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chapter int(11) 39 Column Stats
title varchar(250) 39 Column Stats
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chapter
title
story
9 Yet Another Do Me Wannabe We spend the whole night together naked, but never did it.

It was so cool we repeated this Tantric Sexuality exercise
twice more during that period,
with nights graduating into long weekends,
and still, we never did it.

Who would have thought those would be my very first steps
in selfless Tantra training,
with the horrifying effects of the
non-awareness and zero experience combo,
causing so much pain.

So I got scared, and refused the forth meet.
I had already been doing like clockwork,
the only person untouched by the web,
during the previous few years.
The one that was worth the wait.
But not too often anymore during those days.

For several weeks after the third meet,
we had conversed over the phone.
Do me, do me, do me.
No, no, no.
I didn't give up, and then one day she called me up:
I did, she said, so its ok.

I was nearly in tears,
but the age wouldn't let them come out,
and I let it go.
I was just twenty three.
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10 Bone Cancer By the time I was twenty eight he was busy dying.
Like evil lightning,
Nitty called me up one day and told me he decided to start dying.

I had no clew for whom, and how this was to affect
the doos and don't of my life to this day.
During the previous few months to my discovery of this
shocking fact,
the web was getting very messy,
totally independently thus far.

And during these very same few months,
we had been talking hours over the phone,
fantasizing how he will come to stay at my place
and paint New York.

The great one, the web creator, had died of
stomach cancer somewhat later.
My encounters with witchcraft also occurred somewhat later.
Even if I were to be a great witchcraft wizard,
I would not have had a chance to a clue,
as to the dangerous web I am already so well entangled in.
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11 The Web Gets Messy So me and the Jazz Guitar player were scouting for doos together.
K., still his wife, was scouting New York.
The Jazz Guitar player was Cupidly scouting the newspapers
for a flutist he later married,
while I was taking the lazy desperate route.
I wasn't that desperate, or at least that is what I was told
by my hormones.
Just targeting desperate do buddies.
Or bodies rather.
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12 The Automatic Secretary She had just been imported for me from Israel.
Without an invitation, just a chance meet.
Or meat, rather.

She was desperate.
I had known the Virginal Objectivist for seven years by then.
Not at all in the biblical sense just yet.
She was a close friend, and a friend of the new import.

The Objectivist threw a birthday party for me.
It felt mostly like one of those rare girl parties where
A Few Good Men are invited over.
In fact I don't remember any other man there.
Logic demands that if that were really the case
I would have remembered that.
And further, its my hormones that decide what
I get to remember and what not.
I know me at least that well.

But The Objectivist was slow,
and my invited advances on her during the party
translated into the three of us just going to sleep there,
dressed, after all the other bodies have left.
My hormones were too fast for this.

When I woke up, only the automatic secretary was there,
sleeping.
The Objectivist had gone to work,
leaving the two of us alone in her apartment.

I woke her up very slowly, gently,
almost hypnotizing her to continue sleeping.
But only slow enough for her to discover that
by the time she was fully awake,
she no longer had a clue where her clothes were left off.
But we didn't do it just yet.
My hormone driven logical brain told me even here
I had better wait for the rubbers to come off her brain.
It took not twenty four hours.
So we did, and did, and did, and did.
And I bought her an answering machine.
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