Hello all, For those of you that care to have noticed, My been out of the pool for a couple of weeks now. It seems that he has let his lust get the better of him, and allowed Morphina, the Swank Goddess of Somniphiles, to lie him down to a bed made of marshmallows and clouds and fall blissfully asleep for two weeks solid, only to awaken, tied by the wrist hand over head to a post in an abandoned slaughterhouse, spiked enema tube up his ass and a tourniquet around his arm. She was clad in leather and chains, (she said "fuck the lace"), beating him with a cat of nine tails yelling things like "Say my name, bitch!". He is beginning to come around, nursed back to health by his true friends who's names are Temperance and Moderation. He finally took a shower after sleeping for five days solid, sheets sticking to his profusely sweating skin and smelling like sowered milk. Emotionally he is still like a scared child, and wishes he could find a cabin in the woods with a fireplace in the cold rain of Northern Washington's winter so as to complete his recovery; but alas, he has to work and care for his wife and children. It is a little embarrassing, he says, to tell all of you this, but he hopes his admission will help keep some of you from falling into the same trap. So, a warning to all of you swimmers; Morphina makes a wonderful lover, but a bitch of a mistress.