(WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? WHY ARE YOU HERE? DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? I really thought that we had discussed this topic several hundred times — THIS is not a BnT story – there is no L character story line – in fact there is no story line at all. This particular piece of rambling literature is just a series of random thoughts I was instructed to write down – keep a journal of sorts about my addiction to L and the fan fic stories -instructed by one of my companys psychiatrists who I have been seeing now for several weeks. Getting treatment for the addiction was a condition of my continued employment as it seems I have been distracted at work and performing my duties in a sub standard manner. Of course that is all bullshit, but if the boss says go see the shrink, I say wheres the office.
You, on the other hand, should be searching the site for your favorite author and that style of drama you so crave. I was thinking that maybe the caretakers of the website might initiate some type of symbol code to identify the author and her style. For example, if you area seeking that mush stuff – true love and romance, maybe a little smiley face in a heart by the authors name as you scroll through the roll. Maybe a Rolling Stone type tongue symbol through the letter Y for all those *****-like ***** slinging writers- yea I like that. Or perhaps a smiley face wearing a stylish fedora pulled down over one eye reminiscent of the old time detectives thus indicating a story full of mystery and intrigue. How about a laugh mask for the funny ones or the sad mask for a story of doom, gloom and remorse. You get the picture – we need a visual to help us remember what each author specializes in and why we like her so much. Anyway, time to turn around before you get caught up in the boredom and non BnT reality and realize that you have somewhere better to be. I know I should not be wasting valuable site space on such trivial writing – I am beginning to feel the need for closure with the good doctor and let this addiction run its course. This has got to end and end soon . . . .


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I was actually feeling pretty sassy as I entered the elevator which would take me to the floor of Dr. Stella Reppss office. For a company psycharist, the good doctor was very nice and very good and very trustworthy. Any paranoia I might have felt about my coworkers was not manifested in THEIR behavior toward me and my condition; but rather that paranoia struck deep and reared its ugly head at home in the presence of my wife and dog.

My little episode with Elvis, Jose (Cuervo) and the haunted bagel scared me plenty. I WAS realizing more and more that I needed help, more than the kind of help K was so adept at giving. Being with and talking to K before seeing Dr. Repp was like cleaning your house before the maid arrived. And even though you clean up you realize that you still need the professional touch only a qualified domestic engineer can provide.

And so it was with the good doctor. Despite Ks therapeutic touch and insightful words of wisdom regarding my addiction, I did realize that a chat with Dr.Repp was necessary.

As I rode the elevator my mind wandered back to yesterdays session with K. After she had found me drunk and Elvis stuffed with cream cheese discussing his role in the Widow Jones untimely demise, she did her best to explain away our alleged involvement in the deaths of our neighbors – those deaths the source of my paranoia fueled by my obsession over comments on the Fan Fic discussion board.

She had made an offer for me to help her work in her shop making pieces of custom designed furniture, but I declined and opted to head to the computer to catch up on some stories. K had told me that my girls had all posted chapters earlier that week and I would be pleased. She was right and I couldnt help but wonder if she was really trying to comfort me or help me satisfy my craving – the paranoia once again trying to break through as I doubted Ks intentions.

K knew how strong my addiction to the stories was and how much I longed for certain writers. And as I sat down in front of the computer and began reading, I could feel the seduction continue – I was drawn to them – I wanted them to tease me and taunt me with their words. I wanted their story lines to fill my imagination with pleasant thoughts of BnT. I wanted them to tantalize and excite me with their vanilla *****. I wanted them to make me wet with their *****-like intense romantic encounters. I wanted the addiction to perpetuate – and I really wasnt sure if I wanted to be cured.

I needed to thank K – thank her for shaping me up and showing me the way – I was going straight to L, with Ks help, and I needed to show my appreciation. I was filled with contentment after reading stories on the site for several hours – and feeling quite high from the chapters of the three amigos. Rubbing my hands together and doing the happy dance, I headed to the workshop to share my joy with K.

I knew she was working and hated to be disturbed, but I was a woman on a mission – she needed to know how I felt. I stopped just outside the door of the shop which was attached to our two car garage – it was huge and smelled of freshly cut wood. K was a bit of a weirdo when it came to her work – the shop was always a mess, wood shavings everywhere, half finished creations in every corner and ***** Christmas music blaring through the six-speaker system she installed no matter what time of year. I leaned against the door frame and silently watched her work her magic – her hands were rough and weathered – dirt and wood seemingly imbedded in the life lines of her palms. Sometimes when we made love she would soak her fingers with her own juices and offer them to me -slowly and sensually tracing my lips as she whispered her intentions. When I licked them clean I could almost taste cedar, and oak and ash — it was so ***** hot that I didnt seem to care what she whispered. No wonder I loved hanging around the woods so much.

I watched as she worked the lathe and shaped a small piece of wood which was to be the leg of a chair she was building. Her hands rubbing and smoothing the piece of wood after each pass of the tool – gawd I wanted to be that piece of wood. And as I watched I knew just what she needed – a little relaxation in the country.

I went back to the house and donned my bibs, grabbed the chainsaw on the way back through the garage, turned off the music for the moment and asked in my thickest southern, blue collar accent . . Hey baybe . . Need a little work done up there in the north forty – maybe cut down some of the cornstalks – Ill grab the john deere and give you a ride youll never ferget . . .

K thinks my tractors *****.

She stopped working, wiped her hands on her painter pant shorts and eyed me up one side and down the other. Im sure she liked what she saw – me, nekked underneath, in nothing but a pair of ragged bib overalls, the front panel hooked only on one side, the open side exposing one of several tattoos I sport. K likes to try to lick them off just to be sure they are permanent. I had on my steel-toed work boots – untied – no socks – pant legs rolled up about 6 inches. A red bandana dangled from my back pocket and the chainsaw was slung over my shoulder. The buttons on each side of my hips were open – revealing my farmers tan – a product of working in the sun with a delivery uniform on.

I just wanted to thank you for turning me on, I said ever so slyly raising my eyebrows up and down. turning me on to my girls on the Fan Fic site. SHE was wonderful as usual and THE OTHER ONE never fails to deliver. And that #3 just completes the trifecta, babe. So I thought I should show you how grateful I am. Maybe you could put your hair in pigtails and do that farmers daughter thing you do – gawd that makes me hotter that Georgia asphalt, baybe.

Without saying a word, K shooed Elvis out of the wood shop, shut the door and laid out several lounge chair cushions on the floor. Good thing – I didnt want to have to miss work and explain to my boss that my wife is making me ***** all over the wood chips in her shop and I got shavings in places I wasnt sure they would find their way into – thats why Im walking funny and cant work today – no, dont want to explain that one to him.

K sat down on the cushions and stripped off her sweat soaked tank top, white of course. Carrying the chainsaw in ready position, I stood over her, straddling her hips and was just about to pull the starter when she warned me . .

If you drip gasoline in here and we spontaneously combust in this fire trap of a studio and burn the place to the ground, I ***** swear I will kill you if you dont burn to death first. I reached up and turned on the sounds of the season and pulled the starter of the chainsaw, I was sssoooo NOT afraid of her. That VVRROOMMM VVRROOOMMM sound of the saw was about to make the both of us crazy – the vibrating power of all those horses between me hands– K leaning back on her elbows, legs spread mouthing the words to Old McDonal Had Farm- believe you me, Santa Clause wasnt the only one cumming to town !! – eeee iiiiiii eeeeee iiiiii ooooooo !

Yea, I couldnt help but smile to myself as I continued to ride the elevator to Dr. Repps floor. K definitely makes lovin fun. And what she was doing with me still remains a mystery despite her repeated efforts to explain away our relationship. Perhaps that would be a good topic to bring up to the doctor shrink.

As I neared my destination, the elevator made one more stop and low and behold who should board but the lovely Mrs. Dr. Graves, the wife of one of the areas leading gynecologists. As she entered the car and saw me standing there, she quickly turned to face front and move as far away from me as possible. Before she shunned me I politely nodded hello to no response.

We rode together for a mere two floors and as she exited, feeling the sassiness overtake me, I shot a parting remark.

You look great, Mrs. Graves, I said. That penicillin works wonders on those types of sexually transmitted diseases, doesnt it

As the elevator doors closed I swear the demure and elegant Mrs. Graves waved goodbye to me with her middle finger.

I exited the next floor and eagerly entered Dr. Repps office. I was anxious to discuss the paranoia incident, the reluctance to wanting to be cured, Ks therapy, and let her know that I know she is ***** in that oh so subtle Beach-like way of mine. Yea, The good doctor may be helping me alright, but she is going to spill and dish about herself as well. – she was going to be led to L one way or another . No doubt I could make her do it . . .I truly believe she knows who her daddy is and wants that kept quiet.

The one thing I really like about this doctor was her genuine enthusiasm about seeing me, and her other patients as well I am sure. No matter what time I came to her office – 10 minutes early, 20 minutes late, or right on time, she was always there at the door to greet me, to shake my hand, to touch my shoulder, to be the first to say Hello. and she looked fabulous today – gawd she wanted me I was sure of it. I needed to be careful in word and deed.–she was a seductress – a master analyzer- so cunning and clever at making the light bulb go off in my head and helping me find my way. Why I was so adamant about resisting her some of the time is inexplicable.

Doc, you look absolutely ravishing today, I remarked as she lead me into the office and offered me my choice of couch or chair – I chose chair. I saw no sign of adorable embarrassment – I persisted. That white tank top you are wearing under your suit jacket is an excellent compliment to the ensemble.

Why, this ol thing? she answered in a mock southern accent ! She was great — totally got me and played along – definitely a tough nut to crack – my mission just a little more difficult but not impossible.

Thank you, Beach, and I must say that you look quite the professional yourself in that uniform. (~~MORON ~~ GAWD SHE IS GOOD~~).

Thanks Doc. And I must say that I am feeling as good as I look today. Something happened yesterday at the house which scared me straight – almost -but I was able to figure some things out and I feel like I am getting a little bit of control over this addiction.

Excellent, Beach, I am so happy to hear that. But before you tell me all about it, lets quickly discuss your job, keeping in mind that is why you are here – to help you be a better person and productive worker. So how are things at the office and on the street?
Any incidents to report?

I was happy to discuss my job as I definitely saw improvement in my ability to handle working and feed the addiction. Following the dr.s instructions, I have been able to be on time to work, have had better concentration and am making performance standards. Definitely making progress in that department.

Dr. Repp was pleased as well and then encouraged me to talk about what had happened at the house yesterday. After a few minutes of relating the details of my drunken encounter with the bagel, the dog and K, I saw a window of opportunity and decided to make a move.

and then K told me all my favorites and posted chapters and I headed to the computer for a fix. I am sure by now you have read some of the stories, maybe even read them with your woman, your young blonde woman, late at night, together, while you two are lying in bed after catching the latest rerun of the L Wordor in between her writing legal briefs or something.

The good doctor had been taking notes in between making eye contact and verbally agreeing with me as I told my tale. But my mention of her and her girlfriend made her stop writing, remove her glasses and just stare at me as if I were some kind of moron – a look I was quite used to.

I was raising my eyebrows and smirking as I waited for her response knowing now that she knew I knew that she knew I knew about her and her lawyer friend, her young, blonde, ruthless lawyer wife.

Oh my god, Beach, your scenario is so eerily accurate, she exclaimed with a very detectable insincere and sarcastic tone. I cant believe it. Its like you were there, right in our bedroom, how did you ever know?

We locked gazes for a few moments before we both, simultaneously laughed out loud, breaking any tension, real or imagined that had seeped into the conversation.

You know, these sessions are about you, Beach, you are the focal point, the highlight, the only topic to be discussed. I am flattered that you are interested in my life, but that subject is off limits during your time. I am sure that you can appreciate and respect that rule of thumb.

Oh, I am sorry doc, I was just hoping to have a little two way conversation instead of my dishing out my problems the entire hour. Didnt mean to break any code of ethics or step on your toes or anything. My bad, I apologize. (~~SHE WAS PUTTY IN MY HANDS – I HAD HER RIGHT WHERE I WANTED HER . . . HA! ~~)

No harm, no foul. Ok, I have a few tasks for you I want you to take on over the next two weeks. You are making progress and I dont think I need to see you next week, two weeks will be good.

She handed me a paper with the assignments and I momentarily froze, reading and reading her proposal. She wants me to dish on the three amigos !!! To come clean and tell all about my favs – – OH MY GAWD – – betraying them was something I dont know if I could do – but I have two weeks to figure something out.

I folded the paper up and put it in my shirt pocket. As I stood up to go, I thanked the good doctor Stella Repp and said, Ya know doc, I have always been dependent upon the kindness of strangers. Your kindness is healing and appreciated.

She looked at me and smiled and shook her head just a little, Well, BLANCHE, I am happy to be of service,

We both laughed at the StreetCar Named Desire reference – she so gets me — and she walked me to the door and told me she would see me in a few weeks.

That sassy feeling I had when I was riding up the elevator to her office intensified as I rode down knowing that I had a pretty good session with the doc. The only thing that could break my mood was the sound of screeching tires as I exited the office building, followed by the inevitable THUD upon contact.

A number of people ran towards the sound and the accident, I being one of them. There on the ground was dirty, ragged homeless man lying motionless, his arm over his eyes. As we all approached him, he sat up, sobbing and saying over and over again . . my dog, my dog, he hit my dog.

The mans dog, lying dead as road kill on its back, feet straight up in the air, was actually a oppossum on the end of a leash, blue bandana around his neck. I felt a twinge of sorrow for the man as all his worldly possessions were scattered on the ground around him and his dead dog Homer.

I walked over to him and told him everything would be OK. I noticed how the crowd had thinned and people were now stepping over and around us without offering assistance. A police officer approached the scene and I was relieved to see it was a friend who could be of some real assistance.

Hey Peg, whats up? I greeted her by extending my hand. I was hoping maybe you could get this guy to the shelter – his dog got hit by a car and hes pretty upset.

Peg was an ex of mine, one of the few women I kept close after a relationship. She definitely lacked the sense of humor necessary to endure with me, but I loved her just the same. She said no problem with helping the man and I went to tell him.

Whats your name, bud?

Jesus he replied (~~OF COURSE IT IS I THOUGHT~~)

:You mean like Hey Suess, I asked, hoping I misunderstood him.

No, he said more emphatically. Its Jesus, like GEEZ US. He looked me in the eye as Peg walked up to escort him away and I felt sense of peace and fear as I thought that maybe he really was Jesus and I was looking for answers in all the wrong places.

He shot an understanding glance over his shoulder as he walked away and waved thank you. I started to cry as I crossed the street on my way to work without knowing why.



T B C . . . .