Birdboy

I sat at a table on the patio, looking out over the dull muddy water. I had already ordered a drink, and now I was just relaxing as the hordes of people at the popular tourist spot thronged around me. The sunlight was bright on this beautiful hot summer day, and even the normally dun-colored river was reflecting brilliant flashes of light. My drink arrived, served with a wink and a smile by a short-skirt clad cutie. I smiled back, raised my glass to her and took a sip. I watched as she walked away. I settled back down into my chair. It had been a long day, but a good one. I was tired, but happy. Of course, I was happy. Because scant moments ago, I was in her embrace. Or perhaps more accurately, she was in mine. I still caught a whiff of her scent at odd moments, but I didn't mind. I was happy to carry a little extra reminder of her with me, even if only just for a little while. I just know there was probably a faraway look in my eyes, hidden behind my sunglasses, as I thought of her. I still saw her pretty face, her quick smile and the afternoon sun on her sleek skin. I didn't even need to close my eyes to imagine it. It had all started out so normally. One day I was in the mood for something new. Someone different. I had called her and before you knew it, I was at her door. Her door swung open, and I came face to face with my tour guide. And though I didn't know it at the time, just like that, that was the start of my journey. Very shortly afterwards, I found myself cruising over the flat plains of her belly. I topped the gentle rise of her breasts. I smelled the fragrant gardens of her hair, tasted the sweet nectar between her thighs. And most of all, I luxuriated with my mouth on hers, our tongues languidly stroking. I sampled the delights that were there for the everyday average sightseer such as myself. But it was near the end of that first time, as we lay entwined on her bed, that she hesitantly asked me if I were interested in more. She told me that she had some rather special interests. Ones she knew many casual visitors wouldn't be interested in. She asked me if I was interested in helping her explore them. I listened, curious at first, and then intrigued. Was I interested? I looked down and I realized that my anatomy was betraying me. She followed my glance, and then laughed. In this business, most ladies had catered to my every whim, treated me like a king. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm hardly complaining. That was an utterly wonderful thing, and I loved it. But this was something entirely different again. She was asking me to explore her fantasies, her fetishes. To fullfill her dreams, not mine. I realized that she was asking me if I wanted to live like a local for a while. To go native. To experience her world at a deeper level than her more casual visitors. I told her, of course I was interested. I was flattered to have been asked. We talked about it a little while longer, and soon it was time for me to go. I gave her a soft kiss and hug and left with a smile. I returned, a few days later, with a small sack. I'd never done anything quite like this before. But I had taken the time to read up on it, to feel confident that I wouldn't embarrass myself. I was a quick study. I always had been. I just hoped I was quick enough this time. I gave her a kiss at the door. She smelled great and looked even better. She ushered me in, offered me a drink. She put some soft music on and sat beside me. We looked at each other for a moment. There was nothing more to say. I leaned in, touched her cheek with my hand. Her face was cool under my warm fingertips. I closed my eyes and leaned in for a kiss. Her tongue writhed like the serpent in the Tree of Knowledge, seductively calling me hither. We barely paused for breath before we started to frantically pull at each other's clothes, stripping down to our bare skin in a matter of seconds. We lay back on the bed, devouring each other like starved teenagers. It was time. "Do you still want to do this?" Her face lit up in a huge grin. "Uh, yeah!" I went to get my sack of goodies. I withdrew a spool of rope and a fistful of silk neckties. I smiled as I tied one of the neckties to her wrist, then tied the rope to the necktie. I threw the spool or rope under the bed, picked it up on the other side. I tied her other wrist with another necktie and again to the rope. She tugged experimentally with one of her hands and found she could barely move. She started to squirm and squeal with anticipation. I smiled. I needed to hurry up, or I wouldn't get to finish this before I lost my self-control. I tied her ankles with more neckties and the rest of the rope. She was spreadeagled on the bed, quivering with anticipation. She looked gorgeous, lying there. I was almost finished. There was only one last thing to do. I drew one last necktie from my sack. I brought it up to her face. Stopped. Looked into her eyes. "Do it", she hissed. I tied the necktie around her head, blinding her to the world with fine, soft Italian silk. Finally. She lay there with a smile, and I stepped back to admire my handiwork. This was what we had talked about. What she wanted me to do. But I suddenly felt a twinge of panic. I realized that I hadn't thought about what I was going to do next. I guess I had figured I was just going to do what came naturally. That certainly had never been a problem for me in the past. The trouble was, this didn't come naturally to me. For you see, I am a gentle man, and I am a gentleman. But I felt as if I was on the edge of an exciting new adventure. As if I were standing on the edge, looking down before that very first bungee jump into the darkness. I knew I was about to embark on a different kind of journey today. I leaned forward and kissed her lips softly. My tongue slipped tentatively into her mouth, and she sucked on it hungrily. I straddled her belly and stroked her shoulders, her arms, those wonderful breasts, kissing her with more and more intensity. I took her bound hands in mine and we twined our fingers, and I stretched out and brushed her chest with mine. I watched her face as she breathed heavily. Her mouth opened into an O as she reached for me. I slid up, knelt before her, slipping my cock between those red, red lips. Yes. Yes, this is what she wanted. She slurped sloppily and noisily, thrusting her head, taking me in deep. I started to gently thrust. I didn't want to choke her. But she had other ideas. She started to lunge violently, and I felt my cock slip hard into the back of her throat with every thrust. I matched her thrust for thrust. I couldn't hold back any longer. I hovered over her head, on my hands and knees as I let loose deep into her throat. She sucked and sucked, draining every last drop from me. I pulled away, already shriveling. She was still sucking and I came away with a soft pop. That was.. heavenly. But fair is fair. It was her turn now. I knelt between those tightly bound tensed legs. I stroked the insides of her thighs with my fingertips, softly kissed the insides of her knees and the soft pale skin between her thighs. I was just inches away from her labia, and it glistened as I kissed closer and closer, circled around and around as she writhed and moaned softly. I touched my tongue oh so delicately down, and her face tensed into a grimace, her lips parted, flashing brilliantly white teeth. She tensed, pulling hard against the silk binding her wrists, her ankles. Oh, I was a tease. I softly flicked with my tongue, pulled back, flicked again. Over and over again. I swirled ever so delicately, feeling her clitoris harden under my touch. I looked up and her mouth was open and she panted as I reached up and rolled her eraser-tip nipples between my fingers. I thrust my tongue deep inside, tasting her briny depths, feeling as if I was diving face first into the cradle of life, the primordeal origins of the world. She stiffened suddenly and gave out a low moan, crescendoing louder and louder. She pulled hard against her bindings and I heard a loud brrip as one ankle came free. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh FUUUCKK!!" She bucked against my head and I kept lapping, gentler now, as she shuddered in the aftermath. I reached up and removed the tie from her head, and she looked up at me with misty eyes. "Come here." And she kissed my soaked and slippery face as I reached up and untied her hands. I reached down and untied her one still bound ankle. I held her as her pulsing and shuddering slowed, then came to a stop. We were out of words. Our sighs, our caresses, the way our bodies had responded to each other had said it all for us already. I kissed her, softly now. But she knew that gentle cuddling wasn't what my body really wanted. Funny she thought that, what with my hard cock poking her in the leg. Good thing that it wasn't what she wanted either. She reached down and grasped me, her eyes narrowing and my mouth broadening into an evil grin. We both jumped up and scrambled for the condoms on the night table at the same time, knocking some of them off. But she had managed to hold on to one and she frantically tore at it, popping it between her lips as she was already moving down between my knees. She unrolled the condom onto me, hard, in a single fast stroke. She kept thrusting, harder and harder, my cock edging a little further into her throat with every stroke. There are times when the veneer of civilization falls away. Times when we are revealed for the bare step beyond wild animals that we are. And though I knew I was still that gentle man, that gentleman, I was also someone else now. I roared as I sat upright, roughly pushing her onto her back. And I grasped her wrists hard with my hands and held her down as I entered her slick wetness. It felt different to be rough and assertive with her. It was terra incognita, unknown alien lands to this traveller far from home. It felt... it felt.... good. But reflection was the furthest thing on my mind, as I plunged, as I impaled, as I assaulted her again and again. My mouth was on her, and our tongues fought their own little battle in their own slick battlefield. I let go of her wrists, and she dug her nails into my back as I grasped her neck with one hand. Fuck gentlemanliness. I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted it now. And I was just going to take it. I came and came hard, filling her with my cum. My heart was still pounding and I was still gasping for breath as I pulled away. We were both dripping with sweat. Her hair was a total mess, her makeup was reduced to smears. She lay on a bed that looked as if a bomb had gone off on it. But I still thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world as she smiled back, satiated. I'm a big believer in the adage that travel broadens you. It does, it really does. I've travelled much in the last few years. Oh, some days when I've been away I've missed my friends, my family, my home. But I've also met new friends, discovered brothers from another mother, felt at home in places I've never been before. I've seen things I'd only seen in books and television, sampled cuisines both exotic and homey, had experiences that I'd never dreamed I'd ever have. It's truly made me a better person. But the trip I had taken today, was a trip in more than one sense of the word. Who is this man that this lady has unleashed? I don't know. He has my voice and my face, but I don't recognize him. But I know I will be walking in his shoes again, with that beautiful creature, in her bed. I know I will once again be a tourist, in my own town. I'll travel figurative miles, though it will only be crossing her threshold and her living room floor. And I know we will be travelling this path together. The old me would have said we would be making this journey hand in hand. But now, it would probably be more likely that we'll be travelling with my hands on her wrists, my weight holding her down as I had my way. The ice tinkled in my drink. Yes, it's a beautiful summer evening indeed.

... and to all the ladies I haven't had the pleasure of meeting. Yet. To all my fans, my readers, and the people here that I follow and whom inspire me... A very Merry Christmas and heartfelt wishes for a wonderful holiday season, sent as the snow softly falls here in the river city. Birdboy

It's been many days and many miles since I've seen her last but it doesn't take much to get her beside me. In my imagination, anyway. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can feel her hair brushing my face again, her lips kissing my mouth. I can feel her soft skin in my hands, smell her faint perfume. I can see her smile, wide as the open prairie, when she sees me again. I can still hear her gentle laugh, caressing my ears. I blush to think of the things we've done. Things that I never had imagined I would ever do, much less relish. She's my freak with an angel's face, wanting to try more, more, more. She's both the angel and the devil on my shoulders, whispering the kinkiest suggestions in my ear with an innocent smile. But she holds me and kisses me softly afterwards as I gasp for breath, wide eyed and half in shock. I miss her, my girl. More than she will ever know. More than I could ever tell her. For you see, I can't just tell her the way I feel. I can't say that I care. I can't tell her that I've missed her. It's just not done, you see. For this business we're in is one of temporary bliss, part-time love doled out an hour or two at a time. It's just intended to be a dollop of joy to spice up my bland existence. There are no forevers, no happily ever afters. Hell, I'm never even fully sure whether she'll be around for a next time. I can't say how I feel. Because I know I would join the ranks of her ex-lovers. One of those guys who got too clingy. Too needy. Too creepy. One of the guys who was just too much trouble. So I play it cool. I make sure I leave her home with a smile, a broad ear-to-ear one that I can no more hold back than I can stop the sun from rising or the snow from falling. And I also smile when I think of her on dark winter nights such as these. But that smile is a wistful one, one she will never see or imagine I have when I think of her. No, I can't tell her the way I feel. But I can pour my heart out in these tales. And I'll joke with her the next time I see her. Great story? Thanks, yeah, it's fictional. It's kind of based on that other lady. And I'll laugh and smile again, an anxious smile, and hope she doesn't notice my eyes not quite meeting her gaze. I'll kiss her then, and we'll romp again. And I'll leave another tiny bit of myself behind. Again.

Ah, this tale is rather a late bloomer. I'd posted it a few weeks back but it seems to have newfound popularity! Thanks, everyone, for all the kind words.

You're going to need some strong arms to catch you from that height.

....perhaps you need someone to catch you.

Thanks, everyone, for all the birthday wishes! I had a quiet day that was rather more nice than naughty but it was still very pleasant all the same.

The rain fell out of the night sky with a light tapping on the car's roof as I sat waiting. I looked at my watch. She was 20 minutes late. The car's windows were already fogging over, and I pulled the collar of my coat closer to ward off the fall chill. She never used to be late. Quite the contrary, in fact. She once was thrilled to see me. You could just tell. Once, she even texted me that I should come over early, whenever I was ready. And she pounced on me as soon as I came in the door. Knocking me off balance as we collapsed onto her hallway floor, her tongue probing my mouth, her fingers already nimbly plucking at my shirt buttons. By the time we finally made it to her bed, she was wow. Just wow. But that was a long time ago. I don't know when it changed, or why, but it had with time. The last time we met up, she was just going through the motions. I could see that her mind was already somewhere far away, that she was already thinking about something just over the horizon. And the last time I tried to see her, she didn't show up at all. Oh, she apologized profusely. But she told me that in a text and wouldn't take my call. I don't think she trusted her voice not to betray her real feelings. That's okay. I heard her actions speak louder and much more plainly than her words anyway. It was a late fall evening. The darkness was enshrouding me earlier and earlier every day. It was dark now, and she was leaving me too much time alone to think. I thought of the good old days, when it seemed like we could never get enough of each other. She made me feel like she was there for me and me alone. Yeah, I know that wasn't true. At least not in this silly business we're in. But I believed it then, in the deepest recesses of my heart. So many men, and so many of the ladies in this business think that this is all about simply fucking. You know, healthy exercise, something to put a spring in your step and a glow in your cheeks. Just sex. Nothing more. Don't get me wrong. I've rather grown partial to fucking. But for me, there's so much more. It's not just about fucking. I want to feel like I'm special. I need to feel wanted. I want to feel like I'm part of the human race, that I'm not an alien observer dropped onto this planet, trying to pass as normal. She used to do that for me, once. I felt alive in her arms. Whole. I looked at my watch. She's 45 minutes late now. I don't think she's going to show up. In an instant, my phone was in my hand, ready for me to type out a quick text. I looked down for a moment before tucking the phone back into my pocket. I don't think there's any point now. I don't think that she's ever going to make me feel special, ever again. I started my car, and the windows started to defog as the fans blew. I looked up at her apartment building. Years ago, a friend gave me some very good advice. It was to never feel sorry for what had passed, but feel joy for what you had the good fortune to have appreciated. And tomorrow, I'll move on, scan those ads. Read those reviews. Call a stranger. But tonight, I need to go home and get out of my nice clothes. I put my car in gear and drove away.

I just love that she's simple. Oh, she's not dumb, not by a long shot. She has a simple heart. She's uncomplicated and down to earth, and enjoys the simple pleasures. She'd take a burger and fries over sushi any day. She'd curl up with a good book in bed over a night at the clubs. She likes spending time with her family and her elderly cats. And she likes spending time with me. After a day of my crazy outside life, seeing her is a breath of fresh air. I can just relax and be myself. This hobby is one where instant gratification is taken for granted. In spite of that, we had a surprisingly long 'courtship'. I would relish her long emails, her playing coy, her subtle tease. It surprised me that it took me so long to finally meet her. I could probably have just picked up the phone and asked if she was available. But as I've long since learned, it's the journey that matters, not the destination. But oh, what a destination. -----------------------------||----------------------------- I got out of my car. I fretted a little. Our 'courtship' had been so pleasant, so satisfying. What if I met her in the flesh and she turned out to be.. well.. ordinary? Still, I was dying to take that chance. I bounded up to her door and rang the bell. The door swung open, and she ushered me in. There she was. She was as attractive as her pictures. No, more. Her hair was more lustrous. Her eyes were bluer. Her body was even more appealing than I'd expected. She greeted me with a hug and a peck on the cheek and took my jacket. She was casually dressed, barely contained in a short skirt and light sweater. We laughed together over her fuzzy slippers and her fuzzy cats. She offered me some bottled water and we sat on the sofa. We both knew why I was there, but there was no rush. She told me about her new place and the neighborhood and I talked about the drive out to her place, the book I was reading, the movie we'd both seen. It would have been easy to forget that we weren't just two friends talking, except for her occasional laugh and quick, tight hug. Her hand started to touch my chest for emphasis as she talked, lingering just a second longer than she needed to. She's teasing me now. I'm going to need to do something about this. I smiled, looked into her eyes, and kissed her in mid-sentence. She looked surprised for just an instant, then started to kiss me back. The kisses, like our correspondence, were long, luxurious, thoughtful. Our tongues probed and touched, tenderly, with feeling. If this was the foreplay, I could only imagine about the final act. I started to unbutton her sweater, and she fumbled with the buttons on my shirt. I stopped kissing her long enough to pull her sweater off, and she reached for my belt. We left a trail of clothes to her bedroom, like multicolored bread crumbs, stumbling and giggling the whole way. Her bedroom was cool and dimly lit. I could feel her intense warmth near me. She was the warm center of the room, the pink pearl inside the oystershell-colored walls. I quickly found her warm center, and leisurely dined on the half shell. She writhed and moaned, tiny beads forming on her forehead. She froze with a final deep moan, holding me tight. She finally let go of me, tiny aftershocks reverberating. She opened her eyes and looked at me in surprise. "That never happens. Wow. I think it's your turn now.." Oh, well, OK. If you insist. I lay back beside her. Ohhh yes. My turn, my turn.. I close my eyes and relax. The evening is young and filled with promise. -----------------------------||----------------------------- This hobby should be so easy. I show up, we have what I always hope will be some mutual mind-blowing fun. I leave a little token of my gratitude, and I go. What could be simpler? But the best plans of mice and men looking to get laid oft go awry, or at least they can at times. She makes it that easy. And that's why she's become a fast favorite. Everything in life should be this simple.

Thanks. :) Thank you, porthos!

I smile when I think about that favorite lady of mine. She's so sweet. She's so pretty. But under her wholesome girl-next-door good looks, she has a playful and kinky mind. Every time I see her, she comes up with another crazy suggestion after another. She whispers them to me with a gleam in her eyes, and they're always fun. I really do think that for the crazy things she comes up with the pleasure is all hers. And who am I to deny my favorite lady her fantasies? Why, it's the gift that keeps on giving, I tell you. We play our wicked games late into the night together. But in spite of all the kink, all the wildness, there's something that I really love about her. It's that in spite of all our kinky play she still delights in a gentle kiss, a soft touch. My warm fingertips grazing the back of her neck as I set alight a butterfly kiss on those full lips of hers. We've both been at this a long time. She's a little older, as she would put it. Or a little better, as I would put it. Many men have graced her bed in all these years, and of course I've graced a few beds in my time. And though we've been getting wilder and wilder with time, she hasn't become jaded. She still delights in the simple things, as do I. It isn't easy, still holding on to that sense of wonder. I see who I could become, sometimes, when I get together with some of my friends. I know the locker room talk all too well. That macho banter that sometimes comes up whenever a few of us pooners get together. And we tip a drink or two, and sometimes the banter turns sharp and bitter. You know the lines, I'm sure. All those hos are interested in is my money. Those bitches better give me what I'm paying for. Because, you know, I'm entitled to it. And so on. I know there can be a distaff counterpart, where the ladies call us suckers. Walking ATMs. They might say that they could get away with anything and us drooling dogs will still come to call. It's been hard to take, when I've overheard it. And I can't believe it's any easier when the ladies overhear the guys. Oh, sure, there have been a few ladies who have treated me like a walking wallet. Just as I'm sure as the nose on my face, that the ladies sometimes have to put up with the smelly, ill mannered, rude clients out there. I honestly can't blame anyone who starts to feel like everyone on the other side is the stuff of dismal nightmares on a bad day. It would be altogether too easy to. It might be late in the evening and I might be glassy eyed and my speech may slur when I hear these bitter sentiments, but I just smile and nod and keep my mouth shut. I know the power these words have in forming my opinions, and I don't want to hold them. I never want to feel that way. I want to see the best in everyone. I want to believe that the lady with me is sincerely enjoying my company, that the interest isn't purely professional. Because for my lady, I'm sincerely interested in her well being. I want to know what she really thinks. I want to see the best in her, and I usually do. And perhaps because of that, my lady always sees the best in me as well. Truth to tell, it takes an effort to stay on the side of the angels. When I feel like I'm starting to get bitter, when I get down, I know it's time to take a sabbatical. I've taken a few, in my years in the hobby. My lady does the same. She isn't always available, either. I know my lady has missed me when I've been away. But I always come back, fresh and rarin' to go. I kiss her like I haven't seen her in years, and then we fuck like sailors on shore leave. And just before I leave her home, leaving her starry eyed, sweaty and panting on her bed, I kiss her softly goodbye. And she knows, it's never truly goodbye. It's just so long, till the next time.

I'll add my sincere best wishes to you, Holland, for both your retirement and your impending motherhood. Much congratulations!

And I am pleased to take your posting virginity as well, FoxyLady. ;) You're very welcome!

Thanks, Liana and Reddog. The tale was just a light one, a little bit of fun, inspired by a lady who is a whole lot of fun. ;)

I call her my cinnamon girl. I tell her that I call her that because of her red hair. It's the color of dark burnished copper, and I love the way it curls and ripples over her lightly freckled shoulders. But she also has the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, and it reminds me of a long ago and far away time, in another life. She's my little bit of sugar and spice and all things nice, with her fresh-faced wholesome good looks, her bright smile, that ineffable sparkle in her eyes. I adore her genteel ways. She's well mannered, well spoken. We josh in the summer evenings as she sits pretty in her lacy white sun dress, sipping delicately at her white wine as the evening sky turns purple and we laugh on into the night. My cinnamon girl brings me back to another simpler time. A time before white envelopes and last-minute confirmation calls. A time before reviews and references, when my world was a younger and more innocent place. I've sometimes thought that in another time, another place, in another world I could have taken my cinnamon girl home to meet my mom, God rest her soul. I forget completely that we both met because of this world. This world of loveless touch, of paid companionship. But you should definitely never judge a book by its cover. For my cinnamon girl is a real lady all right, but she's a little bit more than that. Because not far below the surface, she's also as spicy as her namesake. I discovered that one evening, after our gentle lovemaking, when we were cuddled together and sipping our wine. I don't remember anymore how we got on the subject, but we started to talk about a few of things that really turned us on. And that was how I found that perhaps her scent is vanilla and cinnamon, but there is precious little vanilla to go with that cinnamon, if you know what I mean. Oh, don't get me wrong. She's very sweet, and I'll forever relish the way that she luxuriates in my soft kisses, my gentle caresses. But behind that pretty girl next door face and those genteel manners is a freak between the sheets. Now, her eyes glint as her bedroom door closes behind us, and she knows she has me trapped there with her. And of course, I'm always happy to have her trapped there with me as well. We do things that I had never thought I'd do, with anyone, least of all this genteel lady. She enjoys them, relishes them, makes playful suggestions for new avenues to venture. I indulge her as she indulges me, as we play on into our nights and my world gets a little broader every time we meet. A dreamer of pictures, we run in the night. You see us together, chasing the moonlight, that's my cinnamon girl. As the song says, I think I could be happy, with my cinnamon girl. But I don't dare tell her that. No, that would be creepy. I just want to keep playing with her. For a long, long time.

It sounds unanimous that Wordpress is what I should be recommending. Thanks, everyone.

I was interested in setting up a blog for a friend. She'd like to make it so that only selected friends could view it. I assume that it means she'd have to make it password protected or have to administer a members list. What are her options?

A much belated thanks, everyone, for all the kind words. I've kind of been away for a while but I do appreciate the well wishes.

It was quiet in the room, except for the tocking of the ancient longcase clock in the corner. I was alone and seated in my favorite armchair. Alone, that is, except for my good friend Glen. I held the bottle of Glenfiddich as I carefully refilled my snifter, the brown liquid gurgling softly as the precious 30-year-old elixir slithered into the glass. I'm alone. But if you were to see me, you'd see my glassy eyes, hear my slurred speech. I've been having a good long talk with my friend Glen this evening already. I'm not your common, everyday, garden variety cheap drunk. I'm an expensive drunk. And tonight, Glen has made me hang up my charm and wit at the door, along with my coat and shoes. But that's OK, I'm alone and no one can see me slouch in my armchair or hear my mumbled ramblings. I was blue. Maybe it's the time of year. These summer days are so bright and the nights are so dark by comparison. Maybe it's the time of night. It's so quiet in the neighborhood in these wee hours. I have a good life. I have many things that other men would envy. A successful and satisfying career that provides a very comfortable living. Good health. Good friends. A girlfriend to die for, who adores me. But perhaps it's just our lot in life to want more than we have, to never be satisfied with riches. I know money can't buy happiness. In this hobby, it's bought me moments of pleasure beyond measure and broad grins as I've walked out the door. But as I waded back into everyday life, the bliss always soon faded. And that was OK, it came with the territory. With her, it was no different, at least at first. But with her, I became the happiest that I had been in a long time. Certainly happier than I am now. I haven't seen her for quite a while. And most of the time, I'm just fine. But when there are quiet moments such as these, I sometimes think of her. She was lovely. Always had been. And I knew I was going to get in trouble when I was finding myself more and more drawn to her, and I could feel the wispy tendrils of an infatuation starting to take root. And infatuations can be dangerous, in this hobby. Luckily, they're easily nipped in the bud. When you try to avoid them, that is. A little time away, a little perspective is all it takes. Sometimes, a little chemical assistance can help. I took another sip of the single malt. The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. And our flame burned so very brightly, too brightly to last. It blinded me to the truth, and it singed us both before burning itself out. Its cold ashes have been haunting me at moments such as these ever since. I'm allowing myself this one night to mourn. One night to wallow before I put her behind me. One night to relive those sweet moments and ponder what was. One night before I forget her and move on. I'll be alright tomorrow, in the bright light of day. I'll have my work to keep my mind and fingers busy, friends that I can call upon. People around me, every person a new conversation and a new distraction. And time will heal all wounds. And tomorrow, I'll also have a thumping in my head to distract me as well. I looked at the longcase clock, its steady tocking providing comfort to me, as it had for more years than I can remember. I could only marvel with wonder at the tales that it could tell from its two centuries of existence. I, too, will survive, like this old clock. And tomorrow is another day.

Thanks for the appreciation, everyone!

I settled into my seat by the window. It had been another great trip. I'd successfully made the sale, and even managed to catch up with some old friends. And of course, I was able to meet up with a pretty lady or two. But now, my feathered alter ego was packed away safely in my suitcase, along with the fancy clothes he wears and the cheap cell phone he uses. I was ready to take flight again. Not a flight of fancy and fantasy fulfillment this time, but a flight of another kind. A flight home, and back to my dull normal Norman life. I thought of her again. Oh, how could I not. I had already been thinking about her all morning. I sighed. I'm glad I'm leaving, for she's much too dangerous. I was the Icarus of legend, flying on my wings of feathers and wax, slipping the surly bonds of the earth and flying high. Flying recklessly close to the heat and luminescence that she was. But I recall that Icarus fell to his death, getting too close to the sun's incandescence. The feathers on his wings fell away, one at a time, until he was revealed as just an ordinary wingless man, at heights that weren't meant to be for us mere mortals. She brought me to those heights. And I leave this place with the memories of flying high with her. She worked hard, so terribly hard, to give me what I wanted. But that was my fantasy, not hers. My memories will be of the role she played, from behind that pretty mask. I unleashed volley after volley of my charms. Kind words, small deeds, subtle caresses, soft kisses. But I know they clattered uselessly to the ground, deflected by the the armor she wore to protect her heart. I leave this place, my heart touched by her. And I feel a bittersweet sadness, because I know I'll probably never touch hers. I will have to settle for the touch of her skin, my arms around her. I know I should be kind. I shouldn't harass her, make her job more complicated than it is. She gives so much of herself already. I have no right to ask for more. I need to be a gentleman. I really need to leave her alone. But at the same time, I remember that momentary flicker in her eyes, that said her armor might not be so impenetrable after all. And a small part of me would love to see that again. But that would have to be a dilemma for another day. I looked back at the city skyline through the airplane window. She's out there, somewhere. The airplane started to roll.

(Wow. I have my nerdy moments, but apparently I don't even rate. -- bb) ...................................................................................... Ah, power. You give a person too much and they will abuse it. Such is the case with Thomas Langenbach, a 47-year-old VP at Palo Alto-based software company SAP Labs, who has been arrested for the nerdiest crime in recent memory. His abuse of power: computer skill-based. It is reported that Langenbach had been using his computer savvy to reproduce bar code stickers, the kind Target uses to price their items, which he placed over the original bar codes so he could purchase LEGO at a lower cost. The multimillionaire software exec sold the LEGO sets on eBay, under the username TomsBrickYard. (For whatever it's worth, he is a top-rated seller with excellent feedback.) His seller page shows 1,475 completed sales in all, with the most recent feedback left today and the earliest dating back to May 1, 2011. NBC Bay Area reports that Langebach's home, at 8 Sudan Lane in San Carlos, CA, was searched by the police, who found "hundreds and hundreds" of LEGO boxes inside. Mr. Langenbach is expected to be arraigned tomorrow in Santa Clara County court; the official charge is four counts of burglary. It is not immediately known whether he used company computers and/or software, at any point, to facilitate the scam. http://gizmodo.com/5912141/multimillionaire-software-exec-arrested-in-lego+thieving-bar+code-scam

You're so very welcome, guys. Thank you so much!

I recently got a PM that made me smile. In it, a lady referred to me as respectable because she knew that I had visited many ladies in the business. I knew what she meant. It was that over time, I had demonstrated that I wasn't weird, creepy, dangerous. Not excessively so, anyway. At least as far as I can tell, in what could be posted publicly for broad consumption. But I jest. I know this already. I can see it in the way that ladies respond when I ask to see them. I can tell because often they don't even bother to contact the references that I'd supplied. Every once in a while, I get a subtle and sometimes not so subtle question about when I'm going to come calling. But what had made me smile is that exactly the things that have made me respectable in this world is exactly the the thing that would make me disrespectable in the outside world. Here, having seen many ladies, having well and truly sown my wild oats, makes me trustworthy. And in the outside world, that would make me untrustworthy. Associating with ladies of questionable respectability is frowned upon. Not settling down, focussing most of my attention on one woman and one woman alone. I'm comfortable in both worlds. But it is when the worlds intersect outside of me that I become perplexed. I never know where the lines are when a lady gets rather more interested in interacting outside than the paid service transaction. I struggle to find things to say when I lunch with the lady who always wanted me to do things that I could never talk about in the outside world, and I know little else about her. Perhaps it's because lately I've been spending a lot more time in the outside world than this one, that I was more conscious of these opposites. I am a different person in each world. But each of these people are both a part of me, yin and yang, mirror opposites. My hobby persona is as much a part of me as the color of my eyes, the gap in my teeth, my crooked smile. I cannot be fully me without the outlet for creative desires, and of course the more carnal desires, that he provides. So I thanked the lady of my PM for the compliment. And smiled.

Posted this one before.