We chatted about this and that for a minute or two, when I mentioned you came over to watch the game. She asked if the red truck was yours and I said...yes." John paused then, and I gave him a 'so what then?' look, and he continued. "She said that I might want to be more careful about closing my curtains." Shit" I said. "Is she pissed?" Well, no, actually. I apologized and said I'd be mindful of it in the future. Then she surprised me by saying that I didn't have to on her account." Now I. ‘I didn’t know your phone number, and after trying every Sam Baxter in the San Diego area, I still hadn’t found you. I realized I never told you my last name, so wasn’t surprised you couldn’t reach me. I remembered your address, though, and flying here seemed the best way to talk to you. I’m so glad you were home!’ I chuckled, ‘You’ve never heard of writing a letter? C’mon in.’ I picked up her bag, and we stepped inside, and I closed the door. She sighed. ‘And wait a week or even two, before. The fact of the matter is that I have received no letters seeking advice in quite some time. As evidence of that, notice that I am forced to dragoon your simple inquiry into an excuse to post.My advice is most helpful (and most entertaining for all) when it is offered in response to an actual reader request, rather than relying on my speculations (educated and accurate as these may be) as to what advice my readers need. Clearly, the spicier, dicier, or more outlandish the correspondent's. He could tell that she still wasn't quite sure what to think about him. She was still prim and proper, as if she'd drop dead at the sight of a man's cock. He couldn't picture her as the wanton little bitch Jennifer had described."How have you been, Rena," he asked."Just fine, Tom," she said.Both Jennifer and Rena looked at him with puzzled expressions. Tom was really enjoying himself. He grinned at them as he took another swallow of his drink."Jennifer and I have been having quite a.