It's A Question of Etiquette.

First of all, thank god christmas is over. No more christmas music for this bitter Jew. (Well, truth be told, I'm not that bitter but I like to pretend to be. On top of that I do enjoy James Brown's christmas album. Santa Claus..go straight to the ghetto)

Secondly, if you do celebrate the holiday and were with family over the weekend, or loved ones of any sort, I hope all went well and your weekend was as dysfunction-less as possible.

And now, back to me.

For those of you who come here on a regular basis (for which I thank you) and are familiar with my adventures with Astarte, I should inform you that she now lives in Madison, which is only an hour south of me. I suppose you could say we are an 'item' or 'non-boyfriend/non-girlfriend', to steal from Chicken. For those of you who don't know of whom I speak, I refer you here:

http://lostintheblender.blogspot.com/2005/11/story-part-one.html

Anyhoo, I do actually have a story to tell, so let's get to it, shall we?

We shall.

Saturday Astarte and I decided to pay my parents (Well, my mother and her man. They've been together for 19 years and aren't married, so I don't know what to call them.) a visit, maybe have dinner, so on and so on. It was a nice day for Wisconsin in the winter..around 40 degrees, little peeks of sun here and there, no real wind. The drive from Astarte's apartment to my parent's home takes roughly 20 minutes. Plenty of time to get in trouble.

I'm driving rather leisurely, enjoying the scenery and hardly cursing the other drivers at all. Ray Charles is on the cd player singing "I've got a woman...wayy over town...that's good to me...oh yeah." I'm smiling, singing with Ray and thinking 'yeah, oh yeah. I have one too, Ray.'.

That's when it starts.

The hand on my knee. Up my thigh. Between my legs. Caressing, kneading, grabbing. Before I know it my pants are undone and Mr. Smith (as he has been christened) is free and very much enjoying the attention he's receiving. I'm ok while it's just the hand, I can still drive and pay attention to the road.

But the mouth...oh, the mouth. A blowjob while driving is a real and dangerous pleasure...especially on a bumpy rural road. But I'm a trooper. I manage just fine. Until....

She stops, reaches under her chest and picks up my cell phone from the console between the seats, buzzing it's angry buzz.

"Here." she says, handing me the phone.

Oh. Oh, damn. The ex-wife.

Now here's the etiquette question: Do you answer it?

(I'll tell you what I did later)


M. PotPie