Fifty-Five word story

Yeah, never gonna publish this one.
Just as the sun came up, she awoke. She snuggled closer and gave me a soft kiss. "Don't tell your mom about us."
I smiled and gently kissed her on her lips. "Don't tell your dad about us."
She giggled and gave me squeeze.
"What's so funny?" I asked
"It's their bed."

Pretty, or Prettier?

Written 6-29-13

My buddy back east works with two young women, whom I will call Pretty and Prettier. And it’s amusing comparing the two of them. From just the physical characteristics, one has a slightly prettier face and a more attractive body. When I first met the two, I noticed something about Prettier. She seemed less approachable, as if my Spidey-sense was telling me steer clear of her. In talking to her, there was an attitude that I found unattractive. Perhaps it was a little bit of arrogance in her demeanor, perhaps it was the way she talked about her boyfriend. Perhaps it was how she interacted with her co-workers that put me off.
Regardless, Pretty was the nicer one and as I have gotten to know her through our conversations, I have found that she is a smart, personable young lady, one that I count as a work friend.
So for me, Pretty has become, Prettiest.

And here is the amusing part; my buddy told me that his wife, who has met both, is jealous of Prettier. I found this very amusing, for my buddy can’t stand Prettier and likes Pretty. Doubly amusing because his wife’s jealousy (like many people) is based only on looks.

October Dream

October dream.
11-1-1999

(For Carol Skeggs)

I saw her last night, again. She was different then who she is, but dreams are that way. Yes, she looked better then she probably looks in real life, doesn’t everyone look better in dreams? She was with the other one, and that was nice too.
It was one of those dreams where people were the same, but the building we were in kept changing, as did the city. First we were in Boston, then someplace on the west coast that I knew, but not home. I knew who she was when I was standing in line, even if I didn’t recognize her. At some point she turned to me and said hi and we introduced ourselves.
I won’t go into all of the details, because dreams are so hard to explain, but it was a good dream. It was especially nice to meet someone who I have always liked. Through emails and phone calls across the Atlantic, we always kept in touch. Business, but always some personal words between us.
Ten years ago, after the earthquake, she asked if I was okay. After the riots in LA and SF, she asked if I was okay. When you are thousands of miles away, with an ocean between you, you don’t know how someone is affected. You just know that something happened in their area of the world.
She was a sweetheart, that’s the impression that I always got. It’s not that other people in world that I talk to are not, it is just that she was always nice in her emails and phone calls.
So, at the end of the dream, when she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, it made me feel good. Good that I had finally met this person that I always liked.
She no longer works for the company, I’ll never get to England; so it makes me feel good to have finally met her, if only in my dreams.

SPOOKY/SCARY

3-26-99

Spooky is
When I came home from work, some weeks ago. As I entered the garage, Wonder Girl had papers strewn all over her worktable. She was scribbling madly and was obviously hard at work.
“Don’t talk to me now! I’m on a roll. There is a baked potato in the oven.” And she bent back to work.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and was careful not to bump her. I knew what she was going through. Your mind is on your paper. Ideas are flowing and you don’t want to interrupt it.
The dog glanced up at me as I entered the rest house. He had been fed and so dad getting home just wasn’t a big thing. After changing clothes, I started messing around in the kitchen. I ought to get dinner going, but wasn’t sure what to make. Let’s see, what goes with a baked potato.
Fifteen minutes later, everything was set. I invited the dog outside, to play ball and we messed around for a while.
Back inside, Wonder Girl was still in the garage. It was best to leave Wonder Girl alone until she got to a stopping point. I know that I like to be left alone when the ideas are flowing fast and furious.
By six thirty, everything was ready. I had just placed the drinks on the table, when Wonder Girl came in. She gave me a big hug.
“Thanks for letting me finish. I was on a roll and didn’t want to stop.”
“No Problem, I know what it’s like.”
“Thanks again. I think we’ll have some of that chicken sausage and maybe coleslaw, since we have the leftover dressing from last night.” I didn’t answer her, I just moved out of the way so she could see the sausages boiling on the stove. I then opened the fridge and showed her the coleslaw, dressed and ready.
“Oh.” She said when she saw what I had prepared. “Kinda spooky, isn’t it?”

Today, I decided to make chili for dinner. Wonder Girl was outside messing in the garden and the dog was keeping an eye on her. I got all the stuff out and began to fry the meat. Cut up this, dice that, and add it to the pot. A can of this and a can of that, dump them in. I grabbed the can of tomato paste, put the can opener on it and squeezed the handles.
Thick, red stuff spurted out of the can as I puncture the lid, and I froze. A chill went down my spine as the B word came to mind. I stopped and looked at the can. It looked a little old, but I couldn’t tell from the numbers stamped on it. I tossed the can in the garbage and grabbed another. Similar numbers on it and when I punctured the lid, there was an evil hiss. That one joined it’s rotten cousin in the garbage and I grabbed the remaining three can from the cupboard. One had the same markings on it and it went into the trash. The last two cans looked newer and the date code stuff looked different. I took one of the cans and compared it to its five cousins in the hall closet. I knew the closet cousins were just bought two months ago. Thankfully, the numbers matched. I still had trepidation’s, as I opened the can, but there was no red spurt and no evil hiss. Dinner will be made tonight, and we can eat it.

I don’t mind spooky, it really kind of fun; but I can do without scary, always

Pervs

Written 2-5-99
“Sex! That’s all you men have on your minds.”
“You say that like it is a bad thing.”
“Well, we get so tired of it!”
“Oh sure, you’re tired of it now. But what if you’re a 30 year old hottie with short blonde hair? You turn from the bar and see these two 17 year olds at a table by themselves, quietly having a drink. You’re not wondering what’s on their minds, you’re counting on it. Because you know all you have to do is walk over there, let them buy you a drink and you can take them both home with you. Then it’s suddenly okay, isn’t it? It’s even okay that you didn’t tell them you’re married and your husbands out of town.
But that’s okay, until he comes home early and surprises you. But you didn’t think of that, as the boys do a mad scramble out the second floor window.
You don’t think of how those two boys end up sitting for hours in the ER, waiting for their parents to come and get them. How they struggle to explain how one of them has a broken ankle, one a broken arm; or where their shirts and shoes are.
Sure, you’re tired of it now, but at a different place and time, you expect it and to hell with the consequences!”

A gentleman’s quandary

Written 5-20-13

My buddy Jax works as a clerk for the local Police. Sometimes, during a large bust, he will work in the field helping catalog evidence and do the data entry. While he is doing this, he can see the criminals as they are brought in, in handcuffs, for questioning.
Unlike when he is in the office, the officers here are in full gear, including bulletproof vests.
Being the oddball that he is, he asked my opinion on how a gentleman should act when confronted with danger. Specifically, if the following situation arose.
Some of the officers are petite, sweet young things. Now in a normal situation, if something goes wrong, as a gentleman, he knows he must stand between a young lady and danger.
However, in this case, they are the only ones with the bulletproof vests on, not him. So logic dictates that he should duck behind one of them, knowing full well that Miss Manners would tell him that a Gentleman always protects the ladies.

I am just glad that I will never be in his shoes.

Tipping point

Written 5-13-16 Written 5-13-16
I like reading EOTW stories, movies and such; whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, or just a big meteor.
But reading them makes me wonder, just what is the tipping point?
Take a plague, for instance, at what mortality rate does society break down?
We can easily recover from a local calamity, for there are always people elsewhere who can come in and help restore order. But what if it’s a disease that begins to kill off some portion of humanity everywhere?
(Of course, we cannot count the Zombie Apocalypse, because it is always assumed that 100% of the people bitten become zombies. This is similar to the myth of vampirism and lycanthropy. Hmmm…that makes me wonder if anyone has ever done a zombie story where the bite is not 100% fatal? Because, as you know, with any disease, there is always some portion of the population that is resistant. But I digress.)

Losing 30-60% of your population during the years of the Black Death may have reduced a countries population dramatically; but people were able to regroup and carry on. This is, I think, because there was not as much knowledge to lose back then.
Today, there is so much specialized knowledge that we would be hard pressed to recover.

Back then, if you lost your village blacksmith, you could go to the next village and use that blacksmith. Difficult and inconvenient, yes; but not the end of the world. Heck, you could always hitch your horse up to a bunch of thick branches lashed together, with a sharpened end, and still plow your fields.
Today, if you lose a car factory, it’s not the end of the world; but what if you also lose the oil refineries, pipeline distribution, electricity to keep things moving, trucks and railroads to deliver all the pieces to the factory?
You can’t just go to the next city, for they are facing the same troubles.

So, at what point do the doctors get overwhelmed? When too many of them don’t show up to the hospital?
When do the police not go on patrol because they are sick or do not want to get sick/?When do the guys running the dam or coal fired power plant not show up to work?
How long before the electricity stops?

If doctors become in short supply, what about the everyday sick and injured? You will still have car wrecks, women in labor, broken bones, etc.
If the disease is killing 30%; if another 10-20% of people who would normally get help from a hospital are added to that; at what point does it all fall apart?

We have so far to fall, compared to the farmers of 1350, that I don’t think it would take as high a percentage rate for everything to spiral out of control. I just wonder where the tipping point is.

Voyeur of the Damned

Written 4-12-13

Not long after I started my new job, my boss approached me with a project. Knowing full well that the task was not in the SOW, but (as she said) knowing that I’m a bit of a geek; she asked if I could look at the video surveillance system. Six months before, they had the old tape system replaced by a DVR and computer. Unfortunately, no one was trained on how to use it and they could not review past video.
‘Could I please take a look at it?’

Now you all know that I have trouble refusing the polite requests of a lady. Not to mention that I was curious as to how the system worked and I wanted to show off all the things I could do.

None of that really mattered, for I had a nice ulterior motive to review the last six months of footage.
We are on the top floor of a three story building. The two floors below us are used by another company.
In talking to my coworkers, I learned that some time in the past, while they were watching the monitor; a young couple came up the emergency exit stairwell and had ‘urgent matters’ to attend to that obviously they could not wait until they got home.

So of course, when my boss asked if I wanted to tinker with the surveillance system, I stepped up to the challenge.

The nice thing about modern systems is that you can have the system scan for movement in a specific place and flag those scenes where something ‘happened.’

Unfortunately, it seems that the ‘incident’ with the young couple happened before the DVR was installed. Still, when I am chatting with one of the sweet-young-things downstairs, I can’t help but wondering what she would look like, pinned against a wall.

Gyre and Gimble in the Wabe

Written 4-12-13

I think at times, she did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
(or maybe, occasionally, she was all mimsy with the borogoves.)

There are always incidents from our past, that when examined based on what we know now, just puzzle us more than before.
Case in point, the friendship that I had with my High School English teacher.
(Hmmm…that seems rather possessive? Maybe I should have said, ‘a HSE teacher’? but I digress.)
I was sixteen, which all of you know is a time when teenagers (boys and girls) are suffering from hormone – clouded thought processes.
Taking that into account, she was still a hot little number. Red hair, freckles (which I have always been drawn to for some unfathomable reason), pretty face, delicious rack, curvy hips, a wonderful smile and a nice laugh.
Now I know what you’re going to say, ‘GW, any woman who would pay the slightest attention to you is a hottie’. Well, yes; but she was quite the looker.
Anyway, she was just a summer school teacher, up from a small town in the San Joaquin valley. Perhaps she was just looking for a pal, but she invited me to her apartment one afternoon. It turned out that she lived about six blocks from my house.
Gosh, but she was fun to talk to! We’d sit for hours, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze.
Did I think about getting her in the sack? Of course! But she was a mid-twenties teacher. Despite my testosterone infused brain, I knew enough not to try anything. If I had, I knew that the friendship would have been over in a heartbeat. After all, what would a hottie like her want with a sixteen year old nerd? Absolutely nothing.

And I was learning lots of things from an older woman. First off, she was being a little more honest with me that girls my age would have been. She did not have agendas like my peers.

She talked about a trip to Las Vegas with one of her gay friends. The thing she likes was that they could have fun, go shopping, and the sex things didn’t hover over them. I found that interesting.

She talked about growing up in a small town in the valley, where there wasn’t a lot to do. What I found most interesting was one statement she made about ‘being one of the few girls that did not graduate pregnant from high school.’ What I immediately took that to mean was, ‘I had sex like everyone else, but I was careful, or lucky.’
Okay, she’s not a prude.

You know, it’s just not a good idea for a woman to talk about sex with a teenage boy. He already has confused ideas and that just makes him think about it more.

I remember another time, when we were discussing sex in literature (she was an English teacher!). She made a comment about it being pervasive. I disagreed and pointed out things like ‘Jabberwocky’ didn’t have sex.
She looked at me, laughed and said; “Oh GW, what do you think he meant when he said, ‘And he took his vorpal blade and went snicker-snack’?”

No one had ever talked to me like that, so up front.

Obviously, she liked who I was; probably more than what I looked like. But maybe not. I like to think that she had as much self control as I did. I knew better than to make a move on her, and she knew much better than I, the consequences of making a move on me. At the time, it just seemed to me that she simply enjoyed my company. That could be the only explanation. (right?)

There was another incident that puzzled me.
Once, when I arrived for an afternoon visit, she had a couple of girl friends over. We all sat around a chatted, like usual; but I had the strange feeling that I was being evaluated.

Looking back on that summer, I still think that it would have been glorious to be invited into her bed. But I also recognize that it would have altered the course of my life, possibly significantly. For I might not have paid attention to this little cutie in my Civics class, might not have been receptive to her attentions. That would have been a shame, for that young lady and I are still friends and always will be.
And if certain links in the chain of events had been broken, I might never have met Wonder-Girl, and that would be a shame.

I don’t talk about that summer much. Recent news reports indicate that it’s not that unusual for an older woman to have a liaison with a teenage boy. (I won’t say ‘seduce’, for we all know a woman of just moderate looks does not have to seduce, just be available.)
So rather than try to explain that we had a friendship and nothing more; and spend days trying to deny what everyone thinks happened, I just stay quiet.

Of course, I would love to sit down with her and ask her about our relationship, what was her motivation. But that would entail (creepy) web searches and maybe strange questions from her husband (assuming that she is still married).

But I will leave you with a few facts to ponder.
Within a year, I received an invitation to, and attended her wedding to a guy she had never mentioned.
I discovered recently that she was a mid twenties hottie because I was able to verify that she was only seven years older than me. (Yes, the web is interesting place to search.)

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.