The trucker reminded me of Ronald Reagan. Maybe a decade younger than Reagan was during his first term as President and with a little less bulk to his body and a hell of a lot more grease in his hair. The hair was slicked up in a semi-pompadour and was, maybe, dyed black to boot
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And you're quite the character. I might have to friend you.
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Oh hell, so am I! :)
And you're quite the character. I might have to friend you.
That kind of flattery will get you (almost) everywhere. How's about I friend beat you to it? The fan-fic isn't (or so I believe) my cup of tea, but otherwise you seem interesting. And, er, Pearls Before Swine and all that ... Are you by any chance familiar with Pooch Cafe? (I should do a search for that, too. I'll get back to you.)
In the meanwhile, "friendship" should mean the screening goes off. I hope my vile, explicit and yet oh! so well-written smut doesn't offend your (no doubt - you being from Jesusland and all) delicate sensibilities.
Ask Minahbird: It was hockey night and the liquor has had its way with me ...
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I'm in Minnesota right now. Hasn't gone the party of Jesus since '72 or some such. We more think of ourselves as the United States of Canada, and, as such, have none of what you call ... delicate sensibilities.
Please. I write Slash. Nothing can offend me. :)
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Slash, eh? Like Mary-Kate/Ashley or George W/Stephen Harper? (Ew. I don't know which of those pairings disturbs me the most.)
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I love writing in first person when I'm not doing something historical.
I honestly liked your Ronnie Reagan-ish trucker. He wasn't that creepy, just horny and into boys. He feed you and drove you back to your home town, and if he's real in anyway, you should thank your lucky stars he found you when you needed him.
By they way, I had a similar experience hitch hiking across Florida once,though my trucker looked like Micky Rooney. He was in some ways a gentleman and perfectly satisfied with a kiss and a cheap feel and nothing more.
I hadn't thought about him in years....
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The guy in the sports car could have knocked your head in, you know...
Yeah, it can seem kind of miraculous that anyone survives their childhood, can't it?
The summer before the one in this story, when I was 17, a friend and I bicycled from Winnipeg to (almost - long story) Edmonton. I hitched back when the trip was all over.
Anyway, years later I innocently mentioned that trip and similar adventures to my mum and asked, "We're you worried?"
She looked at me like I was a simpleton. "Oh David," she said, "you have no idea how worried I was!"
I honestly liked your Ronnie Reagan-ish trucker. He wasn't that creepy, just horny and into boys...
That was more or less my feeling about him at the time. After all, I never felt physically threatened by him.
And yet, when I think about the power-imbalance, I can't quite find it in myself to simply accept his behaviour as okay.
And if I switch place with that of my about-to-turn 18 year-old niece my protective side suddenly wants to do damage.
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