They say the internet is a big space. I disagree.

If it was such a wide open wonder how in Gawd’s name would a Canadian mommy blogger trip over a video of some dude prancing around with his nuts hanging out singing to one of the most annoying songs ever find his way onto my laptop screen?

Besides the fact I spend hours online searching for amusing and interesting links that are slightly pornographic to fill the gaping void that is my soul?

Hence a friendship was born. So when Karl asked me to guest post for him this summer, I couldn’t really say no. Doing so would only show the world I’m a classless bitch who refuses to expand her national and cultural borders within the internet.

I may be a bitch, but I like to think of myself as KLASSEE. The box of dollar store red wine in my fridge proves this.

Besides, Karl has a thing for mommy bloggers and it’s no big secret he has a crush on me and I aim to please boys who like me. Of course Karl likes me for my stimulating intellect and not because I’m a natural blonde:

The reality is, (and huge blow to my ego when I realized it) Karl only likes me because I have these:

I know this because the dude keeps sending me email and twitter requests to show him my boobs. Or to do a naked video post. Or simply call him and talk dirty with him while fondling myself. Karl. What part of KLASSEE did you not understand?

I mean sure I may tweet topless during the summer and talk about beaver fever and the blue thunder but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to up and show you my guns.

You’re no Avitable dude.

Still, Karl persisted. And persisted. Aaaand persisted.

At first I was flattered. But then he started sending me naked photos of himself. Then I was amused. And slightly horrified:

I mean any dude who would looks like this obviously needed a little tittay pick me up. (And you are all so very welcome. I figure if my retinas had been burned, I should pass along images of nature’s finest.)

So I decided to oblige him. I’m a giver like that. So here you go Karl, here’s my boobs. At long last yours to ogle and do with what you will.

Okay fine. Those may or may not be mine. Mine may or may not resemble something a little more like this after breast feeding three angry rabid badgers babies:

Okay, I don’t have eight boobs or more. But think of the possibilities if I did!! I suppose my breasts may or may not look more like this:  (After all, I did publicly admit to having nipple hair.)

That may or may not be a dead on accurate reprentation of my boobs down to the sparkly nipple rings.

Only thing is, I like to shave my belly hair and I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a necklace that ugly. I’m much KLASSIER than that.

So Karl, when you think of me and see pictures of me online, just know that I only look half decent from the neck up.

The reality is, I may or may not wander around town looking something strikingly similar to this:

In fact, that may or may not be an actual photo of what I wore to the town fair this year.

I suppose the real reason Karl and I are friends is because we both are like boobs.

And we both wish I looked like this:

Life would be one giant boob fest every damn day.

Which would suit this KLASSEE redneck to the T.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

So there’s Black Belt Mama’s Summer Serenade Contest going on. Someone you know (cough cough hint hint) might be participating with a video. Go vote. I think it’ll very clear WHO you should be voting FOR.

So my mom left this morning before I awoke. She’s outta here for a week, off in Daytona Beach doing arsty craftsy drunky retreaty things with some of her lady friends.

Yeah.

I have the whole house to myself. (This is the part where you say, “Karl is the only fucking nearly 43-year-old in the world that can pull off living with his mother and make it look cool.”)

There will be hookers, drinking, smoking, narcotics, copious amounts of Brittinis, Rastafarianism, orgies that make Caligula look like a virgin, rocking music, lambs and lions getting it on together, breaking of windows, flatulent pyrotechnics, bongs made of Mountain Dew Code Red cans. All for the next. four. days.

You know, till Thursday morning when I leave for Birmingham for KimBerday. That’s gonna be a whole OTHER orgy. My mother may come home to a smoldering crater in the ground. But what a way to go.

PS: You HAVE submitted some dares for my annual Birthday Dares, right? Go. Now. Prizes. Crazy videos. Probable need for me to display my balls for the 4th (?) time. Tell your friends. PLEASE. I need LOTS of dares to choose from!

PPS: This Thursday on SecondHand Radio my guest is the infamous Danny Evans of Dad Gone Mad. Author. Humorist. Swell guy. If you have any questions for Danny, you can submit them here in the comments. Or better yet, show up live Thursday night at 10 EST and ask him yourself.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Hellooo, Everybody!

(Dr. Nick? Anyone? Anyone?)

Anyway, I am Sybil Law, guest posting for Karl and his Summer Of Love – a day late. He sent me an email weeks ago, gave me the date, and forever in my head, I had, “August 5th”. Turns out, it was supposed to be August 4th. So I came home from work to find a gentle email from him (much like you’d talk to a slow witted child), like, “Babe – you know you’re posting today, right?”, which we all know is slang for, “Stupidass! Where’s my post at, bitch?!” Whatever. He knows I am slow. I don’t really know where the 5th came from in my head – I even managed to ignore the followup email he sent, because I, in all my certainty, just thought I already KNEW what day I had, and I didn’t really read it. D’oh!

So again – sorry, Karl!!

Let’s move on, okay?

I was really, really nervous about posting. I mean,I think Karl’s a fine writer and I? Am not. I barely even get around to posting on my own blog, much less someone else’s! So I had this bright idea to just do a picture blog, and leave it all lame like that. I thought I’d take pictures in nature, of objects that spell out Karl’s name.

Have any of you ever tried to find a fucking “K” in nature? I mean, I could’ve bent a worm around or something, but that went against the whole principle of the matter. (And yes – I do have principles and morals, why do you ask?)

Ahem.

But then, Saturday night, I went to a party. At my friend’s house. My friend the photographer. Let me tell you, after a gazillion shots out of an ice sculpture owl (doesn’t everyone have ice sculptures at their parties?), and many beers and mixed drinks, I got this bright idea to have ME make these letters of Karl’s name! And for some reason, in my underwear! By the campfire! (Actually, I am not sure whose idea it was for the underwear, but regardless… here it is..)

(Yes, I am a freak. It’s why Karl loves me. And me, him.)

(Please note that those poses are supposed to be the letters of Karl’s name. But I am not sure what some of them are, actually.)

This is what we call “Special K”.

Clearly, this is an A. Right?!

That is an R. Shut up – it is.

Lumpy L.

* This work in no way reflects the incredible photography skillz of my friend, who really is the shizz. We were all very wasted. Clearly.)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

With BlogHer ‘09 coming up in a few weeks, I’ve stepped up my plans to film a low-budget porno in my hotel room. You don’t get a potential adult film star pool of 1,000 women every day of the week.

I hope I can count on each and every single one of you ladies to help me out. I’ve already got most of the script written. Obviously, I’ve left all the roles fairly open. Not really imagining any women in particular.

BLOGHER HARD

BY KARL ERIKSON

INT. SHERATON HOTEL ROOM

18 giggling scantily-clad women, drinking Captain Morgan straight from the bottle, enjoying the estrogen high of BlogHer 2009.

MINTY: God, it’s so hot in here! I feel like just slipping out of this Victoria’s Secret teddy. It’s just us girls, after all.

BLUENECK MOMMY: I’m with you! Let’s *all* get naked. These garments are far too confining! I’m not used to wearing clothing.

MRS. ZINGER: You don’t have to tell ME twice! [laughs, slips her arms through the flimsy straps of her negligee.]

18 giggling women start helping each other remove their lingerie. Playful fondling ensues.

SLOPPYKISSES: (Wets her finger and rubs it over her nipples) God, did you see KARL today? That man can fill out some cargo shorts!

MUMMYMELEE: Who DIDN’T notice? I’ll tell you, if I wasn’t married…

ALL WOMEN: Oh, why must I be married when guys like KARL and NEAL are here?

Several ladies are lightly brushing their fingers over each other’s tattoos. ANISSAMATTHEW and SADANDGORGEOUS start kissing.

IMWINDY: I don’t know…if KARL came to the room right now…

CHEEKYMONKEY: What happens at BlogHer STAYS at BlogHer?

IMWINDY: (giggling) You got THAT right, my empowered sister!

LEATHERKENNEDY: Damn, why did you have to mention KARL? I simply can’t resist touching myself when I hear his name.

General murmurs and moans of agreement. Much self-touching. TASTELIKEINSANITY begins whinnying like a pony.

KNOCK AT THE DOOR.

BARETOESFOODIE (kicks the crotchless panties from around her ankle): Now who could THAT be?

She walks to the door while SHUSH starts rubbing UNDOMESTICWENCH’S shoulders and nibbles on her neck.

BARETOESFOODIE: Who is it?

ROOM SERVICE: Room service! I have your Chicago pizzas, and 10 bottles of Captain Morgan?

She opens the door and peeks around.

BARETOESFOODIE: Oh my GOD! It’s KARL! And NEAL!

ALL: Let them in!

She grabs KARL and NEAL by the wrists and pulls them into the room.

GINANDTONICA: Come to Momma!

NEAL: Ladies, you ordered the extra cheese and pepperoni?

ROOM407 GIRLS: Yes, we’ve been DYING for a certain special stick of pepperoni!

HERGOODMOTHER: And not the kind you find on a pizza, either.

KARL: What’s going on here? Why are you all naked?

GINANDTONICA, taking the pizza boxes from KARL’S hands and then rubbing her hands on his chest: I think you’ll catch on pretty fast, big man.

KARL: When you said “My boobs are your boobs,” I had no idea.

GINANDTONICA: God, you talk a lot. I hope that’s not the only thing your tongue is good at.

She starts making out with KARL.

MINTY: Oh, it’s not, trust me.

LIZRAZ: Now let’s get you boys out of those clothes. I brought plenty of condoms.

NEAL: I need to Tweet this.

TABLEOFFIVE: You need to shut up and get on your knees, bitch!

KARL: I’d listen to her, NEAL. These women are lapped up into some kind of nymphomaniacal frenzy!

SLOPPYKISSES: Guess there’s no more need for this…

She throws her diesel-powered vibrator onto the bed.

MINTY: Let’s not be hasty.

She grabs the diesel-powered vibrator from the bed and kick starts it to life.

CHEEKYMONKEY: For the love of Lizzie Maguire, KARL! I’ve heard stories about your enormity, but I’m gonna need a shoehorn for that!

BLUENECKMOMMY: I’ve got the lube!

LEATHERKENNEDY: Now THIS is the Room of Your Own I was dreaming about!

So who’s in? This is award-winning stuff, ladies.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’m Avitable and I’m famous on the internet.

But like most of you, I bask in the shadow that is Karl. He’s like a giant phallic obelisk blotting out the sun to all of the rest of us hungry bloggers.

What most of you don’t know, though, is that Karl was famous way before he became a Rockstar A-List Blogger. He had a brief movie career and if you blinked, you might have missed it. I’ve got some screenshots for you to see, although you might have to click on them to see the bigger version. I blame Karen for giving Karl only 450 pixels of content space – ridiculous!

For example, did you see his quick cameo in “Apocalypse Now” as Private Harold Pecker?

Or his co-starring role in “The Godfather: as Johnny “Two Dicks” Lasagna?

You probably also missed his pivotal scene in “Jaws” as Interested Observer #4.

He is, however, most famous for his small but important part as Oliver Panteezoff in “Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom”.

And, of course, Karl had to work hard to achieve his level of success in Hollywood. Like most attractive young male stars with dreams of success, he had to start at the bottom:

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!

Part One can be found here.

Part Two can be found here.

So here I was having sex for the first time and loving every minute of it. Literally. I may have lasted 90 seconds, tops. It was the best feeling I’d ever had, being inside Betty, and I didn’t want it to end.

Before I “finished,” however, Betty started crying. Yes, crying. Now, you might think that something like that would put a guy off, maybe make him wonder what the hell was going on. I did ask if she was okay; I’m not that big an asshole. She said she was and I was feeling so good that that was enough for me to keep on going.

Then she said, “Karl, you’re not going to leave me?”

In and out and in and out and in and out oh my God I’m having sex and in and out

“No, I’m not.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me.”

In and out and holy shit I’m gonna cum and in and out and in and out

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Please! Just promise me!”

oh my god oh my god oh my god this is so fucking good and in and out and in

“I can’t do that, baby.” Even in my state of ecstasy I knew that the words “promise” and “never” were very dangerous when located within the same sentence.

And she’s crying but oh my god I’m cumming and – “Unhhhhh!”

I continued making love to her for a good 25 seconds or so before I stopped and then I was kissing her, but she was still crying. She indicated that I could withdraw and lay down next to her. I was breathing hard and heavy, as was she, and I knew it’d take me at least five more minutes before I’d be ready to try that again. And I DID want to try it again. And again.

We cuddled for a few minutes and then she got up to use the bathroom. When I heard the shower start, I knew she wasn’t coming back for another round. Dammit. I remember the smell of our sex, even to this day. And I remember touching my dick and our juices and bringing my fingers up to my nose to smell her more deeply. Awesome.

Then Betty was standing before me wrapped in a towel and said it was my turn. Huh? You want me to wash this OFF? But apparently that’s what you did after sex – you took a shower. So that’s what I did.

While I showered I ran through those magical 90 seconds over and over again. I had SEX! Yes! No more would I have to wonder what it felt like. It felt fantastic. How could I not have done this before?

I was in a heightened state of bliss, that’s for sure. But I also kept going back to Betty’s request in the heat of passion: Promise me you’ll never leave me. It annoyed me. It seemed in a way like some sort of trick. Trying to get me to promise something like that while I’m near orgasm, when I’ll likely agree to anything?

We kissed more after I got dressed again, told each other “I love you,” and I was out of there because her mother was due home from work. I went back to my trailer, where I was living with my buddy, Fred, and told him all about it. He was happy for me, but shared my concern over her demands for promises. The timing was very suspicious. I don’t think he was a big fan of Betty’s, anyway.

And the truth is, things went downhill really fast from there. Betty became increasingly jealous and insecure, despite my assurances that I loved her. She became incredibly scrutinizing over my friendship with Wendy and I was not about to end that friendship. Nothing had happened with Wendy and I, and nothing was GOING to happen. But that wasn’t satisfactory to Betty. She kept drilling me over and over, sure that something was going on there.

Within a week of our making love, the relationship was over. She hung up on me. TWICE. And I’d specifically told her long before that, that if she ever wanted to piss me off, all she had to do was hang up on me. I HATE that. And because she did it deliberately twice in a row, that was it. I was done.

I was tired of all the questions, of all the ridicule, of all the demands to end my friendship with Wendy. Nothing was worth that bullshit. I refused to answer all of her phone calls, even at the radio station.

We didn’t talk for quite a while after that. She waited several months and then caught me off guard at work, when she called me during a really bad day. We only talked for a few minutes. The NEXT time she called me, she’d somehow gotten my new phone number at my new apartment. And at that point, Wendy and I HAD kissed, but nothing ever came of it.

Years later, I went “home” to Alamogordo for my 10-year high school reunion. I saw Betty in church. I’d heard she was married and had children. She about fainted when she saw me in one of the pews. We hugged and talked after the service and she introduced me to her husband, who said, “So you’re Karl.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. Clearly, she’d talked about me. I was entirely over our breakup 10 years prior, not mad in any way. In fact, I was greatly at peace with it all and I chalked it up to being young and stupid.

When Betty and I met for lunch later that week, she told me she’d never gotten over me. I was the best she’d ever had. Never had a man brought her such pleasure. All of this was very surprising to me, and very flattering. Then she began describing how bad her marriage was, and I knew I needed to get out of there.

I saw her again 10 years later at the NEXT reunion and we hooked up for breakfast. Same story. It made me sad that she was in a loveless marriage. She made it clear that she wanted to go back to my hotel room, but I wasn’t having any of that. If she’d caught me right after my divorce 14 years earlier, it would have been a totally different deal. But I’d since picked up morals and scruples and all those other things that have kept my dick more dry than wet over the years.

Still, I’ll always have a special place in my heart for her. She was my first real love. My first time. I’ll never forget that.

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate (and I really hope you will), please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).

Contest Home | RAINN Donation Page | Participants
Prizes | Sponsors | Rules and Regulations

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Quick call-out: Shiny needs a roommate for TequilaCon. This is Shiny the guy, just to clarify, because I now know two Shinys. If you’re going to TequilaCon and would like a roommate, please jet over to his blog and let him know. I know it’s really late in the game, but you never know. Thanks.

This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!

Part One can be found here.

I spent the next hours with a multitude of confusing feelings. It felt surreal, getting kissed by Betty. I was excited. I was baffled. I was kind of freaked out. We were friends, right? When the hell had it become more than that? Had I done something?

I was far too inexperienced to think about it logically. Looking back now, with 23 years of experience under my belt, I know that women love a man who listens to them. Hell, people in general like to feel that they’re truly being listened to. I just didn’t see that as such a big deal when I was 17, going on 18.

I still didn’t see myself as all that attractive, either. I’d recently broken my glasses and couldn’t afford a new pair, so that was a big switch. And yes, I could see fine…it’s really my left eye that’s the weak one. Add to that the new hair style and I looked like a completely different person. On the inside, though, I still pretty much felt ugly and unkissable…even after getting dumped by my girlfriend not long before.

That night, Betty and I talked on the phone. I can’t remember our conversation. I’m sure it involved the kiss and what it meant, how baffled I was, and what all of this meant for us. Plus, she was three months pregnant with someone else’s baby. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to be romantic under those conditions?

That shit didn’t matter to me, truth be told. I’ve always thought more with my heart than my head. And I liked Betty…a lot. We were talking on the phone every night, many times more than once a day.

And I quickly came to fall head over heels for her. Everything else melted away. I introduced her to my dad at one point, not long before he left New Mexico to go back to New York. My plan was still to head back north at the end of the college semester, but I refused to think that far in advance.

Betty sometimes would drive me home after I finished my shift at the radio station. We’d sit in my dirt driveway, out in the middle of Boles Acres (a dump of a trailer park), making out and heavily petting. My dick would get so hard I thought it’d burst through my closed zipper. And I spent many a night nursing my poor swollen azure balls.

A couple of times, she undid my zipper and handle my guggenheimer and I’d think, “This it it! This is it!” Once she even put me in her mouth and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. But no, she’d stop right after that and I’d zip back up, saying it was okay but not really being okay with it. Every time I’d wander back into my trailer, delicately walking because even the fabric of my pants was amazingly painful. Yeah, I’d masturbate like my life depended on it – what else was new? – and used up half a roll of toilet paper wiping up.

A few times we ended up at her place, where she lived with her mother and younger brother. Same thing would happen. Eventually, after maybe a month of this cockteasing, I started getting resentful. I mean, what the hell was it going to take? I loved her, I really did…we said it all the time. Wasn’t I good enough?

Back then I really equated sex with love. Yeah, part of my screwed up programming. I know now that many abuse victims feel that way. But I wasn’t even acknowledging that status in my brain. I’d locked all that away deep in the dark recesses of my brain.

So Betty not having sex with me was not only sexually frustrating, but also a means of rejection that hit me pretty hard.

Now I look back and think that was kind of immature and assholish. After all, Betty had been raped by her own boyfriend not all that far back. I really did try hard to be understanding, and I think I was to a large degree. But I certainly had limits to that patience and I was hitting them like a concrete wall.

Finally, one night when Betty’s mom was away at work, she led me by the hand and took me to her bedroom. Finally, she wasn’t teasing me. She meant business. I was going to get laid! Better yet, with someone I loved.

She peeled off my shirt, and I hers. Off came our pants. Then the underwear. And I was standing there completely naked with a woman, who was also amazingly completely naked. We embraced and kissed some more and she took my hand once again and brought me onto her bed.

Her mouth engulfed my dick and I groaned with pleasure. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not very long after my 18th birthday, it was actually happening! I didn’t want to cum yet, I wanted to save that for the actual sex. So I gently pushed her off of me and then did something I’d been wanting to do for a long time. All of my experience with porn magazines was coming to fruition and I decided I was going to go down on her.

I moved down and kissed and fondled her breasts. I flicked my tongue over her nipples and did the things I thought I was supposed to do. And when I got down to her pussy I inhaled that musky scent and tentatively raked my tongue up and down her slit. She groaned, so I guess I was doing something right. That turned me on even more.

Encouraged by her signals, I buried my face in her, and hungrily lapped away. After maybe 30 seconds of this, however, she said, “What are you doing?” and she pushed me away. Hell, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just trying to reciprocate, do what I’d seen all these men and women in magazines doing.

“Come up here,” she urged me.

I didn’t want to stop, but she said it again, so up I went. And in I went. And. It. Felt. Fucking. Amazing.

Part Three tomorrow.

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate, please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).

Contest Home | RAINN Donation Page | Participants
Prizes | Sponsors | Rules and Regulations

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Don’t forget this afternoon’s SecondHand Radio. Read yesterday’s post for more details.

This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!

When I first agreed to participate in the GBBMC for RAINN, I pictured a month of nothing but sex stories. Hell, I’ve got enough of them, I’m sure. But when I actually sat down to map it out, I realized that just because I probably COULD write 30 sex posts, that didn’t mean I should. It’s not like they’re all exciting stories, or even good ones.

I’ve read a lot of stories this month, many of them from people I don’t even know. And those stories run the gamut from cute to amusing to horrifying to hilarious. If you haven’t already looked at some of the other participants in the project, I think you should. Some amazing stuff out there. And you never know, you might discover someone you’d like to add to your feedreader on a permanent basis. After all, it was during the LAST GBBMC two years ago that I met Kevin, Dave, Sandra, Belinda, Brandon, Dariush, Stacey, and many others that I’m now friends with.

And now, whaddya know? We’re near the end of April and this fantastic campaign and I have yet to talk about the Big Moment, when I lost my cherry. Do guys lose cherries? Do we even have cherries? I don’t know, but I’m going to say yes.

As I mentioned in an earlier RAINN post, I was going to NMSU-A (New Mexico State University – Alamogordo branch) up on “the hill.” I was 17 when I started the summer at college, right after I graduated high school. Micro- and macroeconomics…snore. But it was cool because, hell, I was in college! And I was taking a class with one of my best friends, Tom.

I was also hanging out in the student center quite a bit, when I wasn’t working full-time at the radio station. It was just me and my Dad in Alamo at that point, since Mom and my sister and brother booked ass out of Alamogordo and moved back to New York. Abandoning the ship, so to speak, Dad was supposed to stay with me until the end of my first full-time semester in December. He wound up leaving for New York the day before my 18th birthday in September. Yeah, that sucked.

But it was also kind of cool because I was on my own for the first time. And hanging out quite a lot with a new friend…let’s call her Betty. When August came and it was time for full-time school, I spent a lot more time on campus. I also started playing intramural volleyball, even though I totally sucked at sports and had never played before. I picked it up fairly quickly.

I met Betty on campus and she was very nice to me. Sweet and smartassy (I like that), she was a year older than I was and never seemed too busy to chat with me. I was really skinny and a smartass myself, kind of a class clown and still highly inexperienced in the ways of womenly wiles.

It was around this time that I got my first vehicle. Well, my second vehicle, technically. But I never drove my van (another story for another time), so…anyway, I had a badass Honda Elite scooter. Check it!

Come to think of it, I wish I still had that scooter. With gas prices the way they are now? Yeah, I got around for a month on maybe a few bucks. Good times.

Betty and I would hang out on campus a lot, talking and joking around. She had a boyfriend named Alfred. Total asshole, as I’d come to discover later. After some time, Betty kind of disappeared and I didn’t know what had happened to her.

Months later, I’m riding my bicycle along New York Avenue and who should I whiz by, but Betty standing on the sidewalk. I turned around and went back by to say hello and catch up. Alfred, who she’d been dating for three years, had raped her and gotten her pregnant. And left her. Nice. She seemed rather okay with it, but I know she wasn’t. Either was I.

We exchanged phone numbers and wound up talking for hours on end. At this point I should mention that my best new buddy was a girl named Wendy. She was also a year older than me and, as it turns out, mortal enemies with Betty. This wasn’t a big deal at the moment, but it sure would come into play later.

One night Betty and I were talking on the phone about lots of things (including her being three months pregnant) and she mentioned something about me getting embarrassed. I boasted that “I don’t GET embarrassed” and “I don’t get surprised, either.” Famous last words.

The next day I was working at the radio station. I’m typing away on the TRS-80 computer, writing advertising copy for a radio ad, when I hear the front door open. No big deal, people went in and out all the time…coworkers, soda delivery people to fill up the Coke machine, whatever. And Debbie, the receptionist and bookkeeper says, “Karl, you have a visitor.”

I turn around and it’s Betty with a big bouquet of flowers. For me. Yeah, I had mentioned to her on the phone the night before that I’d never been given flowers. I found myself turning red immediately and she had this big ol’ shit-eaten grin on her face because she’d managed to surprise me AND embarrass me all in one shot.

When I walked her out to her car, I thanked her again. She got in her car, window rolled down, and I reached in through the window to give her a hug. Instead, she planted a kiss right on my mouth!

“See you later,” she said.

“Um, yeah. Okay,” I managed.

And as she sped away, I thought, “What the fuck just happened?”

Part Two tomorrow.

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate, please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).

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