I hope you enjoyed last night.

[As copied from a letter addressed to one of my early girlfriends. Names have been changed to protect the shy.]

Good morming, my love. I hope you enjoyed last night. I know I did. Although I did all the work and you did nothing but enjoy, it felt (to me) as though an incredible force was emanating from you... I felt my entire body become drained of all energy... ...that has never happened before...

I am so satisfied... I could go a week w/o complaints after a night like yesterday's. Thank you for allowingme inside of you. Thank you for inviting me over.

I'm still not sure what was the best for me. Without the condom felt really good,, but with it, I got to hit orgasm inside of you... Orgasm feels extraordinarily great if its [sic] inside of you, but the condom reduces the pleasure to a point where I can say that I enjoyed it w/o the condom a bit better...

I thought the role-playing thing was pretty cool. It makes making loves to you so much more interesting, in at least one way. No matter how I take you, however, making love to you is utter enjoyment...

As you lay there, helpless and tired, I watched your eyes -- your face...it was dark, but I still remember the details... Your head was first turned to my right, and your eyes closed, heavy with want for sleep. And I picked your legs up and moved you, as I entered again and again, feeling the inside of you; exploring your inner depths... And you turned your head to my left, still just as sleepy... I thought you would pass out any second. Some time later, I wanted to explode inside of you very extremely badly... I moved with a rhythm, speed, and direction that was purely for my enjoyment. Once I started doing it for me, my body tensed and got superhot and I pushed into you with a gentle strength that I felt pulsating through my body... Soon I felt myself about to give out, because I kept holding back as I entered -- but now it was too much-my pleasure was going to shoot from me and cover you so completely and my happiness would have soared so high that I would not have been able to hold back from screaming and yelling... and I pulled out of you.

Can you imagine?

You were meant for me... Or was I meant for you?

[The below entry was not written by me. It is from a portion of a journal entry that was written by one of my early girlfriends. Names have been modified to protect the shy.]

The threads that hold your life together are woven by the choices that you do not even think about making for yourself. Often, those threads are the imposed expectations that society has painted for us since our earliest ages. The threads that were holding my life together during my seventeenth autumn were the hopes of love. I had met a younger man, if he should be called a man. He was fifteen; I was seventeen. We met on a bus going to play with a band at a football game. I was the flutist, he the drummer.

"I'm [Jane Doe]," I said nervously, astounded that this very handsome teenage guy with exotic eyes and John Travolta's smile would have chosen to sit by me when there were so many other seats available.

"I'm Eric," was his reply. It was thoughtful but yet distant, just as our relationship would prove to be.

The first time he called me was New Year's Day. It was getting pretty late in the evening. Mom answered the phone and told me that it was for me. When I heard Eric's voice on the line, my heart skipped a beat for about two hours. He told me about his dog and his life.

He called me, and I called him. For that whole month of January, we talked and talked. We grew closer and closer, escaping to the library (where we were sometimes kicked out for Eric making me laugh so hard!)

Some time between the night of February the first and February the second, we proclaimed that were officially going steady. We both confessed to liking each other.

We were walking together,and he started to walk very quickly. I asked him to wait up a second. He said that, if I wanted to walk with him, I better hurry and that he didn't wait for anyone.

The cruel emotional abuse was all that I could stand . I only called him about thirty doxen more times. No
matter ho extreme the [sic]

Everyone was staring at me on the ferry at the so-called happiest place on the earth. Disney World paralleled to the Titanic in that the happiest place can quickly become the worst place to be.

I called him once more. He said that he was busy. I never called him again. Months later, when I had a job at a video staore, he came in to talk to me. I treated him like a complaete stranger, but with politeness that I swould show the average customer. I looked at him blankly and said, "Do you need any help?" He looked annoyed and did not respond.

A Girl's First Date

[The below entry was not written by me. It is from a portion of a journal entry that was written by one of my early girlfriends. Names have been modified to protect the shy.]

There I was. I was seventeen and out on my first date. I could not believe that love was happening to me. He seemed to like me a lot, too. As for myself, I was out on a date with the guy that I loved more than anything in the world. The feelings he inspired were that of being absolutely awestruck. I worshipped thoughts of him. I would have given up anything if he whispered such a request. I was in deep.

We walked around the mall for endless hours. We had such a great time. Our first stop was Toys 'R' Us. Eric read me a book called "The Holes in Our Nose" It was disgusting, but he had the most charming way of reading that absolutely intoxicated me with loving thoughts.

Then we moved on to all sorts of shops, inluding Musicland in which I showed Eric all sorts of things like the No Doubt CD and Celine Dion's song "Because You Loved Me." We wet [sic] to this shop where he has a hacker friend who had shut down the computers of some of the shops at the mall.

We met up with his parents after he gave me a guided tour of Barnes and Noble. He apparently loves the books there about physics and I showed him The Fountainhead, recommending it, and he asked if I read it for a reason other than to read it, and I lied and said no, but I really read it for the scholarship, although I want to read it further, and I loved hear him talk about everything he loves.

His mom and little sister found us while we were playing chess. Rather, while he was teaching me chess. It was fun for me, but I think that maybe had a drag of a time.

We went to Piccadilly's after we left Barnes and Noble. The only thing was that I made friends with his sister and was playing with her so much that I forgot my purse in the car. I carried her inside.

[...]

On April 5, 1997, I met my Eric’s three-year-old sister, Lexi Herboso, and decided that I am definitely going to have children of my own. That is also one of the reasons that I left Saraland. I had a distinctive need to take myself and, therefore, my future children, away from the insanity that had been stepping on my heels since my earlies memories. was going to make it out, and my children would never,ever know the insanity of it.

A Message

(Originally written sometime in late 1996.)

Arising from the depths of the deep,
Meeting the sun with rays we reap,
Becoming dry from the sweltering heat,
Entering a house, so nice and neat,
Resting there for me to keep, -- is you.

Guessing a hidden meaning
Understanding as though one were weaning,
Yearning to understand,
Expecting no such demand,
Remembering that there is meaning -- in every word.

Intercepting my feelings,
Lest my frequent kneelings,
Over all that I do,
Vindictive in lieu,
Entertaining my willings, -- is what I know.

Yet I know also of you,
Of your beauty, intelligence and how you never feel blue,
Unbelievable, inconceivable, but true.

Who's Scott?

[The following is a copy of an undated letter sent to Emily Mertz sometime soon after 22 June, 1996.]

Hi, Emily. What are you up to? I've been going to the recent Mardi Gras parades. They're a bunch of fun. I don't really know the history of the season, but it involves people riding on floats with masks on and throwing things at the people that watch them. Now I know that it sounds violent, but it's true. They throw things like Mardi Gras beads and moon pies and frisbies, and all sorts of wierd stuff. It really is a lot of fun.

I'm sure that by now, you've forgotten my real name, so I'll remind you: it's Eric. (This way you won't have to press contol-g in order to figure out my name. And speaking of member profiles, I do believe that I'm supposed to tell you why I quoted "Who's Scott?". Well, the following is the complete story with no details left out.

The pinnacle of my acheivements was when I started the WHOSCOTT? club. You see, it all started when my algebra teacher at Adams Middle School gave me a brochure. His name was Mr. Hines. He told me that the brochure was for the Alabama School of Mathematics and Science (ASMS) and he said that if I wannted to, my parents could enroll me into their summer program. (The school was for Juniors and Seniors only, but their summer program consisted of any and all children aged ten to fourteen that wanted to attend a boarding school for a week or two and learn more than the average student gets to in a public school, despite the oxymoron that ASMS is a state tax supported school - in other words, a public school.) I was ecstatic, and my parents sent me there for a week. I was thirteen.

I found the course stimulating and very enjoyable. Being a state school, students would come from as far north as Chirooka (that's right on the Alabama-Tennessee state line) just to attend. They had a swimming pool (it gets extra hot in the summer this far south) , a bowling alley, a soccer field, a recreation room with a big screen TV and all sorts of neat things. That was the most fun I had had in a while.

(Don't worry, the point will come out and rear it's ugly head pretty soon. Sometimes it takes a while for people to figure out what I'm talking about because it takes so long to get to the point.)

After that summer program, I went to Satsuma High School as a freshman. Boy, did I dislike my freshman year. But that's no matter because at the end of that year I recieved a letter from ASMS. They were inviting me to stay the upcoming summer. (Of course, they didn't pay my way, I had to include costs myself.) I happily accepted the offer and what happened next is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. But that's a different story; I'm busy right now with WHOSCOTT?. You see, after my mother dropped me off at ASMS, I met my roommate, James. That night we then met our Resident Advisor (RA) , or, in laymen's terms, our "guy-in-charge-of-us-so-that-we-don't-get-in-any-trouble-with-the-school." His name was Jeff McGeHee (pronounced MickGee) . He had a single middle name and that name did not begin with an S. I know that sounds like a stupid thing to tell you, but it's important, so remember it. You also need to remember that he did not have a nickname other than "Hey, you, the RA of mine whose name I can't remember!". That's also important.

Anyways, Jeff had a single distinguishing characteristic: he always wore a baseball cap, and he always wore it backwards. (Okay, so that's two distinguishing characteristics.) So when I saw him in the office, I knew it could be no other person. Here's what happened before I saw him.

James and I were going to order some pizza, but when we reached the pay phone, some 10 year old was already on it. We decided to wait behind him. I turned my back to the kid. I started to get tired of his constant talking. He just wouldn't hang up. He just kept going, "Yeah, Grandma, I really like it here... yeah, it's fun...they have all sorts of cool stuff, yep,... uh-huh..." I got so tired that I started to amuse myself by mimicking him to James' face. But then I noticed something strange. Across the hall was the main office. It was a corner office, and the two sides facing the hallways were made up of glass from about waist level up. There was a receptionist's desk in front of the window on one side. In front of this desk was a slot where I suppose she could slide papers through; the important thing about this was that it was an opening into the otherwise soundproof room. Anyways, I noticed Jeff McGehee, my RA, inside the office by himself. He had a phone up to his ear, like he was listening lightly.

I had been looking for quite a few seconds before I realized that all that he had been doing was listen. He was not talking! Now, I know I probably haven't told you this before, but every once in a while, my brain stops working. It is during those periods that I become very extremely stupid. My ignorance durings these short intervals upshots dramatically. It was when I noticed my RA, Jeff, that this intelligence-defeater stepped in. And, all of a sudden, I got this stupid idea. I turned to James, my roomate, and remarked: "Hey, I think someone else is listening to this kid talk, too." (Of course, this was physically improbable, since the kid was talking on a pay phone, while Jeff was on the phone in the office.) Anyway, males being the way they are, my stupidity rubbed off on James, and he replied to me in a positive way. "Yeah, Eric, I think that's Jeff, our hat boy." (Recall the backwards baseball cap.)

This stupidity was pretty funny in itself. But it gets even better than that. You see, we both started looking at Jeff at that moment, and therefore lost our place in line. (The kid had left, and now someone else was ordering pizza. I don't like line skippers.) But right now, I really did not care. You see, Jeff had started to talk. His head had recently jerked up, as if he had just been taken off hold. I suppose that he thought that no one could hear him, but we were near the slot I told you about earlier. We could hear him say just about anything. But neither of us were ready to hear what he had to say next. "Hey, man. This is Scott." My mouth dropped. James was flabbergasted. "Did you hear what I think I heard?" I slowly nodded. My mouth formed the word Scott, but I couldn't say a word. And not only could I not talk, but I also could not hear another word that Jeff said.

Neither could James. We were too astonished. (Weren't we stupid?) Before I know it, Jeff "Scott" McGehee huyng up the phone. And then he started walking towards the office door. He was coming our way! I grinned and told James what I was going to do. I was going to ask him the immortal question... "Who's Scott?"

James and I rushed to catch up with Scott. And then I looked him straight in the eye with a straight face and popped him the question. He looked at me, raised his shoulders, lowered his head, wrinkled his face, squinted his eyes, gave a confused smile, vehemently shook his head, and spurted out a deformed sounding - "What?" James quickly spun around to where his back was to Scott. He looked perfectly normal, except for that from my view, I could see about a 30 degree angle from my side of his front. He was laughing hysterically under his breath. I kept my composure, however, and I asked Jeff the question one more time: "I asked who Scott was, Jeff." James started to turn around, but it was all in vain, because Scott once again went into his look-innocent act and moronically said "What?" . I noticed James immediately turning around, and this time you could tell he was shaking a little bit from the back side. But I just barely gave a grin, and was about to ask him when James turned around with his face all red and said:

"Eric, uh, let's go to the bowling alley." Then he put his hand over his face to keep from laughing and pulled my arm towards the opposite direction of Scott. Scott stared at us as we walked away, but as soon as he turned a corner, we both busted out laughing, me more than him, being that I had held it in me so much longer than he had.

After it was all over, and I we were feeling better, we called for pizza. At this point, however, we had to wait for our meal. So we sat down in the rec room and started talking. And then an idea formed in my head. "Hey, James. Couldn't we make Scott (hint of laughter) really mad if we put a sign on the door to his room that said 'Who's Scott?'" James looked at me like I was crazy, but he started to get my idea. But then I started to get bigger ideas. I saw the whole scheme of things... a vision in my head. I saw my RA going insane from the shock of seeing "Who's Scott?" written everywhere he turned. (Remember, I still got those stupidic moments.) My head was getting swarmed with ideas, and all of them were about Scott. By the time I got to my dormitory that night, I had ideas coming out of my ears. (Boy, was that idiotic moment of mine was long.) That night, James kept me up all night saying "What? What? What? What?" over and over again. I finally laughed myself to sleep.