Eat at Joe's

So, I am standing in line to take a leak. There are maybe 6 guys in front of me as I wait patiently. I am with my usual group, which you have already been introduced to.

That is when I notice you. You are in line for the ladies room, and either not paying attention or intentionally avoiding making eye contact with anyone. You have on a blue skirt, one of those that ride low on the hips and a full white button down top. I’m in my typical attire, boots, Levi jeans, and a bright Hawaiian shirt.

I call your name to get your attention. Your first look is that of horror, but it slowly moves to a comforting smile. We do the usual “Blah, blah” talk, but you do mention that you are on a date. We discuss the date scenario briefly. I can sense you are uncomfortable. I run through my assumption list and come up with the following:

You are afraid I will say or do something to mess up your date.

You are uncomfortable being around me, with my group.

You are uncomfortable being around me, period.

I decide to mess with you, so I think of the most obnoxious song I can which is Seal’s Touched by a Rose and I start to sing it to you …. loudly. Everyone in line is laughing, and you are very politely signaling me to stop. I don’t stop.

Finally, I see a smile on your face and you run at me. You cover my mouth with your hand to silence me and push me backwards down the hall. I notice the chef’s office and it is empty. I seize the moment, and your temporary moment of aggressiveness, and spin you into the office. Now I grab your hands and force them over and behind your head. I move in for a kiss, but you look over my shoulder and get this shocked look on your face.

I turn around to see a giant two-way mirror, showing us the restaurant. From the other side it is a mirror; from our side it is a window. We can see the entire restaurant. They cannot see us.

You look towards your table and see your date flirting with a waitress. I can see the anger build in your eyes. To me it was an innocent flirt, but to you it was obviously an issue.

We both stand there quietly looking out at the restaurant. You slowly turn your head towards me and ask if I want to have some “REAL FUN”. I admit to you that in all honesty, I was just going to mess with you, but not actually do anything. I didn’t feel it was appropriate what with you being on a date. You get this devilish grin on your face and ask again.

Sweetie, I am surprised I questioned you once. I wasn’t stupid enough to do it twice.

You move closer to me and begin to un-button your blouse. Underneath you have a VERY sheer white bra. Your nipples show clearly through the sheerness. They are wide, brown and your nipples are hard as a rock. I reach out and run my fingertip over each nipple as you reach behind you to unhook the bra. As it falls to the floor, each tit jumps out and then slides to the side. The size of your tits are amazing, each nipple is fully erect, and as you breathe they move side to side.

You kick of your sandals and stand flat-footed on the floor as you begin to undo my belt. You eyes are on me while you carefully unzip my pants and pull them down slightly, just enough to un-tuck my shirt. I begin with the top buttons as you begin with the bottom buttons. When finished you throw my shirt over your head and behind you.

That is when I notice the rack. On this rack is condiments and equipment, some of which are very interesting. There is also a microwave.

I pull my pants up so I can walk and head towards the rack. You slide up on a table with your back to the window. You begin to massage your nipples.

I grab a bottle of squeezable raspberry sauce. I stick it in the microwave and heat it for a few seconds. While it is running you put your head back and run one hand down under your skirt. You ask me to hurry up.

I retrieve the sauce and slowly squeeze some over your nipples. You moan slightly as the warm sauce runs down your chest. I begin below your tit and run my tongue up and over your nipple, licking up the sauce as I go. You run your fingers through the sauce also and put some against your lips. You pull my head form your nipple and press you lips against mine. The sauce drips from both our lips as you tongue enters my mouth.

And just that quick you push me aside and trot over to the rack. You grab a can of whip cream and begin shaking it. You mention something about raspberries needing whip cream and you spray the cream on your breast making a whip cream bikini top. You slide your finger into the cream and taste it. Then you offer some to me.

You are standing there in a blue skirt, raspberry sauce all over you; whip crème tits and your finger against your lips. It was the hottest vision I had ever seen.

Of course I walk over. I push you against the rack and begin to lick off the crème. After a few seconds, you grab my boxers and shoot this now rather cold whip cream down my shorts. It is enough to throw me off, as you pull away and run back to the table by the two-way mirror.

You watch, as your date keeps looking towards the restroom, apparently anxious for your return. I walk up beside you, looking towards my group, which still hasn’t realized I have left. We stand there for a moment, covered in cream and sauce just quietly staring, each with our own concerns.

You turn to me and look up at me. You place your hands on my face, rice up on your toes and gently kiss me.

“Make love to me one last time, before we have to go our own way” you whisper.

We stand there staring at each other. We both thought the last time was the last time. But this will be it. Two people who love to be with each other, but can’t.

“I know what you like, you know what I like, and we’re both good at it ……”

You speak as you back up to the table. You lay on the table with your head hanging off the side. I walk around and drop my boxers to my knees. As I walk up to the table, your head is upside down hanging over the edge. You reach out and grab my dick and slide it into your mouth. I place my hands along side your head and begin stroking you.

But, what I want more is to taste your pussy. So I grab your hips and slide you down the table. I climb up on the table with my thighs on each side of your head. You never release your “lip-lock” on my prick. I pull your skirt up exposing your cunt. I lower myself down and run my tongue along the inside of your thigh. You squirm slightly.

I stay on my knees, purposely not lowering my hips down on your face. This makes you raise your head up to suck me. As I slide my hands under your butt to raise your pussy up to my face, I glance back at you. I love watching my dick slide in and out of your mouth, yet this time you are looking out the window while jerking and sucking me.

I slide my tongue across your cunt. I see your scar, which I have fallen in love with over our time together. I stop just long enough to kiss it one last time. In my mind it is a beauty mark.

I slide my tongue slowly back to your pussy and push it in as far as I can. I curl it up and slide it out. I begin to feel a rush and I lower my hips down to your face and begin to start pumping you lips. I locate your spot and begin to run my tongue across it, picking up the pace with each passing second.

I slide one hand under your butt and raise you more, while gently sliding my finger in your ass. I bring my other hand up to your clit and start using my finger to massage you while I again bury my tongue deep inside of you.

I am fucking your mouth feverishly now; you have your hands on my butt pulling me down towards you. I can feel you starting to quiver and I know you are close. I use my tongue and my finger and quicken the pace even more. My dick starts to swell and my thrusts are becoming greater. I feel the back of your throat on my downward thrusts.

You begin to moan and you fold your legs up and begin to squeeze my head with your thighs. You move your hands down to my head and run your fingers through my hair. I feel you tighten up and you squeeze my head tighter while you push down on my head.

You let out a deep, “dick in you mouth” moan and briefly stop sucking on me. You juices begin to pour out of your pussy, and I am getting every drop. The I begin to feel myself beginning to cum. I am fucking you so fast and you suck me deeper into your mouth. I cum tremendously and you bring your hands up grabbing my dick and squeezing it and sucking like a vacuum. I can fill myself filling up your mouth, yet you keep on pumping me and sucking hard. I rise up to my knees and watch you suck the last drop out of me.

We roll around on the table and kiss, deeply and passionately. You gaze out the window and suddenly sit up quickly.

“He’s looking for me!”

I roll over to look out the window and I see your date heading towards the hallway we escaped down.

We both jump off the table and begin to collect our clothes. Your date begins calling your name and knocking on the restroom door down the hall. We are scrambling to find everything when he begins heading down the hall towards us.

We dash behind the door of the chef’s office just as a shadow appears in the doorway.

“Eve?”

I am quiet as a church mouse when I hear an eek from you. You are laughing and holding your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. I realize it is funny. I am standing behind a door in green boxers and white socks, with whip cream dripping down my leg while you stand topless, wearing only your skirt and looking at a white blouse covered in raspberry sauce. It is funny …… until I see your panties lying in the middle of the room.

We both go into a panic. Your date is looking directly at your panties. He walks over and picks them up. We slide a bit further behind the door. He looks around the room, and then puts the panties up to his nose. He then stuffs them in his pocket, looks around again as if he is making sure no one sees him, and then he leaves.

You look up at me and state, “He didn’t even know they were mine, the freak!”

I explode laughing, and you join in.

We walk over to the rack and find some “wet wipes”. I begin cleaning the cream off of me while you work on your blouse. I use my wipe to get some sauce off of your face. I then begin wiping down your breasts, which are now relaxed. You in turn begin to wipe the cream from my limp dick. As I rub you, your nipples become hard. As you rub me, I begin to come back to life.

You look up at me and you have “THAT” look again. I explain to you that I am nervous because we have been away from our groups for a while, and they may start missing us. I remind you that your date is searching the building for you.

You grab my dick and whisper “How quick can you fuck me?”

I am completely alive now and your tits are begging for attention. I wrap my arms around your butt and lift you off the ground. I pull you towards my crotch and you shove my prick inside your already wet pussy.

I stand there, balancing you at my waist. I am rocking front to back and you are beginning to bounce in my arms. Your head goes back and your tits bounce up and down as we bounce. I love watching your tits.

************************************************************************

I return to my table, walking about 10 steps behind you. As usual, no one knows I was gone. I glance over towards you. Your discussion seems to be going well, you decided to say you were ill and that the stain on your blouse was where you got sick. He probably won’t get a chance to notice you are not wearing panties.

Our eyes meet one last time; I smile – inside and out.

My Journal 155

An interview with a mad man.

“Triumph – Lay it on the Line”

Every listened to that song?

It is one of my all time favorites, but I haven’t heard it in a while. A friend of mine gave me a compilation CD this week and this was one of the songs. There were a lot of great tunes, but when this one began it hit me square in the face.

Ever have a song that just grabbed you?

Every now and then a song does that for me. This was one of those times. Let me explain why. I guess for most of my life I was the kind of person that “went for it”. Imagine a boxing match. One fighter is moving and dodging, carefully placing his punches while keeping up a strong defense and avoiding being hit by his opponent. The other fighter just moves one direction . . . forward. He doesn’t care about defense, dodging or being hit. He just moves in, takes his punishment, and finally explodes a monster punch.

Are you one of these guys?

I’ve always been that second guy in life. Wow, quickly looking back I’ve taken a bunch of blows. Some led to painful times while other led to embarrassment and humiliation. But it seemed like no matter what the blow led to, I just lived with it. Furthermore, I would do the exact same thing the next time around.

Is that determination or insanity?

Most people learn from their failures. But is pain or embarrassment a failure if the objective is reached? I guess my philosophy was that as long as the goal is achieved then the cost is negligible. Note that I used the word “was”. That one word is the impetus for this journal. I mentioned in a recent journal how that slowly over time, and without realizing it, I developed patterns. As I was listening to this song and thinking to myself that this is definitely me; I realized that slowly over time I have become less direct and more of a dodger. That song is no longer about me!

Do you wonder why that is?

I have no idea when or how it happened. But today I stop and think before I speak. I am concerned about what people will think of me and my word choice. Maybe I just got punched so many times that I unconsciously drifted into being discreet. I recall a great line from another movie I love, which is Rocky II. Balboa has decided that he won’t fight anymore. He is now married and has a kid on the way; so he wants a normal job. During one interview the owner tells Balboa that he has no education or skills; and asks him why he doesn’t just go back to fighting. His response sort of may explain my predicament.

“Have you ever been hit in the face 200 times a night? After a while it sort of starts to sting!”

Is this change a good thing or a bad thing?

Hmmm, that question is a tough one. When I was direct and forceful I did take a lot of blows, but they didn’t faze me much back then. I always knew where I stood with everyone and there was never any confusion or questions. I REALLY LIKED THAT. As you already know, the worst thing you can do to me is leave me not knowing the truth. I guess that now my face doesn’t sting anymore. But the trade off is that now I have SO MANY things that confuse me and that I question; but can’t resolve. That is maddening!

So I guess the real question is do you prefer pain and humiliation, or maddening confusion?

I’ve always been told that I was definitely not normal. The common words associated with describing me have been “off”, “strange” and of course “crazy”. I believe that other people see the real you and what you see in yourself may be a skewed image. If that is true then perhaps I am partially insane. If I accept that as true, then going mad shouldn’t be a struggle. My challenge is that I am also aggressive, and when I get REALLY confused I tend to explode. When this happens I usually dump on an innocent person simply because they are nearby. That’s not fair or good.

It sounds like you are choosing the pain and humiliation?

Well, that’s not necessarily true either. I mean maybe I did just get tired of pain and humiliation. If that is the case then we could make the argument that I need to put my big boy pants back on and be a man. But maybe this change is because I found some people that I genuinely care about, which is something I’m not accustomed to feeling. Maybe I don’t want to have them leave my world because I’m in their face too much or too forcefully. Maybe I am adjusting myself because my surroundings have changed.

So, how does your prognosis play into this?

That could be a very real point. Maybe my problem is progressing and I am slipping deeper into empty memories and misguided thoughts. Maybe I am going insane faster than my brain is dying. I mean I am dying anyway, so perhaps I should just become a recluse and leave people with the memories of me they way I was, and not what I am becoming. I’ve been alone most of my life so that would be an easy out for me.

Would that really be fair to those that care about you?

I guess if they get pissed for my actions, well I won’t know about it. But then again all we have in life is what we leave behind. I do think that over the years I touched some lives and made my mark a few times. But I hope people will find comfort with the words I leave behind. I write like I am. I keep it confusing and distant, to protect them. But if someone took the time to really try to understand my words, then they will understand my actions. But so many people are so busy with their life; I doubt this will happen often. For those that think I did this for me, well they obviously didn’t know me and won’t care about my actions. So my answer is yes, it would be fair to all.

Have you considered clearing up the confusion before this time comes?

I think about it all day every day. Even though I hadn’t realized I had changed and possibly caused this confusion myself, it is still always on my mind. Sometimes I just want to grab people and shake the shit out of them. And sometimes I want someone to care enough to grab me and shake the shit out of me too. I guess I don’t know if I will do this or not. I’m so tired of pain.

It sounds to me like you want to give up. Do you want to give up?

Gee, it does sound that way doesn’t it. When I first found out, I boldly stated that I will survive this. I mean look at all the times I should have died and didn’t. I’m not a quitter and I still have plenty left to do; and something I need to do. So I’m not giving up on me. I am debating how to interact with people. And I am perplexed if I am having a rational thought anymore; that’s all. I’ve always said I trust my gut and nothing else. But I wonder if my brain can’t interpret the message my gut is sending anymore.

So you are not giving up . . . but you are running, right?

Sure I am running. But the question is am I running from something or running to something. You seem to think that I am running from being honest and direct; and that the reason is either that I am fed up with being punched or that I have people around me that I don’t want to lose. And maybe all that is true. But the fucked up part is that no matter what I do, I lose them anyway. If I can realize that, then doesn’t it make sense that I could be running to move them out of the way of the next punch? Maybe it's my one last brave action. This is where I need my thoughts to be certain, but they just can’t get there. My brain is fading fast. I can't see people in my mind anymore. I know a name, but can't place their face to them. It's very hard to lose them while they are still here

Ok, tomorrow will you take the punch yourself or dodge it to save face?

My world has always been about the here and now. I’ve never worried much about tomorrow. So I have no idea what I will do tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Wow!

Tomorrow!

That used to be what kept me going. I guess when you know you only have so many more tomorrows to go, you immediately view today differently. I guess that is why people are always too busy; they have their tomorrow. And tomorrow they can smell the roses, watch the sunset, tell someone that they care, or take a walk down a beach. So they put people off, shut them out, and miss out on today. Then they wake up one morning and realize that they have lost someone they loved. Now that is sad.

Maybe I should just tell them that tomorrow isn’t a guarantee.

I have to go now, I have things to do.

Wait! I have one last “personal” question. Do you think that you will be missed?

Shit! If someone didn’t miss me today, then they damn sure won’t miss me tomorrow!

I really need to go now, what do I owe you?

ONE MORE FIGHT?

My Journal 154

Here is a funny anecdote for you. I told you I was giving up on discussing the events that happen in my life, like my weekend adventures. Yet I have received emails from most of you asking me those specific questions. I guess I feel more comfortable discussing my private life via email, and only with those that ask about it. But I will reconsider my previous decision.

One thing I have noticed is that once I stopped writing about my adventures, you have all been contacting me more frequently. That I enjoy. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own BS that I forget to stay in touch, that’s when I am thrilled to hear from you. This thought will also play into my reconsideration of my previous decision.

Do I sound like a lawyer or is it just me?

I was listening to a baseball game yesterday and the old movie BULL DURHAM came to mind. There is a scene where Kevin Costner is stating all the things he loves, like long soft kisses that last for days. So today I decided to list all my loves, but since it is me I will limit this list to things I love to do with a female that I care about.

Things I Love:

Long, private conversations where I can learn about your life, your loves, and you fears.

Holding hands, walking arm in arm, hugging, or other forms of innocent touching.

Dancing.

Watching you laugh.

Reading your reactions to things I do and analyzing what you may be thinking.

Confusing you by hiding what I am thinking and watching you struggle to figure me out.

Memorizing everything about you.

Putting you totally at ease, and watching as you relax.

Watching how you interact with outside stimuli, such as friends that pass by, calls that come in and messages that you receive.

First kisses.

Feeling happy inside when I see you.

Being nervous.

Seeing how you dressed, knowing you would see me, and trying to figure out if you wore it for me.

Asking personal questions to see your reaction.

There are probably more, but this is what came to mind quickly. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment I am going to kick back and reminisce about being out with each of you and remembering those moments.

Ok, I’m back.

I’ve got a LOT on my mind so that short break was nice. Like the old saying goes, “Some shit never dies!”

Lastly, I’ve got a Frank story. If you recall, Frank was the guy I met in Afghanistan. He was Army Special Operations. We were exact opposites except for the fact that we both we brutally honest and direct. So we became friends. He lived in Kemah for the past 15 years, so we were able to keep in touch. He was the one person I completely trusted.

(No offense ladies)

When he started his business, he asked me if I wanted to make a few bucks here and there. So I went buy one weekend to meet some of his guys. Now Frank knew the story about me in Africa. So when one of the guys questioned me as to how I would be able to function when I was weak, sick, or injured; Frank spoke up. He told the guy I was held for over 10 days. The guy looked at me and asked, “Wow, how was that?” Frank gave a reply that ended all conversation and enamored me into the group. He turned to walk back to the house and simply said:

“LOTTA PEOPLE DIED”

Have a SUPER weekend . . . . and think about me once. (Twice would be better)

a-ya  a-s-gi  v-hna-I  ni-hi  a-sv-na-s-di  ~  a-ga-li-ha

My Journal 153

It is a crowded bar. You are with our friends, enjoying some libations and music. A male walks up to you and asks, “Hi, my name is XXXXXX. Do you want to go somewhere and have sex?”

I know that we’ve already discussed the inequities between what the females can ask and what the males can ask. But it’s my page so we can revisit anything I want.

I would feel extremely confident that the answer to the above question would be more physical than verbal. You might shout some obscenities but more than likely the guy would be slapped or punched. Well, maybe a few of you would say yes; but let’s assume we are dealing with girls that have their sex drive in check.

I believe that there are acceptable questions that can be asked in this situation. So let’s look at some of these and do a comparison.

“Would you like a drink?”

Ok, that is a simple and basic question that we should all agree would be acceptable. But let us all be honest here. Does anyone believe that the guy asking this question REALLY just wants you to have more fluids? Granted, he could be a medical student and may have observed that in the midst of your dancing and flirting you could have lost some fluids. He may simply want to hydrate you for your own health. But short of this scenario, he is attempting to get in your good graces – so he can charm you – so he can sit close to you – so he can seduce you – AND so he can have sex with you.

If we all know that this is the MASTER PLAN; then why go through the hassle of disguising the intent, creating deception, and basically having to sit up and beg?

“Would you like to dance?”

Ok, tell me the difference between dancing and having sex. Albeit one you do with your clothes on and one you probably do with no clothes on, you could dance naked or have sex with clothes on. (Yes, I’ve done both). Aside from that, you are alone with the guy – his hands are on you – you are sharing sweat – you are moving in a rhythmic manner – and you are getting physical pleasure. And don’t tell me, “Oh, but we are not kissing.” Seriously, I’ve had more sex where there never was a kiss than when there was kissing.

I suggest to you that dancing is a half step away from having sex. So how many times have you punched a guy for asking you to dance?

I can come up with a few more, but I hope I’ve made my point. As a woman why don’t you bring this up at your next all woman conferences? Suggest that in the future all women agree that making us poor and defenseless males jump through hoops just to get a piece of tail has continued for long enough.

And being me, from now on I will risk the slap to the face. If I see a hot chick, and I want sex, I’ll just ask for it right up front.

[GULP]

Ok, speaking of dancing . . . .

You have all heard that sports used to be my life, and I was better than average at most. You have also heard that I used to enjoy boxing / cage fighting until my head injuries. And some of you know about my past life. But here is something new.

I love to dance.

When I was a child my mom had me take piano lessons, singing lessons and dance lessons. As a child I took ballroom dancing and modern dance (Modern dance being back in the sixties). Out of this class I was asked to audition for the UP WITH PEOPLE tour. This was a group of grade school kids that would travel across Texas and put on singing and dance shows to raise money for children’s charities. I was selected.

I had one act where I was the lead singer. (When my voice changed I lost all my ability to carry a tune though). I was also a background dancer in four other pieces. You probably never heard of this tour, but it was big in the late sixties and early seventies.

When I had my leg destroyed I was placed in a rehab program. My mom decided that this program would strengthen my leg, but I needed something to get my balance and agility back. So she signed me up for ballet.

Stop laughing!

In High School I entered a few ballroom dance contests and place in the top three each time. Then came college, where I met my dance partner. We would enter every dance contest we could find. As I am writing this I am struggling to remember her name. Crap, we studied together, practiced together, danced together, and “boinked” together for a semester; but I can’t remember her name.

Oh well, if I remember correctly we won seven Disco Dance contests and four Country and Western Dance contests. Even when we weren’t competing, we both loved dancing so we would go out about twice a week. To this day I still have this urge to dance.

Thinking about it, I have danced with most of you at one time or another. I remember about a year ago I asked one of you to go C&W dancing to a place up north of town. I never got a response. I ended up going to a Latin club with LL that night. They were doing some Latin / Salsa step that I had never done before. I asked LL to show me and teach me, but I was laughed off of the floor. She told me I was useless.

Ha! So I grabbed her and went to the club I wanted to go to in the first place. And yup, they had a Country and Western Dance contest that night. Now LL had never two stepped before in her life, but I was going to prove to her that I can teach anyone to dance. We had two “practice” spins, and we pretty much sucked. But when the pressure was on, I told LL to just hang on to me and don’t fall, I’d do the rest.

We got third place. And LL wasn’t too bad considering it was her first time. I still got it!

Hopefully now, if I ask you to dance, you will accept. I will not embarrass anyone.

Or maybe I’ll just ask you for sex?!?!? I’ve been told I am pretty good at that too!!!!!

My Journal 152

I have left you a couple of my old writings this week. I seriously can’t tell you how happy I am to have found these writings. I am literally on cloud nine today. I guess at times in life everyone gets lost. I know that I have been lost. These words have kind of reminded me of the good things life can bring, because they were written during some good times in my life.

I will share more, but over time. I need to read through them myself as well. And some of these have NEVER been shared, so I have this concern about sharing them now. I will definitely keep you informed.

So, no one wanted the answer to my riddle. Perhaps you are so smart you all figured it out on your own. Well, good for you. But if you couldn’t figure it out and want the answer, let me know. Just remember, it will be a trade.

Geez, today all I have is questions. Do you ever have weeks like that? No matter what it is, it’s not clear. Yet in spite of this, I still have a topic for today.

How did makeup, lip gloss, eyeliner, and the rest of that crap ever get a start?

Women use a bunch of stuff when they want to go out in public. Men do not. Well, real men do not. I’ve heard that some men use different crap. But I don’t count those strange birds. As for me, I shower (NEVER take a bath, it’s like soaking in your own grime), I wash my hair with soap, I shave without shaving cream, use antiperspirant / deodorant, a touch of cologne and I’m good to go. I don’t blow dry my hair or touch up anything.

I realize that the current standard is for women to put on a ton of stuff to “make them look nice”. But I can’t fathom how this process started. I mean at one point in history I figure that no one wore any type of makeup (I’ll use that word to describe all the things women currently use). So one day, someone got the bright idea to rub some type of muck on their face and they liked it?

Really?

I bet some horny guy happened to walk by at that precise moment and in an attempt to get laid he mentioned how nice she looked in the muck. But ladies, more than likely it was just a line.

I guess that is how it began. Sure, I probably could do some research but I have far more important challenges on my plate. But it had to be this specific event, or something very much like this, that occurred at some point in history. What makes it more odd to me is that someone saw this person wearing muck on their face and thought, “Hmmm, I should do that too”. And thus it began.

The next thing we know is that all females had muck on their face.

When you look at it that way, I hope we can agree that it sounds sort of strange. Seriously, get past the typical norms and think about it. It’s a strange thing to do. And why did women adopt this odd practice? Now don’t bite my head off, but on our planet and in most species, the male is far more colorful and beautiful. So we decided that in the human species we wanted to try to make the women the more beautiful of the sexes.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to see a woman all made up. And I am definitely NOT saying that the male sex of the human species is more beautiful than the female sex. I just wonder if in the feline species, if the brain was more advanced, would the female lioness want to wear a head-dress or something?

I definitely have not discussed this with other males. So anything I come up with is simply my own odd and illogical thoughts. But in my own personal opinion, there is nothing more beautiful than a woman wearing a tank top and jeans, hair drip dried, and zero makeup or perfume. Women are beautiful just like they are, although I do approve shaving miscellaneous body parts. I have a list if anyone is interested.

So I wonder who told YOU that you had to wear makeup?

And the volume of things that women do today to “cover themselves up” is unconscionable. As I think about it I don’t think I have ever seen any of you without your makeup. If you chose to go out on day without makeup, you could probably walk right by me and I wouldn’t know it was you. I just don’t get it ladies. What if the males all wore ski masks EVERY time we went out. Would you consider that unfair?

You would met a new guy and really have no idea what he looks like without his ski mask. You would have to base you decision to interact with him on his personality. OK, you would probably notice the body as well, but the face is sort of important, right?

Well, that is what you are doing to us. And isn’t it a pain in your ass to go through this multiple times a day? Wouldn’t you love to hop out of bed in the morning and just go? I’m sure you would. So if you want to do it, and the males want you to do it, why aren’t you doing it?

My BIGGEST beef is with lipstick. I really love the feel of a bare lip. I don’t want to taste cherry lip gloss, I want to taste YOU! Plus you get that darn lip gloss all over everything. Should I mention that it permanently stains boxer shorts?

[I guess that is the perfect example for the phrase “Getting there is MORE than half of the fun!]

OK, I know that none of you are going to change. And I am not silly enough to ask you to change just when you are around me. But I will ask a favor of you. If you want to make out with me, go easy on the lip stick. Deal?

And once again, WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL WITHOUT MAKEUP!

 . . . . and even more beautiful without clothes!

My Journal 151

My weekend went very different than planned, but I don’t discuss it here, right? Anyway, most of you already know.

I told you that I found some of my old stories last weekend. I lost most of my work due to a computer crash about two years ago. But I found some on an old laptop. So instead of discussing my weekend, here is a story I wrote in 1995 I think. I hope you enjoy.

The Savior

“Why am I here”, she thought. Tom asked me to come with him, and it didn’t make sense then. It makes less sense now.

Before, when I was married to Tom, or at least in the beginning, there was love and passion. But Tom chose gambling and drugs over me. We grew apart and I finally left him to protect myself from his downfall.

But now he is trouble again. He called me to go with him to this meeting for support. He didn’t tell me what the meeting was about or anything, just that he needed me to go. And, like a fool, I agreed. So her I sit here in a dump of a Mexican Restaurant at a table with Tom, and this guy who looks like the Mexican version of the Godfather and his friend who is huge and scarred up.

Tom brought two of his friends, who are standing behind us. This Godfather guy has three guys in the room; another at the kitchen door and another standing out front letting people know the restaurant is closed tonight. We are the only ones in the restaurant. There is a lot of tension in the air, a lot of nervousness and I am the worse. So, why am I here?

The guy with the scars looks up from his plate and asks Tom if he brought the money he owes. He stares straight at Tom and then states that not having it would be VERY bad. Tom begins to fidget; he does that when he is very nervous. He shakes his head “No” and begins to explain.

“I know it is due today, but I need another week. I have a certain opportunity which will clear all this up, but it will take a few days to pull everything together.”

Everything got REAL quiet then. Tom was staring at the Godfather and I was staring at Tom, just screaming in my mind ‘how could you have brought me into this situation!’

The scarred guy looks over his shoulder at one of his guys, and the guy begins to approach the table. Tom is sweating profusely. At that moment, I hear a noise behind me. I am afraid to turn my attention from the table, but I find myself looking back over my shoulder.

In walks this tall, menacing figure slowly making his way over to the bar area, which is only about 20 feet from our table, but behind everyone. He is wearing a black Stetson and dark black sunglasses. He is in black jeans, a black shirt and a floor length black leather coat which just shows his black boots. He appears oblivious to the surroundings and the group in the area. But he is now the most frightening figure in the place.

As I turn my attention back to my present situation, the Godfather looks up at this man and tells the scarred guy to take care of this. The scarred guy stands up and waves his hand at the three guys behind him, signaling them to move forward.

“Hey”, he shouts at the intruder, “This place is closed for a private meeting!”

The intruder just ignores his statement as he reaches the bar, leans over and grabs a bottle and a glass. He calmly pours himself a drink and proceeds to sit on the bar stool and stare straight at the scarred guy without saying a word. There is no fear in his face, just a rugged, cold stare.

“I said we are closed!” he repeats, “Now get the fuck out of here!”

His three goons are still moving towards this intruder, and now I see that they have guns. One has what looks to be an automatic rifle at his side.

“I said get the hell out of here NOW!” he quickly repeats as he points toward the door.

The intruder finally speaks, “I was invited.” His voice is country, and deep. His words exude the same confidence his figure gives. The place goes dead silent again.

The scarred man turns to one of his guys and tells him to find out what happened to Roberto, the guy at the front door and why he let this guy in. He then tells the other two to get this guy out of here.

“Hang on!” the intruder interrupts, “The guy at the door DID tell me not to come in, and he was insistent. Unfortunately, I had to change his attitude ….. so he won’t be joining us ….. forever!”

His words echoed throughout the room, and sent a chill down my spine. This was becoming too real. This was becoming a deadly situation. This intruder had brought more tension to the room. I again began to wonder why Tom would bring the mother of his children to such a place and such a situation.

The Godfathers face was growing increasingly disturbed. He appeared very mean and was growing impatient with the intruder. Everyone else, including the scarred guy was frozen at the intruder’s statement. So, the Godfather rises up from his plate and throws his napkin on the table. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he sternly inquires.

The intruder calmly takes a sip of his drink and places it back on the counter.

“Who I am isn’t important, I’m nobody. What I am doing here is what I have been sent to do; and that is to protect the little lady from you. I am her bodyguard, and I am very capable of keeping her safe. I’m not here to interrupt your meeting, just to watch over things. But, I do want that asshole sitting next to her to explain to her the real reason that she was brought here tonight.”

My face went flush as he spoke. Everyone in the place turned to look at me, as if I knew anything about this at all.

Tom glared at me and spoke “You hired a bodyguard? For what?”

I quickly began explaining how I had never met this intruder before, how I didn’t hire him nor did I know how to hire a bodyguard, and that I am as much confused as everyone else when the intruder interrupted me.

“Hey Asshole!” He points at Tom and Tom spun around in his chair to face him. “Quit asking questions and tell her why you brought her or I will!”

I looked at Tom and he was looking at me nervously. “Honest, I have no idea what he is talking about.”

The intruder stands up and takes a step towards Tom. “You are such a prick” he exclaims as he points at Tom. He then turns his attention to me and continues. “Sweetheart, you are here today simply as ‘chattel’. You ex over there cannot pay his bills, so he has made a deal with ‘big and ugly’ across from you that he will leave you with all of them for the week as a down payment for him getting another week to pay them off. Yup, he was going to let you suck every guy in this room, or whatever he wanted for an entire week without your consent, just so he could get another week to pay his debt. Lady, your family found out and hired me to get you out of here. I am a professional, but I didn’t come here to kill anyone, just to protect you. Now I will say this, if anyone else needs to die, it is your fuckin’ ex. And, I’ll do him for free.”

His words were so direct that I hated to move my eyes from him, but I had to look into Tom’s eyes for the truth. His eyes were scared, which let me know it was all true. I was a whore for all these guys just so Tom could walk out of here.

“How could you?” I asked Tom as I felt myself tearing up.

Tom didn’t answer; he just looked at the Godfather with those pleading, lying eyes of his.

The Godfather looked angrily at the scarred man and reminded him that he was told to take care of the intruder. The scarred man pulled a revolver from his belt and pointed it at the intruder. In an instant, the intruder whipped out a short shotgun from under his coat and an automatic weapon from the other side. Then everyone pulled out weapons. Everyone was pointing weapons at someone else, moving from one person to another. There was a lot of shouting between everyone until the intruder calmly spoke again.

“Ok, everyone calm down. If we get too silly now a lot of people are going to die needlessly.”

The room became deathly quiet. The intruder calmly pointed his automatic at the Godfather and his shotgun at the back of Tom’s head. Tom was sitting facing away with his eyes closed and his hands nervously on the table. The intruder looked directly at the Godfather and continued.

“You have only two choices right now big guy. You can let me walk her out of here and you continue you meeting with the asshole, and I could care less what you do with him. The other choice is you refuse and your entire world ends right here, right now. Sir, I am good at what I do, and she WILL leave here safely. All you’re deciding is your condition when she leaves!”

Oh my god, all I wanted to do was hide. Eight men pointing guns at each other and I am right in the middle of it all. How could Tom have done this? Why? I sensed my death was near and my only hope was a stranger in a cowboy hat; a stranger whose voice sounded surprisingly familiar.

“The deal is done for the girl already.” The Godfather snapped. “I am going to finish my meal and then this bitch is going to do me. When I am finished, then these guys can take her and do whatever they want. I will get my money’s worth out of her ass!” he slammed his fist down on the table.

In a blink, the kitchen door swung open and a man fired a single shot. I dove on the floor as shots began to ring out all around me. The noise was deafening. I covered my head, closed my eyes and began to pray.

I heard dishes breaking, people screaming, and the sound of bodies dropping to the floor. The shots seemed to get louder as I began to shake. I felt myself losing consciousness and began to wonder if I was hit and didn’t know it. All I felt was fear. I have two kids at home and they may never see me again. How could this have happened? Lord, please spare my life.

It wouldn’t stop. Bang, bang, bang. Boom, pow. I have never been so scared in my life.

Then, in an instant it all stopped. No noise, no yelling, nothing. I was now more frightened than before. My ears were ringing from the noise but I could make out footsteps. The fight was over, and there was a survivor.

“Get up asshole!”

I recognized that voice, it was the intruder. I opened my eyes and pushed my way out from under the table. My first sight was of horror. Bodies were lying all over the place. Blood was splattered all over also. I noticed that I had blood on me also. I wasn’t hit; I think it was the Godfather’s. The room smelt of gun smoke. It was like a smoke filled morgue.

I saw the intruder. He was standing over Tom pointing a gun at him. Tom stood up with his hands in the air begging not to be killed. The intruder spoke.

“You are the only guy who needed to be killed today. Because of you ALL the others died. The only reason you are alive is because she once loved you enough to marry you. So because of her I spared your life. But, don’t ever go around her again. I will not give you a second chance. Now, you sit here and wait for me to leave. And don’t speak a word to anyone or I will find you.”

With that said, he turned to me and extended his hand to me. As I reached for his hand I noticed a small trickle of blood on his hand.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

He said nothing; he just took my hand and helped me around and over all the bloody and dead bodies. We walked outside together. I noticed it had started to rain and the temperature had dropped. I was shaking all over. I thought I was going to pass out. I began to cry, but this intruder, my intruder; my suddenly familiar intruder remained silent.

He opened the door to his car to let me in. He walked to his side and got in also, but very slowly as if in some sort of pain. I again asked if he was all right. He again remained silent. As he drove I noticed he was grimacing. I could see lines of pain in his face, but I still couldn’t see his eyes. His silhouette looked familiar though.

We drove to a bus depot where he stopped the car. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, which he lit with a match he struck on the dashboard. He then took a deep drag and laid his head back relaxing while he exhaled. He suddenly seemed peaceful. I was afraid to do anything, and I was trying to understand him.

He reached out to me and handed me a $100 bill.

“This should get you where ever you need to be. You are safe now, just like I promised.”

We sat silently for a moment while he took another drag on his cigarette, completely ignoring me. I opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. I looked back at him and asked.

“Who are you? How did my friends find you?”

“You already know me. That is how I found you, your mom called me.” The intruder responded.

“But who are you?” I asked again straining to get a glimpse of his face. The car was dark and he was in the shadows, still wearing a hat covering his eyes and his sunglasses.

He slowly removed his dark sunglasses and turned towards me. His face appeared from the streetlight above. His features were strong, yet kind. I realized that I did know him. I actually knew him well. He was my best friend; the man who held my head when I would cry about Tom. The man who showed up at Christmas the first year I was alone bringing gifts for my children. The man who used to call me daily, but quit. My heart leapt as I looked into his eyes. I should have known.

But my warmth quickly turned to horror as I saw blood pooling on the seat next to him. He was hurt, he was bleeding to death.

“Oh my god, you are hurt. Let me help you!”

He stopped me from entering the car by gently pushing me back. “I’m already dead.” He gave me a quick but fake smile and a wink. “I loved you sweetie. I tried everything to make you see that. You just ignored me. You avoided my calls, you avoided my questions, and I was trying to warn you. But in spite of all that, I could never let you be hurt. Anyway, if I can’t have your love, what is the point of staying here?” His face tightened as he grabbed his stomach and gently moaned. His hand was covered in blood now.

Then he reached across the seat and slammed the door closed. I yelled back at him. “What calls did I miss? How did I ignore you? How could I have known you cared?” I banged on the window as I watched him slowly and painfully put the car into gear. He fell forward on the steering wheel as he drove away. I ran beside the car screaming for him to stop, I wanted my chance to tell him how I felt.

But it was too late.

He finally picked up speed and his car disappeared into the fog.

I sat down and cried.

I never saw my friend again. I never saw anything about my ordeal on the news or in the paper. I never saw Tom again either. I realized that I was so busy and focused on my problems that I missed perhaps the greatest thing that could have come into my life. I went home that night and hugged my kids.

My mother said that she never heard of my intruder and that she had no idea this was going on. No one had sent him to me. He came for me out of love. My intruder, my friend, my bodyguard, my lover that got away ………. died that night. He died cold, bleeding, and hurting.

What hurt me the most is he died alone, and that I could have changed.

But, he did what he said he would do and he got me home safe. I will never be too busy or ignore anyone that cares for me again.