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<!doctype html public "-//w3c//dtd html 4.0 transitional//en"> <html> <head> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> <meta name="GENERATOR" content="Mozilla/4.73C-CCK-MCD VerizonDSL (Macintosh; U; PPC) [Netscape]"> <title>TheStoryWhichMustNeerBeRed.html</title> </head> <body text="#45FFD7" bgcolor="#9B09BF" link="#FFED23" vlink="#FF9500" alink="#FF0522"> <center><b><font color="#FF172A"><font size=+4>The Story Which Must Never Be Read</font></font></b></center> <center><table BORDER=2 COLS=1 WIDTH="80%" BGCOLOR="#6D38FF" > <tr> <td> Once he had learned how to lie in bed without getting anxious over not being asleep, the battle was half won. <br> He could imagine her smile, her laugh, the friendly smirk that never quite left her eyes unless it was replaced by the fear of a doe eyeing a stranger who just might be a predator. The bells of her amused laughter. Her maddening evasions. <br> As hours passed, he wondered if the lack of sleep would show in his eyes later that morning when he faced his students' keen stares. He was known as the haunted hipster: an earlier incarnation had left him half deaf, contentedly numb in the prison of his memories: flickering images of rabid crowds, party girls and royalty, and the heartfreeze of pure creativity denied. <br> The phone jolted him out of his reverie: his ex? Please Lord, not her. His oldest, her hushed husky voice betraying her fear at being discovered calling her forbidden dad, in a dark cold corner of the house he had bought and been forced to leave behind? Probably. Or, miracle of miracles, could it be. . . .no, no use going THERE, thinking that. . . about as much chance of a call from the princess who ruled his dreams, as from the Pope. . .he rolled over onto his belly, his perfect butt raised and heaved into the air, as he ground his underutilized manhood into the lucky mattress, aiming for fantasy, catharsis, relief. . . <br> A few towns away, she dropped the phone back into its golden cradle, suppressing a sigh, telling herself that it was best this way. She looked over at the drugged suitor, thinning hair askew, one sleeping thigh scissoring the down comforter with the other, and wondered why she bothered with men at all. . .</td> </tr> <tr> <td> <center> <a href="mailto:[email protected]">What do YOU think of this piece? </a></center> </td> </tr> </table></center> <center> <p> <a href="http://www.tommymandel.com/index2.html"><img SRC="webcam_fake.gif" HSPACE=2 VSPACE=2 BORDER=2 height=120 width=160></a></p></center> </body> </html>