The Sillier Shores of Lerve (or Lust).

A dune buggy?

Well, yes, that does sound uncomfortable.

Not as uncomfortable as a soft-looking pile of pine needles in a secluded, wooded corner of a city park, though.

That was painful.

With my luck, I'd've been allergic to pine needles..

I remember the night I insisted we "do it" in a car...because that seemed to be a somewhat de rigeur experience, and I had never experienced it!


Later, I decided there were good reasons for this (eg the gear thingy) and insisted we go home to bed.

I don't regret the dune buggy, however knobby. I do think I was abrupt re the y'know thing.

You have to be young to enjoy having sex in a car.

Well, actually, you just have to be desperate. When you're still living with your parents, you don't usually have the bed option. And part of the excitement is the fear of being caught...whether by the cops, bystanders, or (gasp!) parents.

The last time I tried it in a car, I was in my 20s. It just wasn't the same, knowing that I could always go home to my bed. The thrill was gone.

It's funny isn't it -I cannot imagine a relationship where somebody doesn't storm out on someone else. But it seems that there are the "stomers" and the "stormees". I have never been a stormer - and oddly enough my response to the stormer is to just let them do whatever it is they need to do to "blow off some steam" or to "get it out of their system" or to "just be away from me long enough that the mood lifts". But the storming out is hilarious & I know everyone's got great stories. My exhusband did it once, he was drunk, he'd been in the bath &
when he stormed outside butt naked I LOCKED THE DOORS. It's no doubt something that's needed to clear out some emotions, to take some stand, let off steam, all kinds of things in relationships that need doing, and looking around but finding no other way to express oneself - storming out seems to make sense. My next relationship the other party would pack all their stuff, put it in the car, leave and go to a friends and talk and talk and talk. Over a period of years it wound down to where storming out had slimmed down to just throwing some clothes in a bag - then unpacking. What a trip we are on - that life is - it's amazing.

The thrill is gone...


who sang that?

Lol..I WAS in my twenties. (I think I was twenty-one)...I'd just never had the occasion, and I felt I was missing out on a major cultural rite.


Then I decided I wasn't.

Good evening, Officer.

BB King.

Nothing like a good storm!!!!

Pillow fights are good for that, too...if one can maintain one's sense of humour enough to initiate one.

Oh yeah. Happened several times.

The great chocolate cake incident of '84 comes to mind as well.

His version

We had not long been living together. A single bed unit in suburban Melbourne. Both of us were working but she traveled into the city whilst my work was a stones throw away. Love (and lust) were in the air.

This particular evening we were scheduled to attend a gathering of some kind to which she had promised to bring, of all things, one of her famously delicious chocolate cakes.

She was a trifle late home for one reason or another and in a hell of a rush to mix the cake and get it in the oven to bake whilst she showered and dressed.

She had the electric mixer going full bore but the only bowl we had was a wide topped glass affair. Cake mix was splattering out of the bowl onto the wall, kitchen, window, her.

I, dressed and ready to go, resplendant in a new pure white windcheater, I light heartedly commented on the fact that there seemed to be more cake mix on the walls than in the bowl. She told me not to laugh at her efforts.

I laughed.

She put down the beaters dived her hand into the chocolate cake mix and slapped the handfuls smack dab onto my chest, rubbing it in with a frustrated fury and a deep rumbling GRRRRR!!!!.

The windcheater never came clean either despite me working at one of the largest and best known laundry/drycleaning establishments in the city.

at this juncture mumpad - looking over my shoulder - encorages me to vacate the chair

Her version - also known as the correct version by Mumpad
The first bit of the story is as I remember it. We were going out to the cinema that night, & I needed to make a cake for a function the following day.

I was a bit tired after a day's work, a bit stressed 'cos the cake mixture was not all staying the bowl where it should be, & I didn't want to be late for the film ("Footloose", as I recall).

As much as there was "lurve" around, he shouldn't have laughed when warned against it.

After "sharing" the mixture with him I felt so much better, & the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

As Dadpad says, the windcheater never fully recovered, but we're still together 24 years later & he's learned not to laugh at me when he shouldn't!

(I'm still making that same chocolate cake)

and a wonderfull chocolate cake it is too darling (in its place).

Speaking of the storm out: this one was with a man I was not in a sexual relationship with, but we might as well have been! We were housemates, and very close to each other...(still are). The domestic nearness seemed to have triggered some of the same storm und drang usually triggered only in relationships! I once complained that we had all the negatives of marriage, but no sex. Friends with children say that that IS marriage, but I digress...


The Fight In The Market

Richard (the friend in question) was and is a domestic disaster. He does not clean neither does he wash up. He leaves terrible messes, and is always "gonna" clean them up. This meant that terrible chore inequality existed. In one attempt to right said situation, he agreed to come shopping regularly.

So..one Saturday, shopping time came. I went and asked R if he was coming...sure..he was "gonna" get up and get ready.

An hour later...no R. I asked again....sure, gonna come in a minute.

Eventually, I stormed out to the market. (I had to do something else, which R knew about....so time was limited.)

Now...Adelaide's Central Market is an institution....everybody one knows goes there...


This is the centre of it:





I was peacefully shopping, still a bit snitty, but intending to enjoy myself anyway. I met various friends, chatted......

I had met up with a very odd woman, who was then the Secretary of the Parole Board...hence someone I had to work with a lot. We were standing right where that photo was taken from...where everyone has to go past.

I was doing my best to be polite, when suddenly I saw her eyes widen, then go as big as saucers....

I turned around.......there, just storming up to me was R!!! He is a very tall man. In those days, he had a beard and long, wild curly, hair. In his eyes was the fire of righteous wrath. He was sparking with anger...his coat standing out, his tail puffed up.....he began yelling at me as he approached.


"How DARE you storm out!!! Etc etc. etc"


We stood chest to chest...well, since he was a full foot taller (he's 6' 6")..we stood chest to something. I think my chest was at his belly button height.

We had a full on domestic right in the middle of the market. Neither gave an inch. The Parole person scurried away in terror...doubtless thinking I was about to be beaten up. We yelled at each other until we had got it all out....


Then we looked a bit sheepish. Then we started to laugh. We laughed until I thought I was going to pee, and my stomach hurt, and I was crying...and neither could stand up properly, so we had a big hug.

Then we happily went shopping.


Such is life.

HughJass of abuzz told a story once about sex by a riverside, red ants, ass-slapping.... alcohol was involved.

In between wives I had a short relationship with a girl who turned out a hard core insanely jealous alcoholic. One day sitting at a light at 5 o'clock at five points in raleigh she started accusing me of screwing one of the girls I was working with (I was, but that's a different story).

She reached across the seat and slapped the **** out of me, so I reached over and took her keys out of the ignition and flung them as far as I could and walked home.

When the cops showed, she got a DWI.

Still funny to this day 25 years later.

Okay. So about ten or twelve years ago, I got really angry at Hubby one night. I had just spent about 30 minutes working on his back with his favorite wooden massager. I'd bought it for him for his birthday.

Here's one like it. You've seen 'em.


Then he refused to reciprocate! Said he "didn't feel like it."

I tried appealing to his sense of fair play, but apparently he didn't have one. I wheedled. I cajoled. I accused him of being selfish. Of not caring. I mean, MY back was sore now that I'd spent all that time on his!

He just laughed at me.

I think that's what pushed me over the edge.

I took his massager out the back door onto the concrete and stomped on it. Nothing happened. I stomped again. I wanted to stomp on Hubby, but the massager would have to do. I kept stomping, but the damn thing was made too well. It REALLY hurt! But I was determined to stomp the thing into splinters.

I must've been out there stomping on the thing for a good ten minutes before it finally broke.

I seriously bruised the bottom of my foot and couldn't wear anything but athletic shoes for over a month.

Oh, and no fair, Bear. You have to tell a story about silliness or stupidity on YOUR part!

C'mon...I know you can do it.

I've married several times. stupid enough?

We want the stories.

Y'know, silly stupid stuff.