The J-Street Tunnel

Inspired by Lindsey, my favorite bus pal.

It was simply a case of mutual attraction at first. She and I rode the same bus every day and started sitting next to each other after saying hello and waiving for two or three months. The Los Angeles traffic was always bad, but one morning, as we sat at the back of the bus, it was particularly slow as we entered the tunnel under the J Street Bridge. It usually only takes 20-30 seconds to come through the tunnel. Today however, with a traffic accident up ahead and policemen responding, it was going very slowly.

I started to smile as she laid her head on my shoulder, as we realized we might be there for a bit, but what really surprised me is when I felt her hand creep across my thigh. Her open palm began to caress me through the lightweight dress slacks that I had picked out that morning. At first, it was just a nice general circular rubbing, but after she found what she was looking for, she began to home in, and her hand’s movement became more focused, more concentrated, and definitely took on a sense of deliberate touching.

Even though the bus was mostly dark, the emergency lighting casts a blue glow over the other passengers. I turned to look at her and she lifted her eyes to mine and smiled as she gripped my penis in her hand. She looked straight at me and gave it a squeeze, and started stroking up and down. I kept her gaze and shook my head back and forth, silently telling her that I thought she was crazy, but that she should not stop.

She shifted her hips away from mine, giving her arm more room to work. Sometimes gripping, sometimes using the palm of her hand, she continued to stroke me. Her hands would wander across my legs, over my stomach, and sometimes up to my chest and neck. When her hands moved back down to my cock, she would grab it at the base and move it back and forth, knowing that it would be rubbing gently against my silk shorts inside my pants.

My heart started pounding as I felt the bus began to move. I looked up in a panic, and turned my head back and forth to see if we were to getting ready to leave the darkness of the tunnel. Luckily, we only moved about 10 meters before the bus driver hit the brakes again. This time, the bus driver was serious and I heard him set the parking brake. The bus settled in for a long stop, with creeks and moans emanating from the brakes and springs that were about a cushion the best part of our ride.

Knowing that we would be in the dark for a few minutes, my girlfriend got bolder. She shifted her hips away from me even further and put her head in my lap. With a playful bite, she sunk her teeth in and bit the tip of my dick. It hurt just enough to get my attention, and I could not stop myself from thrusting up at her open mouth. She began to tease me with little bites and kisses all over my crotch. I responded by letting my hand roam down her back, and I began to wiggle my fingers under the waistband of her skirt.

My fingers found that she was wearing a very lightweight g-string. I tugged on it gently, and then more forcefully, and found out that it was a dark blue satin pair that I had bought her a couple of weeks earlier. The waistband of her skirt was made of an elastic material and as I moved my hand inside, it stretched to give me free reign. I wrapped the material around my first two fingers and pulled tightly, forcing the fabric to dig deep between her legs. She responded by pulling away a little bit and hissing out a quiet "ouch".

"Oh bite me." I responded.

"That is what I'm trying to do."

"Then keep going in," I whispered "do what you want to do."

The sound of my zipper opening filled my ears and I was afraid that the entire bus could hear it. I felt her hand slip inside the opening, fishing around for the fly in my boxer shorts. As she was looking, she grabbed me a couple of times and gave it a nice, soft pump. As she moved to pull me out of my pants, I leaned in towards her and worked my hands in deeper between her open cheeks. I curled my hand around her beautiful ass and found her lips, swollen and wet, ready for my fingers.

I quickly got my fingers slippery and began to penetrate her with my middle and ring fingers. She muffled her groan by filling her mouth with my cock. Immediately, she began working me up and down, her tounge sliding up one side while her lips and teeth caressed the other. I tried to hold still, knowing that she didn't like it when I moved too much. She said that it broke our rhythm and made her gag when I thrust in too deep. I braced my foot against the seat in front of us and leaned over further, almost laying on top of her.

My hand wrapped around even further to give me a deeper feel into her warm and wet body. I used my first finger to begin to caress her clit as I thrust in and out with my other two fingers. She lifted her knee as high as she could, placing her foot up on the seat, to give me more room to move within her. I could tell by the twitching in her legs, that she was getting ready to cum. I picked up the pace on her clit and forced my fingers even deeper inside her. I was even able to add my pinky finger, opening her wider with each thrust.

As her climax rolled over her body, I let myself go and I felt my orgasm explode into her open mouth. I thrust in once and held it as I felt my cum pump through my cock and down her warm throat. She swallowed as fast as she could to keep up, but a little bit dribble out as she tried to catch her breath. I could feel her body clenching around my fingers and gushing out a little bit more of her wonderful fluid. It was slippery and hot and I spread it around liberally over her thighs and ass. I knew that it would be a hot and sticky between her legs for the rest of the day, and it made me smile because she would think of me, and think of this bus ride, with every step she took.

I let my head fall back against the high backed seat of the bus, and tried to catch my breath. I slowly pulled my hand out of her skirt and pulled her waistband back up to where it belonged. I let my hand drift over her hips and bottom, feeling her muscles twitch and clinch with pleasurable aftershocks. She remained firmly wrapped around my still hard cock, and I felt her tongue milk out the last drops of cum.

She slowly pulled herself off me, her teeth dragged gently across my overly sensitive skin, and as she swallowed the last bit, she gave me a kiss on the tip, and let her tongue flick out one more time, coating the head of my cock with her shiny saliva. She rested her head on my thigh as I reached down zipped myself up. I was still hard and she rested her head against my penis and moved her head back and forth to tease me just a little bit more.

The timing could not have been better, as we felt the bus rattle and shake as the driver pulled it out of park, and reluctantly put it into a deep first gear to get the enormous bus rolling again. As we inched forward, the light, from the end of the total, began to grow brighter and soon filled the cabin with the bright light of a morning commute.

My Journal - May 2003 flashback

I was reading through an old journal on the bus this morning and came across the following entry for early 2003.

I should note that this journal entry was written on a flight home from Knoxville, TN. In the entry I mention that the my major accomplishment for this trip was that I did not go to any strip clubs. I went through a phase in my life and my marriage when I took refuge, and a little comfort, in the strip clubs of the cities were I traveled. I knew it was a bad choice, but it seemed to get me through a rough patch, and in 2003 I decided to go cold turkey and stop going to the clubs.

This journal entry was written in the early days of my "new celibacy."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Strippers are amazing and wonderful people. For $10-$20, they are friendly, affectionate, and naked. I can't think of a better deal. You walk in dozens of beautiful women are just dying to be with you. It is a huge ego boost at the time because you get to turn down beautiful, naked women. You get to pick and choose, and when you're ready, when you call them over, they are yours, 100% for the next three songs.

When they're done they kiss you on the cheek, squeeze your hand, and call you honey. It’s a great feeling. Of course it's an illusion, but hell, isn't most of our life an illusion, a fantasy we spin to keep ourselves from blowing her brains out?

My wife pretends to love me, and I pretend to give a shit and we move on our way. It's worked for most of the 10 years we've been together, but it's starting to break down. We are starting to tell the truth way too much for either of us to be happy.

Before I left for the trip we had sex, and as always, she started out a little on the dry side. I offered to go down on her, which is one of my absolute favorite things to do. She said no, she didn't like it, but she was uncomfortable with her body, her smell, her taste, and I said, "I don't care."

I told her that I loved everything about her body, after some hesitation I hoisted open her beautiful thighs, and made her cum like an animal. That is what she wanted, and feared.

I really don't know what she is afraid of in bed. She comes easily once she lets herself and, though she isn't very adventurous, she isn't afraid to masturbate for me and she has learned to enjoy the dildo I bought for her a while ago.

Yet, almost every time I ask for sex, it turns into a battle, an argument over something I did, didn't do, or thought about doing.

She has wrapped so much emotional shit around sex that it's never just about getting off. It's always about something and that makes it tough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This was written almost three years ago today and nothing has changed. If I still wrote in my journal, I would say pretty much the saaaaaaaaaame thing.

The Couch - Part 2

What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever seen a naked woman before?” she asked as she drifted across the polished hardwood floor of her suite. It overlooked the river and the light from the setting sun bathed her curves in a patina of warmth that made her every move plant itself indelibly in my mind. Her breasts swayed as she walked, her dark nipples becoming more and more visible as they grew firm and long.

Before it could all register, she was at my side, taking my hand.

She turned us both so we could look at her new couch, it was impressive, heavy and solid, a deep inviting leather that seemed to give gravity to the entire room.

“I debated about the leather or the microfibre” she said, oblivious to the effect she was having on me, “I know the fiber is softer to the touch, but I like the fact that leather can’t stain, no matter what we do on it.”

The deepening sunlight cast our shadows on her bare wall above the couch. Her silhouette was slim and womanly, mine was larger and ungainly, a monkey in a business suit, and now, with her at my side, in nothing but a smile, I was a slobbering monkey.

“Are you ready?” she whispered as a quiet settled on the room.

“I think so.” I replied, and began to reach for my tie.

“Oh, not yet, we have something to do first.”

She took two steps to her left and picked up an object from the corner of her desk that I hadn’t even noticed as I walked in. It was small and sleek, made of high quality gunmetal, and it had a nice heft to it as she put it in my hand.

“I assume you know how to work this, right?”

“I believe so.” My voice was tight with anticipation, much like my slacks, and I fondled the object in my hands as she stepped toward the couch.

Don’t waste any time, she giggled, “Start shooting.”

The camera was new, a DSLR from the finest photography houses in Germany. The viewfinder was big and worked the light effortlessly as I began to frame her naked body against the deep black leather.

She was beautiful. She embodied beauty as the Greeks imagined it, strong, athletic, confident, and eternally young.

As she sat on the couch, she crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knees, the perfect demure pose, if she were only wearing clothing. Her breasts were compressed slightly between her upper arms and they came together to form a line of curved shadow. She turned sideways and gave me her breasts in profile, and then moved her hands to cover her chest, revealing more of her legs and thighs to my camera’s eager eye.

I dropped the camera away from my face as she leaned back and opened her legs to my gaze.

“Don’t stop shooting, “she said breathlessly, “this may only happen once.”

I quickly obliged and framed her beautiful legs as they opened and shut before me. Her hands moved, sometimes covering, sometimes exposing the soft pinks and deep reds of her body.

“Zoom in” she said and I did, using the camera’s lens to get closer.

She lifted her knees high and wide and used her fingers to open her lips to the camera.

“You’re wet.” I said softly.

“I know.” She quickly answered. “I think this is going to make me cum.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Then make it happen.”

She turned sideways on the couch, the black leather was shiny where she had been sitting and I leaned in and ran my finger through the moisture, bringing it to my lips as she watched me.

“Do I taste good?” she asked, laughing at me for being so dramatic.

“Exquisite.” I reply, “Like a frozen cherry on a summer’s day.”

The raised eyebrow told me all I needed to know. Her message was simple; don’t distract me with your weird farm-boy references.

“I’ll explain later.” I said and brought the camera back up to my eye.

This camera was an engineering masterpiece. Each time I pressed the shutter a perfect portrait of her emerged; each one unique and perfect. Each one captured a different motion, or pose, and mood.

With each picture, her arousal grew. She was bucking her hips as her hands teased her own body, closer and closer to climax. She was trying to avoid her clit, the very act of being naked in her own office, being photographed by a high school friend-turned lover, was a powerful aphrodisiac.

“Get in closer.” She was groaning now.

I moved in and knelt on the other end of the couch, using the just a little bit of flash to add light to the setting sun and to capture her body up close and shimmering with slick, wet, light. She hitched up her knees again and spread herself as wide as her slender thighs would go, One knee pressed into the back of the couch, the other almost reached the floor as her hips bounced and bucked against an invisible lover. Her ass shifted to the outside edge of the cushion, allowing her legs to spread even wider.

“Can you see me?” She grunted.

“Yes” I answered.

“Can you see my pussy?”

“Yes”

“Can you see my cunt?”

I never heard her talk dirty before and it was a strange mix of wonder and excitement.

With her legs spread as wide as they could go, her left hand reached into the folds of her lips and spread them apart.

"Look at me.”

I moved in and got 10 mega-pixels of pink skin, dripping with her arousal.

Her right hand joined her left and began unveiling her clit to the camera. She was swollen and wet and on the edge of her climax. As her thumb and middle finger spread the skin that hid her clit, her first finger began to dance lightly over it, barely touching the engorged nub.

Within seconds of pictures, and fingers, and touching, and looking, her orgasm washed over her and she began to scream.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, of fuck.” was all she said the pleasure washed over her. Her body bucked and her head whipped back and forth across the expanse of black leather. I shot as fast as I could, trying to capture the look of release on her face, her hands deep between her legs, and her nipples, full and proud, being pinched and played with by her own fingers.

With the camera in burst mode, I shot picture after picture, as she moaned and moved on the couch. The sweat on her skin, the juices on her legs, the deep pink of her pussy lips and the soft white of her inner thigh made for a wild mix of light and color.

As she fought to catch her breath, an orgasmic aftershock ran up her body. Her legs shook and her stomach contracted, forcing her into an involuntary sit-up. As she was forced up and off the couch and rocked towards me, I caught her right nipple between my fingers and pinched it hard.

“Oww!” she gasped as she reached up and grabbed my wrist with both hands, but, instead of pulling it away to relieve the pain, she pressed my fingers deeper into her breast, causing me to pinch harder. I continued to twist her nipple gently as she pressed her naked body against my legs. When I saw her start to wince, I release the tender skin and took her breast in my hand, savoring its perfect shape and feel.

Moments passed as she caught her breath.

She sat up and took the camera from my hands. “We can look at those later.” Sitting herself back up on the edge of the couch, she spread her legs open and the engorged lips of her pussy reflected the last of the setting sun.

She started to undress me. Her chest was still heaving and I could see her wetness on her thighs and on the sofa. I reached out and put my hands on her shoulders, feeling connected to her for the first time since Francine had locked the doors. My tie, shirt, and jacket evaporated as her hands danced over my skin. When she slipped off the couch and knelt before me, I was startled and snapped back to attention from my deep state of blissful arousal.

Her hands undid the zipper of my slacks and she asked traced the dark circle that had formed on my silk boxers. “Why such a wet-spot” She asked, but before I could answer, my slacks hit the floor and I felt her take me into her mouth.

As I looked down, her hair cascaded over her shoulders and blocked my view of her magnificent chest. The soft curves of her lower back were mine to see and I saw that she was kneeling low with her legs spread. Without taking me out of her mouth, she reached behind her and fished around until she found a couch cushion that had fallen to the floor. It was round and firm, a tightly packed cylinder that quickly found its way between her legs. With the cushion in place, she spread her knees even further, pressing her body weight and her open lips against the smooth and slippery leather.

I felt her tongue begin to move. I saw her hips begin to rock, and as one hand went around my waist, the other came up to my sack, and all the self-control in the universe couldn’t have held back my orgasm. Thoughts of ancient nuns and dead puppies couldn’t have stopped it, so I didn’t even try. Her mouth made a perfect seal around my shaft and I felt the muscles of her throat and mouth bringing me in deeper and deeper, accepting and celebrating every pulse.

The room began to spin and my legs began to buckle, but she just kept on going. Her left hand left me and went back between her legs. Having taken the last of my cum in her mouth, she released me and used her right hand to pull me down to her level. As her hips continue to hump the leather pillow between her thighs, she pulled me in for a deep and hungry kiss. My arms wrapped around her body and pressed downwards on her shapely ass, increasing the pressure on the pillow and amping up the friction on her clit.

Her second orgasm hit with more power than the first and her screams echoed off the sparsely decorated walls of her corner office.

The aftershocks lasted longer for this one. She continued to kiss me and hold me close as her hips continued to press her lips down against the compliant leather. She was slipping back and forth quickly now, the pillow fully lubricated and warmed to the temperature of her body.

I allow my right hand to leave her ass and drift around the line of her hip. I tickled her skin a few inches below her belly button and started moving down. She slapped my hand away without breaking our kiss, but at the same moment, caught my by the wrist and directed my hand back to where it was, but this time, more deeply planted between her open cheeks.

Just as my mind was starting to wonder about what was coming next, I felt her hands leave her body and her arms wrapped around my neck. Her kisses became softer, more tender, and her tongue gently withdrew itself from my mouth and started dancing across my lips and face.

“So, what do you think of my new couch?”

The Couch - Part 1

I am tired.

It's only 3:30 p.m. in the afternoon, but I am ready to fall asleep. My office door is closed, my feet are up on the desk, and if I allowed myself to close my eyes for more than about 30 seconds I’m sure I would be fast asleep

. . . . .

You see? There was about 15 minutes between this line and the last paragraph. One of the downsides of riding the bus every day is that it's very hard for me to leave work early, but that is exactly what I need to do, I need to go home and take a nap.

What I would really like to do, however, is go upstairs and see Terri. They just installed a new couch in her office, and I’m dying to break it in with her. She hinted that it might be a possibility when she was deciding on which couch to order, but I'm not sure if she's just flirting or if she was serious. It is amazing how a simple phrase can spark so many fantasies.

So, in honor of my friend and her new furniture, I have titled this entry, "The Couch (Part 1)."

----

I wasn't able to be upstairs when they finally delivered the couch, but I had a voicemail waiting for me when I returned to my desk. It was her, and she was talking in the high squeaky voice she gets when she is in a hurry, or excited. This time it was a little bit of both. She was excited because her new couch had finally arrived. It was deep soft black leather, straight from Italy, and I couldn't believe that the company agreed to pay for it.

The header on her first message indicated that she had called me from her personal cell phone, and it was obvious that she was calling in the heat of the moment. The next message, the one that really made my heart race, was from her desk phone, and her voice was much more professional and metered.

"Mr. Anderson, I was wondering if you could meet with me at 4:30 p.m. today in my office. I will need to review your quarterly budget submissions and your Outlook for the rest of the year. Please do not delay, as this report needs to be delivered to Mr. Roman as soon as possible.

"Mr. Roman" is a throwback to when we knew each other in college. Terri was very naïve when I first met her, and she hated the word “condom” and all the images it conjured, so we came up with the phrase “Mr. Roman". It was her way of telling me to bring the Trojans. It made me laugh back then, and it makes me laugh today, but I love hearing her say it. It's always a good time when she is asking for Mr. Roman.

I tried not to appear flustered, but I'm sure I cleaned out my desk faster than usual. Carol, my secretary, who is a hottie in her own right, asked me where the fire was. I'm sure I blushed when I try to sound calm and tell her “I just need to go see someone in the building."

"Are you going to see Terri's new couch?" She asked.

"What gives you the idea," I asked, trying to sound offended.

"Maybe it's the giant Woodie you have in your pants Mr. Roman."

My natural reaction was to look down and see if she was right, but I fought the urge and held her eyes with mine.. That is, until she dropped her eyes and started staring at my crotch. I kept looking at her face, and she kept staring at me, and I couldn't help it, but dammit, and I got hard right there and then, while she was watching.

"There it is." She looks me in the eye one more time, gave me a great big smile, and turned and walked away. "Enjoy your walk upstairs!"

I could hear the giggle in her voice.

Luckily, I was wearing dark slacks, and I had a file folder on my desk. I grabbed it to cover myself as I walked toward the elevators. I was a little embarrassed that I reacted so strongly to her stare. Carol is a beautiful girl, woman really, even though she was only 22, so I guess I should be forgiven for thinking about her more than I should. I know my HR department would disagree, but since Terri is the head of HR, I find it a difficult issue to discuss.

I ran into two of our field executives in the elevator and actually had an intelligent discussion on the way up to the 19th floor where Terri works. I was amazed that I could speak coherently, and I found that my arousal quickly disappeared when talking about down-market sales statistics and problems with upcoming federal legislation. I got off the elevator, crossed the newly redecorated lobby, and waved my hand in greeting to Terri's secretary Francine. As I waved at her and smiled, I realized that our building was full of beautiful women. Francine was short, curvy, and had deep brown eyes and dark red lips.

At first glance, her clothes always seemed very modest, never showing any obvious cleavage, but as you got closer to her, you would realize that her clothes were stretchy and about two sizes too small. They showed off her figure to great advantage, but if she caught you staring at her she would always frown and shake her head, making you feel like your were back in jr. high.

"Hello Jonathan." She said with a smile in her voice.

"Terri is ready for you. I've been told that I am to handle her phones and not let anyone interrupt you."

"That's very nice, thank you." I said, trying to sound professional. As she walked three steps ahead of me to open Terri's door, my eyes were drawn to her beautifully round hips and I knew that I would be totally busted if she turned around.

"Terri, Mr. Anderson is here to see you now."

"Thank you sweetie, you can go home now if you'd like."

"Oh, I don't mind staying, if you need any help later."

Terri laughed from behind her desk. I couldn’t see her face because her high-backed chair was turned away from us. "I'm sure I will be okay, just run along now."

"Are you sure? I really am available to help. I have no other plans tonight."

"No dear, I'm sure I will be okay tonight. Run along now. And please lock the doors to the suite on your way out."

Francine pouted a little bit as she turned and walked out of the office, but I heard her very clearly, as she whispered, "Enjoy the new couch Jonathan."

I couldn't believe my ears and I did a double take as she walked to the doors. She turned to face me as she pulled the double doors closed. A bright and wicked smile was on her beautiful face as she mouthed the words “Good Night” and let the doors click shut.

"What was all that about?"

"She's just jealous," Terri's chair began to spin around so that she could face me. "She is just jealous, because after helping me undress, she wasn't allowed to stay for the fun."

My head was spinning as I tried to make sense of the sentence that I just heard coming from my girlfriend. But I was really sent reeling as I saw her executive chair turn to face me. She was naked. Head to toe, top to bottom, like a centerfold come to life, she was naked and facing me. Her long hair cascaded in curls over her shoulders. She had grown it long at my request even though she objected that it did not look like a serious executive style. It framed her slid face with the soft, golden-brown color accenting the rich natural color of her beautifully smooth skin.

Her arms dropped lightly on the armrests. She made no attempt to cover herself; there was no embarrassment or hesitation. A small triangle of skin on her breasts was lighter, revealing just how small she went with her latest bikini.
When she stood up from behind the desk, my knees went weak as I saw her moving toward me. She knew that my heart went into spasms when she's shaved, but I could tell that she had been fully and freshly waxed, not a single soft curly yellow strand of hair was left. She was bald, smooth, and already glistening.

Friends, and the lack thereof....

I always start too late when writing these little blog entries. I now have 12 minutes before I have to go get on my bus, and that's not near enough time to discuss anything important, so I'll just talk about me.

As I mentioned in a blog entry from a few days ago, I have been having weird dreams lately. While some of them I've had a definite sexual overtones, a lot of them have included old friends that I've not seen in a long time. I find this to be unusual because on the surface I don't feel like I missed these friends that much.

I am not a person that collects friends. I've had very few close friends throughout our life, and currently I don't have any one that I would consider a "best friend". I have work friends, and church friends, and a few bus friends that I now play racquetball with, but there is no one to whom I can open up and really discuss personal issues. Unfortunately, that last phrase also includes my wife.

I find it is difficult to talk to my church friends because I hate to admit that I struggle with so many things from a gospel perspective. I don't talk to my work friends because work is work and my personal life is just that, personal. I get close to talking about real things with my bus friends because they don't intersect with any of my other groups. I see them for an hour or two a week, always on the bus, and occasionally at racquetball. That brings up another group, my gym friends. I used to be very close with a group of about six people at my gym, but two of them left for a nicer club, two of them are pissed off at me for a Christmas gift gone awry two years ago, and a couple of them got married and don't have time to chat with us gym rats anymore.

So what?

My wife thinks I need friends, and I agree with her sometimes, but I'm not sure what kind of friend I should get. Besides, friends just bring on baggage. Friends mean gifts, birthdays, "caring about each other", remembering their names, and all the other crap that I just don't have time for.

I guess I like not having friends because it gives me an excuse not to say anything to anybody. I don't have to admit that I like porn, I don't have to discuss my weight, or my struggles with my wife, or anything that I'd been even remotely personal.

By keeping all of my friends in tightly defined boxes, I get to go through life blissfully unattached. I know that my psychiatrist friends would tell me that I need to have an outlet for all of the discussions I'm having with myself in my head. Perhaps it would be useful to do to talk to somebody about the fact that I can't stand my wife, or that I feel like I'm addicted to porn, or that my sex life is so bad that I'm considering cheating on my wife and really fucking things up.

However, if I tell somebody about these things, then they are going to expect me to do something about it. That is something I don't have the energy for right now. I know this all sounds pathetic, but right now, I don't have the energy to change anything. Like most people, my job stinks, my home life is crap, I'm not losing the weight I want, and there are a million other things to worry before keeping "friends" happy.

So, I choose not to have friends for now.

Of course, I have to keep two of my friends happy, because they have all the cool woodworking tools that I need. They bolt present challenges, however. One has a wife I can't stand, and the other has a wife that I would like to ravage in every way imaginable. I guess if both of these guys got divorced, we could be great friends.

All week off

It's been a great week. I've been off work and away from my computer and it's been wonderful.

I'm going to start writing again, but since no one is reading, it doesn't much matter, now does it....


:-)