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The case I had been hired for eventually settled, to no-one's great surprise, which technically ended my employment at the firm I was at. I was offered a permanent position, and I think I surprised everyone-including myself-by accepting. I had always intended to head back to a real city once the case ended, back to New York, or at least back to my old stomping' grounds in San Fran, but every time I seriously thought about packing up and moving, my mind short-circuited with an image of Michelle on her hands and knees, moaning and grinding her hips around the vibe buried in her pussy, looking back at me over her shoulder as I sank my cock into her asshole.

So I became a suburbanite. Wonder of wonders. I was the only single male in my neighborhood, I owned a Harley because it was fun to ride instead of because I was having a mid-life crisis, and I adamantly refused to buy an SUV, but I was a suburbanite. Blew some coin on antique furniture to join the bedroom set and entertainment center (anyone out there who shops at Ikea needs to stop reading this, on the grounds that THEY ARE FUCKING COOKIE-CUTTER AUTOMATONS WHO I FUCKING DESPISE!!! You may start reading again when you own SOMETHING not made of tin and particleboard). Blew some more coin resurrecting the pool and hot-tub from the slimy morasses they had become over the prior months. Blew still more coin remodeling the kitchen into something I found satisfactory.

No longer working 90-hour weeks, I got back into martial arts and ...

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