can i buy Clomiphene at walgreens “Thank you to…”
“I just wanted to say…”
“That demo bottom for…”
To end our Ropen Space, there was a time for anyone to thank whomever for whatever. As people walked up to the microphones, naming individuals who were inspired by their passions, my thank you happened to be easy to give.
Scotty, who co-presenter Cigar Play with me, sat to my left. I turned my head, leaned over, and said, “Thanks for helping me with my class.”
That was all I needed.
Well that, and the eventual thank you I knew was coming.
“I just wanted to thank Graydancer for bringing Ropen Space to Shibaricon.”
Everyone clapped and cheered. For the day we’d had. For the knowledge we’d gain. For the experience, the play, the passion in those previous hours. We all knew who we wanted to thank.
With Ropen Space closed, I made my way through the crowd. But then I stopped, turned around, and did my best to swim upstream.
Fumbling through the throng of people, I found my target. I grabbed the white paper that bore the name of my class, Cigar Play, among the pile of other discarded sheets.
Once again joining the mass exodus, I headed towards the Newsroom. Being a Teacher’s Pet, I had an entire day of notes from the multiple classes I attended. In the chilly room, I found K2 dutifully assisting the incoming note takers.
Most note takers simply walked in, handed K2 the piece of paper on which they’d jotted their notes, and left. Some stuck around to type out their scribbles, translating their shorthand and elaborating on their diagrams. I, however, pulled out my notebook and began.
K2 offered to just scan my pages and release me, but I would have none of that. Along with taking notes on my many classes, I also took notes on my day. And as I much as I yearned to help, I was not willing to let loose my personal thoughts for the world to see.
So I dutifully typed, working my way through my first class, as facilitators and note takers alike flitted in and out.
As I began my labor, I was tired. I’d skipped lunch and had had no time for a nap. But I felt sharing the knowledge, getting the information out, was more important than my comfort.
K2, who had been in the Newsroom all day, was soon relieved by Gray. As I worked on my first class write up, he walked towards me. Sliding his hand into my hair, he tilted my head back, said, “You were awesome today,” and lightly kissed me.
Spurred on by a sudden endorphin rush, I soon finished my first set of notes. Displeased with the Mac I used, I switched to a PC. By this time, I was the only note taker left in the room.
While working on my second write up, Gray decided to be playful.
“Am I distracting you? Am I distracting you?”
At first, he merely poked and pinched, but then he went for my nipples. Ever the dutiful Teacher’s Pet, I simply replied, “No, not at all.”
“Don’t mess up. Don’t make any typos. Oh, you’re writing about Objectification. I need an arm rest.” His forearm on my back, his weight against me, I slumped forward onto the keyboard of the laptop.
“Now I can’t see the screen.”
He rose and I, again juiced, finished my second set of notes.
But there were three more classes to cover, three more sets of memories to recall. I was ready to pass out; I felt like I could’ve fallen asleep or fainted right on top of the laptop. I hadn’t eaten lunch, hadn’t slept enough, hadn’t drank nearly enough water, and was most definitely crashing from the day’s experience.
I could feel my muscles ache, my belly whine. I yawned, tilting back my head, trying to stretch out my neck.
Again Gray’s hand found my hair.
“I really appreciate you doing this.”
It was enough to get me through the third class notes, but that was my limit. I needed food, and I knew my write ups not only kept me in that room but also Gray and his companion. Always the dutiful Teacher’s Pet, I promised to finish my write ups on my netbook and email them to Gray.
He offered to just scan my notebook, but once again I declined. I told him that I wrote personal information in my pages as well as notes on the classes. I told him I wasn’t comfortable sharing those thoughts with the world.
“Well, I need the notes by Monday. Can you get them to me by Monday?”
“Yes, by Monday.”
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