One 'swallow' does not make a summer

How do you rid yourself of a lingering illness? One that sucks at the lifeblood of your soul.
When I met my illness, her eyes bore deep into my very being and I was hooked. In terms of qualifications she had a P.H.D. in smouldering. She was hot. Big time hot.

It never struck me to question why she hung onto my every word. It wouldn't would it. Any man with an ego the size of a house inevitably makes themself a prime target. Couple that with a permanent hard-on and any woman worth her salt can manage the necessary manipulation to master the situation. Not really terribly fair a big league player taking a boy scout hostage when he hasn't even earned his first proficiency badge. But play with his woggle she did, and once a sheepshank or two had been performed he was tied good and proper. As he dibbed his dob, she dobbed his dib.

It was a whirlwind romance and within six months we were mouse and wife.

The wedding was a grand affair, in fact it was a very grand affair, paid for by a supporting cast of thousands. The first page of my bankbook lays testiment to that.

I had no idea of the woman's past. I was husband number four. You don't ask such questions when a red fingernail or two is gently teasing at the more receptive parts of your anatomy. She had been here before. She already knew I would never sully such opportunity with any degree of sensible behaviour.

Even better still just before we were married I had through circumstance found work in a different country. Jackpot!
Anything could drop through the letterbox, anyone could pass through our front door. All she needed to do was coo in my ear over a telephone once in a while and the money would keep flowing. Flowing from one account to another. It was normal she assured me for a wife to have access to her husband's financial affairs. Being her fourth certified conquest bank accounts were kept open in previous names.
Blissfully unaware of what was happening long distance sex courtesy of Alexander Graham Bell kept me in check. As I chugged fervently at my meatstick her undiluted beauty was my only concern. Meanwhile the rank and file I worked with took a more practical route. They paid a weekly visit to the local brothel for their ejaculatory salvation. Ever one for the moral high ground I would not dare contemplate such frivolity, and as I did so another kleenex hit the floor. By way of nightly ritualistic duty I blew kisses at the photographs of her naked likeness. Tosser I was in more ways than one.

Many have said, there must have been signs. My answer is 'try it brother' you ain't been had till you've been had. And this is only a fraction of my tale. My right of passage. This albatross had a nest. She was feathering it. For Mr. October it was July. Holidaying on togetherness and starlit nights sex was always on the tip of her tongue. But as he was to find out one 'swallow' does not make a summer and a summer of 'swallows' does not make a marriage. Within the rising of a dozen moons Mr. October was to find out that dilusive misrepresentation and con artist simplicity are the trademark of the devil's handmaiden.