From: bamurphy@biteme.massmailers.com (Murf)
Subject: ASSC - AFTSD - A Fail To Suck Life
Date: 2 Dec 1997 11:41:00 -0700



I've read many tales of men who have met their bride's - and ex's - in

SC's.  There's been even more tales of dreams that became nightmares: I've

written my share.



This story lacks such romance.



In deference to The Pope, it is also short.  :)



Whether it has a happy ending is yet to be determined, although I have

high hopes and expectations.



                   *****-------------------------*****

                           A Fail To Suck Life



I was just another PL, lost and lonely.  Superbowl Sunday I wandered into

the club looking for... what?  Love?  Release?  A sharp stick in the eye?



When I first saw her, she was on stage wearing only her boots.



We met.



I became a regular, but we also became friends.



Time passed.



Typical club activities fell by the wayside.  I'd be in the HMS when she

took the stage, but immediately after we'd find the quietest corner and

shut out the world.  During dollar dances she just sat by my side as we

talked; a growing pile of singles warding off management's wrath.



More time passed.



She grew tired of dancing.  What at first had been an adventure and an

easy way to pay off some large debts was growing old and stale.  She was

starting to hate those with both X and Y chromosomes as she related horror

stories of sperm-sodden shorts and probing hands.  The friendly greetings

to which I'd grown accustomed were being replaced by, 'Sanity!  Sanity! 

Thank GOD you're here!'



I, too, had grown weary of the whole scene, having fallen into a rut,

working just enough for someone else so I could go watch my friend slowly

go mad trying to make ends meet.



Something had to change.



For both our sakes.



One night we met for dinner and a movie: not a date, just two friends

getting together.  She told me she was eager to change professions and

asked if it was difficult learn mine: the flexible hours and good pay fit

her lifestyle.



My profession is far from simple, but with her brains and background, I

knew immediately this could be her escape: I began tutoring the following

day.



It became obvious to me within a few days my hunch had been correct: while

she may never be as fast or thorough [trans: anal] as I, her work was

quite competent and acceptable.  Within a scant few weeks she was earning

enough at the new profession there was no longer a financial need to

dance.



She quit.



I stopped going to the club.  Any club.



Friends don't always work well together: more often than not, the lines

can not be crossed.  Such was not the case in our situation.  I knew we

had enough in common to be close friends, but was very pleased to discover

our differences complimented each other.  I have a good reputation in my

profession but I'm not very well versed in business: that, however, is her

forte.



Revelation struck us at the same time: a partnership was formed.



As I type this, the paperwork is in The System: our business should be

legal before the end of the year.



Wish us luck, my friends.



The Beginning....





------------------------------------------------------------------

mayle for Murf, Murph, and SMurf: bamurphy at primenet dot com

------------------------------------------------------------------