tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18247994098307196442024-03-05T05:55:20.787-05:00Bourbon, Sex, and Coffee.Welcome to my fucking blog. My mostly private, alone-time, blog where I'll post my middle-aged missives.
**Now with occasional guest-authors!!**Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-70045455060902738172022-03-13T20:47:00.006-04:002022-03-13T21:10:18.177-04:00Childhood fears come to life.I'll never say this publicly - and by that, I mean in a forum that shows my real name... but right now, I am stressed out as FUCK and terrified at what's happening in the world.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZTT_bQm7PYGqqfVBgF4T6GLeAmsi6NpGvjXty7QuTfL6KE4gpvKepx4ree3p_lo8r9jnECdaZg5OPONkzyfaPl7ElMx40Nv0OFUMJZj5zGkX3ptb6p0wmOGTwJQ5mYR2BtUO_N06JyUOf6OkfEb22wYY8O9SQmUYSg3Gza4O_phAKLs59QLHzgE5w=s1200" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZTT_bQm7PYGqqfVBgF4T6GLeAmsi6NpGvjXty7QuTfL6KE4gpvKepx4ree3p_lo8r9jnECdaZg5OPONkzyfaPl7ElMx40Nv0OFUMJZj5zGkX3ptb6p0wmOGTwJQ5mYR2BtUO_N06JyUOf6OkfEb22wYY8O9SQmUYSg3Gza4O_phAKLs59QLHzgE5w=s320" width="320" /></a></div>I know that the likelihood of this whole thing popping-off and causing some sort of WWIII type of calamity is very slim... but I cannot escape it. It has been giving me nightmares about my deployments to Iraq. I've woken up covered in sweat several nights in a row now, escaping the crushing dreams of being sent out again to fight...</div><div><br /></div><div>I have seen war first-hand. And that was awful - BTW happy birthday to my PTSD. It's old enough to buy porn and lottery tickets now - but the thought of a global event with more than the U.S. vs some small third-world is fucking horrifying.</div><div><br /></div><div>You thought the TP shortage of 2020 was bad? Wait until you can't get fruit, cheese, beef, or other shit because of whatever reason might've come up.</div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div>Most people - in the U.S. have no idea what war is. They've got a glorified IDEA of what it is based on movies where they think they're the hero and the hero lives.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well - here's the news, folks - everyone can die. You. Your mom. Your sister. Your brother. Your dog. Your neighbor... </div><div><br /></div><div>Death doesn't respect you. Death doesn't give a FUCK about you. It'll come up and snatch the breath out of your throat and not think twice.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've watched young people and old die. They're just going about their business one minute - and then they're a fucking lifeless corpse at your feet the next. You watch as the lights fade from their eyes in just a few seconds... </div><div><br /></div><div>I've watched people filter ditch-water to make tea for their invaders in hopes of preventing an "accidental" fucking bombardment of their house... </div><div><br /></div><div>I've watched as neighbors turn on one another for food, water, or anything to make their lives during the living Hell just slightly more bearable...</div><div><br /></div><div>And if shit in Ukraine spills into Poland, NATO will get involved. USSR vs NATO is the nightmare scenario I grew up with. Movies about U.S. spies and Russian spies... secret bombs and planes. Barely escaping WWIII every time... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgx5h0RzSz_8TAEDMSG4AzV3EtDQgAJMlOh_ZSl3v3c83dWN2LFskSN6KLN59R62aZWlxPU8F6Hio-PIHTHkww08ZEqOvILL8u7Qc2Guf7HEi7PXH1s1eKX-gsRBvjSLmOnag9vgXrBr4L10XZb2T-0AgUKrJQngnhbG6Pap-L-tO_dIK1qYXhIIB-S=s900" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgx5h0RzSz_8TAEDMSG4AzV3EtDQgAJMlOh_ZSl3v3c83dWN2LFskSN6KLN59R62aZWlxPU8F6Hio-PIHTHkww08ZEqOvILL8u7Qc2Guf7HEi7PXH1s1eKX-gsRBvjSLmOnag9vgXrBr4L10XZb2T-0AgUKrJQngnhbG6Pap-L-tO_dIK1qYXhIIB-S=s320" width="320" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Remember the Bay Of Pigs? Look it up. Remember movies about thermonuclear war? They were all the rage in the 80s and 90s.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of that shit was based on legitimate fear of an enemy who didn't care about human life... An enemy who would rather be feared and dead... </div><div><br /></div><div>Right now, things are playing out very similar to the plot of The Sum Of All Fears by Tom Clancy... but let's hope that similarity ends soon. Very soon... </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of you younger people have grown up in a world where we had Russia as an ally... and the enemy at large were people in caves who hated western life. Russia hates western life too. And they were our enemy and the boogeyman in countless movies, books, stories, and real life scenarios... for a fucking reason. </div>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-53249778839063380902021-05-17T10:57:00.002-04:002021-05-17T10:57:27.157-04:00It isn't "goodbye" it's "take care of yourself"<p> Good morning.</p><p>I started this account to talk about the things I can't talk about openly with my friends and family. I started this account to talk about sex and life... </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJ6x_50d_S_GXT6zDhtPMbe9HQCcSvMWbGYEwk4XWzNjRUR0NRKd5gpIauwfYrO7GTQZClccMGraMovhuItOG9tzG2UHW_vguFYicg31rszrgNa2gzd7LWplFungrMbGJ0OQvVkUOeWQ/s2048/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJ6x_50d_S_GXT6zDhtPMbe9HQCcSvMWbGYEwk4XWzNjRUR0NRKd5gpIauwfYrO7GTQZClccMGraMovhuItOG9tzG2UHW_vguFYicg31rszrgNa2gzd7LWplFungrMbGJ0OQvVkUOeWQ/s320/unnamed.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous Lady Bourbon<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I started this account to be able to vent my thoughts and fears or hopes and dreams without fear of repercussions from anyone I know - Also to post artistic nude photos of my smokin-hot "Lady Bourbon".<br /></p><p>And it has been good.</p><p>But life is different now. I've spoken about the things I wanted to speak about. I wrote some smut. I wrote about my alcoholism and depression... but none of these things are really needed anymore... and I'll be real honest, everything changed. Like going back to your old haunts and seeing how they've changed and become gentrified. It's just not the same...</p><p>My seasons are changing and I'm going to put this hoodie in the drawer.</p><p>I'm not leaving, but I am deleting the account from my phone. If I need this, I'll go dig it out.</p><p>I cannot say thank you enough to the people who have helped me and continue to help me - you are all FUCKING ROCK STARS! </p><p>Take care of yourself. Know that I'm good - nothing bad is going on here, I'm just moving on. I've changed - I think I have anyway... or hope I have. And I hope I'm in a better place.</p><p>Time to put on my big boy panties and ride off into the sunset.</p><p><br /></p><p>Take care of yourself you sexy mo-fos. My email address will still be active so hit me up if you need me - sexcoffeeandbourbon@gmail.com</p>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-518146452705191132021-04-18T12:02:00.003-04:002021-04-18T12:02:17.608-04:00 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: The Fear of Being Me<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Fear of Being Me</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>The world is a strange place... some might even call it fucked up. I know I sure do.<br /><br />I've been mostly quiet on social media as of late. I've been doing a lot of soul searching as it were. And by soul searching, I guess I really mean getting drunk and contemplating why I am getting drunk.<br /><br />The answer is simple - I am afraid of who I am going to be when sobriety hits. I'm afraid that being sober will prove to me just how boring I am as a human being.<br /><br />Drinking every night allows me to not care. <br /><br />If I'm drinking I get to relax, unwind, and just not give a fuck about what I'm doing and who I am. It's like hitting snooze on reality. I'm able to hit that button and, internally, pretend I'm a youthful twenty-something drinking the night away in my old apartment while watching 'Lost' or 'Stargate SG-1' reruns at midnight...<br /><br />My kids are young and they know what Bourbon is. They know what beer is. And they know that Daddy drinks one of them with dinner all the time and pretty much any time he's outside... <br /><br />And that shit needs to stop.<br /><br />I'm not sure if I can Cold-Turkey that shit... But I need to change. I know I do.<br /><br />I'm living a life chronically under-hydrated. I wake every night around 2am when the alcohol wears off and my body remembers that the Check Engine light came on months ago. I am grossly out of shape for a man who used to run 5 miles at a 6-minute mile pace.<br /><br />And there is my goal... to run 5 miles. In one go. Without stopping. Not at a 6-minute pace... but I'd be happy with 8 or 9.<br /><br />To achieve this goal, I'm going to need to do a few other things before then... <br /><br />First, I'll need to lose some weight. Right now I'm riding a less-than-healthy 20 extra lbs of swinging Dad-Bod than just over a year ago... and it's not very sexy or conducive to running. I think my knees would literally fucking explode should I try to run in my current shape. This will require a new way of eating. Not eating an entire bag of chips is a good start... as well as smaller portions, more water, less sugar, less chocolate, and more getting up off my ass throughout the day.<br /><br />Second, I'll need to find time to work out/get up and moving. Right now I work all day, but there is time in there for me to move stuff around. I need 3-4 days a week where I can get out of the house and move. Just move. Walk, jog, hike, bike, and not be a stationary body.<br /><br />Third, I'll need to curb my drinking. I'm willing to allow myself 1 night... 2 on special occasions to have a drink or unwind. As much as I'd like to go full-on sober... I'm not dumb enough to believe I can.<br /><br />So - today is April 18, 2021... I will start this week with small, manageable steps. Chicken and rice for lunch... more salads and green, leafy things. Less fried food and pizza... and more water.<br /><br />Who knows, maybe somewhere down below the layers of alcoholic fog and denial, I might find out that I'm a decent human being with some good, hidden talents. Jesus... I am capable to doing a lot with my current state and I feel like it's driving with the parking brake on. Maybe I'll level up... Maybe I'll blow up. Either way - it could be an interesting journey. <br /><br />So - Maybe this blog will be less about how much I've been drinking and more about the changes I see in myself. Or maybe I'll just abandon this blog and this persona... leave it behind and forge ahead.<br /><br />I still love sex, drinking, hentai, sex, more sex, and all the things therein... but Lady Bourbon and I have grown so much in the last 2 years that this persona is no longer needed as the emotional pressure release valve as it used to be... <br /><br />Who knows. Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-2903022549718540172021-03-07T10:39:00.000-05:002021-03-07T10:39:27.074-05:00 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: The Other Side<p style="text-align: center;"> Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>The Other Side</b></p><p><br /></p><p>Today is Sunday, March 7, 2021... And we are 351 days into the "new normal" forced upon the Bourbon household by the Coronavirus pandemic.</p><p>That's right... just under a year ago, I went into work only to find that the governor had closed everything... so I went home looked at Lady Bourbon and said "Well, fuck..." Then the serious drinking began. In a few weeks, we put down literally GALLONS of bourbon, wine, and vodka... And even though we tried to remain upbeat and positive - it's not always easy. As a person with Catastrophobia - as described in the blog entry "<a href="https://coffeesexandbourbon.blogspot.com/2018/10/there-are-many-anxieties-but-this-one.html" target="_blank">There are many anxieties... but this one is mine</a>" - I immediately went to "Well, this will end up like 'The Road' or 'The Stand' before it's over!" - and then I began to plan. And then I continued to have massive anxiety... and depression... and fear... and I coped with it by downing more and more alcohol.</p><p>Day drinking? Check.</p><p>Night time drinking? Check.</p><p>Drinks with dinner? Check.</p><p>Drink drink drink drink drink... then suffer through nightmares of PTSD and fear over what would happen in the coming months. It was a really good time for the ole Dr. B.</p><p>Some time around June... 3 months into the lockdown/pandemic bullshit, I started going back to the VA hospital for treatment. They assigned me a new shrink - she's not very good, but she offers some outside perspective that I wouldn't normally have so that's good. <i>(Example: My need to plan and prepare probably comes from my departure from Iraq. The unit replacing us decided to ignore our hand-off plans when we left. One week later, 8 of them were dead from an IED.) </i>Then I got assigned an actual psychiatrist and not just a therapist... and this one, despite not knowing me from Adam, offered to put me on some antidepressants.</p><p>Look - I am normally 100% against being medicated. I've seen too many of my brothers-in-arms be turned into zombies because the VA just throws pills down their throats and sends them on their way. After holding out for 5 months, I called them up and decided to finally take them up on the offer. Drinking and pretending to be okay just wasn't cutting it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NgeExnSpPQYEsMdLuQ10xbVCpdc97tZpjS6878Y8ksNBMWVfCSTsIUH6gWlN2EZznZpeRlDkaKZgGfMj4z_EF3JAlhyphenhyphenHqAGCrSPP5HDRx5flM7kVPcM2TZHGnKIlfMYP6olko6Js2VA/s1000/dark-tunnel-with-light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NgeExnSpPQYEsMdLuQ10xbVCpdc97tZpjS6878Y8ksNBMWVfCSTsIUH6gWlN2EZznZpeRlDkaKZgGfMj4z_EF3JAlhyphenhyphenHqAGCrSPP5HDRx5flM7kVPcM2TZHGnKIlfMYP6olko6Js2VA/s320/dark-tunnel-with-light.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now, 3 months into these new meds... I feel like a fucking superstar. And not just the drug-induced false thoughts of "I don't care! La la la la!" - I actually recognize the difference in how things are being processed in my brain... I can actually feel myself regaining my sense of self that I once had way back in the "good old days" of the late 90s. Before 9/11. Before leaving home for Iraq... And I love the way it feels now. I love that I no longer feel that weight of doom and gloom bearing down on me over every little thing. I love the fact that these meds are, in fact, helping to rewrite my brain chemistry to be the way it was before the trauma. Before I lost my sense of happiness and light. The Bourbon of yester-year.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAggeoHQoiwEdRYm63_riMI-z1-z0E0yje-4TXt51muPXMCXjZKcAO-QBc9524bYtDzpCJ660seClIxBwORyeVWwDrKEDaAYgH8wm1B6GLAF8vZ0XLE25UtQg7CXAseI3lgxaIDthyphenhyphenvVA/s640/grass-flower-in-sunshine-2509x1673_18911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAggeoHQoiwEdRYm63_riMI-z1-z0E0yje-4TXt51muPXMCXjZKcAO-QBc9524bYtDzpCJ660seClIxBwORyeVWwDrKEDaAYgH8wm1B6GLAF8vZ0XLE25UtQg7CXAseI3lgxaIDthyphenhyphenvVA/s320/grass-flower-in-sunshine-2509x1673_18911.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I've come out of the long, dark tunnel that I've been walking through for so long. And the other side is wonderfully lit. It is full of luscious green grass, and the sweet smell of flowers and life. The storm clouds are still there in the distance. I can see them. I can still hear the thunder... but I'm enjoying this patch of golden sunshine. It feels like home.<p></p><p>It feels like going home again.<br /></p><p>Am I still drinking?</p><p>Oh, fuck yes. I'm an alcoholic. I can't just turn that shit off. I do, however, enjoy that I've been drinking less. 1 bottle now lasts the week instead of the weekend. I go to bed almost every night at 10:00 instead of midnight or 1am...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fT3b8rtOWMaVL9RIyDKBAxBRtV-77uMezkUyGVL49hPd70w2qiWJFG1MXgkGW0MkjxMnmwg3RW7TasgoMIX3wvZvWFjl5gpGsmAiNpKuvnYMOaA-3_kTNf-Y8h4xdvQOxR9WkHQTXy0/s1024/4972177049_32790d502b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fT3b8rtOWMaVL9RIyDKBAxBRtV-77uMezkUyGVL49hPd70w2qiWJFG1MXgkGW0MkjxMnmwg3RW7TasgoMIX3wvZvWFjl5gpGsmAiNpKuvnYMOaA-3_kTNf-Y8h4xdvQOxR9WkHQTXy0/s320/4972177049_32790d502b_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The tunnel I've been in for so long was dark. There were window and open spaces here and there, but every time, I'd head back into the dark. I've had friends along the way for part of the journey. I've had Lady Bourbon walking hand-in-hand through most of this journey... and she got me through the hard parts.<p></p><p>My hope is that this re-found sense of happiness and self-worth will allow me to help others. Maybe I can help Lady Bourbon with her anxieties. Maybe I can just be happy with being me and not give a shit about the rest of the world... Who knows.</p><p>I just know that I feel so much better today compared to one year ago.</p>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-49297021606296492562021-02-06T10:38:00.000-05:002021-02-06T10:38:02.934-05:00 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: Bibo Ergo Sum<h2 style="text-align: center;"><b> Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: </b></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><b>Bibo Ergo Sum</b></h2>The problem with giving up a crutch - be it smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, porn... whatever - is that you HAVE to want to give it up. And therein lies the biggest problem in getting sober/clean.<div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuE4_MMXwvKFpBmbYTc0mpHfM5tE1Hm5j1eGqyiBgPV4fcO45HDd44XttS6rZjhR42Q68YsLcWlMktrUdsNC4mfEYWCt3JykFu9ebhxvPmRaDZTb0HTt8AFqhUkKwMzkvhmDQGnFAudtk/s960/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuE4_MMXwvKFpBmbYTc0mpHfM5tE1Hm5j1eGqyiBgPV4fcO45HDd44XttS6rZjhR42Q68YsLcWlMktrUdsNC4mfEYWCt3JykFu9ebhxvPmRaDZTb0HTt8AFqhUkKwMzkvhmDQGnFAudtk/s320/original.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div>A year ago (10 months ago) I quit smoking at the start of lockdown. Cold turkey. Just threw them out and haven't smoked a cigarette since then.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I fucking LOVE to smoke. I mean, seriously - smoking was awesome. I loved lighting up, getting that smell of the tobacco igniting for the first time, and feeling it fill my lungs with the sweet awesomeness of nicotine. But I knew that it was a bad idea. Especially when you see the news about a raspatory illness that is literally killing people all over the world. That made the decision easier for me. As did the lockdown... I no longer spent 2 hours in the car every day. I no longer worked every day with 11 other smokers. I removed those things from my life and BOOM - I quit smoking. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But as I contemplate sobriety I struggle with the desire to quit as I am a high-functioning alcoholic. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s600/name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s320/name.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Drinking is literally a part of my persona. It has become synonymous with who I am as a human being. I chose the name Dr. Bourbon because, well, I fucking love Bourbon. And scotch. And vodka... gin... tequila... The list goes on. I love the taste of them. I love the slow burn. I love the slow, gradual wearing down of the sharp edges as I drink. I love the way I stop concentrating on the problems and just enjoy the moment when I drink.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I think that is a big part of my problem. I can't enjoy the moment when I have anxiety about fucking EVERYTHING. And when I drink, that anxiety slips away. I stop thinking about work. I stop worrying about my house's problems. I stop thinking about the fucking government and white supremacists... I just simply enjoy being.</div><div><br /></div><div>This lifestyle... this persona has been a cultivated thing since September of 1996. As a freshman at college I was given a 32 ounce cup of Jack Daniels and Coke by my neighbor... and I took to it like a fish to fucking water.</div><div><br /></div><div>I, being the grandchild of 4 alcoholics, seemed to have a predisposition for alcohol consumption. We all joked about the Freshman with the tolerance of a Senior. And thus, I stepped into that life willingly.</div><div><br /></div><div>It hasn't changed since then. I still drink. I still love to drink. I still love the flavor of the various liquors... A good bourbon and a nice scotch are better than most things in life. But now I am cognizant of the health issues I face as one who drinks so much... </div><div><br /></div><div>I am constantly dehydrated. I am overweight. I'm probably pre-diabetic... my last visit to the VA said I was actually pretty healthy and my numbers were good, but that I should possibly consider changing my diet before I pass the point of no return.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qJd1DjS58FRnEmEF7X1n4Q43fBp1-qm_H6yoP1-fQwQm9YpaXY3W2BSKB9tjC8Isdi4mmC6m4GYS5k1qHsiCVvd6kdzt432cTS8Vug4ZRWGrR8zTSw3gSPU-yUX3k-7N3_TbdqAOV28/s512/unnamed.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="512" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qJd1DjS58FRnEmEF7X1n4Q43fBp1-qm_H6yoP1-fQwQm9YpaXY3W2BSKB9tjC8Isdi4mmC6m4GYS5k1qHsiCVvd6kdzt432cTS8Vug4ZRWGrR8zTSw3gSPU-yUX3k-7N3_TbdqAOV28/w200-h153/unnamed.png" width="200" /></a></div>And so here I am... every morning I wake up, angry at the fact that I drank so much and resigned to going to bed sober! But then, after dinner, I pour a glass and relax. Then another. Then another... Day in, day out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lather, rinse, repeat...</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm now about a month into taking antidepressants. And they help. They do not, however, seem to get along well with the drinking. The medication adds to the dehydration issues which compounds my bruxism (jaw clenching and teeth grinding) and adds to generally feeling like crap because it also makes me constipated.... I know, TMI. But this is my blog so fuck off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last night, I went to bed sober. I drank no alcohol. And I am attempting to drink water all day... </div><div><br /></div><div>This is day one.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know if there will be multiple day ones, but I'm going to do it.</div></div>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-24927188327802583622021-01-26T17:20:00.006-05:002021-01-26T18:07:05.712-05:00 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks<h2 style="text-align: center;"><b> Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: </b></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><b>I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks</b></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3X4C08eLOQBSWgPYn1OAbJY_GegA6QZs0kam3LDLqgzDX_8SEO90_SUxAPSvdfsVwI8DalORuGrH5t7H6r0_B8q3ZwmMPEi8hwaZ6bQaFdT-CmhIWusYA5sYbvqESSdSyqZH8T5mmQKI/s1184/Alcohol-Side-Effects.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="1184" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3X4C08eLOQBSWgPYn1OAbJY_GegA6QZs0kam3LDLqgzDX_8SEO90_SUxAPSvdfsVwI8DalORuGrH5t7H6r0_B8q3ZwmMPEi8hwaZ6bQaFdT-CmhIWusYA5sYbvqESSdSyqZH8T5mmQKI/w400-h200/Alcohol-Side-Effects.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The day has ended, you leave work... and you have 2 options:</p><p>1: Go home</p><p>2: Go to the bar</p><p>But we are living in a "work from home" environment and the bars are closed... Or at least limited in open seats. So... here you are, sitting at home all day, working on your laptop, answering Skype calls and having Zoom meetings for 8 hours - or 5 hours if you lie like some of my coworkers - and now the metaphorical whistle blows and you're done for the day!</p><p>Only you're not.<br /></p><p>You've got 2 kids who just showed up from school and they're grumpy and angry and don't want to do their homework. You have a friend texting you because they hate their job. Your spouse is just as unhappy with their job as you are, and you can't scream into the void that you 'JUST WANT EVERYTHING TO BACK TO NORMAL!!!!!'</p><p>So... you go to the kitchen at 5PM and pour a drink. And another. And another. By 5:30, you've got a nice buzz and the bullshit from work seems less bullshit-ish. Your kids' whining about school seems less obnoxious. You're able to take a moment, relax, and say, "Well, at least I'm alive and I made money today."</p><p><span style="text-align: left;">THIS... is the new American dream.</span></p><p>And Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, and AOC aren't going to magically make this better. You ca<span style="text-align: left;">n't legislate happiness folks. You can't legislate morality either... but that's a whole different blog post.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk9pWI393rGwD_YDIXOZ47Kc_x_zcw0bf5CXx8_FSktV3z2vaXMTPevkxplEI5kLg9HeaFVn2FXw6cdqsIbkU3qMfLC1irR8fsluu_dMsZvvdQ4ogCXLj9_HO12-aJwErdyTBgYllI2yM/s842/Honesty-in-copywriting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk9pWI393rGwD_YDIXOZ47Kc_x_zcw0bf5CXx8_FSktV3z2vaXMTPevkxplEI5kLg9HeaFVn2FXw6cdqsIbkU3qMfLC1irR8fsluu_dMsZvvdQ4ogCXLj9_HO12-aJwErdyTBgYllI2yM/s320/Honesty-in-copywriting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p>The American dream is now not losing your fucking mind after 8 hours in the "home office" and then changing venues by "going to the kitchen." Jesus, I feel bad for people doing this in an apartment. I would've burned that shit down by now.</p><p>So there it is... In glowing technicolor - the life and times of a guy who doesn't want to scream at his kids or spouse so he uses antidepressants and and alcohol to TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN!</p><p>And I know I'm not alone in this. Fuck, if I was - the term "Happy Hour" wouldn't fucking exist. And Happy Hour has been around longer than I have... </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0OkaeC-SpIUYymX816oU9Oxi4cxBrFiOh-fdKeVSkORXZstlbShqoSFstEiZGIRESKDdXFX0E_Wxi3A6xaLKYT4B5rrE0G03UnHag38RjCZl3LxbPOrCALkox4tx-UibVJp722KlXmg/s800/happy-hour-wichita.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0OkaeC-SpIUYymX816oU9Oxi4cxBrFiOh-fdKeVSkORXZstlbShqoSFstEiZGIRESKDdXFX0E_Wxi3A6xaLKYT4B5rrE0G03UnHag38RjCZl3LxbPOrCALkox4tx-UibVJp722KlXmg/s320/happy-hour-wichita.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>We all just want to get by... but the system is fucking broken. The new American Model is broken even more than the rest. Because we pray at the altar of Capitalism and the money gods need their sacrifices... So work hard, shut up, and ignore your family. Be so down-trodden that by the end of the day you just want to stare at your phone to escape and drink wine or bourbon or beer to just NOT FEEL... </p><p><br /></p><p>Then wake up, down 3 50mg tablets of Zoloft and go on about your day... </p><p>The American. Fucking. Dream...</p>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-49536976509122842712021-01-16T12:55:00.001-05:002021-01-16T12:55:05.720-05:00Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: What Dreams May Come<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What Dreams May Come</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The world is burning, I've spent most of the week sober, and Trump leaves office this week. All in all - I think it's been a good week? 4 days in a row sober. 2 nights in a row not...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTdV8TW4q_I5KV8tAACA-_wwFigi9a1p3FF25u2HjJCBUBIjS1lY4Wcaf2VC4N6S0mmo8Qv42qCzGouqV5q-1VN_69Mzo5BFLxZMfiBiXgTlhYxMqIhhyphenhyphenVqS8SlxJWs8bl2fiO-W1Wb4/s2048/Mental-health.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1448" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTdV8TW4q_I5KV8tAACA-_wwFigi9a1p3FF25u2HjJCBUBIjS1lY4Wcaf2VC4N6S0mmo8Qv42qCzGouqV5q-1VN_69Mzo5BFLxZMfiBiXgTlhYxMqIhhyphenhyphenVqS8SlxJWs8bl2fiO-W1Wb4/s320/Mental-health.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I saw the VA doc this week. They tell me I'll live another day. This, I suppose, is good news. I like living. They haven't tried pushing anymore meds on me - so that's good. I am still on my build-up of Sertaline... my last dosage increase will happen on Tuesday. And thank fuck for that. Every time I go up to the next dosage level, my body reacts with 3 days of diarrhea and that... just fucking sucks. On the bright side, however, I am feeling the effects of it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I've never taken anti-depressants before. I took Welbutrin once to help quit smoking, but that did not end well for me. It caused me to have horrible nightmares, major anxiety, and paranoia. It was, in a word, misery. Which is why I quit smoking cold-turkey this time. Fuck that noise... </div><div><br /></div><div>I am pleasantly surprised with how I am reacting to this new one. My dreams have been, more or less, entertaining and less "We're all going to die." - which is huge. They are, however, really vivid dreams. Which is actually really cool. I've had dreams about all sorts of cool stuff over the last week - if this side-effect keeps it up, I'd be okay with it. I love vivid dreams.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was a kid, I used to dream all the time. I had the best, most vivid dreams of adventures in great caverns and subterranean worlds. For a long time, I had a reoccurring dream in which a large hole opened up in my town and I was chosen to go down and explore it... I had this dream often. No idea what it means... but I always enjoyed it. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s600/name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s320/name.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My dreams were like that for most of my youth... all the way up until around 2000... when started drinking for a living. Well, not a living - but I associate 2000 as the year when drinking became an integral part of my identity. A friend even made a custom action figure of me that came with a small bottle in hand... so... yeah.</div><div><br /></div><div>The drinking, it seems, causes my dreams to sort of... go away. I just sleep. Or at least I think so. It could be that drinking just causes me to immediately forget my dreams. Which, I guess, could happen. I'm not a shrink or a dream therapist so I don't rightly know. I just know that around 2000 is about the time when I stopped having regular, awesome dreams... and when I started to have more stress, more anger, more... everything. I had a few failed relationships around that time that really took a toll on me psychologically as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then 9/11 happened and then I got sent to Iraq... and when I came home my dreams were no longer awesome in a different way. They straight-up sucked. Death. Fire. Explosions... and, believe it or not, those weren't the worst ones. The worst ones are the dreams where I'm in uniform again and everyone in my unit is shipping out and I can't go. I try to go... but I can't. And I wake up feeling like a failure for the day. I wake up feeling worthless and lacking as a human being. Those are the ones that fuck with you the most.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I drink. When I drink, as I said above, the dreams go away. Or at least become less memorable?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyp5wWM7IRgbAFr32d3PPsxNNvscGDW61ieWi6zhxYCzhIxE56NckepmWicqtOuSb1vN-h2FCW10dZiPZJXeeM77AxNAzaJr5PABsA1v5PvMMy3PpAbeFlDOuY5AERaq0fCcx2GZUUL6g/s1200/dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyp5wWM7IRgbAFr32d3PPsxNNvscGDW61ieWi6zhxYCzhIxE56NckepmWicqtOuSb1vN-h2FCW10dZiPZJXeeM77AxNAzaJr5PABsA1v5PvMMy3PpAbeFlDOuY5AERaq0fCcx2GZUUL6g/s320/dreams.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And now - here I am struggling with cutting down on the alcohol consumption and living with this new reality of once again having good dreams. This is still very early on in the whole process, but I view it as a good thing. I view it as a possible 'return to the life I once led' kind of moment. One where I didn't stay up until 3am because I knew what sleep held for me - but rather going to bed early in the hopes of a fanciful flight of dreaming good dreams... </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that's the case. I hope I have good dreams. I hope I can go another 4 nights in row of sobriety. I hope I can dream about colorful adventures in the dream-version of Paris that I hold in my head. There is a large, cobblestone bridge that runs 3 miles across shining waters. It leads to old buildings stacked with food and books. To me, in my mind, it looks like something you'd see in the movie "Inception" and it's a recurring setting in some of my better dreams. Along with a dream-version of where I went to school and met Lady Bourbon... Those are the dreams I hope for. </div><div><br /></div><div>More often than not, however, dreams are more adult in nature. And, no, I don't mean sex and drugs. I mean stress. I mean work. I mean anxiety over the fucking pandemic... Those dreams can fuck RIGHT off. They are the bane of my existence and the re-introduction of good dreams into my life has been an amazing thing for my mental wellbeing. </div><div><br /></div><div>So... there is my update for now. Hope you are all well. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers. </div>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-81730715181611951242021-01-10T13:47:00.002-05:002021-01-10T13:47:21.514-05:00Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 1<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g_owD5v7Wo_a8zh6jxxUe0NV-ZkZiMS_cxnKIDwSzTsNBLPxkiHEOnIBe6k9osX-p1eAagzQUllTx0VHJCwFXpLQtTVaj-DoKc946aiVbG3j0uYIT3FHOswrn6O4l8mC5evBqniz038/s550/mp%252C550x550%252Cmatte%252Cffffff%252Ct.3u7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g_owD5v7Wo_a8zh6jxxUe0NV-ZkZiMS_cxnKIDwSzTsNBLPxkiHEOnIBe6k9osX-p1eAagzQUllTx0VHJCwFXpLQtTVaj-DoKc946aiVbG3j0uYIT3FHOswrn6O4l8mC5evBqniz038/s320/mp%252C550x550%252Cmatte%252Cffffff%252Ct.3u7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>I need to change things. But that's the same shit I've said before. It's the same shit most people above the age of 25 have said countless times as they inch closer to death and see their bodies and their lives move in a direction that, while inevitable, isn't what was wanted.</div><div><br /></div><div>We all start out invincible in our early adult years. Nothing hurts us. We drink ourselves stupid, sleep 2 hours, and go to work the next morning with water, some Tylenol, and the promise to not drink like that again until next weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div>As time goes by we start noticing small changes... an extra ache or pain in the knee or ankle. A shoulder that doesn't feel like it used to. We find ourselves asking, "what?" more often simply because we couldn't hear the other person... and then it hits us - we've reached the start of "Middle Aged." The thoughts of death creep in around the edges. You're no longer invincible. You sleep wrong and hurt for 4 days... And we all wake up and say "I need to change." "I need to diet." "I need to correct the path I'm on." "I need to X, Y, and Z." - And you wake up with heartburn or acid reflux wondering, "Is this a heart attack? Am I finally dying?"</div><div><br /></div><div>And if you haven't hit this point yet - be thankful. If you have hit this point - you have my sympathy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now let us add to the mix that I drink. A lot.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeW5Ete72c8B5gEEM87JJqqfmCXJn7GwewYjMfHzeXpPwydagGzje0PnYcRxah7shEGZ5zzffxinW_Hj8ACsKi89hz-gz7RhhnZ_OemNPMrSdCRjobB8GODwlz03SOf50C6skLNc_aUg/s600/pour-60011262012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeW5Ete72c8B5gEEM87JJqqfmCXJn7GwewYjMfHzeXpPwydagGzje0PnYcRxah7shEGZ5zzffxinW_Hj8ACsKi89hz-gz7RhhnZ_OemNPMrSdCRjobB8GODwlz03SOf50C6skLNc_aUg/s320/pour-60011262012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Recently I began a personal crusade of sorts to attempt sobriety and make something better of myself. You may remember a similar failed attempt two years ago about wanting to get in shape... also failed. And why is that? Am I lazy? Probably. Am I afraid of failure? Most assuredly.</div><div><br /></div><div>So - combine those traits, along with an unhealthy predisposition for alcohol abuse and TA DAA! Here we are. Sitting at the edge of my 43rd trip around the sun with an unhealthy amount of weight hanging off my body, a chronic level of dehydration, and probably a list of ailments waiting to happen... and I want to change... again or still. I want something better for myself or my family... but I'll be damned if I know how to do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the last 2 months, I've had a 2-day streak of sobriety. More than once, but still. I can only seem to get about 2 days before the urge to drink creeps in and takes over. I say, "Oh, just one." Then I look down and realize I'm on my 4th and the bottle is almost empty. I am a high-functioning alcoholic with PTSD and depression - and sometimes I <i>really </i>hate that I am aware of this. It'd be better to be blissfully ignorant of this fact, but let's face it, it's pretty obvious. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I just want to change... </div><div><br /></div><div>Fuck, if I was a religious man, this would be where I break down and pray to Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and Vishnu to step in and make it all better.</div><div><br /></div><div>If this was a Hallmark movie, I'd drink myself into a coma, wake up and have a heart-to-heart with the doctor/shrink/pastor and come home to a celebration of sobriety at the house with my friends and family... </div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm not religious and this isn't hallmark... and if I had friends, they'd be alcoholics too. Instead, I just get to whine on the internet and have long, introspective thoughts while I sit in the house waiting for the kids to go to bed so I can drink again before going to sleep and waking up for another day of the exact. same. fucking. thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did the math... Lady Bourbon and I spent over $3,000 on alcohol in 2020. Granted it <i><b>WAS </b></i>2020 and the drinking was a bit more liberal from March through July... but that still seems to be a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, yeah. There ya go. My first blog post in a while... the first of any writing I've done since February... I'm calling this "Part 1" because I plan of there being a series of these as I navigate the waters of being in my 40s and trying to not die from drinking myself to death.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNozdX1fQ6ycUoRPxwYDfCwmAgAc1POStgOZPX5hBCZL-wURVGOMwhLQNxWytOQ54lcva_YMJqPdmbvgwD7p41o6u_3OnE1nFWMXCY6hGZvPqxwNvTj1qiK1d0WY4MoZIKtbsL6w1sb4/s492/some-inspirational-shit-im-really-moved-36544934.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNozdX1fQ6ycUoRPxwYDfCwmAgAc1POStgOZPX5hBCZL-wURVGOMwhLQNxWytOQ54lcva_YMJqPdmbvgwD7p41o6u_3OnE1nFWMXCY6hGZvPqxwNvTj1qiK1d0WY4MoZIKtbsL6w1sb4/s320/some-inspirational-shit-im-really-moved-36544934.png" width="320" /></a>I quit smoking overnight. Just put them down and have never looked back... I still want one from time to time, but that's not the same thing. It's easier to quit being at home with no other smokers in or around me... I assume drinking would be the same. But we like to drink. The friendships I DO have locally revolve around gathering and drinking... So, not the best group to go to for sobriety help. My family - HA! They are of the mindset of "Well, just stop." - They do not grasp addiction and mental health as well as you might think. And Lady Bourbon's family thinks that mental health is a dirty word developed by Satan to turn people away from Catholicism... </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not really sure what I'm saying anymore. I've written more than I planned to today and I'm no better off than I was 2 hours and 5 failed starts ago... My kids are currently running wild through the house and I need to go reign them in... they're supposed to be folding laundry.</div><div><br /></div><div>Farewell for now, internet. See you when I see you.</div><div><br /></div><div>-Dr. B</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-90775039881571626462020-07-19T16:49:00.001-04:002020-07-19T16:52:33.101-04:00Surf's up! We're riding the anxiety wave!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know that I am not alone when it comes to being an anxiety-ridden ball of... something for the last few months, so this isn't something uniquely mine. But hear me out...<br />
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The last few months have been like riding a giant wave, in a storm. I'm waiting for it to crash down on top of me, or shoot me out the end into calm, blue seas...... and NEITHER of those are fucking happening.</div>
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To help me deal with stress and anxiety, I plan. I plan and make plans and then do backup plans... it's one of my little quirks that, thankfully, Lady Bourbon finds amusing... or tolerable. When COVID hit, I planned food. I planned supplies. I planned on how to keep us all indoors and possibly sane. It worked. It gave me something to do for a while. </div>
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<b>But now... fuck me, man.</b></div>
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Half the country is going on like it's not a thing, the other half is still locked in their homes waiting... and I don't know how to plan for that. My kids are supposed to be going back to school in like, what? 3 weeks? Do I send them? Do I keep them home? Do I burn down the school and make it less of an option?! <i>(please note: I would never actually burn down the school unless we were invaded and the invading army was using it as their base of operations... then I'd light that bitch up.) </i></div>
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Seriously... I'm at the end of my fucking rope on what to do here. Lady Bourbon and I have stayed up many nights talking about what to do and when we start these conversations, and there are too many variables. My brain just starts going, "<i>eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE</i>." And I sort of black out for a minute.</div>
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Then we have "The country" and all its woes... and there are a lot of fucking woes, my friends. We have civil unrest across the board. We have white supremacy on the rise in many areas. Our "leadership" uses openly hostile words, tactics, and rhetoric against our own people and, deep down, I fear we're heading for something bad. And by "bad" I mean anything from armed conflict to massive economic collapse.</div>
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So I plan. I planned food, again. I planned money. I planned protection. I planned how to keep me and mine safe and protect in case of the worst-case scenario. It worked and gave me something to do for a while. </div>
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<b>But now... fuck me, man. </b></div>
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Half the country is still rioting to one extent or another, the other half is on Facebook complaining about or congratulating the first half. Cops are bagging people in the streets, rioters are breaking stuff and pulling down statues... and the online fights are just as awful and nowhere is safe... meaning there is no online refuge. Everyone is an opinion-having monster with no love for anyone. Lady Bourbon and I have stayed up many nights talking about what to do and when we start these conversations, and there are too many variables. So my brain starts going, "<i>eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE</i>." And I sort of black out for a minute.</div>
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And there is my problem... I can only plan so much. At some point, I run out of things to plan and prepare for and I am left feeling the weight of all that anxiety... and man, it sucks. You've probably seen my posts on Bug Out Bags and the like. That's what I've been doing for the last 2 months. </div>
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I need something to happen or I need it all to go away... I can't keep up this level of anxiety and planning day-in and day-out without some sort of payoff one way or the other. Like I said before, I'm trying to surf this wave. I'm still surfing this wave... I'm still waiting for something bad to happen and all of this planning to be worthwhile... or I'll pop out of that tube and find myself in the clear again.</div>
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The only good thing to come out of ALL of this - aside from leaving my miserable job with Debbie - is that I now have wonderfully stocked first aid kits. I can treat anything from a kids' tiny boo-boo all the way up to a 9" gash down your forearm that needs compression bandages and staples.... And as fucking cool as that is, it's still not the same as just being calm and going on about my day. </div>
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I'm beginning to not know how to handle all of this shit. I'm running out of plans to be made... You can't plan for everything and there are WAY too many possibilities out there that could happen. I guess I could enhance my "oh, sweet Jesus, it's the end of days" plan... or my "North Korea just launched an EMP at the Midwest" plan... but then those plans cost a lot of money, man. I'm not ready to turn my garage into a Faraday cage just yet.... </div>
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I'm not really sure what the point of this post was. I think I just needed a distraction and to put some stuff down on "paper" per se. Maybe I'm hoping someone will comment and give me something to think about and talk... Maybe I should just write more and take my mind off it all. Maybe I need to finish my post apocalyptic novel I started in 2005... It's just that this is all messing with my sense of reality. My sense of how things <i>SHOULD </i>be. Now, I think abut how things <i>COULD </i>become and it bothers me...<br />
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Ah well... How are <b><i>you </i></b>dealing with this? Bug out bags and spare food? Books and coffee? Smoke and a pancake? </div>
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Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-78789321460713588262020-07-15T16:12:00.000-04:002020-07-15T18:45:09.990-04:00Your friend turns out to be a sexual predator the other day... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s1600/name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14rU-Hf53fbXECMsEavcLgSbRn6FI6D0ZMODowlJGpIsskhXYTCB1ZMVkUzhbKPgApPmRNDwp_yzHm85TrIu-5PQtabdEJNDepPYQzjZCA2R_tYjDvyyKKbp97cKC8SYgtH11E6ouUXk/s320/name.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Twitter LGBTQ and Erotica writing community was rocked last night when one of our own made a post proclaiming to the world that they were not in fact a lesbian, but a married, cis-man.<br />
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Stopping right there, you could say it was just about a Pen-Name that goes along with the subject matter to sell books is okay.<br />
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Sure. No big deal. And, like me, you may have even said "Good for you! Way to come out of your shell and let everyone know!"<br />
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But then...<br />
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Jesus, but fucking then... This is world we live in.<br />
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Look, most of us, if not all, know who I'm talking about. But I'm not going to drop their name here. I don't feel the need, nor the desire. Why? Because it didn't stop at a Pen-Name. Oh, no no no... it went WAY beyond that. And that is where it stopped being cool.<br />
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Let us back up.<br />
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I use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a release. It is a way to hide certain aspects of my life from my friends/family who I know do not feel the same way I do about things. I'm not ashamed of what I like... I just don't want to lose friends and family over it. My Hentai Fetish would literally give my parents a heart attack. My penchant for wearing lace underwear would probably cause both of my brothers and their uber-Christian wives from ever looking at me again... and I'm sure my political ravings, and sordid sexually explicit short-stories over on the ole blog might give the employer some sort of reason to fire me. That would be discriminatory, especially since I've never done it on company property, but still... I digress.<br />
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I do <b>NOT </b>use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a way to manipulate people, flirt with people who aren't Lady Bourbon, or do anything of the sort. Jesus, I told Lady Bourbon about this account when I made it. We have a very open relationship - Open as in: We tell each other a lot of shit... not Open as in: So, I was swinging at the bar the other day... - That's what makes a marriage a partnership and not a fucking train wreck. I do NOT use this account as a lie, trap, or falsehood. I have, to date, never lied about who I am on here. I will, on occasion, delay posting something for a day or two to prevent outing me IRL... but that's not the fucking point. This account exists with the awareness, and dare I say PERMISSION of Lady Bourbon who shares many of my proclivities and tastes.<br />
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And that's where this story starts... with Lady Bourbon.<br />
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A while back, in the early days of Dr. Bourbon, MOST, if not all, of my online friends were Erotica authors. It was fun. Ya'll write some sexy shit. My first 20 or so friends are still on a list called "My first friends" and I love them all in their own, individual way. With one exception, now two, I'm still friends with the original 20. Sorcha Rowan among them.<br />
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Sorcha was an unrelenting force of sexual innuendo and smutty prose. Nobody here can say that the person known as Sorcha was bad at erotica.... So we laughed, told jokes, etc. Once, Sorcha tried to DM with sexy gifs and talk, I said "knock it the fuck off" and it stopped. Just like that. Became professional almost. Sorcha was a beta reader for me at times. Good suggestions were always made, along with unwanted sexual connotations, but that doesn't bother me because it was never reciprocated on my end. Sorcha was even one of the first guest-posts on my blog with a post about Sapio-Sexuality... loving a person for their brain. I thought it was a good piece.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVR9gFdCDyurJj8cgK9lu8yscTvW2F96tuGqbyoKpLuyvJJat3J56Yb4EJprPjpSvS6HgqgBV-MXxa2BNcRTQlYMRjYsnPF2cDwjIRaC-2ww2iOaPTAhPdvrZKhx19RFggjmC4K31gMz4/s1600/Illinois-Man-Acquitted-of-Child-Porn-Accusations-477673-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="700" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVR9gFdCDyurJj8cgK9lu8yscTvW2F96tuGqbyoKpLuyvJJat3J56Yb4EJprPjpSvS6HgqgBV-MXxa2BNcRTQlYMRjYsnPF2cDwjIRaC-2ww2iOaPTAhPdvrZKhx19RFggjmC4K31gMz4/s320/Illinois-Man-Acquitted-of-Child-Porn-Accusations-477673-2.jpg" width="320" /></a>One night, whilst having dinner at home, Lady Bourbon says "Dude, I need to block Sorcha Rowan on twitter, I think." When I asked why, it turns out that Sorcha "accidentally" sent the wrong gif to Lady Bourbon. - Keep in mind, Sorcha did not KNOW this was Lady Bourbon. This was a non-Bourbon related incident - the gif Sorcha sent was a very explicit, very sexual gif... immediately followed by apologies and whatnot that seemed, at the time, very sincere. Lady Bourbon, under her real name, said "It's cool. No harm, no foul. Not my thing." And that was that...<br />
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I confronted Sorcha via my Dr. Bourbon account and said, "please stop hitting on Lady Bourbon, she doesn't go that way." And I meant this as a joke with someone I'd come to know as an internet friend... when the lightbulb finally went off and 2 and 2 were added up to 4 in Sorcha's head, my identity was revealed... To my absolute shock, Sorcha revealed to me that "she" was a "he" named "Bob" and he liked to write Lesbian Fiction and used the name Sorcha to sell and promote his work.<br />
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Taken at face value, everything checked out. We became better friends. We talked about bourbon and guns and whatever else. Despite this friendship, Sorcha's RTs were blocked from my feed because, well, let's face it, they were a little too much for everyone.<br />
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Lady Bourbon and I thought Sorcha/Bob was a really nice person and never did anything to bother us. In both instances of Sorcha Rowan's unwanted sexual advances, it stopped as soon as we said something and I never gave it much thought... So, you know, cool. Sorcha even wrote erotic fiction about me and Lady Bourbon.<br />
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But then I learned more and more about Bob. I learned about his wife and home life. I learned that he kept everything related to Sorcha a secret from his wife. I learned that his wife's lack of shared interests with him and how "Sorcha" was "who he was" on the inside.<br />
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<i>( As a man who keeps his inner-most kinks and fetishes out of family talk, I could really say shit about it - even though I disagreed. )</i><br />
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As time passed, Sorcha wrote posts with other people and joint-works... It was my assumption that Sorcha told them that he was actually Bob and things were cool... But apparently I was wrong.<br />
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Because then we get the post from last night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9umxUmuonZw7iL1qU-L0MQW83nZ9lC8ZtacqRPuzR5NhuYe1KIsxMqju_JJEgI1EdBe51HWxZQe8CEsJW7sAoAqlzNkHCyTVkCTEuGC-txTc-S8yjOI_E6zTZmQzBGewzI0Q1mYjKLA/s1600/wtf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="864" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9umxUmuonZw7iL1qU-L0MQW83nZ9lC8ZtacqRPuzR5NhuYe1KIsxMqju_JJEgI1EdBe51HWxZQe8CEsJW7sAoAqlzNkHCyTVkCTEuGC-txTc-S8yjOI_E6zTZmQzBGewzI0Q1mYjKLA/s320/wtf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The dime-tour is this: "Hi, my name is Sorcha and I'm actually a married, cis-man. I have been pretending to be a lesbian to write fiction, make money, and engage with online sexual activity with women, under the guise of a being a woman. Even so far as to use the #ourvoices tag."<br />
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That's a lot to take in and unpack so to speak.<br />
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At first, I was like, "Oh, good for you, Bob. Tell the world that you're a man and do this right."<br />
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Then it slowly started to sink in... like watching the defroster work on your window on those cold, wet mornings... one minute, it's all fogged up and then BAM... fucking clear as day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKl33HgwHzcqSfLbXZZ149uKJ6Gx9CxjJmbeeSvpjeKQpPR37yuIHZFN5jqX2uBl3dZHE7Eblc_uspE0y-jkyN1jKmKJnPbLAIE4mC4eRa90ZV8SzGsyOpU0-9KZe3qmwk8l8NiV0yi14/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="500" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKl33HgwHzcqSfLbXZZ149uKJ6Gx9CxjJmbeeSvpjeKQpPR37yuIHZFN5jqX2uBl3dZHE7Eblc_uspE0y-jkyN1jKmKJnPbLAIE4mC4eRa90ZV8SzGsyOpU0-9KZe3qmwk8l8NiV0yi14/s200/giphy.gif" width="200" /></a>I was floored.<br />
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Consent REQUIRES an informed decision, Bob. What you've just said, what you've just admitted to is disgusting.<br />
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The person I'd become quite familiar with over the last 2 years has been engaging in non-consensual online sexual activities. People had talked, flirted, and who knows what else with Sorcha Rowan for who knows how longs with the UNDERSTANDING that it was a lesbian woman... and not a fucking married man preying on them and their vulnerabilities.<br />
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The outrage was all over the place. And rightfully so... and I was still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone with whom I'd had many great conversations about writing, marketing, and story ideas was a fucking asshole trying to pass it off some form of courageous act...<br />
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What could've been a learning moment, and moment of growth died a fiery death when he tried to make this about how strong and courageous he was?! No. This isn't about your struggle, Bob... fuck you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOJzUoUIeCcYouw2Nps2YqjazvncdBTERsAvPUDvD1kyE3ZE48-DbbG2Ley_GkCaXPeoZIERTbcP3ztLWSSAnePFfknchlHyZyv19eyU8yQ5hTVWzOUts58EtwMZZwN2q9bXrUU8OOt4/s1600/Annotation+2020-07-15+153545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="855" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOJzUoUIeCcYouw2Nps2YqjazvncdBTERsAvPUDvD1kyE3ZE48-DbbG2Ley_GkCaXPeoZIERTbcP3ztLWSSAnePFfknchlHyZyv19eyU8yQ5hTVWzOUts58EtwMZZwN2q9bXrUU8OOt4/s320/Annotation+2020-07-15+153545.jpg" width="320" /></a>And in the middle of that thought is when Bob contacted me telling me Sorcha was dead. I wasn't even sure if I should answer him, but I did. I told him that this would our last conversation. I told him I'd be deleting him from social media. I told him to go see to his family and BE BOB, never Sorcha... Then I blocked him on all of my social media accounts.<br />
<br />
I'm really pissed off to be honest.<br />
<br />
I value the online friends I make SO much because I am, 90% of time, much closer and honest with the online friends than the ones at home... I assume that, to an extent, these people are the same with me.... that when I find out that one of them is like this... one of them has been fucking over his wife and kids to go do this shit online with other people and hurt them AS WELL... is just too fucking much. It occurs to me, and Lady Bourbon, that he sent her that gif on purpose. He was testing the waters... luckily, we're a happily married dream team and don't fuck around on each other...<br />
<br />
And now I sit and write this missive... this Farewell to my so-called friend. I don't have many friends, IRL. They all exist online and Bob's bullshit has put the rest of my online friendships into question. If he's capable of this - who else is? Who else is a closet racist or homophobe? Who else is a raging asshole waiting to shit on my 20 minutes of online freedom and happiness?<br />
<br />
Jesus, but fucking then...<br />
<br />
My fear is that Bob will harm himself or even commit suicide and that would be awful... He has been a good friend for 2 years of my life. He knows more about me that people I see on a day to day basis...<br />
<br />
And, that being said, I never want to speak to him again.<br />
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Goodbye, Sorcha Rowan. And Good riddance.<br />
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<br />Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-28188471937675337182020-04-30T17:26:00.000-04:002020-04-30T17:26:32.086-04:00What about Bob? Getting ready for Sh*t to hit the fan!Hello, loyal readers! I'm back! Well, sort of - I never actually left. I've just been busy and haven't updated this blog since fucking JANUARY...<br />
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There is a LOT going on in the news these days and a lot of people are throwing out a lot of random terms and paranoia... including, but not limited to civil war, social unrest, economic collapse... you name it, and someone somewhere has said it in the last 60 days.<br />
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So today, we're going to talk about Bob - Your potentially life-saving new best friend. Bob stands for Bug Out Bag - and, for those who don't know, a Bug Out Bag is a bag that you keep packed and ready to go by the door, or someplace easily accessible, in case of the worst-case scenario where Shit hits the fan (SHTF) and you need to get the fuck out of town - GTFO.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not mine - but similar enough for this blog post... </td></tr>
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<br />Now, keep in mind that this is not your "prepper" stash. This isn't the things you have in the bunker to see you through the first 11 weeks of the zombie plague... no no. This is the "We need to GTFO right now and we don't have time to pack" bag. This isn't a camping bag or a hiking bag... this is a bag to buy you piece of mind in the worst case scenario of "I need to leave my home right now or potentially die from a thing."<br />
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And you need to go into this with that in mind...<br />
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There are literally thousands of websites telling you the 80 items you'll need in your BOB, or the 101 must-have items in your BOB... And they all make very valid arguments and can cost you up to $500 in supplies. I'm not going that route here. I'm going with the essentials... And that boils down to 5 things...<br />
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1: Water<br />
2: Food<br />
3: First Aid<br />
4: Safety and Protection<br />
5: Shelter<br />
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I will lay those out for you here - but before I start, know that you can buy pre-made bug-out bags from amazon and other sellers, but they are generally CRAP. Building your own allows for customization. Building your own allows you to get into exactly what you're doing with it... what you'll need. Where you plan of going and what you think you'll need to get there... Put thought into this thing. It could, in theory, save your fucking life.<br />
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So - here we go:<br />
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<b>1: Water</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwx9k6K1JC5On0XeP3VSw7Pue7LST9cCk5Sm03ZGxuuY5Ld-AmbXBRWy0WBK_3BKq-BwDSPF0z_-3eDB2VVTOrvFTqk7KnbY77DTnsn_kA7ev2wKEYR-a-_pQUO2Jf6InbNGXErljsnMk/s1600/41zfzcTngtL._AC_SL1301_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="348" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwx9k6K1JC5On0XeP3VSw7Pue7LST9cCk5Sm03ZGxuuY5Ld-AmbXBRWy0WBK_3BKq-BwDSPF0z_-3eDB2VVTOrvFTqk7KnbY77DTnsn_kA7ev2wKEYR-a-_pQUO2Jf6InbNGXErljsnMk/s200/41zfzcTngtL._AC_SL1301_.jpg" width="53" /></a>Water is key. In the case of actually NEEDED to use a bug-out bag to escape your home and get to somewhere safe(r), you will not be going by the store for a case of water. You need to have some ready to go and have the ability to possibly make water drinkable as you go.<br />
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So... in your bag you should have 3 liters of water (roughly a gallon), per person. Ideally each of you will have your own bag... but that's a much bigger blog post than I'm willing to commit to at the moment.<br />
You need:<br />
1 rigid water bottle, like a Nalgene bottle - your primary.<br />
1 metal bottle - like an old school Army Canteen - can be used to boil water if needed<br />
1 collapsible canteen/container - used to top-off the others as you drink from them.<br />
That's 7 lbs total. As you empty your canteen and top off with your stored water, you'll free up space and weight. So - yay!<br />
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As for keeping water safe to drink - some water purification tablets and a life-straw are a MUST.<br />
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<b><br /></b>
<b>2: Food</b><br />
<a href="https://cdn7.bigcommerce.com/s-txwvzh/product_images/products/a-001443__1.jpeg?v20191120" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://cdn7.bigcommerce.com/s-txwvzh/product_images/products/a-001443__1.jpeg?v20191120" width="200" /></a>Yep. Calories... those pesky little things that we fret over on our day to day life, but will be life-saving little superstars if you need to GTFO and walk 30 miles in a hurry. Ideally, you want something that tastes good and was prepared by the finest chefs... wait... no... wrong post. You want a shit-ton of calories in a shelf-stable, easily transportable form - such as ration bars and energy bars. In my bag, I have (4) 2,400 calorie emergency ration bars. Are they awesome? Not really. Are they going to keep me alive? Well - we hope. Each bar is weighs a pound and can feed me for an entire day if needed. That's 4 pounds in your bag for 3 days of food.<br />
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No need for 5 different MREs... this is an "emergency bag" not a "camping bag." - you need to know the difference. You're not going hunting... this is the GTFO and head to grandma's house bag, remember?<br />
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<b>3: First Aid</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3A1aD5K3KrUgjOk9cewwIthyphenhyphen9qe8Aze4TkOhiUzfS7elDXpIaLsX5quJnBDU1IuwJBN-6_1Ld9bCcNpST2JouG5bp5O3TJwfSp9dq0lJt4QyLHA8Q1jJ5gCGR2II5gSHbefwDRxXhNw4/s1600/firstaid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="450" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3A1aD5K3KrUgjOk9cewwIthyphenhyphen9qe8Aze4TkOhiUzfS7elDXpIaLsX5quJnBDU1IuwJBN-6_1Ld9bCcNpST2JouG5bp5O3TJwfSp9dq0lJt4QyLHA8Q1jJ5gCGR2II5gSHbefwDRxXhNw4/s200/firstaid.jpg" width="200" /></a>You're going to probably get hurt as your travel. It's one of life's universal rules - "When you are on the run for your life, you're going to get boo-boos" or something like that. But this isn't a trauma bag. This isn't the bag you keep at home for life-shattering moments. This is "Jesus, I just stepped on a nail and my foot is killing me. Or, holy shit, I've got a headache.<br />
At the very least - you need Ibuprofen, bandages, tape, gauze, and something for the blisters you're going to get on your feet. Rubber gloves are a plus... as are tweezers and an exact-o knife.<br />
All in all, this can fit in a small, little bag within your BOB and take up maybe 1 pound of weight. <br />
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<b>4: Safety and Protection</b><br />
Safety means a lot of things. Some of the basics are:<br />
A multi-tool is a must<br />
A folded up tarp (can be used as shelter, water gathering, blanket, rug... and so on.)<br />
Para-cord (550 cord) has a TON of uses.<br />
A small roll of duct-tape<br />
Something with which to make fire - and you do NOT need flint and steel. Jesus. It's 2020 - just buy a 10-pack of bic lighters and throw it in your bag. BOOM. You're done.<br />
Ear plugs<br />
A whistle - a good one that is very loud<br />
A compass in case you need to travel off road and know that you need to go "west-ish"<br />
A Flashlight - more specifically a headlamp. You want your hands free and you want light wherever you're looking. Being able to see and hear is important for your personal safety.<br />
Extra socks and underwear. Having dry feet and a clean butt go a LONG way for personal morale.<br />
All of this can fit in a 1 gallon zip-loc bag or less. It takes up almost no room and no weight and you can possibly use every one of these items.<br />
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But what about Protection?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34NCQar0CHA3Pdu38YaAh3F1gC5TCbEW2XeyxeJnxtjig1RgtoR-QOCGEdY3elO5017fAbg_Dz4bwwr3wcbkS_sCA7XEhAwaQT_jcgZw8wKEqpb5MQ-tS_Lp2SxMZpm57usNyX0G4srY/s1600/bug-out-gun-kit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="787" data-original-width="1024" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34NCQar0CHA3Pdu38YaAh3F1gC5TCbEW2XeyxeJnxtjig1RgtoR-QOCGEdY3elO5017fAbg_Dz4bwwr3wcbkS_sCA7XEhAwaQT_jcgZw8wKEqpb5MQ-tS_Lp2SxMZpm57usNyX0G4srY/s320/bug-out-gun-kit.jpg" width="320" /></a>This is where things get a little muddled. Do you need a gun? Do you take a baseball bat? Do you assume that everyone out there is going to be nice and just go with a smile and plucky attitude? - Personally, I say gun. Baseball bat or kitchen knife at the very least.<br />
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In this scenario, not everyone will have a BOB... and they're going to get desperate. And if you have stuff, that makes you a target.<br />
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For me... A 12 Gauge, pump shotgun is just the best all around option. Shoots different rounds for protection or hunting, and is pretty versatile and intimidating. But it's different for everyone... and shotgun ammo isn't exactly lightweight. Just know that I, personally, think you need something for personal protection.<br />
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<b>I do not - IN ANY FUCKING WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM suggest that you go buy a gun if you are not familiar with or willing to become familiar with firearms. A novice carrying a gun will do more harm than good and probably end up getting themselves hurt.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNvLaoX5lB_tkyNzPjfqXFgDt5Tz_oYPhWi-9AxCB9J6NUC4Icukf69HdyGaqi0HcFFyRWiCjhX0ZtGmtG8viUagdfmXvAualfdM-kwq1iATdMJN3wq1XE-7RarrqW6vKeQEB9lmjmps/s1600/tenor.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="640" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNvLaoX5lB_tkyNzPjfqXFgDt5Tz_oYPhWi-9AxCB9J6NUC4Icukf69HdyGaqi0HcFFyRWiCjhX0ZtGmtG8viUagdfmXvAualfdM-kwq1iATdMJN3wq1XE-7RarrqW6vKeQEB9lmjmps/s320/tenor.png" width="320" /></a><b>5: Shelter</b><br />
That's right, my last item is shelter. Why? It's simple - this isn't your camping bag. This is an emergency GTFO bag. If you have room for a tent and sleeping bag - go for it. But if you have a tarp and 500 cord - you can make a tent or a shelter... And, unless it is winter, you can make a small fire to keep warm at night while you sleep out on the ground...<br />
<br />
And there you have it!<br />
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Barring any additions you need to make for personal dietary or medical needs, this bag should "do in a pinch" for just about everyone. Keep in mind, a bag for children will need to be vastly different... but, again, that's a post for a different day.... This is the BASIC BOB. This isn't a fancy BOB. This is "HOLY CRAP A VOLCANO OPENED UP IN THE TOWN CENTER AND WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!" The basic BOB will get you out of your house and moved to somewhere safer (we hope) in most any situation.<br />
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Good luck! Hopefully you'll never need to use your BOB... but, if you do - make it count!Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-49234611463390127692020-01-28T14:20:00.001-05:002020-01-28T14:23:36.087-05:00The end is NIGH and YOU ARE FUCKED - A Dr. Bourbon Apocalyptic Missive... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We’ve all seen the movies – first it’s one guy, then ten, then a thousand, then <span style="font-weight: 600;">BAM</span>! We flash-forward five years and we’re told through various cut-scenes and flashbacks how the world ended while the hero tries to score some gas out of a dust-covered SUV in the city.</div>
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Well, fuck a lot of that! </div>
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You want to know what truly frightens me about the news and the world lately? What keeps me up at night once the kiddos are in bed and I’m out of alcohol?</div>
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<u style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-weight: 600;"> Four words</span></u><span style="font-weight: 600;"><u style="font-size: 14px;">:</u><span style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: 600;">The Wal-Mart Parking Lot.</span></div>
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Yep. That’s it. That’s why I am scared to death of Corona Virus, Ebola and/or any disease, super-flu, cold, epidemic, pandemic or any other word that the news media can throw around in sound bites to frighten people.</div>
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Why? Why does this make me quake with fear? I shall tell you, good reader.</div>
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Today it is raining. It is cold, wet and miserable outside and I needed to stop by the Wal to get some fixins for tonight’s dinner – and oh, sweet mother of fuck! I was faced with Wal-Mart’s parking lot. Carts everywhere – people parked in the walkway so they could load their groceries without getting wet – going up the down aisle - <i><span style="font-weight: 600;">cats and dogs LIVING TOGETHER!!!! Mass hysteria! </span></i> </div>
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And that’s just because of the minor inconvenience of rain… just some water falling from the sky.</div>
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Now – imagine if you will an <span style="font-weight: 600;">ACTUAL </span>emergency! </div>
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<span style="font-weight: 600;">OH. MY. FUCKING. SCIENCE!</span> </div>
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It would be every man for himself – I would fully expect to see old-west style shoot-outs in the parking lot over cases of water or surgical masks. People are assholes, man. And nowhere in America is that more obvious (other than Twitter that is) than Wal-Mart. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8Lf5tTAB5UAvdGHoEmV4bvRBQGd0SGzl-nQgSwh20d8dyH4JJYdaszv2AOgElfuRbCuV1DppRpkTS_1I0kt3JoZ5QqwhLu-EAHqLGWbmNs3NTi6YPuGVJe_10G4AHJsdCxJYB61Gdgc/s1600/Untitled-11-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8Lf5tTAB5UAvdGHoEmV4bvRBQGd0SGzl-nQgSwh20d8dyH4JJYdaszv2AOgElfuRbCuV1DppRpkTS_1I0kt3JoZ5QqwhLu-EAHqLGWbmNs3NTi6YPuGVJe_10G4AHJsdCxJYB61Gdgc/s320/Untitled-11-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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If I cannot expect a man to walk 20 feet in the rain to maneuver a shopping cart out of the way of other would-be shoppers <span style="font-weight: 600;">because it is raining </span>– how can I even <i><span style="font-weight: 600;">THINK</span></i> about expecting him to wait patiently for a vaccine during an epidemic or nationwide crisis? Stand inline for water or rations during an emergency? <span style="font-weight: 600;">FUCK NO! Thank you very much!</span></div>
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This is ‘Murica and I take what I want!</div>
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I do think that, for the most part, people are wonderful and will do what’s right – but then again, the mob mentality and the seriously overwhelming sense of “Mine” in this country make me very much fear any sort of disaster that lasts longer than a few weeks.</div>
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I hope I am wrong, I <span style="font-weight: 600;"><i>really</i></span> do – actually, I hope that I never get the chance to find out. But, in the case that things go south in a hurry – I hope people will remember to <span style="font-weight: 600;">BE</span> people. I hope they’ll remember that we are, in fact, all in this together.</div>
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So… with that being said - <b>Put your fucking carts in the cart corral, people. Quit being selfish dicks!</b></div>
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The end.</div>
Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-32060153723816624142020-01-14T17:48:00.000-05:002020-01-14T17:48:22.705-05:00Dear Internet... WTF?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaTbuzOYhQEYLSIK188yRnRh7pkMwjuiTQSIxjHAV-CsZaPOpaTRYSs30ZSbthY_xayXvPklDOZQpWthIWwhvM7DPNzU29gRiAC_lkIxdPKZzrvlHCllUS3iVZlFdYuGB6fmkMQt4qME/s1600/wtf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="864" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaTbuzOYhQEYLSIK188yRnRh7pkMwjuiTQSIxjHAV-CsZaPOpaTRYSs30ZSbthY_xayXvPklDOZQpWthIWwhvM7DPNzU29gRiAC_lkIxdPKZzrvlHCllUS3iVZlFdYuGB6fmkMQt4qME/s320/wtf.jpg" width="320" /></a>Dear Internet,<br />
<br />
WTF?<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
In the past year of having the Dr. BourbonSex account - I've tried to really open up and lay it all out there. Bare my soul as it were... I've tried to be 100% honest on my thoughts, opinions, and feelings about pretty much everything. I've tried to be a decent human being. I support everyone in their own activities and actions as long as they don't hurt anyone else or infringe upon others basic human rights.<br />
<br />
In that same year - I've been monogamy-shamed for loving my wife and not wanting to have threesomes. I've been called a patriarchal sexist asshole because I didn't like the Captain Marvel movie. I've been told that I'm an ableist because I want to get healthy and be able to run a mile without dying at the age of 45 - and I'm fucking over it all.<br />
<br />
So - someone help me out here... what the ACTUAL fuck is wrong with people?<br />
<br />
When did we all become so vile and hateful? When did we all go from supporting everything to supporting everything, but only so much as it relates to me? Fuck that noise.<br />
<br />
I've only blocked a few people on this account... one was a weirdo asshole who was a massive MAG-Hat wearing douchebag. <a href="https://coffeesexandbourbon.blogspot.com/2019/02/being-douchebag-on-internet.html?zx=50d038f7ed2dd2ec" target="_blank">(Wrote a blog post about it here)</a> But everyone else pretty much got a pass. People are allowed, even encouraged, to have different opinions. Jesus, that's what makes the world go round.<br />
<br />
I've muted a few accounts... but that's mostly out of a desire to NOT see giant dicks on my twitter feed while I'm at work. Timeline dick-pics are STILL dick-pics people. And that's it.<br />
<br />
But no longer.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnOTbk9q18DYDxFy8hJtC0NqvKjSyjdkQwfOjW52AWFJJC1S5J7ya_guYDflZw6QyMt373ChKIYlr9yUZ-d9__AsOtUNuxwqPsaAQRZWoCM98k4FKwuNurAYi5IkQZZW2OnGBFrVzgd4/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnOTbk9q18DYDxFy8hJtC0NqvKjSyjdkQwfOjW52AWFJJC1S5J7ya_guYDflZw6QyMt373ChKIYlr9yUZ-d9__AsOtUNuxwqPsaAQRZWoCM98k4FKwuNurAYi5IkQZZW2OnGBFrVzgd4/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a>Going forward, my ban-hammer will be strong and swift. I'll come down on you like Thor going after Thanos' head at the start of Endgame.<br />
<br />
I've got enough of my own insecurities and anxiety issues that I don't need to deal with yours. Unfollow me if you want - I won't care. There are maybe... 20? Yeah... about 20 people on my twitter timeline whose absence would actually bother me. Everyone else is a fucking stranger, and I can do without being judged by your strange, personal qualms with the universe.<br />
<br />
If I use the wrong pronoun - it's not an attack on you. I probably just didn't know. Please see that above bit about how you're a stranger. You can't expect me to know your life story via Tweets. So if I slip, take a moment to kindly suggest corrective action before running off at the mouth about how I've negated your personhood on accident.<br />
<br />
I try to be a good person and to love everyone. I rarely speak with malice (unless I'm talking about Debbie... FUCK Debbie) so please ask yourself, "Is Dr. B really talking shit about me?" - the answer is probably a resounding "No."<br />
<br />
And with that - I'm off. Today has been far too much for me to keep giving a fuck.<br />
<br />
Have a lovely Tuesday!<br />
<br />
-Dr. B<br />
<br />Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-86373739906541791222019-12-02T11:54:00.002-05:002019-12-02T11:54:39.560-05:00Reviewing Books and Pushy Authors... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMIGTTbdI3NrQSD-ctHVgXXBM-Fp39MR_HDndeaXzHwjfnC1MLZwiikdKm5hW_w5_QdY367RLnjOE9gVsKiRD-AAoA7NSueC3hS0khhnKyuWi_D8f_OLPbNJC4kF35icBFfzV792eUP0/s1600/broken-dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="849" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMIGTTbdI3NrQSD-ctHVgXXBM-Fp39MR_HDndeaXzHwjfnC1MLZwiikdKm5hW_w5_QdY367RLnjOE9gVsKiRD-AAoA7NSueC3hS0khhnKyuWi_D8f_OLPbNJC4kF35icBFfzV792eUP0/s320/broken-dreams.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Today, I'd like to talk to you fine people about the dreaded book review.<br />
<br />
Book reviews can make or break an author. They can showcase the work of someone by telling others how much they liked or disliked a book and for what reasons. But everyone (at least in some writing communities... looking at you, Twitter) seems to think that anything below a 5-Star review is some blight. Some people think a 3-star review will sound the death knell for any aspiring indie-author. And that's just ridiculous.<br />
<br />
<b>Writing a shitty book and publishing it is the death knell for indie-authors... Your 1st draft should NOT be your finished product.</b><br />
<br />
One of my all-time favorite books ever written has 248 1-Star reviews, 277 2-Star reviews, and 271 3-Star reviews on Amazon... Shocking, right? This book also has 1,608 5-Star reviews and a movie based on it that has a similar distribution of reviews.<br />
<br />
Because of the new "EVERYONE IS PUBLISHING!" world of writing, we all thrive to have that solid 5-Star rating. We ask our family and friends to, discretely, leave reviews that tell the world how great our books and stories are. We build up "Street Teams" or whatever they're called these days... and we try to send legions of rabid fans to Amazon to flood our work with 5-Star ratings to get us all the way to #1 in our given genres... They're all "GO, MY MINIONS! LEAVE ME GREAT REVIEWS!!!" - And, this is just me being honest here, I think that cheapens things a bit. I get it. You're trying to make money. You're trying to be a brand or get a name for yourself. We all are. But, Jesus, do it by writing quality content and letting the readers decide.<br />
<br />
If I leave a 4-Star review, I don't hate the book, or the author, nor do I have something against the author as a human being. I will most likely re-read that book and recommend it to other people.<br />
<br />
If I leave a 3-Star review, I don't think the author should be upset by it... I still enjoyed the work. Just not as much as some other things I've read.<br />
<br />
I, personally, won't leave a 1 or 2 Star review on a book.<br />
<br />
Why is this an issue? WHY am I writing about this? Well, I recently left a 4-Star review for a book. And the author asked me, <i style="font-weight: bold;">"Why not 5?" </i>-- and he asked this not in a "I would like to understand and improve my craft" way, but in a "What the fuck, dude?" way. And that rubbed me the wrong way.<br />
<br />
I owe you, the author, <b>NO</b> sort of explanation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnrrDXBpU2xRnyRUrxjmxuL4W5ep5bLVFK1Mo2QnlW9pkFW5d5PojMBwdHTIs8J_11-lKhprQb-NLcrhBgmdZAvYpviI_cCVU_0GCOzu7aj_7y6wcGEJ48qu8w9g7nNO68z638mc3__Q/s1600/like-dislike-featured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="960" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnrrDXBpU2xRnyRUrxjmxuL4W5ep5bLVFK1Mo2QnlW9pkFW5d5PojMBwdHTIs8J_11-lKhprQb-NLcrhBgmdZAvYpviI_cCVU_0GCOzu7aj_7y6wcGEJ48qu8w9g7nNO68z638mc3__Q/s320/like-dislike-featured.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I am a consumer and you have released a product to the world. It is up to me to decide where this product sits in my "pantheon of reviewed items." Your book sits on my 4-Star shelf. It was good. I liked it a lot. I will re-read it at some point and I've even recommended it to people ALREADY! - but since you're being a passive aggressive shit about the number of stars in my reviews - I'll probably be recommending it a lot <i>less</i> now.<br />
<br />
And this - is how I would breakdown book reviews and the "star rating" system...<br />
<br />
1-Star should be used for books that are poorly written with typos and bad grammar. It should NOT be used because "Well, I don't like the F-Word." - THAT is personal taste. Not a review. We've all seen these reviews and these people are trolls. They can get fucked. (I will NOT leave a 1-Star review)<br />
<br />
2-Stars should be reserved for books that were okay, but not stellar. Books that won't be re-read in the future. (I will NOT leave a 2-Star review)<br />
<br />
3-Stars should be for books you like. And may re-read at some point. Books that you enjoyed reading and were well-written. You should say WHY you liked the book and WHAT you thought could be improved upon in your opinion.<br />
<br />
4-Stars should be for books that you would most likely buy in two different formats. Something that you will absolutely read again and recommend to other people. You should go out of your way to explain to people WHY you liked this book so much.<br />
<br />
5-Stars should be for the books that evoke emotions within you and make you want to be IN the book. 5-Stars should be "I want this book signed and on my bookshelf forever!" You should do your best to explain to the reader WHY they need this in their life.<br />
<br />
So - there you have it. Dr. Bourbon's guide to reviewing books.Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-9672342639024843852019-10-04T10:19:00.000-04:002019-10-04T10:19:34.824-04:00Anxiety and the inability of action<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJINzVx3Ivb_Iypg1tBL2CSLwaAu1vwFqLmSdW7qKgC9MXm1IJLSuhztI0-JIMxL8_cZrF45LFgsP52lxXYW-5Ddp0iTdEGELDon0DzI-GCumnz_J4vVgqkqdMBPtEDh_YxDE6KFDFTs/s1600/tenor.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJINzVx3Ivb_Iypg1tBL2CSLwaAu1vwFqLmSdW7qKgC9MXm1IJLSuhztI0-JIMxL8_cZrF45LFgsP52lxXYW-5Ddp0iTdEGELDon0DzI-GCumnz_J4vVgqkqdMBPtEDh_YxDE6KFDFTs/s320/tenor.gif" width="320" /></a>Let us, once again, discuss anxiety. The fun, paralysis-inducing anxiety that we often don't see and can't feel until it's too late and we end up fucking ourselves because sometimes a thing seems so fucking big that we don't know how to tackle it... so it grows and grows and we keep ignoring it... then it all comes falling down and tries to drown us in the bullshit.<br />
<br />
Because, you know, that's fun!<br />
<br />
In this instance - I'm talking about debt, finances, and, most importantly, student loans.<br />
<br />
Lady Bourbon and I live comfortably. Not like SUPER comfortably, but we get to go out to eat from time to time, our bills are generally paid on time, and we have some stuff set aside for an emergency. But, like many Americans, we are one serious illness away from probably being homeless. And, for that at least, I blame the American healthcare system and insurance companies. Unless we happen to become millionaires overnight - this will probably never change.<br />
<br />
Student loans, on the other hand... fuck me.<br />
<br />
Lady Bourbon does not have them. But I do. I have a lot of them. My first couple of years were at a private college with $24,000/year tuition. I had a scholarship - but not for $48,000. Then, I joined the army and did all that shit and was told I'd get "student loan repayment" as part of my incentive. What they did NOT tell me, however, was that said repayment was for "pre-existing loans" and they "had to be from a State College or University." So that $48,000 tab I ran up... still a thing.<br />
<br />
But let us fast forward many years where I've been putting my loans on forbearance or paying the absolute minimum possible just because I didn't want to fuck with them. Then, I get a nice "payment holiday" for a year and they are forgotten completely.<br />
<br />
Then... I get a letter with the words "defaulted" in the title.<br />
<br />
And I'm <i>terrified</i>.<br />
<br />
I made the calls, I've got the forms, but I just keep putting it off like some magical thing is going to come down, do it for me, and life will go on. I get absolutely frozen with anxiety and fear about this shit. I don't know how to handle it. What if I send this paperwork in and they're all "Sorry, dude. Your new payment plan is $600 a month." - because that would probably fucking kill me.<br />
<br />
The bigger problem is that this anxiety also trickles down into other things and in other ways... I focus on stupid shit and things that matter pile up. Did I pay the gas bill last month? I don't know. I haven't seen a disconnect notice. What about cable? Surely I paid the cable bill... right? They all become an "oh, fuck, am I completely screwing everything up?" pile of anxiety. Then that ball rolls and rolls and rolls until one day I declare "Okay, I will fix this shit!" And I start making progress. I double-check the bills. I set up auto-pay on some of them... but what if we have a short month and the auto-pay fucks us? Better not do that... surely you'll remember to pay it... right?<br />
<br />
So I've got a notebook and a pen on my desk today. I'm calling Nelnet and Naviant. I've caught up the bills, I've put things in place... and I'm trying to not freak the fuck out about being poor. Or poor-er than we are...<br />
<br />
On top of the crippling anxiety that comes with facing your failures in life - comes the "let us just drink at night and forget about our problems in hopes that we can sleep." So I drink more. I eat bad food. I smoke a LOT of cigarettes. Why? Fuck if I know. Something about dopamine and the brain... When I get super anxiety-filled... I just want to eat, smoke, drink, and fuck... Because this causes my brain to excrete some tiny chemical that pushes back at the anxiety and allows me to go one for just a little longer... to just eke-out another day of existence before accepting the shit decisions I've made and having to face the fucking music...<br />
<br />
There you go, dear internet... Welcome to a small glimpse into my anxiety nightmare for the time being.<br />
<br />
On the bright side - it's all being dealt with at the moment... How well and how long remains to be seen.Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-49932333007090246812019-09-23T11:26:00.004-04:002019-09-23T11:26:49.042-04:00So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...I got this question posed to my by the lovely A.J. Bass (@<a href="https://twitter.com/AnjikoZ" target="_blank">AnjikoZ</a>) on Twitter the other day and, well, by golly, let's give it the proper love and respect this subject matter deserves, shall we?<div>
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The original Tweet reads:</div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">My so called best friend decided to be a judgmental bitch today. She actually told me that daddy and I should not be having sex in our home (even though kids are fast asleep when we do). All because the way we have sex is like a porn. Now that I'm writing this it's kinda funny.</span></li>
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Leaving aside my issues with calling your sex partner "Daddy" - let's take a look at this.</div>
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In our house sex is sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes loud and adventurous, and sometimes quick and dirty. We use sex toys, we occasionally watch porn, we come up with some strange positions so we can both see the tv and get off at the same time.</div>
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Shit - last night we did all of the above. </div>
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Let me rewind a bit... I got a text from Lady Bourbon asking "Wanna get naked and watch hentai tonight?" - to which my response was, "like you have to ask!" </div>
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So - once the kids were tucked in and asleep, we got our fuck on.</div>
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The television was set to a rather scandalous hentai in which a demon lady feeds on the virginal energy of people in hopes of... something something I don't watch it for the plot. All I know is that this demon lady forces some dude to fuck his friends while other robed figures watch and occasionally participate. </div>
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But I digress... The point is - the kids were asleep and we got busy. At one point, Lady B's legs were up on the coffee table while she masturbated and I stood over her and would put my junk in her mouth repeatedly. Then she reverse-cowgirled me to climax while we both watched the big scene on this show. </div>
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She was spent, I was spent, we were both in need of hydration, and the couch cover needed to be removed and washed... It was awesome.</div>
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But some people seem to think this approach to sex is "icky" or "too much" and you should just stick to the missionary position, lights off, and pray to Jesus when you're done. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">FUCK THAT NOISE.</span></b></div>
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Sex can and SHOULD be a contact sport. And, if you and your partner so choose, it should be adventurous... and in every room of the house. Why limit yourself to the same location, same position, same EVERYTHING every time?!? If you're married, chances are good you're going to be having a lot of sex with the same person for a very long time... it can probably get boring if you do the same thing day in and day out... </div>
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When we first got married and moved in together - we had sex in every room of our townhouse. In our second house, we again did it in every room of the house.... shit, we've done it on a boat, under a boat in the water, on the back patio, on Lady B's sister's patio furniture... We've had gentle, "hold me" sex, we've had "wow, that was different" sex, and we've had "hurry the fuck up and end this" sex... And it's always good. </div>
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If your kids see you having sex, in any position, why does it fucking matter? Humans have sex. It's what we do to procreate. It's what we do to release stress. It's fucking NORMAL AND HEALTHY and people need to understand this. I walked in on my parents a few times as a kid. I turned out normal. My parents had/have sex toys. I think knowing this is what has given me a great respect and healthy understanding of sex. As we all should try to have. </div>
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So have sex. Have fun sex, dirty sex, porn-star sex... and don't be ashamed about it. We have a serious LACK of sexual education in this country and that leads to problems. Raise your kids to be good, decent people with a healthy respect for sex and their sexual partners and everything will be golden. </div>
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So - there you go, AJ. I hope I've answered your question in a round-about way. Make your house look like a Jackson Pollack painting under blacklight and explain to the kids that "well, sometimes mommy and daddy like to get their freak-on."</div>
Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-50686899746903952352019-09-16T14:50:00.001-04:002019-09-16T14:50:44.862-04:00Rubbing One Out At The Office<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Rubbing One Out At The Office</span></div>
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A @BourbonSex Short Story</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span>e sat as his desk contemplating, not for the first time, just getting up and walking out. This was the kind of office environment that just sucked the very joy from life. And here he was, again, looking at a Monday of pure hell.<br />
The morning's meetings had all come and gone. Shitty lunch had been eaten. Now he sat, poring over bullshit emails and hating his very existence. Debbie had been in the office not once, not twice, but six fucking times to tell him of her family woes of the weekend. He didn't care. He just wanted to leave. His head ached. He was grumpy. Life sucked - pure and simple.<br />
As he entered another email address into his address book he sighed. Nothing would make this worthwhile.<br />
Or so he thought.<br />
His phone chimed and he looked at it. The notification said, "image." He leaned back and his chair and swiped it open with his thumb. He sat and watched as the screen changed into the smiling face of his wife. There was a pillow tucked behind her head and smirk on her face. Her bare shoulders stood out against the stark, red blankets of their bed and slowly gave way to the gentle, slope of her breasts.<br />
Another chime and a text message popped up. "Thought you could use some cheering up!"<br />
Another chime.<br />
Another image.<br />
And another.<br />
And another.<br />
Soft skin, pink nipples, and a smile. The camera moved lower with each chime until at last it revealed her hips raised and two fingers spreading herself for the camera.<br />
Another chime - another image.<br />
Two fingers inserted between her thighs in the foreground of the image, head tossed back in ecstasy in the background.<br />
He swiped back and forth between the images, feeling the blood rush to his face and beyond. He glanced up to look around and make sure he was alone in the office. He swiped again and watched the progression of images and text slowly revealed the body of the woman he loved in full color. He felt his pants begin to rub against him as he sat. His erection was coming on in full force.<br />
He got up from his desk, walked to the private restroom down the hall, and locked the door behind him. His pants were barely unbuttoned before he had himself in his hand, stroking back and forth at the picture of her spread wide for the camera.<br />
He finished in a muted grunt and a spray of semen.<br />
He stood, panting in the closed men's room. His phone in one hand, his shrinking erection in the other... and a smile on his face.Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-71685041048310041752019-09-12T14:25:00.002-04:002019-09-12T14:29:10.101-04:00The duality of being me... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2wSn8g21Har5Z8nLrRAbqvFQeoh1bsNvHKBc_7QP9oj2leUcAzN0uMATzSNA7SCvxVx3ogUL4cX7YmWqJu_ioNlmPHC5cM-0o2EcpGRDjv0Ks0D7s2TmpyVUeu5eQ2OrWUSNqKmPvY4/s1600/name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2wSn8g21Har5Z8nLrRAbqvFQeoh1bsNvHKBc_7QP9oj2leUcAzN0uMATzSNA7SCvxVx3ogUL4cX7YmWqJu_ioNlmPHC5cM-0o2EcpGRDjv0Ks0D7s2TmpyVUeu5eQ2OrWUSNqKmPvY4/s320/name.jpg" width="320" /></a>It's been a while since I've written anything longer than a Tweet. It's been a while since I've opened up my brain and let the words pour out...<br />
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I feel like doing it today.<br />
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Something about this time of year, almost every year, really fucks with my brain. Like, in a big way. I will bounce wildly from perfectly happy to uncontrollably fucked up. And it sucks. It's also when I'm at my... uh... most Bourbonness? I should explain that.<br />
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I am very much two distinct people residing within the same body.<br />
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I am me... and I am Bourbon.<br />
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The normal, everyday me is reserved, cautious, anxiety-filled, and seemingly normal person. I try to watch what I say around others, I keep my thoughts to myself, I interact with people at work whom I despise because it's easier than finding a new job... shit like that. I am guarded on what I say... I try to calculate the best thing to say on tweets, facebook posts, etc... I'm very unassuming.<br />
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This is the face I wear in public...<br />
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But I am also Bourbon.<br />
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This may seem silly to you all, but hang on and I'll try to explain...<br />
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One night I was talking to Lady Bourbon and I mentioned a post on Twitter and she replied with, "You or Bourbon?" - and that hit me. Because Bourbon IS me. I am Bourbon. But I tend to only let Bourbon out of the bottle here on my blog or Twitter where I am unknown. So I can see why she said this thing.<br />
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The Bourbon-Me generally doesn't give a fuck. I'll say what I want. I'll write smut. I'll talk about all the things I'm not "allowed" to talk about in polite society. I take sexy photos of Lady Bourbon and we have kinky good times in the bedroom... and the living room... occasionally the kitchen... maybe a bathroom at some point... most assuredly the playroom. But I digress... The point is - I wish I could be Bourbon full time. I wish I could not give a fuck. I wish I had the confidence and "no fucks given" attitude that I have here, in the safety of internet anonymity.<br />
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But life doesn't work that way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-l3GCO9IXBlLJnmyG7lWM5601LMfqNrDoM2e38vni5hZfJHHO05e7WGTbaDZwD0-g_qiE9wDWvI_1PNSyruwEGW1wZVK0ehWW7AkMQCSu_BMQSw34HycdCZVmL1giDJfxTTfSTxW8uoY/s1600/PTSD-veterans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="645" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-l3GCO9IXBlLJnmyG7lWM5601LMfqNrDoM2e38vni5hZfJHHO05e7WGTbaDZwD0-g_qiE9wDWvI_1PNSyruwEGW1wZVK0ehWW7AkMQCSu_BMQSw34HycdCZVmL1giDJfxTTfSTxW8uoY/s320/PTSD-veterans.jpg" width="320" /></a>I have a job. I have a family. I have an obnoxious mother-in-law. I have PTA bullshit... or will have I guess when the kids are a little older. And I can't relearn 40+ years of learned behavior. I mean, I guess I COULD, but am terrified of doing it. I'm terrified of just "letting go" and "being me" out of fear of losing my job or my kids (all worst-case scenario shit - which is my anxiety dual-wield specialty).<br />
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I'm so trained in this way that I don't really talk about my anxiety, PTSD, etc on my "normal" accounts all that much. I have no problem sharing on Bourbon because, well, nobody's going to call me out at work for it or other strange shit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lady Bourbon and hentai.</td></tr>
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I try to talk about Lady Bourbon about this - but she's a fucking rockstar and I don't think she can comprehend this at some levels. She is who she is and that's fucking it. I, on the other hand, was the youngest of 14 in my family (including cousins) and I was always present for the jackassery, but not allowed to participate in it... stuff like swearing, sex-jokes, etc. So I internalized it all. I still do at times. Not her, though, she blazed her own trail and still does. She says what she wants to say and does what she wants to do. I envy her for that. I tend to be overly cautious and second-guess myself all the time. Bourbon does not. Bourbon says "Hey, fuckers, this is me!" - but only because none of you know who I am.<br />
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There are two very real, very distinct personalities in me and I want to somehow merge the best of both... but I don't think that's possible. But around this time of year... the Bourbon side seems to come out a little more. I get more sexually aware. I start craving things that aren't the norm. I start having vivid sex dreams and I want Lady Bourbon to do some really sexy things to me/for me... It'll last for a month or two, then slack off... then build back up... then slack off and then it goes away for a while - You'll note that I've not written smut since fucking MARCH... Maybe it's the Winter me? Who the fuck knows. Sometimes it makes me feel like Elsa from Frozen... Trying to wear gloves and conceal that shit, yo...<br />
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The point is - I am me... but sometimes I feel MORE like me. And I wish I knew of a good way to mesh the two and become someone else...<br />
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So this has been my rambling, what-the-fuck moment for today.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQ97u11hyphenhyphen6ZDs8ZvjS_fTenRClNyisqACsFaAKp28WVi1c81x80nQHaETQGyEfFBeVUWhyphenhyphen1a6ZGkVG2Bp_GDSH-SIxZrVhSr-3j00TbfD9y5UPhXoreVJy1eQdVYtz7VqhqebG4aiWNc/s1600/j5217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQ97u11hyphenhyphen6ZDs8ZvjS_fTenRClNyisqACsFaAKp28WVi1c81x80nQHaETQGyEfFBeVUWhyphenhyphen1a6ZGkVG2Bp_GDSH-SIxZrVhSr-3j00TbfD9y5UPhXoreVJy1eQdVYtz7VqhqebG4aiWNc/s200/j5217.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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Happy Thursday, fuckers!<br />
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Smile for anime butt!Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-29065243367232797242019-05-28T14:07:00.000-04:002019-05-28T14:07:01.018-04:00Dr. Bourbon and the League of ANNOYING-ASS PEOPLE!Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from Twitter user, @HeartOfAutumn<br />
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She asks:<br />
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Dear Doctor Bourbon,<br />
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How do you deal with annoying people? Which, to be honest is a vast majority...</div>
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My dear, @HeartOfAutumn,</div>
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You have asked a question very near and dear to my heart. You see... I work with Debbie. Debbie isn't just annoying... she's the fucking devil. She's like annoying on steroids. She is what would happen if Peter Griffin and Sheldon Cooper had a baby... but that baby was then raised by vegan, Christian, cross-fitters... </div>
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You don't just "DEAL" with these people. You have to learn how to repress inner rage. You have to learn the cool art of "looking friendly" while internally screaming "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I STAB YOU IN THE FUCKING THROAT!!!"</div>
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I also have two co-workers in particular who believe that "Good morning" is the gateway drug to "Please tell me about whatever inane shit you did last night or your sump-pump that's been broken for six months..."<br />
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But I literally do not care.<br />
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At all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTiupVwFUdhghyphenhyphenzNdI8QGnAruenwXHCcOSuUiJ_Rdtu7mLZS9ry4uDb8VlTTImVS1hpZ-G4yuh6JtIP2AhFKM0HlA0hrfVLpZaDBmuzrlzDd-PWmU5BiSAoOhjs3VfIPcRW8_fFcssDs/s1600/giphy-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="340" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTiupVwFUdhghyphenhyphenzNdI8QGnAruenwXHCcOSuUiJ_Rdtu7mLZS9ry4uDb8VlTTImVS1hpZ-G4yuh6JtIP2AhFKM0HlA0hrfVLpZaDBmuzrlzDd-PWmU5BiSAoOhjs3VfIPcRW8_fFcssDs/s320/giphy-1.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
Mornings are for coffee and contemplation as the saying goes and your blathering on about whatever reality show you watched last night is causing a buildup of some SERIOUS rage in my system.<br />
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Even on good mornings where I've had coffee, taken the kids to school, and returned home to spend some quality time sans pants with my Lady Bourbon, I just don't have the patience or mental fortitude to deal with people until 11:00am at the earliest.<br />
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So, I sit here, gritting my teeth and typing on my keyboard HOPING you will get the hint that I am, in fact, not paying the slightest bit of attention to you - but NOOOOooooo. You just keep running that hole in your face.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmCJRLlW-MKKtgCrH9K1L1BJO1L2UcNbxV3gEiuYDjeYJ454UN3MKLUWej23gqgcLktDQQJnRfXX61b41r9YL8OA1BeVvwtci0n3_4j8ZU1uaU8gwPFYnkDR2kDvx8KhNZq7AsoSePSs/s1600/Snow-White-Exploding.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmCJRLlW-MKKtgCrH9K1L1BJO1L2UcNbxV3gEiuYDjeYJ454UN3MKLUWej23gqgcLktDQQJnRfXX61b41r9YL8OA1BeVvwtci0n3_4j8ZU1uaU8gwPFYnkDR2kDvx8KhNZq7AsoSePSs/s320/Snow-White-Exploding.gif" width="320" /></a>So I sit... I sit and I stare. I focus on my breathing. Then I go home and drink A LOT. I mean, Jesus Christ... Who the fuck are these people? They're everywhere!! And no matter what I do or say, they just won't shut THE FUCK UP. And I can only stockpile so much rage before it blows and I end up taking out a city block when it happens... metaphorically speaking.<br />
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How do I deal with annoying people? How do I deal with the incoherent ramblings of mouth-breathing, shitgibbons? Through the tried and true method of nodding, smiling, and mentally picturing myself holding them under water and watching the bubbles slowly stop rising.<br />
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Then I go home, rage drink, have angry sex with Lady Bourbon, and work on my next project...<br />
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Annoying people are everywhere. They're a goddamn plague on humanity. They are Legion... and they all want to tell you about SOMETHING.<br />
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Ignore them. Pretend they don't exist. Buy bluetooth headphones. Pretend you're on a call when you see them walk up... The only way to win this game is Not. To. Play. Because they will drag you down to their level and beat you to death with their bullshit...<br />
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Good luck!Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-22782032634334053202019-05-06T11:03:00.000-04:002019-05-06T11:18:48.171-04:00The Endgame SPOILER POST!!<b>BE WARNED - THIS POST WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME</b><br />
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So - I finally saw Endgame. I was not emotionally prepared to see Endgame... but, that's because I avoided spoilers. For which I am SUPER happy about. </div>
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But the movie has been out for over a week now and I'm just itching to talk about it... so here we go. </div>
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FIRST - I loved the movie. That's not to say I love every second of it... but in the end, the FanService paid off and I was an emotional wreck.</div>
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So I'll start by getting the things I didn't like off my chest... </div>
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The first half of the movie bored the shit out of me. Well, okay, not the first half... I loved the first 20-30 minutes. But then all of the time traveling to the other Marvel movies so that everyone could see where they came from and get closure by talking to their lost loved ones kind of dragged on a bit. Yes, it was nice, especially given the end... but still... a little much. </div>
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Then there is Thor. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28UFOky4nAMuqqYmYA58WLImt7Rt8C0V-Tn3dQzvE7HXWgEuZEihyphenhyphenWRo-ezJloAWfTNDVsHCNsQPuibDsKJMYWQxGNNJzyuoDH6u1nhmigYqpRXCvSQ8anaLysSXhJYZGxtUM1fcXPe0/s1600/fat-thor-1556557403-1556557405.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="500" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28UFOky4nAMuqqYmYA58WLImt7Rt8C0V-Tn3dQzvE7HXWgEuZEihyphenhyphenWRo-ezJloAWfTNDVsHCNsQPuibDsKJMYWQxGNNJzyuoDH6u1nhmigYqpRXCvSQ8anaLysSXhJYZGxtUM1fcXPe0/s320/fat-thor-1556557403-1556557405.gif" width="320" /></a>Thor at the beginning of Endgame was perfect. He was fighting with real emotion at what had happened and was clearly walking the edge of the darkness that comes with PTSD and tragedy... but, instead of using that... they decided to make him a drunken frat-boy with a beer gut. This bothered me more than anything else in the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe. </div>
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Later, back in the battle - he became his old self again, but I am so very disappointed in how he was handled overall. Couple that with the dual-wielding of Mjolnir and Stormbreaker at the same time... whoo, man... that was pretty great. </div>
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My only other complaint was <b><i>this</i></b> one scene... </div>
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And it's not so much a scene as a snippet. And, while I LOVED what they were going for... It felt REALLY heavy-handed. For one thing - Hope is supposed to be in the van helping Scott fix the quantum generator or whatever... and suddenly she's here? With literally EVERY other woman in the MCU? What are the odds??!! Why couldn't Captain Marvel get the Gauntlet and make her way THROUGH the field, with each of these characters jumping in along the way to make it more fluid and less "HEY WE HAVE ALL THESE WOMEN BACKING UP OUR ONELY FEMALE LEAD!" I understand that Carol is new to the MCU and could've beaten the shit out of Thanos and they needed to keep her busy... which they did just fine... but this scene felt so forced that I almost rolled my eyes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eWxA4b2EocFGsPfnJnHXt12Dl2c6k-BU-0zwuookXzRbYO8YKl14BpD1XZO_n7JD0ze0qxaTOzJZvnD4iAq7o7v9q_fGnn4F4louTADWnqsBWP9jjWe1ghVj5TX-WZYe4rA8XFWyEYg/s1600/tenor-3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="640" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eWxA4b2EocFGsPfnJnHXt12Dl2c6k-BU-0zwuookXzRbYO8YKl14BpD1XZO_n7JD0ze0qxaTOzJZvnD4iAq7o7v9q_fGnn4F4louTADWnqsBWP9jjWe1ghVj5TX-WZYe4rA8XFWyEYg/s320/tenor-3.gif" width="320" /></a>Other than that... I'm golden. Because - let's face it - they took the characters and stories from 22 movies and piled them all into one, 3-hour-long story that gave us closure, changed things up for the future, and possibly re-wrote part of the MCU's history giving us more options... such as Loki escaping at the end of Avengers 1 with a Tesseract. BOOM! Hello, Loki-themed TV show. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgokYoNA9y3va6c1Oo6fJ-v52XgDa0Ddhu6RjUHXFIjeKcbLquEmegMSL51Hj7ckCsIo2WLwpQSq5JoOtQXWgGbdn1gNNXvYVSn1wYzMlZp7iNo8e052jRwa5yOp0EwSHxUw205X1lRI/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="480" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgokYoNA9y3va6c1Oo6fJ-v52XgDa0Ddhu6RjUHXFIjeKcbLquEmegMSL51Hj7ckCsIo2WLwpQSq5JoOtQXWgGbdn1gNNXvYVSn1wYzMlZp7iNo8e052jRwa5yOp0EwSHxUw205X1lRI/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a>I mean - I even like Gwyneth Paltrow... despite all her Goop-ness. Her armor and fight scene alongside Iron-Man was SWEET. She even felt like a much more solid character with her small roll in the overall film. She was a loving spouse and mother and Tony CLEARLY loves Pepper. And that's pretty amazing to see. </div>
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And speaking of AMAZING... Steve Rogers becoming aware that he is, in fact, worthy. And then laying the fucking smackdown on Thanos with Mjolnir and lighting. I honestly got so excited at that I MAY have peed a little.<br />
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Other than that I found several overall character arc and stories to come home nicely. I LOVED Professor Hulk. His talk with "The Ancient One" was great. What could've been a needless foght scene actually worked out because people were able and willing to talk it out. I think it was just great. I also like Gamora switching sides when she finds that, in the future, she and Nabula are sisters simply because they left their "father". That was nicely done... and don't think I didn't notice that Tony's snap took away that Gamora. Tough break, Quill... </div>
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Let's talk about that snap, shall we? - What an excellent way to end the tale of Tony Stark. He has had an amazing character arc over the last 10 years. He finally got to save everyone like he'd been wanting to do since the beginning. And, yes, I sobbed like a small child who just wants a cookie when that scene ended. And to have the kid from Iron-man 3 at the funeral - was a very nice touch. Especially since Iron-Man 3 is one of my favorite movies. <br />
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Oh - and the Cheeseburger scene with Happy... JESUS... Just... too much.<br />
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My only questions are - now that Thanos died before Thanos actually killed everyone - did it actually happen? Doesn't that wipe out the timeline? What happened to all the people who, over the last 5 years moved on? Now they're faced with the lost ones coming back into their life all "Oh, shit... dad's back from the void... uh... meet new dad!" And who did Cap marry? Was it Peggy? Does that mean he just sort of disappeared when she got old and senile? Does he have kids? WHAT THE HELL, man?!?!<br />
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SO - that's my thoughts. What do you think of Endgame?? Comment below and let me know.<br />
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<br />Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-23419484979535867582019-04-30T11:29:00.000-04:002019-04-30T11:31:29.897-04:00Trouble With The Tradesman's Entrance<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A7liavxON3VNcR_mzCzIh4GOcHqHMs0Ap0b0mgXlwFsvZDIejJB0GkpRji7d3vJgbUq7dasEX7xoidhe7Zl8SrA_LccuTHp7BPvonHdspwVkQFTuBrIf2AWDhlRAXiK3HSk817aHx9Q/s1600/xij9626esb4z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="540" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A7liavxON3VNcR_mzCzIh4GOcHqHMs0Ap0b0mgXlwFsvZDIejJB0GkpRji7d3vJgbUq7dasEX7xoidhe7Zl8SrA_LccuTHp7BPvonHdspwVkQFTuBrIf2AWDhlRAXiK3HSk817aHx9Q/s320/xij9626esb4z.jpg" width="320" /></a>Saturday night found Lady Bourbon and me SANS CHILDREN!!<br />
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We sat and debated what to do for some time. We could go see Avengers and sit there for three hours - not a bad idea. We could go out to eat, have some drinks, and pretend to be regular adults for a while - also not a bad idea. OR we could get naked, watch some porn, and get a little freaky on the living room floor before going out for drinks and pretending we're adults... WINNER!!!!<br />
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Once the kids were safely gone and out of the house I retired to the shower, cleaned myself all over, and put on my sexy underwear - a black lace thing that makes my junk look HUGE... and my favorite skirt.<br />
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Then we moved some furniture, poured some drinks, and set back to get things going.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKwna3vzYMmBybAFPloa586wXcHV_1gT1srY4cdmWKuuZgPbWnHX0X4wg8WnVM5UpRZICXwfKjdmYetbSZM3Pl4XHZTVguBWEgSU2UqC8ADfBdsYD1dOoQ580651JHL1LjvFUroP0yYE/s1600/DtfQgQKWoAAAIpX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1486" data-original-width="1600" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKwna3vzYMmBybAFPloa586wXcHV_1gT1srY4cdmWKuuZgPbWnHX0X4wg8WnVM5UpRZICXwfKjdmYetbSZM3Pl4XHZTVguBWEgSU2UqC8ADfBdsYD1dOoQ580651JHL1LjvFUroP0yYE/s320/DtfQgQKWoAAAIpX.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'd already been sporting a pretty serious hard-on at the thought of not having kids... but now, as Lady Bourbon applied a nice, dark application of eyeliner on me, I was at "already ready to burst" levels. Me wearing eyeliner and black, lace panties has a rather curious effect on Lady Bourbon - and that is she gets SUPER wet. Like... Aquaman levels of wet.<br />
<br />
And that shit is hot as FUCK.<br />
<br />
As the show started we sat there, sipping or drinks and just "getting in the mood" as it were. Before long, her hand was slowly stroking me through the soft fabric of my skirt and silk... This had 2 results - 1: SO hot. 2: My panties no longer fit.... so they had to go.<br />
<br />
She continued.<br />
<br />
She wrapped my cock in the fabric of the skirt - it's soft, t-shirt material - and continued to gently stroke me up and down. Then I started rubbing her through her panties and stroking her nipples gently with my tongue from time to time. Our eyes both darting back and forth to the very lewd, very sexual animated porn on our television...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLJEnQzXCgF2-orFGkfu7rK7kn6kg8ZtZJFsTHBfpKdKg8FMYbJa1jzetrHKTkOabLFCHtEcdhX-if8PaRwWjMd4eFGvjEgp8k3d7dwVpBQx4jUcVA8Oc4uqG6FG89LeUKLj25wMXDaM/s1600/back.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1280" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLJEnQzXCgF2-orFGkfu7rK7kn6kg8ZtZJFsTHBfpKdKg8FMYbJa1jzetrHKTkOabLFCHtEcdhX-if8PaRwWjMd4eFGvjEgp8k3d7dwVpBQx4jUcVA8Oc4uqG6FG89LeUKLj25wMXDaM/s320/back.jpeg" width="320" /></a>Lady Bourbon stood up, removed her skirt and panties, and returned to the couch next to me. She began rubbing her clit with her vibrator while still stroking me softly. It was amazing. After several minutes of this we moved to the floor, she flipped my loose skirt up, and climbed on top of me. She rode me and used her magic wand until she trembled with her first orgasm... I could feel her dripping down my balls when she finished. Which just made me want more...<br />
<br />
There was head. There was rubbing, licking and touching... all the while moans of pleasure emanated from the television behind us.<br />
<br />
Lady Bourbon took out the new toy... the blue, strapless-strap-on. She turned it on and a small gasp escaped her lips as the large, bulbous end disappeared between her legs. She stood, gloriously naked in front of me with a semi-realistic, vibrating cock... and I took her into my mouth and played with her lower half until she orgasmed for a second time.<br />
<br />
Then it was my turn... and this is also where things got a little... hinky? Not kinky... hinky.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhp0GqVewWdItTLtDQogJzRL1lk_bWCIW_upahz3wCyoFQsu63CORIzlbXYvlCApSri8gMrKx4fKHEcw817HnPTD9Ihor8sDGuj_kkbMuymVXcLYjRoUz-bqGySodRaCxngce6gDdnJg/s1600/Tradesmens-Entrance-e1329638094204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="595" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhp0GqVewWdItTLtDQogJzRL1lk_bWCIW_upahz3wCyoFQsu63CORIzlbXYvlCApSri8gMrKx4fKHEcw817HnPTD9Ihor8sDGuj_kkbMuymVXcLYjRoUz-bqGySodRaCxngce6gDdnJg/s320/Tradesmens-Entrance-e1329638094204.jpg" width="320" /></a>Turning me over, Lady Bourbon got behind me. Large quantities of lube were used... and her first attempt at "being on top."<br />
<br />
Now, not being a life-long penis haver... the mechanics of what came next were a little awkward. Alignment, angle, positioning... She's not used to being an "outie" as it were. So there were some difficulties.<br />
<br />
Not to mention the size of the thing - I was having some difficulties.<br />
<br />
We decided to downsize things and go for Pinkie - the old standby toy... and after a few attempts and repositioning... she succeeded.<br />
<br />
Let me just say this... There is something VERY intimate about this. About having your wife, your best friend, your lover, your everything... penetrate you and be in charge. There is something so... I'm not sure WHAT the word is exactly... but it was awesome. There is a difference in Fucking someone and letting someone FUCK you.... and that's what she did. It was awkward being everyone's first time and all - but oh so very sexy.<br />
<br />
When that was done, she went down on me... then she rode me again... and in the end I came so hard I didn't want to move.<br />
<br />
We kissed. We held each other.... we got a fucking towel and cleaned up the mess and we laughed.<br />
<br />
After - we went to the bar and drank bourbon and Long Islands. We ate wings and chips and salsa. We went home and watched a shitty movie... and then we both slept with reckless abandon.<br />
<br />
I love her. I love that she loves me. I love that we can try new things without fear or shame. I love that she gets turned on by me after 10 years, 2 kids, and a whole lot of life's bullshit. I love that she'll go out of her comfort zone to try new things with. I love that when she gets off, she gushes... I love that she loves making eye-contact when she gets and gives head. I love my best friend... and I love the way she loves me back.Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-41432982249957033372019-04-22T19:25:00.001-04:002019-04-22T19:25:26.387-04:00Change in the House of BourbonIt's been a minute since I last posted on the ole blog... so let's fucking do this thing.<br />
<br />
Things have been a little different in the Bourbon household as of late. Lady Bourbon has taken on new work responsibilities that have drastically changed her schedule and the everyday flow in the house.<br />
<br />
Which is fine. We still manage and everything flows...<br />
<br />
But my day job revolves around scheduling and planning and while I can roll with things like the best of them - I am not taking to this as well as I'd hoped.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjhM6sfLaWKjg_vGdyO83kTOtICjbw7BzXtMRlH4MjFqZP2fhliFlHn0nqATMw3qn99-ujJfhfwUxDLsNgUysBMw8l5kY93IVgpUcsGqHGy1ZA7RFGzZsWGPpoFauBqh6JKEKMbr64P0/s1600/21_15c_33_tk3-0058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="653" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjhM6sfLaWKjg_vGdyO83kTOtICjbw7BzXtMRlH4MjFqZP2fhliFlHn0nqATMw3qn99-ujJfhfwUxDLsNgUysBMw8l5kY93IVgpUcsGqHGy1ZA7RFGzZsWGPpoFauBqh6JKEKMbr64P0/s320/21_15c_33_tk3-0058.jpg" width="320" /></a>Ever seen the Bob's Burgers episode where his landlord, Mr. Fischoeder, wants to pretend Linda and the kids are HIS wife and kids on Thanksgiving? And it should go well, but Bob is the one stuck in the kitchen still working, getting drunk on Absinthe, and wanting things to be normal... but they just aren't?<br />
<br />
Yeah... I'm Bob right now. Only without the Absinthe. And without alcohol... and without carbs... It's a lot of things changing all at the same time. And it's rough, man. Really rough.<br />
<br />
While Lady Bourbon now gets to spend her afternoon with the kids, she is gone in the mornings. It's just me and the kids prior to school... and it's not a problem. I love the kids. But I miss the adult interaction before I have to go to work and deal with the morons there. So once I've dropped the kids off, I have nothing to do at home, so I've been coming into work early. 9-hour days with another 90 minutes in the car... then I come home to a late dinner at 7:00 in time to TRY to play with the kids when I'm in a decent enough mood to do so before they go to bed at 8 or 8:30.<br />
<br />
She's also working at least one day every weekend now... which means it's just me and the kids again for most of the day...<br />
<br />
I love my kids - please don't misunderstand - it's just that out of my entire week, I really only see or interact with my kids and people at work. I hate the people at work and love my kids. But I actually spend WAY more time with the people I <b>hate </b>and not the people I <b>love</b>. And the people I hate are so invasive to my life and mental well-being, they imprint so much anger on me and I am often unhappy when I get home. Debbie is really the least of my problems at work. She's an awful human being, but she's nothing compared to my super racist, homophobic GM, the owner who wants to micromanage everyone, and everyone else there with the mentality of a 12 year old... It's infuriating.<br />
<br />
I am left with little or no time to decompress outside of my drive home... I have no alone time that isn't in the car to and from work. And my non-work adult interaction time is limited to a few meager hours at night before Lady Bourbon goes to bed before waking up at 5:30 the next morning for her new shift.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm just really bitching and whining more than anything. <a href="https://coffeesexandbourbon.blogspot.com/2019/02/thats-me-in-corner.html" target="_blank">Remember that post I made</a> about wanting to just spend every day stuck in a loop? Well, I feel like I'm still stuck in that loop... but with less Lady Bourbon in it now and less opportunity for my own free time. And I sometimes feel like I am forgetting how to interact with adults.<br />
<br />
So, instead of not having the time to have a social life... I now have less of one because Lady Bourbon is slightly less present in my day to day routine.<br />
<br />
And it just sucks. Right now - it sucks to be me. And not in some emo bullshit way... I'm just so goddamn lonely. In a world full of people - I just feel fucking alone.Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-41201310597983966752019-04-04T10:41:00.002-04:002019-04-04T10:41:16.987-04:00The Anxiety of SleepSometimes dreams are awesome. Lady Bourbon is a hyper-vivid dreamer with all sorts of cool shit in her dreams... like Voltron. My dreams are not so cool.<br />
<br />
It's been a long time since I've had "fun" dreams. My dreams over the last 10 years or so have all been, more or less, real life while I'm sleeping. Which, as you can imagine, sucks balls. And not in the fun "yeah baby, I like the way you do that" way. More of the "I accidentally fell on the vacuum hose and my balls are being sucked into oblivion and I think I'd rather be dead" kind of way.<br />
<br />
Last night's dream though... Holy shit. That was a doozy.<br />
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<br />
I had a dream in which I was driving my car to the hospital. I called them on the phone to let them know I was coming and that I was having a stroke. In the mirror I could see my face slacken and go lifeless and I lost control of the car as I pulled into the hospital lot. Then I dreamed in 3rd person POV for a while and then back to being me as they tried to fix me. This involved them sticking some sort of needle-like probe into my ear and having fluid run through my brain and out the other ear.<br />
<br />
It hurt.<br />
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And this is where I woke up freaking the fuck out.<br />
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I spent 20 minutes touching my face, trying to make sure it was working properly and doing a mental checklist of my body. It was so goddamn vivid I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to wake up in the hospital. Not in my bed, next to Lady Bourbon with our 4YO in between us. (Side note: The 4YO is Lady Kicks-alot when she sleeps. She sleeps like a flailing madman and she seems to have nothing but knees and elbows.)<br />
<br />
Anyway... the 4YO grabbed my index finger and held onto it and that was the only thing that allowed me to calm down. So I just laid in the bed staring at the two of them in the darkness, scared to death I was about to die or have a real stroke... and it is making for one shitty day.<br />
<br />
All of my dreams are like this - well, not THIS exactly... but never fun. I hate dreaming. It's one of the reasons I drink before I go to bed. I get that black void of sleep that is dreamless. It might not be the best idea, I get that, but christ on a cracker - If I dreamed like this every night - I'd probably kill myself.<br />
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I have a lot of army dreams. Not always war... sometimes they're just the ridiculous tedium of the army for like 8 hours. Other times they're the war... and those suck. Then I have dreams I'm at work. I've had an 8 hour work dream (it seemed) then woke up and went to work. You want to talk about sucking - THAT sucks. 16 hours of bullshit all in one go... no thank you.<br />
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The problem is that I don't know how to STOP it. I don't know how to change the way I dream. Dreaming for me is a stressful event... And I just wish it wasn't.<br />
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So much so I've got a WIP that is about a guy who learns to control his dreams and then share dreams... but that is fiction. And this is reality.<br />
<br />
In the meantime I'm stuck with feeling like shit in the mornings, being worried about going to sleep sober at night, and a very nervous about getting back on my meds. My meds caused me some very vivid dreams that were horrible... But, and I'm speculating here, I think that was because I kept drinking while on my meds and I wasn't supposed to. The result were horrible dreams and paranoia... Which, if you're keeping score, SUCKS....<br />
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Writing it out like this helps ease me out of the fear I'm going to die in the next few hours... so thanks for reading if you are here.<br />
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So - there's my Thursday, folks.<br />
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Hope you are all well.<br />
<br />
-Dr. BDr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-2582859475140965642019-03-26T14:43:00.002-04:002019-03-26T17:35:15.443-04:00The abduction Of The Human Known As Todd Marcum Part 1 - A serial by @BourbonSex<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><u>Chapter One: </u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><u>Everyone Talks About Being Probed, But Nobody Does Anything About It.</u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>(3,000 words +/- 100 words - mentions of nudity)</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcuPgjAp9hyphenhyphen6IHWY-EdFzlqxcK_asj06FqW0whXghE88u-0xca4e0ebTwVgu9G0VU8Rj7gtj19bpMkbOpZd39H2QtwgUF_0K1ofO4x_LFqOyQlDPy3cazICc5HsP74QulnZomQF_PVZU/s1600/colorful-ufo-abduction-concept-with-flat-design_23-2147910513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcuPgjAp9hyphenhyphen6IHWY-EdFzlqxcK_asj06FqW0whXghE88u-0xca4e0ebTwVgu9G0VU8Rj7gtj19bpMkbOpZd39H2QtwgUF_0K1ofO4x_LFqOyQlDPy3cazICc5HsP74QulnZomQF_PVZU/s320/colorful-ufo-abduction-concept-with-flat-design_23-2147910513.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Todd Marcum regretted his decision to socialize as soon as he walked into Mark’s apartment. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would anyone want to subject themselves to this? Somewhere between nineteen and two-hundred people were crammed into a small apartment. The thermostat was set to "broil" and shitty music was blaring out of the tiny, Walmart brand speakers making it an exercise in futility to talk to anyone. The only food available were several bowls of off-brand chips and pretzels... And those were somewhere in the Hellish labyrinth that is Mark’s tiny-ass kitchen, surrounded by throngs of drunk people. Todd had been here for an hour now and it was fast approaching “time to cut your losses” for him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">To make things even better - it was a costume party. A costume party where only <b>half</b> of the people there were in costume. And only half of THEM were in legit costumes. The rest were all dressed as “Oh, I’m a serial killer” coming to the party in what they wore to work that day. And Todd’s least favorite part of the costumed people were the group of women in the “sexy” costumes. There were an assortment of things wondering around the place with boobs and skin to spare... he saw, or thought he saw, sexy Chewbacca, a sexy Ketchup bottle, and a sexy Swedish Chef… from the muppets. None of these things should ever be sexy in Todd’s opinion. Chewbacca maybe... but that stemmed from a really troubling brush with fanfiction in the early 90s. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">Todd, on the other hand, was in a full-on set of custom Mandalorian armor that he’d worked on for two years. It was perfect and he was very pleased with himself about it. Or, he had been for the first thirty minutes. Now, in his perfect armor, he sat alone on the couch, sweating his balls off for no reason that he could fathom. He looked at the gin and tonic in his hand, debated if a trip through the hall of “sexy halloween costumes” was worth the refill, and decided to sit exactly where he was, finish this fucking drink, and go home. At least home was quiet. Home was a normal and acceptable temperature. Home was… </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Holy shit who is that?” Todd muttered to no one in particular. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then realized he’d spoken actual words and not just thoughts, and coughed, repositioned himself on the couch, and tried to look cool. Luckily for Todd, nobody gave a shit and he was completely ignored in all of this. The subject of his sudden outburst was a young woman, probably mid-twenties if he had to guess, with green skin, bright green eyes, some sort of alien tunic thing draped around her shoulders and a small, blue tattoo stretching up her neck and around her ear. Her hair was short and starkly white. Her hair was so white it almost looked like a wig. She glanced his way and smiled in his direction. She wasn’t one of the “sexy” costumes from the store. She was in full-on paint from head to toe. She’d spent time on this and Todd appreciated that. Her tunic looked functional and like it fit the idea of her alien costume rather than just being a “sexy toga” thing. As he watched her move through the crowd, Todd’s armor suddenly felt too small in some areas and he awkwardly tried to adjust himself to make room for things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey.” She said making her way towards him. “Love the Mando armor.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I, uh, we, I mean, thanks.” Todd stuttered and stammered and realized he’d forgotten how to speak. Then he realized he'd been staring and tried again, “I love you.” He blurted. Fuck.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry?” She said with a slight tilt to her head.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love your costume.” Todd said, gesturing wildly with his drink hand. “That’s the best one here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thanks. It’s just something I threw together.” She looked his armor up and down.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You threw it together well. It’s awesome. Kind of a gorgeous, super sexy alien thing…” he stopped talking and immediately turned red. All over. His entire body was one strobing shade of bright red which bordered on painful. Thankfully he was in his costume and nobody could see anything except his face. Which looked, Todd assumed, like a giant beet. “I am so sorry.” He said. “That was inappropriate.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Relax.” She said flopping onto the couch with a wide smile. “You’ve at least got the balls to wear a costume to a costume party. So you’re allowed one fuck up.” She smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Cathy.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Todd Marcum.” He said taking her hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. “So,” he said, trying to redeem himself. “What are you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m bored.” She said with a bit more exuberance than Todd had expected.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh.” His smile faltered a little.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Not because of you, Todd Marcum.” She laughed. “This party's boring.” She motioned around them to the gathered people.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Agreed.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span>“But to answer your question I am a Spreggen.” She said as thought it should’ve been followed with a “duh.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ah.” Todd nodded and searched his memories for the name. He came up empty. “I’ve never heard of that. And I’m willing to bet I’m the biggest nerd in this entire apartment.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, you’ll just have to figure it out then.” She smiled. “Want to go out on the deck and get some fresh air? It’s hot as balls in here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That sounds like a solid plan.” Todd said and the two extricated themselves from the living room, weaved through the trio of “sexy” costumed women and made their way to the balcony. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was cold as shit out on the balcony. Luckily for Todd he was about to die from heat exhaustion so the cold was a welcome change. He stood in the cold air, feeling it seep into his costume and basked in it. It was then that he looked to Cathy and noticed that her tunic-thing was very thin. In addition to this, she was not wearing shoes. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Aren’t you cold?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Me?” She laughed. “This is nothing.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ah.” Todd said and they drifted into an uncomfortable silence for a few long heartbeats.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, you like aliens, Todd?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The movie?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I suppose so.” Cathy said. “But I meant in a more general term.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love aliens.” He said. “The movie and the idea of life,” he gestured upwards, “somewhere out there.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “As long as they don’t probe me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What is it with probing?” She said. “I mean, that’s like a <i>BIG</i> thing here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I don’t really know. I mean, surely aliens are more advanced than us if they can come here through the vast emptiness of space. There’s got to be a better way to get to know someone other than a probe in the ole space-hole.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Right?” She laughed lightly. “I mean, shit, buy someone a drink, have a nice chat. The probing can happen in its own time.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes.” Todd said and then stopped. “I mean… would there still need to be probing?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“If the drink was good enough.” She smiled at him, tipped her drink up and drained its contents.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh. Right.” Todd said and he was suddenly warm again. He was also very uncomfortable at that moment. Talking to girls was never his strong suit, and this one was, if you asked Todd, an 11 on a 1-10 scale of attractiveness. The green skin, blue tattoo, and white hair were all coming together for Todd in a way that made him think being probed could totally be worth it. “So… Spreggen?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yep.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Still nothing.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Spreggen live in the Truani quadrant. They’re shapeshifters.” She paused. “Well, not shapeshifters in the fullest sense, but they have the ability to adapt to their environment and take on an appearance... “ </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yep, nothin.” Todd said and looked at her and locked on her eyes. She blinked and smiled at Todd. He started to speak when his brain locked up, rewound the last five seconds and replayed the blink. Her eyes… her neon green eyes… had blinked. But not up and down like his. They had blinked vertically. “What the…?” He started, but then she blinked again. And it was a normal blink. “Uh…”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes?” She said with a wide grin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nothing. Just my brain trying to ruin this moment for me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re cute, Todd Marcum.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Uh… Thank you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You want to get out of here? Want to go somewhere and see some cool shit?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You mean like a bar or something?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nope.” She stopped and tilted her head. “I mean, yeah, we can totally go to a bar if you want. But I mean some place really cool.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How long have you lived in Cincinnati?” Todd asked. “Because the list of really cool shit is about one line long and it’s not that cool.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, gods, I don’t live here.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m not from around here at all.” She leaned in and staged whispered to him. “I’m actually crashing this party”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yeah, I don’t know anyone here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know me.” Todd smiled. “Well, I mean, you don’t <b><i>KNOW</i></b> know me… but you know?” He blew air through his lips and she smiled at him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Should I <b><i>KNOW</i></b> know you, Todd?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I mean, I guess there are worse people to know.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Not really selling me, Todd.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sorry.” He said pulling a face. “Well, let’s see... I’m a huge nerd, I hate my job, my apartment is small and costs too much, I like Star Trek, Star Wars, and anything space related.” He took a breath. “I collect action figures…” He stopped, debating if he should’ve said that out loud, but continued on. “And I hate costume parties where people don’t dress in costume so that makes me and you the two coolest people here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wow.” Cathy said flatly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sorry, I got nervous.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nah, it’s cool. You’re cool. I’ve decided to like you.” She smiled, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply through her nose. Todd had an uncomfortable feeling that she was smelling him. “Yep.” She blurted. “I like you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Uh… cool.” Todd managed. “What about you?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I’m me.” She said with a smile. “I like those things too.” She looked away and thought for a moment. “And, yes, I collect action figures as well.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wh....” was all Todd could say. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Want to go back to your place?” She looked at him. “Seeing as I don’t actually live around here and this party is totally lame.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I… well, I could…” Todd’s brain locked up again as he mentally inventoried his apartment. It was relatively clean, probably nothing too damning left out, and this is probably the most attractive woman he’s ever spoken to and she wanted to go back to his place. This was probably some elaborate joke being played at his expense. No girls ever wanted to come to his place for drinks and… well, anything. “Are you fucking with me?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” She laughed. “Not at all.” She tapped the front of his Mando armor. “I just like a man in armor.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, shit. I mean, yeah… why not?” His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Excellent. Shall we then?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>They left their empty cups on the balcony table, maneuvered through the apartment and out the door. Two floors down, Todd opened the door on his small, one bedroom. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Wait,” She said. “You live in the same building?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“That’s how I know Mark.” He stopped, key still in the lock. “Is that a deal breaker?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“No.” She laughed. “Anywhere is better than there.” She walked passed Todd and into his apartment. “You were not fucking kidding, Todd.” She mused from inside. “This is one small-ass apartment.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Told you.” he said following her in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“I mean, Shran, this is smaller than…” She stopped. “Well, let’s just say it’s small.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“I know. I live here.” He paused a heartbeat. “Shran?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“It’s like Jesus.” She said as if that made sense.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Well, okay then.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span>Todd tossed his keys on the table where they belonged and flipped on the lights. The lamps in the corners illuminated his small kitchen, smaller than Mark’s even, and his meager living room area. His gaming systems all hooked up to large, wall-mounted television, and several glass cases housed his various assortment of action figures, models, and other collectables. He looked to find Cathy bending down to admire his movie collection.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“I already like you.” Cathy said passing a finger over his movies. “But now I can confirm it.” She stood and held up a copy of the Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai. “Can we watch this?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Yes.” Todd said and sort of deflated, especially in his pants. He was hoping they were going to, you know, make out and stuff, not watch Buckaroo Banzai. He looked up and smiled. “I mean, sure. I love that movie.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Don’t worry,” she added when she saw the look on his face. “There’s plenty of time for drinks and probing.” She glanced at her hand holding the movie. “Oh, shit. Right.” She smiled. “Can I use your shower real quick?” She waggled a green finger in his direction. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Only door on the right.” He gestured to the single door along the wall next to the kitchen. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Be out in a second.” She smiled and strolled by him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>Todd moved furiously throughout the small space grabbing cups, silverware, and anything else he could find and piled it into the kitchen sink. He assumed he had more than enough time with all the body paint, so he slowed his pace and leisurely made his way around the room giving it the once over. He about had a heart attack when the bathroom door opened a moment later and Cathy stood there with wet hair and not a speck of green on her. She couldn’t have been in there more than three minutes. That’s when Todd realized she was dripping wet, and completely nude.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“You wouldn’t happen to have a towel would you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Oh, yeah. Shit. Yes. Sorry.” He tried to look away from the sheer beauty of her nakedness, but, in doing so, he tripped and fell over the couch. Several crashes, two “oh shits”, and a large amount of sighing later, Todd lay on his back looking up at the ceiling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">“I think I broke my spleen." He wheezed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Gods, you’re adorable.” She said peering down at him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Thanks.” He said and looked up through the swirling vision to behold Cathy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>She was completely nude, standing over him, smiling down. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">From this angle he could see everything and he worked his up her body and stopped on her eyes. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">Her previously neon eyes, now a pale blue, looked at him with a smile and he stared into them for a long minute before water dripped from her nose and fell down on his face. He was completely awe-struck for a moment. He was, somewhere in the back of his brain, fully aware that he was lying underneath a naked 11 in his apartment. On the floor. With his feet still over the side of the couch. Then reality set in. This realization caused his voice to come out in a cracking, multi-leveled thing that gave him the appearance of being a teenager going through puberty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“You’re not so bad looking yourself.” He coughed and worked to right himself. Cathy maneuvered to her knees next to him and kissed him gently on the forehead. From here, he noticed that despite lacking the green skin, the tattoo thing was still on her neck and head. “Tattoo won’t wash off?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Well, it’s permanent, so no.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“That’s a real tattoo?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“More or less.” She said, bobbing her head to either side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“O… kay…?” Todd said and stood from his fall and looked around the apartment. He was still wearing his costume. “I should go take this off.” Hs said with only the smallest of glances at Cathy’s naked figure. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Still waiting on that towel.” She said. A small pool of water was forming around her on the faux-hardwood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Shit. Towel. Yes.” Todd managed to make it to the closet. He handed her a towel and she disappeared into the bathroom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">Todd made his way into his bedroom and laboriously removed his Mandalorian armor and put it neatly in a pile. He grabbed the dirty clothes from his floor, tossed them into the hamper and then stood in the room in his boxers thinking how best to handle the next bit. He sniffed at his armpit and was suddenly aware of body odor he had from sweating to death in Mark’s apartment. He needed to shower. He could get clothes on, walk to the shower, and get undressed again. Or… Or he could strode confidently across the living room in his boxers and see if Cathy gave him a second notice. OR… third option, he could just bust out there, naked like she had done, and give her a taste of her own medicine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Being awkward and unable to muster the courage to do options two or three, he put on shorts, a shirt, and his sandals and cautiously peered into the living room. Cathy sat on the couch, dressed in her tunic again. Her feet were propped on the small coffee table and she looked like she was comfortable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“If it’s okay with you…” Todd started and she looked up from the couch and smiled. “I’m just going to take a quick shower.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Why?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“I stink?” He said without thinking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“I like your smell. You smell like you.” She smiled. “Come sit.” She patted the couch next to her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Are you sure?” Todd asked tentatively moving in her direction. Then he remembered back to the balcony upstair and how she’d… what? Smelled him? Was that a thing? Do people smell other people? “Okay.” This girl was weird. But a good weird. The kind of weird that... Well, he didn't know exactly. But he liked it. So, fuck it. He sat down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>Todd sat next to her and they started to the movie. As it played Cathy began to talk here and there, questioning Todd. Her questions were all about space, aliens, Dr. Who, more aliens, and so on. Todd didn’t mind the questions. In fact, they were better than the awkward time he had been expecting with a girl in his apartment and he was feeling comfortable in no time with Cathy. Even if he still sported a strange, semi-erection from all her earlier nudity. So what? It was nice. Things were going well. Nothing could ruin his night now, he knew it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“So you really believe in aliens?” She asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">“Yes. I have to.” He gestured towards his window. “The universe is too big for just humans.” He looked at her and her grinning, glowing smile. “Why are you so concerned about this?” He laughed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Excellent answer, Todd Marcum.” She said and stood from the couch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>Cathy dropped the tunic from her body and stood in front of him. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but maybe talk of extraterrestrials really got her going. He wasn’t going to complain, people have strange kinks. Who was he to judge? He took in her figure from top to bottom. He could feel his pulse quicken and the actions of Buckaroo Banzai were quickly forgotten as the blood rushed to his crotch. He started to rise off the couch. She held a hand out and motioned for him to remain seated. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I need to show you something.” She said and she smirked when his eyebrows shot up. “Not like that.” She smiled. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, right in front of his eyes, Todd watched as Cathy’s entire body turned from the pink, fleshy color back into the green color he’d seen at the party. Her eyes went from pale blue back to bright, neon green, and the tattoo on her neck turned a vibrant shade of blue. Her hair didn’t change. It was the same, short white cut that it had been all night. For an instant, Todd found that strange. But then that instant ended and his brain sort of fizzled to a stop as he tried to make sense of what he'd just seen. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px;">All of the blood that had been rushing to his crotch left him unready for this turn of events and he turned a sickly shade of white and fainted, face-first onto his coffee table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span> </span>“Well, fuck.” Cathy said.</span></span></div>
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Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1824799409830719644.post-57593980120049931192019-03-25T11:34:00.000-04:002019-03-29T10:21:22.406-04:00At the station<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBUP6dnkwlzSTMWF8JEwJk50MIuHPHklmkfdCsmx1O-j0PEWBJ9Lv6lzMwD5I3J-I5dzWdK8xF_nScLYofmNklOusP8XTfhVD4Zxc0CguHJ-Dx68ddJbvFMg84-wws41B8I-P-hPiSVY/s1600/D2Qv3vEXcAMSVVy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="832" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBUP6dnkwlzSTMWF8JEwJk50MIuHPHklmkfdCsmx1O-j0PEWBJ9Lv6lzMwD5I3J-I5dzWdK8xF_nScLYofmNklOusP8XTfhVD4Zxc0CguHJ-Dx68ddJbvFMg84-wws41B8I-P-hPiSVY/s320/D2Qv3vEXcAMSVVy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Whatever drugs were in Todd’s system weren’t making him twitchy - that would be the understatement of the year. He was positively vibrating with whatever the hell was coursing through his veins. Everything was bright and loud. Some people and things seemed to move in slow-motion while others, for no reason Todd could come up with, seemed to move in fast-forward. To put it bluntly - Todd was tripping his balls off. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wasn’t sure of the day. He damn sure wasn’t sure of what time it was. And there was a nagging sense in the back of his brain that told him he wasn’t in Ohio anymore. The fact the signs weren’t written in English helped to back this last theory up. Well, that and the fact that everyone around him was shorter than him and lacked that clearly midwestern American look. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Holy shit, I’ve been kidnapped.” He blurted. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” Came a barking laugh from over his shoulder. Todd jumped at the sound. The voice was familiar, yet strange all at the same time. He turned to see a woman with bright, white hair that had been cropped short against her head. Her eyes were neon green and she had a tattoo running up her neck that coiled around her right ear. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I… uh…” Sweat poured down his body in the afternoon heat. “Where the fuck am I?” He finally managed. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Finally coming down?” She asked. Again, Todd was confused by the familiar yet unfamiliar sound of this woman’s voice.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t know.” Todd said. His throat was suddenly dry. Not just dry… it felt like he’d swallowed a gallon of cat litter and then chased it with a beach. “Jesus…”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Dry mouth?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes.” He choked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Drink this.” She handed him a small flask-sized object. “You’ll feel better.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I…” He looked wearily at the object and then the woman offering it. Then he thought ‘fuck it’ and drained the liquid. He felt better instantly. He felt, and thought he could even HEAR, his body soak up the liquid and end his suffering. “What the hell is in this?” He looked at it and offered it back to the woman.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Counter-agent, rehydrator, blah, blah, blah…” She took the flask-thing and put it back in her pocket. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Cool.” Todd’s brain cleared in an instant. Nobody was moving in the wrong time frame anymore and he could finally get a bearing on things. “So… How did I end up in India?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Your memories will come back in about ten minutes or so.” The lady said. “But I can give you the five-cent version if you’d like.” She paused. “Again.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Please.” Todd said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well,” she started and then took a large breath. “Met you at a party in Greenville, Ohio. You said you were bored, we drank a lot, and you said you wanted to get away.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So you drugged me and took me to India?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Drugged you?!” She laughed. “I’m not that kind of girl. You did this to yourself. Again.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Again?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yep. Every time we fly you insist.” She let out a small laugh. “And then we have this conversation.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, we’ve done this often?” He asked skeptically.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Todd, we’ve been traveling for about nine months now.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry, what?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nine. Months.” She said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How is that possible?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, time passes, we travel… it’s really that simple.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And I know you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know me.” She smiled. “And I love you, Todd. But we seriously need to work on this.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Work on what?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The part where you come down from the d’jar and I have to explain to you all of this instead of letting your brain just catch up.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never been to India before and…”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We’ve been to India like six times, Todd. My ship is here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Six times?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yep.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How have I been here six times and… wait, ship?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes. Again.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looked at her and her neon green eyes blinked at him. It was a long, stretched out minute before Todd’s brain caught up with his eyes. She had blinked vertically. Her eyes had fucking blinked VERTICALLY. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh my god.” He rasped suddenly feeling very nervous. “I have to… I have…” He stopped and stared at her. "Oh my god I've been abducted!" His eyes widened. "Have you probed me? Did you probe me? Why do you always probe people!?" </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Three. Two. One.” She said looking at her watch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh my god! I HAVE TO GET…” He stopped. His expression changed like someone flipped a switch. In his mind a door opened and a sea of memories rushed into his brain. His hands clutched his head as the sudden resurgence of memories threatened to make him throw up all over the place. He remembered her. He remembered everything. She was Chianna. She was a Spreggen. They were married now for two months and he’d been in outer-space. A lot. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">His eyes bugged for a second and then became calm pools of blue. The sea of pedestrians that had moved away from him all stopped and stared in awe as his frantic tone and pace stopped in one, swift second. “Oh.” he said. “Uh, hey, babe.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“There he is!” She smiled and kissed his forehead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sorry.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s cool.” She said and nodded to the inbound train. “You’re just in time.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’ve got to stop letting me take that shit.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You hate space travel. What am I supposed to do? Let you throw up all over the ship? No fucking way, man.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry.” He said again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“If I didn’t love you, it’d be different. But you’re just so fucking adorable every time. You always think you’ve been abducted by an alien who is all about probing your ass.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well…”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And you like it when I do that, Mr. Holier than thou.” She smirked. “Now, let’s get on this train. It’s a long way to go back to Greenville and your mom is expecting us Wednesday.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I remember.” Todd said with a smile and kissed her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Good.” She smiled and winked at him with her vertical eyelids. “You’re lucky you’re cute, earth-man.”</span></span></div>
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Dr. BourbonSexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09433170022879896588noreply@blogger.com0