could rely on to have my back.
This was to be a big week with the test results and once I knew that I was going to make my mind up about what I'd do about my wife and best friend.
Monday set the tone for the week, my little pug, we'd had him for 8 years and he was like a kid to us, we loved him even if we thought it funny to call him 'Flatnose'.
Poor little guy was run over outside of the house by a fucking huge pantechnicon with 14 wheels. Now the poor little fucker had more than a flat nose, he was more or less a part of the road surface. He tried to bite the truck's wheel as it bore down on him so I suppose KIA fits the bill as 'cause of death'.
What a shame, the little fucker was the most loyal thing in the house, he obviously knew more than I did because for years he had growled every time my supposed best friend Dave called at the house. I'd miss Flatnose, Dave not so much.
Tuesday arrived as the day of reckoning and I'd taken time off work to go to see Doc McNab. As my doctor since childhood, we knew each other well and I always spoke to him with respect, never using his first name, always Doctor or Dr. McNab. When I sat in front of him I knew straight away it was bad news, he never bullshitted me, looked me in the eyes and said, "Jimmy, I'm sorry to say it's bad, you have cancer, it's one of the worst sorts and it is very advanced. It's pancreatic cancer and the survival rates are incredibly low. I'm sorry but this type never really has early warning signs and we are well past anything but managing it and your pain."
To cut a long story short, Dr. McNab knew my entire medical history, he knew I was unable to have children, I'd been tested earlier in our marriage and it appears to go back to mumps in childhood. My swimmers weren't up to the job, simple as that. I'd also been badly injured a few years ago in a motor crash with a drunk driver that left me with a damaged hip that meant my walking was a bit laboured and I endured hip pain, especially in winter months.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry, if it can happen it seems to happen to you, you couldn't catch a break if you had massive, big sticky hands... apart from that beautiful wife of yours, of course."
I'd been looking down at my hands and at the last line I raised my eyes and gave him one of those looks. He understood the look instantly.
"Oh, for fuck sake!" I'd never heard him swear before. "You are joking Jimmy, that bitch has thrown her furry hoop over some bastard's Johnston? What a cunt! Ooops sorry, I shouldn't.........."
"Don't worry about it Doc, she's not worth your anger, nor my sorrow. Doc I need to know what my short future holds. How long have I got? And Doc, what will the end be like, how will I be, will I be able to function, I need to know so I can plan what I must do."
"Jimmy, pancreatic is a vicious aggressive cancer. I'm sorry to say you could be gone before three months are out, or sooner, and at best.. well, you might get 6, 9 months maybe a year tops but probably not that long. I'm sorry son."
"Jimmy, the end is likely to be a load of palliative care with you mainly being out of consciousness with very strong pain relief, you are going to need someone to take care of you son, be that family or professional help. My advice is to get everything done that you feel you need to do as soon as you can, this could lay you low very quickly. Don't delay anything important."
"Actually Doc, that makes my decisions a lot easier. I don't see me being able to rely on my wife and I've no close family. Doc I can't see me sticking it out to the bitter end just for its own sake. You familiar with Dylan Thomas, Doc? The Welsh poet, the dying of the light guy?"
"I know him Jimmy, that is one of my favourite poems, I've always hope that my patients would read and understand that poem and fight like hell. That said Jimmy, your race isn't winnable, you just fight for as much time as you need or want."
"Well, Doc, I've always admired that poem "Do not go gentle into that good night." I've always understood it to mean that you should fight for every last breath, fight to keep living and damn dying. Now I see a different meaning, oh yes, I intend to rage against the dying of the light, but just in my own way. I'll be seeing you Doc and thanks for everything you've ever done for me and my whole family over all these years. I wish you long life and happiness in your retirement."
I left Doctor McNab's surgery, he had given me all manner of reading material, a host of prescriptions, mainly for pain relief and my promise to visit him regularly to update him and allow him to give me any changes of meds that may help better with the pain. I also left with a curious look from him, almost as if he could read my mind. The finality of my words of thanks, I think he knew well what was in my heart.
The remainder of Tuesday at home was a quiet day, I had said nothing to the slut about my tests or my appointment today, she no longer rated any consideration from me, and I was damned if I'd tell her anything she didn't strictly need to know, such as the fact that I had decided that she was to predecease me.
On Wednesday morning I called into work and resigned, I wouldn't need a job, shit I had money in the bank, nobody I cared to provide future finance for and I'd soon be dead, even Flatnose was gone.
My boss who really was a good friend to me, well, he was shocked, told me he had thought I was happy working with and for him and that all was good. I thanked him for the good years, that I had indeed been happy but that he would soon find out the reasons behind me quitting but sorry, right now I can't say any more.
He was damned confused but agreed to raise my final check and cash out my pension net of the tax penalty and have it for me tomorrow, Thursday. We shook hands and he told me that if I wanted to reconsider he'd have me back in a heartbeat.
That night was bowling night and guess who was on my team? Yeah Jake, the fucking bastard who had been snaking my wife for the past few weeks. We'd been friends since school, he'd been my best man when I married the slut, then 18 years later, they start fucking? Made no sense but it had happened.
How did I know? Because they are stupid and I'm not. I passed our local no tell motel every day four times to and from work and twice at lunchtime, so the dumb fucks cars were both parked side by side outside one of the rooms at the front. Dumb as a box of rocks. I was not the sharpest tool in the box but honestly, I just needed to be a little observant and not as dumb as they were.
For a week I checked out the motel every lunchtime, twice there were their two cars, the following week, I just checked the two cars on the same two days and bingo, they turned up again. I activated my wife's phone GPS so I could see where she was and so didn't even have to crane my neck while driving past. Did nobody ever tell them that stupidity can get you killed?
I even saw that they made another visit on Saturday afternoon and of course when she came home before dinner time, it was straight off to the shower to wash her cheating cunt.
For the past three weeks she had looked very pleased with herself, you know that sort of half-smirk, I know something you don't. Well cunt, I know all about it and, in the words of the legend Sam Cooke, a change is gonna come.
Before the diagnosis of cancer, I steered clear of her, why risk catching something? Now, who cares so I started to insist on my conjugal rights and fucked her 4 times in that first week. She wondered where this was coming from all of a sudden but didn't seem to object, until I fucked her right up the brown eye. She was protesting until I got not-so-little Jimmy up her shitpipe but once I'd got well founded in her tail, she went with it and in the end -- the tail end -- seemed to get into it and seemed to shake with a big one just as I filled her asshole.
The following morning, she had asked 'what has got into you?' and I was tempted to reply 'well, not the fucker who I know is getting into your cunt you treacherous bitch', instead I just said, "can't a man give his wife a bit of loving, you seemed to like it just fine."
She didn't disagree, she obviously wondered where the hard fucking was coming from, she was used to me treating her more like a breakable doll, with love and affection, now I was literally fucking the shit out of her.
On Friday, I dropped a bomb on her, "I'm off to Vegas for the weekend." I made sure she understood she wasn't invited and she looked hurt, then I suppose it occurred to her that it was a chance to get Jake inside her for the weekend and not just a lunchtime bunk up.
Shit I had some time in Vegas, booked a real expensive suite, ate and drank the best of everything, used a top rank escort service and dropped a load of cash in the casinos without giving a single fuck about losses. My intention had been to go home and look after business on Tuesday, one of their meeting up days at lunchtime, but I was having such a ball, I rebooked my suite and stayed until Wednesday in Vegas.
She hadn't bothered that I was away, probably getting too much cock to worry but when I didn't return on Sunday night, she called me. I pretended it was a bad line and told her I'd be back Wednesday night and that there was nothing to worry about. Sue me, I'm a liar.
