I was going to write a field report about taking a shit but someone beat me to it.

Then some punk-ass college kid dissected a frog and wrote a thesis about female anatomy.

So I'm fucking writing this. If you don't like long posts then go read about frogs or shit or faggotry.

I will edit and add links a bit later.

It's been a hell of a year or two. I mentioned to redd-sfplus that my wife will live to be 1,000 like Takeshi Covaks while I'm just lucky - really fucking lucky - to be walking this big beautiful earth of ours while breathing in the air.

(I also feel especially lucky to have fired everyone who works for me who had a propensity for endlessly debating for the sake of debate, perhaps the most exhaustive, irritating, and pointless endeavor that I, as someone with likely a limited number of days left on this fucking planet, could ever participate in, which makes my writing yesterday strange and unnerving. I'm telling you stoney, that crane has fucked with my head.)

Life is grand and the sex has been good. Really good. Weirdly good. It hadn't yet been bleeding-edge good, but it started. Two days ago. Maybe even kind of started weeks prior.

Fuck it. Talk about the cure being harder than the disease. I suppose I don't need to do that, though, because I already did in my last field report.

I am an unadulterated fan of MrChadThundercock and I was intrigued by his Dark Triad post.

His post came at a perfect time, when I nearly lost part of my building and one of my employees to an overzealous construction company employing fucking retarded apes. A "mistake"… MCT's post put a smile on my face and everything was right in the world.

(Hmm, just noticed that rare smiling is a recurring theme with me. I wonder fucking why.)

Watching all the ensuing craziness his post generated was highly entertaining and I'm confident it helped reduce my blood pressure. At the same time, I was intrigued by the section on verbal abuse and fractionation.

What the fuck, I thought, I've had a hellish, stressful, Chinese-water-torcher-like week, I'm going to give it a try.

(The week went from that Chinese shit to full-on North Korean misery with yesterday's shit show theory post.)

A little background.…

As I wrote previously, life is moving in the right direction. Things are better, much better. At the same time, though, I must constantly remind myself not to get too enmeshed in the day-to-day. I must remind myself: Never forget.

The irony: needing to remember not to forget.

Never forget that I nearly lost it all - not my fucking significant other but my entire fucking life - and I better not fall into old, bad habits, like 80 hour weeks and focusing too, too much on a mission, a mission whose significance pales in comparison to the larger mission of life itself.

I wrote a vision and a mission for my life, encompassing myself, my family, and everything… but I easily forget sometimes and too quickly get wrapped up in just one part of it.

Reminder to self: Don't fucking do that.

"This is going to hurt."

She showed me the device. It looked like a hammer connected to a spike or something. It was… awful.

I was deflated.

She drove it in to my body, further, and the pain and - the sensation - it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced in my life - and I've experienced a lot. A lot of pain. A lot of fucked up situations with things like cars, car wrecks, knives, guns, fights, brain hemorrhaging, bleeding out the eyes, broken bones, and even wild animals. My daughter tells me my life has been crazy. But this.

This was something new.

This was… disturbing.

I felt something different. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't get it in. I’m going to need to try again."

And she did. And it hurt and it sensated and it was awful and it was defeating me.

"Look, I'm really sorry," she added, "maybe we could postpone this and you could do it under anesthesia another day."

Christ, she's actually getting nervous. I look up to her and see nothing but the bead of sweat on her temple. My wife is sitting in the corner laughing, literally laughing.

I am hurting, I am freaked-the-fuck out, I am in pain, I am pissed at my laughing wife.

I have to get this done, this thing inside will kill me within weeks - weeks - if I don't get this done.

"Fuck that," I said. Those were the only words I had, roiling in my brain. "I'm not going to prolong this get it right."

She finally did on the sixth try. Not the first, or the second, or the third, fourth, or fifth. The sixth.

Her evil little device - long, long device - menacing device - is designed to penetrate your body, then burrow further into your bone, find the middle, the marrow, then twist around and dig into and pull it out.

And it fucking sucks. Especially six times in a row without anesthesia.

  • Next time, if there is such a time, I will be stronger. I will be so fucking strong. I will be a rock.

  • Next time, if there is such a time, nothing will phase me. And I mean this. And it is true.

We are breathing hard. Sweat everywhere. Our shared body fluids all over her, me, the bed, the fucking dog. The dog is licking the floor.

She had been more wet than I'd ever remembered. More wet, I think, than the first time we fucked, or the second, or the third. This was like she'd injected her body with wetness and it needed release.

I released it. It released itself. Two days ago. Together, in unison, wet, sticky, and wonderful. This was like the singularity, unlike that dude ex_addict_bro had reminded me I'd linked-to.

I am pleased. She is pleased. The dog is sated.

I feel like I've just left the battle field. She saunters off to the bathroom. I take a shower. I have her hairs wrapped around my fingers. I hadn't noticed how hard I'd been pulling. I had been lightly tugging before, this time I pulled.

I tell her. She sighs and laughs.

WTF? Who have I become? I could fucking think about it or talk about it or theorize about it but why bother, she is happy and I am happy.

My muscles are aching. I am deeply tired but exhilarated.

She still tends to "shhhssss" me a bit and whisper "calm down" - I suppose I understand - after a life of being told to suppress her desires - in a Catholic school no less - she's likely not too keen on our little kids rolling in and yelling "surprise" as I'm deep inside their mommy.

My wife is witty. Quick-witted. It used to frustrate me. But ever since I stopped worrying about her feelings and everyone else's feelings so goddamn much, I've become quicker. Her draw is good, but mine is fucking better.

I'm your huckleberry.

(No one on my medical team, surgeons, specialists, others, ever said "all right lunger, let's do it." I hope one day, if it happens again, someone will.)

I tried a few of MCT's recommendations - understanding that he did not invent dark triad nor suggest that he did. Throughout the day I simply said things that were off-kilter, like "you're getting old, like my parent's old maid." She, being the quick-witted type was fast to reply, but I was faster with the follow-up… "yah, my parent's old maid used to say that too."

And there it was. She was speechless. That woman's never speechless.

I followed up by saying "you have the hottest body of anyone your age I know" and it's true, and we're in a town known for hot bodies.

When we dated this kind of silly banter was normal, from she and I both.

It was wonderful and was not the dark, awful manipulation one would suggest. For fuck sake BP's I've been out of college two decades, I'm not all of a sudden out to destroy my wife, I'm just injecting passion back into a marriage that has faced arguably the hardest thing a couple can face, certainly short of terrible illness in their children.

While I was pulling her hair she was moving her hands, her legs splayed in a full split, rubbing her hands frantically, this time not across my obliques but focused on two points: both sides, where my biceps and shoulders connect, rubbing, like she's trying to dig into my body and find something… something that is just a breath away yet never to be found.

The frantic rubbing of obliques from my previous post was done rhythmically in sync with my thrusts while this time, the rubbing is more like clawing, like digging deeper and deeper, trying to get to something, to touch something. And it is inspiring me. Fuck.

Yes, fuck.

I flex. Hard. Harder. I flex my arms like the dude from American Pscyho with my hands under her neck pulling her closer. I'm fucking her so hard but also wondering how my biceps are doing.

Once again, who am I?

SHIT.

(Okay, enough erotica.)

Perseus told me he was coming to town. So naturally I gave him some recommendations. He said they were good. I was traveling - speaking of course - and kept it brief. Planes, airports, and hotels, plus lots of speaking and lots stuff like that did not lay an appropriate groundwork for details.

These are those details Perseus:

That one place I recommended, well we went there the Friday before I messaged you.

We had fucked twice. Two days in a row. Then that night at that restaurant we went into the men's bathroom - fuck yah - fucked around and got stoned.

She hadn't smoked in ages.

We danced at our fucking table. The night was grand and glorious and we were high and hot and happy, surrounded by asshole tourists who looked at us, not like we were some sideshow freaks, but like they knew we knew something they didn't… like we were experiencing a magic moment they would not.

I could see it in the eyes of the men and women alike. Boring, married men and women who would have their dinner and go back to their hotel rooms.

It was envy.

Fuck your books and fuck your theory - and you there, fuck your moralizing and fuck your nay-saying - and most of all you there - listen to the dudes in this place - this shit works. You fucking understand what it's like to come back from the brink of fucking death to enjoy that kind of passion? No, you probably don't assholes.

I'm going to live and I'm going to breathe and I’m going to fuck.

Every time I tell my son we are going somewhere he asks "where are we going?" I always give him the same reply: you'll know when we get there, you don't always need to figure it out before then.