101 degrees yesterday. 103 today. My head hurts. And everything else. I want to write while I cant do anything else, but I can't concentrate. That was a hard word to think of. I'm going to give this a rest until I feel better.

 

I think I'm finally climbing out of the hole. What a week. I don't recall flu this devastating. For a couple of days there I was drifting in and out of sleep; not even sleep, really, just dreams. Hallucinations, almost.

The worst part of living alone is not having anyone to sympathize, to follow you around like a puppy for a few days... I miss that. Though it always gets on my nerves, too.

And not having anyone to drive you to the hospital when your fever hits 104 degrees. I almost called the emergency room, but I knew it was only the flu. It's just that the dreams kept trying to tell me that I was dangerously ill.

I've been back down to ninety-nine since yesterday, and I still feel bad, but I'm sleeping more normally, and aching less. Just cough, sore throat, usual stuff.

I haven't tackled my work email yet. I'm pleased to see that some people have left messages on the Story Board. Perhaps that will pick up now.

I made myself do housework today in spite of the pain. Now the house and I are both almost presentable. The way I feel now, I could use another week off work, but I don't think Jack is going to feel that way. Then there's Wednesday...

 

Back to normal? Well, close to what passes as normal here. Still a sore throat and headache, but back to work. Long day, trying to catch up. And Larry (the one I work with) (this is confusing... let me call him Larry B.) is complaining of a headache, so perhaps he's going to be out soon.

Where's Spring when you need it?

 

Yeah, Larry B. was out. Picked up cat food. Not much time for writing.

Serves me right for being sick.

I did spend some time looking at online diaries. Enough to make me regret again that I'm doing this. So many journallers have so much angst. It makes me feel almost guilty.

I spent a long time reading "Ouch". His despair is tangible.

 

There's an engineer named Brian. He's straight out of college. I'm sure this is his first job, and he's smart. The older engineers and techs often go to him for help. He seems a natural leader, pleasant, determined, intelligent. He has straight blond hair and greenish-blue eyes.

Before today, I didn't know him better than just to say "good morning".

Well, he's working on some interface card which kept killing the network. It took me a long time to find out what was going on, and Jack was pissed. Which was unfair, because that's Brian's job. Well, not killing the network, of course, but design, and sometimes designs fail...

Anyway, Brian took Jack in stride, calmed him down. Handled him well. Then Jack suggested I work with Brian to debug his network problems, and he (Brian) went to pieces. He tried not to let it show, but his cheeks were pink and he lost his self-assurance.

I'm not sure if I intimidate him or if he likes me. He seemed happy enough to have me around, just a little tongue-tied. So I guess he likes me, but I don't understand why he's so uneasy. He doesn't seem especially shy.

I think he's just young. He must be at least two or three years younger than me.

He almost makes me regret my rule not to date co-workers. He's cute.

But then, I don't date younger guys, either.

And I don't break my own rules.

.... often ....

Speaking of which, it's Wednesday. Time to go get a shower.

 

And again, I wonder: do I really want to do this? I've put off uploading the last couple of days' entries because I keep thinking that it's time to pull the plug.

The online journallers I've read are far from anonymous. They flaunt their openness. The writer I read yesterday was reticent on some topics because they affected others' privacy. He stopped writing eventually. Others have reported on their affairs online, debating how the public nature of their lives affects and is affected by their relationships.

My life may be somewhat open to view; at the same time, I hide my writing from my friends as I hide my friends from my readers. So I can't tell the people who share my life that I'm sharing theirs. Psuedonymously, of course, but still...

And of course, there are those parts of my life that I'd really prefer not to share at all. Which brings me to today's procrastination.

Yes, it was Wednesday. And no, I don't know how many rules I broke. Plenty.

Larry arrived a little before seven. I was wearing a loose, comfortable tee shirt and shorts. Nothing else. Well, house shoes.

Of course, we were both as embarrassed as we had been last week. Two weeks ago, I guess. I mean, it just isn't something that's easy to talk about.

"Ready for another lesson?" I'm sure my face was red.

"If you're still okay with the idea."

I don't know that I was ever "okay" with the idea. Turned on by it, certainly. Repelled by it a little, to tell the truth. If I weren't, I probably wouldn't be so excited, and would say no, go back to your wife...

Larry was obviously "okay" with the idea. I studiously ignored the bulge in his pants as I led him to the bedroom.

I let Larry slip my shorts off as I lay there. He trailed his fingers around delicately before opening me up and tonguing me gently.

The problem is: without some affectionate petting, some foreplay, any kind of sex can be lifeless. And I'm sure we'd both have been willing to spend some time kissing and cuddling... but that would have broken the rules. That would have felt less like pleasurable detachment and more like infidelity. (Who were we kidding?)

So it wasn't making it. Nice, certainly. But mechanical, even though he was trying hard.

Finally I pushed him away, and said "Let's try something else."

This time he lay on his back. After a couple of false starts, and some giggles, I straddled his chest, then raised myself to give him access.

He took to the new position quickly. This felt much better. He was obviously more excited, and I fed from that. The tingling slashes didn't feel mechanical now, and I started to respond.

Leaning forward, I closed my eyes and gripped the head of the bed. Larry grunted as he worked his magic - and it was. He kneaded my ass and pressed his face into me, amplifying the delight I felt as he nibbled on my labia. My breathing was heavy, and my arousal was intense. His movements were imaginative, exciting, and I pressed in with my thighs and back, a counterpoint to his creation.

It wasn't until I felt his hands on my waist that I realized what had changed; why his excitement had become so contagious. I opened my eyes - and saw that my loose shirt was hanging away from me. From where he was, he had a clear view of my breasts. I could see them shaking under the tee shirt, and obviously the view from below was turning him on.

With only a moment's hesitation, I straightened, freeing my hands, then pulled the tee shirt over my head. Larry made a muffled croak, then applied himself to his task even more earnestly. His hands explored my sides and back, though he avoided getting too close to my breasts.

I covered his hands with mine. After a moment, I drew them up. He resisted slightly, but succumbed as I placed them against my breasts. He began squeezing. This pushed me into overdrive. As Larry pressed his thumbs into my nipples, I supported myself again on the headboard, waves of heat, desire, excitement, anticipation, all breaking through me. Larry was working hard on my swollen clit. I could feel the pressure as it tried to expand further, into his mouth.

I closed my eyes. Larry had begun a slow rhythm of scrubbing my clit and squeezing my boobs, then relaxing. I felt myself tensing, pushing into him, and relaxing in sync. Each time he scrubbed, I came closer to overload, but he slowed the timing, stretching out the interval. This was like Chinese water torture. "Suck," I ordered him, but he didn't, and I yelped in frustration. I gave up after a few near-climaxes, overcome with need.

Then, without warning, he squeezed my boobs painfully hard, and scrubbed and flicked my clit. As I felt the dam start to burst, he sucked hard on my clit, and I cried out, overwhelmed, as my orgasm flowered.

My spasms came hard and fast, shuddering through me, as he kept up the stimulation. As I started to calm down, he relaxed his grip on my breasts, but I covered his hands with mine again. "Don't stop, this still feels wonderful."

With that he kept up his effort, and I soon slipped into a second climax.

Finally, I climbed off him. I lay alongside him, my breasts close to his chin. He couldn't keep his eyes off them. He didn't keep his hands off them, and I wasn't about to tell him that class was over.

"Hey, that was great," I said at last. "You do pretty good when you're turned on. I think that's the secret."

"Yeah, well, I'm so turned on right now I'm in pain."

I grinned. "I know." I kissed him briefly on the lips. Then I pressed in again, and his lips parted. He was hesitant at first, the caressed my boob as our tongues met.

"That isn't helping," he said, breaking away.

"Sure it is," I retorted, pressing into him again. As he responded, I lifted his hand from my breast and pressed it between my legs. He made a muffled sound, but allowed his fingers to explore. I started rocking, pressing against his hand.

Breaking contact with his lips, I pressed my breast to his face. He needed no encouragement, taking the nipple into his mouth as I squeezed his head to my chest. He sucked as I pressed against him, tonguing my nipple and squeezing my clit. As aroused as I already was, he had soon pushed me back to the edge of climax, and I sighed as I was immersed in pleasure.

I trailed my finger down his stomach, then ran my hands over the bulge in his pants. The slightly damp bulge... "You know, it seems a shame not to..."

He interrupted me, his voice rough. "Helen, don't. This is hard enough as it is..." I ignored the obvious pun. "I wish I could."

I was disappointed, but I sympathized. I already had taken him further than either of us intended. Understand: we really weren't fooling each other. We knew this was an excuse for some serious sex play. I wanted it (you'd better believe I wanted it), and he did too... but our excuse was legitimate, too. We didn't plan to get involved. He would go back to Ellen, with a few regrets, no doubt, but some potential for kick-starting their relationship. For me, well, Woody Allen put it very well: "Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go it's one of the best." I'm currently unattached. I like Larry. I like Larry a lot. And even though I was drunk when I made the suggestion, I don't regret fooling around with him. This has been an amazing turn-on for me.

I took his head in my hands and kissed him. "I understand. Are you going to come over next week?"

"Do you promise not to let me get too carried away?"

"You know I can't promise that."

"Good." He grinned. "Life without risk is boring. I'll be here."

I sent him for his shower and dressed. As he left, I kissed him again, pressing my tongue onto and into his lips. Before long I felt his hands sneak back inside my tee shirt and cup my breasts. I squeezed his ass and pressed myself against him. "God, Helen," he complained, huskily.

Then I pushed him away, raw desire still in his eyes. "Next week," I whispered.

 

Rereading yesterday's entry gives me a strange feeling. Like I don't think there's anything important going on in my life other than sex. And that isn't right, though the last couple of days wouldn't seem to bear that out.

I write like the only thing which happened yesterday was remembering Wednesday night. And in a way that's true. I had this odd sensation. Kind of an inverse deja-vu. Not that I'm re-experiencing something from my past, but that I'm almost-experiencing something in the future. Something happened on Wednesday which changed me. Changed the way I feel about things. I don't even know what it did to me.

See, I don't think it was about Larry, specifically. I'll be disappointed when that's over, but I know it needs to be over soon. I think for one of the few times in my life we'll be able to get to "let's just be friends" and actually be friends, because we went into this with our eyes open. (Once I sobered up, that is :-)

And is that part of it? It could be, now that I think about it. To be able to see, casually, a former lover (see, it's a future event which is affecting me, at least an expectation of a future event), to have a strong erotic bond with someone, yet be able to relate on a rational, friendly level - that usually seems possible only during a relationship, not after it. So the expectation of being close to someone to whom I'm currently more than intimate, that is unusual.

I don't know that that is everything I'm feeling. Perhaps some anticipated regret, too. I think that because of the restrictions we established, this is a very one-sided relationship. In theory he's gaining something - experience - which he would not otherwise have. In practice, he's only giving, and I'm taking. His pleasure comes only from giving me pleasure. If it weren't for our ground rules, I'd be perhaps feeling some guilt about that; as it is, I'm oddly liberated by not having to consider his feelings. I don't think I'd want to keep up a relationship like that for very long. I'm a big believer in mutual consideration, as anyone who has read my stories must know. But in the short term, it's a rush.

So, all things considered, it isn't surprising that Wednesday night would stay with me, or that it would affect my outlook. But one result seems to be strange, to me. I've found myself reassessing my "rule" about not dating within the company. Yes I know, before the email starts to arrive, it really isn't smart to jeopardize good working relationships with romantic involvement, but... Brian, the blond-haired engineer, seemed so pleased to see me this morning that I couldn't help feeling a small surge of warmth. It isn't as though we generally work closely together.

I won't encourage him, but if he were to ask me out, I think I would go.

In spite of my current obsessive thinking, I probably got more useful work done in the last two days than I have in weeks. Jack has been very complimentary.

Clarice called today. We're going to go out tonight. Friday's this time. She thinks I've been avoiding her. Well, perhaps I have... but I've been sick, too. She doesn't seem to think that's an excuse.

 

I can never keep secrets from Clarice. There isn't any point trying.

I also never surprise her. Except this time. She knew that something was going on, but she was staggered by how far I had let this go. Not that she wouldn't have done the same... or more... but she thinks of me as being more conservative. Which I guess is true, generally.

When she had gotten over her surprise, she wanted all the details. I think she was getting turned on.

After she got that, though, she was easy to distract.

"Where's Chris today?"

"Portland," she answered immediately, then realized how much that one word told me. "Hey, it's no secret," she griped.

So they're still a "hot item" at two weeks. That's far from being a record for Clarice, but it bears watching. Of course, having said what she did, she decided that the evening needed livening up, both of us being "temporarily unattached", and started trading glances with a guy at the bar. I hustled her out of there before she got me into any more trouble.

Grocery shopping today. Got some canvases from MJ Designs, though when I'll next have chance to paint, I don't know. At least I'm ready for when the inspiration strikes. I'd like the inspiration to write, but I haven't stayed calm for long enough in such a long time...

And I wonder if keeping this diary isn't going to interfere with my creative abilities. When I'm writing about something in my daily life which is even stranger than my fiction, how can I start thinking about mundane story situations?

On the other hand, when I do start writing again, I'll talk about it here, and I won't be able to procrastinate. So I guess I just need to go sit at the coffee shop for a couple of hours and wait for inspiration. Perhaps I'll do that tomorrow.

 

Well, I didn't write anything, of course. I did think about reviving a story that I really liked but could never make work. Maybe.

No, of all things, I spent the day by myself at a local gardening show. Overkill for my tiny little yard, but I do enjoy getting out there occasionally. Got plenty of plants to kill...

It's the last day of the month, and this is getting long. I think I'll start March on a new page. I can't figure what I want to do with navigation, though.