Johnny Cumwhistle was in a pleasant mood, and with good reason-----he had just arrived at Vanessa Clamflare's apartment.  Johnny loved Vanessa more every time he saw her.  She was bright, spunky, and bitchy in just the right way.  Her playful insults and catty hostility inspired a chubby every time he spoke with her.  And even though his past relationships with similarly snitty women had always resulted in him being cheated on repeatedly, Johnny knew that Vanessa was not the type to so cruelly betray him.
     When she let him in to her apartment, she was clad in nothing but a red silk nightie that barely covered her blessed ass.  She was such a lovely sight to behold that Johnny's love for her swelled in synchronization with his member.
     Vanessa led Johnny to her bedroom, where she began rummaging through her closet to find clothes to wear for the day.  Johnny had hoped that she might instead just clamber onto the bed and present, beast-like, in anticipation of his engorged thrusting; but he was not about to complain.  She was infallible.
     As Vanessa stood poring through clothes with her back to Johnny, he felt his heart suddenly deflate when he noticed the glistening wet stain at the bottom of her nightie.  It was the part of her outfit that would be situated underneath her glorious twat while seated, and Johnny recognized instantly that it was fresh semen not his own.  For several moments he stood staring at her with mouth agape.
     Internally, Johnny began to slaughter women and children.  In his mind, he angrily killed and maimed the world and held Vanessa by the hair to make her watch.  Externally, he was remarkably calm as he commented, "You're leaking."
     "What?" Vanessa turned to face him, quizzically.
     "Um...on your nightie.  You're leaking some guy's sperm."
     Vanessa's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then her face dramatically turned a shade of crimson that Johnny had never seen on anybody before, thus giving final validation to his worst fears.  She immediately got out of the garment and ran around the corner to throw it in the dirty laundry pile then went into the bathroom.  Five minutes later, she came back out, and set about damage control.
     "That was not fucking some guy's sperm," she hissed.  "Oh my god you are so fucking insecure I can't believe it."
     Johnny looked at her, tired.  His heart was tired-----it had gone many places in the previous five minutes.  "Yes, I'm sure it wasn't sperm," he lied.  "What was it though?"
     "I don't know-----it could have been anything.  Maybe I sat in oil."
     Johnny marveled briefly at the lameness of her phony speculation then immediately set about the difficult but critical work of convincing himself that she wasn't lying.  Johnny was a weak man, and knew in his heart that he didn't have the strength to leave her.  His only choice was to try to believe her lies and in that way become happy again.
     After an hour of intense mental exercises, Johnny was once again content in his relationship with Vanessa.  Even though she had kicked him out of her apartment to feign offense, he slept soundly that night.

Epilogue