Back From The Dead

Veronica's back. Pulling her back from the brink was expensive, more expensive than she's worth, some said. But she showed me her gratitude today as we roared through the rippling Texas and Oklahoma heat — six hours, over 300 miles she sang the road to me, Pilot Point, Tioga, Whitesboro, across the long Texoma Lake bridge up into Madill, out across the green forested hills and into the open heat of the plains, Waurika, back across the Red River into Texas, twisty, nearly abandoned back roads that we know...

She nearly had me, this time. Just like every time. I almost didn't come back at all. But…obligations. Priorities. Real life.

I've mentioned before that she's volatile and can be cruel and, not infrequently, dangerous. Truth is, when I think about it, I know that she'll almost certainly try to kill me one day and may well succeed — but for today, she allowed me to take her under my hand without reservation, and as I gripped her between my thighs and pushed her to her limits, screaming into the blowtorch of summer, I know she loves me endlessly and with wild abandon, and I her.

And that's the best kind of love to have, isn't it?

Bonus! Prepare to swoon, ladies. And, perhaps, some gentlemen as well. Because I wanted to show you that I've managed to BURN MYSELF RIGHT THE FUCK UP riding around today, which means a rare-unto-vanishing picture of me. So, if you're into raggedy ol' fatboys with a motorcycle fetish and a bone-deep sunburn, this should be printed out and stuck to your bedroom mirror.

You're welcome.

In Our Next Episode: It occurs to me that the title could apply to me in general, and this blog in particular. I've not a clue whether anyone's actually reading the damned thing (certainly not lately, as reading something necessarily implies something's been written) but posting this reminds me that occasionally doing something to suit oneself isn't a terrible thing, even if it's only masturbation.