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Bobby and Rob see fireworks from a different angle.

A one night stand. I need very much to put an end to the declining relationship. Mara has one great quality, and that was she knows how to give head. She liked sex a lot, at first. She said it took time to get used to the shape of it. Then I howled in pleasure. Then I changed, and it was because of our conversations. All on cellular.

I saw a textbook example of the hot-to-trot female. I saw all her loving change to power play. Why? Who knows. I am tired of her and I think she is tired of me, too. This person is in her forties and acts like she is in high school. Coming back to the Neuse River basin, from yet another situation she did not want. Back to her home town, with all her high school friends here to get drunk or stoned with.

...The lady stops as she nears the end of the woods, the woods that end near my small apartment. She bends over to pick up something on the ground, and she stands back up, looking at a piece of bark or a cone. Then she looks off out at the crop field, one hand caressing the small blue locket on her white necklace....

I look back at my kitchenette. The clock says 1:15. I am at the desk, taking liberal drags from a cigar end. She is here somehow, and I do not hear or feel the strange lady's presence in the bathroom or the bedroom. Water is dripping. The bathtub faucet. Apparently I did not turn the faucet all the way off when I got out of the shower earlier. Time for some more music. Jethro Tull was quite good, his album containing the anthem to the work horses of Scotland. Yes, quite good.

On the PC I'm listening to drones, sound samples and my eyes are closed. The sounds are ethereal, beautiful...........the lady in the woods is sitting on a stump in the small clearing. She must be uncomfortable, sitting on that stump. Then I notice that the skirt she is wearing is something durable. There is something about the look of the woman. British, but I don't know why. She's dressed for anything, not royalty or high class. More like a sojourner. Could be staying in the madness of my home town west of here. Dressed as though she is in a play, as somebody I know cannot be part of my present day eventuality. She's coming closer to me, standing here in the door. Not a character in a movie, but the female form is a fantasy of a character in a movie. A provocative fantasy.

It's really time I should be getting to bed. I'm lighting up again and I hear the bathroom door to my bedroom close. A woman is singing a George Harrison song, My Sweet Lord. It's Connie, in my bathroom singing. I walk to the kitchen and take another drink of my latest deleterious drink, one filled with caffiene, and cold, not like coffee. I don't have any coffee made, and now I have company.

I walk into the bedroom. Connie the Lady of The Woods has put the woman's touch to my bed chamber. I have a single bed. What did she think, a nymph out in the Bible belt lowlands, when she saw I have a single bed? For that matter, what will happen, satisfaction? She's real alright, something or someone definitely different and it's high time, too. I don't know what to do except sit on the bed and take my shoes off I've had on since eight this morning.

Hello, Darryl. She speaks to me as she opens the bathroom door and turns the light off. But she doesn't speak. She is speaking to me without speaking, without using her warm red lips, or her tongue. How do I know your name? I almost say, but I know there's no need to speak either, not audibly. A chill goes up my legs when her thoughts reach mine. You have always known my name. Where are you from? I ask silently. Does it matter? I'm foreign. I am not from this area. I am given time to think, now. Oh, I see. I certainly believe you are not from around here.

She is wearing a light teal gown, almost white, under a royal blue bathrobe she had found in a drawer.

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