(Get caught up on this next chapter.)
I really should have closed my door. I really should have shut my mouth. Damn.
I have to confess, it was pretty hard. All the time. Sometimes, the fear of getting caught can make sex even better.
Until you get caught.
Then, not so good.
It had to be done. In the supply closet, yes, where the dry-goods of the restaurant were stored.
In our cars, where we did not have tinted windows, but there were places to park away from the parking lot lights overhead.
In her apartment, stealthy before her boyfriend would show up unannounced, but mostly predictable.
In my own place, before my mom and my sisters showed up, having gone shopping for more potato bags for clothing. We were dirt poor.
I kid you.
My ladies went to the movies now and then.
So where did it come down?
You’ll see. It was my own damn fault.
By the way, I’ve always used these story sectional lines because I am a math dude:
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
It all adds up. This is not a zero-sum equation. It's all about redemption baby.
Joey wanted to set up a fund for the restoration of a once lovingly adorned home. He wanted to do this anonymously, so that Gilbert would not know. Joey didn’t want anymore man-crush from Gilbert, but Joey, as it turned out, did have a good heart.
He just didn’t want anyone to know.
Little Lion Man. Gobless him.
Katheena wanted to help too, but when you are the dotta of the owner of the best Thai food restaurant in a shit hole city such as Fuckno, people will know immediately.
So she had to think of another way to contribute. Gobless her.
Bryan was going off to jail, and he didn’t need to redeem hisseff. He was already taking a big fall for the rest of us. Gobless him.
Me? I didn’t give a fuck. Gilbert had fucked with Lorelei. Fuck him and his once-lovingly adorned home.
Even if it was bad karma for me. I was beginning to not care a fuck about anyone else. I wanted to get the fuck out of Fuckno. Fuck Fuckno.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
A fellow busboy bitched at me. His name was Jimmy, but he pronounced it “Himmy.”
Himmy had a question for me, as we stood by the Hobart dish washing machine, he on the right side with the giant overhead spray gun for the pre-rinse for the dirty dishes, me on the left side, to take out the fresh, sterilized dishes and silverware in the plastic wash trays, to stack them in the sterile room.
Essy and I did not have sex in that room. We weren’t animals. Well, at least not in there.
It was never so good as that time. Young, strong, healthy, fearless but with fear of getting caught, ten feet tall and invincible. I had met a girl who enjoyed swallowing and having her button hit all the time, anywhere, at the drop of a droplet, or a spray of twenty.
I think you can burn a lot of calories in suck a manner, and we did. I have never been so taut, or taught, as way back then. She was a great teacher about the mechanism of the woman. I explored every experiment she wanted to attempt, and for that I will always be grateful to her. Gobless Essy.
Yes, it was a good time, on a basic level.
Except for the damage Lorelei had caused to me inside. This would explode from me. There is only so much that one can hold in, you know. I think you know what I am talking about.
And that is the tale for another day, soon.
So there we were, Essy and me, caught in the act.
Next time. Tomorrow, if you like.
Himmy asked me this: “Jefe, why do you disappear when you have tables to clean up? You make a lotta work for me and Heffery.”
I smirked as I slid up the door of the Hobart on my side and pulled out the hot, steaming rack. “Hah? What do you mean Jimmy?”
He pushed the freshly spray-blasted rack of dirty dishes into the Hobart and slid the door down and pressed the big red button. The machine did not start to wash. Himmy said, “Close your door man.”
I closed the door on my side and the machine started again.
Himmy shouted over the roar of the machine, “What are you doing? Where do you go?!”
I shouted back, “I’m fucking the barmaid!”
Yup, that was dumb.
Himmy grinned really big and he shot me with the giant spray gun. “Shut up man! She’s really hot! Hey, Heffery!”
I really should have closed my door. I really should have shut my mouth.
TDC Forum member TIMT submitted this in our forum. Nice find, young man. Grab ahold of your chair. He said, “The frogs think the Tour de France is exciting. They are wrong.” I have to agree. You will too.
spunky14u found this site. As he says, “BronxZoosCobra Bronx Zoo's Cobra:
“Even while incarcerated my reach extends beyond my 20 inches. I have hijacked Ryan Seacrest's Twitter. See for yourself @RyanSeacrest”
Shout out to my homeboy Florida Bobcat, who is a mean cat. He put this together for you. Dude even told me about Tommy Hewitt, a name you might recall.
Mighty TDC Forum member smcasey made us consider this, and I quote, “So, read today about small amounts of radiation ending up in Massachusetts rainwater. Not toxic to humans, but that sure does suck.”
What do you think? Answer here.
TDC Forum member and Texan drofsnedt responded, in his own thread:
The following American companies have stockpiled radiation free food substitutes:
Bookers (Jim Beam Distilleries)
Don't drink anything from the west coast for obvious reasons. If you must drink wines make sure they are from Texas. The Llano wineries' red wines have been taking business from Napa valley for a decade now anyway. Most of the good micro breweries are in Oregon and Washington but their shelf life isn't long enough to be rad free anyway; moot point.
Vodka drinkers? The two best vodkas sold in America are Dripping Springs and Titos. Both produced near Austin, TX so they are safe for now.
Again, your responses here.
Thank you TDC forum members for your contributions to the Mighty TDC.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
One more for ya.
From Dotta. Hellogoodbye. When we first met.
See you tomorrow my friend.