Wholesale of the Soul

I dance with XANADAU all night.

She's a good dancer. I've danced with her many times before. Yes, I'm in the #cybersex channel in IRC. I got bored last night, went to #hotadults and found no one there. I went to meet up with some friends in #40plus&sexytoo and hung out with MARYDREAMS and the gang, goofing around until around two in the morning. They soon break up and I'm left wide awake and alone. I hate it when an entire channel calls it quits and everyone goes home. So, I tried to enter #cybersex. I've tried many times before and I've been KICKED. I don't know why, it's BOT just kicks my ass for some reason.

But tonight I'm allowed right in, and the first thing that happens is XANADAU jumps into my arms and puts on music. She loves to dance, and doesn't usually dance in #cybersex because the minute she asks someone to dance they want to fuck. Well, the channel IS CALLED #CYBERSEX. I honestly just want to dance.

She is surprisingly light on her feet for a 60+ year old. I like that. I feel old at 47. She laughs. You're only as old as you feel. I hope I'm online, keeping up with the technology when I'm her age. The hour is late, around four in the morning. XANADAU has enough steam to go all night. She works in explosives. Yeah, that's right. a 60+ year old that works with enough explosives that she could level a small town if she made a mistake. She's told me all of the minute, gory details about her job. You don't want to know about it. She unwinds by dancing in #cybersex at night.

Shit. I'm feeling tired. It's time for bed and I bid XANADAU a fine goodnight. I drop off IRC and crawl under the covers. I can't sleep. I'm hyper about my plan. I'm worried. I'm excited. I'm going crazy. I'm.....

I wake up the next morning covered in a nervous sweat. I had a dream about guns and explosives. I take a hot shower to break away from the ominous feeling around me. I've been avoiding the mailbox this past week because I know that WECARE has their nasty paperwork in there. I'm being given two days to report into a mandatory meeting or worse, my case has been forwarded to HRA, I'm on my way to an ass kicking.

I don't feel like myself. I can't keep food on my stomach. I'm out of sorts again. I feel not inside not outside. I think it's my stomach. Maybe these fuckers have me building an ulcer. That would be nice.

Well, it's the moment of truth. I head downstairs, get my breakfast/ lunch and open my mailbox. There's one letter in in there. I flip it over. It's from the Fair Hearing Bureau.

My case has been accepted. On August the 4th. Right on time.

Absolutely nothing from WECARE. They have been served my papers?

My gun just cocked. The FUCKERS froze.

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