My Dear Gertrude

She was known for putting out. And the indiscriminate nature with which she did so didn't seem to deter the younger boys. Her name was Gertrude. I have only had the pleasure of her services but on thrice occasions, whereupon the cost of the creams, ointments, and specialized shampoos became too much to afford. However I long for her to this day and still cling to the memory of our last, tragically romantic day spent together.

It was may 23rd. Gertrude had to pencil in someone at noon so I decided to take the car to run a few errands. I just hoped that she had ample time to shower over the course of the day. Hot and sweaty really isn't as attractive during the foreplay as it is during the actual act. Anyway, she told me the one today would be quick as it was more an act of pity than an act of lust. I could hardly tell whether the pity was for the guy or for herself, but as I long as I got my shot I didn't mind. Soon the time rolled around for the nude festivities to commence, and I made my way to the motel(my van had been impounded a week earlier).

The vibration of my phone gently tickled my leg like I hoped her fragile osteoporosis-ridden fingers would do in but an hour. Her gentle soothing voice greeted me angelically through the phone.

She said where do you wanna do this.

I responded in a tone of utter infatuation that I had no preference.

She said well make a goddamn decision.

I responded with an address of a motel in the north part of town I knew for a fact cleaned their bed sheets at least biweekly.

She sighed and said are you really up for this?

I responded quite sincerely that I really was.

She said fine I'm just gonna lie there anyway.

Within twenty minutes I found myself in the motel room preparing for the romantic evening. If ever a motel could seem a remotely desirable setting for such an act, this particular motel room was well suited to make it so. My phone rang once again.

Here, what room?

313.

Is there an elevator in this shithole?

No, my love.

It'll take me a few minutes then.

I'll be waiting.

Moments later a series of knocks sent me into a minor frenzy. Upon opening the door I basked so warmly in the smile of the anachronism standing before me. In the short duration it took for her to cover the distance to the television she had managed her way already out of half her clothing. She took the liberty of using my standing glass of TAB to swallow a series of pills(probably the safest thing considering the situation), first removing her gum from her mouth and afterwards placing it in again. I marveled at the cascading waterfall of her wrinkles pouring over the tight fitting lingerie. She glanced towards the bed .

What the hell is all this?

Rose petals. For you my dearest.

I'm allergic.

Her frustrated tone just assured me all the more of her deep and abiding love for me. I pursued the truth with confidence.

I told her I loved her and I knew she felt likewise.

She started putting her clothes back on.

I renounced my love in light of other pressing desires.

Shortly after clearing the rose petals from the bed I politely asked her to spit her gum out. Last time she didn't and it got in my hair. And I didn't wear my toupee that day. So anyway, she said she needed to go to the bathroom to clean up cause she still hadn't showered and that left me to sit in anticipation for roughly twenty minutes. She always preferred baths over showers. I could never see the appeal-sitting in a stew of your own filth-although perhaps that was it. At least for her.

A sizable chunk of time went by and I was becoming restless. I decided to pop in on her to speed things up. I proceeded towards the bathroom stepping carefully in between the chocolates scattered upon the floor when I was met with a most unwelcome development. Upon attempting to open it, I found it wouldn't budge. I forced the door open only to find the unconscious body of my dear Gertrude sprawled across the floor, apparently having tumbled from the toilet seat(and to add to the gruesome nature of it all still in the process of her lavatorial business), emitting yet some array of intestinal gasses as though determined to even now inebriate me with the flowery aroma of her postmortem flatulence. Whatever repercussions I may have incurred from the acts that followed, I do not feel the slightest bit of guilt. Had not housekeeping intruded so abruptly I wouldn't have been caught or reprimanded at all. It's just that her body still appeared so lively and warm. . .

Anyway, to this day I still pine for my Gertrude, however in vain. The doctors said her constant state of sexual arousal drove her blood pressure through the roof. How's that for self-destructive! And speaking of dangerous, she was riddled with STDs.