On a lighter, less dramatic note...

I have been a way studying.
Such a funny word., "Studying". I sometimes forget the "y" and it becomes "Stud-ing".
Passed the latest. 6 more to go.

Was out with "J" and friends. Two gay men, a straight woman and a straight man. I am in a "gaggle of girls". Three women, two of which are in men's clothing.
The danger arises when the straight women forget that I am not "one of the girls".
The advantage of the gay guys is they are not as angry or defensive as the straight women. One doesn't have to perform or play a game to get laid.
I could see how my friend made the switch. They hit on him.
Not for me. I like boobs WAY too much!!

Want free access to a women, play yourself off a gay. She'll let you touch her in places a standard issue man would get slapped.

"B", the straight woman, was desparate to get some. I don't sleep around, (who knows what you might catch ;) !)
She told me what she was looking for and was upset that the guy she hit on got embarrassed and didn't take her home.
Someone of modest prowess, I took that to be "great". And who would be happy to call it an end in two weeks when she left the country.
Maybe I should have "stepped up to the challenge". I have never been one to sleep around. (I actually want to know the woman). I was not her type. And anyway, I was prodroming. (The Herpes Virus can cause a sensation when it is active in the nerves leading to the initial infection site. This sensation is known as "Prodroming". If you want to avoid HSV, don't have sex with someone who is prodroming. Even with protection, it is the riskiest time to come in contact with infected skin. I caught it because my partner was having a outbreak and we were uninformed)
I tried to ease her drunken disappointment by suggesting he was trying to save her from "the gift that keeps on giving". What she said in response suprised me.
She didn't care.
She didn't care if he had an std.
Did I say I was suprised?

Coming to grips

I have a cat.
Well, he's not my cat.
First, he belonged to an older gentleman.
Who loved him, and for what ever reasons, had to give him away.
To my grandmother.
Who died in '94 at age 89.
From cancer.
Shame.
She could still remember childhood rhymes she'd learned in the 1910's.
She loved him, and, when she died, gave him to my mother.
Who didn't want a cat.
But learned to love him.
Inspite of herself,
and cat boxes.
She passed in '01 at age '69.
From cancer.
So I am his forth "owner"....
If cats can have such things.
He lost an eye earlier this year to glaucoma.
I tell the women,
'I wake up with
a "One eyed Woody"
every morning'.
They all giggle.
He's an old cat.
An "old man"
that I call "My Kitten Kitten",
"My Kitten of LOVE and DESIRE".
And I have to come to grips.
With the fact that we all wear out.
Even if we have had four owners.
And...
I love him
too...