I will just knock on his door and wait for him to answer.Holding a bucket of ice and a stack of plastic cups she stood in front of room 402. Taking a ...eep breath, she blew it out and knocked on the door. Dressed in a bathrobe, he opened it and she said, "housekeeping." He opened the door a little wider as she shoved the things at him."Do you have a minute Mandy?" he asked her.Now, what she just stood there not moving."Really, I just want to apologize for what happened earlier." he told her."If. I wrote a hot letter, asking George if he would be interested in fucking my ass. I told him I would tap on his door three times, at precisely 11:00PM next Saturday. I put the letter and the pictures in an envelope, and slid it under his door, as I went up the hall to take a shower. I was so horny with anticipation in the days leading up to Saturday, that I practiced even harder getting my ass ready for action. It seemed like I was masturbating every hour when I was off from work. My mind reeled. Last night, bloated with fine food and far too much wine, Elizabeth had jumped out of bed, almost crapping herself, thinking Armageddon had arrived. But no, it was 11:11 and the big jet was swinging around on a heading for Chicago. As Augustine said the military jets tended to be far more civic-minded and blasted off into the desert. ‘Are you awake,’ Augustine had called. ‘Yeah, almost scared shitless.’ ‘Good girl. I wanted you to have the experience to feel why I’m so passionate about this.. And shallow optimism from chemicals designed to ‘correct’ this condition of mine. Madness? Perhaps. Powerful, certainly. But it’s no nameless force, no almighty independent power in itself. It is me. Part of me. All of me. By what right can you claim that a part of me that defines who I am is separate, an illness, a sore to be healed? I know what I feel. I know who I am. Can you say the same? Unlike you I can see where this ends. The waves I ride get higher, deeper and harder to survive..
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