Bluejacker

Hello All:

I just wanted to extend a special thanks to all the fans who purchased my books and short stories in recent months. For you see, my quarterly royalties check was mailed out to me. No, I'm not rich and famous enough--yet--to quit my day job and embrace writing as a full time career. (I wish!) But I did make enough to take my wife out to dinner over the weekend in celebration of our fifteen year wedding anniversary. We went to one of our favorite restaurants, the Bavarian Lodge in Downers Grove, Illinois where I enjoyed German bratwurst, spatzels and red cabbage. And this is the only place where I can find mead. Being the case, I was sure to have a couple of glasses.

Again, this fine dining was made possible by all my adoring fans. Thank you all!

***

As a boy, I remember the simple act of going over to the water tap in the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and... DRINKING IT! Oh my Gosh! Imagine drinking tap water? But this is what people did for many years, and we turned out fine.

Today, however, people have a need to purchase special water in plastic bottles to protect themselves from consuming whatever imagined diseases and poisons there might be. Of course it's understandable if your tap water is nasty tasting. Rotten egg water (over-abundance of sulfur in the well) or even a municipal well like we have in my town, Frankfort, that doesn't taste all that great: people like us prefer bottled water.

The only complaint I have with bottled water is the fact that so many people crack open a plastic bottle, take a few gulps and then seal it up. From there it remains in the car for some days or in the backyard until it is thrown out in the trash! Some people even carelessly whip these bottles of water out onto the highway!

Now, correct me if I'm wrong; but I don't think plastic is a biodegradable material which means that discarding a plastic bottle out on the side of the road or even the garbage means that the water will be trapped in that bottle, forever! Water is one of Earth's sacred elements that hydrates and rejuvenates all living creatures and plants. Is that any way to treat an ancient element that has been in existence for millions of years?

Simply open the plastic bottle and--maybe--dump the contents in your bird bath so that the winged creatures can enjoy it. At the very least, why not dump the used water in the grass so that it returns to nature?

This is what I did one morning last week. Someone cracked open a plastic bottle of water in my car and then left it there for a few days. Surely no one would claim it. And so I proceeded to dump it in the front yard grass.

That's when I noticed a heart-stopping sight. It was an early-morning jogger running down the streets--a woman--who wore a pair of tight shorts in such a way to showcase her bouncy, bubbly butt!

"Wow!" All I could do was watch in amazement.

Then I wondered, "Assuming she's married, does her husband know she is out showcasing her beautiful ass in such daring shorts?" At least she doesn't have the macho husband in today's short story.

Today’s featured writing, Bluejacker, isn't doing so well in the major catalogs. I believe maybe the concept isn't fully understood. Let's see... there's a macho, possessive, Hispanic husband with a gorgeous Hispanic wife who must endure being locked up in the house and never to go out unless her husband is with her. Even when lying out in the sun in the backyard, the wife must do it when the husband is not home. Again, he won’t let her out of the house!

That's when the ice cream man notices the gorgeous, Hispanic woman. He sneaks up to her house and behind the bushes and hijacks her cell phone to send her adoring messages. This hijacking technique is done with the Bluetooth--hence the name "blue jacking". As you can imagine, an entire romance is born out of this "blue jacking".

BlueJacker -- seducing Sandra

A man of power, wealth and irresistible machismo; Hector quite possibly possesses the most beautiful wife a man could ever wish for. Sandra is everything to him. Not only is she beautiful, but she learned through her mother-in-law’s merciless training of how to cook for Hector. And Sandra cares for the enormous, mansion-like house as well as the children. Any woman would agree that Sandra has the happiest life one could ever wish for. This is why she most-often remains confined to the home. Why would Sandra want to leave? Where would she possibly want to go?

It’s not just her sublime happiness that encourages Sandra to remain shut-in during Hector’s absence. In addition, Hector has given Sandra strict orders to never leave the house without his permission. But what if Sandra suddenly needs something from the store to make dinner? Most often, she must call him for he is usually at work or doing business.

It could be early afternoon when Sandra nervously dials her husband’s cell phone number. After a few rings, Hector answers. “Yeah?” He always coldly answers the phone to his wife in this manner. This is the way that a beautiful wife should be spoken to so that she knows her position to be submissive.

“Hi!” Sandra’s youthful voice greets him through the receiver. “I forgot to pick up some chorizo from the store over the weekend, and I’m making dinner. Do you mind if I go to the store? I won’t be long.”

There’s a slight pause. “Chorizo? What do you need chorizo for?”

“I’m making a dish for dinner that uses chorizo.”

“I’m not in the mood for chorizo, tonight. Why don’t you make some chicken? Do you have chicken?”

“Yes, but...”

Sandra is immediately interrupted, “There’s no need to go to the store. Make chicken for tonight. Stay home and don’t go anywhere, understand?”

Sandra quietly sighed. “Yes... Okay... chicken it is.”

With that, Hector abruptly ends the call with no “goodbye”. A beautiful wife needn’t be given special treatment or spoken to kindly on the phone. It’s how a man of machismo treats his wife. And every woman so strongly desires to be treated this way.

***

From the moment Sandra’s eyes initially met Hector’s, she immediately felt weak at the knees. There was something about Hector; something in his look that was like fire. He definitely had the eye of the tiger and was most-certainly a powerful man. Hector had money and was so handsome. And he treated Sandra like a princess with all his charm, gifts and romantic vacations to faraway places. But Sandra learned of just how macho Hector was shortly after the wedding.

It was the day upon returning from a two-week honeymoon that was a romantic tour of Europe. As Sandra settled in and made herself at home at Hector’s mansion, she was soon informed of her upcoming duty as housewife.

“Momma will be coming to stay with us for about month.” announced Hector. “She’s arriving tomorrow.”

“Your mother?” asked Sandra. “Why? Is everything alright?”

“No, everything is fine with Momma. It’s you. If you want to be my wife and cook for me, you need to learn from the woman who does it best. Momma is going to teach you how to cook for me. Forget about everything that your mother taught you about cooking. Those were recipes for your father. I want you to cook for me! And you can only learn how to do this from Momma.”

Being newly married, Sandra was excited to learn the recipes of Hector’s family. She wanted to make her husband happy and looked forward to bonding with her mother-in-law. But little did she know that Hector’s mother had no intention of becoming friends with Sandra. She would soon arrive to break Sandra’s spirit; make her worthy to be Hector’s wife.

And there was something else about that first day back from the honeymoon; something that served as a revelation to her husband’s machismo. Hector announced, “I’m going upstairs to workout, now. Make yourself at home.” Hector went upstairs and worked out for nearly an hour. Then he called down to his wife. “Sandra! Sandra, could you come up here?”

Such a good wife; Sandra immediately sprung to her feet and ran upstairs as ordered. “What is it, Honey? What does my Hector want?”

Hector pulled off his sweaty t-shirt and threw it on the floor. “Do me a favor and pick that up. Put it in the laundry for me.”

Sandra was flabbergasted, nearly outraged. “What? Hector, I can’t believe you! Why would call me up here just to throw your shirt on the floor and tell me to pick it up.”

“Just do as I say!” ordered Hector while pointing at the sweaty t-shirt. “Pick that shirt up and put it in the laundry! When I tell you to do something, you do it, understand? That’s how our marriage will be. When I speak to you, you listen. And when I tell you to do something, you obey. That’s how it works with husband and wife.”

That was the day Sandra finally learned that her husband was macho!

***

One afternoon, Sandra thought she would escape the confines of the house and just sit outside by the pool for some sun. Aside from being beautiful, Sandra has a gorgeous, Hispanic body. Cocoa-dusted skin with smooth cleavage, curvy hips, a bubble ass and luscious thunder thighs; one look at her would cause any man to hyperventilate and burst in his pants!

Hector knew this! And this is why Hector installed 10-foot stockade fencing to perimeter the property along with thick bushes and trees. If Hector ever wished to sit outside by the pool with his beautiful wife, he wanted to do so in privacy. No man could look upon his wife and enjoy her beauty! Sandra belonged to Hector. This is why she remains confined to the house throughout the day. And rest assured, no peeping eye can see beyond the stockade fencing or thick bushes.

Feeling safe with Hector gone for the afternoon, Sandra sat outside on the deck of the pool in nothing more than a two-piece bikini—the same bikini that Hector ordered she never wear unless he is with her.

How Sandra wished that Hector allowed her to have Internet and texting on her cell phone. Surely, all the other wives in the neighborhood had this privilege. It would be nice to chat with people via text, or even have a Facebook account to keep in touch with family and friends. But Hector was so possessive and jealous. This is one of the costs of having a macho husband. Many freedoms once enjoyed are taken away.

Hector allows Sandra to have a cell phone for the sole purpose of staying in touch with her. If ever needed, he simply calls Sandra’s number to give her orders or find out what she is doing at any given moment. Each month the phone bill comes in the mail, and he inspects the call history for any strange numbers. A couple times he actually found a suspicious one-minute phone call that would have been made around 2:30 in the morning.

As-if fearful for her life, Sandra swore with teary eyes that she never called or answered her phone at this time of day. Upon investigation, Hector concluded that it was some routine maintenance installation from their cellular provider. But he used the incident to remind Sandra to never call people without his knowledge.

Today the cell phone lay on the side-table next to Sandra as she soaked in the sun. If Hector would happen to call and ask what she is doing, Sandra could tell a white lie and say she is inside. Again, she is not permitted to leave the house or even go outside without his permission.

Suddenly, the phone buzzed on the table, as-if receiving a text message.

Startled and confused, Sandra grabbed the phone. How in the world could she receive a text? Hector blocked this feature from her phone!

The screen read, “Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: You have a gorgeous body’?”

Needless to say, the message frightened Sandra. The number didn’t belong to Hector or anyone that she knew. Was a stranger nearby and watching her?

Again the phone buzzed with another message, “Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: This is a Bluetooth message. I think you’re hot and just want to tell you that.’?”

Sandra knew that her phone had Bluetooth functionality. Apparently someone figured out how to hijack his way in and directly send Sandra a message, just to tell her that he liked what he saw. And that’s when Sandra’s curiosity perked up. You see, ever since being married, Sandra rarely received attention from other men. How could she? Hector forced her to stay at home. She could only leave the house with Hector, and this included the weekly grocery shopping. Starved to know that other men found her attractive, she remained indecisive of what to do with the Bluetooth invasion.

Sandra’s phone buzzed again. “Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Open your legs so I can see the outline of your pussy.’?”

Sandra raised her hands to her agape mouth. How dare a stranger hijack her phone and say something so naughty? Yet Sandra secretly enjoyed the rare moment of dirty talk from a stranger. She lay back in the chair and opened her thighs while imagining a stranger enjoying the sight.

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Ah... that’s it! You must have a beautiful pussy!’?”

Sandra nonchalantly smiled while casually rubbing her inner thigh as-if unaware of the Bluetooth messages.

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: You can text me. Let’s chat.’?”

Now that was a problem. Despite how lonely and desperate Sandra was for a little attention from a stranger, she was unable to text. Hector blocked this featured from her cell phone, and probably for good reason! But then maybe there was a way to do this through Bluetooth. The stranger was sending messages this way. Why not Sandra in return?

After some moments of familiarizing herself with phone settings, Sandra figured out that she simply needed to name her phone with the intended message so that the recipient received this name during a Bluetooth file exchange. She would not, however, include the phone number. What if the stranger called? Hector would be outraged to discover a multitude of phone calls from a strange number.

 And what sort of file do you suppose Sandra sent? She took a picture of her pretty face and sent it via Bluetooth with the name of her phone being, “I can’t send text messages. I don’t have texting on this phone.”

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Hey, thanks for the pic! You are so pretty!’?”

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Don’t have text messaging? Why not?’?”

Sandra changed the name on her phone so that it read, “My husband won’t let me.”

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Husband won’t let you? He must be possessive of you.’?”

“Yes he is. Very!”

“Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: I don’t blame him. You are so gorgeous!’?”

“Thanks. I don’t get to hear that very often.”

Suddenly, Sandra’s cell phone rang! It was Hector!

“Hello?” Sandra answered while leaping out of her chair and carefully walking towards the stairs of the deck as-if not to alarm her husband.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Um... I’m just sweeping and straightening up the deck.”

“You’re outside?”

“Yes...”

“What are you doing outside? You don’t need to be out there. Get in the house. I thought I made it clear not to go outside unless I’m home.”

“Sorry, Baby” By now, Sandra had opened the sliding glass door and made her way into the safe, air conditioned house. “I thought I would make the outside look nice.”

“Don’t you have something else you can do? What about dinner? Did you make dinner?”

“Yes, I have that in the slow cooker. We’re having your Momma’s cochinita pibil.”

Hector sighed. “Well, I guess if you’re looking for something to keep yourself occupied, you can scrub the bathroom tile down. I noticed it’s looking a little dirty. Don’t you ever wipe down the walls in the shower?”

“Of course I do, Baby.”

“They’re starting to look dirty. Clean them. And stay in the house!” With that, Hector abruptly ended the call. Sandra was given new orders that had best been carried out by the time Hector came home.

Just then, Sandra’s cell phone buzzed with another Bluetooth message. “Accept file, ‘815-277-9756: Hello? Are you there? Where did you go?’?”

Sandra Bluetoothed back, “Sorry, that was my husband. I’m not supposed to be outside.”

YOU HAVE BEEN ENJOYING AN EXCERPT FROM THE SHORT STORY, BLUEJACKER. IF YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS, WHY NOT SUPPORT THE AUTHOR AND DOWNLOAD THE ENTIRE STORY?

Rising Moon--a different story (new chapter in the wolf fantasies of Lauren Raimbault)

Hello All:

My younger daughter had a rough morning, yesterday. The reason? She received her first bad review on storywrite.com. Lauren is a young author who writes stories and short novels in her free time. Her current project is a novel that she's just started; a wolf fantasy that could easily grow into a series.

So excited with completing her first chapter, she posted it to storywrite.com. But what was this? Shortly after, another fellow author her own age offered what appeared to be some friendly, constructive criticism.

... well, at least that's what it initially appeared to be. Keep in mind, these are only children. The child who wrote the review is a very, talented writer herself. But the review continued to grow all the more negative as she criticized the names of the wolves, and the fact that the story is being written from "runt's" point of view.

"I was so upset that I nearly missed the bus for school!" she confessed to me. "It wasn't until math class that I finally calmed down."

"Oh don't worry, honey." I reassured her. "You just received your first bad review." See, the majority of people out there have no idea how a bad review can destroy us writers. We dump our hearts and souls into a writing, only to have a thoughtless reader take a knife and twist it into our hearts while telling us that the story sucked and wasn't worth the time spent reading it.

Then I offered some positive insight for Lauren. "This is good conditioning for you. Some day when your works end up in the major catalogs, you will have already experienced your share of negative criticism from readers and will be 100% immune to it. Just look at me. People hate my writings. But through all the terrible reviews, I'm now immune to the mean and nasty things that people say. I finally said one day, 'Okay, I get it! I suck as a writer! People don't like my narrative style and the way I lay out the plot. Plus the stories are too weird for people to accept.' When finally accepting this, I realized that there are many people out there who actually do enjoy my works and wish for me to continue. That's what will eventually happen to you with all the negative reviews you will receive."

Really the opening chapter to her novel which (for now) is titled Rising Moon--a different story (different from the first story she wrote titled, Rising Moon) is interesting. Lauren has developed a fascination with wolves and has spent time reading and studying them. Recently her class took a field trip to a nature center that allowed the children to interact with baby wolves. In this story, the mother wolf (the alpha female) educates her young on the ways and customs of wolf social hierarchy. We are even treated to a scene in which a beta male wolf challenges the alpha male!

Check out Lauren's new story on storywrite.com. Later today I will have some cover artwork so it can be posted on the blog. And if you can, leave a nice review to encourage this young author.

Read Story

Chubbles

Hello All:

Over the weekend I was rummaging through some storage bins in the basement and was delighted to discover my vintage Chubbles stuffed animal toy from the 1980s.

"Does it still work?" I asked myself.

Needless to say, the battery was long dead and in need of changing. And surprisingly it hadn't leaked. Chubbles was quickly sneaked upstairs where a fresh 9-volt battery was connected. Immediately the "chiggle" noise was made.

"What was that?" my wife and two daughters asked from the other room.

"It's Chubbles!" He was carried into the family room and demonstrated.

"But what does he do?" my older daughter asked. She just didn't get the concept. But after a minute, both kids thoroughly understood and had so much fun playing with Chubbles.

Chubbles

From the realm of the Firefly Forest in a place called Chase-A-Tail Dale (dale being a large valley) lives a friendly and cheerful society of magickal beings called the Chubbles. They have manifested their way into our world as stuffed animal toys which closely resemble their actual appearance in Firefly Forest. Chubbles are furry, mouthless and wear various cloaks ranging from teal, blue, purple and red. It's unclear if the colors of these cloaks indicate the specific job or purpose that each Chubbles possesses. But one thing is clearly understood. Like most benevolent, magickal beings; the Chubbles are on a mission to bring love and good cheer to all. This is immediately understood upon momentarily blocking light to a Chubbles' eyes which results in the amusing electronic sound of a "chiggle". Some say that it resembles a giggle. Others claim that information of the moment is transferred and communicated through the sound of this "chiggle". In addition, the firefly in Chubbles' nose momentarily lights up.

Chubbles mostly remains silent and sits comfy on the bed or (as in the case of our Chubbles at home) the family room sofa. If you pay close attention, you can see that Chubbles is actually conscious and aware; observing the surrounding activities while giving his or her silent input. And outside of a simple 9-volt battery, Chubbles only requires love and light to survive—no food or water! They love children and animals and can play for hours.

If you've never experienced Chubbles before, check out the You Tube video below to see how Chubbles works and what his "chiggle" sounds like.

Now it isn't necessary to use a flashlight to activate the "chiggle". If you block the light from Chubbles' eyes, he will respond in the same way. In fact, take a look at the amusing You Tube video titled, The Chubbles Experiment. Notice the Chubbles toys on the right. As the light is turned out, they all call out.

There's a little-known secret of maintaining long-distanced communication with your Chubbles. If you are at—say—the office or even school, and need to communicate with Chubbles, you can kneel over the restroom floor drain and call out his or her name. Shout very loudly down the floor drain, "CHUBBLES!"

Chubbles will actually hear you and respond with the noteworthy "chiggle". But due to the long distance and limitation to human hearing, you will be unable to hear Chubbles respond. You simply have to trust that Chubbles really did answer you.

Needless to say, if there are people in the restroom with you, they might be confused or even alarmed by your behavior. Simply put them at ease by explaining that you are communication with your Chubbles at home. Then demonstrate.

"See watch..." you kneel back on the restroom floor and shout down the drain, "CHUBBLES!" Then listen for the response. Of course people nearby will be unable to hear Chubbles calling back to you with the "chiggle". Just explain this phenomenon. "I know you can't hear him. That's because humans have limited hearing. He really did answer me."

Some people might try to challenge you and argue that what you describe is impossible. In fact, they might try to imply that you are delusional in your understanding of Chubbles. Of course this will cause you to grow impatient and hostile. You might even have a need to get violent with the person attacking your relationship with Chubbles. But you must refrain this! Chubbles does not like anger, hostility or violence. Simply excuse yourself and walk away. After all, Chubbles is not for everyone. Not all people in our world have an appreciation for Chubbles.

For those who do love and appreciate Chubbles, Chubbles is adored by people of all ages—children and adults. And it isn't uncommon to discover your teenage son or daughter with friends just hanging out with Chubbles in the bedroom. Chubbles is so much fun and makes everyone laugh. It's certainly understandable why everyone wishes to take turns activating the amusing "chiggle". But then it is soon discovered that if Chubbles is smacked or punched in the face, the noteworthy "chiggle" sounds more like he is saying, "Ouch...!... Hey...! Stop...!"

That isn't a very nice way to interact with Chubbles! As a parent you will certainly be disturbed if you discover this sort of mistreatment. Be firm and warn your child, "If you don't play nice with Chubbles, I'm going to take him away."

If you discover any further mistreatment of Chubbles, then you should confiscate this toy and ground your child from Chubbles for a determined amount of time to teach him or her a good lesson. After all, Chubbles did not journey all the way from the magickal realm of Firefly Forest to be punched and smacked in the face by some jerk kid!

There is sometimes a concern of possibly over stimulating the "chiggle" by continuously waving one's hand in front of Chubbles' face and damaging the internal circuitry. Keep in mind that there are no mechanical relays or switches responsible for generating this "chiggle" and firefly effect. Internal circuitry is most likely handled by transistor logic devices which make rapid switching possible in modern-day toys and appliances. As for the firefly light-emitting-diode nose; these LEDs eventually do go bad, but they are good for at least a thousand hours of use (if not more). There is, however, the phenomenon of "machine conditioning" which is the electro-mechanical imprinting of prolonged use onto a device. This means that eventually it might be possible to offset Chubbles' response to light with overstimulation.

Will you eventually damage Chubbles with too much play? Well, if you still have your Chubbles toy from the 1980s, keep in mind that it is over a quarter of a century old. Go easy on Chubbles! Just let him hang out with the family in the family room and feel fortunate that his noteworthy "chiggle" can still be heard.

Chubbles was in production by the company, Animal Fair, between 1984-1985, and no longer available. This toy can now be found on eBay or other sites throughout the Internet that specialize in retro items. But I suspect since this wonderful creature is making a comeback, production of the once popular Chubbles will be back in full swing. Maybe Chubbles will be soon be coming to your neighborhood!

Voyeuristic Fantasies

Hello All:

I like the word "phantasming"--a word derived from phantasm. A phantasm is the final product brought on by fantasizing about person or condition to the point that this person or condition can be sensed or even seen. Most often phantasms are created by mourners who think and dream so much of the dearly departed that the imagined ghost of the deceased is perceived to be there.

But don't confuse phantasming to merely be an intensified figment of the imagination. Phantasming can and often does become the second stage of telepathic communication between two living persons. It's instinctive, and most often occurs during the impossible and complicated "Mexican hat dance" between a man and woman who are mutually attracted to one another.

Telepathy occurs when one or both parties wish to communicate something of importance. But it isn't possible to do this through speaking. For you see, many times these urgent messages are intended to be communicated between strangers. The female sends out a signal that she is ready to establish a connection with a desired male, perhaps indicate she is ready for love or even mating. The male picks up on it just as nature designed. But wouldn't you know it? The telepathic connection is soon dropped by one or both parties. Something isn't right. Maybe the female is scared. Or maybe the male feels that he is not ready.

That's not the end of this telepathic quest, however. It seems every distanced encounter soon causes both parties to recall the connection that was once formed. This very recalling by both parties results in an automatic reconnect. Whether the two like it or not, a telepathic connection is made.

"Oops! How did that happen?"

One or both parties will assume that that the other person is attempting telepathic hijacking. So instinctively, one or both might activate a "psychic shield" or a grounding shield to protect his or her thoughts.

There! That fixes everything! Some days or weeks go by with no further telepathic communication. In fact, it is soon speculated that the encounters were merely a figment of the imagination. Psychic shields are handy weapons from protecting ourselves from telepathic intrusion. But if the supposed intruder happens to be of the opposite sex and isn't all that bad-looking, what fun is it to hide behind the telepathic shield? As Sigmund Freud once proposed, it's embedded deep within our subconscious to place ourselves in danger. So while hiding behind our psychic shield, we peak over the top to see if the other person is looking.

"Oops!"

He or she was, in fact looking and is trying to re-establish the telepathic connection. And guess what? Just with your mere intention of checking, the telepathic connection has been established.

Is it really true? What might this other person want? Through speculation, a rash of fantasies is formed. You soon fall in love and wish for this person to be near. And that's how a phantasm is soon formed! The conjured ghost of this desired person haunts you day and night. And being that there is a telepathic connection shared between the two of you, the interacted fantasies with this conjured phantom is sensed by the other person.

Congratulations! You've created a highly-developed portal of telepathic communication with a stranger. Phantasming occurs when two strangers are fascinated, infatuated and terrified of one another. No matter how hard you try, there is no escape.

***

The main character in today's featured writing confesses an obsession he has with a neighbor that lives in an apartment building across from his. He watches her with binoculars. And he makes the most interesting statement at some point in the story. He says that although voyeurism is done in secrecy, the victim knows that she is being watched. She senses it, and actually invites it. Might this be another form of phantasming?


Voyeuristic Fantasies Part 1
My hobby started early in life, around my early teens. Aiming a telescope out the bedroom window one beautiful, summer evening to catch a view of Mars; I noticed that the woman who lived next door was pulling in her driveway. For reasons unknown, my imagination began to wander and quickly realized that she was coming home to a dark, empty house; possibly to change out of her work clothes. That’s when I aimed the telescope at her windows in hopes to see her!
The first light turned on as she put her bag and purse down on the kitchen counter. She rummaged through the refrigerator and then disappeared into one of the other rooms, invisible from view. Waiting patiently for her return; I some time later noticed a soft light through another window. The telescope was immediately aimed towards the direction of the soft light. Inside, I was surprised to see my neighbor standing by the open, bedroom closet with the light on!
A rash of predictions triggered hope for that teenage boy who was eager to see her change out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. Would he really see this? I remember my heart rate soaring as my hands shook with excitement. She was about to yield a sight that was forbidden. And the frustration of her back being turned only fed my voyeuristic fantasy as she removed her blouse.
Just then, my mother screamed from the kitchen, "Wayne? Wayne, get in here and eat your bratwurst!”
“Rats!” I hated bratwurst and sauerkraut, but my mother made it so often for dinner! All I could do was quickly run out to the hallway, leaving the bedroom door half open. Hopefully I wasn’t missing the ultimate sight through the telescope. "I'll be there in a minute, Mom. I just want to check out Mars."
Running back to the window, hoping nothing was missed, I continued to impatiently watch the woman in her bedroom. What was she doing? When was she going to get naked? Why the striptease?
In the moment of frustration, my mother could be heard storming down the hallway towards the bedroom. "Whaddya got your bedroom door closed for, huh? What are ya smokin' in there?" She swung the door open and immediately walked towards me to discover the telescope aimed at the neighbor's house. “Lookin’ at Mars my ass!"
The large, beastly woman had an equally, booming voice that could be heard through long distance! "What are ya lookin' through the neighbor's windows for? Are you some kinda pervert?"
In horror, I watched as the woman next door peered out her bedroom window and directly towards me. My mother announced to the whole neighborhood that her son was looking through neighbors’ bedroom windows, and the current victim saw firsthand proof. She quickly closed her window and shades, making it not only the end of the show, but the end of my hobby of voyeurism.
It wasn’t until years later, when living in a single bedroom apartment, that I rediscovered my interest in watching women. Where I lived, the apartments were distanced about 50 feet from each other, and the bedrooms were back-to-back. Darkness, quiet and solitude were always welcome guests, as it left plenty of time to think and imagine. In those bachelor years, the apartment was usually dark at night, only illuminated by street lights and storefront signs.
Walking into my bedroom one night, I was surprised to see a woman in the apartment, across the way, standing in her open window. She wasn't nude, but she was a woman standing in an open window which instinctively caused me to run for the binoculars. She just had to be seen up-close and performing activities in the privacy of her own apartment!
One might say that I have an inherent knowledge of voyeurism. No one ever taught me the art; but for some reason, I know a great deal of information pertaining to stalking women. There’s a subconscious relationship that exists between a woman and her stalker in which the victim knows that someone is watching. Despite what most people might think, the female victim enjoys being stalked and almost seems to invite it. A voyeur could be watching a woman from two blocks away, and eventually the victim "knows" about it. It's an instinct that's inherited from millions of years of evolution, most likely related to a female’s need to seek out a male companion.
There is also a rule that fellow voyeurs follow: Darkness is a voyeur’s best friend. As long as one stands in a room that is dark at night, a victim cannot see what is happening. This, of course, depends on whether or not a victim stands in a room with a light on at night, yielding a clear-as-daylight view of everything.
Adhering to these rules, I stood in the dark room, silently watching the woman across the way through binoculars. She was an average, but very cute, blonde in her early 30s. What immediately sparked my interest was the plain face, making her appear so real and down-to-earth. She folded her laundry, seemingly unaware of the new stalker who watched with baited breath for a possible, forbidden sight.
But what was this? Within moments, I learned that she had a husband who entered the room to help. And as I continued to watch, their story unfolded. This was a newlywed couple in their early 30's that had just moved in their new apartment. Both were quite happy, as evidenced by the way they looked lovingly at one another. But upon further observation, I quickly concluded that she had a certain control over him. The husband was insecure around the wife, exhibiting extreme caution not to anger her.
As they put away the last bit of laundry, my female victim walked over to the window and partially pulled the shades. I could still see inside, but much of the view was blocked. Then the bedroom light turned off which was soon replaced by the soft illumination of the television.
My baited breath turned into erratic breathing as I observed her blouse being pulled up in front of the bedroom window. And although her face could no longer be seen, there was a clear shot of her upper chest. She wore a delicate, lacey, pink bra which positioned her breasts, showing off her gorgeous cleavage. Those days of teenage voyeurism returned as my heart raced and hands began to shake, nearly causing the image behind the binoculars to be un-viewable.
"Take it off; come on, please take it off!" The erratic breathing turned to near hyperventilation. As far as I was concerned, this woman had the nicest pair of breasts ever seen, and she hadn't even removed her bra! Then the TV was turned off and that was the end of the show for the night.
That certainly didn’t end interest in the new, female victim and rediscovered hobby of voyeurism. The frustration of not seeing her bare breasts only fed my voyeuristic fantasy into a rewarding obsession watched night after night. I quickly learned of her clockwork schedule, and checked in to my observation post at 9:00pm, every night, to see both husband and wife report to the bedroom. Some nights offered nothing more than a quick glimpse of her walk by as she turned the light off. Other nights offered an erotic striptease of my obsession dancing around her bedroom in sexy lingerie. And one thing always remained the same: she had a nice pair of breasts that I was just dying to see!
Stalkers learn their victims’ habits. My victim had the Monday night ritual of laundry, which suddenly included doing it in her bra. Her husband would come over to help and would sometimes sneak a feel of her breasts. But this only aroused anger, causing her to slap her husband’s hand away. Apparently he was not allowed to touch without her permission. It didn’t take long to learn something interesting about their sexual relationship; the husband enjoyed denial of sex.
One night I watched as the married couple sat on the bed, playing some kind of card game. As usual, she wore her sexy lingerie as the husband sat on the bed, exposing his bare potbelly and long, ugly beard that covered his chest. If only there was some way to exclude him from the nightly views.
After the game; she waved at him as he grabbed the pillow in disgust, leaving the room. But she remained in bed and turned off the light. The frustrated man lost the game that evening which meant he lost an opportunity to have sex and sleep with his wife.
For a voyeur, lights out can be an equally frustrating experience as it was for that husband who lost the card game. I waited night after night in anticipation of the ultimate show. But with only a peak of my victim in her bra, or her husband who copped a feel; the lights soon turned out, as they did the previous night, and would most likely do the following. Although frustrating, it fed the voyeuristic fantasies beyond the point of obsession. I began to think of ways to continue watching through the dark and seeing everything; every bra removed, every pair of panties pulled down and every naughty excursion that was done safely in the dark from prying eyes.
She was probably the sort of woman who had reversed, voyeuristic fantasies. Some nights when her husband was gone, my victim most likely took great delight in walking about her bedroom, semi-nude, all the while knowing that I was watching. And then she would turn off the lights to shroud her activities of dirty fantasies. Stepping back a safe distance from the open window, she danced while stripping until completely nude and then shook the sight of those much desired breasts in the darkness. But I couldn't see them! I tried with all my power and utilized the zoom feature of the binoculars to focus on the darkness of her room. Not one silhouette or shadow could be seen in the veil of night. My victim knew the safety of darkness and acted out her teasing dance, completely aware that someone struggled to see.
But would her reverse, voyeuristic fantasies get the best of her? Would there have been a time when she lost control in her dance that also involved touching and extreme arousal? It would only be a matter of time, in the heat of desperation, when she desired to be seen. With this knowledge, I waited patiently for her approach towards the window where the silhouette of her naked, dancing body could be seen. It would be my reward of diligent stalking and obsession.
Sadly, these things would not be seen. The woman had complete control in her moments of private passion, which resulted in my further contemplation of ways to break the rules and finally see that which was hidden from my view. Could I have used night vision goggles? Those were too expensive—at least in those days they were. Perhaps a radio-controlled toy that could fly over to her window would have been the solution. A mounted camera could send live video back to a television screen at my secret, viewing post. Better yet; perhaps there was a small, mechanical, flying bug with miniature camera already available for purchase. Such a spy's toy would be radio-controlled and could send the live video back to my viewing post. The small bug could find a hole in her bedroom screen and fly in. Then it would find its way into her bathroom and watch as she took a shower, completely nude in her moment of sacred privacy. The bug could mount itself to the headboard of her marital bed and watch husband and wife in their moments of treasured intimacy. I could finally see her facial expressions, created in orgasmic delight.
Unfortunately, no toy with those features could be found for purchase in those days. And if such a toy did exist, it was most likely used by government intelligence and probably priced at tens-of-thousands of dollars.
There was a simpler solution, I imagined, that could defeat the obstacle of darkness: it's opposite, light. For a reasonable cost, a high-powered spotlight could be purchased and mounted to my window sill. It would aim directly towards my obsession's window and penetrate the shrouding darkness that covered that which I longed to see.
I mounted this spotlight in the late-afternoon hours, and rigged a finder scope to the deflector shield so the light could be perfectly aimed directly into the bedroom window. I reported to my viewing post at the usual time that night.
If only the husband could have been removed from these nightly shows! The view of his unsightly body ruined any and all visual rewards provided by the wife. Tonight; she wore a silky, red teddy which hinted to an evening of passion. Most likely, he would rip her playwear off; but it would be done in the dark as always. Fortunately I had my new solution aimed at their window. But I needed to wait for the ideal moment to turn the light on. If done immediately, she would still be wearing the teddy.
How long should I have waited before shining forth the illumination? It was a highly, tricky moment that required much intuition. My imagination needed to be in that bedroom as the husband eagerly explored her luscious body through the silken material. I had to wonder how she could have kissed his lips that were outlined by a messy, stinky beard that hung to his skinny chest. His beer belly pressed against her abdomen, and then he unlaced the ties of the teddy that held back her bursting cleavage. But it wasn't time yet! His hands now covered her breasts as palms and fingertips explored her nipples. Soon he would lead her to bed which would yield a plain-as-daylight view of her gorgeously, naked body.
Now! It was time to turn the spotlight on! The illumination shined forth the light of midmorning sun as I stood at the window behind binoculars. Just seconds ago, the room was completely dark which blocked their late-night play from view. Now I could see the entire room: bedside tables, dresser and the headboard of their bed. But where was the nudey show?
Seconds later, the husband’s face popped up from the bed which was followed by his wife's. His unsightly, naked body sprung up from the bed and ran towards the window. But the binoculars were zoomed in on my obsession's face as I eagerly waited for her to rise and finally expose her nakedness. She did sit up some which yielded a view of her upper-breasts. But her nipples were blocked below the window sill.
Unable to control myself I yelled, "Stand up! Let me finally see your tits!" I nearly passed out from over-excitement, all the while hoping they didn't hear my desire through the window screen. And to this day I wonder if they saw me hiding behind the spotlight with binoculars, struggling to see more. The skinny-chested, pot-bellied husband with messy, long beard quickly pulled down the window shades which ended the show for the night.
"DAMNIT!" I had come so far in my voyeuristic quest, but my weapon had been defeated by a window shade! Night after night I waited by the window for the shade to be lifted. But it remained closed; and my addiction to voyeurism was seriously experiencing withdrawal. I had to find another victim! It was only a matter of time before the nightly views of my ultimate obsession would return, but a temporary fascination needed to be found.
***
It was a Tuesday evening, about an hour after falling asleep. I remained in frustration because my victim's shades were still pulled down. But something awoke me from my sleep, a subconscious realization that there was a sight outside my window that could very well feed my voyeuristic addiction. I sprang from the bed and grabbed the binoculars; then immediately aimed it at my obsession's window. The shades were still closed! Although frustrated, I remained at the window and scanned all the other windows in that apartment building until something caught my eye. It looked like bare skin through one of the apartment bedrooms on the second floor!
Of course! There were other nightly shows that could be enjoyed. The 9:00 view of the woman and her unsightly husband was only one of them.
I continued to gaze through the window for a hopeful return of the bare-skinned lady. But as I found out, she was, perhaps, a 600 pound beastly woman who returned in her birthday suit. Her bedroom was illuminated by the flicker of the TV as she kneeled on the bed and carefully rolled over to lie down on her back. Why couldn't the nightly views of my ultimate obsession have been as easy as this one? Although she was terribly obese, I continued to watch in amazement, hoping she could have satisfied my cravings for a voyeuristic thrill. And then she gazed up at her window as if to see if anyone was looking. She remained naked, and proceeded to fondle her enormous breasts.
Was this where my hobby of voyeurism was to end up? Had I turned into an addicted pervert who was willing to watch anyone, provided that person was naked?
These were the days before the internet was popular; before one could simply click a link and access hundreds of naked women for free. Even if the internet was available, I certainly couldn't afford a computer to access such images in the privacy of my apartment. Even still, most people might think that if a voyeur (in those days) really wanted to see a woman naked, he could have simply purchased a nudey magazine, or visited a stripper club and have his craving met. But you must remember; voyeurs are addicted to everyday women who go about naked in the privacy of their homes. Magazines containing silicone-pumped, digitally altered centerfold models are not real. And paying to see a professional women dance on stage isn't much of a thrill for a voyeur.
There was new game I had imagined that might appeal to women who had reverse, voyeuristic fantasies. As I speculated, there must have been many women who secretly desired to expose themselves to a stranger in a safe, harmless way. If this was true, I could find these women at the Laundromat, just next door to my apartment in a bizarre scam that I called, The Lingerie Model Search.
I sat at my kitchen table one Saturday night with a blank sheet of paper and black marker; writing the words, "Ladies, Do you think you have what it takes to be a lingerie model? We are a professional agency seeking women to work in this rewarding career. Act now with the opportunity enclosed in the envelope. Take only one, please!"
It was the perfect notice to post on the community bulletin board in the Laundromat. But what were these sealed envelopes the notice spoke of? I already had them sitting on the kitchen counter, 20 of them with the exciting offer inside. Each envelope contained another marker, hand-written message that was photo-copied to save time. The enclosed message said, "Congratulations on your decision to follow the exciting career as a lingerie model. To qualify, you must enclose a nude photograph of yourself along with contact information. Please seal the provided envelope, and drop in the application box belonging to this offer."
To fully understand what it was I had created; you need to visualize the small kiosk that I affixed to the community bulletin board in the Laundromat. Since the business automatically opened at 5am, 7 days a week; I entered on Sunday morning while the world slept and most likely no customers were present. A small, 11” x 8” box—only 2 inches thick—had been carefully screwed to the bulletin board. A supportive ledge at the bottom of the box held the exciting offers housed in the envelopes. And of course, there was a slip hole in the box to drop the sealed envelope in, once an unsuspecting woman provided a naked image of herself. Above the small kiosk was the notice asking women to act on the exciting offer contained in the envelope.
Just as I had applied the public notice above the affixed box; the obese woman, who I had watched fondling herself only two nights ago, had entered the Laundromat. Needless to say, she saw me attaching the public announcement and immediately walked over to see what it said. I ran out of the establishment in a panic, realizing that I was in serious trouble. Someone in the area had seen me post my Lingerie Model Search scam, and it was only a matter of time before the police found me. Are there any laws against such an activity? I wasn't sure, but maybe it was considered fraud. And what if under-aged girls dropped photos of themselves in that box? Might I have been accused of circulating illegal pornography?
YOU HAVE BEEN READING AN EXCERPT FROM THE SHORT STORY, VOYEURISTIC FANTASIES. IF YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS, WHY NOT SUPPORT THE AUTHOR AND DOWNLOAD THE ENTIRE STORY?

The Great Embellishments of Lincoln's Tomb

Hello All:

Many consider Aleister Crowley to be a great and wonderful contributor to the world of magick. Originally a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, Crowley exhibited nonconformity and rebellion towards the religious order of the time. Because of his strained relations and the soon end to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, it was necessary for Crowley to travel the world and seek drug-induced visions until finally communing with the ancient Egyptian god, Horus. Horus instructed Crowley to serve as a messenger to humanity and develop a new order of magick, Thelema. Its main principal is to "do what thou wilt"—provided it is done in accordance with true will. From an outsider's point of view, Thelema might simply be a mystical philosophy of hedonism.

Crowley spent much of his time under the public spotlight, producing writings and poetry that often criticized religion and moral conscience. His aim was obviously to shock and disturb readers. It disturbed people so much, in fact, that Christians at the time cited Crowley as being the most evil man who could possibly have been the Devil, himself.

Where-as many people regularly establish contact with their own spirit guides and guardian angels for direction in life with ease, Crowley—on the contrary—apparently struggled in doing this as it was necessary for him to use recreational drugs such as hashish. Throughout his magick career, these drugs were even needed to trigger the necessary altered states of consciousness for working a simple spell. But why should he have stopped there? Maybe it wasn't about the magick and communion with the spiritual realm. Maybe it was about the pleasurable feelings of using the drugs, themselves. At one point in Crowley's life, he had become addicted to heroin.

He had illicit sexual affairs with various women—some of them even married. And then there were the accounts of how Crowley battered and abused his scarlet women. The title of scarlet woman was the disrespectful name given to his sorceress women to possibly imply that despite how these women who associated themselves with Crowley might have sought mental, emotional and spiritual development; they were to be treated as filthy, dirty whores to be beaten, abused and humiliated both emotionally and sexually.

All of these disturbing actions along with a destructive lifestyle came from a man that many people tout as being the godfather of modern-day magick. He even supplied us with a definition of what magick is to be—change in accordance to one's will.

But maybe Aleister Crowley wasn't seeing things clearly. Perhaps in glorifying his destructive and hedonistic lifestyle with a self-developed mystical and fantastic religion, he might have missed the larger picture. Maybe there's so much more to magick than simply causing change in accordance to one's will. Perhaps magick embraces a universe so large that the art cannot be described in a simple definition. If we tried, we might provide a more accurate definition to describe magick as an art that expands one's perception and understanding of the self and surrounding world (microcosm to macrocosm) along with the constant strive to become one with God and the universe. Through the art of magick, one learns to understand what it is that he or she desires and why; and then aligns personal will and desire to the will of God. In short, magick is the art of channeling and allowing the ever-changing universe to flow through you which sometimes initiates a change around you.

***

What could the introduction have anything to do with today's featured writing? Well, it would seem that the ancient god, Horus, didn't manifest itself to just Aleister Crowley. Horus even appears as one of the great embellishments of Lincoln's tomb.

The Great Embellishments of Lincoln's Tomb

How does one describe the tomb of quite possibly the greatest president that our nation has ever seen? I suppose it all depends on how the monument affects you. Designed by American Sculptor, Larkin Goldsmith Mead; many people have visited or at least seen images of this beautiful resting place for our sixteenth president.

For me, the entire experience didn't fully set in until reaching the rotunda. The very, first item to greet you is a bronze replica of the marble statue of Abraham Lincoln, seated in a chair. The original work was created by American Sculpture, Daniel Chester French, and appears in the Lincoln Memorial at Washing DC. Needless to say, the bronze replica has been scaled down in size for the tomb. The most shocking feature of this statue is the fact that the American flag is draped over the chair and is actually seated on by Abraham Lincoln. If you are an American and have respect for this country, would you be so careless as to throw the American flag over a chair and then sit on it? Many have wondered the meaning of this controversial addition to the statue. I say that it makes a statement of truth. In the way that Lincoln carried a broken nation throughout his terms in office, and the way he projected his visions onto the America that we know today; Abraham Lincoln rebirthed our country. He is one person who has every right to sit on the flag. Symbolically, it's his America.

Among the embellishments of the dramatic rotunda are sixteen marble pillars that surround the room. The pillars symbolize each of the presidents who served before Abraham Lincoln along with a pillar dedicated to Lincoln, himself. Marble panels make up the walls. In addition, there are thirty-six bronze panels to represent the thirty six states that existed during his time in office. And one should take notice of the peculiar presence of the ancient Egyptian god, Horus that is hung throughout the rotunda. Horus is the god of kings and rulers.

Walking the tomb from the rotunda, down the corridors to the burial of Lincoln, and then back to the entrance is supposed to give the feeling of walking a circle. This walking the circle symbolizes a contemplation of eternal life. It should be mentioned that the walk is done counterclockwise—against the direction of the sun—something I felt to be unusual. Maybe it isn't uncommon for the sense of direction to be distorted while inside the tomb? Then again, I never did a walk in contemplation of eternal life. For all I know, going against the direction of the sun is the standard practice.

The entire tomb is surrounded by marble which includes the long corridors with tiled floors. Footsteps and voices of tourists who walk through, echo and bounce throughout the corridors. These echoes symbolize the many stories of Abraham Lincoln, and further mix with statues located at each corner of the joining corridors. The statues depict noteworthy moments of Lincoln's life

Upon Lincoln's death, Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton stated, "Now he belongs to the ages.” This is written on the wall behind the actual burial of our nation's sixteenth president. His wife and two of his children are sealed in the opposite wall. Lincoln's only son who lived through adulthood is currently at Arlington National Cemetery.

There's a little-known secret at the burial of Abraham Lincoln. At the time of his death, Lincoln's body was preserved through a crude form of cryogenics with the hope that science and medicine will one day find a means to bring people back to life. This is nothing unusual for a famous person. The head of Walt Disney is preserved cryogenically to one day be brought to life. Shouldn't a great president have the same privilege?

But for the time being, tourists have the ability to walk behind the burial marker and pull out Lincoln's glass coffin to observe his body as it appeared, exactly, at the time of his presidency. It's surprising as to how crude techniques of cryogenics in those days actually preserved a body for over a century.

But despite how well the body of Lincoln was cryogenically preserved, the actual tomb began to settle unevenly in 1899, cracking in various places and falling into a state of despair. For this matter, the entire structure had been torn down and rebuilt. The tomb that we walk today is not 100% the original and is only built from the foundations.

Outside the tomb is a bronze duplicate of Lincoln's head as created by sculptor Gutzon Borglum. It's impossible not to notice the fact that Lincoln's nose is a different color from the rest of the statue. This is due to a strange cult of Lincoln followers who believe that Abraham Lincoln possessed some sort of mystical power in his life. By rubbing Lincoln's nose on the statue, one is immediately granted the power to channel the energies and communicate with our nation's sixteenth president. My daughter is apparently one such follower of this cult. She demonstrates in the photo the means of accessing this power. Some followers of the Lincoln cult claim that from the initial moment of rubbing Lincoln's nose, pennies actually serve as a portal and allow the profile of the president to speak to them. Imagine having a penny talk to you!

I suppose to further suggest Lincoln's involvement in ancient Egyptian religion, the outside of the building is surrounded by marble pyramid decor. This feature really strikes a chord upon remembering the presence of the ancient god, Horus, within the tomb.

Of course the tomb of Abraham Lincoln wasn't constructed and waiting for him at the moment of death. For this matter, the Oak Ridge Cemetery had a receiving tomb to place his remains in while the current tomb was being constructed. And check this out! This very house was made for the cemetery watchman and located right near Lincoln's receiving tomb. Being that the president was cryogenically preserved; a string was tied to his finger and fed up a tube which was attached to a bell. If in the event that the president came back to life; his finger would move, pull the string and activate the bell. A cemetery watchman would be able to rush into the receiving vault and open the casket for Lincoln.

The Balloon Fetish Cult Abduction

Hello All:

I was contacted overnight by an individual on Facebook who goes by the name of Balloon Looner. A close look at Balloon Looner's profile, it is immediately noticed that this person has an extreme fetish with balloons. This person is interested in downloading an eBook version of my short story, The Balloon Fetish Cult Abduction. But it is no longer available in the major catalogs.

That happens with many of my stories. There is nothing wrong with these stories, but I like to unpublish them after a year or so. They hit the catalogs, do their damage and receive their punishment from many irate readers who were either disturbed or deeply disappointed. Such works are simply retired and made available, exclusively, at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault for your reading enjoyment.

Very shortly, however, I will generate an eBook document of this short story for Balloon Looner. If anyone ever needs a short story or is having difficulty downloading something on the major catalogs, please don't hesitate to contact me.

Oh, Balloon Looner wanted to know if there was a charge for The Balloon Fetish Cult Abduction. I had to laugh! You don't think I'd actually charge readers for a story like this, do you?

Have a great weekend and enjoy your balloons to the fullest. I suppose even the space brothers can appreciate a balloon fetish.

The Balloon Fetish Cult Abduction

Kimberly and her husband, Doug, had a simple Saturday planned with their only appointment being the yearly trip to see the tax accountant. After a quick lunch and a stop at Starbuck's to carry them through the boring ritual of going over taxes, they arrived at the accountant’s office at 12:30.

Waiting in the office for about 20 minutes, Kimberly suddenly had a need to visit the used coffee department. "Excuse me; do you have a restroom nearby?”
She was directed out the door and down the hall. Her husband followed as he suddenly felt the urge, most likely brought on by suggestion.
As Kimberly and Doug returned, they were greeted by a man in a green suit who addressed them by their name. "Mr. & Mrs. Martz? How are you doing today? Come on in and we will get started."
Kimberly and Doug were escorted into an office that was down the hall from the tax accountant's office. They figured it was just an extension to handle the overflow of customers during the tax season, and assumed they were soon to be seen. The waiting room of the office was unlike anything professional. The entire area was partitioned by thick, heavy, green curtains. Literally the offices were divided up by these curtains as if it were a quick, makeshift way of creating inexpensive offices. And standing by the door were two large men dressed in green suits.
No sooner had they sat down, a voice could be heard from one of the green curtain offices. "Gentlemen, bring Mr. and Mrs. Martz in."
Kimberly and Doug were escorted down a hallway that was made by the same thick, green curtains. Occasionally they would pass a small enclosure where arguing, or yelling could be heard. It was Kimberly and Doug’s first indication that something was not right. But the two large men continued with the husband and wife, who followed until reaching the end of the hallway to an office.
"Sit down please!" There was almost a tone of command in a short, stocky man's voice who sat behind a desk.
As Kimberly and Doug sat down in their chairs, Doug spoke up with his concerns, mentioning he had an appointment with the usual tax accountant and wasn't comfortable with someone else.
"Mr. Martz, relax. Everything is going to be fine!"
Two additional large men in green suits joined the original so there were now 4 standing in the green curtain office. One of them drew a curtain across the entrance so that the area was now enclosed. With a total of five strange men in the small office, and the strange circumstances, Doug grew apprehensive. What if someone had tried to hurt his wife?
The short, stocky man pulled out a balloon and inflated it as far as possible, nearly to the point of bursting. "We have a quick test to perform so you can be qualified." He tied the balloon shut and bounced it off the back of his hand. "Are either of you fond of balloons?"
Doug grew impatient and didn't see the point in the exercise. "Look, we came here to get our taxes done!"
"Easy Mr. Martz! It's just a balloon." He approached Doug and Kimberly with the balloon. It signaled danger for the protective husband, causing him to stand up and defend himself and wife. But two of the large men grabbed and pushed him down, holding Doug in his seat. They were very strong, and it was pointless for Doug to fight. Kimberly was held down by the other two men.
The balloon was bounced off Doug's forehead as he glared in purturbance at the short, stocky man who seriously crossed the line and invaded Doug’s comfort zone. Whatever this “qualification exercise” was, Doug wanted no part of it!
Satisfied; the short, stocky man turned his attention towards Kimberly and bounced the balloon off her forehead in the same manner.
Kimberly was terrified and exhibited signs of being overwhelmed with nervousness.
The short, stocky man pulled a pin from his jacket pocket and held it close to the balloon. "Do you see this, Mrs. Martz? It's a pin. If I push this pin through the balloon it will burst. And the balloon is just inches from your face."
Kimberly winced, all the while showing increased anxiety and terror. And as it looked like Kimberly could no longer bear the torture, the short, stocky man exclaimed, "Very good! You have both been qualified!"
He looked at the four large men in the green suits and directed that Kimberly be brought to the pin cushion room, and Doug be brought to the conditioning room. Both husband and wife were pulled out of their seats. Kimberly screamed for dear life as her husband struggled with all his might to fight the two strong men in green suits. But it was no use.
This just couldn’t be! The husband was supposed to protect his precious wife from danger; and now he found himself in a bizarre situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control. He was pushed into another green curtain office that had a large, wooden holding box filled with balloons. One of the men pulled out a balloon and handed it to Doug. "Sit on this balloon! Make it pop!"
But Doug only stood motionless, in defiance, with a face reddened by rage. Who did this guy in a green suit think he was? Doug didn’t have to pop a balloon. And the last he checked, he was a free citizen, leaving no one the right to control what he did or where he could go. Doug shouted in a spew of anger, "What's this all about? What are you people doing? We came here to get our taxes done! Now get out of my way! I’m warning you!" His arms rose up in a motion to fight.
But one of the large men grabbed the irate man and ordered him to sit down, pushing him into the box of inflated balloons. Some of the balloons popped which made the two large men in green suits laugh. The other man pulled Doug out and commanded him to stand up. This launched a game that involved one man dictating to sit down while he pushed Doug into the balloons and the other man ordering Doug to stand up.
"Sit Down!"
"Stand Up!"
"I told you to sit down!"
"I told you to stand up!"
After about a minute of the humiliating assault, Doug showed signs of exhaustion which ended the game. Then one of the men pulled out a balloon from the tank and handed it to Doug. "Now sit on this balloon and make it pop."
To avoid any more of the humiliating sit down/stand up game, Doug sat on the balloon and rolled on it until it popped.
One of the men looked annoyed. "You're doing it all wrong!" In an act of demonstration, the annoyed man grabbed a few balloons from the holding tank and lay down to roll all over them; all the while laughing maniacally while screaming, "Balloons!" Within a few seconds, all the balloons popped.
"There! Now try it again!"
Doug was handed three balloons, and he proceeded to lay on them while forcing some laughter out. It took a bit of involved rolling, but the balloons eventually popped. Despite his efforts, this still wasn’t good enough for the two large men. He was ordered to do the exercises again and again until he laughed maniacally while screaming, “Balloons”, just like they did. And towards the end of the exercise, it almost felt as if Doug enjoyed popping balloons while forgetting his concerns of being held captive. If a camcorder were used, it might have shown the once-irate and protective husband now having the time of his life. But if one looked closely into Doug’s eyes, he or she could see past the maniacal brainwashing and realize his desperate concern for his precious wife.
And where was Kimberly? She was taken into a different green curtain office that had a similar holding box for the balloons. But a large part of the floor was an enormous pin cushion with countless points of the needles sticking out. A woman in a green dress greeted Kimberly, appearing to be sympathetic towards her victim. The two large men who had escorted Kimberly to the green curtain office stood by the door.
The woman in the green dress spoke. "Honey, I used to be like you, but we can help you." She took a balloon and held it close to Kimberly's face. Unlike in the “qualifying room”, Kimberly decided to control herself and refrain from any signs of anxiety of the balloon bursting.
The woman in the green dress was impressed. "Very good, Mrs. Martz! I'm so proud of you! Now watch this!” The woman in the green dress tossed the balloon in the air which slowly drifted towards the pin cushion.
But Kimberly was suddenly overtaken by an uncontrollable wince just moments before the balloon burst. Everyone in the room laughed maniacally, except for Kimberly.
The lady in the green dress giggled at Kimberly. "Oh honey! Don't be frightened. It’s just a silly balloon! This exercise can help you!” She handed Kimberly another balloon and told her to throw it at the pin cushion floor.
Kimberly did as asked, but backed away before the balloon burst. Everyone laughed again.
Kimberly’s mentor remained patient and understanding, and handed her another balloon. "This time, imagine something that really stressed you out or made you angry earlier this week. Imagine that the stressor is now the balloon. Watch it slowly float to the pin cushion and when it pops, all your troubles are gone.”
Kimberly thought about work and remembered the sales meeting that didn't go very well. And then she thought about the recent tension between herself and a coworker. She watched her troubles float to the pin cushion and allowed them to pop. And with each pop, she was given more and more balloons, which forced her to search for traces of nagging stress in her life as she watched the object of displacement float and then pop.
"Very good Mrs. Martz! I'm so proud of you. There’s a higher-level exercise, but I’m afraid you are not ready for it this time.”
The lady in the green dress walked over to one of the curtain walls and carefully pulled it back some so Kimberly could see what was going on inside. “Perhaps next time, you can do this.”
There was another woman lying on a cot with her eyes closed. She slowly inflated a balloon until it popped in her face!
"That's for next time my dear."
Just then the voice of the short, stocky man from the qualifying room could be heard over the intercom. "Project Green Curtain will be closing in a few moments. Please escort all appointments to the door.”
Kimberly was quickly brought to the exit of the office where she met her husband, Doug. The entire group of people was pushed out into the hallway, leaving them no choice but to walk back to the original office where the tax accountants were.
Everyone was confused as they entered the tax accountants’ office.
Upon being asked by the receptionist where they were, Doug replied, "We were kidnapped and brought to a strange balloon torture chamber!"
It appeared as though the receptionist had received similar complaints as evidenced by the queer look on her face. This was the last straw for her! What were these strange accounts of being kidnapped and tortured by balloons? She quickly stood up, stormed out the door and down the hall; all the while the abduction victims eagerly trailed behind. But once they arrived at the green curtain office, the entire space had been stripped down! There were no more green curtains, no more large men in green suits or evidence of balloons!
This just couldn’t be! Doug knew what he had experienced was real, and he wasn’t about to forget the event without further investigation. He barged into the vacant space and towards the exit on the other side. Running outside, he could see a green semi-truck pull away. Sticking out of the trailer was a piece of a green curtain that someone carelessly left out when closing the trailer door.
***
Kimberly and Doug have left the incident behind them. The experience was too bizarre and it was difficult to convince police to believe their story. But Kimberly now insists that after hours activities, behind closed doors, integrate the use of green balloons.

Telluric Communication (the Cableman is busted for texting while driving!)

Hello All:

My fictional character, the Cableman, has come a long way since his conception. Originally a secret persona that my brother and I had created nearly two decades ago when I worked as a cable man; I began writing stories about the Cableman as early as 2008. But he was a bit of a loser and not very likable.

That's when I blew new life into him as some fantasy knight in shining armor who goes into customers’ homes and has his way with lonely women. But the sex stories get old. I believe the Cableman has lived whatever popularity he had with the short stories published to the major book catalogs.

If you've been visiting the blog, then you know that in the past year, I’ve reinvented the Cableman so that he is now the main character in a series of short stories in which he goes through some sort of cosmic transformation to prepare meeting with space aliens and carrying out missions here on Earth. And he's met a cosmic friend along the way named Melissa. She is apparently his partner.

I find this Melissa to be very intriguing in the way she goes about business. I imagine her to be some sort of space-aged sorceress who is striving for cosmic enlightenment. One of the things I find fascinating is her network of hanging Platonic solid sculptures that hang from her deck and blow in the wind. Based on their ever-changing patterns in the wind, Melissa can apparently communicate with those forces and entities beyond the physical realm.

In today's new story, she discusses with the Cableman a mission that must be carried out as communicated through her hanging Platonic solid sculptures. And she teaches the Cableman something new: how to use the Earth's telluric grid to accomplish an impossible technological feat.

Along with the Earth's magnetic grid--buried beneath the surface and spanning throughout the lakes and oceans--is a grid of very, low frequency and voltage.  In the metaphysical world, this telluric grid of low voltage and frequency is connected to the human collective consciousness. Being the case, Melissa can manipulate the telluric grid as a medium for electronic communication. The best part: it's a simple as sending a text message.

Despite how remarkable this new technology is, the Cableman chose to do it while driving in the cable van. He gets busted for texting while driving!

***

Today's story is part of a special series that will bring us to the "season finale" of the past year's Cableman stories. What will happen in the grand finale? Will the Cableman finally get with Jenny Robin? Will he and Melissa finally meet the space aliens that are supposedly en route to Earth?

Incidentally, I announced that I would soon publish a new Cableman story to the major book catalogs titled, How to Get with Jenny Robin. But I'm going to hold off on this. I just might include everything within the past year. Consider it to be "season one" of the Cableman adventures, "How to Get with Jenny Robin".

Telluric Communication (the Cableman is busted for texting while driving!)

It was a Sunday afternoon as the Cableman and his cosmic friend, Melissa, sat in Melissa's family room while discussing business. Now it certainly wasn't uncommon for the two of them to enjoy steamy lovemaking on Sunday afternoons. But Earthly space brothers and sisters who are nearing the end of their conversion process do have missions and legitimate business to take care of, occasionally.

The Cableman took a sip of Melissa’s homemade iced tea as Melissa began the discussion. It pertained to some recent revelations of Melissa's that could very well point to an important Earth mission.

"So..." Melissa sighed. "...I guess you're in love with someone?"

"Huh?" asked the Cableman.

"Originally I thought it was me that you were in love with, but they indicated that you were strongly in love with some other woman." Melissa was speaking of a recent meditational session in which she sat outside on her deck with hanging Platonic solid shapes that blew in the wind. Based on their ever-changing positioning brought on by the wind; extra terrestrials, angels or entities residing in higher dimensions communicated with Melissa.

The Cableman remained silent. He wasn't exactly comfortable mentioning the train wreck that occurred between him and his recent customer, Jenny Robin.

"Well..." Melissa continued. "...aren't you going to talk? Who is it?"

"It was before I met you. It was this customer of mine named Jenny who seemed to be interested in me. But when I put the moves on her, she turned cold."

"She ran away from you?"

"Yes."

"Interesting... Tell me about this experience."

The Cableman spent about ten minutes describing the entire incident to Melissa. Melissa wanted every detail—Jenny Robin's body language and facial expressions; how the Cableman felt while in her house; and the words exchanged that led up to the disaster.

"Hmm... very interesting!" exclaimed Melissa at the end of the account. "Based on the messages I received during my session, you're supposed to create a star child with her."

"A space baby?"

"Yes, an alien hybrid between you and Jenny Robin."

"But how?" asked the Cableman. "She won't have anything to do with me."

Melissa stressed the importance of the assignment. "We have to do this, Cableman. This is our mission. We must impregnate this woman."

"I can't rape her!"

"No one's going to rape anyone, Cableman. It's just time for you to try a different approach. Besides, we've got that spaceship of fellow Lyrans on the way who will surely help us. In the meantime, we need to re-establish your connection with this Jenny lover of yours."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" asked the Cableman.

Melissa reached for her notebook computer and opened it up. "So what's her name? Jenny?"

"Yeah, Jenny Robin."

"As in the bird—robin?"

"Yup."

With that, Melissa typed in the name Jenny Robin which brought her to whitepages.com. "Here's someone by the name of Jenny Robin who lives in the area. She's 24 years old. Is this address where you were at on that fateful day?" Melissa turned the screen towards the Cableman.

"Oh yeah! That's definitely her place!"

Melissa turned the notebook back in her direction. "And her phone number is..." She paused as-if in disbelief. "Now you've got to be kidding me! Look at her phone number!"

The Cableman stretched his neck over. Jenny's listed number was 867-5309. "Wow!" exclaimed the Cableman.

Melissa chimed in. "I mean what's the likelihood of someone by the name of Jenny having that number?" Melissa pulled out her cell phone. "Now this I've got to see!" She dialed the number and waited for a few seconds.

Both the Cableman and Melissa could hear the greeting."Hi, this is Jenny. I'm not available right now, but leave your name and number and I'll get back to you, shortly."

As Melissa quickly ended the call, she glanced over to the Cableman and could see him blushing. "I guess that's her?" she asked.

"Yup!"

Melissa sighed, "Just like they told me; you are definitely in love with this Jenny chick."

Melissa stood up. "Okay, let's go outside to the deck so we can establish contact. You have your cell phone with you, right?"

The Cableman froze. "Umm... yeah... Am I going to call her and leave a message?"

"Just trust me and relax! We have an advanced civilization of extra terrestrial Lyrans helping us."

Once outside, Melissa ordered the Cableman to pull out his cell phone. "Now you're going to send her a text message."

"A text message? I can't send her a text. That number is her home number."

Melissa shook her head a clicked her tongue. "Cableman, you can't think that way anymore. You're in the final stages of your Earthly space brother conversion. You now exist in a universe in which it is possible to send text messages to someone's home number. She'll get it. Oh, the Earth's electric grid will certainly fail in delivering the message as you predict. But the telluric grid which embraces human collective consciousness will vicariously take over and ensure that she receives it."

The Cableman sighed. "Okay..." He entered Jenny's home number in the "To" field. Then he asked, "So what should I tell her?"

"Just say hi! You're only re-establishing the connection. But wait before sending the message.”

The Cableman typed in a simple message, "Hi! :-)" Then he waited as Melissa dictated.

A soft breeze began to stir around them. That's when Melissa ordered, "Now! Send the message now!"

The Cableman pressed the send button. And just as he predicted, an error message was returned, "Error: this message was not successfully delivered." He showed the phone to Melissa and waited.

But Melissa wasn't interested in the error message. Instead, she remained suspended in some trance until a robin flew past the deck and chirped. "That was your confirmation message. Jenny Robin received your text. In some way an event just occurred in which Jenny was reminded of you. She might have even seen or heard the word, hi."

And right Melissa was! Four miles away and in town, Jenny Robin had just stepped out of the hair salon and immediately noticed a cable company van drive through the parking lot. Of course it wasn't the Cableman driving. It was another technician. But it made her think of the Cableman. And a split second after seeing the cable van, a friendly stranger passed Jenny on the sidewalk and greeted her with, "Hi!"

"Hi!" Jenny answered back. But she wasn't interested in the stranger. Her mind was still on the Cableman. She hadn't seen him in a while. Where was the Cableman hiding these days? Would she ever see him again?

Back at Melissa's house, the Cableman was receiving instructions to continue communicating with Jenny Robin this way. "Any time you think of her you type up a text message and then wait for the wind to stir up. Then you send the message. The Earth's telluric grid will ensure that the message is delivered."

"But what about us?" asked the Cableman with a note of concern. "Does this mean that you and I are over?"

"No, we're still partners in our Earthly conversion and missions. You're just in love with Jenny Robin for the time being. You need to create a star child with her. That's our assignment."

"Okay, but what about our Sunday afternoon ritual?"

"Out of the question!" snapped Melissa. "You and I can have no sexual encounters until you make love with Jenny Robin and conceive a star child. That's strict orders from the advanced Lyran civilization that is currently en route to Earth."

The Cableman sighed.

"Sorry!" said Melissa. "I'm going to miss it, too. But there's a time for work and a time for play. You're a cable man. You understand that rule, right?"

"Yeah... I suppose so..." Suddenly, being a space brother wasn't much fun. Poor Cableman! Would he ever be able to successfully seduce the impossible Jenny Robin so that he could enjoy his much-needed sex? How long would he have to wait?

***

Later that evening the Cableman sat outside on his deck while enjoying a glass of mead. Mead, in case you are unaware, is an ancient beverage containing fermented honey. Due to its growing popularity in modern times, many liquor stores now carry it in the wine section. Per Melissa's instructions, the Cableman was to begin regular consumption of mead because of its aphrodisiac properties and its ability to boost sperm count. The Cableman needed to be ready for Jenny Robin!

Of course mead has the same intoxicating effect of wine. And as the Cableman would soon discover, it can make one feel horny. After consuming a glass, the Cableman began to feel those painful yearnings for his precious Jenny Robin.

He picked up his cell phone and opened the thread that contained the original message sent to Jenny Robin. It was time to write more. "Hi, it's me. I guess this is the way I'm supposed to communicate with you for now."

The Cableman paused as Melissa instructed and waited for a sign that it was okay to send. He sat still for nearly a minute until the wind began to stir up the trees around him. That's when he finally pressed the send button.

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

But the Cableman wasn't concerned about the error. He remained still and waited for some sign that confirmed Jenny Robin had received the message.

At that very moment Jenny Robin sat in the family room of her home while watching TV. Suddenly her dog began to bark towards the direction of the forested area in her backyard. It was probably only a raccoon or some other forest animal that the dog spotted.

...Or was it really? Maybe the Cableman finally returned and was actually watching Jenny Robin from the forest with binoculars. Why did he have to be so mysterious? Why couldn't he just come over and visit, or maybe give her a phone call?

The dog barked again. There was definitely someone or something out in those woods!

Back at the Cableman's duplex condo, the neighbor's dog from down the street begin barking. It came right out of stillness and silence, and was definitely a message acknowledging that the Earth's telluric grid had successfully delivered Jenny Robin's text.

The Cableman went inside and poured himself another glass of mead. Tonight was a date in the magick realm with Jenny Robin, and a chance to hopefully correct his negative reputation. He went back outside to the deck, sat down at the table, and then took another sip of mead.

"Sometimes I think sex would be absolutely mind-blowing with you."

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

As Jenny Robin watched TV, a commercial for a movie briefly flashed an erotic scene of two naked lovers who wrestled in bed. That's what the Cableman was supposed to be doing with her. Jenny had fantasized of this often since meeting him.

"Get this!" typed the Cableman in the chat thread. "I understand that you and I are supposed to create a space baby.

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

As Jenny Robin flipped through the channels on TV, she paused at a commercial that advertised the season finale of a creepy sci-fi show. "She was abducted by extra terrestrials early in the season, but little does she know that the fetus growing inside of her is an alien hybrid." High tech special effects revealed a half-human/half-alien baby in the fetus position while floating in deep space.

"What the hell???" screamed Jenny Robin. "A space baby?" She immediately changed the channel.

The Cableman wanted Jenny Robin so bad in that moment. He wanted their naked flesh to touch while he was inside of her, on top of her, smelling her hair and tasting her breath. They would make such incredible love that a child would be conceived.

"I have the magic seed that will impregnate you with a beautiful star child. It's destiny Jenny." he texted.

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

Although Jenny Robin was now watching the news, her mind remained on the Cableman. She speculated that although sex wouldn't be such a bad thing with the Cableman, what if she became pregnant? What if the Cableman had a genetic disorder which resulted in some monster-of-a-child? What if the baby looked like the alien thing on TV a moment ago? Perhaps it was best to stay away from the Cableman.

The Cableman could no longer take it. The mead made him terribly horny, and he wanted Jenny Robin so badly. But what could he do? This time he sent a text message to his cosmic friend, Melissa. "I think this mead is making me horny. Is it okay to masturbate?

A few minutes later, the Cableman received a disheartening message. "That's out of the question! Control yourself! Do not masturbate! You need the energy for when you and Jenny Robin finally have sex."

The Cableman sighed. It was going to be a long night.

***

It was Monday morning as the Cableman stood by his cable van at the cable yard. What better way to start his day than wishing Jenny Robin a hearty good morning? The Cableman opened the chat thread from yesterday and typed in a simple message, "Good morning! Happy Monday! Have a great day!"

He waited for the wind to stir up... he waited... and waited... and waited... Apparently there was to be no wind in the cable yard that morning.

While the Cableman waited, his boss looked out the window and observed all the cable technicians preparing for their routes for the day. But what was this? The Cableman stood motionless and in a daze.

"What's he doing?" shouted the Cableman's boss. He picked up the walkie-talkie and called out over the radio, "Cableman?"

But the Cableman remained motionless while appearing to stare at the sky.

"Cableman!"

Still no response.

"EARTH TO CABLEMAN!"

The final call jolted the Cableman back to reality and even irked him somewhat. He had no choice but to pick up the mic in the van and respond. "Yeah Boss?"

"What the hell are you doing out there, sleeping?"

"No, sorry boss. I was just thinking."

"Thinking? I'm not paying you to think around here. Now get your van loaded and head out for your route."

"Okay Boss! Sorry about that!

Poor Cableman; he was unable to wish Jenny Robin a good morning. Hopefully this incident wouldn't set the course for the day.

Several minutes later the Cableman pulled out of the yard and drove down the main road in town. It was while turning at the intersection that he was suddenly faced by a gust of wind. Maybe that was his sign that it was time to press the send button. The Cableman fumbled for his phone, opened the text screen and finally pressed "Send".

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

But that didn't concern the Cableman. "Okay... Where's my confirmation?"

Immediately the Cableman spotted Jenny Robin in the approaching lane and turning into the bank parking lot. Maybe she was stopping at the ATM before heading to work. Whatever the reason, the Cableman wasted not a moment in doing a u-turn and pulling into the bank parking lot where he pulled into a spot that yielded a view of Jenny Robin performing a transaction at the ATM.

The Cableman texted Jenny, "I see you!"

A gust of wind blew through the window of the cable van which was the indicator to press "Send".

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

But the Cableman didn't care. "Okay, wait for the confirmation."

Suddenly, Jenny Robin turned her head towards the direction of the Cableman and gave him a very, dirty look! She was not happy to see him! Jenny Robin hated the Cableman and wanted nothing to do with him.

"That was my confirmation?" The poor Cableman's feelings were immediately shattered. He watched as Jenny Robin drove around the building to the exit of the parking lot while providing another hateful glare towards the direction of Cableman.

This was not good! Jenny Robin was getting away, and the Cableman had an important mission to fulfill. He immediately drove out of the parking lot and peeled off in the direction towards her. The Cableman picked up his cell phone and typed another text message. "Come-on Jenny. Don't be mad at me. Can't we talk?" He had to continue driving and following after Jenny Robin until the sign was given to press "Send".

A gust of wind finally blew through the cable van which indicated it was okay to send the message.

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

Jenny would get it. She always received the messages. Being the case, the Cableman wasted not a second in typing another text message. "Why do you do this to me? Why do you make me feel that you want me and then run away?"

"Error: this message was not successfully delivered."

The Cableman continued to follow Jenny Robin in his cable van. "I won't give up! I'm on a mission! You and I need to create a space baby!"

But before the Cableman finished typing the message, the sound of a squad car siren could be heard from behind. The Cableman looked in the rearview mirror and was disappointed to see the flashing lights from behind.

"What? I wasn't speeding!" The Cableman had no choice but to pull over to the median and remove his wallet for when the office asked for his driver's license.

A police officer walked over to the driver side door. "Good morning, Sir! greeted the officer. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Uh... I don't know. I wasn't speeding."

"Sir, I saw you swerving on the road several blocks back and thought you were drunk. When I finally caught up to you, I could see you were texting while driving. Sir, that's a serious offense! Do you have idea how many accidents—even fatal ones—that are caused because of texting while driving?"

The Cableman sighed. "I'm sorry officer. It won't happen again."

The officer just shook his head. "Well, I think a $100 fine will help you remember. Can I see your license and registration?"

***

So take it from the Cableman: never, never text while driving!—even if operating in the magick realm and utilizing the telluric grid to deliver your messages. Texting while driving is dangerous, causes accidents and in some instances fatalities. By the time you read this story, the penalty for texting and driving might be heavy fines and/or imprisonment.

Don't be stupid! Wait until your vehicle is stopped before creating a text message or answering one!