Depression by cmsix

Chapter 1

People who think something bad has to happen to you for you to get depressed don't know shit about it. Sometimes it just happens. The world can go to shit around you and you can be doing just fine anyway. Or things can be going great for you and you can get depressed, or start suffering from depression or whatever you want to call it. You're just depressed. For me, I didn't feel bad; I just didn't give a shit, about anything.

I couldn't go out and do something that would make me feel better, because I didn't want to do a fucking thing. I didn't even want to feed my dogs; I had food at the house and just couldn't go give it to them. I had to make myself.

I didn't want to bathe, didn't want to take out the trash, and didn't wash the dishes. It got so bad I didn't even make a good try to get things into the trash. I'd eat something and throw the wrapper at the trashcan, if it landed on the floor instead, fine.

I knew something was wrong and I was sure it was probably depression and I knew I should see a doctor, a shrink. Every time I thought about making an appointment I got mad. Here's a guy making two bucks a minute for listening to you piss and moan, and you have to keep going and going - just like the energizer doctor-payer - for what? Will it ever end? Not if you keep having the two bucks a minute. Where's his motivation? Because he's a doctor and wants to help you? Give me a fucking break.

After a couple of months it didn't matter anymore anyway, because I lost my job and my health insurance, and then I'd spent up all my money and I didn't even have the two bucks a minute to pay the fucker.

Before I lost my big house, my three bedroom two bath brick, I sold it and cleared enough to buy a shack, free and clear. No, it wasn't a major financial coup. I took a fucking like often happens when you have to sell something or lose it completely and the one doing the buying knows it.

Even though I didn't want to do shit, the house wasn't mine anymore and I knew I had to move. Since my pickup was already paid off, I hadn't lost it. The move was trip after trip after trip though, and there sure as hell wasn't enough room in my new home to put all my furniture. So it was yard sale time for Johnny.

I was surprised by how well it went. At first I was intending to hold onto my own bedroom suite, but I had it out in the yard anyway. A guy and his wife thought it was great and though I asked twice what I figured it would bring, they couldn't get their money out fast enough.

The living room and dining room furniture were on the block all along but I'd jacked up the asking price thinking I'd have to come down to move it. Apparently I didn't have a clue about what furniture was worth. Another couple bought it with no arguments and then asked about the price of the china and silverware that was in it.

I might be depressed but I wasn't stupid, or not completely anyway. The china and glassware had been my mother's and she'd been gone for years. In fact I don't ever remember us using it in my life. Truthfully, I'd intended to just let it go with the big cabinet thing it was in, but after the lady asked, I at least had sense enough to tell her to make me an offer. I didn't have a clue about what it was worth.

When she asked about the silverware and glassware I just said, "Make me an offer on all of it. It was my mother's and as far as I know it's never been out of that cabinet during my life."

Apparently my mother had collected one hell of a set of dishes, because the woman offered me three times as much for them as they'd paid for the furniture. It was hard as hell for me to act like I was considering it without jumping up and down screaming, "Sold, sold, sold."

Even though I was surprised to get so much for it, I think they were even more surprised to get it so cheap. They must have known more about what it was really worth than I did, because the woman stayed with it while the man went off and rented a U-Haul and came back with dozens of boxes, a mountain of tissue paper and big rolls of bubble wrap. They spent all afternoon carefully wrapping each piece individually.

Still, I was happy with what I got for it, and they seemed happy with their purchase, and long before they had it packed up, I'd sold every bit of furniture I had except my big gun case. I hadn't moved it outside with everything else because it was full of rifles and pistols.

Yes, like any self-respecting (or is that self-important?) Texan - depressed or not - I had guns out the ass. In fact, guns and shooting had been the biggest part of my life. Since my depression came on, I've read dozens of self-help books, and almost all of them say you should get rid of firearms if you are depressed. Maybe that's good advice for most people, but if I didn't have any guns I'd just slit my throat, so what's the point?

I did intend to sell most of them but I figured it would take months. I suppose I was just stalling if the truth were known. I hadn't sold any guns today because no one knew I had any for sale.

Since everything else was gone; the bedroom suite I'd intended to keep and the bed I'd intended to continue sleeping in and with another day of my two day yard sale to go, I supposed I was going to have to put the gun case outside tomorrow and sell my children too, most of them anyway. There were a few I wouldn't sell for any price.

I slept on the floor that night. I had at least hung onto a couple of pillows. My carpet also had great padding under it, since a guy in the business told me long ago that cheap padding would make carpet wear out faster than anything. Hell of a lot of good spending money on great carpet pad did me. It just made the carpet look good for the asshole that had skinned me on the house deal.

So, as I was saying, I slept on the floor and with the success of my yard sale I didn't even have a fucking radio to listen to. What the hell, I'd never paid much attention to TV. The set I'd sold today was probably ten years old and getting a little dim, but some asshole - excuse me, some nice young gentleman - bought it, and I'm sure he could have got one nearly as big for the same money at Wal-Mart.

It was a surprise to me that I dropped off to sleep so fast, because ever since the depression crept up on me I'd had hell going to sleep, and even more trouble keeping asleep. Some of the articles I read even said the irregular sleep patterns caused the depression. That's a real relief, when you're trying to get to sleep and can't, and you realize that it could be making your depression worse.

An even bigger surprise was that I didn't wake up until I'd slept almost exactly eight hours. I hadn't been able to sleep all through the night for months and months. To top it all off, it seemed I felt great this morning.

I hadn't sold the washer and dryer because they went with the house and damned if I didn't start washing clothes after I'd finished breakfast and had a load of dishes in the dishwasher.

Of course I'd already had to force myself to wash most of the dishes because I sold them too, most of them anyway, and most of the pots and pans. In fact I only had one cast iron skillet left and one three-quart saucepan.

With a load in the washer and one in the dryer, I made a quick trip to Wal-Mart to grab one of those airbed mattresses and a foot operated pump so I'd have something to sleep on besides the floor.

Next was the gun cabinet. I had to get it outside under the carport, so people could see it. I had to take out the shotgun, all twenty of the rifles and the fifteen pistols before I moved it. Then I put eighteen of the rifles and twelve of the pistols back

I only kept my custom made 8mm x 57 bolt action rifle, my Browning Buckmark 22LR, my sawed off LC Smith 12 gauge double barrel, my Glock 34, my Colt Python 357 magnum, and my Colt Diamondback 38 Special.

I guess that might sound like a lot of firearms for some people but for me it was only the bare necessities, except for the LC Smith. It probably wouldn't bring much anyway, since some dumbass sawed the barrel off the priceless antique, so I kept it just for the hell of it.

I hid all of the keepers back in my smallest bedroom with my reloading equipment and supplies. I'd separated that out two days ago. I was also selling the dies and supplies for the calibers I wouldn't have any longer, but I sure wasn't getting out of the reloading business for anything I kept.

I was sitting out under my carport in the one lawn chair I'd refused to sell yesterday at eleven AM when the first car drove by. They kept driving and I guessed they didn't see anything that interested them. I got my hopes up for a second that no one would be out on Sunday wanting to by a gun cabinet or a bunch of guns.

Wrong. Ten minutes later a big camo painted pickup came by and he stopped at once when he saw that there were guns for sale here, just like the classified add had said.

He was only a looker though. No doubt he thought that I'd sold all the good stuff yesterday and he'd find a bargain today. He had another thought coming. I didn't know shit about what china was worth, but I knew the value of every weapon in that case down to the penny. He was on his way in only a few minutes.

I was surprised when he came back twenty minutes later with a friend in tow. The friend nearly shot off in his pants when he saw the M1 I'd sporterized with a synthetic stock, a new barrel, and a 4 to 12 low light scope. The guy couldn't wait to count out thirty-nine hundreds and take it home.

I figured they knew just as well as me that there was no paperwork for the government for a firearm sale between private individuals, especially when it was strictly cash. At least there wasn't if even one of the individuals had a lick of sense.

Just as they left, one of those small foreign four-wheel drive pickups pulled up and two guys piled out of it. They looked things over and from the way they talked I realized that the first guy had told them about my sale.

They were tickled shitless to have a chance at a custom rifle that was ready to go without having to wait months to have it made. The driver bought both the rifles I had with thumbhole stocks, and the other one just had to have the 45/70 with a stainless barrel and camo synthetic stock.

Since they'd been talking about white tail hunting, I idly wondered what a poor white tail was going to look like after the guy smacked him with a 300 grain bullet out of that 45/70 cannon. You notice I didn't call him a dumbass? That's because he had nice crisp hundreds.

Things slacked off for a minute and then a guy came up in a new Caddy and got out wearing a dark suit. I knew at once that he understood completely about the lack of paperwork involved. He strolled over, bought my 220 Swift, my 22-250, and every pistol I had except the Thompson Center Contender and the Ruger Super Redhawk in 454 Casull, he never even asked about a package deal, which surprised me.

I started gathering up the reloading dies and other reloading supplies that went with them and he told me I could keep all that crap. He did seem pleased when I dragged out the hard cases, but he insisted in cramming two or three guns in each one and left me all the others.

As he was leaving I had a feeling he was a shooter all right, or at least he supplied shooters. No doubt my babies would be fired one or two more times each and end up disassembled and at the bottom of large bodies of water. Oh well, you can't tell a man how hard to ride the horse after he's paid for it.

Damned if the first guy with the camo truck didn't show back up with another buddy. While his buddy was drooling, the first guy happened to notice the Thompson Center, for the first time I guess.

"Man, I didn't see that before," he said.

"Well there were a lot more pistols, but a guy just bought them all except for that one and the Super Redhawk in 454 Casull," I said.

His buddy for this trip perked right up and wanted to see the Ruger. He never let it go until he put it in the hard case. I don't think he wanted to then, but he had to let go to count out the money. Wait until he tried to hold that anchor up and fire it. With his skinny wrist he'd probably need a cast after the first time he touched it off.

The first guy couldn't stand it any longer; he was slobbering for the Thompson Center, and when I told him I had a couple of rifle length barrels and a buttstock for it, that finished him off.

It was the oddest thing that fascinated him. When I'd first bought it, Thompson Center wouldn't make rifle barrels for it; in fact, they were hard to come by. This meant if you put a buttstock on it you weren't legal anymore, and that mattered to me then.

So, I had my favorite gunsmith graft a couple of inches of a fucked up 20 gauge shotgun barrel onto a 7mmTCU pistol length bull barrel. He did a hell of a job and it looked really good, until you looked directly at the business end and all you could see was that giant 20-gauge hole.

I'll swear that barrel and the one in 357 maximum, done the same way, sold the whole thing. Or course he got dies and other crap, and all nine of the other barrels, but it was those two weird ones he was in love with. I warned him that it was going to be really loud out in front of it when he fired, but he didn't seem to care.

Within another hour I'd sold out and the guy that bought the Thompson center bought the giant gun case too. That left me with nothing but the hardcases, dies, and supplies for the guns my main pistol buyer didn't want. Since the first guy had been so helpful toward my efforts, I just gave it all to him. He couldn't believe it at first.

He knew I'd been hardassed about coming down on any of the prices, since he'd been there when two or three people had left because I wouldn't give a nickel. I guess it might have seemed a little funny that I'd just give him about fifteen hundred bucks worth of stuff.

What the hell, he'd helped me out by telling others about my sale and I was tired of fucking with the stuff, besides, nobody is going to come looking at a yard sale with nothing but odds and ends reloading equipment and a few hard cases for sale. At least I hung on to my lawnchair.

I went on back in the house and warmed up a can of Wolf Brand Chili with some Ranch Style Beans added to the mix, opened a bag of Fritos, popped the top on a Lone Star Long Neck, and pigged out. After that, I pumped up my airbed and went right off to sleep.

I woke up a little after four AM but I'd gone down at eight PM the night before so I'd slept the night through again. Wasn't this the drizzlin' shits. Now that I barely owned a damned thing, I was fine all of a sudden. Hell, it wouldn't last. While it did though, I got on with moving. I loaded up my 1976 four wheel drive, short wheelbase pickup and headed for my new shack.

It wasn't really a shack, it wasn't a hovel either, and it was in a wonderful neighborhood, since there were no neighbors. The house was small, about sixteen by thirty, but well built.

It was a weird old house, made almost entirely of local stone, and I don't mean stone veneer with stud wall construction behind it. The walls were made of stone, and nearly two feet thick. Windows and doors were in short supply too. With only the front door as a way in or out and one two by two window at each end.

The floor was made of the same stone, but some care had been taken so that it was mostly flat and level, and over the years it had become fairly smooth.

There'd been no interior walls in the original construction but at least an indoor bathroom had been added at some time in the past. From the looks of the fixtures, it had probably been added in the fifties.

Access to the attic was a permanent narrow staircase which happened to be the most prominent feature of the south wall, since its opening into the ceiling was on the centerline. The stairs were steep too, they had to rise eight feet with a run of only seven feet, and the rest of the south wall behind and below the stairs was taken up with shelves, all the way over to the back wall, with only the two by two window for decoration.

The other end wall was nominally the kitchen. A cabinet section, probably twelve feet, had been put in around the same time as the bathroom. The sink was in the center and surprisingly it was equipped with a disposal, but that wasn't any stranger than the dishwasher that had been added more recently

The roof was also a point of interest. It was framed construction but the lumber used in it was obviously cut on a rudimentary old sawmill. None of it had ever heard of a planer and it was overkill squared.

The rafters were four by twelves on sixteen inch centers and the roof decking was nearly three inches thick. The attic was also completely floored with the same type boards as the roof. The roof covering was those Spanish type, half-curved tiles.

An even stranger thing was the absence of a chimney. It wasn't that it had fallen down or been torn down, there had just never been one, nor a fireplace. I don't know how earlier occupants had warmed the place, but a freestanding wood heater had been added within the last three or four years.

The stove wasn't far from the door and it had an eight inch steel stovepipe. Extra super heavy duty stove pipe at that, since it was plainly stolen from a drilling site somewhere, it was heavy wall well casing.

All in all, my little getaway cottage in the woods was built like an anvil. Even here in East Texas I wouldn't be worried about tornadoes in this house. Hell, a tornado would probably be afraid of tangling with it.

I don't know when the place had been wired for electricity but it had lights and power now. Making up circuits inside the exterior walls had been impossible, so the lines were run in surface mount conduit. That wasn't necessary in the bathroom or kitchen cabinet of course, since they were added later.

Outside there was nothing but pasture. For some unknown reason, the old man, George, that owned the five thousand acre ranch the little house was sitting on had been willing to sell it to me. All he knew about it was that it was already here when he bought the land.

He was the one who had added the bathroom and kitchen cabinet and he told me that the current kitchen was the second one he'd put in. Previously he'd only rented the house and I didn't dare ask why he was willing to sell it now.

It had a deep well with an almost new submersible pump, and its small wellhouse was the only other structure visible. There weren't even any poles for the electric lines. When rural electricity had become available for the house, he'd made the REA provide underground service. Don't ask me how he worked that miracle.

There wasn't really a road to it either. It was half a mile from the nearest county road and there was a general path to the house. The old man gave me an easement for access in the deed. A route wasn't specified; it just said I could take a path of my convenience. In other words, all I owned was the acre the house was on, but I was free to get to it, over his land at least, via any route I chose.

The lawyer I'd used to look over the deed had been surprised at the old man's generosity with the terms of the easement, and frankly I was too. I didn't know the man from Adam's off ox, and though he seemed friendly enough, I couldn't figure out why he was doing it for the fairly low price he'd asked. He let me have the place for ten thousand bucks, and that was a pittance for a livable home, plus, it was so solid I wouldn't even have to bother with insurance.

As I brought my few remaining possessions out and unloaded them I just placed them inside in areas. My guns and reloading stuff were in one corner, and my airbed on the floor near the stove. There wasn't a closet but I found two eyebolts and strung a rope between them to hang my clothes on. I'd keptd a chest of drawers to hold socks, underwear, and such. I was done with my move, had everything in place, and was living in the house two days later.

George dropped by the day after I finished moving in. He was towing a small flatbed trailer with an older model lawn tractor on it. I met him outside as he came to a stop.

"Howdy, John, I see ya got moved in. Everything ok?"

"Better than I deserve, George. How're you doing today?" I asked.

"For an old man, I'm getting around pretty good. You got a lawnmower?" he asked.

"Not yet. I sold the one I had in town. It was only a three and a half horse push mower and it wouldn't do anything out here, but I cleared a lot more money off my yard sale than I thought I would. I'll probably go get one in a day or two," I said.

"Ain't no need in that. I figured you wouldn't have nothin', so I loaded up this old Kubota. I brought the eighty-inch yard deck that you can mow with and I threw on a four-foot disc, a cultivator and a garden plow in case ya want to start a garden next spring. I've even got a four foot bush hog for it, but I couldn't get it all on the trailer at once," he said.

I felt just a little suspicious twinge, wondering how much this was going to cost me and cursing myself for mentioning that I'd done better with my yard sale than I'd expected. I was about to ask him how much he wanted for the deal when he started up again.

"I hear you're a damned good shot and have been known to do a little huntin' - in fact I've heared that you're a damned good hunter - any truth to it?" he asked, changing the subject completely.

"I don't mind saying that I'm a fine shot with a rifle or a pistol and I do like to hunt. I'm not any good at bird hunting, cause I just don't like it and I couldn't catch a fish to save my soul."

"I never did care for fishin' myself, but the thing of it is, I'm startin' to have trouble with a few wolves, but mostly coyotes. I don't know why those smart little bastards came around here, we never used to have any, but they have and they pulled down a colt last week. One that I paid a thousand-dollar stud fee to get started.

"If you could find time to see about trying to thin them out some, I'd call us even on the tractor deal, if you're interested," George said.

"You don't have to do that, George. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I like to hunt coyotes. You don't have to give me that tractor to get me to do it. All you have to do is give me permission," I said.

"I knew it. I told Ethel that sellin' you this little place would be the best thing we could do, and she thought you'd be no better than the renters we let stay here sometimes.

"Let's unload this stuff and I can go back and get you the bush hog. You know the IRS keeps a close eye on any rancher that actually makes a profit, and this stuff has depreciated plum off. I wrote the last of it off two years ago.

"You just see if you can pop a coyote or two and we'll call it even," George said.

I wasn't going to argue any more. If he wanted to give me the little tractor and stuff I would take it. Of course, I didn't have a shed to store it, and George knew that too. We got it unloaded in no time and then George spoke up again.

"Ya know, John, we tore down a big old hay barn last year, we use round bales now and a barn like we had wasn't worth a shit for 'em. If you'll pick out a place, I'll let my son Bob, and a couple of the boys come down here and throw you up a shed out of the material we tore down. We try not to waste stuff and it's all just in the way up there right now," George said.

Hell, I'd be glad to have a shed, even if it was built out of scraps. It would be a lot better on the Kubota to get it out of the weather, and so I asked George where he thought a good place would be.

"If you don't care, why don't we just let Bob put it where he thinks it ought to be."

We settled on that and George headed for his pickup.

"Didn't I hear that you used to have a horse or two yourself?" he asked, just before he got in his truck.

"Years ago I had a couple, before I moved to town," I said.

"Well if you need one to ride while you're huntin' coyote, or anytime, just come up to the house. We got plenty. We raise 'em, along with the beef, and we always got more horses than we've got time to ride. We got plenty of saddles and tack too," he said, and then left.

I couldn't help thinking that the old man had something in mind for me, but I didn't really care. If it got to be a pain in the ass I could deal with it later. For now, the promise of shooting a few coyotes had gained me a damned nice little tractor and some good garden equipment.

I played with the tractor for a while, I tried to keep my hands off of it, but you know how it is with a new toy. I got the mower hooked up and set off for one of the corners that the surveyors had set marking the acre I'd bought.

The tractor's engine surprised me. In the lowest gear it was able to mow the standing grass that didn't look to have been cut all last year. Of course, it was mostly dead this late in the fall, but there was still a lot of it and an eighty-inch mower needed horsepower to cut right.

I'd just finished my fifth circuit when George showed back up. He not only had the bush hog on the trailer, but it was half loaded with split firewood.

"I brung ya a little firewood while I's at it. The boys cut ours when they ain't got nothin' else to do and we've got a hydraulic splitter now too. You're probably gonna start needin' some fore too long," he said.

I just thanked him and we didn't talk much while we were unloading. We stacked the firewood against the house near the only door.

"Bob says they ain't got much to do, so he thinks he might as well get started on your shed tomorrow 'bout noon or a little after," George told me, after we'd finished.

"You're gonna think I'm lazy already, George. I've got a little trip planned and I'll be gone for nearly a week. I'm supposed to leave in the morning. I won't be able to help a bit until I get back," I said.

"I won't think you're lazy. The shed thing just come up on ya and you didn't have no warnin' at all. Bob and the boys are used to working together anyway and it ain't like they'll miss ya. Go ahead and take care of your business and don't worry 'bout it."

He took off again and I went inside to cook my supper. The kitchen range and oven were electric and it was a lot nicer than I'd thought at first. It even had a microwave that was built in over the cook top, kind of an all in one deal.

After I'd eaten and cleaned up my mess I went to bed, or to airbed anyway. The temperature was nice outside and I didn't bother trying out the wood heater.

It seemed like I slept even better that night, and I woke up just before five AM. After I got some coffee made I took a mug outside and brought my remaining lawn chair with me. I'd decided to cancel my trip to Shreveport.

I was feeling guilty because I'd let George think I had business to take care of. I hadn't said that, but I knew he'd taken it that way. I was just going down to the casinos there. Harrah's was having a Texas Hold 'em tournament starting this afternoon and I wanted to try my hand at it.

I'd played some in local games, while the sheriff wasn't watching, and I enjoyed it. I didn't think I'd really do any good but I had been looking forward to playing, never the less, I couldn't feel right about it while someone else was building me a shed with their men and their materials, even if the materials were used. I might feel better about it if I'd been here long enough to do any good with the wolves or coyotes, but I hadn't.

I'd almost finished my first mug of coffee when the rain started. I thought it was time for sunrise by now and it must have been the clouds that kept things so dark. By the time me and the lawn chair were back inside it was pouring down.

The rain made things easier on me. They wouldn't be doing any building today in this weather. George drove up about an hour later and confirmed it. Especially since the rain was still pouring.

I'd seen his lights as he drove up so I had the door open where he could come right on in.

"I guess you know that this rain has torpedoed the shed for today," George said.

"I haven't lived in town long enough to forget that, George," I said, laughing and he laughed with me.

"How bout a mug of coffee?" I asked.

"That'd be nice," he said, and I poured him one.

I motioned him into the lawn chair and pulled up a box from my reloading area to sit on. We discussed the weather, and then cussed the weather. George told me the weatherman said the rain might be around for three or four days.

"I guess I'll go on to Shreveport then, I'd decided to call it off and stay to help with the shed," I said.

"Well, ain't no need of that, and with this rain there shore ain't," he said.

"I can tell, I guess I'll go ahead and go. I am gonna let you in on a secret though. I don't really have any business to tend to down there. I'm going to play in that poker tournament," I said, admitting it.

"Don't make no mistake, John, playing poker for money is business just like any other," he said.

"I guess I know that, but I'm not planning on going down there to win big," I said.

"Then you ought not to go. It's fine to understand that you might not win and it's even better not to count on the money you might win, but you'll be ahead if you go down there plannin' to win but with the understanding that you might not. If you'll do that and make sure you don't bet more than you can afford to lose, you'll be way ahead before you leave," George said.

He drank up the rest of his coffee and then said his goodbyes. I took a shower, dressed, and left for Shreveport. It was a little strange that the rain died out before I got to the state line, about fifteen miles away.

There was no way to miss the way to the tournament when I walked into Harrah's. People were lined up to enter, and I had to stand in line about an hour. It was a two thousand dollar buy in and I'd lost half my chips in the first hour.

I caught on though, and by midnight, when we took a break until the next morning, I had forty-five hundred in chips.

The turnout had been a lot larger than they'd expected and the thing lasted two days more than planned. I didn't win but I did make it to the money, and after I went all in the last time and then was all out, I decided to hang around for the finish.

After I cashed out, I went back in to watch the final table. A man who'd gone out just before me approached and asked if I wanted to play in a cash game, elsewhere in the casino. What the hell, I had some cash now. I'd brought five thousand with me and I'd won another fifteen thousand.

I stayed in Shreveport for three more days, playing poker. There were plenty of people that hadn't got their fill during the tournament and I found cash games any time I wasn't sleeping or eating. I even ended up with one of the waitresses spending the night in my room with me the last night I was there.

I'd been tipping all of them twenty bucks every time they brought me a free drink, and even though they were nearly naked in their waitress suits I'd made sure not to talk to their titties. Karen wasn't the only one that was really friendly after the first day.

When I asked her if she wanted to go get something to eat after her shift, on what I'd decided would be my last night in town, she seemed glad to. After a late dinner we just ended up in my room, naked and fucking.

She was much too genuinely enthusiastic to be a hooker, and she was surprised and delighted when I put a lip lock on her pussy after we got our wind back from the first fuck. We were old friends by the time room service brought us a big breakfast the next morning. After breakfast we had a nice ass fuck in the shower and parted company as good friends and fuck buddies, and then I headed back to my rock house.

I took time to look up a place where I could buy some gold before I got out of Shreveport. Hundred dollar bills are nice, but a hundred-and-fifty-six-thousand dollars worth occupy a lot of space. The five-ounce ingots I tracked down were a lot more convenient.