I close my eyes and rub them HARD with the heels of my palms. God, you are such a liar. I say to myself. Pathetic, weak, liar.

I push the chair away from the computer, get up and head to the kitchen. K has called to me wondering what Im doing. I lie and say I am checking my e-mail. Addicts lie — a lot. As I make my way to the kitchen my mind starts to wander, wondering when SHE will post another chapter. God, I love HER story. Its so — so — so — whats the word — addictive. I look for something from HER everyday knowing she doesnt post that often, but I cant help myself. Im so pathetic. I am disappointed there is nothing from her today, but Ill hang around the site and read the other stories for sure, definitely (I love talkin show talk !).

I dont like all the story lines, but I read them anyway – – the train wreck syndrome I guess. I often wonder about the authors; who they are, what they do; where theyre from. It is said that we write about what we know which makes me think: was THAT girl a victim of domestic violence? Is that why she wrote what she did? I hope not – it makes me sad to think that would be true. And THAT one. Her writing is so articulate and well-traveled perhaps she is a foreign scholar or diplomat or something. Now THAT writer must be a romantic because her story is full of hope and resolution (and lots of *****!). And what about all those authors whose sexcapades fill the screen with X-rated ***** so trashy that I have to read it twice just to believe what I just saw then go back and read it again because I cant resist! Sweet Jesus, that was sssooo fuc*ing hot Im gonna need a paper towel. Thank You !

Ive noticed there seems to be quite an international flavor in many of the posts. I can tell from the phrasing in the writings, by the girlfriends that Bette and Tina wind up with, and by the settings of the stories which takes us everywhere. I think that is way cool. I am awed by the talent of those writers who profess to never have written anything before. I am humbled at the thought that many of the authors and readers could be lawyers, doctors, intellects, successful businesswomen as well as average joes like me all sharing the same obsession, curiosity, passion for the STORY a really good STORY.

But I am digressing. I shake my head to clear my thought process as I near the kitchen. FOCUS !!

K is making dinner and asks me to help. I laugh and she does too suddenly remembering I have no skills. Not like K, no, K has skills and not just in the kitchen but around the whole house as well. She can fix things, follow directions, build, repair, grow, assemble — she is SO NOT like Bette. I love to watch her work because she is just so fuc*ing *****. Not in a Tina, Dana, Alice, West Hollywood ***** sort of way, but in a wholesome, confident, athletic, cute, Midwestern, tom-boyish butch-***** sort of way. She works out — A LOT –but hey, so do I — just not as often, not as long, and not as intensely. But thats OK because I am older than K — A LOT older. She doesnt seem to notice or care. She is so nonjudgmental that even if she didnt understand, I am certain that she would accept the obsession I have developed with the FAN FIC writers and stories. I just can’t bring myself to share that with her – yet.

I walk up behind her as she plays with the pasta in the sink. I reach above her head for plates to set the table; *****, its the least I could do! She is wearing a white tank top (OF COURSE she is !) and I lick her shoulder, neck and ear inside and out in one continuous stroke. Everything smells ssooo good, I whisper. :Youre amazing, babe. She wonders for a moment if I mean the food or her. It doesnt matter because goosebumps begin to form on her skin and her nipples become hard. I pull the plates down with one hand and drag my fingernails of my free hand along her arm. She shudders oh so slightly and says Thanks just a wee bit embarrassed. Adorable.

I turn and set our places then pull two beers from the fridge. They are both for her because I dont drink. K likes that about me — a genuine goofball who doesnt need alcohol to act the fool.

As we sit down to eat she nonchalantly asks, Anything interesting in the e-mail? I tense just a bit, unnoticed by K, knowing the next few words out of my mouth will be lies — complete, deliberate, purposeful, blatant lies. Thats what addicts do — thats what I do — they lie — I lie — I am a weak, pathetic, ***** — a liar.

Uh yea, as a matter fact there was, I lie unable to look her in the eye . . .

TBC