The Girl Of My Bad-Ass Juvenile Dreams  

AtomicArtist0 45M
5236 posts
4/4/2006 12:46 pm

Last Read:
5/20/2008 5:59 pm

The Girl Of My Bad-Ass Juvenile Dreams

Here is the story I’d like to enter in caressmewell’s writing competition as a work of non-fiction. it’s a long one, so sit back and get comfy. Take a deep breath and get ready for the roller-coaster ride known as…

The Girl Of My Bad-Ass Juvenile Dreams Enjoy, and be sure to vote on your favorite.


She was more sexually advanced than the rest of us…even in junior high. She wore ruby red on her pursed and pouty bee-stung lips and lengthened her eyelashes giving her the heavy-lidded bedroom look of a little harlot experienced beyond her years. “Hey boys, can you tell I’m not wearing underwear?”, she said looking back at us over her shoulder one time in the hallway. She wore a very short black skirt and a white cardigan sweater with the top three buttons left undone to show off her already ample bosoms. That day she wore black stiletto heels that accentuated the curve of her calf muscles. Stiletto heels in junior high for Christ sakes! This was an article of clothing completely unheard of amongst all the other under-developed girls at school…as unheard of as her made-up lips and lengthened eye lashes. Equally unheard of was what she was about to do…just one of those things that gets burned into the recesses of a guy’s memory forever and always.

She bent over and grabbed her ankles right there in the hallway between classes and looked back at us, smiling. The back of her skirt inched up her legs revealing the lower orbs of her ass and that vertical cleft right in the middle there. There it was…alluring…enticing…her pussy for us all to see. Oh, yes, we could tell she wasn’t wearing underwear! Yes indeed. Before we knew it, the whole thing was over as she regained her upright stance and disappeared off to her next class. Hips swaying. The quick smile and wink she shot in the direction of one of the taller boys in front of me let me know that the show wasn’t meant for me. I was just an accessory. The images of her burned into memory forever were not supposed to be mine to keep.

I was probably as sexually advanced as she was, but only in mind and never in body or experience. Long before specialty magazines and the internet could prove anything was true, I just seemed to know of things; disturbing things; demented sexual acts that could only happen in places like Germany, Thailand, or the farthest reaches of rural Maine. How these depraved acts entered my mind in the first place…that I’m not too sure about. Chalk it up to not having many friends and an overactive imagination, maybe, but they were there. In body I was younger than my classmates and very small for my age and awkward. It would be many long years before I would lose my boyish features and develop these decidedly very male muscles and attitude; before my hands looked strong and before these dark eyes and smile would allure anyone at all. At the time, I wanted so much more. I wanted her.

She was in most of my classes, or at least she was when she decided to show up. How amazingly independent it was in junior high to show whenever you felt like it, in spite of all the rules. We felt pretty grown up having multiple classes instead of just one, and we had our own lockers. We were told this is what high school would be like. Life would be grand then as we were going to be adult big shots heading down a road paved in lots of sex and gold. In class she put on lipstick as I watched enthralled as she lovingly rubbed that phallic little red thing onto her oversized lips. She never took notes like we were supposed to but rather doodled little drawings of pot leaves, penises, and girls with pretty eyes like hers. She wasn’t up to par with me, as I was already an artistic dynamo through some unexplainable fluke, but for her, I was willing to let it slide. Her drawing subject matter was years ahead of the unicorns and hearts the other girls were doing. Sometimes she would laugh out loud in class for no apparent reason or just rest her head on her desk to fall asleep while the rest of us either watched her or toiled away at our note taking. Once she lit up a cigarette and smoked right there in class without giving a shit about anything. This resulted in a shouting match between her and the arithmetic teacher and her being sent away to the principal’s office smiling smugly all the while. Wow. She smoked. It wouldn’t be until high school that the other bad girls would follow suit on that nasty habit.

One class that she seemed to attend most of the time and actually participated in was psychology class, strangely enough. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the teacher was good looking and just turned thirty-five, seemingly a full two decades younger than most of the other teachers. He engaged the class in good discussion…even her. I don’t know how questions like this come up in class, but if any, psychology would be the class to do it. “What first attracted you to your boyfriend?” he asked her. “His money and his car.” She said it with confidence. Wow! What a sophisticated answer coming from a junior high kid, I though. In a world where the other girls were flat-chested, had zits, braces and nervously used the word “like” every other second, she just comes up with that without any trouble at all. She said it with her legs crossed and thigh high boots on. Ok, so she has a boyfriend, I though, and apparently he has money and a car. He has to be at least sixteen and a half according to my logic and Massachusetts law. Wow, she’s dating a high school kid. He’s probably a jock. That’s pretty advanced. Maybe she’s older than us. Maybe she stayed back a year or two. She could have been 28 and a business exec for all we knew, but her being in junior high placed her at most a couple years older in spite of her advanced looks. On another occasion or possibly the same one (I’m not sure anymore) he had also asked, “What is your life’s dream?” He had a square jaw and a gold watch that he subtly made sure she noticed under his sleeve. “I want to pose for Playboy, someday”, she replied with a little smile then gently bit the tip of her pen. Damn! I knew Playboy. Did I ever.

They were rain drenched and hidden in the woods beneath a rusted fender about a mile from my house. Us kids knew about them and looked at them on occasion. They had beautiful naked women eating oranges or swimming in lakes with shapely tits, ass, and even pussies in full view. As blurred, ruined, and rain drenched as they were, they were my first view of the female form. They were fantastic and as my hormones were flying, I wanted more. I was ready, I was sure of it. Any day now…heck, any minute one of these pretty girls would be willing to have sex with me. These magazines were introduced to us by this kid we knew. He was taller, stronger, and at fourteen he was older than us and a freshman in high school. He had pus filled zits, thick glasses that he mended with tape and this nasally, mumbling way of speech. He smelled like onions and occasionally liked to wrestle us to the ground. He talked about cunts and assholes a lot and on how many occasions he got to see them in real life, not in drenched magazines. He claimed that he had had his cock sucked. He said he had much better magazines hidden somewhere and naked pictures of his little sister. He seemed to know about things…the kind of things you’d think only existed in places like Germany, Thailand, or the furthest reaches of rural Maine.

Nothing has determined the long term fate of more kids than the number two pencil. It was the favored instrument of all those major tests; the ones you have to fill in the appropriate little ovals and somehow this would reflect how much you had learned (or didn’t learn) throughout the course. This was going to be one of those big tests that encompassed all subjects and apparently got us into high school and onto roads paved with sex and gold. So naturally I took a seat behind and diagonally to her…so I could watch her. I gave the first part of the test an honest try; concentrating as best I could considering the surrounding stimulus. Occasionally, I would glance up at her and she would be sitting there with pencil in mouth thinking of something and maybe even applying lipstick. After awhile she had began to doodle her little spirals, pot leaves, and penises on her test form. No ovals were filled in at all. It occurred to me then, that this would have been the ideal seat to choose had I wanted to cheat off someone instead of ogle them. Maybe I should have sat diagonally behind someone smarter, but being this close to her was a proposition too good to refuse. She just epitomized everything sexy, rebellious and wrong and it seemed oh, so right at the time. Especially what she did next.

Right there in the middle of class, in the middle of the biggest test of the year, she had reached up into her skirt and slowly worked her panties down her knees, down around her ankles, then finally off and in her hand. Holy Shit! Her fucking panties were in her hand! They were red and lacy and the most wonderful things I’ve ever seen in my life. By this point, it wasn’t just me distracted as she calmly twirled the panties helicopter style on the end of her finger, then nonchalantly stuffed them into her purse and crossed her legs and looked down at her exam sheet as if nothing had happened. Oh my God, she had taken off her panties in class and is just sitting there now, doodling pictures of dicks and pot leaves. Other kids kept glancing her way, but eventually got back to their testing as they figured she was done with her little shenanigans. Breathless, I never took my eyes off of her. I didn’t want to miss a second of what she may do. Good thing, too. She rested her head on her desk and sat for awhile seemingly sleeping. She uncrossed her legs, parted them slightly, hiked up her skirt a little and inserted the eraser end of her number-two pencil into her pussy. Christ! I can’t believe this! There she was fucking herself with the very pencil that was supposed to determine her long term fate. The teacher was oblivious to everything behind his newspaper and his feet of on his desk. Thanks to her, my own academic fate as well as most in the desks surrounding her was also being adversely determined as everything I could ever know had slipped from my mind in an instant. Could I find the prepositional phrase in the sentence? Not really. Could I identify the nucleus of a cell? Fuck no! What’s the square root of forty-nine? Who the fuck cares! She was masturbating in class with her pencil; slipping it in and out vigorously while some of us watched, bewildered. It was moist as evidenced by the very discreet sound. After what seemed like several long minutes, suddenly she arched her back. Her breath fluttered. She gasped and shook and let out a low groan as she brought herself to orgasm around her pencil. Everybody was looking at her now and not just some of us near her. GRRROOOONNNNK!… was the sound her desk made across the floor as her feet kicked involuntarily out at the chair in front of her and she pushed her desk back. The teacher, no longer engaged with his newspaper, was glaring at her and probably not quite sure what had just happened. He had ordered her to the principal’s office. With a defiant laugh and flip of her hair, she walked off with her heels echoing down the hall. In spite of our teacher’s efforts to restore order we were all transfixed. He told us to finish our tests. Most tried, but I couldn’t think about anything but her. Months before I was able to bust my first nut with the acute panic and guilt that came along with it immediately afterwards, she had fucked herself in class in front of everybody on test day with the very same pencil that was to determine her fate. By the end of the test, panicked, I had filled in “C” for all the remaining ovals. It was right down the middle. Nice and easy. Maybe I should have picked “A” because the letter I picked was a foreshadowing of my grade.

I’m not sure when, but there was a time in junior high that you could drop out of school, but only under the most extreme circumstance and with a signature of a parent or adult. She dropped out then and was never seen by anyone else again. It was her I thought about the first time I came when masturbating while my parents were away.

Maybe it was because he liked to wrestle us to the ground occasionally. Maybe it was because he had zits and had that nasally, mumbling way of speaking or maybe it was because he smelled like onions or because he claimed to have had his cock sucked. Maybe it was because he strived to hurt us any chance he could get. Whatever the reason, us kids decided to take our revenge once and for all. While he was away with his parents, we had searched his yard for those “better” magazines he had talked about. After searching seemingly everywhere, we had finally found them under the ramp leading to the shed in a garbage bag along with an old cigar box. These were not quite like the Playboys in the woods. They were a lot more primal, raw, and strange. These girls were spread wide and showed them peeing or inserting big dongs into themselves. They were dressed like Pocahontas while sucking off pioneermen. There were black guys in lion skins hunting down naked blondes with spears and big cocks and dumping these women into their stew pots. There were naked Japanese women eating what looked like some guy’s turd. While mindlessly fixated on what we were doing, we looked at each savage, taboo image and tore out every page of his precious magazines and tossed them, letting the Fall New England wind take them in any direction it pleased. By the end of this our conservative, white, middle class suburban neighborhood was scattered in confetti of savage images of acts that we figured could only occur in Germany, Thailand, or the deepest reaches of rural Maine. We even helped the process along by planting some pages in his mail box, in dog houses and pinned behind shutters. The old cigar box contained the polaroids of his little sister naked, as well as polaroids of other neighborhood girls younger than us, confused and unsure as his hands pulled down their underwear. We left the box without scattering its contents because even though we were kids hell bent on plotting revenge, we felt that these little girls didn’t deserve any more humiliation than they have already been through. Still, his yard and entire surrounding neighborhood was strewn with his savage pornography. Just before sundown he and his parents pulled up in their driveway while us kids watched from our separate neighboring windows.

I heard that a few years later he was pulled from class by cops during his second junior year and sent off to jail or prison or someplace. It was unclear if it had anything to do with the photos us kids found so long ago or something else. What was clear was that I was fifteen and making $4.25 an hour at some pizza place, just biding my time until better things came along. I was in high school now but not quite sure I was on the road paved with sex and gold anymore but was certain it would happen soon. I was ready. I could feel it. After all, even though I had bad acne and haven’t yet developed manly features like some of the kids, I could masturbate now without any of the fear and guilt I used to have afterwards. I’ve seen my friend’s sister naked through the window as well as some saucy flicks on Cinemax. I was ready for any girl who would have me…and there she was…the girl of my bad-ass juvenile dreams.

The girl from junior high, who dropped out so many years ago, was standing there at the pizza place where I worked, only she wasn’t there to have me and she didn’t quite look the same. She was rather heavy now and pushing a baby carriage. She had a bad looking curly, frizzy perm, a shiner under her right eye, and that razor sadness that only comes from a life of hard despair. As she was nearly my age and not quite eighteen, I’m guessing she had missed her dream to be in Playboy. Still, she had the beautiful full lips of a starlet as she stood there not seeing me at all. Just like in junior high.

“Go sit down” the guy said to her as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket to place his order with the girl at the register. He had on Foster Grant sunglasses, a feathered back hairdo and a polyester shirt undone to reveal a gold chain and a chestfull of hair. He had a moustache and a pinky ring both indicative of someone of low character. He was your very stereotypical disco guido a full decade after disco had died out. He was much older. Granted when you’re a kid, everyone seems old, but what kid has white chest hair and a pinky ring? At first, I was thinking that this guy may be her dad, but the make out session I caught glimpse of in the dining room a few minutes later told me otherwise.



“FUCKING BITCH!!!”

The entire restaurant was quiet now. All eyes were on him. Everyone. Mothers. Children. Everyone stopped eating, poised in silence until his baby in the carriage starting wailing. I came out from behind the grill space to the front counter to get a better look. He approached me, pizza in hand and slapped it down on the counter. “I told you people I wanted black olives.” He was tall. His belly stuck out and made the front of his shirt smooth. His dress pants were tight. I could count the change in his pocket. He had white powder flakes in his moustache. It could have been parmesan cheese or something else. It was the eighties after all. His eyes were hidden behind his Foster Grant shades that he still had on.

“I can handle this, go on back to the grill, ” the shift manager said. She was eighteen and cute albeit a kid herself, really. I did as I was told and recovered my place back at the grill. I watched them exchange words at the register. Him mostly. Us grill boys and the dish washer watched. We were ready if anything were to go down. We had become quite good at wielding knives and would look for any excuse to show off our skill. The register opened. She handed his money back with shaking hands. We were all kids here and we’ve been had by this guy. It was all quite disappointing. He sat down to eat the pizza sans black olives that he may or may not have asked for in the first place. The baby stopped crying and went back to sleep. He made out with her then went to the bathroom. Eventually they gathered their stuff…him, her, and the baby and out into the parking lot they went.

His money and his car. I had to see what this was about. What kind of car would this guy have?…This guy who probably signed the papers so that she could drop from junior high and have his baby and whatever else that guys with moustaches and pinky rings do with their underage brides. She was a diamond who became coal. Or maybe she was always coal and I, in my juvenile mind had always revered her as a beautiful diamond. What sort of car would a guy like this have? A limo? A hot rod? A Beamer? No. It turned out to be a Camaro, the car indicative of thuggish white trash but this was the eighties so we weren’t aware of that yet. They wedged the baby seat into the cramped back and sat in the front talking for awhile. Mostly him. He was yelling and using his hands vehemently. They were talking, then after a bit, you can see the back of her head bobbing up and down on his lap. So, this is what a blowjob looked like from a distance? I would have to quit this place, join the Navy, make it all the way through boot camp and part of “A” school, well into my eighteenth year of life, before I would know what that would feel like and years after that before I knew what a really good one was like. We all watched, us kids here making a living until better things came along. I thought about her in junior high and about how she never noticed me and I thought that this is what people who are better than you do. They wear foster grants and yell a lot to get their way. They hit women, they get things for free, they have pinky rings and they get blowjobs in their Camaros while the baby sits in the back seat wondering what is going on. This is what people who are better than you do until they drive off leaving you with only memories of her.


saddletrampsk 54F

4/4/2006 1:20 pm

Atomic
Your story made a chill go up and down my spine..The sexy hot chick in my junior high years, who I idolized being a year younger than her, ended up with the guy in the Camaro also and the baby too and after he was through with her she ended up as a prostitute with her baby taken away from her and raised by her single mom..I thought she had the world by the tail but turns out the world kicked her in the tail instead..great post and very well-written


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/5/2006 6:46 pm:
yes, thats exactly right! I thought this one had the world by the tail, too. The reality was she was a hurt and broken soul. I still wonder what became of her. My guess is the same demise as your friend. Thanks for the sweet write up.

rm_art_persists 51M
1789 posts
4/4/2006 8:51 pm

Atomic: your words pull me in...


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/5/2006 6:49 pm:
thanks, man. I hoped this would do it for somebody

ediesedgewick 57F

4/5/2006 4:04 am

Well that was just amazing. Not only did you tell a fascinating story--you made me feel how obsessed you were with her. Made me remember my own high school crushes. Hope you win, atomic--I think you deserve it.


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/5/2006 6:51 pm:
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, for everything. it sure does make me feel blue, though. I ought to return to my crass funny self soon. I feel better in my element.

cuteNEway 41F

4/5/2006 6:01 am

Kinda makes me not feel so bad about being a geeky loser in HS...


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/5/2006 6:52 pm:
geeky loser in high school? you, too, huh? Well, us geeks need unite. We can change the world.

HOTNBOTHERED0414 46F

4/5/2006 11:28 pm

No matter the out come of the "competition" I always like yours the best!


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/6/2006 6:40 pm:
awwww.thanks. That is a great compliment.

skyking412004 53M
5363 posts
4/6/2006 2:15 am

_____She actually did herself in class with the number two pencil that was supposed to determine her long term fate? She did indeed fuck herself. I was torn between thinking she got exactly what she deserved and feeling sorry for her. I think I'll go with feeling sorry for her.___________________________________________________
I got kicked out of Navy Boot. I refused to run the three mile, and I have a LITTLE problem with authority. I was going to be a Gunners Mate; Guns. (Gunners Mate; Missiles was for brighter guys than me.) I'm probably better off. More likely than not, I would have been it the turret with Clayton Heartwig when it exploded. So, you've seen the world on miles of ocean. Ever run into a "Glow Worm" by the name of Givaden? (He might have been subs.) What was your rating? Were you able to parley into civilian life?


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/6/2006 7:07 pm:
Yep, she actually fucked herself in more ways than one, but you can't help but wonder what was happening in her life do make her act out in that way in the first place. The ending offers only the slightest peek into her life and it didn't look good. Hopefully my story presented a lot of dualities to think about and some not even written. in the navy, I did my four years and got out as an IC3 (interior communications) We were the rate that thought we were brighter than everyone else. I got out with an honorable discharge, but I also hated the run and I had trouble with authority. I caused a lot of trouble but was wise enough not to get caught. At the time I was in, there were 600,000 people in the Navy, so no, I never met your man. I transfered into cevilian live nicely.

HOTNBOTHERED0414 46F

4/7/2006 1:40 am

But ya know I am blinded by lust!


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/7/2006 12:39 pm:
damn! look at you working all that seduction. Why don't ya slide on over a little closer, girl. Have a sip of my Mai Tai. so...how ya doing? Ya come around here often?

keithcancook 60M
17839 posts
4/8/2006 12:49 am

This was a very well crafted story. Thanks...


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/8/2006 1:06 am:
no...thank YOU

LustyTaurus 48M  
21253 posts
4/8/2006 4:41 pm

not bad...lol

lustytaurus


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/8/2006 6:16 pm:
not bad? not bad?!...well, obviously you don't lust after me like everyone else around here. Damn you!

HOTNBOTHERED0414 46F

4/9/2006 1:56 am

LOL, ONLY TO SEE YOU! I am here to only see your sexy ass!


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/9/2006 8:51 pm:
your cute! thank you

ediesedgewick 57F

4/9/2006 7:41 pm

Congratulations Atomic--didn't doubt you'd win for a minute.


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/9/2006 8:56 pm:
thank you. thank you. thank you! I doubted it all along. I didn't even believe it when I saw it myself. thanks for everything.

absolutelynormal 56F
6563 posts
4/10/2006 3:57 am

Very well written. I wonder where she is now? Congratulations! mac


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/10/2006 12:42 pm:
thank you. I wonder where she is also...probably not living well, I take it. I must say...I was absolutely enthralled by 88 minutes. so very haunting

digdug41 49M

4/10/2006 6:25 am

I saw it unfold, thats the kinda writing I love. you just painted a picture man and the story just rolled out, are memories usually transfer like that once we get a good command of the words to tell it, good stuff

roaming the cyber streets of blogland


AtomicArtist0 replies on 4/10/2006 12:45 pm:
thank you. this was an absolutely eleqoent compliment from such a great writer as yourself. loved your entry. thank you.

concupiscentKid 40M

5/31/2006 11:35 am

Excellent narrative. Very well-written.
There were so many things I liked about it.
One of them was the repetition of the refrain, " . . . Germany, Thailand, and the deepest reaches of rural Maine."
I thought that was very effective and interesting as well as so many of the other details in your story.


AtomicArtist0 45M
6015 posts
5/31/2006 12:29 pm

wow! thanks for the compliments. You just discovered a post that is over two months old, but glad you found it.


rm_rsp54 58F
531 posts
1/23/2007 5:20 am

Compelling.......I didn't want it to end. It so well demonstrates that the eye of the beholder is so key.


AtomicArtist0 replies on 1/23/2007 5:41 pm:
yes, the eye of the beholder is indeed key. Now that I'm older, the women I'm attracted to are not as unstable. maybe a little wild, but not unstable. In my mind, everything about her was great but the reason she was the way she was was due to a life of abuse and was just appalling. its sort of the difference between fantasy and reality. Thanks for your input. it means a lot.

OboesHonedIambs 62F

1/25/2007 3:46 pm

Ok! This was damn good! I'm glad I'm not judging!

Instant Human -- Just Add Coffee


AtomicArtist0 replies on 1/25/2007 5:29 pm:
damn, this isn't easy. the vote seems to be split evenly in favor of all three. I guess I just have to rnter them all.

memeanne74 42F
5991 posts
10/18/2007 2:48 pm

You are an eloquent writer in hiding...

This was was expressive , suggestive and clever.

It was a piece that was hauntingly nostalgic .

I can see the boy..his infatuation, his lechery, his awakening.

His stirring and understanding of sensuality.

Exceptional job of making me feel as if there.

xoxo,
~*Lissa

" I think the quality of sexiness comes from within. It is something that is in you or it isn't and it really doesn't have much to do with breasts or thighs or the pout of your lips."


AtomicArtist0 replies on 10/18/2007 11:11 pm:
its all me...my life...hauntingly nostalgic, as you say. I write only what I know.

always1deringf 48F

3/3/2008 7:52 pm

You write so well, it feels so real.


AtomicArtist0 replies on 3/3/2008 11:01 pm:
well, yeah...it was pretty real as it was happening.

christylovesfun 44F  
16414 posts
3/20/2008 11:38 pm

This reminded me of a tragic someone I know, who was abused by her father and her grandfather and god knows who else.

Today, she's dying of the Hep and has had two crack babies.

Very well written story, though.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra


AtomicArtist0 replies on 3/21/2008 12:26 am:
A lot of my lady friends on this site told me they were that girl when they were young. The story can be told anywhere, in any town.

You really had to have dug way back to find this story. Are you reading through all my old stuff or did someone refer you to this story? Well, either way, thanks for reading me. You've found one of my bluesy, heartfelt true to life tales not like my comedic writing.

christylovesfun 44F  
16414 posts
3/21/2008 12:59 pm

Just had to dig back to December

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra


AtomicArtist0 replies on 3/23/2008 8:38 pm:
thanks, it means a lot.

mercury_ink 28F

5/20/2008 2:27 am

I realize that I'm a little bit late to this party, but I just wanted to say that this is just absolutely stunning.

(Also, I know that this piece isn't supposed to be too humorous, but I have to admit that I cracked up every single time you used the line, "things you’d think only existed in places like Germany, Thailand, or the furthest reaches of rural Maine".)

Excellent work.


AtomicArtist0 replies on 5/20/2008 6:05 pm:
Ohhh, you're a new face around here! Thank you for stopping by... About 90% of what I do is some very sinister satire and the other 10% is serious prose like this. So it isn't any surprise that some of the humor shows through, even in a serious piece like this, so no worries if you had a laugh. Stop by any time if you like a good read. They say I have quite a way with words.

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