New Story: Farblondjet

[Reeza]

This is a sequel to my previous story, Tall Tale. If you haven?t read it, I suspect your experience of reading Farblondjet will be very different compared to those who know what happened in Tall Tale. I think this story can stand on it?s own, but I can?t decide whether to recommend reading the previous story before this one. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: Part of this story depicts a sexual assault that is described as an inappropriate expression of a character?s anger. Those of you who might be offended by it are warned to stop reading here.

Farblondjet - Session 1
by Reeza

Night is falling over the tired city as I look out at the office buildings, bridges, factories and billboards. Most of the workers have gone home by now to argue with their wives, disappoint their children, and wonder what happened to the dreams they had years ago. Those who are still in the street below are coming and going from restaurants and bars, talking too loudly, trying to remember where they parked, going home with all the wrong people. A chill in the air threatens to kill all the leaves if they don?t give up the green and surrender to Autumn. There are a million souls out there with more than a million stories, and I feel like I?ve heard every one of them. Nothing surprises me anymore. Nothing shocks me. I?m a psychologist.

I?m the last one in the office, as usual. My partners and the staff are at home with their families while I stay here to see the people who want evening appointments. Might as well. No one?s waiting for me at home. Just that layer of dust on all the furniture. I?ve been meaning to do something about that other than writing "dust me" with my finger on the dining room table. I?m waiting for a new patient, the last one of the day. Our secretary, Phyllis, told me he sounded kind of desperate, like he needed to talk soon before he changed his mind. I trust her judgement. She?s a crusty old broad with a gift for reading the tone of a voice on the phone. She knows what they need, no matter what they tell her, and she said this guy needed to be seen tonight. She knew I didn?t have plans. "Unless you?re headed out to the bars to get laid for once in your life," she said to me.

I smiled. Her joke was in the extreme unlikeliness of the suggestion. I replied. "No, Phyl. But when you clear the cobwebs out of your crotch, feel free to lecture me again." We have that kind of rapport. She laughed her husky smoker?s laugh and said goodnight while I read over her notes from the phone call.

Paul Weber. Twenty years old. No address, no phone number. Strange; she usually gets that right up front. No employment listed. No health insurance - will pay cash. Great! I?ll probably get stiffed. No medical conditions. No prior psychiatric treatment. Well, this is a ton of information, Phyl! Presenting problem: relationships, sexuality, body image. Oh, let me guess - another angst-filled college boy trying to deny that he?s gay. She always sends me those guys. Body image? Either a hundred pounds overweight or a sack of chicken bones. At least it won?t require too much mental effort. Way down at the bottom of the page Phyl scribbled one more word: ?Farblondjet!? It?s Yiddish. I haven?t seen that for a while. It means mixed-up, lost, confused. My father used it as an informal diagnosis for some of his patients. When Phyl was his secretary, Yiddish was like a second language in the office, and I grew up hearing expressions like that every day. Good times, long ago.

I hear the chime from the waiting room door. Must be the farblondjet boy. At least he?s on time.

I walk out of my office and down the hall to the waiting area. Holy shit! The guy standing in the middle of the room is exceptionally tall. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I?m here to see Dr. Meyer." Deep voice, handsome kid, tanned, blonde.

It takes me a few seconds to answer because I?m stunned. "Yes! That?s me. Ron. Ron Meyer. You must be Paul." I put my hand out and it gets swallowed up in his huge mitt. Tight handshake, warm, a little damp. First timers are usually nervous. "Uh, c?mon in. My office is down here." I lead the way, conscious of his towering presence behind me. I feel nervous. Why am I nervous? I wasn?t expecting someone so . . . big. And good looking. He ducks his head to get through the doorway and I gesture towards the big leather couch against the wall. "Have a seat, Paul."

"Am I supposed to lie down on this thing, cuz I don?t think. . ."

"No, no. We don?t do that anymore. Just have a seat." Good thing it?s a big couch. He?s wearing baggy jeans and an oversized shirt that hangs off his wide, square shoulders. Why do these kids wear everything so big? He seems to have an athletic build from what I can see. Not someone I would expect to have problems with his body image. I sit down in my usual chair with my notepad and pen, and I state the obvious. "You must be a basketball player."

"No."

Huh? "I mean . . . I don?t mean a professional, I mean for school, or for fun."

"Nope."

"I just assumed because you?re so . . . tall, I . . ."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. I don?t play basketball." He sounds a little annoyed.

"I?m sorry, I shouldn?t have assumed." Bad beginning. "Before we get started, I noticed our secretary didn?t get an address or phone number from you. She must have forgot to ask . . ."

"No, she asked. I just didn?t want to give it. Why do you need that?" Very guarded.

"For billing purposes, in case we need to contact you."

"You won?t have to bill me. I?ll pay in cash." Sure you will.

"Um, it?s pretty expensive. I don?t know if Phyllis told you . . ."

"Yeah, a hundred and eighty dollars, I know." He pulls a wad of money out of his jeans. "Here?s two hundred." He hands me two bills. He has money?

"I . . . I don?t have change, I didn?t think you . . ." The bills are warm from his pocket.

"You didn?t think I would pay? Or you don?t want me to pay? Definitely annoyed. This is weird. Just take it, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks. Do you want a receipt?"

"Nah, forget it. Listen, Doc, I never did this before, and I?m not sure I believe in this stuff. But that lady, Phyllis, said you were good, so I?m gonna give it a shot. But I?m not promising anything." He?s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest. Big arms for such a tall guy. Thick. Not skinny at all.

"That?s fine, I understand. Let me tell you how this goes. In this first meeting I just get your basic information, your history, an idea of what?s going on in your life, you know . . . a million questions." I smile. I usually get a smile back at this point, but I get a blank stare. Kind of intimidating. "Phyllis said you wanted to talk about relationships, sexuality, and . . . something about body image. Is that right?"

"Well, that?s not how I put it, but she got most of what I meant. She kinda talked me into coming." That?s our Phyl.

"Yeah, she?s good at that. Well before we get into those things, let me get some background on you. Tell me about your family, where you grew up . . ."

"Shit. Do we have to go over that? Why do you need to know this stuff?" Jeez, he?s touchy. Like a lot of guys who don?t want to be here. Reserved. Skeptical.

"It?s pretty standard. It helps me to know something about your history."

"So you can blame my parents for everything? Isn?t that what you guys do?" A flash of blue eyes, challenging me already.

"No! Well, sometimes, but . . . can you just give me a brief summary?" He?s making me nervous.

"Fine. I grew up on a farm. Only child. Two parents." No eye contact. That?s brief.

"What about school? Did you . . ."

"I was home schooled by my Mom after I turned 14." I jot down a few notes. One of his knees is bouncing.

"Okay. So . . . no siblings and no school. Sounds kind of lonely." Empathy.

"Yeah?" Nothing else. He doesn?t want to go there. Better move on for now.

"And when did you move to the city?" Focus on the present.

"About a year ago, a year and a half." Still not looking at me. But I?m looking at him. Long legs. Well shaped.

"You came here for college?" What else?

"No. I?m not in college." He glances up and catches me looking at his body. Shit!

"You?re not? I assumed . . . I guess I should stop assuming things, huh?" I smile. Am I blushing?

"Yeah." No smile. Like he?s warning me. You?re not in control here.

"So where do you work? What do you do?" He?s looking right at me now, but I pretend to be focused on my notes. I realize I can?t ask much more before he loses patience with this. What?s he thinking?

"Odd jobs. I work at a bar. I do some work for my landlord. I pick up stuff wherever I can." Pretty vague.

"A bar? What do you do there?" Which bar? Wait . . . what am I thinking?

"Like I said - odd jobs. Do I get to do any talking here? Or are you just going to keep asking questions?" I?m losing him.

"Right! Let?s get to the meat, I mean the main reason you?re here. What do you want help with?" Try to salvage this.

He?s quiet for a long minute. Choosing words. "I think I fuck with people too much. I?m sorry, can I say ?fuck??"

Yes, please. "Sure. Just talk the way you normally would. So what do you mean by that?" Isn?t it obvious?

"Like . . . head games." Oh. "People act weird around me because of, you know . . . the way I look. It seems like they want me to be a certain way, so I play along, like . . . flirting. Sometimes it?s fine, and nobody gets hurt. But it doesn?t always go the way I expect. And sometimes it?s pretty bad." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. People flirt with him. I?m not surprised.

"Can you give me an example?" How does he react to it?

"Well . . . a couple weeks ago I met this guy, Greg, and . . . it was different. I never felt like that with a guy before. It was so fucked up!" I knew it. He?s gay. Let?s see how long it takes to get it out of him. I write down the name ?Greg.?

"How was it different?" He looks uncomfortable now. Vulnerable.

"He hit me." Huh? "Nobody ever did that before. I liked it." What? He?s still looking at the floor, hands tightly clasped.

"Wait a minute, this guy hurt you? And you liked it." Don?t judge him.

He lets out a small laugh. "Nah, he didn?t hurt me. The fact that he stood up to me - that was different. I was fucking with him the whole time we were together. He even said so. I thought we were just having fun, but something went wrong. I know people don?t understand what they?re getting into with me, but . . . I don?t always know what I?m doing either. So, I ended up hurting him." He leans back into the couch and crosses his arms again. I?m lost.

"I?m not following you, Paul. What . . . ?" Does he flirt with guys and then beat them up?

"It was sort of an accident, but, still, I hurt him." Like a homophobic reaction? "I won?t lie to you, Doc . . . I fucked up some other guys when I thought they deserved it. But this was different. That?s why I?m here. I need to have more control over myself." He looks up, checking to see how I?m taking this. I have no idea what he?s talking about.

My look is blank, as usual. I?ve had years to practice that look. This is more interesting than I expected. In more ways than one. "Well, let me ask you this, Paul. Does this confusion ever happen with women?" A more direct approach.

"Women? No. I mean, they flirt and act weird around me, but it never goes anywhere."

"And why do you think it never goes any further?" Come on . . . think about it.

"Because I?m gay." He?s looking at me like I?m stupid. What the fuck? "I thought you knew. I talked about it on the phone with that lady, Phyllis, for like, half an hour."

Phyl! God dammit! Wait till I get my hands on her throat! "Uh, no. She didn?t share that with me. Sorry about the confusion." She?s probably sitting at home laughing about this. "It sounds like you had quite a chat. Was there anything else she ?forgot? to tell me?" I write ?Kill Phyl!? in the margin of my note pad.

"We didn?t get into all the details or the weird stuff. She said I should save that for you." Weird stuff? "But she kept asking me if I was eating enough."

"Yeah, she?s Jewish. She can?t help it. She does the same thing to me."

"Well I eat a lot, so she was happy." He uncrosses his arms and spreads them along the back of the sofa, spanning the entire length. God, he?s big! I bet he eats like a horse.

"Okay, Paul, let?s back up." I?m so confused. "How long have you known you?re gay?"

"Um, I don?t know . . . since I was about fifteen, I guess." He looks more relaxed now.

"And you?re comfortable with it?" I notice the shape of his chest under his shirt. Nice!

"Yeah. Are you?" He?s looking me right in the eyes. What?s he asking me?

"Yes, I have a lot of gay clients." Is it hot in here? "So, earlier, you were saying you ?fuck with people.?" Might as well use his language. "I don?t understand what you mean by that."

"It?s like this, Doc. Ever since I moved to the city I noticed the way people react to me. I?m a big guy, so most people are intimidated by that. I know I?m good looking, so that adds to it. But there?s more. I have this, sort of, power over people. They want me . . . and they?ll do anything for me." Well! I guess we won?t have to work on self-esteem. "On top of that, I?m really strong, so if I?m not getting what I want, I can just take it." What?s this now? "That?s when I end up hurting people. It?s hard not to take advantage of it when it?s so easy, you know? I was nineteen and horny as hell when I came here. Still am. Like a kid in a candy store with an unlimited budget." That?s . . . grandiose. "So when I say I fuck with people, I mean I take advantage of all that to get what I want. And I haven?t even got to the weird stuff yet." Oh, really?

"Hang on a second, Paul. I?m missing something. You seem pretty comfortable with your appearance, so, what was this you mentioned about ?body image? when you were talking to Phyllis?"

"Like I said, that?s not how I put it. But the words kind of fit, so I didn?t disagree with her. It?s hard to explain . . . hard to believe." He looks down at his body, like he?s checking himself out. I take the opportunity to perform a professional assessment of his crotch, looking for possible shortcomings. Nope - that?s not it! Not by a longshot.

"Just tell me whatever you feel comfortable with, and I?ll do my best to understand." I think I?ve heard everything by now. How weird could it be?

"This is all confidential, right? You can?t tell anyone what I tell you?" He leans forward again.

"That?s right. Nothing gets shared outside our office without your permission."
"Good, cuz I don?t want too many people to know about this. Like Greg . . . I still don?t know why I told him. That?s another thing that was different. I told him a bunch of stuff . . ."

"I?m sure we?ll get to all of that eventually." C?mon! Tell me the weird stuff!

"Alright. I guess I?ll just come out with it, then . . . I can change my body. I eat a ton of food, as much as I want, and I can either store it up and get stronger, or use it to make my muscles bigger, as big as I want them to be. I just have to focus on them, and they get bigger." He looks embarrassed. That?s it?

"You mean you work out. Like bodybuilding."

"No, that doesn?t work for me. It burns off the energy and makes my muscles smaller. That?s how I got down to this size. I?ve been keeping a low profile, not eating as much lately, mostly storing the potential." He puts one of his hands on his flat stomach and rubs it a little.

"I see." No I don?t. I write down the word ?potential.?

"I wish I could make myself shorter, too, but I can?t. I guess that?s one thing I don?t like about my body: I?m too tall. That?s what you mean by ?body image,? right? Other than that it?s pretty cool, I like it." His tone is ordinary, matter of fact. "And the ability to mess with people?s heads is endless, you know what I mean? They see my muscles growing, but they don?t believe it?s really happening. So they?re confused, or scared even, but they can?t take their eyes off me, and I can do pretty much whatever I want with them."

"Mm hmm." I?m nodding. Shit. He?s delusional. I didn?t see this coming.

"And my strength surprises people, too. Especially when I?m not really huge." He runs his hands up and down his long limbs, feeling them under the fabric of his oversized clothes.

Young people with this kind of illness are the most tragic patients. He?s probably facing a lifetime of anti-psychotic medication, and always feeling different and isolated. Without changing my facial expression, I rethink my strategy. At this point, the best approach is to go along with it, to empathize, and to understand the private logic of his delusion before I challenge it. "I can see how that would interfere with relationships. It must be difficult being so different from other people." I make eye contact.

"Yeah. I guess so. I don?t usually think of it that way, but you?re right." A long pause. "You know, Phyllis was right about you, Doc. You?re okay. I thought you?d try to lock me up or something, but I bet you hear a lot of weird stuff." He smiles and relaxes into the couch again. Such a beautiful guy. What a shame.

I need to know if he?s dangerous. "So, let?s talk about how you hurt people since that seems to be bothering you the most. How bad does it get?"

"Well, a lot of times it?s accidental. Because I?m so strong I forget how easy it is to hurt normal guys. That?s how it was with Greg. But it gets out of control when I?m angry, or when I wanna teach somebody a lesson, like with the stupid frat boys in my neighborhood." I write ?frat boys? in my notes. I wanna hear that story. "But I guess the worst thing I?ve ever done was with Mike, the guy I work for at the bar. Not that he didn?t deserve it. But still . . ." He goes quiet while I wait for him to continue.

"You wanna tell me about it?" I need to get it out of him.

"I?m not proud of it, but I guess that?s what I?m here for. Mike was such a fuckin? asshole. At first I thought he was okay. His bar is in my neighborhood, and I was walking past it real early one morning while he was out front sweeping up some broken glass. It looked like there?d been a fight because the front window was busted out. So he saw me coming down the street and he asked me if I needed a job. He was looking for a big guy to stand around the doorway at night and keep the troublemakers under control. I fit the bill, so he gave me a job. During the day I hauled in his shipments of booze and did whatever needed to be done. He didn?t pay me much, but it was in cash and I was glad to have a job. He was kind of a prick from the start, though."

"How so?" My eyes are wandering over Paul?s body again. I can see what he means about the way people react to him. What would I be willing to do for him?

"Well, for one thing, he always called me ?faggot.? He didn?t know I?m gay, but that was just the way he talked to people. If you worked for him, you had to put up with shit like that. That was his attitude. He had to know I could pound him into the ground if I wanted to, but he needed to be the tough guy. Actually, he?s pretty big by most standards. Six-two, maybe. He used to do some boxing, so he works out at one of those old-school gyms. Not bad looking, either. He gets a lot of attention from women until they get to know him."

"So he?s straight?" No more guessing on that subject.

"Oh, yeah. ?One hundred and ten percent straight!? he likes to say. So anyway, there was this woman who worked there waiting tables. She was nice, I liked her. Mike liked her, too, but she wouldn?t give him the time of day. She was good at her job, she dealt with the usual crap from the customers, and she put up with a lot of shit from Mike, like we all did. But she drew a line with him and wouldn?t let him cross it. One day before the bar was open I was bringing in cases of beer from the back entrance and I found him on top of her in the storage room. He had his hand over her mouth, and from the look on her face I knew he was raping her. His bare ass was pumping up and down. He has a leprechaun tattooed on it. That?s one of those things I wish I could get out of my head, you know?"

I?ve always hated leprechauns. "So what did you do, Paul?"

"I dropped the cases of beer I was carrying. Big crash. He was startled, so he rolled off her and looked up at me. ?Ah, it?s you, faggot!? he says. ?I?m glad you?re here to see this. You need to learn how to handle a woman.? He was smiling. She covered herself up and dragged herself away from him. I told her to leave, to go home or get help or whatever. He got up and tried to stop her. When I stood in his way, he got in my face and said, ?What are ya gonna do to me, ya pansy-ass faggot?!? And that?s when I lost it." He stops, not sure he wants to continue.

"What do you mean, you ?lost it.?" I hope he beat the shit out of him.

"I lost my temper. I had a lot of potential built up." There?s that word again. "And I let it out."

"You mentioned this ?potential? earlier . . . what?s it like when you ?let it out??" His delusion probably kicks in when he?s overwhelmed by stress. It's like a coping mechanism.

"I grabbed his shirt and lifted him off the floor with one hand." Uh huh. "I?ll never forget the look on his face. His pants were still undone and they fell down around his ankles, and his boxers hung on his thighs, so he couldn?t move his legs enough to kick me. He wrapped his hands around my wrist and started yelling. ?Leggoa me ya fuckin? faggot so I can kick yer ass! Who the fuck do ya think yer dealin? with, ya big fuckin? freak?? He called me a ?freak.? So I said to him, ?You wanna see somethin? freaky, Mike?? Then I held him out at arm?s length, off to one side, and I let that built up potential flow into my muscles, all at once. Not the slow growth I usually go for . . . no. I just bulked up, huge, all over the place." Like that comic book character, the Hulk! That must be where he got the idea. "My upper body grew so fast it split my shirt open, and Mike?s eyes nearly popped out of his head. It feels so fuckin? great to let it out like that. It scared the shit out of him."

I can see the appeal of his delusion. He imagines himself as a super hero, bringing evildoers to justice. It helps him feel better about bad situations. And it?s the sexiest delusion I?ve ever heard! I?m tempted to ask for a more detailed description. It beats the hell out of the guy who thinks he controls the weather, or that woman who was impregnated by an alien. "So your muscles get really big, and then what happens?"

"I asked him why he raped her. He was afraid of me now, obviously, but he still wanted to be the tough guy. He wouldn?t give it up. He said she wanted it, that she wanted him all along but was playing hard to get . . . the usual shit you hear from creeps like that. So I decided to fuck with him, but not like I do with other guys. I wanted to teach him a lesson. I set him down in the corner of the room where he couldn?t get away from me, and I started to unbutton my jeans." Hmm. That?s not what the Hulk would do. "I started to tell him what a sexy guy he was, and that I could barely control myself around him. He hated that and started to yell at me again. ?Jesus Christ! Ya are a fuckin? faggot, aren?t ya? I knew there was somethin? funny about ya. Yer a sick, disgusting freak!? On and on like that. By the time I pulled my dick out of my pants he was practically foaming at the mouth. I said, ?I know you want me, Mike. I can tell from the way you look at me. Just admit it.? Oh, man! I thought he was gonna have a stroke."

I have to ask. "Were you sexually attracted to him, Paul? Or were you just saying that to upset him?" This is an elaborate story. I suppose part of it might be true.

"Oh, God no! I was just pushing his buttons, and it was working so well that he started punching me in the gut. Remember, he was a boxer, so he knew how to throw a punch. And I wasn?t prepared for it."

"Isn?t that what Greg did?" He said he liked that. This question seems to catch him by surprise. I can see he?s thinking about it. I could look into those blue eyes for hours.

"You know . . . it?s funny, because I thought of Mike when Greg did that. But it was different. Mike wanted to hurt me. Greg knew he couldn?t hurt me, but he did it anyway. It?s hard to explain why, but it was definitely different."

This guy is really trying to figure things out. He could be a good client. I hope I see a lot of him. "That?s okay, we?ll come back to that later. So what happened after Mike punched you?"

"Well, even though I wasn?t prepared for it, my stomach was pretty thick with muscle, so it probably hurt him more than me. But it pissed me off. I grabbed him and spun him around, pinning his arms in front of his body while he struggled with me. My naked dick was smack up against his back, and you can guess how he reacted to that. ?Get your filthy dick off me, ya God damned queer! I?ll kill ya! I swear ta God, I?ll kill ya!? His struggling just made things worse because my dick started to get hard. I was so angry about what he did to that waitress, I thought, ?I should fuck him.? It seemed like the perfect punishment - to know what it feels like to be raped." Paul looks at me. I can see he?s not happy with himself.

"What did you do?" I hope he didn?t really do it.

"I fucked him."

Shit. I notice that my heart is beating harder than it should.

"I wasn?t careful with him either. I picked him up with my right hand around the back of his neck and the left one holding his knees together with his boxer shorts." He spreads out his hands to demonstrate the position. His arms are actually long enough to make this believable. But the strength that would take - it?s not possible. "I just folded him in half with his ass pointing towards me. He was screaming and spitting until I pressed his thighs so hard up against his chest he could barely breathe. Then I pushed my dick into his ass. It wasn?t even completely hard, but it was hard enough to penetrate him. Needless to say, it was his first time, and I?m big, so it had to hurt. His face was purple, and his eyes were bugging out, but I just kept on pushing. The farther I went, the bigger and harder I got. I won?t say I enjoyed it . . . but my dick was responding, the way it always does. I could feel things inside of him moving out of the way. I knew there would be damage, but I went all the way in. And then I came. It felt wrong, though. Not good. When he felt me coming inside him, I saw the look in his eyes . . . and I already regretted it."

Damn! What can I say to that? It?s all so vivid, but it can?t be true.

"When I pulled out of him there was a lot of blood, and he was in pain. I laid him on the floor and he curled up. I offered to call a doctor or take him somewhere, but he just shook his head and didn?t say a word. He didn?t even look at me. Eventually I carried him upstairs to his apartment above the bar and put him in his bed. I kept the bar closed while he recovered, made sure he had food, and watched him go through a whole case of whiskey. We never talked about it. We just had an understanding that there were secrets that needed to be kept between us. And we?ve had an understanding ever since."

"You still work for him?" Unbelievable!

"Yeah, technically he?s still my boss, but things have been a lot different. I wish I could say he?s a better man, but all I can say for sure is that he?s not the same. I?ve changed since then, too. I feel older, like I?m not a kid anymore, but I don?t feel like an adult, either. I don?t know what I?m doing."

I wait for a long time to see if there?s more, and to think of what to say next. He?s sitting with his arms crossed again. I realize he?s waiting for me to say something helpful. The best I can do is something vague, but with empathy. "That?s quite a story, Paul. I?m sure it wasn?t easy to tell." Now what? In my head I try to sort out parts of the story that could be true from the things that aren?t possible. Why would he want to believe he has these crazy abilities? "It sounds like you wanted justice. You wanted Mike to be punished."

"Yeah, definitely."

"What happened to the waitress? Did she go to the police?"

"I don?t think so. I think she left town, but she mailed me a note at the bar. It just said, ?Thanks Paul,? with her name at the bottom, no return address. I still have it."

"So the only justice Mike was going to get had to come from you?"

"The way it turned out, yeah."

"You know, Paul, as you were telling that story I was reminded of that comic book character, the Hulk. Are you familiar with that?"

"You mean that cheesy movie about the big green guy?"

"Well, yeah, but it was a comic book before it was a movie. And a TV show." He?s too young.

"I wasn?t allowed to have comic books. But what about it?"

"I was just wondering if you ever thought about being like the Hulk. You know . . . getting angry, growing bigger, kicking some ass." Wow, that sounds stupid coming out of my mouth! He?s just staring at me like he can?t believe what I?m saying. I can?t believe what I?m saying. "It would be nice, sometimes, to be able to do what the Hulk does, right?"

He looks bewildered. "No. I think it?s stupid." He?s squinting at me like I?m the crazy one here. "Why does he turn green? And why would it only happen when he?s angry? He should be able to do it all the time, like normal . . . I mean, like me. I know I?m not normal." He pauses, looking like wheels are turning in his head. "Wait a minute . . . you know the Hulk isn?t real, right, Doc?" This isn?t going well.

"Of course I know he?s not real! I also know that parts of your story aren?t real, Paul." Crap! That?s too much, too soon.

"Parts of my story . . . Oh! . . . Oh, I get it now. You think I?m making it up. No, wait . . . you think I?m crazy! Wow, that?s it! You think I?m pretending to be the Hulk in my head. Wow!"

This could be bad for our therapeutic relationship.

"You know, Doc, I should?ve seen this earlier. I thought you were buying this too easily. Nobody believes it without proof. But that?s what you do, isn?t it? You just go along with whatever people say until you can figure them out." He makes it sound so easy. He should try it!

"Paul, I didn?t mean to suggest that you were lying. And the word ?crazy? is not something I say to people." I just think it. "I wanna help you understand what?s going on with you. I can see that you?re troubled by the things you?re telling me." Sell it, Ron! This is your last chance!

"Hey, I want you to help me, too, Doc. Don?t get me wrong - I?m not angry that you don?t believe me." Whew! "I just thought, maybe you knew something more about this kind of thing than most people would. I never talked to a doctor about it before." He spreads his arms along the back of the couch again, looking relaxed. I might still pull this off!

The room feels very warm, like the heat just kicked in. But it?s too early in the year. I guess he?s really giving me a workout. "I?m honored that you would trust me with this, Paul. But let?s make sure we?re talking about the same thing, okay?"

"Yeah. The stuff about being able to grow my muscles, right?" He?s smiling. I?m surprised.

"And the strength, Paul. You?re a big guy, but some of those things you were describing aren?t possible." I feel sweat on my forehead. Am I coming down with something?

"I know. Like I said before, it surprises people, especially when I trim myself down." He looks down at his body again, then back at me. As he?s looking at me I hear this noise, like the creaking of the leather on the couch, but he?s not moving. I feel a wave of heat wash over me. What the hell is that? I notice the shape of his chest again. And his shoulders, and arms. He?s bulkier than I thought. "So what about the rest of my story, Doc? What I did to Mike . . . do you believe that?"

"I can understand why you wanted to punish him, but I don?t think it happened the way you remember it." My shirt is getting damp. "I?m sorry, Paul. Is it me, or is it really hot in here?"

He smiles. "Oh , that?s me. I?m hot. It?s a chemical thing." Great! I?m having a hard time with him already, and now he starts to flirt.

"Paul, don?t start that with me. It?s not appropriate to flirt with your therapist." I sound annoyed. But I?m flattered.

His beautiful face lights up and he laughs. "I?m not flirting! But if I did . . . would it work?" He?s got a mischievous grin. God, he?s cute!

I try to sound stern. "Let?s get back on track, okay? Where were we?"

"We were talking about how hot I am." I hear that creaking noise again, and another wave of heat comes from his side of the room. What the fuck? I swear his legs are thicker. His jeans aren?t so baggy. "My muscles give off heat when I grow. The heat is coming from my body, Doc."

"Now, knock it off, Paul! This is a professional relationship and we need to have some boundaries." I?m losing it. I pull my tie away from my neck and unbutton my shirt collar, trying to cool off a little.

"Are you undressing, Doc? I don?t know if I?m ready for that!" He?s enjoying his joke. Fucker! He leans toward me and puts his elbows on his knees. With his arms bent, the balls of his biceps are clearly visible through his shirt. I didn?t see those before. "I feel comfortable with you, Doc, and I think you can help me, but you?re gonna need to know what I?m like."

"Why don?t you stop calling me ?Doc.? You sound like Bugs Bunny." Calm down . . . don?t get snippy. I pull my tie off and throw it on my desk.

"You know what I said before about messing with people?s heads? You need to know what that?s like if you?re gonna work with me, okay?" I can?t believe he?s still motivated. I wish I could remember what we were working on.

"I know all about messing with people?s heads, Paul. You don?t need to teach me anything about that." Phyl taught me everything there is to know.

"Really, Doc? So you would know if it was happening to you?" He stands up. Is he leaving? Ah, look at the time! What the hell is wrong with me? I gaze up at him and feel a little dizzy from the heat. He stretches out his arms and breathes deeply, pushing his chest forward and lifting the hem of his shirt enough to expose a strip of golden skin and dark blond hair above his belt. Oh! I press my notepad onto my lap. That shirt was too big when he came in. What happened? He slowly exhales his hot breath. "Cuz when I?m fucking with people, sometimes they get so confused they don?t recognize what?s going on." Shut up! Can?t you see I?m busy looking at your hot body?

He takes hold of his collar and pulls his shirt up over his head and off his arms, exposing a broader, more muscular torso than I would have imagined. My heart nearly stops at the sight of it. This can?t be happening. I object, weakly. "Paul, you can?t do that. You?re really out of line now."

"Doc, it?s not what you think. I just need to show you something . . . if you don?t mind looking at my body for a minute." His sly smile tells me he knows I?ve been looking all along. After tossing his shirt on the couch, he runs his hands over the muscles of his chest and down his hard, lean abdomen. He?s beautiful and he knows it. His tanned skin suggests that he went shirtless quite often this Summer. There?s a nice pattern of hair on his torso, just enough to enhance his muscularity without hiding anything. He briefly fingers the hair around his navel, then rests his hands on his hips. They look narrow compared to his broad shoulders. "Okay, Doc . . . I want you to stay focused on me so you won?t doubt yourself later."

I think I can do that. I stay seated and keep quiet. The focus should always be on the client.

He shifts his feet into a slightly wider stance and closes his eyes. I hear that quiet stretching noise again . . . I feel that heat . . . and I realize both are coming from him. All at once, I see every part of his body getting bigger. He?s not flexing anything - he?s just standing there, relaxed, and he?s growing. His shoulders expand into smooth, round rocks. Veins pop up along thickening biceps and run down through the hair on his wide forearms. The jeans that were baggy when he walked in earlier are now hugging massive, well-shaped thighs and calves and the crotch is packed with meat. Six thick abdominal muscles stack up above his pelvis while his pectorals push out from his chest and form a deep, hair-filled valley between them. They?re topped off with big, erect nipples. It almost looks like he doubled in size, if that?s possible.

Holy . . . fucking . . . shit. It?s true. My mouth is open and I have an erection pressing against the bottom of my notepad. I can?t take my eyes off him, so I give up trying. I?m speechless.

He spreads his arms out and stretches again, magnificently, with a look of supreme satisfaction. "You have no idea how good that feels, Doc." Sadly . . . no. "But you believe me now, right?" He looks at my stunned face.

I nod my head just enough to answer him. Holy fucking shit.

"Oh, yeah . . . I almost forgot." He steps forward, leans down, and grabs the front legs of my chair. In one smooth movement he lifts it, and me, clean off the floor. I?m startled, and my hands move from my lap to the arms of the chair, leaving my notepad teetering on the peak of the tent in my pants. He sees it wobbling there and says, "This is when most guys blow their first load."

As if his words make it happen, I ejaculate in my pants. I try to hide the spasms in my body, but I know I can?t. This is so wrong. I hope it happens again. My face burns with embarrassment.

After I?m finished he says, "Don?t worry about it, Doc. I know you couldn?t help it." His nonchalance is remarkable. He?s holding me out in front of him so my eyes are level with his. "I just want to make sure you believe what I told you . . . the whole story . . . because it?s all true."

Quietly I say, "I believe you, Paul." I?m still surveying the expanse of his chest and collecting mental images of his incredible body. I want to reach out and touch him, but I won?t.

"Good. Then you?re gonna help me figure things out, right?" He really wants to do this.

I?m careful not to answer too quickly. "I think I can help you." Oh, hell yes! "We could meet again next week."

"Mmm, how about tomorrow night? I?d like to keep things moving."

I?m taken aback by the suggestion. I usually don?t see clients more than once a week. And for once I have plans. It?s very tempting, though. "I can?t, Paul. I have tickets for the Opera tomorrow night." It?s the right thing to do.

He pauses. "Really?" He removes his right hand from a leg of the chair so he?s holding me up with only one hand. It doesn?t seem to require any effort for him. I take note of the thick vein standing out on his left biceps while he raises his right arm and flexes it. My eyes drift over to that enormous ball of muscle. I feel a stirring in the sticky mess of my crotch. He looks at the hard muscle, then looks at my eyes. "Wouldn?t you change your plans for me?"

"Sure. Tomorrow night, then." I?m so weak.

He lowers his arm, grips the other leg of the chair, and gently sets me down on the floor. As he straightens up he says, "Okay . . . you see how I did that? That?s the kind of power I have over people." Shit. He?s showing me what he can do! "You don?t have to change your plans. But you should ask yourself - what else would you be willing to do for me?" He retrieves his shirt from the couch while I think about that. He inserts his arms into the long sleeves and slips the shirt over his head. Carefully, and with some effort, he stretches the soft, yielding fabric over his enlarged torso. It fits his arms and chest like a second skin, but hangs loose around his narrow waist. The hem dangles high enough to allow a view of tanned skin, fine veins and hair rising up from his tight jeans. What would I do for him? Indeed. It?s a scary question. "How about Monday night, Doc? Could we meet then?"

Four days from now. "Yeah. That would be better. Thanks."

"Not a problem. I feel good about this. I think it?ll help me." He?s serious. "I?ll see you on Monday then. And I?ll try to have correct change for you."

"Okay. Could you see yourself out, Paul? I?d rather not stand up right now, if you don?t mind."

He smiles. "I understand." He turns to leave.

"Oh, and, Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you need to keep your shirt on, alright?"

"Alright, Doc. I will. See ya." And he?s gone.

*****
I wake up on the big leather couch in my office. I hear a noise like a huge mangey cat hacking up a hairball. It?s Phyl and her smoker?s cough. I must have fallen asleep. It?s morning.

"Ronnie?" I hate it when she calls me that. "Are you in there? I brought you breakfast!"

I quickly sit up as she barges into my office without knocking. "Phyl! How did you know I was here?"

"Eh. I had a feeling." She?s carrying a tray.

"You had a feeling?"

"Yeah, I have feelings. Big surprise!" She sets her tray on the end table. "Have some coffee and some of my rugelach. It?s your favorite." She?s a terrible cook. She pours a steaming mug of black liquid. Her coffee tastes like charcoal, but it could wake up a corpse, so I?ve learned to like it. "Eat! You?re too thin." She pushes a plate into my hands.

I glare at her as I pick up something like a dog biscuit. It feels like wood. "Why are you here so early, Phyl? What are you up to?"

"What?" She tries to sound offended. "I can?t bring you breakfast without the suspicion?" She scans the room, looking for evidence of anything that might have happened here. "What?s that smell in here? It?s like a locker room!" Here we go . . .

"It?s stuffy, so open the window. And how would you know what a locker room smells like?"

"I used to date a football player. He was gorgeous! You would have liked him, Ronnie. I got to know the whole team . . ."

"I don?t want to hear it, Phyl." Her stories could be made into porn films. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here? I should ask why are you here? Sleeping in your office again! What?s wrong with you?"

"It was late, I fell asleep. It was a long day, thanks to you. And, by the way, thanks for all the information about the new patient. You could have told me he was gay, so I didn?t have to guess."

"Well, you?re the brilliant doctor! What do you need me to tell you? I figured you could use a challenge." She starts to tidy up the office. She?s snooping, obviously. "So, was he handsome like he sounded?"

"He was . . . nice looking. What difference does it make?"

"And how late did he stay?" She gives me a look that says, ?Don?t lie to me!? She picks up my notebook.

"We went a little overtime. Big deal. He?s a patient, Phyl, you know I have ethics . . ."

"Yeah? So what?s that schmutz on your pants, Dr. Schmethics?"

Oh, God! How will I explain that? "Listen! I didn?t touch him!" It?s true! "I had an accident."

"You?re a little old for that kind of accident, if you ask me." Very sarcastic.

"Don?t start with me, Phyl! I did nothing wrong!" I?ll convince myself later. "I wasn?t . . . I didn?t expect . . ." I don?t know what to tell her. I?m mortified.

"I had a feeling this boy was something special. He must have been a force of nature to get anything out of your dried up baitsim!"

"What? I?ve had . . ." No I haven?t. "Did you set this up? Is this one of your plots, Phyl? So help me, I?ll . . ."

"You?ll what! Kill me? I see it?s in your notes again. If the police should find me dead, there?s evidence against you in half the files in this office." She?s right. She shakes her head at me.

I mutter under my breath. "They won?t find a body when I?m done with you."

"I heard that!" She throws my rumpled necktie at me. "You think I?m plotting, Ronnie? You should be so lucky! The boy called, we had a nice talk, and I thought you could help him. Was I wrong? Maybe I thought it wouldn?t be so bad for you either."

"How? What were you expecting? You think I would shtup a patient?"

"No, I thought he might shtup you."

"Oh, thanks!"

"He did something for you! Am I wrong?"

She?s got me. Evil hag. I keep my mouth shut.

"Ronnie, honey, you need to look at yourself. You?re smart, but you?re not so smart, you know what I mean? You?re stale. You?re boring. You think you know all about people, but there?s a lot you don?t know. If your father was here, he?d say you?re farblondjet, and he would be right."

Her words sting me, but I know she?s on to something. "Farblondjet. That?s what you wrote about Paul, from last night."

"The boy? No. Well, maybe he is. But I was looking at you when I wrote it, boychik. You're lost, but you don't know it." She gives me a sad look. "You should go home and clean yourself up before your patients come. I?ll get some fresh air in here." She opens a window and lights a cigarette. "Remember we have the opera tonight."

"Yeah." I get up and put on my overcoat, covering my shame. I pause. I know I should leave, but I feel like I?m forgetting something.

Phyllis is blowing smoke out the window. "So, is he coming back? The handsome boy?"

"Paul? Yeah. Monday night."

"So soon? And at night again." No innuendo this time.

"Yeah, he?s . . . eager."

"Good."

I move to the doorway. With my back to her, I speak over my shoulder. "Phyl . . . you know I hate you, right?"

"Yeah, kiddo. Since you were a boy, I?ve known you."

I walk out, take the stairs down to the street, and squint into the morning sun.

*****

Author's Note: I tried to continue this story with Session 2, but the complex structure of stories within the main story, with multiple narrators, was so ambitious that it collapsed under its own weight and I was unable to finish it. It may have some good stuff in it, but I believe that it's fatally flawed. I posted it at the request of a few loyal readers here:

Added on 6-19-2011: Farblondjet: Session 2 (incomplete)

[rairf]

Great job Reeza! It's so interesting to see what finally makes Paul tick. Plus, it was hot, as always. The section with Paul's growth and messing with Ron was so sexy. And Ron's asides were funny enough to break some of the drama without losing rhythm. Thanks for another excellent contribution!

[tagsnola]

...

love the Yiddish!

[arpeejay]

Great start to what I'm sure will be a great story! (And that's not because I just read and adored The Yiddish Policemen's Union!)

xoxo

Richard

[philat99]

Great shtik!!! And yes, it REALLY helped having read all the Tall Tale chapters. You've got a great story going, and a master of comedy, too!!! Thanks and keep up the great writing!
Mike

[anglekindle]

Gasp a sequel. This made my night.

[msclundylvr]

This was great. Imagine a guy coming into your office and just blowing up with muscle while he's there...brilliant!

[mlbjock]

Great start man, and I definitely enjoyed it!

Originally Posted by Reeza

This is a sequel to my previous story, [COLOR=yellow]Tall Tale[/COLOR]. If you haven?t read it, I suspect your experience of reading Farblondjet will be very different compared to those who know what happened in Tall Tale. I think this story can stand on it?s own, but I can?t decide whether to recommend reading the previous story before this one. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

[Reeza]

Thanks for all the great comments. I'm tsufridn that people are enjoying this story. I was afraid that the Yiddish, and especially the title, would put people off. I'm especially pleased that readers are seeing the humor in it. I didn't want it to be too heavy or serious, so I appreciate the remarks about the comedy.

I'm so freylekh that I've started on Session 2 in which Paul will be tangling with the frat boys he mentioned. It should be shpanendik, with more focus on der muskl!

For those who have read Tall Tale and are bazorgt about Greg, he will be reappearing later in this series, when Paul is ready.

Zei gezunt!

[Lothian]

Hurrah for the return of Paul!

Boo for the use of language no-one understands!

[qapl2001]

Originally Posted by Lothian

Hurrah for the return of Paul!

Boo for the use of language no-one understands!

Indeed. While the most of the yiddish is quite understandable for a german speaker, i'm still puzzled about the meaning of the title, as there no german equivalent will come to my mind.

Maybe i'm to farblondjet at the moment too.

[Reeza]

Originally Posted by qapl2001

Indeed. While the most of the yiddish is quite understandable for a german speaker, i'm still puzzled about the meaning of the title, as there no german equivalent will come to my mind.

Maybe i'm to farblondjet at the moment too.

The word is defined in the fourth paragraph of the story. It means confused, bewildered, mixed-up. It is sometimes spelled farblondzhet.

There's a nice online Yiddish glossary called the Gantseh Megillah here: http://www.pass.to/glossary/

[redroger11]

Yeah! I'm glad you're not caving in to complaints about language. It's not like you're writting the whole thing in Yiddish. And even if the readers are lazy and don't want to look online for an interpretation in English, your writing gives enough idea of what the word could mean. Hey readers should do a little work to enjoy such great writing. You came up with the idea and the plot and the dialog. All great. And there are a lot of people who know Yiddish for this to be extra special for them to read. Stick to your guns. Can't wait for Session 2.
And of course...
Keep Writing.

Hugs;
redroger11

[qapl2001]

Originally Posted by Reeza

The word is defined in the fourth paragraph of the story. It means confused, bewildered, mixed-up. It is sometimes spelled farblondzhet.

There's a nice online Yiddish glossary called the Gantseh Megillah here: http://www.pass.to/glossary/

Sorry, wrong choice of word on my part. I did get the meaning, but i got lost in my quest to find a shared root that would lead me to a "new high german" counterpart for "farblondjet". (It was never meant to be a complaint, as i'm sure Lothain was'nt complaining either.)

One obstacle for me is the english transliteration of yiddish (or jiddisch as it would be in german) so there was this little uncertainty if i just didnt get the transliteration or if the origin of the word isnt from "middle high german" and by thus it would be more unlikely to be found in "new high german".

After having read the transliteration in the linked glossary as "Farblondzhet" i tend to speculate, that the contemporary german counterpart would be "verblendet" or in english "fatuous". But thats just a wild guess, to end my quest.

Aside from this yiddish/german intercourse: very good storyline, please continue as soon as possible.

[redroger11]

I find I must now remind you of what you said about Jamie 6 and his author. I am coaxing you out, for another chapter of Flablonjet. Oy Gevalt! Such a long time yer taking! Out with it already. We've been good. So alright then. We told you and now you know. But don't make us beg. You wouldn't like that... would you?
(sound of a whimpering puppy)

redroger11

[Reeza]

Originally Posted by redroger11

I find I must now remind you of what you said about Jamie 6 and his author. I am coaxing you out, for another chapter of Flablonjet. Oy Gevalt! Such a long time yer taking! Out with it already. We've been good. So alright then. We told you and now you know. But don't make us beg. You wouldn't like that... would you?
(sound of a whimpering puppy)
redroger11

I certainly deserve a scolding. I hoped that my promise of another chapter had slipped into the past and had been forgotten along with the hypocrisy of my remark on Jamie 6. But Roger had to get out his flashlight and rummage around in the storage room! Thanks, Roger! But you're right - my kind audience deserves an explanation.

I started the next chapter and found that I was less interested in Paul and his sexual exploits than I was in developing the character of Phyllis and her relationship with Ron. The story I was writing would have been better suited to the "Chain-smoking Yentas" forum, so I decided to put it away. If my original inspiration returns, I will continue the story. But it would be dishonest of me to make any more promises.

Meanwhile, if anyone here would get turned on by trading Yiddish innuendo with an infuriating, intrusive old broad with a bad smoker's cough, let me know. (If I get a bunch of PMs in response to this suggestion, I will be truly worried about the future of this forum.)

[redroger11]

I can't believe no one suggested a growth story that turns an obnoxious "Chain-smoking Yenta" into a huge virile boychik that still loves getting to "Know" the entire Football team, not just the Quarterback. Something with dialog like "Phyl, this is just so disturbing on so many levels."
"What that you secretly had a soft spot for me in the dried up heart of yours, or that now I've become a meaty hunk of boychik, you finally want to get into my pants? Don't answer that right away, let me take off my shirt first."
After no response from the good doctor.
"Yeah, I know that look. Before, if I'd taken off a stitch of clothing, you'd have run screaming from the room. Ah, but now, you can't move a muscle to leave. Am I right?"
"Maybe after you take your pants off....."
Phyl snaughs and stands up....


And that is where I leave off fiddling with Reeza's fine characters. I seriously doubt that Tall Tale and the Farblondjet story could mutate to cause Phyl to become a Phil. But I would still love to read Session 2. Please Keep Writing.

redroger11

[nypup2train]

Oh my dear god, you're mental. (And, what do you mean nobody's suggested it? You have!)

One thing...

Originally Posted by redroger11

Phyl snaughs and stands up....

...Cumgain? My best guess is you were going for a combination sneeze and cough, which I will point out would be a "sn[COLOR="Red"]o[/COLOR]ugh" and probably still isn't intuitively obvious to the Average Reader.

(*groucho* ...Not to mention our core audience: below-average readers!)

...OK, I just realized you were going for a snorting LAUGH, which I guess would be a "snaugh". But I'm still posting this, because it only helps prove my point about the intuitiveness of manufactured words.

[redroger11]

Sorry, but I was just using the descriptive word for a single belched laugh that has the mouth closed and the air coming out the nose. I think the author Mark Arbour("1968" and "Chronicles of an Academic Predator" from the History section of Nifty Archives) was the one who first put a name to that form of semi-derisive laugh. I'd been doing it for most of my life and hardly had any kind of name for it. (You can see how many words were needed to describe it properly). It's up there with chortle and chuntering, which I still have no idea what they exactly describe, but I'll get on that right away.
Thanks for the response to my comments. I'm hoping that more people bringing the good orphaned stories back into the light will encourage their great authors to start making more chapters for them. I think stories like these deserve more praise and attention. So if you guys agree, then please let these authors know it.
Hugs;
redroger11

P.S. That would include "Jamie" and "An American Muscleman In London", as well as "Always Try The House Blend" and "Caleb's Big Problem". Not to say there aren't more out there, but those are my favorites that have languished for a while now.

XOXOXOX;
rr11

[skinheadsmkkr]

very well written

[skumbum]

wow .

[dartagnan]

Can't wait to read more... and you must add some metric informations!!! And I'm glad that, finally, I can read a GREAT story without schemes that arasmes me...

P.S. I speak french, don'.t be mad about my english, please

[skumbum]

bump !

[Mass Driver]

As I recall, you said "Such Guilt I feel" Well my friend, I hope this helps. Feel more. Then open up and give us the second session.

You are not helping your patient, Too Tall. He still has issues. And this is the kindof Doctor that can give the right advice.
So...
Keep Writing.

MD

aka redroger11

[Mass Driver]

Oi! Hey! we need another chapter.
Please...
Keep Writing.

MD

[portamivia]

I abso-fucking-lutely second that!

[Reeza]

Originally Posted by Mass Driver

Oi! Hey! we need another chapter.
Please...
Keep Writing.
MD

I can't believe you dug this up again after all this time. I'm flattered, of course, but you should know by now that I'm going to disappoint you.

I just finished reading it for the first time since, I'm guessing, 2009. I'm proud of what I wrote, but I am also reminded of how much energy and time went into writing this and my previous story, [COLOR=#ffff66]Tall Tale[/COLOR]. I enjoyed it while it lasted, but it was an overly ambitious project that I couldn't finish.

I actually wrote the majority of the second chapter before I decided to abandon it. It has been sitting on my hard drive since 2009. It's about Paul's encounter with the frat boys mentioned in the first chapter. I think there's some good stuff in it, but it is, in my opinion, flawed as well as incomplete. I'll dust it off and post what I have if you're interested in reading it, but I promise you that I will never finish it.

So let me know if you want to see Farblondjet: Session 2 (incomplete).

[Mass Driver]

Hell yeah! Even incomplete, the story is a Big one with me.
I thinlk you'll be surprised by the responses when you add the last bit to this.
Thanks for giving us a chance to see more hot sexy yiddish boychick stuff.

Oh.
And please do...
Keep Writing.

MD

[portamivia]

Try us. We're pretty good at imagining things that can't be. Or that haven't been fully written. ;-)

[picmeup]

Man, I couldn't agree more, A Tall Tale is my all time favorite story on this forum, and I wait patiently for another chapter of Paul, but no luck...please bring him back!!!!