If I Had Tears Left To Cry

You and I have seen a lot of friends lowered into the ground haven’t we, Jake. We have shared a lot of good times together haven’t we, Jake. Got away when we shouldn’t have, gotten by when we shouldn’t have. We have shed a lot of tears together though, haven’t we, Jake. I honestly never thought I would see you lying there like that.

Christ, it seems like yesterday when we were racing tricycles, burning bugs with magnifying glasses, touching our first women. I remember the thrill, we were becoming men, and I could see it in your eyes. They were so bright, that was our time. I would give my life to have those days back, Jake, I swear to God I would. Looking at you lying there, I can’t help but feel some of the blame. I showed you the needle, and I remember it so well. I will carry that memory in my nightmares. That moment will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I tried to cry Jake, I really did. Please, my friend, please believe me. I tried so hard but no tears formed in my eyes. There are none left to cry. We have seen too much, I never thought we would be looking at each other like this. There is no life in your face, no smile. Jesus, Jake, what have we done? How did we get here? How come I couldn’t say goodbye? How come I can’t cry?

We had gone our separate ways along time ago; I couldn’t live that life anymore. I never meant to hurt you, to betray you. It was my fault; I know this now and can do nothing to stop my guilt. I tried so hard to cry, Jake, will you please believe me. I can feel the guilt setting in. I will bear this burden for the rest of my life, I may die but it will pass on to my children and their children’s children.

I murdered part of you when I brought you into this life. I escaped, you did not. Look at where I sit, in my room alone, writing…drinking…trying to cry, but no tears will form. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to your parents; I will never understand how they feel. It is pointless to pretend. It is wrong to imagine myself having something to lose. We had nothing to lose, Jake, but you lost it all didn’t you. I told you to never have any regrets but I was lying the whole time, Jake. I love you. I miss you. I am sorry. I would give my life to go back now, Jake, I swear to God I would. I swear to God I would. You will never know how sorry I am until I see you someday, but even then I will never be able to explain.

Jake, I love you. I am so sorry. I will never forgive myself and I know neither will the guys. We all love you and we miss you so much.

I am sorry, Jake, that I had no tears left to cry.

Story Time Part 2

I’m going to tell you a story.

This story is about a girl named Louise. I met Louise about two and a half years ago in Paris. I had arrived in France shortly before my birthday in February of 2006 to study and travel until August. I had been “officially” seeing M for about 7 months. Planning for this trip had been under way for more than a year, but when that plane lifted off from the greater Cincinnati airport, I had no idea what I was in for.

There were eight of us from my university who were going to stay at a dorm for international students on the south side of Paris called Cite Universitaire. A quick side note…I have no idea how to make accents on my computer, so my apologies to any French speakers for my lack of proper punctuation. Now, the CU had kids from all over the world who were staying for differing lengths of time, people were constantly coming and going. Luckily enough, two of my best friends had come on the trip too, so the three of us were going out with different people all the time, meeting new faces every night.

Louise was a girl that we met at in a bar directly across the Seine from Notre Dame about a week after we got there. She was from Lyons but had been living in Paris and studying at the Sorbonne for the past year. Her English was not great, but my French was basically nonexistent, so most of our conversations took place in broken English. It turns out she was living with her cousin Renee four stops to the north of us on the RER B which stopped right down the street from the CU. All throughout the winter the two of them would come by to drink wine, socialize and smoke hash.

By the time the trees started budding we had been seeing each other almost everyday. We spent hours in cafes, went on numerous visits to the Louvre, went shopping, drinking and partying like we had known each other for years. Her English had gotten remarkably better and I, the “ugly American,” as she called me, was learning some more French. I had forgotten all about my girlfriend stateside, whom I was calling once a week at best. I imagine it was not easy on her, but she gave me my space.

By the time June rolled around we had spent nearly three months spending time together everyday. It goes without saying that there was a sexual tension building between us which we were both beginning to recognize. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in the tone of her voice and feel it in the goodbye kisses to the cheek, which were no longer on the cheek. She would give me a little peck good bye instead of the customary cheek to cheek kisses, which eventually began to drive me mad. I think, however, that I was not the only one.

Let us take a moment for descriptions sake. Louise was goddamned hot. Yeah, I’m sorry for the bluntness, but the woman fucking was the epitome of sexiness. She had long black hair and dark brown eyes and about the tightest little body I had ever seen in my life. We would walk down the boulevards arm in arm and I felt like I was the hottest shit since sliced bread. Adding to her sexiness was her ridiculous sense of style, I have never been that concerned with fashion and such, but this woman looked fucking perfect every time we went out. Anyway, back to the story…

She had spent the night in my dorm and I in her apartment a few times after drinking a little too much wine, but nothing had ever happened. Honestly, I was too scared to make a move, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on and I did NOT want to fuck it up. She would lay there and we would talk until one of us passed out and left the other one to sweat in the ridiculous night heat. One morning we had woken up and she was wrapped around me, we were both covered in sweat. She got up and I watched her pull up her jeans over her perfectly rounded ass. I just about lost it. She leaned in to kiss me goodbye and lingered a bit longer then normal, I thought I was going to pass out. I went back to sleep before class and the smell of her on my sheets was absolutely intoxicating.

The next night a bunch of us went out to sit on the steps of the Sacre Coeur cathedral, mingle with the tourists, drink wine and hang out. Louise and Renee met us there after an hour or so and I swear to God she looked like an angel. She was more dazzling than I had ever seen her before and that was fucking saying something. She leaned in to kiss me hello and told me that she wanted to leave soon, she said, “I think, can we go to the…how do you call it…um…ah the roof, tonight a le Cite?” I told her I would love to do that, so we hung out for a bit before heading for the Metro back to the Cite. All I could think was, “something is definitely different with her tonight,” her walk was confident, as if she had just won the lottery, and she was constantly playing with her hair. Something was up; as I typed in my code to the front door my heart began beating furiously.

We sat on the roof and talked for nearly four and a half hours, watching the Eiffel Tower light up at the beginning of every hour and drinking wine until we were silly. She had been awfully touchy feely and I had to tuck away numerous boners over the course of the conversation. Then she absolutely blew my mind. “Do you like me, Fromage (cheese in French); do you want to have me?” I choked on my wine and about fell of the roof, “Uh…um…yeah…yes yes of course,” couldn’t have sounded stupider. She stood up and kissed me, my mouth melted into hers, I had dreamt of this exact moment nonstop since I arrived in France and it was finally here. She grabbed my hand and led me downstairs.

Walking into my room was like walking into another dimension. Immediately our mouths were connected and we were running our hands over every piece of the other’s body. I could literally feel the tension being relieved as I ran my hands up her shirt and into her bra. She was moaning and was no longer speaking English. Oh my God, I can still remember it so vividly how incredibly sexy her voice was in that beautiful language (it was actually the beginning of an obsession with women’s voices). She stepped back and put one finger over her mouth and said, “Stand there, do not move.” She slipped out of her tank top and undid her bra. I watched in utter amazement as her breasts spilled out the top, she smiled deviously. Stepping out of her pants, I gazed at her standing there wearing nothing. She told me to come closer, I did. She told me to touch her, I did. “Put your fingers in me,” she said, I did. I felt like I was dreaming only I was not asleep; I was awake and alive like I had never felt before.

I remember her gently pushing me back onto the bed and taking off my belt. From this point on the events are a blur of emotion and feeling. I remember her taking me into her mouth and feeling the most incredible sensation moving through my body, I laid down and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. She was worshiping my cock and whispering to me in French, I was in heaven. Slowly she kissed her way up my body until our mouths once again melted into each other. I vividly remember the feeling of her hand tickling my stomach as she reached her hand around me to slip me in. I had never felt anything like that in my life; I was having sex with an angel.

It gets even more blurry from here. It is all a mix of moaning and French musings, to be honest I have ran it through my mind so many times that I can’t remember what happened and what I’ve imagined over time. I remember her and I cumming at the same time and collapsing into a pile of sweat and juices and again melting into each others arms. I told her she had the most beautiful voice in the world. I ran my hands along her curves and she whispered quietly in my ear, switching back and forth between our two languages. I told her I never wanted to leave; she asked me why I couldn’t stay forever. The rest of the night and the next two, as well, continued in the same fashion, we were lost in complete bliss.

Louise went home to Lyons a few days after that night and I never did see her again. I was in class taking a test when she left. Renee told me she didn’t want to tell me she was leaving because she thought it would crush me. The whole time I thought it was going to be me who was leaving, for that I was prepared, this I was not. I was crushed, she was right, but she never saw me weakened, she never saw me broken. I concluded the reason she left the way she did was so that she would always remember me at my best, my peak. Believe me; I have never felt the same as I did those few days before she left, I don’t think I ever will.

I got back to the Cite later that evening, drunk, and found a note slipped under my door, I smelled her perfume as soon as I picked it up. I just stared at it, not opening it, just looking at it for a good five minutes. When I finally opened it, I found something short and sweet; but something that I will never forget until the day I die.

No man has ever touched me like you. I have never felt anything like when I was with you. I will never forget you...

Au revoir amour,
Louise

Those words were like none that I have ever heard. I still have that letter. Sometimes I take it out, look at it and smell it, hoping to take my mind back to a time when I felt something that to this day I still cannot describe.

I am going to kill you.

I am going to kill you.

Look right at the whites in my eyes and tell me if you think I am kidding? I told you; look really hard, do you think I am fucking kidding? Does it look like I am kidding? Believe me, friend, I am not kidding. I am totally and absolutely serious.

I am going to kill you.

Listen. That was the sound of my .45, it is unmistakable. You and I both know what it means, your time has come. Now that you are staring down the barrel of my gun, I will ask you one more time. Do you think I’m joking?

I am going to kill you.

I can see your life flash before my eyes, and believe me when I tell you that I do not care. When we are done here, friend, there will be no remorse and there will be no turning back. You will cease to exist and I will go on living. No remorse.

I am going to kill you.

The time is at hand. I feel the kickback from the first shot in my hand, it feels so good. It feels like I just came. Lucky for you I missed, just grazing your ear. I need to get my head straight, next time I won’t miss. That, my friend, I promise you. Your time is at hand. Say your prayers you miserable fuck.

I am going to kill you.

The next four shots fire in one fluid motion. Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang. I let the kick of the pistol force my shots up your torso. One in your pelvis, one in your stomach, one in your chest and one in your head. Little pieces of you are floating to the floor in slow motion. The remaining nine shots explode in short succession, going from your groin upwards again. The feeling is incredible. Orgasm. Ecstasy. Exhilaration.

It is done now.

I am watching you die. I told you that I was not kidding. You should have listened, I warned you. My gun is smoking, my breathing shallow and quick, my hands are shaking. Your breathing is finished. Back to the dust, my friend. I can see it in your eyes. Your time has come. The life has left you, there is no turning back now. It is done now.

I have killed you.

I look down at my watch, my hour is over. I push the button and the wire brings you near, to survey my destruction. I take off the clips, ball you up and throw you into the trash. I walk upstairs, turn in my range card and head for the door.

“Have a good time shootin down there, bub?” asks the man at the counter.
“Orgasmic,” I respond.
“Nothin like shootin a few targets to blow off some steam huh, bub?”
“I wasn’t shooting, my friend, I was killing.”

Mind Fuck

I am your mind fuck, and I am beginning to realize what it is that makes you wet. I know what you hide between your legs and I know it is burning for me. It is not my property, however, for I own a different part of you, your mind. You mind is mine to fuck, to do with what I please, it is the sex organ that you let me pleasure.

There is someone who owns your heart, with whom you share your love. There is someone who owns your pussy; you share your sex and body. With him you share your pleasure. Then there is someone who wants to own your mind, he begs you to share your secrets and desires. When you love, you carry him in your heart. When you fuck, you carry his load inside you. When you think, I want you to think about me. A pity I can’t have the rest, but your mind satisfies me.

I wonder what you are thinking about when you cum to me, what pictures you see. I wonder what thoughts make your toes curl and legs shake. I need to know where your mind goes when it goes astray; does it come to my door? I know what I think about, it isn’t gentle and it isn’t sweet, I’ll tell you that. When I fuck your mind, I am thinking about dirty, nasty, greedy sex. Just the kind you like, if I’m not mistaken.

We have a sexual relationship in which distance, time and space matter not. The only thing that matters is the ability to communicate. My flesh has not yet felt the warmth of yours, I doubt it ever will, but we are lovers nonetheless. We fuck constantly; at work, at home, in our lover’s arms. It matters not what we are doing or where we are, I can fuck you whenever I want. All I have to do is think.

Motivation

Let’s talk about motivation, or rather, the lack thereof. When there is no reward for overachieving, there is no desire to achieve, period. It makes work intolerable and everlasting. Hours seem like days. Time passes so slowly, the clock torments me.

When you work a job which is less than intellectually challenging, your greatest challenge becomes how to make yourself look busy while still fighting off boredom. It was a shock going from the rigor of writing a college thesis paper to the monotony of an 8-5 day. Let me tell you, it just makes you want to jump off of a bridge. People say that it is just part of growing up. Who ever said that growing up had to be boring? I am not willing to except that, at least not yet.

It has always been this way for me, underachieving and such, because I never can find a challenge in work or school for that matter. I had a miserable GPA coming out of high school but had ridiculously high entrance exam scores. I remember sitting in a college interview at the school where I ended up graduating from and having the admissions person ask me why there was such a difference. I told him that I simply did enough to get by because I did not find school there interesting enough. I told him I needed a challenge.

During four years of college I spent two completely smacked off my ass every night and the other two working my ass off every night. Toward the end, I significantly improved my academic work ethic and was feeling good for myself. Then I graduated. I had spent my entire senior year writing a thesis and not looking for a job, and when I saw all my friends start to go to work I knew I was in trouble.

When I did find work, unfortunately, it was meaningless. In this business the only time you are challenged is when shit hits the fan, which is also when the stress takes over. I became quickly reliant on things outside of work to relieve not only the boredom of work, but also the built up stress. I got high, got drunk, cheated constantly and underperformed consistently at work. Needless to say, it gets boring. I need to think and show people what I can do. The problem is, however, that no one in my working world cares.

So, when I get home tonight and crack open the new book I bought called “LSAT Prep,” I know I am trying to challenge myself. I know that if I only try I will be able to amaze people. Perhaps none more important than myself.

Story Time Part 1

I’m going to tell you a story.

This story is about a girl named Jess. I met Jess right around this time of the summer last year. She was 9 years older than me and she lived exactly 475.3 miles away from me. I know because I work in trucking, so did she. We met on the phone at the beginning of June, I was in need of a truck and ended up calling her parent’s trucking company out of sheer coincidence.

Something you need to understand about the trucking business is that there are people who have freight and there are people who have trucks. Basically what we do all fucking day is try to match the two up, negotiate rates between both parties and then make sure everything goes smoothly. Simple enough, right? Yeah, that’s what you would think. I had the freight and she had the trucks, I guess that was where it all began. Funny to think that it began in the same place it ended, putting package into box. HA.

We began talking almost daily, I would help her look for loads for her trucks and she would refer me to other companies who could get moves done for me. This is a brutal business if the only friends you have are the ones who share your parking lot, so me and her becoming friends was encouraged by my superiors. It started off being just emails about business, then about business and how I was, and then the business shit just straight dropped off. We would talk on the phone trading insults and zingers back and forth and talk about how we would like to meet each other and have a beer and get high. Soon those phone calls turned in a very different direction.

We started calling each other after hours on our personal phones; I could hear her kids in the background. What the hell am I doing? Who cares, its fun. This internal debate had been going on for a month. We talked about how badly we wanted each other, how badly we wanted to fuck, how badly she didn’t want her husband to find out. Shit, what am I doing? It was struggle enough to hide all the text messages and heavy-breathing phone calls from my girlfriend who I didn’t live with, I could only imagine how it was for her. At one point we decided that we wanted each other, so we decided to meet halfway at a Best Western. Mother fucking Best Western, can you believe that shit?

Now here’s the trick, something I didn’t think about before springing into my Ford Escort and hitting I-74 westbound, I had never seen her before. I’m not an asshole and I don’t judge people based on looks, but I remember thinking if she didn’t have all of her teeth I am walking out the door and driving straight back home. After a few hours in the car I made it to our Best Western and walked in the door, she was already waiting in room 217, I won’t forget that number. I knocked on the door and thought I was going to pass out from my nerves. What am I doing here?

As she opened the door I noticed that she was not the Playboy model that I had expected her to be. I am such an idiot. She was a little shorter than me and quite a bit larger…quite a bit. She was also beautiful, her eyes were like none I had ever seen before and her hair was golden blonde. I really didn’t know what to do, so I just walked up and started making out with her. She did not resist.

Clothes came off in a rush and we climbed into the hotel bed, but we stopped our lust for a minute. “Nice to meet you, by the way,” I said, “I’ve needed this for a long time,” she replied. I felt her hand wrap around me and I let out a gasp, it had been almost a year since anyone but M had touched me, it was a shockingly different sensation. I was no longer wondering what we were therefore. She was here to get fucked by a kid who graduated college a few months before, or so I thought. I was there to fuck a married woman, and see just how wrong it felt, and how good. I did not care one bit. There was no foreplay our first time and as I rolled on top of her and my body melted into her much bigger one I knew why I came. I felt myself pushing into her extreme wetness and put my head down in her chest, sucking on her massive tits. She moaned and started to get worked up almost instantly, “I haven’t been fucked in so long,” she whispered. I could tell; she was cumming almost instantly. She grabbed my ass and pulled me into her deeper than I thought I would be able to go. I wasn’t lasting long, I couldn’t help it, I was as stiff and sensitive as I had been in the past year and it felt immaculate. “I’m about to cum…Jess…ohhh…I’m about to cum,” I grunted, I tried to pull out to shoot my streams on her stomach but she redoubled up her grip on my ass and would not let me out. “I need to feel you cum inside me,” she wasn’t taking no for an answer, I couldn’t help it. I released inside her, I could feel her cunt milking me, sucking out every last drop out of me. She had two kids and the muscles inside of her worked me like I had never felt before, I shot stream after stream into her. The feeling was exquisite, pure ecstasy, plain and simple. I rolled off of her and watched my cum bubble and drip out of her onto the hotel sheets.

Now let me just stop the story here for a minute and tell you that fat sex is fucking AMAZING. Call me immature if you wish but if you have never tried it, you need to do it, immediately. Every body is beautiful; you just have to appreciate it for what it is.

We smoked some weed and drank wine, interrupting our relaxation every hour or so to fuck, within four hours I probably came in her five times. What was I doing? Again the question came pouring back into my mind. Every time the doubt came to me, it was like she knew because she would take me in her mouth. She sucked on me so differently than M, every aspect and feeling changed when I was in her mouth. She was softer and acted like she needed it for survival. She would hold me in the back of her throat for an eternity, trying to swallow the whole thing. When I came she slid her lips up and down me relentlessly, pumping my load out of me. By the next morning I had none left to give her.

We ate breakfast at Bob Evans the next morning after two more rounds. I started to feel the usual regret I feel when my dick gets soft and I realize I have just cheated on M again. She told me not to feel guilty, that I had actually given something she needed, self affirmation. She wanted me to tell her she was beautiful, she wanted me to suck on her, to look at her with lust; she wanted me to violate her and to make her cum. I thought about that on the highway back towards Cincinnati, she tried to call and I didn’t answer. In the coming two weeks she would tell me that she was in love with me and wanted to leave her husband, I stopped answering her calls. She would send me emails and texts for a while, but when I changed jobs and lost my phone, she became a memory. I don’t have much else memory of that weekend other than the conversation I had with M when I got back.

“How was the business trip, honey?”
“It was ok.”
“Did you get the business?”
“Nope, it was close, I was outbid.”

A brief afterward:
I’m sorry that this story was so long, you must understand that I have never told this to anyone, ever. You are the first to hear it. It is unedited, not proofread, not even reread. I typed this and posted it. I had to tell someone, it was eating me alive. Thanks for listening.

Chess is...

“…like a swordfight. You must think first, before you move.”
Many different people have compared many different things to chess. It has been compared to war and to politics and to life in general. In all these activities, the latter being most important of all, it is important to think before you act. It truly does teach the mind to think in advance, three or four steps down the line.

“…a work of art between minds, which need to balance two sometimes disparate goals—to win, and to produce beauty.”
In my case I’m going to compare it to correspondence between two people. Gone now are the days of letter writing, which was a far more personal and intimate way to communicate. It took time and required thought. An email can fill the void only if carefully thought about and planned like a letter. No one takes the time anymore to craft words into a response. That’s why a good conversation is hard to find these days, but even more valuable. Ours is like that I feel. When you write, you know what you want to hear from me, your questions are loaded. Just like one moving the pieces on a chessboard, you have a plan. I know your game, though, because I am playing it too. We both have our reasons for it, whatever they may be.

“...a game in which you only gain skill by facing a more skilled opponent.”
A student will never learn from another student the insights and subtleties needed to succeed in a game like chess, or like the one you and I play on our computers. I am your subordinate and you are my superior. I am, however, catching on quickly and thinking that I quite like your game. So, you see, chess is like our conversations, each move carefully analyzed to let out just a little information, but not too much. When I try to throw you off my trail, I only seem to find myself exactly in the position I believe you wanted me to be in. You may have the upper hand now, my dear, but like I said, I’m catching on quickly.

Because I like you

Cigarettes

There is a scar on my left arm, about eight inches from my wrist on the inside. It is about the size of a quarter and is dark purple. This scar has a lot of stories to explain its birth, none of them true, none of them believable. I don’t want to tell people that it doesn’t bother me. I don’t want to tell people that I did it. I put it there, it is a reminder.

It’s a reminder of a lot of times. Times when I fell in love when I shouldn’t. Times when I escaped with my life when I shouldn’t have. Times when I could have tried, but I didn’t. Times when I should have cared but I didn’t. There are things in our lives that we don’t want to be reminded of, but we need to be. They changed us. They shaped us. They continue to do so. For better or worse, despite the tears and pain, they made us who we are. When I look at my wrist, I am reminded.

It is a punishment for a lot of choices. Ones I shouldn’t have made and others that I should have. “Don’t ever forget,” it says to me, “if you don’t know where you have been, how will you ever know where you are going?” You won’t, that’s not the way it works. At least not in my eyes.

So you may say it is self-destructive or over dramatic. Call it what you will, but to me it is a tattoo of which only I know the meaning. It is starting to fade as it does over time and has before, but someday it will grow again. Just as it grows, so do I. I grow to learn that I am not my parent’s child anymore, I am my own man. I have always learned the hard way, not by choice but out of instinct. That instinct begs me to experience everything that I can, learn all that I can. I’m just making sure I don’t forget.

By request

Twofer

Last night I wrote two things that I have decided that I am going to post. On account of my lack of desire (and lack of money) I stayed home and did not go out. I also got locked out of my apartment so I had a lot of time to think. I was only going to post one of the two now and save the other for another time. I have, however, decided that since I like you guys I will give you both. So without further adieu...

Do You?

Do you think about me when you kiss?
Do you think about me when he unhooks your bra?

Is it really him you see in your fantasies?
I don't think it is.

Do you think about me when your hand slides down his stomach?
Do you wish it was me that you were wrapping your hand around?
I wish it was you.

Do you want it to be me slipping into your mouth?
Touching the back of your throat, I know you want it to be me.

Do you think about me when his smooth face slides between your legs?
I have a beard, it will tickle a bit, imagine it will you?

Does it make you feel guilty?
Do you try to keep me out of your mind when you're with him?
Don't do that, its no fun.

If you want it to be me don't fight it.

Do you wish it was my mouth?
My fingers?
My cock?

Do you think about me when he is grunting and groaning on top of you?
Do you wish it was my sweat dripping onto you?
My words in your ears?

Who do you really feel filling you up?
Is it really him?
If it was me it would be better, I promise, deeper.

I've been thinking about you, and you about me.
I know it's true, dont lie to me.
You like it.
So do I.

So tell me dear, what do you plan to do about it?
Are you going to touch yourself?
Are you doing to imagine my face instead of his?

Or are you going to do something about it?
Tell me, I'm just dying to know.

Hotlanta Part Deux

I had been up for about 15 minutes when she finally rolled over with a sleepy look saying, "Good morning boy." It took her a minute to wake up but when she did, let's just say she woke me up too. She grabbed my cock hard and pulled it out of the flap on the front of my boxers, morning wood in full effect. L was kind enough to let us sleep in his bed, so I decided to be kind enough to fuck M on the floor. Besides, then I can jam it deep into her and she can't squirm away with the give of the bed. This was not the banging, smacking ruthless sex of yesterday. This was deep, passionate, cripplingly earth shattering sex. As I pushed my cock past her lips she let out a loud moan, "Shhhh, we can't have L hearing us fuck," I exclaim, "Who fucking cares, if you stop again I'm going to smack you." Well holy shit, that is the tenacity I miss when she is gone. This was the sex that long lost lovers have after a long time apart. I could feel her juices drenching my balls, her breasts brushing against my chest and her kisses intensifying. Rolling her over, I grabbed hold of her tits and sucked on them like I needed them for survival. I had to gasp for breath every time she took her mouth away from mine, she was like an animal. Things were getting intense and I knew I was not going to last so I pulled out with a moan and told her I had something for her. Sliding down her chest and stomach, I tickle her with my beard until I come to her cunt, which is immediately sucked into my mouth. I love the feeling of having her entire pussy in my mouth, soaking my chin as she drips. Her clit is like a BB that I roll around on my tongue, gyrating her hips and pushing her wetness into my face. I hold her hips down to the floor and feel the rug burn on my knees start to get worse, she is cumming. I can feel it running down my chin, sticking my tongue into her hole. I spring back up to her like a fucking jackrabbit and ram my now throbbing, dripping cock back into its warm wet home. It doesn't take more than a minute at this point. "C'mon give it to me...cum in me...I want it to drip out of my cream pie," I am more than happy to oblige, spilling a huge load into her. I came so hard I seriously thought I popped a nut, I mean seriously, I fucking looked down to make sure it was still intact. Finding my goods in working order, we laid there for a few minutes before getting up and walking out into the living room. "Cheese! Lets get lit." Agreed.

* * *

We are stoned again, driving through downtown Atlanta headed to a place called The Vortex. This city is alive like I haven't seen in a long time, certainly nothing like this is found in Cincinnati. There are people everywhere. The thing I like about big cities is the huge amount of people that are just plain fucking crazy. I love crazy people, absofuckinlutly love them. I never stop coming up with ways to tell people I don't have any change. My favorite is, "Shit, I was just about to ask you for 85 cents for the bus." People either laugh or threaten to kill you. In any case, The Vortex is a cool little place with a great menu for both food and drinks and it has one of the cooler atmospheres I've seen in a restaurant. I order a pint of local beer and debate a Maker's Mark as well but decide its too early. M looks at me with a look of lust in her eyes and I feel a foot press down on my dick from across the table, she looks at me and mouths the word, "later."

* * *

That gravity bong hit did not go over smoothly, not after drinking barley wine all afternoon. If I'm not feeling good, I know M is not doing well. Looking into the backseat I notice she is white as a sheet. We are on our way to a party with L's friends and I don't think it is going to work out well. Standing in their living room, we are meeting the other guests and M is looking like shit. I am feeling better, but I also have about 5 years of being a stoner longer than her and my tolerance is greater. We walk out to the back yard and sit for a minute, it is apparent she is going to hurl, it's just a matter of time. Sure enough within about five minutes I am standing behind her pulling back her sundress and holding her hair as she lets it go. Such are the joys of romance, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world than here with my mumbling, spewing, fucked up girlfriend.

* * *

Making sure M was safely tucked in I walked back into the living room to apologize to L for making him leave his party, he doesn't mind. I pack a bowl and we head out to the porch to enjoy the night air and catch up. "You never did answer my question," I have a habit of doing that, "how's life Cheese?" For the next three hours we talked about how life was not the way we thought it would be after college. He works at a law firm and I work at a trucking company, I didn't ask but I think it's safe to assume that he makes a bit more than me. We hadn't talked in about two and a half years and I think we both surprised each other with how much we had changed. I gathered a bit of disillusionment in his tone of voice, I think he got the same feeling from mine. He might make more than me, but it is plain to see that money really doesn't make you more sure of yourself. I think I finally realized that. We were two of the most ambitious fuckers to graduate from _____ University, but we were down. As I watched more smoke trail off into the night sky I realized that we were down, but certainly not out. Personally, I think I am too strong for that and I feel that L is the same way. It just takes some time and some hurt.

* * *

I had never been to a Waffle House before and let me tell you, it was fucking amazing. The three of us sat there with the morning sun shining in my eyes as I stared at the empty plates in front of me. I feel wonderful. We are talking about L's master plan to meet and become friends with a celebrity. Before you ask if he is a celeb nut, the answer is no, he is just nuts. We decide that Keira Knightley is the pick at the suggestion of M. L's plan is to blog about his efforts to meet her and hopefully generate enough of a reader following that someday Keira hears about it and is forced, by public urging, to meet him and become friends. I know, I know, the plan is just brilliant and with L you know he will do it, thats just the way he is. I am excited so see the results.

* * *

It is getting pretty close to sunset in the Smoky Mountains north of Knoxville, TN and we are pulling off at some obscure road in the middle of nowhere to watch it go down. We manage to find a spot on a road overlooking the freeway and a huge valley where we can watch. I take her in my arms and we stand there just watching, not talking. I run back to the car and turn up the radio and grab the shitty Jellybelly flavors from the glovebox. For the next half hour we stand there in silence throwing the jelly beans onto the freeway watching the sunset. It is getting late and we still have a ways to go. I give her a kiss and get back in the car, a cloud of dust swirls up behind us. "We had a good weekend, didn't we," she said, "Yeah, I think we did." I spark up the last bowl I have and change lanes, cloud of smoke trails out the window.

Dear Faithful Readership

I am going to change the name of this blog and I wanted to make sure that it was OK with you. Actually I might as well just address my two esteemed readers. So, you two; do you like my new name? It seemed clever when I was going home yesterday. I will post Hotlanta Part Deux today, for your reading enjoyment. So welcome to the newly renamed "Tales on the Time Clock."

-Cheese

Hotlanta Part 1

The needle on the speedometer creeps past 90 as a plume of cigarette smoke trails out the window down the freeway. She is going to smell it on my breath, under the circumstances I don't think she will care. The sky looks ominous and I know I will most certainly hit rain on the way down. I am weaving through traffic, shrugging off the middle fingers and mouthed out curse words, there are more important things on my mind. She calls to say she just got in the door of my apartment, I tell her I'm crossing the bridge, I'll be there soon. As I pull into the parking lot I can feel myself getting hard. Stepping out of the car, I tuck my erection under my waistband. She answers the phone, "I'm outside, let me in," I utter, "I'll be right down." My heart starts to beat faster and faster, I feel my boxers getting damp at the top.

* * *

The door slams hard behind us as I shove her onto the couch, hard. She has a puppy dog look in her eyes, she wanted a kiss. Fuck that. With a firm grip I reach into her mesh shorts and grab her panties, pulling them to the ceiling, she lets out a barely audible gasp. In an instant I am ripping off her shorts and the bikini cut panties easily slide down with them as if they wanted to. A look of surprise is embedded on her face. What did she think, I was going to be gentle? There is no time for foreplay, only for fucking. I brush my head against her lips before I force myself in our bodies coming together with a smack. Soon that smack is repeating until it becomes accompanied with a thud, thud, thud as the couch hits the wall. Her hands are tightening their grip on my ass, I can feel her nails digging in as they break the skin. I honestly wasn't thinking about her cumming but that didn't matter. I felt the walls of her cunt tighten around me, I can feel myself going over the edge. No holding back now. I wrap my arms around her tightly and squeeze letting my eyes roll back into my head and my toes curl. I can feel the cum squirting out into her as the tone of her moans change. I feel a bubble around my cock as my juice seeps out of her. She couldn't be happier...neither could I. "Get up," she says, "we have a long drive."

* * *

A thick could of pot smoke goes billowing out the window as we fly down I-75 towards Lexington. She is coughing her lungs out, apparently she hasn't been smoking much and I tell her I haven't, its not the truth. Its been about an hour and we have filled the air with a meaningful conversation covering things most people don't talk about in a year. Its going to be a good weekend. "I'm so glad I'm going with you," she says. "So am I. Believe me, you have no idea." Its going to be a good weekend. More smoke billows out the window as I change lanes.

* * *

Again the needle speeds past 90, I realize as I get startled by the rumble strips. Its now dark and we are about 100 miles from Chattanooga, TN and my boxers are getting wet again. Her saliva is dripping down my dick and I can feel my ass getting sweaty in my jeans. Every time she pushes me into her throat my hips raise up to meet her, resulting in my foot mashing the accelerator. My cock pops out of her mouth and she reaches for the stereo, "I fucking love this song." The Rolling Stones are such a great band to get head to, especially road head. The volume goes up and she starts jerking me off again. Even though its dark, people know what is going on. Passenger's head disappears, passenger's head reappears, passenger's head disappears. It isn't hard to figure out. At first she cared and would make me tell her if a car was coming so she could pull her head up unnoticed. I'm fired up now and not letting her stop because of passing vehicles, I jam her head back down when she tries to come back up. She doesn't seem to care anymore and doesn't stop, regardless of who is next to us. It gets to the point that while she is licking the mess off the top of my cock I'm positive that at least three truckers have seen her sucking me off. Hey, I might hear about from a trucker on Monday at work. Coming up to the next exit I can feel myself start to lose it. She slowly drags her teeth up my shaft before beginning an all out assault on me. It won't be long now, I can feel my balls tightening. A rig is passing me right as a shoot my load into her mouth. She slides a hand under my ass to support me, pushing me into her mouth further and further before slowly pulling me out with a flop. She pulls her head up, takes a sip of water, smiles at me and fires up a blunt. Again, the smoke billows out the window. Things are shaping up nicely so far.

* * *

We get into Atlanta at about 2:00 am and I call my friend L to let him know we just got off the exit. A gated apartment complex, huh, doing well for himself. The gate opens and apparently I take too long because the fucking thing drops down hitting the trunk of my car. M is fucking dying laughing at me, I guess I can't blame her, it is pretty damn funny. Driving past the amused residents we snake down the road past the Mercedes and BMWs down til I see his blue Jeep. We get in the apartment and sit down on the couch L asks me, "So Cheese, how's life?" "Good question brother, good question."

What one does while at work

Thinking about her arrival tonight, its only been a month. It shouldn't be this bad. I can almost taste her. I'll admit I have been reading posts of a very naughty woman known to the horny blog world as A. Secret. All I have to say is holy shit and oops I came in the urinal again at work. This is straight up lust, plain and simple, and nothing more. The flood waters have been rising and the levee has been struggling to hold them back. In about one hour and forty five minutes the flood will be on...gushing...oozing...spraying. I already told her to be naked, spread and eager when I get home from work. I'll watch the speedometer climb past 90 and keep going, putting myself and others at risk all to satisfy the thing that burns between my legs. I trimmed up last night and came on the phone with her, but it is never enough. I need to feel her tightening around me, shaking. I have to get out of this building. One thing is certain.

When the clock strikes 4:59:59, I'm going to punch the time clock so hard it breaks

Confessions of an Almost John

I'm not going to write about addiction today. Sometimes I feel like I'm exploiting it to write about it, admittedly, the events of the last post got a bit more out of hand than they should of because I wanted to write about it. When we left and got into the car I was laughing, I should have been crying. I was scared but excited at the same time that I had something so wild to write about. Here, however, is the catch; no one reads this. I am writing this to myself and for myself.

Ever since reading through the Confessions of a College Callgirl I have been contemplating getting a "professional" to come visit me. I would visit Craigslist daily to see what was popping up in the Cincinnati area. I even had made a few phone calls on lunch, asking about rates and such, but never followed through. Maybe I was scared, maybe I had spent all the money on cocaine or maybe I was thinking about my girlfriend.

Our sex life isn't stagnant, its fucking brilliant, and our love life isn't lacking either. So, one might ask, why the hell do you need to get a hooker? Short answer: to write about it. The more and more I think about that, the more and more I am sickened by it. I don't have a problem with working girls or guys who wanna see working girls, I was sickened by the fact that I would so badly abuse M's trust. I would of course never tell her, but that doesn't matter, it would destroy me. I love her, at least I think. She is the only one I ever have said it to and meant it, but I have doubts and reservations about the whole thing. Or maybe I don't at all, maybe I just want to live the life of a bachelor; traveling, fucking, spying on diplomats, shooting guards, you know typical bachelor shit. By the way, on a minor side note, I have absolutely no punctuation skills WHATSOEVER. I mean it, I copied off of Susie Flanagan for years of english classes and did not learn shit. Sorry.

Marriage scares the living shit out of me, and I never thought that I would be 23 years old and thinking about getting married. I am totally serious when I say that I honestly believed my post-college life would be full of explosions, fast cars, beautiful women, drugs, money etc. Yes, I know I was delusional, but that is some fun stuff to think about doing. I recently have been reading a blog by a gentleman named Unbroken (I feel that might not be his real name though) and he has put some serious reservations in my head about going and getting a ring.

What scares me even more is that I was seriously contemplating betraying the only person who trusts me for kicks. Not even for kicks, so I could fucking write about it.

Scared Straight

Quitting anything cold turkey is never easy. I have tried numerous times to quit smoking cigs and pot at opposite times but always end up leaning hard on the other in order to quit, it never works.

"Just imagine how much money you will save when you quit smoking."

"Just imagine how much more I'll be spending on weed to help me get over it."

Not exactly the best strategy, this I know, but it always seems to be the only way I can fight it. It hasn't worked once, seeing as how all I can think about right now is leaving this air conditioned boredom factory, get to my car, light up a Camel, go home and light up a blunt with Brian Williams and the cast of NBC Nightly News. Yes I know my life is not exactly Requiem for a Dream shit, but to me this matters. What matters even more to me is the powder going up my nose, or lack there of. It wasn't a preplanned occurrence, it was all about one event, one of those moments where you get to see yourself in a situation that you know you should never be in. It was like watching a movie, albeit not a great one.

It was 12:30 am, Mike was about to get off work and I was to meet him outside the bar/restaurant where he worked. $1100 in my back pocket made my ass go numb sitting on the bench waiting for him. People were looking at me strange as I smoked cigarette after cigarette wondering if I should go inside and get him. About 1:15 or so he emerged, drunk, "Great," I thought, "I guess I'm driving." We got in the car and sped north for Dayton about 60 miles north of Cincinnati. After stopping twice for him to piss we made it there at about 2:45. I had smoked a pack of cigarettes since I went to meet him and my knuckles were white. We got out of the car, coughed a bit and walked inside.

The scene was not a good one. The place stank like a mixture of sweat, skunked beer and drugs. Drugs have a smell and I'm not really sure if it is the narcotics themselves that smell, or just the situation around their usage. There were people in various states of decay spread out across the disgusting room. One girl was so comatose that she could not get the tourniquet around her arm to shoot up her speedball. It was the kind of place that makes you itch, not only from their furniture, to get the fuck out of there asap. We walked in past the wasteland and back to the kitchen to meet Manny.

Manny is a fucking grade-a scumbag, I mean he is a real piece of work. In the roughly six months I have known him, I've seen him; shoot up while driving, smoke crack while driving and shove a loaded pistol down someone's throat. Like I said, this guy is trash and yet, here I was sitting in his kitchen talking about the Stanley Cup finals of all things.

I was too scared to ask him to weigh the ounce of cocaine we were picking up even though I knew it was short. Mike made the mistake of saying it wasn't all that good...big mistake. Manny flipped, he absolutely flipped, but I guess thats what happend when you are up snorting blow for 3 days. There it was, silver and shiny, with the hammer pulled back and from the angle I was sitting I could see the bullets staring out at us through the holes on the revolver. He wasn't going to rob us, I was pretty sure of that, but I was seriously thinking he was going to put a hole in Mike's forehead for, "disrespecting his niggaz." I thought, "what niggaz is this psycho talking about," all he did was say it was some shitty blow. I was literally about to piss my pants.

He ended up kicking us out with our drugs after about 30 minutes of talking in circles with a spun out gun-wielding maniac to get him to let us leave.

"Don't ever be comin back here niggaz."

Are you fucking kidding me? I mean seriously, was he kidding. Who the FUCK would ever walk back into that house again, honestly. We drove back and actually laughed about it as we snorted lines off my Amy Winehouse cd case. I walked back in about 5:45 and tried to go to sleep, the whole time sniffling and wondering what the hell I was doing with myself. I kept thinking how fucked up it would have been to be pulling pieces of Mike's skull off of my shirt trying to convince Manny that I wouldn't say a word. "I'm done," that was all I kept saying, over and over. I sold the rest of the blow a few days ago and didn't do any of it, which was shocking. I lost a couple bucks on the whole deal, it was short, but escaped with a lot more. That was it, the last straw, I was scared straight.