From the journal of Blair Sandburg:

He doesn't love her - even I know that. But damn, he is attracted to her. Fascinated even. And it's driving me crazy because I love him.

I read a survey the other day about men and sex and according to the results, men think about sex once every 15 minutes. Women think about sex once every 48 minutes and their hair once every five minutes. I think about sex with Jim once every five minutes and if women had an ounce of brains - they'd be thinking about sex with Jim too. Instead of their hair.

Jim thinks about his hair - a lot. But not more than he thinks about Amy. Amy has him wrapped around her little finger. Oh, I know what you're thinking... you're thinking that Amy is a little girl or maybe a puppy or kitten. You are so wrong. Amy is 32 years old, built like nobody's business, with curves like you wouldn't believe. She also, apparently, gives a good ride - if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

You know where I got that? The "good ride" thing? Jim. He said that once.

"Sandburg, I'm telling you, she gives a good ride."

The bastard.

I'm rather proud of my comeback line, by the way. It was a beaut.

//"I swear, Sandburg, she gives a good ride. I'm in love."

"Jim, I have news for you - you want a good ride, you're barking up the wrong tree. Try me for a change."//

To this day, I don't believe I said that, but I did, and smiled while I said it - a really wicked, come hither smile that, in the past, had been known to work on anything breathing.

It worked that day.

Jim got us home, got us in the door, and had me stripped so fast you'd have thought I was his bed on cleaning day. He turned out to be a pretty damn good -- and generous -- lover. In fact, he wouldn't let me do a thing. I just lay there, on the floor, on my back, arms stretched wide, legs wider, mouth open, eyes closed, and experiencing Jim Ellison while he experienced me with his tongue, hands, lips....

Excuse me a minute.

Okay, I'm back.

Where was I? Oh, right. So ... later I awoke from what could only be called - um, well -- unconsciousness -- to find the bed empty.

Jim was with Amy.

He fucks me into waddle-walking and then has the nerve to go to her.

So here I am asking myself the all important question: Sandburg, are you a man or a mouse?

I probably shouldn't mention this, even in private, but when I was little, Superman wasn't the only superhero that I emulated. Does Mighty Mouse ring any bells? Thought so.

You know, the day mom tells Jim about how I used to run around with my other little cape while squeaking -- is the day I move to Bora-Bora.

Back to man and mouse.

Am I strong enough to fight for him?

Hell yeah. No mice here, not even flying mice.

Amy is history.

But how? He sees her every day and there's absolutely no way to pry them apart.

Unless....

Oh, man, I am truly devious. Add that to the fact that my middle name is 'sacrifice' and Amy's days are numbered. In order to defeat the bitch, I'm going to have to make the supreme sacrifice.

I'm going to have to sell my beloved Volvo.

My beloved Volvo - gone. Sold.

But hey, I need bucks to beat Amy.

The Volvo money is in the bank and I'm going shopping.

Oh, man, two weekends to find the appropriate weapon, but find it I did. I plunked down the precious green stuff, signed on the dotted line, and walked out satisfied that Amy was about to see my dust. Or Jim's dust.

Well, someone's dust.

Ooops, key in the lock. Dust is going to have to wait, it's time for my daily waddle lesson. There are some things that even Amy can't give Jim and my ass is one of them.

But come the morrow and Jim and Amy are history.

The next day -

"Hey, Jim? Can I drive today?"

Jim found his muscles freezing.

"Jim, man? You're not, like, you know, doing that thing, are you?"

Voice worked, but not the body.

"What... thing?"

"You know, that whole zone thing?"

"Uh... no, I don't think so. But I can't move."

"But you know who you are, right? And you can see me, right?"

"Oh yeah, God forgive me. I know who I am and yes, I can see you."

"Jim... I just asked if I could drive. I got a new car."

Vocal chords froze.

"Jim? Blink once if you can hear me... ah, good. Now blink twice if you can see me... ah, very good. Now blink three times if you want to fuck me...oomph!"

Thirty minutes later:

"You bought a new car, Sandburg?"

"Yep. I figure if I'm spending all my time with you at the station, well, maybe I should have a more dependable car, you know? Something that can corner, ride the sidewalks better than the Volvo, smash into windows, take out trucks, bounce bullets off its body, you know, the usual."

"So you just up and bought a new car?"

"Yeah. You remember the call earlier? Just before I took your--"

"I remember, Sandburg. Frustration tends to stick with a guy, you know?"

"Well, that was Steve letting me know that my car had just been delivered and was ready for picking up. Want to see it? Go with me?"

Before Jim could answer, Blair bounded out of bed. Naked, he ran down stairs. At the bottom, he said, "Well? You coming?"

Wondering if his body would behave, Jim struggled up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Muttering, he stood.

"What did you say, Jim?"

"I said, been there - done that!"

"Oh, I get it. Very good, Jim. How many times did you come this time?"

"Get dressed, asshole."

Laughter was all he could hear. One of these days, he'd have to actually move Sandburg's things upstairs.

"Well? How do you like it?"

Jim's mouth was open. Blair waved a hand in front of the gaping hole, and feeling warm breath brush his palm, smiled. "You like it."

"Wha... wha..."

"It's a Ford Explorer Sport Trac. Cool, uh?"

Jim found his legs actually moving. He slowly circled the vehicle.

"Like the color?"

"Um..."

"It's called Denim Blue. I think it matches my eyes."

Jim turned and looked down at his partner. Sparkling 'denim' blue eyes gazed back lovingly.

"Um... actually, it is a good match."

"So, wanna take it to work? I'll let you drive...."

From Blair Sandburg's Journal:

He spent a total of three hours with Amy. Three hours. All. Week. That's it, just three hours.

Man, I'm good.

"So what's her name, Sandburg?"

"Her name?"

"Yeah, what's her name?"

"Her name -- is Chief."

Jim was behind the wheel of Blair's new car and, at Blair's response, glanced quickly over at his partner, then back to the road.

"You named it 'Chief'?"

"Yeah. I was going to name him after you, but I figure you'll be driving him more than me, so what the hay."

"Chief." Mmm, I like it."

Jim's hand smoothed lovingly over the dash board, his eyes taking on a slightly glazed look. Blair, recognizing it, unzipped his jeans and promptly took Jim's hand, thanked God that they were at a red light, and quickly slipped the hand down his jeans.

"Jim? From now on, the only thing you lovingly pat - is this. Got that?"

With a little angling and repositioning of Blair, Jim managed to slide his hand around back. He rubbed over Blair's delicious ass and asked, "What about this?"

"Oh, that too."

"You got it, Chief."

Blair climbed out of the Explorer, pulled out the two bags of groceries, beeped his car, then started toward the loft. On the way, he passed Jim's truck. She was looking a little - dirty, a little - unused. Frowning, Blair paused, then juggled one bag into his other arm so he could reach out and pat her fender.

"Sorry, Amy. Really. But all's fair in love and trucks, you know?"

He looked over at his new Explorer, then back to Amy. "Hey, you've got to understand. See, my new truck is me, so Jim doesn't need to spend any time with it. Get it?" He thought one headlight might have winked at him, which gave him an idea. "I've got an idea... why don't you and Chief there, well, you know... get to know one another? Have a good time? Bumper to bumper, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. You're all lubed and ready for action, right? Go to town, girl, go to town."

Whistling, Blair headed up to Jim, who, if he'd done as Blair had ordered on the cell phone just twenty minutes ago, would also be nicely lubed and ready to go.

finis

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