Tuesday, November 25, 2008
As an auditor, I normally get to give good employees good news and bad employees bad news. If you keep your numbers in order, keep your documents up to date, and do your job, my reviews become easier to do and quicker for everyone. If you are lazy, sloppy, or just don't care, your documents will be in a mess, your numbers won't balance, and nothing goes right. In these cases I write you up and send a note to your manager which usually means you get a pissload of heat from your boss.
Anyway, I got to avoid all the drama and just talked to the manager who gave me an action plan that should clean things up in the next few months. I don't mind being in an auditor, but I do hate it when people blame me for them not doing their own job.
On to happier topics. In 17 minutes I have a meeting with one of the most beautiful women in our building. I haven't seen her yet but she is always a good dresser, and she has perfect blond hair. The last time we met on her project, the installation of some new software for the accounting group, she wore a dress that was a little too short, and cut a little too low, for work. I mentioned that she looked very well dressed for work, and she said that she was going out for drinks with some friends after she was done. She said she didn't have anywhere to change her clothes so she had to come dressed for the evening out.
I told her that she'd always welcome to use my office to change if she needed some privacy. My office is tucked back in a corner of our floor that no one visits, and it has a lock on the door. She asked me if I thought it would be strange for her to get undressed in my office, and I told her that I could stay in and protect her if she felt unsafe. We both laughed at that idea, but I think she was thinking about it. She gave me a wonderful smile and told me that she would think about it next time.
Of course that will never happen, but the thought is kind of intriguing. I hope she takes me up on the offer when she has to go out with friends gain. The idea of her stripping off her clothes and standing in my office wearing nothing but a bra and panties, if that much, would be a wonderful image to add to the psychic energy of this office. She has long legs and a fantastic ass, and I have frequently seen the thin material of her thong creep between her ass cheeks when she spent over to pick something up. We used to hang out more together when I was in her department, but since I left that group I only see her on special projects.
Occasionally, she will wear a sheer white blouse with a matching bra underneath. She told me that she gets away with wearing stuff like that when she's not meeting with any of her internal clients. She told me that she likes to dress sexy but that our office environment was so conservative that she didn't dare do it very often.
I hope our meeting goes well. She is in charge of a project that needs to finish on time and under budget before Christmas. We are getting close, but as her project manager I may need to call a few extra meetings to make sure that she is on track. She has a very kissable face and in my fantasy we lean in over a document, kiss, and then let things go from there. I have fantasized about her going down on me while I sat in my office chair, and I have imagined her on all fours on my office floor naked, spread open, with me pounding at her from behind, doggie-style. She has been in my fantasies a lot lately.
She is in my fantasy right now. She will be here in five minutes so I better put my pants back on and let my erection go down. I would hate for her to find out how I really feel.
Monday, November 24, 2008
All I remember about the football game is that it was fun, the home team lost, and that the girls got mildly upset when they caught Tom and me using the binoculars to scope out the cheerleaders. That the game went by quickly is my biggest memory.
I remember walking up the stairs behind her, smiling as I watched her tight blue jeans switch back and forth. We were going on a food run, and the concourse was crowded. She grabbed my elbow and pushed me in front and said, "You lead the way." She held onto me long after we got to the crowd, and when we got to the ladies restroom she gave my arm a squeeze and told me to wait for her. So I waited. When she came out and saw that I was still there where she had left me, she broke out into a big smile, took my elbow again, and we walked over and ordered our food.
She told me that she thought it was cool that I had bought a ticket for the football game by myself. She travels occasionally in her assignment and admits to struggling in the evenings. I told her that it was easier for a guy to be out and about alone in a strange city than it is for a girl. "Not for this girl,” she replied, and then went on to describe all of her wanderings in Washington DC. It was cute to see her get all riled up.
We paid for our food, picked up the drinks, and made our way back down to our seats. She had ordered some kind of salad, but immediately started picking at my roast beef sandwich without asking for permission. I took this as a good sign. We ended up sharing about half and half throughout the meal, though we did stop short of feeding each other.
The conversation flowed easily and I found myself watching her watch the game when we weren't talking. Her auburn hair, pale skin, and perfect freckles, made it very easy to just sit back and watch her. The end of the game came all too soon and we started to make our way towards the exit. She asked me where I had parked and I told her that I had ridden the train down to the stadium. She offered me a ride home if I would walk her to her car, claiming that she was parked in a bad part of the neighborhood. I told her that this neighborhood wasn't any worse than Washington DC and told her that she could walk alone. She told me to "shut up" and we started working together towards her car.
The conversation as we walked turn to relationships and I found out that she was divorced with no kids. She knew, through her sister, that I was married with three kids. I was glad that she knew, because I did not want her thinking that I was hiding anything.
The drive to my car didn't take long. We pulled up in the church parking lot that doubled as a train station park-and-ride lot during the week. I directed her to park next to my rental car and she pulled into a stop. I opened up my door but the conversation didn't stop, so after a few minutes I closed it again and, after a few more minutes, she turned off the engine, acknowledging that she was as happy as I was that we still have things to talk about.
We both turned to face the middle, to face each other, and we found ourselves talking quietly, almost as if we were afraid of someone listening. The conversation wasn't particularly sexy, but it was very intimate, as we talked about her ex-husband, my current wife, and the good things and bad things that were going on in our lives.
It was all I could do not to lean in and kiss her. I wanted to very much. The tone and nature of our discussion, the intimacy of the summer night, and the quiet, emotional exchange of two new friends, made it very tempting. I resisted the urge, and eventually said goodnight. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove off without waiting to see if my car would unlock or even start. I wasn't worried about my rental car, but it seemed kind of odd that she did not wait for me to get in my car. That is what I would have done, waited until she got in, got the car started, and gave me the "it's okay" wave.
My car started fine, of course, and I turned on the GPS system and semi-coordinates for my hotel, unfamiliar with exactly how to get back there in the dark. As I waited for the GPS unit to find the satellites and find it did its bearings, my phone rang, it was Beth, "if you want to get home, just pull out of the parking lot on the side by the statute, turn left, turn right at the first light, then go under the freeway and go west."
She said it so quickly that I missed most of it, I just said thank you into the phone just in time for her to hang up on me. I got my directions from the satellite, and pulled out of the parking lot on the opposite side from what she told me to do. My phone ring immediately, she asked, "where are you going?"
"I'm going home," I said, mildly confused as to her question.
"I told you to go out past the statue, but if you don't want to listen, that's okay with me"
She was gone again, but she had waited, she had waited to see if I would get out of the parking lot, and then she called me back to make fun of my driving directions.
I knew she liked me.
Friday, November 21, 2008
This won’t happen in a million years, but this is what I want tonight.
Work ends at 6:00 and I am on the 6:20 bus.
I sit next to the beautiful brunette with the pin-curl hair and the funky necklace.
We flirt, we talk, and she leans into me as the bus makes the sharp corner just before getting on the freeway. As the centrifugal force presses her body in to mine I turn my body away from hers, allowing her to press her chest against my broad back. Since Daryl is driving the corner is long and hard and I feel you body’s curves in great detail. As we come out of the corner, your right hand grabs my left thigh, and you hold on to keep from sliding into the aisle of the bus.
As the bus heads west, chasing the setting sun, we enter the
My head reeling, my body hardening, we sit, just 5 feet away from each other, and smile like delinquents who have just stolen their first car.
She smiles at me again as she slips her iPod headphones on and closes her eyes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I exit the bus in the blazing sun and hop in to my car. A coupon for Sports Clips, a local barbershop, is under the wiper blades blocks my view. I check out my coif in the rear-view mirror and then check my Blackberry for my evening schedule. It’s clear, so I pull the coupon in to the car, dial the number, and head their way. They answer and I ask if Jenny is available. Hearing a “Yes” makes me change directions in the parking lot and head out to 22 and Oak for a visit to my favorite cutter.
All the girls there wear the same outfit, tight black shorts with referee shirts. Jenny also sports a long blonde ponytail, and never fails to look fantastic. “Welcome Back to Sports Clips!” she yells out, keeping with the corporate mandated greeting. I give her a high-five and head towards her chair, slipping her my coupon along the way.
“You know this only covers the cut.” She giggles.
“I know,” and I slip her a $20. “This is for the shampoo girl.”
“That would be
We take the shampoo station in the back left, the darkest and most private booth. I sit down in the patent leather chair and get comfortable. She removes the armrest on her side of the chair and turn on the hot water. Standing close to me she asks if I want Almond or Mint, but she already has the Almond oil in her hand. She infuses the washcloth with the scented lotion and whispers in my ear that she’ll be right back.
I lay back with the piping hot cloth over my eyes and I let my mind wander back to the gentle touch of the girl on the bus. So bold for a first meeting, such promise for the second.
I feel Jenny’s hands massaging the day’s tension away and then I feel her right hip brush against the back of my hand as it rests on my thigh. I move it out of the way and she leans against my leg, connecting our bodies. My hand has no where to rest, so I raise it slightly and hook my pinky into the waistband of her shorts, allowing the weight of my hand to pull them down an inch, revealing that she going commando once again.
"Don't be naughty," she sighs, "there are still kids out front."
"OK" I reply with a slight mocking tone.
I lift my hand up and move it outward, brushing the skin of her stomach left exposed by the short belly-shirt, and with one swift motion, place it high on her thigh, deep between her legs.
Startled, but not surprised, her hands freeze for a moment and then go back to their sensuous job of washing my hair. My hand rests upon the bare skin of her upper thigh, and I feel her turn toward me while opening her legs, so that my thumb brushes lightly against the front of her shorts. Taking the invitation, I my hand higher until it slips under the hem of her shorts, into the crease between her thigh and her body. I discover that she is not going commando, but is wearing the thinnest hint of silk, the smallest thong covers her shaved body.
"Oh shit" she gasps and her body freezes again.
"Should I stop?" I whisper
My thumb presses firmly on the black fabric of her shorts. My fingers turned to face up, stretching the black material to give me access. My thumb, hungry for more, slips under her shorts and rests on top of the thin silk panties that are already feeling damp. My index finger slides deep between her cheeks and finds the thin string of her thong and presses it aside, slipping under to caress her tight rear pucker, and the soft lips of her opening.
"Are we safe?" I ask. Her eyes quickly scan the shampoo room and she sees that we are still alone so she nods her head. I see her biting her lip to keep from making any more noise. Her hands are still entwined with my hair but they are no longer moving, they merely grip my locks for support and she leans toward me and spreads her legs even further. This is my cue to go in for more and I slip my thumb under her panties, directly on her clit, and I begin to circle. My fingers slip easily into her wet pussy as my thumb attacks her clit.
Jenny begins to breathe heavily and I feel her hips thrusting against my penetrating fingers and my attacking thumb. She loves to cum in public, and I know that she gets off on getting off at work. My fingers swirl and plunge and penetrate her wetness as my thumb flicks and spins and presses on her engorged bundle of nerves.
She turns her body toward me and backs up 6 inches to give me better access. Even in the dark I am obviously aroused in the sight of my hand disappearing up under this hot blonde girl’s shorts makes me harder still.
"Are you ready to cum? I ask
She nods her head silently. She removes her hands from my hair, hastily drying them on a nearby towel, and places one hand on my shoulder, and one hand on my hip so that she will not lose her balance when her orgasm hits. I take her by the wrist and move the hand by my hip to my body and she squeezes my cock through my thin slacks. I chuckled to myself, thinking that I am happy to be wearing black slacks instead of my more common tan khakis.
"Now?" I ask in a sexy whisper.
"Now." She replies in a his and my hungry fingers press deeper into her body, crushing her clit into her pubic bone and lifting so hard that her feet almost come off the ground. Three full fingers penetrate her as her orgasm stars to wind itself up from her toes, building through her weak knees, and her quivering thighs. Her hand clamps tightly around my cock, and though distracted by her own exploding pleasure, she remembers to squeeze in stroke me in return.
Her orgasm rocks her from head to toe. Her hand quivers, jerks and twitches as she tries to keep a hold of my erection but it is a lost cause and she lets go and leans against me for support. She tries to apologize for letting go at that crucial moment but I just laugh and whisper to and tell her to keep on cumming. I feel my hand, my fingers being squeezed by the spasms of her inner muscles.
Her juices flow and her fragrance fills the air of the shampoo room. Her body shivers and skips while little yelps escape from her clenched teeth. She begins to regain her composure, and gently presses on my wrist, telling me that she is too sensitive for more, and I withdraw my hand from under her shorts, from within, and from under the panties now drenched.
She places one hand on my head, gently stroking my hair back into place though it is still damp from the shampoo. Her other hand returns to my body and begins to gently stroke me up and down. I put my free hand on her hip and draw her closer, not for more touching, but to bring her close, to increase the intimacy of our moment together. She looks down at me and smiles knowing that her hand is bringing me close to my own climax.
“Now?” She asks.
"Now." I respond, and I let my orgasm begin. She holds me with a light touch, with almost no movement of her own. She likes to feel me cum, to feel my body swell and ejaculate. I know she hates that word, but that is what she likes, she likes to feel my cum come out.
Laying back in the soft leather chair, one hand in my hair, and her other hand gently stroking me to a beautiful orgasm, all I can do is look up her look up at her and smile. As my body calms down she uses her thumb to stroke the last few drops of cum out of my softening penis. She says that she likes that moment too, the moment when it is done, when the climax is over, and she gets to squeeze the last drop out and taste it for herself.
She leans in and kisses me gently, with just a hint of tongue, and whispers in my ear, "Thank you."
Getting back to business, she rinses the last of the shampoo out of my hair, wraps my head in a towel, and helps me stand up.
"Follow me to my chair," she says with a giggle, “and will get you finished."
I walk through the door of my house and drop my keys in the dish on the antique table that my mother-in-law bought me for Christmas. My wife takes one look at me and asks, "Why do you keep your hair so short? It looks good when it is longer."
"I don't know," I say, "I just like getting my haircut."
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I met her for the second time on August 28, 2008. I admit her five years ago at a business convention. Her sister was my coworker and she joined us at a wine and cheese reception after work. She claims not to remember that evening, that I don't doubt her, it was fairly uneventful. We met, shook hands, and she ran off to be with her friends that she was there to see. She did not remember me, but I remember her, I remembered her distinctly, if she had perfect red hair, a beautiful smile, and I had a mad crush on her sister, so this sister/sister/me fantasies ran through my head immediately.
I became good friends with her sister and did not see her again until August of this year. I guess that the pronoun game will get too confusing, so I'm going to call her Beth. I had purchased a ticket to the NFL preseason game that night. Since it was on a Thursday I could catch the game because I was never on the road on the weekends. The fact that I had a ticket came up with Beth's sister and she thought it was a fun idea. Later that afternoon Beth's sister, we'll call her Shirley, said that she got four seats to the game and they had one extra seat.
I asked who would be the other three seats and she said that it would be her, her husband, and her sister. "Beth?"
“Yes”, Shirley said, “She'll be there even though she doesn't remember meeting you at the convention.”
I tried to sell my ticket but I couldn't at the last minute so I took it as a loss and decided to join the bigger group for the game. My seat would've been a little bit closer to the field, the chance of spending some time with Shirley and with Beth, two beautiful women, and only one husband, was too much to pass up.
I got to the game first, having taken public transportation directly from work to the stadium. Having never been to an NFL game before it was a lot of fun to sit around and watch the stadium fell, the cheerleader stands, and the teams get ready to play. The stadium is fairly new, so it is clean and family-friendly. I had borrowed a pair of binoculars from a friend at work who happen to have a set in his desk, so I was busy scoping out the cheerleaders as I waited for Shirley & Co. to arrive.
I was standing up and looking around when I saw surely turn the corner and start to come down the stairs. Her husband was behind her, another coworker who I knew and liked, and behind him was Beth. She was just as I remembered her. Shoulder length red hair, beautiful green eyes, a wry smile, that looked as if she was always hiding a secret, and a fantastic figure.
Her body isn't spectacular in the curvy, Playboy model kind of way. She is an athlete, a runner, and had slim thighs, a terrific waste, a small but well shaped chest, and not an ounce of fat on her arms and neck and face. I fell for her before she got to my row.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
As most of you know, I use voice recognition software and a microphone/headset do a lot of my writing. I also do a lot of my writing during my lunch hour at work. The good news is that last week I got a new laptop computer. The bad news is that I got a new laptop computer and now I have to retrain my recognition software on all of the dirty words I use in my blogging. Words like talent (cunt), pussy, funk (fuck), come (cum), cock, organism (orgasm), and others, have to be reprogrammed in.
While it is mildly entertaining in a "Beavis and Butthead" way, it is a bit of a pain to have to start all over, but I has to start somewhere. So, if I don't catch all of the errors in transcription, if there is a word that makes no sense, just pick a word that makes the sentence nasty, dirty, and a little bit sexy (I hope), and you will probably get close to what I meant to say.
I have had it in my head the past week and a half to tell a story about a girlfriend of mine. "Girlfriend" may be too strong of a word, she was almost a mistress, certainly she was a friend, and potentially she was a partner in many things. That all came to an end a couple of weeks ago.
No one who reads this blog really knows who I am, where I live, who I work for, or where I travel for work. I have kept it that way on purpose since I am married with children, and in a fairly conservative religious community. This blog is my erotic outlet where I admit two things that I would never admit to in real life. It is here that I fantasize, dream, bitch and moan, and generally masturbate in public.
I love my wife on many levels, but we perhaps should have thought about it a little longer before we got married. We are incompatible in the bedroom. That may be overstating it a little bit, but she is quiet, timid, traditional, and not all that interested. Where I am, or want to be, adventurous, kinky, immersive, experimental, and I love everything there is about fucking. I love the taste, the smell, the feel, the messiness of it, the orgasmic potential, the orgasmic release, the flaccid aftermath, the tumescent preview. I love dirty words and nasty pictures. I love touching myself and touching my lover. I love watching her cum on her own and love helping her get there. I love it when she touches me, when she kisses my lips, bites my nipples, or sucks my cock.
I LOVE FUCKING. And truth be told, I love fucking my wife most of all. I just wish she liked it as much as I do.
But this is all a digression away from the story that I need to tell. The story of a friend that I met just three months ago, but a friend of it became a very pop important part of my daily life, and now a friend that is gone. She is not gone, but she has left. She has asked me to be gone for her as well. Our last evening together was wonderful. The next morning it was all over, and nothing even happened.
It is getting late, I have a pounding headache, and I must be on the road within seven minutes if I am to make it to my church for choir practice. I will write more later, this is a story I need to tell, if only for myself, to try to understand why this story ended so soon after it began.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
This is my response to that thought......
I wonder what she'd write if she wrote about you... ;o)
Interesting question, one that I’m not sure I want the answer to.
The realist in me has to admit that she is probably thinking about her homework, the astronomical figures, star charts, orbit equations, and light year calculations that will be required of her during next Thursday’s test. She is concentrating on ignoring the older guy at his desk who keeps staring at her between his monitors. Two monitors, on showing his e-mail, the other on a Flickr site with beautiful naked women with pierced nipples. (That seemed to be my obsession the other day) She’s worried that by using my table to study in quiet that she’s giving me hope that “something” will happen. She likes me as a friend, but isn’t ready to betray both her boyfriend (live-in) and my wife, whom she has met, or my kids, who she thinks are “wonderful.” She’s not sure if she can kiss me without me kissing back. She’s not sure if she can admit to wearing the lingerie that I gave her for Christmas without me asking if I could see it on her.
The optimist in me sees things differently.
She is sitting at my table, crossing and uncrossing her legs to relive the growing itch that tickles her thighs and makes her pants feel too tight. She smiles to herself at knowing that she is wearing the black lace panties that were part of last Christmas’ gift exchange. She can feel the thing material against her freshly shaved skin and the thinner string that splits her cheeks deeply and tugs every time she bends over to open a file drawer, adjust her heater, or slip on her shoes. When she thinks that I’m not looking her right hand leaves her notes and flicks gently over her nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse and bra, bringing a small jolt of pleasure and helping them stay erect and visible.
She smiles again, reliving the memory of our last hug, the feel of our bodies pressing together, the hint of arousal that I gave her as she pressed her hips in to mine. She looks up at me and smiles and I catch her eye and return the affection. She daydreams about more, about sitting in my high back executive chair and allowing me to kneel between her open thighs to feast on her. She imagines climaxing as she holds my tongue in just the right spot, her hands pressing me deeper into her as her hips buck and twitch in release. Then she goes back to her homework, flushed, distracted, wet, and writes out another equation, trying to study.
I have a lunch appointment so I get up to leave, telling her that she is welcome to stay as long as she needs to study, that I won’t be back for at least 90 minutes since my doctor is at least 15 minutes away. I leave, closing the door behind me, knowing that it is locked.
After I leave, and she hears the door’s lock click shut, she unbuttons the fabric covered buttons and opens her blouse, dropping the pencil to the table, allowing her hands to take on more important tasks. The 8 buttons now undone, her blouse barely covers her body. A flick of the claps allows the cups of her bra to fall slightly open, still cradling her body in their soft silk. She stands and the swaying of her breasts gently rock them out of the silk and they hang full and firm against her chest, uncovered and open for view.
She walks around my desk and stands in front of my chair. Her hands quickly undo her belt and slide her pale gray slacks to the floor where she steps out of them and slides them to the side, away from the wheels of my 5-point base. She sits, feeling the wetness and is grateful that my chair is covered in smooth, black fabric and not the light blue that would betray her arousal with a spot. She reaches in to my lower left drawer, going under the fiscal reports and IT plans, and finds my personal collection of thumb drives. Picking at random she pulls one out and slips it into the USB slot. The folders come up and she glides the mouse over “girls” and clicks in to my collection.
Another double click later and two blonds are swimming together on my screen under the bright California sun. The pools shimmers and dances in the sunlight and their naked forms are seen dipping and diving under the surface. The smaller blonde hops out first, pulling herself up on to the deck of the pool, the water sheeting off her back and her buttocks coming out of the water. She turns herself around, her porn-perfect breasts coming in to view. She leans back on her hands to soak in the sun and spreads her lithe legs to absorb more of the summer heat. Her friend, taller, but slim, small breasted but with perfect hair and teeth, breaks the surface of the water and immediately plants a kiss on the labia of the other. Pretending to ignore the kiss, the smaller one nonetheless pulls her feet out of the water, lifting and spreading her knees. Her head lays back, her eyes are closed, and her friend kisses again, and then more, and more, and more…..
As she watches the 2 women on the screen her hands drift and roam over her chest, sometimes cupping her breasts in her hands, then pulling and tugging on her full and tender nipples. As the on-screen passion moves from the deck of the pool to a lounge chair, well padded and clean for some active 69, her left hand slips under the waistband of her panties and begins to rub her clit in small, intense circles. The excitement of the video, the thrill of masturbating at work, in my office, while watching two beauties please and play with each other, is too much for her to resist and she allows herself to cum loudly, grateful that my office is in a deserted corner of the floor. Her fingers plunge and explore her own body as she thinks of the beauties on the screen, the feelings of her own touch, and the vision of me, sitting at my computer upon my return, in the spot where she touched herself, spread her legs, and came. She stands up and slips the panties off her hips, rubbing herself for a few more delicious moments,, the flat of her hands rubbing her belly, and points south, soothing out the pulses of pleasure that continue to ripple through her body.
She fastens her bra, buttons her blouse, and packs her books. Her panties were placed lovingly in my case of image-filled thumb drives with one slot now empty. She zips it shut, not letting any of the damp silk peak out, and closes my drawer. She didn’t know when I would find it, but she knew I would and that I would think of her, and wonder what happened while I was away.
So, maybe that is what she is thinking about…
Thursday, November 13, 2008
She will joke about sex, but won't tell me when she did it last. She will let me tell her details about schedule, but stops me when the clothes come off. She will hug me on her birthday, kiss my cheek on mine, and has never shied away from graciously receiving all of my compliment, comments, and playful innuendos.
Her slacks are light gray and pinstriped, and smooth. They fit her well, but are not too tight or revealing. I asked her to unplug a fan for me so I could move it to a different location. She got out of her chair and turned, bending over to pull out the cord. Her pants pulled tight, the shadows revealing that she is wearing a very small thong, low-slung across her slim hips.
Her face is serious, studious, as she pours over her books and absorbs the material for her test tonight. She is working diligently on her bachelor's degree at a local community college while her live-in boyfriend tries to sell his screenplay, TV script, or magazine column.
I am jealous of him. He is TGWGTSYN in her life, you know, "The Guy Who Gets To See You Naked." Her legs are long and lean, her breasts full, a hard to believe 34B. She seems fuller, more well rounded than that, but her frame is small and lithe so I'm sure she is right. I've only seen one picture of her in a bikini that would give me additional insight into her sizing, so I'll have to take her word for it.
She is my work crush, my fantasy, my friend, and she's in my office right now, quietly studying, and ignoring me completely. Damn.....