But the night before Halloween found Chuck dressed in camouflage and set up with motor oil, eggs, firecrackers and dog poop. It was an overcast night... slightly humid, and the widow's garden patch gave off smells that made Chuck's stomach turn. He figured it would be best to start around back, and stepped carefully up the rickety wooden stairs to the rear porch. Setting his pack down, he brought out the plastic bags of doggy doo and started squeezing them over the threshold of the back. Short cropped hair topped his chiselled face, which had a long scar running from just below his left eye down to his upper lip. As he settled into his chair, his left hand disappeared into his pants and he began to squeeze and stroke his already hardening cock. ‘What the fuck is this?’ I said to myself, whereupon, quite inexplicably, my mind returned to that date written on the case. We had been married for just over a year then, and, as I remember, Ellen had been a little. More

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