truer lies were ne’er spoken (at least not by me)

Es­ti­mated reading time is 4 min­utes.

TUESDAY WAS THE DARKEST DAY that I had seen since moving to the Pa­cific North­west al­most thirty years ago. At 3:00 in the af­ter­noon it was so dark that the au­to­matic street­lights and road­lamps were flick­ering on and off, their sen­sors ap­par­ently con­fused by the lack of light at that time of day. Cars had their head­lights on and people were dri­ving extra cautiously!

Yes­terday, on the other hand, was so nice a day that I opened sev­eral win­dows in the house to allow the clean, clear fresh air to move about un­hin­dered. Today though, may be the first day of winter, the weather was that ornery.

Still, one of my life­long fan­tasies was fulfilled.


I had an ap­point­ment in Bellevue and took the bus to there in nice weather. After the meeting, I left the building and about a half-mile from the bus stop, the rain grad­u­ated from a kindergarten-like drizzle to a ju­nior high down­pour! It was pushed hor­i­zon­tally by the blus­tery wind! 1

For­tu­nately, Berni had packed me a bag. and I had a sweater, a scarf, a beanie, and an um­brella. Not that they mat­tered much: the wind-driven rain soaked me from the waist down. Still, doggedly I per­se­vered, on­ward, to the bus stop—my sense of mas­cu­line pride in the balance.

And it got wetter and my um­brella was blown in­side out over and over and fi­nally, as I was walking across the 10th Street over­pass above In­ter­state 405 a car pulled up along­side me and a voice said, “You want a ride?”

A fe­male voice.

I looked over and my world stood still: the driver leaned over and opened the door invitingly.

A blonde.

An at­trac­tive blonde.

An at­trac­tive blonde in her thirties.

And she smiled.

Was this re­ally happening?

Let’s stop here. I am 64 years old, but I look kinda good for my age. Nonethe­less, I be­lieve the op­er­a­tive words there are “for my age.” Still and all, she was doing the offering!

Did I men­tion she was dri­ving a Jaguar?

No, not an E-Type, but a sedan type. But hey! It was a good-lookin’ blonde in a Jaguar of­fering me a ride with a smile! 2

This is, like, y’­know, one of most men’s Top 10 Sex Fan­tasies. It cer­tainly was one of mine, and it was hap­pening to me! 3

And I thought about it for a second or two—I am, after all, only a man—and thought of Berni and looked at the blonde and the car and back up at the rain falling down and then back at her and I shrugged my shoul­ders “No thanks” and I turned my back to the blonde and the Jag and turned my face to the wind and the rain and per­se­vered on over the bridge to the bus stop and I made it home unmolested.

(Sigh­h­hhhh . . .) . . .

Of course there’s a moral to the story

Okay men, listen up—there are two morals to this True Life Story:

1. Do the right thing!

2. If you’re past a cer­tain age, never ever leave the house without your Viagra!!!

You never know when your fan­tasy may ma­te­ri­alize! 4



HEADER IMAGE: This image is of the ex­tra­or­di­nary Kayslee Collins, Play­boy’s Play­mate of the Month for Feb­ruary 2015 in what ap­pears to be a vin­tage, black Jaguar E-Type. When I went looking for a header image for this post, I wanted a thirysome­thing woman with class and taste and a silver-grey Jaguar sedan type car. So I started with a broad search: “blonde and jaguar car.” I got hun­dreds of photos of twen­tysome­thing soft­core bimbo-babes and red-hot E-Types! Then I found Ms. Collins and thought, “I could live with her.” I mean, ahem, “I can live with that.” And so I am . . .



1   The great ad­jec­tive blus­tery means “marked by strong wind or more wind than usual.” The word ap­par­ently de­buted some­time in the 14th cen­tury from a Low German source, such as Middle Low German blüstren (“to blow vi­o­lently”). Most folks rec­og­nize the root from that fa­mous ’70s comedy song and dance duo, the Booze Blusters.

2   I know an E-Type Jaguar, but not much else. Looking at photos on the In­ternet, it may have been an F-Type. But I re­ally wasn’t fo­cusing on the car.

3   Or should I say “Male Sex Fan­tasy 101.”

4   You all think this is just me funnin’ with you. Hah! When Berni and I were get­ting to know one an­other, I would share little sto­ries with her. like this one. She thought I was making them up to be funny, to amuse her. When she chal­lenged one such anec­dote that did sound em­bell­ished, I re­sponded, “Truer lies were ne’er spoken—at least not by me!” Now that she knows me, she doesn’t think that I make much of any­thing up anymore.


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I still have a hard time con­vincing people (Laurie, the kids, and random lis­teners) that the sh*t that hap­pened back in the six­ties re­ally hap­pened. Case in point, really! 

There were a couple of us weird, nerd, car kids who thought that we could drive or fix any­thing. We had done a few go fasts, and simple mods , but along came a chance for the “Big Time”!

A friend of a friend’s dad blew the tranny in his XK-E con­vert­ible. It was yellow with a black in­te­rior and top. I don’t re­member why, but he was on the lamb to get it fixed and there was a re­place­ment avail­able, but not enough funds for a pro­fes­sional job. And, we said, “Sure, piece of cake.”

Quite a few dusted knuckles, and a lot of late nights later, we got the job done cor­rectly, but we learned the dif­fer­ence be­tween hubris and hu­mility, the hard way.

And, we all got to drive an E Jag for a few weeks!
Wouldn’t happen today, and there’s more!

Some­times, folks won’t be­lieve what hap­pened days or weeks ago...

It is an E-type, but I doubt that the blonde is thirty-something.

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