"I'll wake you up early...and blow you..."

..she said brightly. "I'm already late for church." She added, by way of explaination without a trace of irony. I am SO looking forward to spurting onto her Sunday-go-to-meeting hair-do. (Is that wrong?)

Digging into a box I had brought in last night she came up with a pair of medium heeled, pointy toed, black sling backs.

"How are these?" she asked as I pondered the mix of shoes in the box, hers, his and 'hirs'..

"Great!" I pronounced, "but, a little slutty for _________" (her hometown, population probably less than 3,000)

"Thats the idea," she smiled, "someone's got to bring this town into the 21st century, and they aren't quite stripper shoes yet."

I am pretty tired. (I am always pretty tired.)

I bummed a ride back to home #1 last Thursday morning after night shift. I slept a while then surveyed my transportation situation. So far I had two cars at home #2 and the object is to get all 8-9 1/2 cars there eventually. I had selected the mid 60's wagon and matching bug for this run.

I had packed my work bag with the title in case I left straight from work. Instead I went home for a quick shower and a couple of interrupted 1/2 hour naps. *And no, not that kind of interruption."

As I groggily stumbled to the door when my ride showed up, she suggested I take a cooler rather than the soft side multi-pocket work bag cum lunch bucket. Partway to my destination I remember the title.

NO worries I think $8 for an lost title fee is cheaper than gas to go back. I get to house #1 and sleep a while after making vague inquiries into the schedules of the now 4 late teen slackers living in my house. (The plan is to charge them some rent if I ever actually get the house emptied out.)

The one whose work / sleep schedule seems compatible with my plans seemed a good prospect for a ride to the motor vehicle division. Turns out he slept in, then left abruptly. Not wanting to impose on my renters (read squatters), I called a buddy I havent seen in nearly a year to come pick me up.

First trip, they look up my name and of the 6 cars they have a record of, Big Buford as I like to call him isnt on the list. I call my wife for the VIN to see if it was missfiled. She has left our little turn of the century farmhouse for the big city. I am short with her, thinking she was expending gas for yet another trip just 2 days after her last one. I was rather rude and abrupt and had to apologise, (poorly) later.

Second trip with a rubbing of the VIN plate in hand, I hear over the loudspeakers that titles cannot be printed because the "computers are down." No eta for recovery. Nice.

They were able to look up Vin's though and all that told us was that the car has been purged from the system. They say I need an abandoned title. (I explain I HAVE a hard copy of the title just not with me.)

I send my wife 30 minutes north to a medium sized town with an MVD office. She gets there just under the wire before closing time. Computers still down. Redundancy anyone????"

In frustration I resolve to flaut the law. (the last time I got caught doing that it spiraled into a $3,000 incident and loss of license for what turned out to be 4 years plus. I don't care.

I go home frustrated and still exhausted from lack of sleep and sleep fitfully till the next day. I then go about getting mobile. None of the cars around the place are ready to go, so I load up three batteries and one flat tire (my compressor is down, and my tools to fix it are at house #2 along wit my battery charger) onto a garden cart and walk 3/4 of a mile to get the battery charged and the tire aired up. I then walk home, take another nap. I get up go back and find I have to buy a new battery anyway.

I get the spanking new battery installed (crossing the polarity in the process, big oops!) NOTHING. in frustration I call my wife to come get me (4 hour drive each way.) Son points out it ran the other day when he put a different battery in it,. So I borrow the battery that did take a charge and sure enough she runs! I go back to the store where they puzzle over a brand new battery putting out .3 volts untill they notice neither I nor they in testing it have removed the protective plastic terminal cover. OOPS! ~chagrined~ I call back. "Never mind get the kids back out of the van...."

SO I pack the wagon and the bug separately, go to the hardware store get bolts to secure the tow bar, to the airport (past stern "Authorized Personnel Only" - without a valid license plate). I must have looked like an authorized individual because no one says boo to me as I glide up in my very much land-bound jumbo-liner and fill up on 100 octane low lead avgas. She purred in appreciation. Incidentally, on the way back home I pulled a light next to a brand new dodge, so called Hemi charger. (Not the legendary 426 Hemi of course.) They held on with me for 1st gear, only because I have highway gears in the differential. I smoked them after that in a cloud of blue smoke, unburned avgas spitting flames out the factory dual exhaust. -Note to self- Pick up some 4.11 gears and a roots blower.

SO anyway, packed and ready to go, I go to mate the two vehicles only to discover that Buford has no ball in his receiver hitch. Off to Mart du Wahl and lucky thing its a standard receiver and all is well again.

I roar off into the night at just before midnight on a heavy enforcement DUI weekend. Including State, Counties various cities and towns, and tribal entities I calculate that I will pass through the jurisdictions of over 20 law enforcement divisions. In the past year I have been pulled over for one thing or another at least 8 times. The score there is two tickets, numerous warnings and repair orders and one chase that I won near the border.

I breathe in and rub into my eyes fiberglass from the missing headliner. This doesn't help visibility. It starts to rain. My power windows are currently down and disconnected. My wipers...hmm...yep work, nope blades are bad...oops they won't turn off now that I hit a dry patch....stop cut the wire.

I run out of gas on the reservation. I siphon a gallon out of the bug..I run out again. I siphon the last 1/3 of a gallon out of the bug, make it to a gas station.

I stagger into home #2 at a little after 4:00am and shower. I attempt to fumble into bed without waking the Fellatio Artist, only to find a child in the bed. I evict said child and fall asleep clutching a couch pillow as I left my pillow at house #1...

All in all a lot of work for some boxes better left in a house fire, except the several dozen pairs of kinky shoes.

With barely a whimper... The Geek

..the fifty-thousandth visitor came and left. If he/she/they were typical, they stayed for 2.33 minutes scanning the content of, on average 2.1 pages. It didn't go un-noticed. I look at stats from time to time and especially where visitors come from.

Interestingly many come from my wife's semi-defunct sexy blog. I mentioned this to her the other day and she said she had thought of going black there as she doesn't use it now that we are in the same town again at last, and is a bit uncomfortable with being spank-bank material to the thousands of unseen visitors there.

Many come from search engines, with "cum lips" and Felatio being hot vibrating buzzwords. A picture of my bald head juxtaposed on her bald cunt seems to generate a lot of interest from Goggle images.

As I flit back and forth from blurfing interesting stuff, and replacing the cover page I use to mask what I'm reading from the kids walking through.

Not a lot of privacy in a 1,000 square foot turn-of-the century ramshackle farmhouse. Especially for 6 people used to a 5 bedroom 2,300 foot house with a wireless router two laptops, a couple of desktops, cable tv on one of several tv's and all other manner of distraction.

Not a lot of time when work takes me 15 hours and 15 minutes a day from my door to back home daily for 12-13 out of every 14 days.

Musing, that I have time for. Lots of time.

Alone in my cab, squawk of two-way radio droning on interminably with a couple hundred people on 2 main channels, no place to get a word in, when I do, its too polysyllabic for local tastes. $15 Panasonic cassette decks are treasured on the rare occasion that an antennae is mounted properly to receive one or more of 4 radio stations within range. Much more desirable than the Sirius radios that work not at all over 1/3 of the time, and poorly when they do work in radio mode 1/3 of the time. An actual working, satellite radio (when your equipment is facing in the general direction of the satellite) seems but a cruel joke as those pieces of equipment are inevitable snatched from you , usually mid shift often to trade out an operator in a rolling sweat lodge, where penny-wise and basic logistics understanding management would rather spend an hour a day trading operators than stop the equipment for 20 minutes to add some R-134.

I think of clever turns of phrase, topical ideas and have epiphanies, unnoticed my anyone and unremembered by me as I fall exhausted into bed again.

Excuses, really.

Fear, then.

Afraid I/we have said it all. (Then why the constant voices in my head?)

Afraid that she isn't that into the blog, or has regrets or anxiety about discovery after returning to the small town of her roots. No anonymity here.

Afraid that the next great sex-capade wont' be "blog-worthy". (Nonsense, of course. Sex with this woman is amazing, always. Yes its still new and fresh after 16+ years. Besides, its all fodder for those of you reading with hand encircling turgid shaft, or wrist pressed near warm upper thighs.)

You know the saying, dance like no one is watching? Apt. I never blogged or, really wrote anything of y thoughts because I felt the need to be complete. Avoid fragments. Be cohesive.

I learned to write for the sheer joy of leaving the thoughts of an unquiet mind lay, so others could be afforded breathing space. The practice pad for that was what I like to refer to as my tranny blog. In short I suddenly had a long repressed urge to do the whole J. Edgar Hoover thing without a wife rather than a trusted close male companion/ cum secretary a year or so ago and was (am) a bit confused and conflicted about the whole thing. 50,000 words later I have penned no answers of merit but feel at peace with my femme side, if a bit disjointed. My two sides co-exist with barely a wave to each-other in a fugue state, so the two blogs never meet. Often one is updated and the other not. Barbara is sorely neglected in my rough-and tumble, nail-tearing job. Perfectionism and the horror of looking like a middle aged tranny (if the sling-back fits, and looks cute....)keep me from visiting that side lately.

In my surfing I went from Janie Bloom's blog to FetLife and found, I thought, a place for Barbara to 'come out' not as a dude in a dress, but sexually speaking as she seems oddly (to me) asexual really. I opened a profile for her, but did little else. I enjoy surfing others profiles from my lousy phone interface from work, but have done nothing to speak of for hers. The random comments I occasionally post there have no context.

I added a couple of pics there (tame) lifted from my blog, and had in mind a framework to explain who I am, but got stuck. Also the kids walking through did little to ease my discomfort.

I thought about temporarily linking either of the other two blogs to give a more rounded picture, but kind of prefer the walls remain.

I think a few of the 12 or so regular readers here are aware of the others, but perhaps some are not. Thoughtful readers are welcome to the url's though I have to agree with my wife that "Jane's" Blog is much more spankable than "Barbara's".

Buried in a previous post, unnoticed by all but two or three visitors, ever, is contact information for us. I give it here for any that want the url and have actually read far enough here to notice. To wit: Peep in our window (remove spaces - runitalltogether) then the at sign (@) yahoo then dot com.

Ah, that felt better to get some of those extraneous, probably unnecessarily and ironically redundant, asides and commas out of my system.