Always Remember You're Special

 ...just like every other guy who's paying attention to me.  

I recently had an interlude, for lack of a better term, with someone whose identity shall remain a mystery that broke new ground in a number of undesirable ways.  On paper, she was a great fit for me (super smart, submissive, well read, hot), but distance precluded anything substantive from developing between the two of us.  Still, it was nice to interact and exchange ideas.  As she wandered into what something between us would look like, were the distance removed, she became quite effusive with her praise, referring to me as 'divine' and using phrases such as 'meant to be'.  You get the idea.

Of course, I wasn't the only man she was chatting with, which she confirmed.  She also admitted to craving attention from certain types of men.  Your grandmother would have called her 'boy crazy'.  But surely, she wasn't sharing such intense sentiments with other men, right?  There couldn't be multiple divine men out there.  Yeah, not so much.  She admitted espousing the same sentiments to other men.  Her rationale was she used them in a different context than was typical, and telling me of course, there's a back story.   Of course...there's always a back story.

I think you'll agree that a shared language is important for well, everything.  Back story or not, a soldier sitting in an underground silo can't one day decide that saying 'we have authorization to launch the missiles' really means he's going into town for a pastrami on rye.

Needless to say, I severed ties after hearing that little gem.  That was late last week.  I've since happily moved on and reconnected with someone I should have held onto.  But for some reason, I felt compelled this afternoon to revisit the communication I had with the woman who called me divine (she's right, you know).  I feared I was being too harsh toward her.  Nah, should have been more harsh.  

In scanning her notes, I uncovered two instances where her effusive praise was wrapped in an agreement to something I never said.  This woman was copy pasting the exact same material to multiple men!  Let me say it again; she was sending the same messages to multiple guys.  If you've kept up with my blog, you know that I've seen a lot of different 'interesting' behaviors from women.  But here's something brand new for the annals of dating history.

A Night With His Toy

Per his instructions, she arrived and rang the doorbell at exactly eight p.m.  Looking through the side glass of the door, he could see her standing in her tie closure spring coat, with her conservative knee length skirt and flats; she exuded confidence.  To anyone who passed by, she looked all the part of the accomplished university professor she was, the epitome of prim and proper.  Well, a very attractive university professor.  At just under five feet tall, and weighing ninety pounds on an off day, she was petite in every way.  Most of her friends knew her for her keen intellect, endless optimism, and joie de vivre.  Only he knew of her other side; the side he created at her request.  He opened the door and she glided past him, not stopping until reaching the great room.  Catching up to her, he helped her with her coat.  Her attire underneath was a pleasant surprise; she wore a flowered, yet completely transparent top, her pert breasts unspoiled by a bra.  She knew he loved such surprises and did her best to please him, because that was her job.  She was his dirty slut, his property, and she took that role very seriously.  

As he admired her form beneath the gauzy material, he took note that her nipples already resembled little pebbles, in anticipation of what was to come.  He had a few twists to throw her way tonight that would excite her that much more.  Some nights would involve reminding her of her place, which would find her being shoved her to her knees and made to worship his cock, right in the foyer.  When she misbehaved, he would order her to finish him off, right there, then turn her around and push her back out the door.  That always left her feeling both used and unfulfilled and she loved it.  But not tonight; he would put his toy to proper use.

As always, he offered her a glass of wine, knowing full well her Muslim beliefs would prevent her from accepting.  It always struck him that she refused to imbibe, yet welcomed, no, demanded the decidedly non-traditional treatment he would be subjecting her to shortly.  They sat on the sofa, chatting about this and that.  He enjoyed their interaction and could find an evening of deep conversation with her fulfilling on its own.  While they talked, he could see her become physically unsettled  to the point where suddenly, she became the aggressor, straddling, then wrapping her arms around him and kissing him passionately.  Her body was giving off the unmistakable message of 'take me to bed and fuck the hell out of me'.  While such behavior was not in line with their roles, he very much did appreciate an aggressive woman, on occasion.

He grabbed her hair and yanking her head back, admonished 'not so fast, you seem to have forgotten something.  We'll take it to the bedroom.'

She was well acquainted with the most direct route and eagerly led the way, like a child who wants her parents to catch up so they can get on the roller coaster.  She stopped in the large, open area of his bedroom, and stood there, looking at him intently.  She knew what was expected of her, but being manhandled by him turned her on more than if she'd done it of her own volition.  A few seconds later, she got her wish, as he roughly shoved her to her knees. 

'You know you need to demonstrate your worthiness as my whore and possession, before I touch you.  Now get to it.'

He barely got the words out before her hands were on his zipper, extracting his hardening cock.  She was on fire tonight and dispensed with the tease, instead devouring him to the root.  

'You've become such a good little cocksucker.  Perhaps I should share you with a few of my young subordinates, so you can show off your skills.'

She knew he was creating a mood and that he understood such an act was a bridge too far for her, for now.  That didn't prevent her from gushing a little over the thought of being used by multiple men.  And she really was proud of how well she'd learned to service a man, since he took ownership of her.  

Her eyes were glazed over with pure lust as she worked his now rock hard manhood with her lips, tongue, and hands.  He could see she was in her own world of desire and had to snap her back to reality, before she brought him to the point of no return.  She had become such a cum slut, that he barely recognized the naïve woman he'd begun training a few short months ago, incapable of providing a a pleasurable blowjob.   

He grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet, then roughly shoved her, face down, on the bed.  Moving forward until he trapped her with his body, he snarled, 'God, you're such a whore...you come over here just to have my cock in you.  And you won't be happy unless you leave with my hot cum somewhere inside you.  Even if you didn't want it, I own you and can take whatever I wish.'

With that, he flipped up her skirt and shoved his cock inside her.  To someone observing the scene, it would genuinely appear as though she was being taken against her will, particularly the way he had to force himself inside her.  The truth was that this woman was petite in more than just stature and was always a tight fit.  Penetration took a bit of effort, even when she was soaked, as she was now.

Once inside, he began to slam himself into her, fucking her hard and fast, making sure to hold the angle he knew ravaged her sensitive g-spot.  She howled with pleasure as he took her.  It turned her on so much when her owner took what he wanted, her helpless to resist.  She could only let herself be in this position with a man she trusted completely, and her owner had earned that trust in spades.  

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head up so he could speak right into her ear.  

'Everyone else sees you as a respected university professor, but only I know what a slut you are.  What would your colleagues think if they discovered what you've become?  A dirty little plaything, who lives to be used like a whore, however I want, then tossed away until I wish to use you again.  You're nothing but a fuck toy.'

He kept hammering her, alternating between spanking her ass, pulling her hair, shoving her face into the bed, and twisting her arm around her back as he degraded her.  Each move was more extreme than the one before and he knew he was causing her pain.  This pleased him, not because he was a sadist, but because he knew pain, and lots of it, heightened her pleasure.  He derived pleasure from taking his lover places she'd never been before and pushing her limits.  Once again, he thought how reckless he had been, neglecting to establish a safe word, but such a precaution always proved unnecessary.  No matter how brutal he was with her, she always wanted more.  

'What are you?'

'I'm your whore...all of my holes belong to you.'

'And when can I use them?'

'Whenever you want!  I belong to you!'

She screamed nonstop as he pounded her and would orgasm every time he told her what a whore she was.  After he felt she'd been properly fucked in that position, he waited until he felt her building to another orgasm, then pulled out and told her to finish getting undressed.

She was frustrated and completely on fire, but she didn't dare complain.  She knew he wasn't done using her.  But she needed to cum, just the same...now.

'Lie on your back with your legs spread apart, like a good slut.  You know...your natural position in a bed.'

She complied.

'I think it's time for you to demonstrate what I've taught you about your body', he said as he sat down in a large leather chair in the corner.  'Show me that you know how to make yourself orgasm.  Give your owner a bit of a show, like a good girl.'

And like a good little fuck toy, she began rubbing her fingers around the lips of her battered pussy.   She maintained intense eye contact with her lover as the pleasure began to wash over her.  As much as she wanted to give him a proper spectacle, she needed a release.  With that, her opening act ended and she drove two fingers deep inside her sex, working her g-spot vigorously until her hips spasmed in climax.

After her body relaxed, she had a contented expression on her face and beckoned him to the bed.  Once he climbed in, she acted as like a sleepy kitten and snuggled up to her owner.  He held her and delivered kindness, a little laughter, and tenderness.  He hadn't yet heard the word aftercare. 

As they chatted, he saw she had something on her mind and looked at her with an expression that told her to just tell him.  In a barely audible and timid voice, she asked 'will you..to my butt tonight?'  He'd introduced her to anal sex a few encounters ago and she found she loved it better than vaginal intercourse.  

'You want me to fuck your ass?'

She nodded.

'If you want me to fuck your ass, you need to ask properly and not like an innocent little girl.  You're so far from innocent at this point...'  Chuckling, he let the remainder of the sentence hang unfinished.  

She looked him in the eye and said, 'Will you please fuck my ass tonight, sir?'

'Much better.'

With that, they began to kiss passionately, him holding her tightly, occasionally nibbling at her tiny neck.  Without much in the way of conscious thought or intent, he found himself inside her again, and rolled so she could ride him.  This was one of his favorite positions, because he could watch her pretty face, as she rode him.  It also allowed access to twist her nipples and give her the pleasure pain she craved.  

That reminded him of one of the presents he'd bought for her, and rolled over far enough to retrieve it from the bedside table.  She watched him as he brought the devices up and attached them to her nipples.  She breathed in quickly from the pain and thought to herself, 'Fuck, they hurt...it feels so good!'

'Thank you sir...I love them.'

With that, she began riding him in earnest.  The clamps hurt so good and he would occasionally apply downward pressure to the chain running between them, to further heighten her sensation.  She howled in both pleasure and pain as her hips moved.  Her already tight pussy gripped his hard cock with greater intensity as she neared her next orgasm.  He knew she wouldn't last much longer and she didn't.  She wailed at the top of her lungs and pounded his chest with her tiny fists as the wave of pleasure ripped through her body.  

He pushed her off of him and pulled her to the side of the bed, yanking her to the floor, and bending her over the bed again.  

'Do you want my cock in your ass?'

She nodded and gave a little 'mmmhmm'.

'No, I want to hear it.  Beg me for what you want.'

'Please fuck my ass; I need to feel your cock everywhere. Please fuck my ass!'  

While she was begging, he retrieved a bottle of lube from the nightstand, and put just a few drops on his cock.  She seemed to like it more when it hurt going in.  Grabbing her hips, he guided himself into position and drove his cock home, causing her to scream. 

'Is that what you wanted, slut?'

She could only wail in reply.

Once he built a bit of a rhythm, he began with the pain and degradation she loved so much.  This time, it brought out a little professorial monster.  Gone was the submissive, replaced by a unrepentant hedonist, completely on fire.  She began to taunt him.

'Are you spanking me?  I can barely feel it.'

He spanked her harder, leaving more pronounced welts on her ass with each swat.

'Surely, you can do better than that.'

He went safeties free and began wailing on her as hard as he could.  Administering more pain would require slugging the woman.  Yet, she continued to taunt him.  He began to wonder what he'd created.  But that was enough impudence from his possession; she needed to be taught a lesson.  Rather than continuing to spank her, he grabbed her hair, pulled her head up, and wrapped his hands around her delicate neck.  He'd never choked a woman before and he was a bit tentative at first.  Another taunt came and he tightened his grip, never letting up his assault on her ass.  He knew how her body reacted to every stimulus and could feel both pleasure and a touch of panic.  Perfect.  After a minute of so of this, she settled down and he removed his hands from her neck and paused fucking her.  With the restriction removed, she gasped for air.  She wasn't sure if she liked being choked or not.  It was definitely something she wanted him to do again, just to make sure.  

Reaching into the nightstand, he retrieved the other present he bought for her.  A remote control vibrating egg.

'Put this in your pussy...feel what it's like to have both holes occupied.'  

She complied and slipped it inside.  He could feel it on the other side of the wall between.  He recommenced his attack on her ass, with all the intensity he could muster.  No longer was he fucking her for her.  She sensed what was happening and how he was using her ass to make himself cum.  She began screaming, pleading for his hot cum.  That was the final check in the launch sequence; neither could stop it if they wanted to.  As they were barreling toward the grand finale of the evening's events, he turned the vibrating egg to its highest setting.  

That was all it took to push them over the edge with a vengeance.  She let out one final scream, then began to lose control of her body.  The combination of sights, sounds, and sensations drove him over the edge.  He snarled one last thing to her.

'I'm fucking cumming in your ass, whore. Take it like the cumslut you are.'

He flooded her ass with his load just as her orgasm reached its zenith.  Just as he pumped the last of his seed into her, what little control of her body she had left disappeared and she went completely limp.  Had his arms not already been around her, she would have dropped like a wet towel.  Instead, he held her until she regained a bit of control of her legs,  then assisted in getting her into his bed.  After her eyes refocused, she looked at him in awe and told him that was the most intense orgasm she'd ever had.

'Can I come over tomorrow night and do it again?'

Love Is a Battlefield

If you think about it, being a part of a loving relationship has a lot of similarities to guerilla warfare.  No, not between the two of you, but with the rest of the world.  Enemies abound, intent on destroying the union with your partner.  They're both internal and external; some may take the guise of a non-threat.  Stressful jobs, illness, financial difficulties, challenges as parents, death of a parent, the hot neighbor doing her best to insert herself.   The list is almost endless of what can attack a relationship.  

In order for that relationship to survive and thrive, it's important both parties work as a two person commando team, defending from multiple enemies, coming from different directions.  They need to neutralize these enemies, or at least reduce their respective threats, and then get to the chopper for exfil.  Without both parties fighting as brave warriors, working together, and covering each other's flank, the team (relationship) will be overrun and killed.  

I think we've all been in relationships where our 'brother in arms' failed to guard our flanks.  Perhaps, we were the ones who failed in our duties.  Then, there are the all too common relationships that neither have the drive to fight.

And what happens when your teammate gets wounded and can no longer fight?  I'd argue that's an even greater test of character than how someone fights.  

My last serious relationship was with someone who it felt as though she was setting off flairs, so the enemy knew where to aim.  And when I got hit, she seemed really sorry, but there was no way she was missing that chopper.

My ex-wife could best be characterized as shooting me in the body armor, during the battle, then lying about it.  Not my finest hour, but I was with someone who fought as a fearless warrior.  When one of us got wounded, the other would throw the other over their shoulder and make damned sure they both made the flight home.  Ultimately, I shot her just after she threw me onto the chopper floor.  Again, not my finest hour.  

How would you characterize your most memorable relationship?

Compersion

The word compersion, which hasn't exactly been recognized as a word, is loosely defined as the opposite of jealousy. Instead of feeling upset or threatened when your partner romantically or sexually interacts with another person, you feel a sense of happiness for them.

That's what I found when I looked up the word, which I obviously did, subsequent to my beautiful significant other soliciting my views on the subject.  (yes, she reads my blog)  Basically, how did I feel about open relationships and could I experience that joy?  The simple answer is I'm not sure I could be in an open relationship, much less feel happiness when my partner slept with someone else.  Because the awesome person who posed the question deserved a bit more than a knee jerk 'ain't no other guy fuckin' my woman' response, I gave the topic serious consideration. 

In a nutshell, I take pride in my skills in the bedroom; it's part of what value I bring to a potential mate.  Feel free to throw things at me, but I like to think of my value proposition (yes, I'm always a marketing guy) is that of a complete package.  As such, I admit my feelings would be hurt if my partner wanted to bed other men.  

Granted, being open to such arrangements could make finding a life partner easier, not having to worry about them meeting your sexual needs, in addition to your emotional ones.  On the flip side, try having the conversation with someone you've just developed a relationship with, where you inform them that it's fine they don't satisfy you in bed, because you'll just sleep with others.  If you do, please invite me and I'll bring popcorn.  

In some cultures, open relationships are the norm versus the exception.  In fact, there are those where sex is viewed as something you do as a social thing.  In others, a man's wife must have sex with her husband's brothers at the same time as her husband.  It then becomes a mystery as to who fathered the resulting child, facilitating it being viewed as a child of the whole family, who all contribute toward raising it.  If you're inclined to learn more about how sex is viewed in other cultures, I recommend reading the book, Sex at Dawn.  As with most books about sex, there are worthwhile nuggets of knowledge interspersed with a few cow patties.  Plus, the author has a real problem with society advancing to specialization (i.e. you're a farmer, she's a doctor) and seems to wish we'd have all stayed as hunter gatherers.  I may or may not have sent said author a note reminding that specialization allows him to pontificate about his views on sex and not force him to forage for seeds.  But I digress.

Specialization has wired our culture has wired us for jealousy.  I envy the lifestyle, income, and hot wife of an ugly yet successful attorney.  He envies a hedge fund manager's lifestyle, income, and hotter wife.  I'm envied by, well, no one really.  Anyway, you get the picture.  Rewiring jealousy out doesn't happen overnight.

Let's not forget fear and its role.  But it's different for men and women.  I read somewhere there's a high correlation between your gender and the type of fear you experience, relative to infidelity from a partner.   Men are afraid of losing their partners' bodies and women fear losing their partners' hearts.  In this instance, I identify more with women than my fellow penis owners.  Every play partner I've had has developed strong feelings for me.  This dynamic was eloquently explained to me by a woman I was chatting with on the subject, who said, 'What kind of dumb shit are you?  You know damned well that a woman's pussy is wired directly to her heart.'  Sage words, indeed.  But a valid reason for concern over losing your female partner in an open relationship.  

The person who asked for my opinion on compersion made a great point.

I’m sure you could also appreciate the idea that I don’t feel an obligation to be everything to everyone is very appealing to me.

Putting pressure on yourself to be everything to someone can be a strain on your relationship.  However, don't be so sure you're not everything to that person, just the way you are.  

As a hopefully relevant example, I always considered being able to cook with my partner to be essential.  However, I found myself in a relationship with someone who, after cooking a few meals for me that were just on this side of edible, was prohibited to be in the kitchen unsupervised.  She felt pressured, from within, to learn how to cook and did her best.  But I came to the realization that having a partner who cooked wasn't a must have.  The true crucial criterion was a partner who appreciated good food, didn't consider Applebees or other chains to be fine dining, and offered the appropriate level of appreciation when I cooked.  Oral sex or gazing at me adoringly were both acceptable.  My point is that she always was everything I ever wanted and should have never felt that pressure, from herself or me, in the first place.  

One final petty argument I'll make, before I yell at you to get off my lawn, is that the deck is so ungodly stacked against men, when it comes to exercising their openness.   If a woman says, 'I'm in an open relationship and am looking for a lover', guys will line up for her.  If a man makes the same claim, he'll hear nothing but crickets and 'you're cheating, aren't you?'

Don't take my comments as a universal condemnation of open relationships.  One of my colleagues / friends has an open marriage and both parties seem very happy.  Then again, he's an ungodly smart, 33 year old studmuffin, and thus, doesn't have the same challenges as us mortal men.  But his wife knew about his sex drive when she married him and seems okay, so long as he occasionally brings one of his girls home for both of them to play with.  I hate him.

Now, get off my lawn while I envy my colleague. 

Plenty of Shit Revisited

After returning to the dating wasteland of KC, where I met the rudest woman on the planet, I found myself with an urge to meet someone with whom I could spend time with.  There seems to be a bit of a lull, with respect to dating participation, which likely has to do with the holidays and holiday hangover.  I've been on Match and Okcupid off and on, with little success.  Plenty of Fish has been a non-starter for reasons I outline here.  Call it boredom or perhaps desperation, I decided to give it another go over the holidays.  In order to maximize the likelihood of retaining my account, I recycled nothing; completely different username, newly created gmail account, etc.  Damned if it didn't work.

Plenty of Fish has historically been a free site and commensurate member quality.  The latter hasn't changed, but like OKC, there's now an option to pay a monthly fee.  For $9.99 per month, upgraded membership offers a long list of negligible benefits.  My favorite is 'massive increase in messages', mostly because the claim isn't backed by anything so trivial as what will drive said massive increase.  You also get a gold star next to your profile, indicating you've been fleeced, I mean that you're a serious member. 

Upgraded members also have the option of only receiving emails from other upgraded members, because being conned out of $10 per month somehow demonstrates you're serious about meeting someone.  Except those members who check that box are doing themselves a disservice.  In the week or so since I've gotten back on the site, there have perhaps been three profiles out of many I've viewed where the little warning pops up about only paying members can contact this person.  Two of the three met my criteria and were of interest to me.  Except here's the bottom line - the likelihood of my tossing $10 out the window to send notes to two women who, based upon the law of internet dating averages, only have about a 10% likelihood of responding.  Except it's even lower.  My response rate on POF is abysmal.  Seriously, back in Richmond, women who didn't respond to my note on POF would show up on Match and reach out to me.

More Scammers

 While I was with my parents, prepping them for their move, I was shocked by the number of scam phone calls they received.  These were after I blocked the assholes from the original set of scams.  In the interest of payback on scammers everywhere, I did my best to have a bit of fun with the ones who called.

For example, we received a call from someone claiming to be with the Social Security Administration (actually, two different people over two days), advising that my parents' SS numbers were being used fraudulently and assets could be seized.  So, when I asked them to confirm they were with SS, I followed with rapid fire questions.

When was the Social Security Administration founded???  Under what president?  Tell me!!!

The woman went on to receive 'What are you wearing? Who's your daddy???'

A demanded the guy tell me if he sucked dick and that he sounded like a major cum chugger.

Another call was from an IT services company who said they were going out of business and were authorized to refund the $500 fee they charged (there was no service).  All I had to do was log into an account with personal information and something else that I clipped with another peppering of questions about billing history, last payment, and whether the guy sucked dick or just fucked goats in the country he lived in.  

Surprisingly, none of the people stayed on the line long.

But these are more examples of scams that the elderly could easily fall for.  My mother was actually engaging the Social Security dick sucker, before I grabbed the phone from her.  

8 Weeks in Hell; Wait, Make It 9...Someone Just Kill Me!

Now that I have a few minutes to myself, I thought I'd highlight some of the fun I've had since September.  Read previous entries to see how we got here, with me downsizing and moving my parents to Kansas.

The Move

Long story short, I did my best to juggle my professional responsibilities with getting my parents streamlined and ready to move.  I failed at both.   My parents were absolutely no help; zip, nada.  Just the opposite.  My mother wanted to take fucking everything.  And every time I brought up the little point of 'you're moving from 3,000 sq ft to 1,300, so you can't fit that', my mother's response was 'we'll find a place for it'.  

Because I couldn't fly the dog (her aerodynamics suck), yours truly made the 23 hour trip from Florida, driving said dog.  Said dog was an amazing little trooper and because of logic, she's become mine.   Didn't want a dog, but she's awesome and a great companion.   

We arrived the day before my parents were due to fly in, so I took the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, if only for one night.  (it had been over three weeks)   I collected them at the airport and the fun began, starting with me going from living in their guest bedroom to living in my own.  

The Steak

Having my parents live with me, in a word, sucked.   I'll share one story that sort of encapsulates the whole experience.   I had procured three fairly decent (the highest grade available in KC) ribeyes that I intended to grill for dinner Saturday night.  Steaks should be as close to room temperature as possible, when throwing them on the coals; gives you a nice char immediately leading to a consistent medium rare center.  So, in the morning, I pulled the steaks, threw some salt on them, sat them on the counter, and went about my business.  When I hit the kitchen, later in the day, to prep for dinner, I found the steaks conspicuously absent.  Long story short, my father put them back in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil.   I was less than pleasant to both parents over the situation, because I take grilling meat very seriously.  I tried again the next day, but the steaks had gotten too funky, after two days on the counter.

After a week of hell, their shit showed up on Friday.  As expected, the amount of shit that was packed had the apartment busting at the seams.  My mother seems to have brought roughly three large moving boxes containing expired food.   My father's health had begun deteriorating (I suspected, due to the stress and energy he was burning) and my mother is in full regalia as she reigns as the regal drama queen.  

It was with great joy that I shoved them into their semi-functional apartment on a Sunday night.  I was awoken the next morning by my mother telling me that my father's condition was even worse and he couldn't get off the floor.  Off he went in an ambulance, with me in tow, not far behind.  Long story short, he'd apparently taken a header in my house and sloshed his head sufficiently for his brain to begin hemorrhaging pretty badly.  Into surgery he went for the benchmark of complex activities, brain surgery.  By Thursday, he was better than I'd seen him in months and the hospital released him.  It was a bit early, in my opinion (and his brain surgeon), but whatever.  

At this point, I was naïve enough to think nothing else could happen.

Except, he became incontinent the first night home.  After two days of it not getting any better, you guessed it, we went back to the hospital.  By that time, I knew that place inside and out.  Anyway, they got him stabilized and sent him to a rehab hospital to finish healing and regain his strength.  Deep breath; okay, now things are going to even themselves out.  Wrong!  The fucker called me yesterday morning to pick him up from rehab, which I thought was strange that the call wouldn't come from a medical professional.  You guessed it, he discharged himself AMA (against medical advice).  We had a brief yelling match in the entry of the rehab place, where I found myself quite close to just kicking the shit out of him for being a dumb fuck.  If a nurse wouldn't have been present, all bets would have been off.  But the asshat walked out to the car and got in; should have locked it as he walked over.  Water, dams, etc. 

Sure enough, he came home and feels like shit.  My response to his pain and ailments has been 'if only you had access to a facility that had doctors and nurses to address these issues...guess you're fucked.'

On the plus side, their house is under contract, after only two weeks on the market.

I just keep looking at the prize, six months out, that is returning to Richmond.