"525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear..."

Can anyone name the song quote?

Today marks my one-year anniversary as a blogger! Thanks for letting me share a piece of my life with you...

**********

Monday, May 16, 2005
Kahului Airport, Maui, Hawaii
10:00pm local time

Steph and I can barely keep our eyes open. Our bodies are telling us that it's the middle of the night, when even nocturnal freaks like yours truly and psychopathic studiers like Steph would be sound asleep.

Claire, Dan Johnson's assistant, gave me a phone number to call for the car rental when I landed. I dial it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, may I speak to.... Bruce?"

"Speaking..... STEEVE?!"

"Yeah, yeah, that's me."

"Welcome to Hawaii!! I've been waiting for your call!"

"Oh. Well, we're here. It was a long trip-"

"Be RIGHT there! I'm five minutes away. Meet me outside the baggage claim area. I'll be waiting! Oh, what color shirt are you wearing, so I know who I'm looking for?"

"Dark blue Polo shirt."

We get our bags and somnambulate out the door, shuffling to the curb. There's a black lincoln navigator right in front of us.

"What kind of car are we getting, Steve?"

"Dan Johnson said they were going to upgrade us-"

The front passenger-side window of the Navigator rolls down. "Steve?" A man says.

"Yes?"

He exits the car and runs around to greet me. "Steve!" He smiles, shaking my hand vigorously. "I'm Bruce Carmichael! Welcome to Hawaii!"

"Thanks, Bruce! Is THIS our car?!"

"Why, is there something wrong with it?" he says, his eyes wide.

"No, it's incredible!"

"My boss told me to take special care of you. My card is in the glove with all your paperwork, so please call me if you have ANY questions. If you want recommendations for restaurants, sightseeing, if there's any problem with the car.... but believe me, Steve, there is NOT going to be a problem with the car!"

"Yeah, what's the deal? " I say, gesturing toward the Navigator. "I mean, there's just two of us, do we really need-"

He interrupts me with a shake of his head. "The boss told me to give you the most high-end car we had. This was it."

Bruce helps me load the bags into the Lincoln; Steph climbs in, her eyes so close to being shut that I'm surprised she can see where she's going.

I get into the car. It feels like I am scaling a ladder to a treehouse. "So, Steph, you're gonna have to wake up long enough to walk to the room-"

I turn to face her. Her eyes are wide open; she's smiling like a hungry kid in an M & M factory. "This thing is INCREDIBLE! Feel the SEATS!!"

I sit back, and I am enveloped by soft, fresh leather. New car smell is all around us.

"Never mind the hotel. Can we stay in here!?" she beams.

I turn around and look. There are three rows of seats behind us. "We've got enough room for it!"

I drove a truck for a couple of days when I was moving into my house; truck-driving is the best analogy I can think of for what it's like in the Lincoln. You're up high, looking down on the traffic, and miles above where I'm used to in my little two-seater. My car could fit in the glove compartment of this thing.

We arrive at the hotel. Steph is dozing off again. "Come get me when you're all ready," she mumbles.

As soon as I enter the lobby, I know I'm in no ordinary hotel. My sleepy eyes catch only glimpses of what is here, but glimpses are enough. A spotless floor, with not a trace of a scuff mark. Colorful fresh flowers everywhere. Gorgeous artwork adorns the walls, and the staff is impeccably dressed.

"Steven, right? You're Steven," a man says.

"Yes. Call me Steve."

He's a short, dark-skinned man of maybe 50, with sharply-creased slacks and an expensive-looking silk shirt.

"I'm Roy," he smiles. "Welcome to-"

"How did you know my name?"

"Excuse me?"

"How did you know who I was?"

"Your friend Bruce called."

"Ahhh."

"If you'll show me to your car I can have someone get your luggage for you. Then I'll take you over to get checked in."

We walk back to the car and I help Steph out. Another employee loads my luggage onto a cart and follows us to the check-in counter, then up to our room, all the while telling us about the hotel and what they have to offer.

He opens the door to our room, and I almost fall over from the shock.

It's huge, bigger than the apartment I lived in before I bought my house. An enormous bathroom. A private balcony. A sitting area. An eating area, with glass-topped table and wicker chairs. A huge TV with DVD library. Yes, a DVD library! Gorgeous furniture and fixtures that look brand new. In fact, by the looks of things, construction on this place could have been finished yesterday; that is how unused it seems.

The employee who escorted us sets our luggage neatly on a counter top. "Enjoy your stay," he smiles, then turns quickly on his heel and heads for the door.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a five-dollar bill. "I have something-" The door closes.

"I am REALLY gonna enjoy this place when I wake up," Steph says, collapsing face-first onto the bed. Two minutes later I am next to her. It's going to feel good to sleep.

Too bad about that "no smoking" rule...

11:30pm
Flight 387, cont'd

HEY BABY GIRL, I type on my laptop, and turn it diagonally so she can read the screen.

HI HONEY, she types, and turns the computer back to me.

OXYCONTIN-GIRL IS FINALLY ASLEEP

LOL YEAH THE XANAX MUSTA KICKED IN

I HEARD THEY'RE GONNA OPEN A CVS IN HER BATHROOM

LOL...HOW MANY HOURS LEFT STEVIE

ABOUT 3 1/2 "STEPHIE"... YOU DOING OK?

YEAH THANKS...I HOPE YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOU TAKING ME ON VACATION WITH YOU- YOU ARE SO WONDERFUL - I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! :-)

ME TOO BABY

Steph stands up and leans over me to open the overhead bin, pulling out a coarse blue blanket. She sits back down and drapes it over her legs, then lumbers over and pulls the laptop towards her. What she types next sends shivers up my spine:

HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE MILE-HIGH CLUB?

I pull the laptop back. A NICE GIRL LIKE YOU? I type.

I GUESS YOU HAVE CORRUPTED ME

SO WHAT IS YOUR PLAN

WELL, FIRST WE OPEN THE HATCH AND THROW OXYGIRL OUT, she types.

We both burst out laughing. She starts typing again.

ONE OF THE REAR BATHROOMS HAS HANDICAP RAILS. I WAS HOLDING ON TO THEM WHILE I WAS PUKING BEFORE

NICE VISUAL STEPH

DONT WORRY I BRUSHED AFTERWARDS. ITS A BIGGER BATHROOM...

AND HALF THE PLANE IS ASLEEP, I answer. I'm growing more aroused with every message we type. Sliding the laptop back and forth is slow work, and the typing is awkward. I can barely stand the anticipation as I wait for her responses.

I THINK THE STEWS ARE ASLEEP BACK THERE

STEWS?? THEY CAN'T SLEEP ON THE JOB CAN THEY

FLIGHT ATTENDANTS. WHATEVER - EITHER THAT OR THEY ARE RESTING VERY PEACEFULLY

SO TELL ME ALL ABOUT YOUR PLAN BABY

She pulls up the armrest that separated us and drapes the blanket over my legs. I feel my muscles go weak as her fingers crawl across my thigh and in between my legs. She brushes her hand gently across the bulge in my pants, then pulls it away to type.

I'LL GO TO THE BATHROOM AND LEAVE THE DOOR UNLOCKED. MEET ME TWO MINUTES LATER. DO NOT BE LATE!!!

I WOULDN'T WORRY ABOUT TARDINESS AT THIS POINT, I type. My fingers barely work. My cock is fully stiff, bending and straining against the inside of my jeans.

THIS HAS TO BE V V QUICK YOU KNOW

YOU MIGHT HAVE TO GET ME OFF BEFORE YOU GO. I MEAN LIKE, GET ME RIGHT TO THE EDGE, JUST ABOUT TO FUCKING EXPLODE

YOU MEAN RUB YOUR NICE HARD COCK UNTIL YOURE JUST ABOUT TO COME

My breathing speeds to a pant; I can feel sweat forming on my upper lip. My stomach leaps with anticipation, worse than any turbulence I've ever felt.

Her fingers creep slowly back under the blanket, under the waistline of my Levi's, under my boxers. She plays with my bare cock, softly, gently, as if stroking a baby chick. Her hazel eyes flicker up at me, her pupils huge and black with lust, her mouth closed into a horny pout.

I glance over at Deb in 13a. She's sound asleep, her head back against the seat at a strange angle. She's snoring softly but hasn't moved for an hour.

I sit up a little straighter, letting her know it's time. She stands up, and I hastily move the laptop off the tray table so she can squeeze by.

I better hope like hell there's no one else waiting for the shitter.

I check my watch, and time grinds to a halt. The seconds take hours; the minutes take days.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

I wonder how we'll do it. Her on my lap, facing away from me, maybe, kind of a modified reverse cowgirl? Standing up, her against the sink, each of us watching the other make horny faces in the mirror?

The blanket slides down, revealing the jean-teepee between my legs. I hurriedly replace it. Good thing she didn't unzip me, I think.

I glance at my watch. A minute twenty. A minute thirty. I shift positions in my seat; the movement, the friction of flesh against clothing gets me harder and hornier.

A minute forty-five. My heart pounds. My mouth dries out.

A minute fifty-five. Two minutes.

I toss the blanket aside and fling myself to the aisle, striding heavily towards the rear of the plane. Lights are dimmed, like a kid's bedroom in the middle of the night, and sleeping heads lean this way and that, cushioned by foamy white pillows. No one so much as makes eye contact with me.

I'm sure there's a flight attendant at the back of the plane. I'm careful not to look back there, suddenly certain that, as I reach for the door, some uniformed, overly-made up cock-blocker will shove a manicured hand in front of me, sternly reminding me that it's illegal to dip one's wick at 30,000 feet. But I reach the back of the plane, and no one stops me.

Holy fucking shit! We're gonna do this! We're actually gonna do it!

I reach for the lavatory door handle. OCCUPIED, it says. What the-

I turn to my right, to the other restroom. The door is slightly ajar. I open it. Steph is standing there. We made it!

It's small, cramped, and cold. I don't care. "Perfect," she says, draping her arms around my neck. She tilts her head and kisses me, her tongue slipping between my lips.

She pulls away and works the fly on her jeans. I do too. I barely notice the cloying, antiseptic bathroom smell all around us as I look over at Steph, violently yanking her panties down.

"Sit down," she orders. I guess that answers the position question!

I sit on the toilet seat. She lowers herself on to me, and the heat of her pussy is incredible against the drafty cold of the bathroom.

She plants her feet on the floor and lifts herself up, then slowly down again, painting my cock with her slick juices. "Mmmmmmmm," she moans.

I've conditioned myself for so long to hold back orgasms that it's hard for me to come quickly, and I know that the harder I try, the longer it will take.

I slip my hand under her blouse and over the silky cups of her bra. She leans back as she rides me, kissing my mouth, biting my ear, playing with my hair.

I pull her bra cups forcefully aside, circling my fingers slowly around her hard nipples. "Ahhhh," she whispers. The pleasure radiates through me, hot waves of electricity.

Her nipples send me right over the edge. My body goes weak, as if every ounce of energy is focused on my orgasm. I close my eyes and relax, and then I am releasing wave after wave of cum inside her.

We sit still for a long moment, holding each other in this most un-romantic of rendezvous spots.

Steph looks uneasily down at the floor. Yeah, this position can be pretty messy.

"I think you better go sit down first," she says.

Come to think of it, we'll take that Xanax after all...

Monday, May 16, 2:00pm
Steve's car

My phone rings. It's Steph.

"Aloha!"

"WU-HUUUU! I just finished my last final!"

"Nice! How'd you do?"

"I ACED it! I am SO psyched for Mai Tai's on the beach with you, honey!"

"Well, pace yourself. We've got ten hours before we set foot on sand."

"The limo's coming to my house, right?"

"Yep, I'm on my way now."

It's a bit cold outside, but I open my window anyway. The air feels different when I'm on vacation. My tie feels looser, the music sounds louder, and my car seems to go faster. It's strange driving at this time of day; I'm not used to seeing the sun so high, or the streets so filled with traffic. I feel a twinge of guilt for being away from the office, like a kid skipping school.

I pull up to Steph's house and do a double-take. She's standing outside her front door, two suitcases lined neatly up in front of her, a windbreaker tied around her waist, and sunglasses perched atop her head. She mouths the word "HI!", so exaggeratedly that I could have lip-read her from across the street. For a procrastinating, last-minute scrambler like her, this is extraordinary.

I get out of my car and lock it. She runs up and hugs me as if trying to crack a rib. "I cannot believe we're going to Hawaii!!"

"Thanks for switching your schedule around. So, was the exam-"

"NO talking about school. OR work. From now until we get back. Agreed?"

"Well, that all depends. When I'm hitting on those girls at the bar, they may want to know what I do for a living."

"HA-HA-HA!" she sneers. "Maybe I'LL get hit on," she says, batting her eyes.

"I'd bet on it."

She bumps up against me, so our stomachs are touching, and looks into my eyes, smiling warmly. She's twirling her hair, and it occurs to me I haven't seen her do that in a long time.

I stare at her. She's got a single, tiny wrinkle under each eyelid. I can't stop looking at them. I'm finally involved in a relationship with a woman, a true adult. I'm so lucky to have her, I think.

"So what is this crazy deal you made with Dan Johnson? Where are we staying?"

"Well, I'd tell you, but I'm fairly certain that would be discussing work, so..."

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?"

"You'll be happy. Trust me."

**********

4:42pm.
Flight 387, seats 13b and c

"So we have to try to stay awake as long as we can, because-" I turn to her. Her face has gone pale; her skin looks milky and artificial, like a porcelain doll.

"You ok?"

"Mm-mm" she says, wiggling her head left and right. She breathes in deeply through her nose and lets it out with a sigh.

"Are you afraid of flying?"

"Yep," she says, inhaling sharply. "I figured I just wouldn't think about it. And I thought I was FINE! Right up until we got close to the airport and I could see the planes taking off."

"You wanna borrow a Xanax?" we hear, suddenly.

Steph and I turn to the window seat on our right. Sitting in 13a is a small, round woman with her mouth turned downward into a permanent scowl. If she were carved out of stone, she could easily guard the entrance to a castle.

There had been no introduction, no preliminary conversation. This woman had no idea who the hell we were, and still she offered to let us... borrow a heavy-duty anxiety drug. And by the way, why do people insist on using the word "borrow" when it comes to drugs or food? What, is Steph going to give the pill back after she's done with it?

"I use them all the time when I fly. They're WON-daful!"

"Um, thanks anyway, but-" Steph begins.

"Are ya's goin' on yer honeymoon? Did ya's get married?"

"No, we're just going on vacation together, because we're gonna be apart most of the summer."

"Aww, that's nice," she says. She shakes a pill bottle a few times, as if it were a musical instrument. "Ya sure you don't want one? You seem very nervous."

Steph exhales through puckered lips. "I really can't accept that. I'm in law school. I'm gonna be a lawyer, and-"

"OOooooh, oh, oh, neva mind, neva mind," she says. "Boy, I'm liable to get myself in trouble!"

We hurtle down the runway; we're momentarily pinned to our seats. Then the plane's nose lifts off the ground, and the rear wheels follow, and the stark realization hits me that we are no longer touching the earth, that we have left the safety of solid ground, and we've reached an irreversible point at which, if, God forbid, something happens and gravity should have its way with us, the results won't be pretty.

Sure, plane crashes are rare. As everyone in the business reminds us constantly, you are much more likely to be involved in a car wreck than a plane wreck. What they don't mention is that people tend to walk away from car wrecks, but you can fit what's left of most plane crash victims into an airsickness bag, and still have room to puke in it.

Steph grabs my arm and squeezes hard, closing her eyes. "I hate taking off. And landing. Once we level off, I'll be fine."

"Come on, Steph. What's the worst that could happen? Oh. Sorry," I smile. She slaps my arm.

"I thought you went to Mexico on spring break when you were in college."

"I did. That's why I'm afraid of flying. It was the most terrible flight ever. We got caught in a storm. We'd be flying along, and bouncing all around, and then we'd drop 200 feet in 5 seconds. Or at least it felt that way."

"So where are ya's on your way to? Maui?"

Oh no! Of course not! Sure, the plane is LANDING in Maui, but I figured we'd get a couple of parachutes and jump ship somewhere over the Pacific to look for Gilligan's Island!

"Yeah."

"I'm goin' to see my boyfriend."

"Oh really?" Steph says.

"I almost didn't make it. My knee is killing me. And my back, too. I got arthritis in my knee. And my finger," she says, holding up a stiff, crooked digit. "And then I got two vertebrae fused years ago. And then I got into a car accident and I broke my jaw..."

Oh really? Did they wire it shut? You didn't happen to save the wire, did you?

"Aww, that's too bad," Steph says. She's trying to be nice.

"Thank God for this OxyContin," she says, wagging another pill bottle at us. "I take this six times a day. It's WON-daful!"

I look at my watch. Only 9 hours and 57 minutes to go.

...And tell him he better stock up on cologne too, 'cause he's gonna have some competition..

Wednesday, May 11, 11:15am
Steve's office

"Steve, Steve, Steve."

"Good morning, Dan!"

"What have you learned today, Steve?"

"You got me a little early, Dan. OH! I know! A sprinter never tripped on an untied shoelace."

"Yes....yes, YES! I LIKE it! It's kind of a 'Don't sweat the small stuff' thing, isn't it? Did you make that up?"

"I did. So what can I do for you, Dan?"

"Steve, I've got a friend in the rental car business. He and I wager a bit from time to time."

"Mmhmm."

"He bet me $5,000 he could beat me at golf, and he lost."

"Ouch."

"And then, six months later, we played at Sawgrass, double or nothing, and I beat him again."

"So he owes you TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?"

"No, I lost a few bucks to him on Super Bowls and things. I figure he owes me about $8,200 or so."

"So where are you going with this?"

"Being in the rental car business, he's got all kinds of connections in the hospitality industry. Steve, how would you like to be upgraded to the finest hotel in all of Hawaii?"

"We're booked at the Marriott-"

"I know. Never mind the Marriott. This place makes the Marriott look like a mud hut. The rooms are palatial, Steve. Pa-LA-tial! And the employees cater to your every whim. It'll be the most magnificent vacation you've ever had. I guarantee it."

"Well... sure! I would have to cancel my other-"

"Just say the word and my friend will handle everything."

"Yes, of course! And thank you! But Dan, why are you doing this?"

"I don't like collecting that much cash from a bet. Besides, I need a favor from you."

Ah, I should have seen this coming.

"What's that?"

"I want you to hire my son Troy as an intern, and teach him everything you know. I'm grooming him to be a DM."

Troy is an MBA student at a university a few miles from my office. He's never worked a day in his life, but, being a card-carrying member of the Lucky Sperm Club, he'll be earning $150,000 a year by next summer, thanks to daddy.

Troy is a prick. He's tall and muscled, and walks around with his chest puffed out like Bluto from the Popeye cartoons, all the while smiling the easy, self-assured smile of a man who doesn't have a care in the world. Dom and I call Troy "George Bush", because no matter how much trouble he gets into, no matter how many cars he wrecks, no matter how many opportunities he squanders, at the end of the day he'll find himself with enough money to live like a king for the rest of his life.

As far as I know, he has no insurance experience, and now Dan is considering giving him an office to run. It'll probably be the midwest office; that's the smallest and quietest one. Nonetheless, it's a stressful, complicated job, and it requires someone with a wealth of experience to perform it properly. Sure, Troy will have the $3,000 suits, and the fancy car (he drives a BMW 7 series; dad probably paid $80,000 or so for it), and the imperious, don't-bother-me-with-details air about him. But I refuse to believe he will be able to run an office successfully after I "take him under my wing" for three or four weeks. This ain't like teaching someone to mow the lawn; it's nothing that can be boiled down to a list or a manual, or a college course. You need to eat, breathe, and sleep this business - for YEARS - in order to be a successful district manager.

"Ah, boy, Dan. Are you sure this is a good idea? He's got no experience in the business! He might be better off spending some time in underwriting-"

"Steve, I could've just told you to hire him. I am the CEO of this company, you know. Did you know I was the CEO, Steve?"

"Yes-"

"I could have just ordered you to do it, but I don't like to throw my weight around. So I'll let you decide. What do you think?"

"How long do I need to train him for?"

"I figured six weeks."

"He can shadow me for 2 hours a day. And I would need him to work with Dom quite a bit."

"Fine!"

"And I'll need to give him assignments. Big ones, time consuming ones."

"I would expect that. In fact, I would demand that!"

This won't be so bad after all. I figure I could assign him to work with the sales people. That job really sucks; basically, it entails listening to them bitch about the customer service people for 4 or 5 hours at a time, twice a month, and fielding angry phone calls from them every time their commission checks are off by $4.37. There's also a lot of grunt work that he could probably handle: Long, tedious, but not too difficult, projects that drain hours from my calendar every day. An extra pair of hands would be useful for the summer.

"It's a deal, Dan. Can he start the Monday after I come back? The 30th?"

"Yes! EXCELLENT! I'll call him with the good news! And I'll make sure I mention the bit about the sprinter with the shoelaces!"

The fit hits the shan. Again.

"Am I supposed to congratulate you? Or thank you? Am I supposed to be happy?"

"Of course not!"

"So what am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing. Forget it." I snap.

"No, seriously, Steve. Tell me what you want me to say. I want to know what the HELL you expect me to say!"

"Say whatever the hell you want. Tell me I'm a fucking loser, or I'm the worst boyfriend who ever lived."

"Don't gimme that! You can be so - wonderful at times, and then you go and do something like this, and it's almost like you're TRYING to mess things up between us."

"Steph, give me a break. Nothing HAPPENED! I didn't do anything WRONG!"

"You didn't do anything wrong? You DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG?!"

Ah, fuck. Now I'm toast.

"So let me ask you a question, Steve. If she rings your doorbell tonight, are you gonna let her in? Again?"

"No. Of course not."

"So you made a mistake when you did it the first time."

"Er, yeah. But-"

"So which is it, Steve? Did you do something wrong, or didn't you?"

Shit, another cross-examination. Too bad Amanda's not here; the two of them could have gotten into an argument about stem-cell research!

"Steph, that's the wrong question! You're-"

"Which IS it, Steve?"

"FINE. I made a mistake. I did something wrong. I let her in. But I didn't touch her. I didn't kiss her. She was getting soaked in the rain and telling me she really needed someone to talk to. So I let her in. That's it!"

"And if she was fat and ugly, I'm sure you still would have let her in. Right?"

Hmm, tough call. They say that fat girls give really good head! And it makes sense, too, doesn't it? Especially if you drowned your cock in marinara sauce...

"I didn't DO anything with her!" I shout.

"No, Steve, you just let that little fucking WHORE into your house, and you had NO idea what she wanted. And then you led her on, and made her think you wanted her, and then waited until the last possible minute, and then told her to get out. Steve the hero!" she says, mockingly. "What, am I supposed to throw you a party?!"

Well, no, but it's been a while since you've let me ass-fuck you...

"Are you finished, Steph?"

"NO! I want to know what you're planning on doing to fix this, Steve!"

Let's see. Can I punt? Or can I pass my turn to the next team, like on Family Feud?

"No more visits. No more calls. Obviously, she's not ready for friendship yet."

She takes a deep breath and seems to calm down. "Do you PROMise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"I'm sorry I yelled, Steve."

So anyway, like I was sayin'.....

Sunday, May 8, 2005
Steve's house
(continued)

When I get really horny, my balls ache. And right now, it feels like I've just taken a kick in the groin from a pissed-off mule after not orgasming for 22 years.

I'll fuck her, I think. Maybe one more good bang is what I need to finally get her out of my head. Or maybe I'll get back to fucking two girls again, like I did last summer.

No, that's just stupid. I could probably hide them from each other, especially with Steph being out of state. But the whole reason things didn't work out with Lila the first time was because she was too clingy and needy, and I have no doubt she'd be that way again if we reconciled. And is that what I really want anyway?

I'm happy with Stephanie now, relationship-wise. Over the past months, I've grown to the point where I trust her totally. I'm not much of a crier, but I feel like I could do that in front of her without feeling ashamed. I can't think of any topic of discussion that would be off-limits. She's smart, and she's mature. And if I am craving sex, it's not because the sex is bad with Steph, and it's not because I'm not getting enough. It's because I am a fucked-up, insecure, greedy, horny bastard.

So what?, I think. If that's what I am, then why fight it? Who cares WHY I want her? The fact is, I want her, and she's here, and it's pretty obvious that she wants the same thing I do.

I grab her wrist. I like the feel of her muscles flexing as she works my cock into a huge erection. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be touched by someone else besides Steph. It feels... strange.

This is going to be amazing. I can tell already. I like the idea that she's fucked Dom, and that's she's seen the best he can do, and that now it's my job to make her forget that. It's like being the home team, and getting the last at-bat.

I freeze. LISTEN to yourself!, I think. Suddenly, it's just as clear as can be. Intellectually, I knew what she was doing. I knew the facts. I knew she fucked Dom to make me jealous. Shit, she TOLD me as much! But for the first time, it made me angry. Incredibly angry. How could I not have felt this before?

She MANIPULATED me. She PLAYED me. It wasn't just the Dom thing. It was making sure she saw me before she left. It was telling me that she planned on getting clean and turning her life around. She was generating sympathy for herself.

It was the ponytail, the tight t-shirt, and the open-back sneakers that she was wearing the morning she left. She knows how much I like those things on her. And it was the teary visit to my doorstep, when she knew that Steph wasn't there, and wasn't going to be there, The Great Gatsby in hand.

She was playing games, the way they did on Melrose Place and 90210. This was nothing more than high school bullshit. And I fell for it!

Correction: ALMOST fell for it.

I stand up, pushing her arm away. I glance at the bulge in my jeans, and at my unbuttoned and partially-unzippered fly. Was I actually going to FUCK her?

"I'm going to the bathroom. Be gone when I get out."

It took a good half hour, but she finally did leave.

"Gone is the love that was so divine"

Sunday, May 8, 2005, 7:25pm
Steve's house

I'm exhuasted. I've been busting my ass on P & L's all day long, and my brain has reached that point of supersaturation where I can't think critically anymore; it's almost like forgetting how to read.

I've been running myself ragged with work lately, and I'm overwhelmed, not only by how much I've been doing recently, but also with the idea of how much I WILL be doing in the weeks to come. I feel like I could go to sleep right now-

DING-DONG! The doorbell.

Linda, I think. Another fucking emergency, I'm sure. She'll be at my door, in her frayed, dirty dog-sweater, her hair a gnarled mess, asking me to babysit her coo-coo-for-Cocoa-Puffs son, or to unclog her toilet, or pull a splinter out of her left ass cheek. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

DING-DONG! KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

"Hold on, I'm coming!" I open my front door.

Lila is standing there.

She got out of rehab on the 2nd. She called to let me know she was back to work, and everything seemed alright. I haven't heard from her since, and I figured maybe she had gotten on with her life and wouldn't be contacting me for a while.

It's raining fiercely. Her hair is matted to her head, and she's making no effort to keep dry.

"I need to talk to you," she says, over the steady hiss of raindrops hitting the ground.

"Is everything ok?"

"No. Can I please come in?"

"Lila...I mean, don't you have a sponsor or something?"

"She's away until late tonight. Steve, PLEASE!" She blinks her almond-shaped eyes at me; rain coalesces on her long lashes. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest. It's chilly.

This is a fucking mistake, I think, and I open the door.

I give her a towel from the bathroom, and she sits on my couch, rubbing the fluffy blue cotton against her long hair. She sighs deeply.

"I didn't know how hard this was gonna be."

"Did something happen?"

"Sophie had some girls over to play cards. They starting smoking..."

"Pot?"

"Mm-hmm. And then they were drinking. And I started thinking, I have to go my whole fucking life without taking a drink or smoking. I'm freaking!"

"Aren't you supposed to take it one day at a time?"

"I know, but ALL my friends use. I don't know how I'm gonna DO this!" she sobs softly into the towel.

"Hey. You're gonna do great." I pat her shoulder; she hugs me, still crying.

8:30pm

Lila's drinking a Diet Pepsi and we're flipping channels. She looks a little better. There's a black-and-white movie on AMC. "Hey!" she says. "Guess what I have in the car?"

"What?"

"Hold on!" She hops up and runs outside, then dashes back in with a video from Blockbuster. "LOOK!" she smiles. I read the box.

The Great Gatsby, it says.

"Ahh, cool."

"I loved that book SO much. I read it twice while I was at rehab. Someone there told me they made a movie about it, so I went and rented it."

"What did you think?"

"I haven't watched it yet." Her eyes open wider. "Let's watch it now!"

"Lila, I'm so tired-"

She puts on a sexy pout and gazes up at me. "Pleeeeease?"

"You have to go as soon as it's over."

"OK!"

I've seen this adaptation before, and I like it very much. But it lacks the drama and suspense that you feel when watching a movie for the first time, and I nod off after about an hour or so.

An image fades into focus. It's Lila and me in her bedroom at her apartment. Her clothes are off, her exquisite, naked body glowing invitingly in the dim light. She's kissing me now, softly and wetly, just exactly the way I like it. Her hands work my cock expertly, rubbing it slowly up and down, applying just the right amount of pressure. "I want you to make love to me," she breathes in my ear, and I'm covered in tingles.

"Make love to me. Please make love to meeeee?" It's her little-girl voice, the sexiest, most seductive voice I've ever heard.

My eyes open. I was dreaming. I'm not in Lila's room, and she's not naked. But she is sitting next to me, and nibbling my ear.

Oh, and her hand is on my cock.

"Pleeeeease, babyyy? I love you soo much."

I look at her, and I am totally gone. I am seduced completely by her, drowning in her brown eyes, awash in the green apple-smell of her hair, entranced by her thick lips and perfect, white teeth.

All of the insecurity comes rushing back, the feeling that I need to fuck her, that I need to prove a point, to myself and to everyone else, that Lila is not out of reach for me, that she wants me as much as I want her.

I feel the pull, the pull that I haven't felt in a long time. It's as strong as it ever was. And when I want someone this badly, I've never been able to resist. I've never even been able to think about why I SHOULD.

Consequences? Yeah, this is gonna fuck everything up, but good. But maybe this is just how I'm supposed to be. Maybe this is the natural order of things, and maybe it's wrong to tamper with that.

Our eyes lock. There are no more words. There is no need for any.

Let's get this party started

"Meet me upstairs in two minutes."

I watch her ass wiggle as she walks away. She turns around and puckers at me, her eyes narrowed seductively.

The two minutes seem to take hours. My heart is racing with the thought of fucking Stephanie good and hard, all the while flirting with the very real possibility of being caught.

"So where do you work again?" Aunt Carol says, stirring a drink with her finger, then licking it.

If you look like Eva Longoria, that's an extremely hot move. Otherwise, it makes me think about how many doorknob- and toilet bowl-germs you just lapped up.

I answer her.

"Ooooo! Well, my brother is looking for work. Do you think you could-"

"Please excuse me."

I climb the steps two at a time, then make a left at the top of the staircase. Her door is closed tightly. I grab the doorknob and turn it softly.

The blinds are closed and the lights are out, but bright sunshine streams through every uncovered space, filling the room with a strange dark-light.

Steph is sitting on the bed, one leg folded under her body. She walks to me, unsmiling. "You are sooo crazy, you know that?" Now she's smirking a bit.

"Do you have ANY idea how bad I want you right now?"

"Uh-uh." She unhooks her belt, slowly, quietly. The metallic jingle of the buckle is like music to me; I hear it, and my heart beats faster.

She unbuttons her jeans and unzips her fly, slowly, languidly, so that I can almost hear the zipper disengaging tooth by tooth.

She peels her jeans down, and for a moment they rest, inside out, against her thighs, like the skin of a banana.

She slides her light blue panties silently down, just far enough to see her clean-shaven pussy.

"Did you shave again?"

"I love shaving now!" She smiles.

Yeah, that's my girl!

I unbutton and unzip and pull, and my cock is fully exposed, long and rigid and desperate to slither in her warm wetness.

She presses her body to me, her smooth pussy hot against my thigh. "I am SO nice and wet for you," she whispers in my ear.

I guide her to a doggie-style position over the edge of the bed, and for a moment I am taken with how utterly beautiful she looks this way. Her ass is perfect, round, full and tight. Like a mink coat on display in a fancy boutique, it just begs to be touched and carressed.

It fills me with pure lust to see her jeans and panties bunched up around her thighs; it's a dirty, illicit vibe that makes me want her even more urgently.

I stand behind her, running my stiff rod up and down along her ass and pussy, flicking her labia, brushing against her asshole.

All at once, I ram it into her with a low sigh, and then we are fucking, hard, fast, and yes, loud.

She's not screaming, but she is letting loose with a good moan here and there. And the bed ain't the quietest thing in the world, either.

I look down. My cock is shining with her juices, and perfectly hard, like glass. I pull it out of her, head and all, and pause for an endless moment before I bury it inside her again, reveling in the wet, squishy sounds.

Tap-tap-tap, I hear, faintly.

"Somebody in there?" A man says. His voice sounds far away.

Steph turns around and looks at me, panicked. "I think he's knocking at the bathroom door," I whisper.

Silence. Then, even more faintly, "Thanks." Yep, he was waiting for the bathroom after all.

I love the idea that there is someone mere feet away, who at any moment could open the wrong door and catch us in the act. I grab her hips tighter, sinking my fingers into her supple flesh, and close my eyes as I feel the climax build.

She arches her back slightly. Instinctively, my hand slides up her abdomen and over a pert breast; I cup it gently in my hand, her nipple between my second and third finger.

She draws a shaky breath. I can feel her trembling under my hands. A moment later, I am trembling too.

My right hand slides around her waist. She grabs it tightly. I slide deeper into her, and I can feel the orgasm rack her body, almost violently. I watch as I enter her one final time, exploding with my own climax, and both of us stay perfectly still for a moment, breathing heavily and clutching one other tightly.

"You should get internships more often," I say finally.

Aloha redux

Saturday, May 7, 2005, 11:30am
Steph's mother's house

Steph's mother is thrilled about the internship. As soon as she heard the news, she started arranging a party to celebrate.

Marti is a great mother. Every time I talk to her, she tells me how proud she is of her two kids, and how terrible it is that they don't have a father anymore. And whenever I am saying goodbye and handing the phone over to Steph, she always says the same thing: "Take care of my little girl!"

We got here early to help set up for the party. As soon as we walk in the door, a young man rushes over to us.

"HEYYYYY!" Steph says.

"Hey big sis!" They hug.

He's about 5'10", and he might be lanky, but I can't tell, because he's wearing at least three shirts, one of which is a button-down oxford that hangs to his knees. His jeans are straight out of Jared from Subway's "before" picture, belted somewhere around mid-thigh, with legs so big that I can't see his feet. I can't see most of his head, either, because he's got a wool knit cap pulled down past his eyebrows.

"Steve, this is my brother Robbie."

"Hey dude!" he says. His voice is higher than I expected. I know he's about 20, but he still sounds like a teenage boy. He shakes my hand, then pulls me in to him, bumping our shoulders together.

Why do I feel like I've just been initiated into a gang?

"How do you do, Rob?" I smile. With the way he looks, I'm just happy he didn't take my wallet or try to beat the shit out of me.

"Hello all!" Marti says, breezing in from the kitchen. She kisses Steph and me. "Robbie, go make yourself presentable." He rolls his eyes and stomps up the stairs.

12:00pm

Steph pulls me into the kitchen. "I have good news!" she says, giddily.

"JUST good news?"

"YES. You know that final I had in torts that was scheduled for the 20th?"

"Yeah."

"That class has two sections. The other section takes the final on Monday the 16th."

"Yeah...."

"The professor is a good friend of mine. She's also my advisor. So I begged and pleaded-"

"And she allowed you the privilege of taking your final four days before anyone else in your class?"

"Yes!!" she says, bouncing in her seat. "She says I'm crazy, but..."

"Why did you do it?"

"So I can go to Hawaii!"

"But what about all your other finals that week?"

"That's my last one! I don't HAVE any other finals that week!"

"Steph, this is awesome!"

"I KNOW! But, I HAVE to be back by the 23rd to start my internship."

"No problem. I'll make the arrangements through the travel department at work."

"I know it's kinda last minute, so if you want to go someplace else besides Hawaii.."

"Don't worry about a thing. I really appreciate you rearranging your schedule like that. Studying is gonna be hell!"

"Don't mention it! You're treating me to a Hawaiian vacation and spending God knows how much. I'M the one who should appreciate it!"

1:30pm

Guests start to arrive.

Steph has changed into a tight pair of jeans and striped shirt. I can't help but stare at her tight, curvy lower half every time she walks by.

Robbie is now wearing a pair of jeans that actually has a waistline, and I can see his feet. Of course, he's blasting System of a Down on his iPod so loudly that I can hear it across the room, but I guess I can't ask for much.

Steph introduces me to all of her aunts, uncles and cousins. "This is my boyfriend, Steve," she'll say, warmly, putting her hand on my shoulder. "He's taking me to Hawaii!" and Aunt Carol or Uncle Scott would "Oooh" and "Aahh" at the news.

I'm opening a can of soda when I feel a hand on my ass. "Hey sexy."

I turn around. Steph is already walking away, looking lustily at me from the corners of her eyes.

I'm filling up my plate with lasagna (of course). I feel a body up against my back: tits, firm yet somehow soft, against my shoulder blades, hips against my backside, a hand around my abdomen from behind. I am instantly stiff.

"Heyyy," she whispers in my ear. "I can't wait to be on the beach with you."

"Me neither."

"Are you getting a room with a hot tub?"

"You know it."

"I wanna go to the mall tomorrow. I have something I want to buy you for our trip. Well, it's for me but really for you."

"Victoria's Secret?"

"Mm-hmmmm," she smiles. "I wanna buy you something, too."

Just please don't make it a thong.

"Get a room, you two," Robbie says, trudging through the kitchen.

"We're working on it," I say. Steph giggles.

I'm coming out of the bathroom. Steph is walking down the hall towards me. She grabs me by the wrist, gazing up at me. She interlocks her fingers with mine and gently pushes me against the wall. Tits and hips, again. "I can't wait to see you naked later," she says softly.

"Very impatient today, aren't you?" I say. It's all I can manage. My pulse is racing, my breathing heavy and hot.

"Mm-hmmm. Very impatient."

"Let's go upstairs now."

"Noo-ooo!" she smiles. But her eyes dart around the room. She's thinking about it. "There's no lock on my door!"

"Now I REALLY want you," I say.

She looks around again. "Meet me upstairs in two minutes."

Bad news and worse news

Saturday, April 30, 2005
Steve's bedroom

"I have good news and bad news."

"Oh?"

"Which do you want first?"

"Bad."

"I can't go to Hawaii."

"What do you MEAN?"

"Steve, I'm so sorry!"

"What happened?"

"Remember that internship I interviewed for at home?"

"Yeah. You GOT it?"

"Yeah! I'm so excited!"

There's a prestigious law firm near Steph's mother's house where Steph worked while she was in high school. Working there made her want to be an attorney, and it's been her dream to go back and work there as a law student. There were five internships available for the summer; competition was fierce, with hundreds of applicants vying for the spots.

"Steph! Congratulations!"

"Thank you! But I'm so depressed I can't go away with you," she pouts.

"Why can't you?"

"It starts right after finals are over, and goes all the way up until classes begin. It's really competitive, and missing any work at all is highly discouraged. So taking a week off is a bad idea."

"So you're gonna be gone all summer."

"Steve, I'm SORRY! But this is really important to me."

Call it a selfish phase. Suddenly I'm angry, like a petulant little boy, thinking only of myself and my needs. All I can think of is how patient I was with her, sitting home alone for all those long nights while she studied endlessly, looking forward to summer, when I could finally whisk her away and spend some quality time with her while the sun was actually out. Now summer is here, and she'll be even more scarce than she was. Yeah, it hurts.

"I am happy for you. I am. But I can't lie to you, I'm disappointed. I was looking forward to spending a lot of time with you this summer."

"Me too. But I'll come visit you every weekend. I promise!"

"You won't come visit me every weekend. You're gonna be working your ass off on the weekends!"

Her smile fades. "Well... you could come visit me.."

"And watch you work?"

"STE-EEEVE!" she wails. She stares at me, her face cloudy with sorrow, her hazel eyes sparkling with tears. It's been a very long time since I've seen her cry.

"Steph-"

"I thought you'd be HAPPY for me!" she sobs. "I thought you would SUPPORT me!"

"You SAID it was bad news, didn't you?"

"You're being selfish! You make me SO mad sometimes!!" She stomps off to the bathroom and slams the door.

Why do girls always run to the bathroom in the middle of a fight? Does being angry make you have to piss? Or are you reviewing your argument crib notes?

Minutes pass. Finally I hear the lock pop, and the door opens slowly. She walks over and sits next to me. "I am sorry I raised my voice," she says with a sigh, enunciating each word carefully, as if teaching a foreigner how to speak English.

"I'm sorry I upset you. But, we're supposed to share everything with each other. Right? If something is bothering me, I need to let you know about it."

I look at her. She's searching my face, up and down.

"Right?"

"Mm-hmm," she says. "To be very honest with you, I feel guilty about taking it. I almost turned it down, because I didn't want to be away from you. You work a lot of hours, and I'm gonna be working a lot of hours..."

"Well, it's gonna hurt me too, but I'm very glad you took it. That was the right thing to do. We'll find a way to make time for each other this summer."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Steve and Lila's phone call conclusion, non-cliffhangered edition

Hey guys, before I forget, if ANYBODY reading this has a membership to teenpinkvideos.com, please e-mail me. I need a favor...

**********

"So did you ever see him again after that night?"

"I didn't SEE him, but.."

"You talked to him?"

"He called me a few times. He asked me to go away with him for the weekend once, to some cottage he was renting."

I remember that. It wasn't too long ago.

"So why didn't you go?"

"Ste-eve! I'm not going away with him! He's not my boyfriend!"

"Well, I mean, you did have sex with him, so-"

"Yeah, but he's like FORTY! It would look like I was dating my father."

"I didn't need that visual."

She sighs. "So....don't you think I get jealous too?"

"Jealous of what?"

"Of you and your perfect girlfriend," she says, mockingly. "She's smarter than me, she's probably prettier than me..."

"Lila. I wouldn't EVER worry about attractiveness if I were you."

"I get SO fucking jealous."

"So the idea of me with her? That doesn't... get you off somehow, like it does me?"

"NO! It pisses me off! It makes me wanna beat the shit out of her!"

Actually, I could arrange that. And I'm pretty sure this chick would supply the Jell-o.

"Why her? Why not me?"

"Because I love you."

I freeze for a moment and let those words echo in my head. It's been a very long time since I've heard her say that, and hearing it again makes my stomach leap.

Sooner or later, I am going to have to sort out all the shit between Lila and me. We never really "resolved" our relationship together; I just kind of faded away, like I usually do.

I dated her for almost a year, which I never did with anyone, and then carelessly discarded her, like I ALWAYS did. The breakup didn't fit the relationship, and as a result I am not sure how I feel about her now.

"I get this idea that you two have this perfect life, that you're this perfect couple, like she's reading Redbook and Cosmo and learning how to be this perfect girlfriend."

"It's not perfect, Lila."

"And I get mad because I know I'll never be that perfect."

"Do you ever feel like it was perfect with us? When we were together?"

"Remember the first night I moved into my apartment with Sophie, and you slept over?"

"Yeah."

"We didn't do anything special, we just hung out together, and talked all night, and then went to bed early..."

"Yep, I remember."

"And Sophie was there, and we were all joking around and laughing."

"Yeah, that was a good night."

"I think about that night all the time," she says. "It was going SO good with us for a while. I don't know what happened."

"I think we have to-"

"Steve, I gotta go," she says, her voice breaking. "A bunch of people are waiting for the phone."

Come to think of it, I'm more of a marshmallow fluff man

"What do you wanna ask me?"

"Nah, never mind."

"Why never mind?"

"You're in rehab. I'm not gonna hit you with this crap."

"Steve. I needed to dry out for a while. I'm not a friggin' junkie. TALK to me!"

"That Dom thing..."

"Mmhmm."

This is a huge fucking mistake. I don't need to know. I shouldn't WANT to know. It shouldn't matter. Dom and I have made our peace. Lila and I have, too. Like they say, it's better not to know how sausages and laws are made. It's also better not to know the specifics of how, when, where, and how well your co-worker fucked your ex-girlfriend.

But I can't help myself.

"Sometimes I feel like I need to know more about what happened."

"Mmmhmm."

I'm playing right into her hands. She wanted to make me jealous, so the worst thing I can do is show that it's working. But I'm doing it anyway, and I'm telling myself that it won't be that bad, that I'll feel better once I know, that the consequences will be worth it. But in reality, It's my insecurity creeping up again, demanding to know if Dom has somehow fucked his way under her skin and into her brain, if he has made her forget all about me.

"Who called who?"

"I called him. I met him for a drink at Doc's. He bought me a Cosmopolitan."

"And then?"

"He... asked me if... he could come over...."

My cock gets stiff. I love the idea of some other guy drilling her, making her box hot and creamy and wet, making her tremble with pleasure as he stretches her pussy wide open, fucking her relentlessly.

It's a strange combination: The cold, stabbing ice pick of betrayal mixed with the hot, lava-like flow of lust. The two sensations mix together and form a potent drug, something that gives me a rush like the last big hill on a rollercoaster ride. I know I need to stay far away from it. But I can't fucking do it. I hate this and I love it; I want her to stop talking, but I need her to keep going.

"And?"

"You know what happened, Steve."

"Did you go down on him?"

"Mm-hmm."

I'm harder now. My cock is supersensitive, filling me with waves of pleasure each time it rubs against the inside of my pants. At this point, I'm pretty sure I would fuck a jar of peanut butter, if there were one in front of me.

"And then you had sex with him?"

"Yeah."

"How many times?"

"I dunno. I was stoned. Two, three? And then again in the morning."

"He stayed overnight?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you....."

"Did I come?"

"Yeah. Did you?"

"Yeah. When I was on top I did."

My stomach is in knots. I am filled with rage. She is MINE, my subconscious screams. MINE, MINE, MINE! [warning: sound file link] How DARE he take her away from me!

Yeah, I'm being a moron. She's not mine. She hasn't been for some time. I thought I was past this. Maybe I'm not.

"Steve?"

"What."

"It meant nothing."

"I know."

"I was trying to make you jealous."

"Well I think it worked."

"I'm so sorry, honey."

When you said "bigger", you didn't actually mean"bigger", right?

Sunday, April 17, 2005, 11:00pm

"You're going WHERE?!"

"Steph. She's going to rehab. I'm going to say goodbye!"

"I thought you weren't speaking to her anymore!" she says, mockingly.

"I wasn't. Now I am."

"Why YOU? Why does she always call YOU for everything?"

"She doesn't call me for everything, Steph."

"She calls you constantly, she drunk dials you every night. Obviously she's still in love with you, and you're encouraging it!"

"So you're against me being friends with an ex now?"

"No, I'm against you being friends with THAT ex."

"Someday, you are gonna realize how much I love you, and you're not gonna worry about Lila anymore."

"Don't make this about me."

"Look. I'm going over there for 10 minutes, tops, before I go to work. I'll call you as soon as I leave her house, ok?"

"Fine!"

**********

Monday, April 18, 7:15am
Lila's house

She's standing on her front steps, smoking a cigarette. It occurs to me that I have not seen her in quite some time.

Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. It's shorter than I remember. She's wearing faded low-rise jeans, a pink babydoll t-shirt, and open-back sneakers with no socks.

It hits me all over again how completely beautiful she is. Her breasts somehow manage to be big and perky at the same time; her waist slim and tight; her hips voluptuous and curvy.

I park and walk up to her. She stares up at me, her eyes big and pleading and her lip quivering, and hugs me for a long time.

Yes, I love Stephanie. Yes, I want to be friends with Lila. But goddammit, as I smell that green-apple smell in her hair, and feel her tits press up against me, and her cheek, warm and soft on my neck, my stomach twitches with lust.

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"What if I can't get sober?"

"Just take it one day at a time."

I hand her a plastic grocery bag. "What's this?" she sniffles.

"Look!"

There's about 10 Snickers bars inside (her favorite). "I don't know if they're gonna let you have that candy, so you may have to wolf those down on the way over," I smile.

There's also a prepaid phone card, and copies of "The Great Gatsby" and "Madame Bovary".

"Why do I feel like I'm back at high school," she says, holding up one of the books.

"Those are both great ones, Lila. Read 'em. You'll have time on your hands, I promise."

I've had friends in rehab before. I know of what I speak.

She digs around in the bag. "What, no Cliff Notes?"

We laugh. Our eyes catch, and the laughing stops, and for a brief moment, with her smiling, and me smiling too, it feels just like it used to between Lila and me. I feel happy and content and at peace.

She looks down at her shoes. "How's Stephanie," she asks.

She was thinking the same thing I was.

**********

Wednesday, April 27, 2005, 10:16am
Steve's office

My cell phone buzzes. Unavailable, again.

"Hello?"

"Hiyeee!" It's Lila.

"Hey! How are you?"

"Fine! I'm feeling much better! I did my chores every day so I got some phone privileges today."

"Awesome! So rehab is going well?"

"Yes. I'm so glad I came here. I'm feeling so much better! I think this is just what I needed."

"I'm glad."

"Steve, I just want to say I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For how I treated you. All the drunk dials..."

"Lila, don't apologize, please. I'm the one-"

"You were so great to me, and I-"

"No I wasn't."

"And that whole thing with Dom..."

"Hey, by the way, I want to ask you something about that..."

I could fax you a copy of my driver's license....

Sunday, April 17, 2005, 10:00pm
Steve's house

My phone rings. The number comes up as unavailable.

"Hello?"

"Hey." It's Lila.

Shit. I've never had such a hard time breaking all ties with a girl.

"Hey," I say, testily.

"I just wanted to say goodbye."

This doesn't sound good. At all.

"Wh- where are you going?"

"Rehab."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"That's good news! Wait. Did something happen?"

She sighs. "Trey and I were on our way to buy some..."

"Coke?"

"Mm-hmm. And he got pulled over for an expired sticker, and the cop smelled pot, so he searched us."

"Oh Jesus, Lila. Why did he smell pot?"

"We were smoking."

"In the CAR!?"

"I don't need a lecture!"

"I know."

"I had a joint in a pack of cigarettes, so they arrested me."

"Shit!"

"And Trey..."

"What about him?"

"He had an ounce on him. And he's been arrested before."

"Holy shit! Is he going to jail?"

"Probably. He's got a lawyer."

"And you?"

"I got a public defender. He got me a deal where if I go to rehab, they'll drop the charges. So I made up my mind that I'm gonna get clean."

"That's awesome. I'm so proud of you, Lila."

"Really?"

"Of course! How long are you going for?"

"Fourteen days."

"Cool. Are you still working at that dentist's office?"

"Yeah, he's being really cool about it."

"Great!"

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Could I ask you a big favor?"

"What's that."

"A HUGE one?"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not gonna like this?"

"I wanna see you before I go."

Now, if he would just get rid of those wire hangers...

Friday, April 15, 2005, 11:45am
Steve's office

"Steve, Dan Johnson for you."

"Go ahead."

My phone rings.

"MIS-ter Johnson."

"Steve! How are you?"

What? Why didn't he ask me what I've learned today?

"I, er, I'm fine, and you?"

"I would ask you what you've learned today, but I don't want you making any more jokes at my expense!"

We both laugh.

"I guess I've got an informer in my ranks, eh?"

"I saw the video, actually. Great speech, Steve. I actually got a little choked up."

"No kidding!"

"No kidding. Actually, that's what I wanted to speak to you about."

"I'm listening."

"As you know, several times a year, we do customer service training here in home office for anyone who has customer contact. It's just a way to keep them focused on making the customer their top priority."

"Right. Coincidentally, I just signed an authorization to send a couple of my people down there for that next week."

"It's not a coincidence. I want you to come down here and speak to them. It'll be a group of 30. I need you to do 45 minutes or so."

"Alright, no problem. Is there an agenda you need me to cover?"

"Do whatever you want. Just leave them with the impression that the customer is the most important person in the world to them."

**********

Friday, April 21, 2005, 10:00am
Corporate office training room

I'm standing at a podium in front of 30 sour-faced customer service people. I can tell they're all pissed off that they had to come here: They're probably thinking of the work that's piling up on their desks this very minute.

No matter how engaging of a speaker one is, it's hard to get through to a group who doesn't want to listen to you. The best I can do is try to make this interesting, and get out.

"Good morning, everyone!"

Mumbles wash lazily back at me, like the waves of a receding tide around my ankles.

"Ah, boy. I guess they're watering down the coffee again," I say. There's a couple of laughs.

"Let me ask you guys a question. WHO is the most important person at Microsoft corporation? Right off the top of your head, who comes to mind?"

Silence. Then, from the back of the room: "Bill Gates."

"It makes sense!" I say. "He started the company, right? Without him, there'd BE no Microsoft. He MUST be the most important person, right?"

A couple of heads nod.

"WRONG! Anybody else?"

"Didn't Bill Gates step down as CEO?" says a man in the front row. "Who's the guy who took over, Steve Ballmer? Gates is probably just a figurehead, and that guy's doing all the work."

"Good theory. But wrong!"

"How about the head programmer?" says a woman from the third row.

"GREAT idea! After all, if there's no program, there's nothing to sell, and no money. Right?"

A few people look at each other.

"WRONGO!!"

There's some laughter.

"Come on, guys. What are you all here for?"

"The customer service manager!" Shouts a voice from the back.

"Customer service manager? How many of you have ever SPOKEN to Microsoft customer service? Does it even exist?"

The room is silent again. "Think! You're almost there!"

"The CUSTOMER!" A man says, finally.

"You got it," I say. "Who CARES if the company would be there without Bill Gates, if they're not selling anything? Who CARES who's programming it, if it's just sitting on the shelves? How many billions would Mr. Gates have, if there weren't customers buying his product? Don't lose sight of that. Neither THIS company, nor any company out there, will ever be so big that it doesn't need customers anymore."

Some heads nod.

"My dad's uncle Jerome used to run a laudromat," I say. "Sometimes, on a Saturday afternoon, we'd go visit him at work. One day, I was looking at one of his receipts, and I noticed his home phone number was printed on it. And when I asked him why, he said, 'Sometimes my customers need me when I'm not here.'

"Years later, we were at uncle Jerome's house on Christmas Eve, and his phone rang. It turns out a customer needed a suit for church the next morning. And sure enough, he got up and went to the laundromat, and drycleaned that man's suit. On CHRISTMAS EVE."

There's a lot of head-shaking and sheesh!-ing.

"Now, I don't pretend that uncle Jerome was necessarily in the right for doing things like that. There's something to be said for managing the customers' expectations, and once you set the bar that high, the customer will expect 24-hour service, and will get angry if they don't get it. I didn't tell you that story so that you'd all give out your home phone numbers to your customers. I told you because I want you to think about how important my uncle's customers were to him. Remember it, when your phone is ringing, and your coworker is right in the middle of a good joke. Remember it when your phone rings at five minutes to five, and you REALLY don't want to answer it, or when you've just stood up to go get a cup of coffee.

"If you're not sure whether the customer really needs to know something, find out for him. If you're not sure whether someone else has handled something, find out. Don't leave things to chance, and give the customer the benefit of the doubt. Just aspire to care about customers as much as my uncle did, and if you are half as dedicated as he was, you'll be a superstar."

I'm craving popcorn all of a sudden...

Friday April 9, 2005 9:00pm
~continued~

"Holy shit!" I exclaim, staring at the viewscreen of Brian's camcorder.

He's playing a video of a huge cock being rammed in and out of a woman's completely shaved vagina. It's an extreme close-up, so close that it looks like it was shot with a microscope instead of a camera. I can see every fold, every freckle, every petal of her pussy as the guy fucks her. It's obviously being filmed by the guy himself: The camera's looking straight down at the action, from an angle that only the guy doing it would have.

"Ohhh, yeah," a tinny female voice says from the cheap-sounding camera speaker. She sounds familiar.

The camera pans up slowly. The picture is shaky and unsteady, like you would expect from amateur porn. First I see a huge, tanned pair of breasts, bouncing subtly up and down. The girl is riding the guy, that's for sure. Next I see a face. It's Susan. It occurs to me that her tits are much bigger than they look when she has clothes on.

Her face is twisted into a grimace of ecstasy, her eyes closed, her lip curled slightly. It's a really hot fuck face. Suddenly, I realize that I am fully erect, my cock pressing insistantly against the inside of my jeans. Maybe Susan isn't so bad after all!

"FUCK, baby," a man's voice moans, and I immediately recognize it as Brian. He pans back down to his cock, and she's riding him faster now, harder, planting her hands on his chest and lifting her hips way up, so that he's almost all the way out of her, before slamming them down again.

I'm far from a phallic afficionado, but I've watched enough porn to know a big cock when I see one, and Brian's is huge. I'm thinking it's eight or nine inches, easy, and thick, too. Trust me: This guy's packing a Louisville Slugger. It's strange, seeing a skinny guy like him with a dick like that.

"What're you guys doing over there?" Susan calls from the other room.

"Be right back," Brian calls.

The picture shakes and bounces wildly, and suddenly I'm looking at the carpet. Then more shaking, and it's on Susan's naked body again, flat on her back, with her hand on her breast, thumbing her nipple.

He's pulled out of her now, rubbing his huge dick slowly with his right hand. The rubbing gets faster, then faster still, until he finally erupts, shooting a long ribbon of cum across her abdomen with a loud groan.

Brian hits the STOP button on the camcorder, looking at me. "You like that?"

"I've seen worse," I smile.

"We bought this thing for the honeymoon," he says, tapping the camera. "It makes DVD's. Cool, huh?"

"REALLY cool!"

"You can borrow it sometime, if you want."

"The camera, not the video, right?" I smile.

He shrugs. "You're my friend. You can see whatever you want."

"I appreciate that."

"So this ex of yours sounds hot."

"All I said was she was cute!"

He laughs. "If you played it off that way, she must be smokin'! So, you still nailin' her?"

"Lila? No!"

"Well, I just figured, if she was still callin' you..."

"So does that mean you're doing that other chick? The airhead?"

He smiles slowly, a big, I'm-getting-away-with-murder smile. " 'Course I am!" Then he scowls, pointing his chin towards the family room. "She's too busy getting hundred-dollar manicures to fuck me!"

"Sounded like you were doing ok at the hotel. And at my house that night."

"She likes having an audience."

"Really!"

"She thinks you're hot, too."

"No shit!" I say, smiling broadly.

"Don't be flattered. She likes money." We laugh.

"Check this out," he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He slides a picture of Susan out of a photo sleeve to reveal a young brunette with sleepy brown eyes and thick, juicy lips.

"That your ex?"

"Mm-hmm. Fuckin' wild little thing."

"She looks it."

"Fucked me and sucked my buddy's dick at the same time," he says evenly.

"Damn, man!"

"I told her about you. She wants to meet you."

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself. Hey, you got a picture of your ex?"

"No, I took 'em out."

"Ahh, the wallet purge. The first sign of being pussy whipped!" he laughs.

His face turns serious. He holds up his index finger, leaning in to me. "NEVER be a one-woman man, Steve."