Chapter 8 - Le Connard

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Valentina had stayed out in the little stable with the caving in roof as long as she could. One of the goats wasn't well and her favourite goat Lysander also was looking poorly. Jerremee the Jerk had been coming out much more regularly and his demands of "show me your tits," every time they came in contact, seemed to be on auto play. It was always worse in the evening, once he got settled onto his computer. She came inside and went up to the red bed sheet over the doorway of Jerremee's room:


{no answer}


{no answer}

She pulled back the bed sheet. He was sitting at his laptop in his underwear, engrossed in whatever he was doing.

"What would you like for dinner?... Jerremee have you eaten?"

"I want a blow job," he said sounding and looking like a pre-teenage boy, rather than a man in his forties. Without responding, Valentina instantly let the red bed sheet fall back and turned on her heels towards the cooking area. She closed her eyes for a couple seconds and exhaled. It was so hard to be civil to him.

She had already eaten much earlier. The poor digestion and food sensitivities she had had as a child, had crept back in the past couple years and were at their peak since moving in with Jerremee. She usually made something different for him, so he didn't have to eat the boring food she had to eat. If she had something ready, he'd often eat it, but increasingly he would claim he'd already eaten, or wasn't hungry, or no longer liked a particular food he had previously adored – not to mention that he came home at all hours. They couldn't afford to waste food (and she refused to waste even more of her time) so she would wait to ask him. More and more often his response was some passive-aggressive sexual demand; it was one of his many ways of punishing her. She made some nice pasta with goat's cheese and mushrooms, calling out through the curtain that she had made it and that it was on the counter.

She took a book and went back to the stables to sit with Lysander and the sick goat. Even when the animals were well, she would usually 'hide' there until it she was tired enough to fall asleep quickly. She did this almost every night. When she returned two hours later, Jerremee was out of his room sprawled over the bench-bed, fast asleep and nearly naked, with his hair looking like he had been in a fight and his hand in his white Y-front briefs. There were several food containers on the floor below the bench: He had feasted on dried pasta, dry cereal, coffee beans, apple chutney and gin. The wrapper of her allergy-free, carob-coated seed bar was also on the floor. She had saved up a little extra to buy it as a treat. There were chocolates and nice biscuits in the cupboard that she would have liked to eat but couldn't, but Jerremee had obviously fancied her fibrous, vegetabley tasting, stand-in instead. Although he ordinarily gobbled up the goat's cheese and mushroom pasta which was a favourite of his, the whole plate was still sitting untouched on the counter.

She gave him a disdainful look, shaking her head angrily and went upstairs.

The next day, Valentina came inside and put the medicines she had for the sick goats in the fridge. The vet had just been and didn't know what was wrong. It was worrying. She dumped the spoiling plate of food still sitting untouched on the counter – rolling her eyes and huffing loudly as she did it.

There was a lot of loud walking suddenly upstairs.

"What is he doing up there?" she hissed to herself. "Probably jerking off, watching his porn as usual."

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