Another Broken Woman on the Periphery of My Life
reverendhornibastard
Depraved Deacon of Degeneracy
Wednesday, October 14, 2020 8:52 AM
First, let me make something clear. I didn’t have anything to do with the hardships the woman in this story has undergone. Moreover, I can’t help her. I’d like to, but even if I had the time and energy to help her, her problems run far deeper than anything I can deal with.
I first met Amanda (not her real name) a few weeks ago. I named her “Amanda” in this story because upon meeting her I thought she bore more than a passing resemblance to Amanda Kloots. In fact, upon first meeting her it immediately occurred to me that I’d really enjoy “meating” her.
But I’m definitely not going to “meat” her. Amanda has more than enough troubles and sorrow in her life already. I don’t plan to add to them. Even if she were not such a troubled young woman, I am not so stupid as to canoodle a woman who not only knows where I live, but who can walk from her front door to mine in less time than it takes to boil an egg!
I had been dimly aware that an attractive, young blonde lived in the vicinity. I’d seen her out jogging with her dog, but I had never really given Amanda a second thought until she cornered me at the neighborhood mailbox depot a few weeks ago.
Amanda started up a conversation that was lengthy and weirdly personal for an introductory sidewalk chat with a stranger.
But Amanda was determined to tell me her recent life’s story. She had recently moved to the Houston area from Minneapolis. She works as a financial advisor for a major investment banking group, and she was recently divorced.
Then things took an even gloomier turn and tears began to well up in her pretty blue eyes as she elaborated how she and her ex-husband were trying to have a baby when she caught him cheating with a waitress he met at iHop.
As if that wasn’t enough, she later had to get a restraining order against her ex-husband because he had been physically abusive toward her during their marriage and had become threatening during their recent divorce proceedings.
Needless to say, I felt sorry for her. Amanda seems like a nice lady, but lonely and very emotionally needy.
Then I didn’t see or speak to Amanda for a while. But yesterday evening I decided to go for a bike ride through the nature preserve that borders our neighborhood. Deep in the forest I saw a woman sitting alone on a bench. She was rocking back and forth with her arms crossed. She looked like she might be in pain.
I didn’t recognize the woman as Amanda.
I stopped to see what was wrong. Still astride my mountain bike I called out from a distance of about 10 yards, asking if everything was alright.
Amanda looked up and turned toward me. Her face was red and wet. She had obviously been crying.
She leapt to her feet and ran towards me. Giving me a big, teary hug, Amanda almost knocked me off my bike. I dismounted and stood there in the forest with Amanda sobbing and clinging to me. Under the circumstances, I felt it necessary to embrace her as a show of support but was careful not to signal any amorous interest.
She eventually calmed down and asked me why her life was “turning to shit” (as if I would have any insight into that question).
She described no new calamities, so I assumed there were none. Even if she had new tales of woe, I didn’t really want to hear them. I don’t want to appear cold-hearted, but she has more and deeper problems than I know how to deal with.
Plus, she looks a lot like Amanda Kloots.
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If I tried to be supportive of a 70-something year old woman with osteoporosis and sagging, withered tits who was down on her luck, I suspect Mrs. Hornibastard would think highly of me.
But probably not in this case.
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