But apparently she was even bored by guys in the bondage scene, because she began writing me while I was across the country doing seven years for mail...fraud—I’d been pretending to be a woman, and a dominatrix, and somehow getting men to send me all the family dough, and although that might not be illegal, the Man got me anyway.As I have few other resources, I began writing stories for various spanking and bondage monthlies from my cell, making fifty to a hundred bucks a month, not much—and I. It was a solid five minutes or more before we could catch our breath. It only occurred to me somewhat later in my many lifetimes since that day our reaction to the gentleman's discomfort, which really was decidedly funny, was somewhat out of proportion, not to mention my abrupt acceptance of my situation.Still, even through our mirth, the questions to which I required answers only she could provide, were again rising to the forefront of my mind. I resolved to get the answers, by whatever means. ‘ How could they do this to me? He knew I was going to marry her.’ he thought bitterly as he signaled his waitress to bring another shot. Tomas pulled out the note that still smelled like her and re-read the same thing for the hundredth time: Dear Tomas, I am so sorry it had to come to this. We had never wanted to hurt you but we couldn’t lie to you or ourselves anymore. Tomas I have been having an affair with Philippe. It just happened one night and we couldn’t stop it. We love each other and. All of that came back in a rush that Monday morning. It was then almost drowned out by terror when I realized that my trip through time had taken away my security blanket: I had no idea where I could find a hard shell bicycle helmet in the summer of 1972! I hadn’t been on a bike without a helmet since 1979 when a bad fall had left me with a nasty concussion. Of course, I knew that insisting on getting one, assuming I could even find one, would be hugely anomalous behavior; but I might have done.