Just Yesterday Morning

Written 3-27-13
A long time ago, when I was just touched my twenties, I was discussing a certain sweet young thing with my buddy Jax.
He got this far away look in his eyes and said, “I always wondered if she was a true blonde.”
“She is.” I let slip before I had the sense to shut my mouth.
“You dog!” he said. The tone of voice was a mix of admiration, because he would have jumped at the chance to jump her; surprise, because we all know I’m pretty average looking; and shock, because of the social taboos regarding what he thought we had done.
“Her sister told me.” I lied with the conviction that would have passed a lie detector test.
“Oh.” He said, his disappointment was palatable, for I knew he wanted to hear all of the wonderful details of what it was like, bedding that tasty morsel.

I guess I should have told him the truth, that it was kind of dark; but that would have let the cat out of the bag and no way to get it back in.

The truth of the strange circumstances that led to an incident that has puzzled me for decades.

For it was just happenstance that while I was down in the area, just after the New Year, that I didn’t have a place to stay on my last night.
“Hey.” She said. “My parents are out of town. You can stay there with me.”
“Okay.”

I didn’t think anything of it. We were friends from the neighborhood and I thought it was nice that she offered me a place, even if it was probably just a couch.

Later that evening, just as I was slipping into the warm, comforting darkness of sleep, the door opened and she stepped into the room. Blonde on blonde in the pale moonlight, she stood there for a moment, then said; “Are you cold?”
I suppose that at the age of nineteen, I still didn’t have a lot of sense, for I open the covers and said, “A little”.
She climbed into her parents’ bed with me, kissed me on the cheek and said, “Do you want to watch me put my diaphragm in?”

The next morning, nothing was said of what happened. Perhaps we were both embarrassed by what we had done, although part of me thinks that it was something we both had wanted.
Perhaps we both knew there was something, but didn’t want to pursue what we felt might be forbidden. Best to let it die there, rather than keep it alive.

I only saw her a few times, over the next ten years. Nothing was said until that last time, when I couldn’t stand her silence.
“Do you remember that time?” I asked and explained what I meant.
I could see her struggle as she tried to remember. “No, I don’t; but I did many things back then.”

Crushed, I let it go.
Occam’s razor; she was probably just cold and I was convenient.

I heard, through the grapevine some years ago, that she had passed away. Cancer took her quickly and too early, leaving a widower and two small children. I felt bad for them, but at the same time, felt that maybe I had dodged a bullet. I have a very good life, not a complex one tied to strange in-laws.

We sometimes wonder at what might have been. At least I know the outcome of one path that I never took. And I am glad I never went down that path.

I’ve never told the real story to anyone except Skinner and I know she can be trusted to be quiet.

You don’t want to know

Written 9-9-12

A friend of mine has bemoaned what she sees as a grossly unfair situation. “Why, “ She asks, “Do men get more handsome as they get age, but women just get old?”

I smiled to myself, knowing the answer, but not wanting to hurt her feelings. It’s very simple; Women’s attractiveness is largely based on their perceived ability to procreate, men’s on their perceived ability to procreate and, their ability to provide (food and security). So as (some) women age, they become less desirable in one aspect. Men, on the other hand might become less desirable in the procreation aspect, but are now perceived as better providers.
Or maybe it’s because while Wonder-Girl has aged very well, you have not?

I wondered about this at my last high school reunion. There were plenty of women who were cuties at 17, but now are not very attractive. Oh sure, some had hard lives, or too much sun and we will cut them some slack for that. What is interesting is how many have gone from attractive bodies to unattractive. More in the sense of the basic structure; a defined waist and nice hips. The waist has ballooned out and the basic structure is no longer appealing.
Or maybe it is as my friend Varnish once observed, that the really hot chicks had a lot farther to fall. So the hotties are now average looking. And the average looking ones still look average.

A proper Gentleman Warthog and the Mrs.

I came across this in a random place. from 'The Elegant Beasts' by Leonard Lubin 1981

Can't prove a thing

Written 6-29-13

And you can’t jump the tracks,
You’re like cars on a cable.
And life’s like an hourglass,
Glued to a table.
And no one can find the rewind,
So just cradle your head in your hands.

I know what you are thinking, ‘Oh Warty, you talk a good game, about sometimes preferring a plain chick over Miss Pretty-nice-tits, but when bush comes to shove, we know you will go for the cute one.”

Yes, in a standard, walk up to a group of unknown women, sure I’ll start paying attention to the hottie first. After all, I am human. But the world changes after you get to know someone. I know I can never prove that, since I am no longer in The Game.
And seriously, darlin, would you like me to walk up to you and say, ‘You know, you’re not very pretty, sort of plain looking and you seriously lack any discernible figure; but I would rather spend time with you that Miss Hottie over there.”
Yes, you would be quite insulted, for no one likes to be told that they are not beautiful.

But if some night, when you look at yourself in the mirror and admit to your self that you are average looking, or plain; maybe you will understand the left handed compliment.

I can.

Because I know what I see in the mirror. And I know what you will say, “But Warty, you’ve had girlfriends…”
Yes, but despite what I thought of them, others have described them in unflattering terms like, ‘Well, she’s not very cute.’; ‘She’s not much to write home about.’; ‘ She’s okay looking.’; or the topper, “She wasn’t very pretty.”.

So, I can only attract marginal looking women? Seems to be the case. I guess they figure it was okay for me to date plain women, because they match what I look like.

Or when the blonde hottie could get nowhere with the handsome guy, she had second thoughts about me. (maybe it would have been okay to be chosen as ‘second best.’ Hey, at least you get chosen.) But I know now that I was lucky she was too late. My friend told her to back off, when she expressed interest in me. ‘He is already interested in someone else. You had your chance, but it is too late now.’ (I seriously dodged a bullet on that one!)

Oh sure, there was that incident in that bar when I was eighteen, but at eleven o’clock and slim pickings at the bar, I guess I was better than nothing. And the double martini’s you were drinking sure must have clouded your judgment. I know, because the next morning, you sure couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.


If I had an ounce of handsome, for every time a female coworkers said to me, ‘Your wife is so pretty, so nice; how did you ever end up with her?” (shut up bitch)
Yes, that phrase got old in a hurry. But I had come to expect that.

Are you so surprised when I tell you I am lucky? That WG let me hang around long enough to convince her that I was a nice guy and worth keeping around?

But I have learned to accept this. So many women like me as a friend and that’s okay, since I am not in the game.

And you may not believe me when I tell you, that if the ‘Cross Country’ scenario does ever happen and most of the people are wiped off the face of the earth and I am left alone. I will not search for Miss Hottie-wonder-tits; in fact I would seek to avoid her, despite the fact that she might live nearby. However, I would travel cross country to try and find Miss Not-much-too-look-at.

And I would be successful. Since you know she would think, ‘Well, you are the last man on earth, so I guess my choices are few.’

So I will continue to count myself as lucky that I found the woman I did. And that she is happy with her choice, as I am.

And no, I can’t jump the track, my car is tied to a cable, my life is an hourglass, glued to the table.
But…
Who would ever want to find the rewind?
Since I no longer have to cradle my head in my hands.

And I can breathe.

San Miguel in Cebu

from 3-24-2012 Back in the day, San Miguel beer had these radio commercials where a guy would have some big adventure. Afterwards, he would have a San Miguel beer, which tasted good. Then he would say that every time he had a San Miguel it would remind him of that adventure.
Flash forward to 2006.
That weekend, my friends (eight rather attractive young women) in Cebu took me island hopping. Cruise around in a boat, view the lush little islands, swim in the warm sea and dive underwater and watch the fish.
At lunchtime, they brought out the food. Roast pork, roast chicken, fresh mangos, pineapples, rice and more. As I sat down, Josie handed me a bag. “Here Dens, I brought you beer!”
It was a San Miguel beer, it tasted good!

Now every time I have a San Miguel beer I remember that day on the water and the eight delightful young ladies who shared it with me.

P-mail and tweets

Written 2011 Back before the turn of the century, (I love using that phrase now!) a friend told me her dad said that when he walks the dog, the dog leaves pmail. I thought it pretty funny, but now we have to update it with the times. So Tommy leaves short little tweets, Molly leave pmail and both are adept at ‘dropping a blog’.

Someday Girl

Written 7-24-2010
Several years ago, when we were chatting with my late Aunt Obie, she told us this story. It was four years after her husband had passed away and she was chatting with a friend. Her friend told her that, if Obie had passed away first and after a suitable time, she would have asked Obie’s husband out. Because, she said, your husband was such a nice man.
Obie thought this was quite a compliment that her friend felt that way. When you are in your eighties, it’s more about having a pleasant companion.

My friend CG said a similar thing about a male friend of hers’. She said, “If he was twenty years younger, I’d marry him!”
And her friend is a nice guy and they enjoy each other’s company.

I have often wondered about some of my women friends. They are my friends primarily because I enjoy their company. Sure some of them are nice looking, but a number of them are quite average in looks. That’s okay because looks are not a friend criteria.

I am sure that people, as they get older, wonder about ‘what ifs’. Any of you who have been married for decades and have amassed a collection of friends might sometimes wonder, ‘what if I was suddenly a widow, or widower?’
You might then think that some of your friends could be suitable companions.

But there is a dark side to that.

Like the play, ‘Same time next year’, where the man begs his long time mistress to marry him, now that he is a widower. For there is a local widow who is making moves on him. And if his long time paramour doesn’t marry him, he might just have to give in to the widow.
What if you just want to keep your friends as friends? Do you crush their feelings when you tell them that you just don’t want to get ‘that friendly’ with them?
Sure, that can be a tough call.

Update

I have not be consistent with my posting, yet I have things written, just not posted. I think it's important that I post them now, since my life has been turned upside down. Eight months ago, my Wonder-Girl and wife of almost 37 years, passed away.

Odd shift

This is more than silly. But last week, when Thirteen told me of her new job and that she would now be in the 1% of the 1% in this company, I felt my universe shift. I don't know what that means, but I feel something has changed

Someday

"Why are you always nice to me?" She asked.
"Because someday you might wake up in a meadow, look at the odd plants and realize that you're on a strange world. With a faint memory of being poked and prodded by aliens going through your mind, you start to walk. When you come across me, lying there unconscious you think; 'Well, I was hoping for someone better looking, but he was always nice to me.' And you drop the large rock you were carrying.

Revised When I first met Kit

The Tale of Two Kitties

By G.W. Hogg

©2-8-16

I first met Kit late Saturday night as I walked back to my company’s apartment in Cebu City. It was almost midnight as I made my way down the dim and quiet street. The end of my first week of training had gone well and I had been out to dinner with eight of my coworkers from the planning group. Despite being a thirty something single guy, I was careful how I acted with the group. So despite the encouragement of my coworkers, especially one rather cute one, I was careful not to drink too much.

I turned off the dim street, onto the dark alley that led to the back of the apartment complex. The full moon had just risen, but shed little light on the narrow alley. I hadn’t gone more than a few steps in when I noticed something moving high up on a wall. I flattened myself into a shadowy doorway and watched.

A guy was carefully pulling himself onto the top of the high wall. He was being slow and careful, trying to avoid the jagged pieces of glass set into the top of the wall. If it weren't for the full moon, he would have been invisible in his black, head to toe, skin tight outfit.

I was preparing to run when the figure stood and silhouetted by the full moon, I could see the special curves that told me it was a woman, and a rather nicely shaped one at that!

   The bulge on her back told me that she was successful and had filled her backpack with loot. I was curious, so I stayed in the shadows to watch.

Balancing herself on the edge, she pivoted on one foot, turning so she faced back the way she came. In one smooth motion, she crouched, grabbed the top of the wall, kicked off and hung for moment, then dropped to the alley below.

And something went terribly wrong! As she landed silently, I heard a nasty crack and she stifled a scream as she fell over. I stood there for a moment, listening to her quiet moaning and wondering what I should do. Does a gentleman help a damsel cat burglar in distress?

Not sure of the karma, but remembering the tantalizing silhouette I saw, I stepped out of the shadows. Whistling a tune, I started down the alley. This way, I hoped she would not be startled.

She was a darker shape amongst the dark gray bins and boxes cluttering the alley and I could just make her out as she froze against the wall. I continued, pretending I didn’t see her until I was abreast of her, then I turned and stared at her.

 "Are you in need of assistance my dear?"

She let out a little squeak, there was a flash and I was facing two feet of naked Japanese steel.

Because of the black hood, I could only see her eyes, but the pain and fear in them was unmistakable. I stood there for a few moments, not wanting to test her skill with a blade. It never wavered.

Finally, she spoke. "Go Away!"

"I thought you could use some help, especially since I think you broke your ankle."

"I don’t need your help, you stupid American! This doesn’t concern you. Go before trouble falls on your head!" She shifted her leg and from the sharp intake of breath, I knew it hurt.

Her voice sounded young and judging by her stubborn attitude, she was very young. "Now darlin’, be nice or I’ll get a long stick and hit your ankle."

Her eyes went wide. "You wouldn’t!"

"Probably not. Still, I think you need my help. Or do you want to crawl all the way home?"

"I told you I don’t need your help!"

"Okay, I’ll leave if you show me you can stand." I stepped back and waited.

She seemed to think it over and sheathed her short sword. Then using it as a cane, she levered herself up onto one leg and stood. "See! Now leave!"

"Okay." I turned and walked away.

I was maybe four yards away when I heard her cry out, followed by a thud. I knew what had happened, but I kept walking.

"Help!" I heard in a quiet, plaintive voice. I kept walking.

"Please help me!" A little louder this time. I stopped, turned and sauntered back.

 "Does the little girl now need help from the stupid American?" I asked as I stood over her.

Her fierce dark eyes glared at me, and then she let out a sigh. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty. If this kind American would be so good as to help a poor damsel in distress…I…I might be in his debt."

Her last few words were so forced; I thought she might hurt herself. I reached down for her wrist and she grabbed mine. "Nothing would please me more than to help this charming young damsel."

I pulled her up, steadied her and we took a hop-step. She almost lost her balance. She was rather short compared to me, so I had to bend over to put an arm around her slender waist. We tried again, but her sharp intake of breath told me that even this jarred her foot too much. "I don’t think this will work."

As we stood there, we heard sirens in the distance, then noise over the wall. "I think we need to hurry!" She said.

I let go and hunkered down. "Get on my back and I’ll carry you."

She put her arms around my neck and as I stood, she hoped up and wrapped her legs around my waist. "Giddy up!" She said and laughed.

I jogged to the end of the alley and started across the street. "Hey!" She said. "My place is to the right."

"My place is closer and I promise I’ll be a gentleman."

"Ah…okay." Then she whispered in my ear. "But I can’t promise to be a lady!" And she laughed deliciously.

We made it across the street and into the next alley unseen. I fumbled a bit getting the door to the apartments unlocked, but made it through without dropping my cat burglar.

Despite her small size and light weight, I was a little winded when I got us to my apartment on the third floor.

I let her slide off onto the small couch and got her a chair to prop up her foot.

"Is there someone you can call?"

"Yes, just a moment." She shucked the backpack off and pulled it around to her front. As she unzipped the front pouch and pulled out her phone, the pack fell over and bundles of cash fell out of the unsecured top. She froze.

I casually picked up the bundles of dollars and pesos, placed them on the dining table, then grabbed two Red Horse beers from the fridge. I opened them, walked over and placed one before her, then sat down next to her.

"Well, my little cat burglar, I think you have some explaining to do."

She gave me a frightened look, then grabbed the beer, lifted her mask just a bit and took a long drink.

"You probably think I'm a common criminal?"

I looked her over and smiled. "Perhaps not 'common', but a criminal none the less."

She smiled back, and it was a really cute smile.

"I'm not really a criminal! That house belongs to the mayor; it's where his mistress lives. He's well known for taking bribes and other bad things. My cousin told me the police are going to raid the house in the morning and all the bribe money might not make it to the police station."

"So you thought you'd help keep the police from getting their hands too dirty?"

Her smile turned impish and there was a little sparkle in her eyes. "The police don't know how much there is to seize, and if there is some missing, then the mayor will just assume the police kept it. I wasn't going to keep all of it. Most was going to the homeless children's fund that my church runs."

"And you were going to keep just enough to cover expenses?" I could not tell if she was blushing, but her smile turned uncertain and she looked away. When she turned back, the impishness was back in her smile. "You could be one of my 'expenses'?" She said hopefully.

"For a cat burglar, you're not a bad kitty. Call your friend. Your broken foot needs to be looked at."

As she called, I went over to inspect the loot. I picked up all but one bundle of hundred dollar bills. As she was talking to her friend, I stuffed the rest of the cash back into her pack and secured the top.

I wished I knew some Tagalog. She would say something, then glance at me and look away. It was probably best I did not know what she was saying.

She closed the phone. "My cousin will be here in twenty minutes." Her eyes traveled to the table. "Hey! You didn't give me everything back!"

I smiled wickedly, "Expenses."

She gave a small pout, then smiled. "Not such a stupid American after all. I guess it's only fair."

"You know, we have not been properly introduced. My name is Greg. And yours?" I held out my hand and she shook it, strong and firm.
" I think it's best you don't know my name."

"Hmmm…perhaps you're right. Well, I'll call you Kitty, since you're a cat burglar. The tale of Kitty the cat burglar. It has a nice ring."

"Depends how you spell tale."

"Either way, it's a nice tail."

She looked away, as if she was blushing, but she was smiling too.

We had just finished our beers when her phone chimed. "Oh, my ride is here."

"Then let's get you downstairs."

I helped her stand, and put on the backpack full of loot. "Ready for another ride?"

"Sure."

Despite our care, she hit her bad foot when she wrapped her legs around me.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." She said through clenched teeth. "You were being careful."

"You know, it's a good thing you're light and petite. Makes it easier to carry you."

She gave me a bit of a squeeze. "Giddy up!" Was all she said.

When we stepped out into the alley, there was a beat up white Isuzu trooper waiting with the back door open. I carefully set Kitty down, then helped her into the seat. As I went to pull away, she tugged on my arm, stopping me.

"Thanks for your help." Then she pulled me closer and kissed me, her tongue saying more than her words did.

She released me. "Maybe I can thank you improperly when my foot heals. Let's go cousin!"

She smiled impishly, pulled the door shut and they drove off.

Monday, my driver picked me up late, so by the time I got to the conference room, everyone was ready and waiting. While I set up, the supervisor introduced the two new faces, Katrina and Alfonso, who had been on vacation the previous week.

Training on the new software package went well and I wrapped up the introduction just before lunch.

"It's almost lunchtime." I said as I stood. "So let's break a little early. After lunch, I'll have each of you run the software and we'll do some hands on work. After that, I am sure I'll be flooded with questions."

They looked to their supervisor and when she nodded, they all thanked me and left for lunch. All except one.

I walked over to the young lady. "Katrina isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can call me Kit, everyone else does."

 "Well Kit, shouldn't you be heading off to lunch? Or did you have some questions?"

"No questions, you covered everything quite well. It's just that I was off last week and have a million emails to catch up on."

"I see. I thought it might be that you didn't want me to notice that your foot was in a cast."

She gasped.

"Not bad for a stupid American, huh Kit? Or should I call you Kitty?"

"How did you know? You never saw my face!"

"But I saw your cute smile."

She looked away and almost blushed.

"So, leave your work and let's go join the others for lunch."

"Okay."

I helped her up and retrieved her crutches from under the table. "Maybe later, you will think of a nice restaurant where you would like me to take you to dinner."

"Some place expensive?"

"If I can afford it."

"Oh You!" and she playfully hit me on the arm.

Insatiable Nomad

11-24-15
After graduating from high school, I decided to spend my summer hitchhiking around the country. On a hot June day I was walking along a lonely stretch of highway just outside of a small town in the middle of Kansas. I heard a roar behind me, turned and put out my thumb. A red motorcycle with a black sidecar came zooming around the bend. It screeched to a halt just in front of me and the rider pointed to the sidecar. 'Nomad' was emblazoned across it in bright red script. My eyes were drawn to the obviously female figure, wonderfully dressed out in tight black leather; I hesitated. She pulled off her helmet, shook out her long black hair and gave me a mischievous smile that spoke of excitement.
 "Get in!"
I grabbed the helmet off the seat, slid my backpack off my shoulders and climbed in. "You didn't ask where I was going."
She let loose a laugh and I could feel the adrenaline surge through me. "Where ever I'm going and not even the Nomad knows where that is; but I might get you home for college by September." She laughed again as she popped on her helmet, dropped the cycle into gear and I held on for the ride of my life.

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

We were talking on the phone once, during one of our annual calls, when she asked me a very odd question; “If I had asked you, would you have married me?”

In a fraction of a second, which was all I had, I reviewed all the times we were together, the break up and all of the subsequent times our paths crossed, either on purpose or accidental and gave her my honest answer.

“Yes.”

“I was just wondering.” Was all she said.

You were just wondering? Like, ‘I was just wondering if I should have another glass of water’? I do wonder what was going through her mind at the time. Was she looking back on her choices in life, the choice that led her away, the choices that kept leading her to reach out to me, reconnect and sort of try again? Until we lost touch with each other, and then, by the time our paths crossed again, it was too late for you?

Because, when I look back, it was always you who came back to me, if only for the weekend.

Perhaps I look at things differently. Once it’s over, it’s over. We tried, in our own fumbling teenage ways. Sometime after you went off to college, you decided that the long distance thing was just not working, so you decided to end it.

So, it was over and I moved on.

And you kept finding me.

I know that when circumstances end something, it never truly ends.

So I wonder if, at that point in your life, you were looking at ‘might have beens’? Were you wondering if you did the right thing? Maybe, if you tried harder, asked me the question, things might have turned out differently? So you reached out to once again, to touch the maybe, feel the warmth, and reassure yourself that the 'maybe' was still real.

I hope that it was just because you were curious, not that you were having troubles. Because there is nothing I can do for your troubles…except be your friend.

And I never want to think that you might have made an error in your selection. For I know that I didn’t.

And I don’t want to think of you, lying in your bed at night, wondering if your life would have turned out better, if only it was me lying beside you.

Interstate 5 daydreams

It’s always boring, driving down highway five. Okay, it’s not a ‘highway’, it’s an Interstate. And yes, I know the difference.

There it sits, hundreds of miles of straight, flat road, in the middle of California. Nothing much to see but flat fields, an occasional oasis of service stations and fast food places. Oh, and the stockyards you smell before you see.

Regardless of the boredom, it is the fastest route to L.A. from the Bay Area.

But once you set the cruise control to 80mph (125kph), 70 when the price of gas was $4 a gallon, it’s a struggle to fill the hours.  Wonder-Girl reads a book, since the farmers don’t post signs on their crops.

I glance at the road sign, “Speed limit enforced by aircraft’ Enforced? I wonder how. The mind drifts and I can visualize a World War One biplane cruising through the skies, monitoring traffic.  It’s a two-seater and the pilot and gunner both have handlebar mustaches and goggles.

The gunner sees a sports car weaving through traffic at a high rate of speed.  He taps the pilot on the shoulder and gestures down. The pilot gives him a thumbs up and banks over into a dive.

As the plane levels out, the gunner swings his twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns over and aims just in front of the nose of the sports car.

With a crazed look in his eyes, he squeezes off a burst of tracer rounds. The sports car slams on its brakes and slides into the slow lane.

The pilot laughs, along with the gunner, as he pulls back on the stick and climbs.  Four crazed bloodshot eyes scanning the road for another victim

Sure, I have seen the real helicopter spotters overhead, but they are boring.

--

I always wonder, what sick mind names the prisons around here?  Not far from the Grapevine you see the sign. ‘Happy Valley State Prison’ Oh, you know the prisoners just love it there, in the happy valley.

And in this flat area, there are no little valleys, so why did they name it that?

--

You see, on the Interstate, there is no cross traffic. On the highway, you always see signs warning about cross traffic ahead. I always wonder how they know the traffic is angry?

--

I am glad I don’t bruise easily. Last time we drove down 5, it was summer. Wonder-Girl asked what all the white stuff was, stuck in the shrubs. “Oh it’s cotton.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s caught’n all the bushes.”

Yeah, she hit me.

Looking at it another way

I have this friend back east that I have known since the 90’s. One of the reasons we remain friends, probably, is that we think in similar ways, have a similar sense of humor and enjoy each other’s company.

Skinner, as I call her, and I became friends through phone calls and emails at work. It wasn’t until a few years later that she met me in person. (I had already met her, but she had forgotten the meeting. I suppose that indicates the first impression I had on her, or lack thereof, sigh.)

Anyway, the friendship worked, partly (I think) because we kept it as a friendship. (though if I had been single at the time…I probably would have made a nuisance of myself.)

There were a few curious things over the years that, if I take them out of context, squint and tilt my head just the right way; might indicate some other ideas she may have had.

The first thing was sometime in the mid nineties, before the internet. I had mentioned reading certain stories on a bbs. She asked, if she wrote such a story, would I post it for her?

Now I have been writing stories for quite a while, regular fiction, and had shared some with her. So I figured that it would be regular fiction.

So she sends me a little three page sex story and I posted it. (It is still archived at several internet sites and if you knew my original email address at my last company, you could find the story.)

The story had what I thought as a good sex scene between the two characters. Not the quiet, slow lovemaking; but a rough, pull her dress off, throw her on the bed, mount her from behind and fuck her hard, fast and deep. (With a nice touch of her wanting/having her nipples pinched hard at just the right moment.)

 I have read the story several times and based on how we act when we are together, I am sure it was not meant to be about us.

And there is something else. That is that both of us respect marriage. If she had other ideas about me, she would keep them to herself. If I had other ideas about her, I would keep them to myself. Some things are just not done.

Some years after that, she told me she had written a similar story for her boyfriend and his reaction was pretty lukewarm.

The second thing was at one time, she sent me a book to read. It was called ‘Mercy’. It was a psychological murder mystery about a man who liked to dress up in women’s clothing, a series of murders; and a woman who like to dress up as a man. The ‘Mercy’ title comes from the safe word that was used by these two people, because they were also both into BDSM

I did like the book and told her so; but it always struck me as strange that she would send it out to me. Especially since I read mostly science fiction and fantasy.

So I suppose I could take these two items together and weave it into a supposed fantasy that she has about me, or a fantasy she had and I would be suitable. But that idea is so farfetched, based on what I know about her, that it is hardly worth considering.

Maybe flattered

The other day, Wonder-Girl came back from a women’s get together and told me a strange thing. She said, “Do you know what Chemical-Girl said to me tonight? She said, ‘All the women want your husband.’”

“What?” I said incredulously.

“She said that.”

Now I am totally perplexed. You’ve met me and you know that I’m a pretty average looking guy. So that can’t be it. Now I do have a lot of female friends, in fact most of my friends are female. I suppose that means that I’m a pretty nice guy and fun to be with. (And probably because I am not trying to get into their pants, they feel safe and comfortable around me?)

I think it also might be because Wonder-Girl doesn’t constantly grouse about me? (I am only guessing this because we all know that when a spouse is on their own, they may say things.)

Maybe it’s because most of the women are divorced, or married to their second husband; and this is my first?

I don’t know. I just can’t figure that one out.

Crossing the line

(years ago) So we were sitting at the party, spinning yarns and shooting the breeze. Someone brought up different mixed drinks and Prickly's dad asked what was in a 'Long Island Iced Tea'. It has four or five types of booze mixed together. "I don't know," I answered. "But it is strong enough to knock the skirt off a college coed!." Suddenly there was silence, so I quickly added, 'Or so I've heard." Nice save, GW, but no one believed me. Deep Throat thought it was pretty good. I am just glad the kids were in the house, out of earshot. Twelve-year-old boys should not be learning the tricks of the trade, yet. Us older guys will bide our time. For such knowledge should be passed on. It’s not as if women wear tee shirts that say, I'm not that kind of girl, but if you buy me another drink...

Black Years

It was last September, a month after our mom died, and I was talking to my twin sister. She said, "You know, next year is going to be another black year." "Yes, I know." For she and I are faced with the same things, almost. Our step-sister had metastatic breast cancer at the time and was getting worse. She had been fighting a heroic battle for years and was slowly losing. Our stepmom is fighting a different type of metastatic cancer, but for now, is holding her own. We share that and the sorrows to come. But I have another darkness flowing my way. Our beloved Tommy dog is now almost eighteen. A Border-collie-beagle, he has been a smart and loyal companion. But I know his days are numbered. I recently stopped taking him on his short morning walk, the walks we have done every morning for sixteen years. His back legs are weak, his front legs are arthritic and he has trouble walking without panting in pain. His mind, ears, and eyes are not as good. So I know that at some point, probably this year, his legs will give out, or something will break down. And then it will be time. Time for us to take the last ride to the vet, as I have done twice before with our other dogs. And it will be a blacker year for me, because I'll be the one to nod to the vet that it's time. Time to say goodbye. And I will cry for Tommy more than I'll cry for anyone else.

A lot has happened.

And not so much. After being laid off from my job of twenty-seven years, and searching for a new one for a year, I became gainfully employed again. It has been interesting, learning a new job, meeting new people and trying to understand the mindset of people who have not spent their lives in a manufacturing environment. One thing I learned very quickly was to keep my mouth shut about my situation. We were about halfway through my period of unemployment when Wonder-Girl looked up at me one afternoon and said, “I am so glad you convinced me to pay off our house.” What happened was, as she was determining what to do with her inheritance, I offered this idea. (Now understand that her inheritance is hers. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by me. I fully trust her judgment and offered only one suggestion.) “I think it would be a good idea to pay off the house. This way, if you want to work, you can. If you don’t want to work, you can do that also.) So as we sat there, watching the weeks of my severance pay diminish, we knew we didn’t have to worry about the house. This became more important as we watched the housing market implode from everyone’s bad decisions and circumstances beyond their control. We knew several friends who had a divorce, loss of job, or sickness suddenly change their situation. Suddenly, the house they could afford was no longer affordable. Many lost their homes. Sure, a few did stupid things when they bought their houses near the peak of the market; some got terrible advice also. Wonder-Girl always said that she never wanted to take out another loan and use the house as collateral. Do nothing to endanger our home. And now I sit and talk to friends and coworkers who are suck where they are because they owe more on their house than it is worth. I find it best to commiserate with them on the market, the job opportunities, etc. I don’t tell them that I have not had to worry about a mortgage payment. No sense in gloating over the fact that we were both careful and lucky.

Strange Sight

Sunday at 10 am, Molly and I left the house for a walk. As I reached the hedge and turned, I saw a young lady sitting on the curb, legs stretched out into the street. (The one glance showed, besides the long, good looking legs; a very short black skirt. Long blond hair, thin black jacket, black high heeled pumps next to her feet. What some of my lady-friends have called their ‘fuck-me shoes’.)Kinda surprising. I looked left and right, to check for cars and started across the street. I looked back at the young lady. She turned, looked up at me. I said “Good morning.” She smiled and said “Hi.” (Of course, she smiled, I had my cute beagle with me. That always gets a smile from women. But I digress.)It was a pleasant ‘Hi’, no worried smile, or concerned look. If she had looked as if she was in trouble, I would have asked her if she needs to use the phone. We continued on our walk and I smiled to myself. After the first glance and seeing the long expanse of bare leg, my second thought was how cold she must be! It was maybe 38 and overcast. The thick fog had lifted, but it was very damp.I suppose she must have been at a party and just fell asleep on the couch. But judging by her evening attire, I suspect that some guy took her home after meeting her at a bar or dance party. (She was very take-homeable)Endless ideas as to why she was sitting on my corner, waiting for her ride. And there are, alas, no answers. For when Molly and I returned, the young woman was no longer there.