Sorry to have taken so long. We experienced some pretty awful fires in our area during the Christmas/New Year period. The last couple of days have been equally frightening as we were battered with wind gusts of over 125km p/h, torrential rain and flash flooding. Power, telephone, mobile and internet services all went down. Roads washed away, bridges collapsed. So, no more excuses - here is chapter three:

Chapter Three

Frozen. That's what I was. Fucking frozen in space, time, and however the fuck that quote goes. OMG! Lickable lolly-cock was touching my fingers. Inner wanna-be-slut jumped up and down, spreading her legs further apart with each landing, just dying to get some 'bump uglies' action. Such a ho.

"Hey." Lickable lolly-cock aka Stormy eyes – nah, Lickable lolly-cock is so much better – bent his knees, bringing his dark stubble that much closer the my hooch, er, I mean, face, searching for any lights on behind my eyes. Do you think the amount of drool slowly filling my mouth would be enough the raise the water level of Hoover Dam? "Hey, are you okay? Do you need me to get your carer?"

Right then, I knew I had no chance of ever losing my V card, let alone experiencing the complexities of a relationship with someone of the opposite sex. Hell, I doubt I could even manage to turn Ellen DeGeneres on, and you know, she is kinda cute with those sparkling blue eyes. Cold water had nothing compared to his obvious opinion of me. My shoulders slumped as I closed my eyes with the realization. Dropping my hand from his warmth, I stepped back, hoping like Christ I wouldn't hit anything behind me. No such fucking luck. The rickety wooden stool my arse had kept warm earlier, decided it didn't like touching my denim clad cheeks anymore and crashed to the floor.

"Oh, God. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry, really." Fumbling with my gangly arms to right the chair must have looked like such a highschool dork moment. "Sorry. I … yeah. I gotta … um … get out of here." I couldn't even bring myself to look at Lickable lolly-cock as I staggered passed his hard, warm body. My only thought was to get out of Oz.

I really didn't quite register the shouts of a deep, husky voice behind me. Nor did I pay any attention to the high-pitched shouts from Rose and Alice; I just kept running.

Finally home, safe and warm. Not judgments – except for my own self-flagellation – and no one to tell me what I already know: I will never be good enough. 'I am Woman' blared from the tinny speaker of my mobile – Rose … Nuh uh. No way. Not answering that. Tag team; 'Fashion is Danger'. Right about now, I didn't give a flying fuck what my friends had to say.

"Piss off! Leave me the fuck alone!" Spittle is so not a good look. Poor mobile, it didn't deserve my wrath. Mind you, I will never buy another mobile that does not cater for left handed people; the amount of times I hit the wrong touch sensitive 'button' on my black, (white is for pussies) Samsung Galaxy III, just pissed me the fuck off on a near daily basis. At least my old Nokia N8 gave me the option of what hand I used. Still, I did prefer to use my right hand on the essential button, if you know what I mean …

Mobile turned off: check. Old pj bottoms - with the stretched elastic – and a faded grey tank top that has seen better days thereby leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination: check. Three fingers of watered down twelve-year-old (couldn't afford eighteen year old scotch) single malt scotch whiskey: check. Sitting in my bed: check. Lights off: check.

By eight o'clock the next morning, I had just about gone into a nuclear meltdown. All I wanted was to be left alone to commiserate the pathetic-ness that is my life. But, no … Rose and Alice had other ideas; banging on my door for what seemed like for-fucking-ever. Seriously? What part of not answering the door or my phone is that hard to understand? I'm the one the gorgeous creature that is the Lickable Lolly-Cock believes to be mentally challenged, for Christ's sake! So, figuring they needed some sort of respite from bugging me, I taped a sign to the outside of my front door:

'I need time out.

Time out means exactly that.

No visitors.

No phone conversations.

Respect my wishes.'

Yeah, I'd give that until the end of the week.

The weekend of self-loathing over, I vowed and declared the Lickable Lolly-Cock to be a past experience from the Twilight Zone; you know the one, "You're travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind …". Just about sums up my life, don't cha think? Anyway, having licked my wounds with scotch-laced saliva, I realized that life didn't care and I had to move on.

After dressing in jeans and a black t-shirt, I hopped, skipped and tripped into my low wedges then headed out the door of my small apartment. Instead of ripping off the 'warning/leave me alone' note I had put on my door Saturday morning, I found myself arse-up and face first, on the disgusting wooden floor of the building's access hallway. A package wrapped in brown paper and twine now lay partially tumbled and sort of squished under my ankles; seemed the devil twins decided some punishment was in order because I refused to talk or see them. Talk about fucking inconsiderate. Brown paper, plus bare wooden floors, and my propensity not to remain upright fifty percent of the time, was such a dick move. Thanks, girls – really.

Twisting, grunting, and just plain grumbling at the start to my day, somehow the package sat before my now crossed legs, waiting obnoxiously for me to rip the fucker open. Maybe I should just toss the stupid thing out the window, but then, knowing my luck, I would get done for littering, or, even better, assault with a deadly weapon after the package knocked some poor old lady out on its journey to the pavement, two stories below. Yeah, not a good idea. Damn, this wooden floor is hard on the arse!

Dusting off my hands – no, not on my jeans, cause that's just plain bloody gross – I reached for the bane of my Monday morning and began ripping off the twine and the brown paper wrapping.

Oh, my, fucking God! That fucking … gah! I am gonna kill that Lickable Lolly-Cock. The nerve of that arsehole. Who the fuck does he think he is? Some funny man? And how do I know the package is from the LLC? Who else would give me two books: one called 'Wooden Furniture Repair' and the other, 'Socially Acceptable Mannerisms in Public Places'? Twat!

Anger pulsed through my veins. Tears of humiliation stained my cheeks. The books flew through the air, connecting loudly with the wall opposite. Then, like a reprieve in a movie drama, a semi-folded piece of cream parchment fluttered down onto my lap. Huh?

Picture it: legs splayed out in a 'V', fingers clasping said parchment, slouched back, slumped shoulders, mouth open, eyebrows crossed with confusion. Maybe I should have worn a very short plaid pleated skirt with thigh high socks and black, patent leather school shoes, a crisp white cotton short sleeved shirt and my hair in high piggy tails; cause that was about how pathetically deflated, and stupid I felt right in that moment.

Did I want to read what the Lickable lolly-cock had to say? Yes. No. Nope. Not going to give him the satisfaction. Yet, as always, curiosity burned in my soul.

Okay, bring it, douche!


Wow! This is not how I imagined starting a letter of apology, but I figured if you were brave enough to be yourself, then I would be true to myself, and just let my words spill out on this page.

That day in the Coffee Stop … I noticed you sitting there, having your coffee, well, it could've been tea. You looked a vision. It took me forever to grow a 'pair' and approach you. Just as I had made the decision to do so, you gracefully left your table. I … Hell, why is this so hard?

I froze. Simple as that. Then you did what you did – you know, with your hand … At first I thought that maybe I had the same effect on you as you had on me. I was rock hard and wanted to palm my junk but forced my hand to grab my hair instead. (The hair on my scalp – just for clarification.)

But then, you took off, so fast. I didn't want to miss out on talking to you, so I hung around, waiting for you to come out of the women's toilets. For a moment or two, I honestly thought you had given me the slip. I asked one of the staff to check on you. I heard her and her friends say awful things about you as they left the toilets; talk about fucking rude.

I had just about plucked up the courage to go into the toilets after you, when this tall, blonde raced into the shop, screaming out what I later learned was your name: Bella.

I think that's when I fell in love.

Oh, God … when the blonde said she was your 'carer', it was like my world had been ripped out of my chest. There was no way I could even entertain having a relationship with you. I left, devastated.

The next few days felt like the scariest rollercoaster ride I could imagine. Call me insane, I do. I mean … fuck! Love at first-ish sight is just bullshit, right? Most would agree with me, I did. But, then, you – you, somehow, changed that stuck up belief system, totally.

I argued with myself. Called myself a disgusting pervert. Predator. Violator. Sicko. Hopelessly-in-love loser. I am, you know, hopelessly in love, with you. ;p

What was I going to do? I couldn't ask you for a date. How fucking wrong would that be? But I couldn't let you go, either. So, I decided that I would become your friend. Hopefully – eventually – your carer. My next hurdle was to find you.

Just my luck, there you were; perched on that wobbly old wooden stool in your Docs and jeans, looking so fucking sexy. The front of my jeans had never felt so tight - yeah, I know … TMI.

Willing my erection to go away was just not happening. I thought 'fuck it!' and made the decision to get to know you. Fuck me, you bounced right into my chest! Heaven.

Then you spoke.

Your friends came back inside after you ran away - second best thing to happen in my life. They were so confused, until they saw me. The short one, Alice, has the biggest smile for someone so small! My ears are still ringing from her squeals. You know, I only thought squealing was something chicks did in the movies. I really, really like Alice. Rose, on the other hand; cool cucumber wrapped around a layer of cold, hard steel.

The three of us have spoken a lot over the weekend. I've learned so much about you – the most important thing is that I can date you, guilt free – if that's what you want. I know I do, desperately. I have also come to learn that Rose is a marshmallow under all that armour, and I love her, for being your protector and friend.

I went to the markets Sunday morning with Rose and Alice. They were 'strategizing' – truly scary friends you have! ;p By the way, I have to ask, is Alice an heiress or something, cause, damn that girl can spend money! Anyway, whilst scavenging through the second hand bookstall, I found these two books that made me think of you. Now, please, don't be offended; they are not meant to be anything other than a reflection of my totally fucked up sense of humour.

The book about furniture repairs reminded me of the stool you crashed into on Friday night. What did that poor old thing do to you! LOL! I have a confession to make, (no, I am not a stalker) I managed to convince the owner of the place to let me take the stool home. I had to pay him forty bucks, but for me, that was money well spent. I had to buy the furniture manual; maybe you and I could work on the stool together, kinda like a first day date, or, whatever …

The other book speaks for itself. Now that I know I did indeed have the same effect on you as you had on me - bumbling fools in public – I had to buy it. And, yep, I did browse through the 'suggestions' on acceptable behavior. We really need to read it together, as we munch on greasy food that dribbles down our chins, whilst downing a couple of gas-repeating worthy drinks. ;p

Bella, I really am sorry for hurting you, for embarrassing you. You have to know my actions were never meant to be anything other than that of a gentleman. Please, forgive me.

As for my feelings for you; they are genuine and beyond reproach. Call me delusional, if you will, but I do, simply, honestly, love you. If you don't believe me, ask Alice and Rose! I have approval! :D

I will leave it to you to decide whether you wish to meet up with me. Do you know the clearing by the lake? Toward the top of the knoll there is a flat, grassy spot I frequent to be alone with my thoughts. There are magnificent views to the mountains as well as of the ocean. Next Saturday, around midmorning, I will be sitting in my favourite spot, waiting, hoping, and dreaming that you'll give me chance.

My heart is forever yours,

Edward Mason


My fingers twitched as my hooch clenched.