### Apollo BBS Archive - June 20, 1991

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    Message: 4841
    Author: $ Melissa Dee
    Category: Erotic Stories
    Subject: Jen
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 18:36:56

    I had always liked Jenny, though I didn't know her well
    personally. We worked together on the night shift. Us night-
    timers have a slightly different perspective on the world that
    most other people on 'normal' shifts. We're often driving on
    streets devoid of life at 3 AM, and spend a lot of time at home
    because nothing's open. And then we sleep through the morning,
    when everybody else is alive and awake. It's a very lonely life
    most of the time.    Jenny suffered from this as much as I. She
    had come to town almost a year ago, and because of her hours, she
    hadn't had so much as one date in all that time. Often she would
    grumble about the lack of a social/sex life. There were plenty of
    guys on the night shift, but for some reason she didn't seem
    interested. More than a few of them were interested, though. She
    stood about 5 foot seven and was rather busty. She was a bit
    overweight, but not seriously and I found it quite a turn-on. It
    made her seem more real, somehow. More than once I had half-
    jokingly offered my services, only to be turned down with an
    appreciative smile. I could never seem to work up the nerve to
    come out and ask her for a date. Mostly it was because I was
    certain she'd turn me down and rejection was something I didn't
    really care for.

    I don't know what got into me one night. It was a Saturday and
    we both had gotten roped into putting in a 'little overtime'. If
    you consider 10 hours 'little'. Anyway, it was about 9 PM and we
    both sat down to lunch. Since there was no one else there we
    actually talked to each other. Somehow the conversation got
    around to dates, and I asked her just what it was she looked for
    in a guy.
       "Well," she said musingly, "looks aren't all that important, I
    guess. A good personality is more important." She was silent for
    a moment, thinking. "Right now what I would like to find most is
    somebody who's good in bed. After a year of nothing I'm getting
    kind of, well, itchy."
       My heart gave a jump at that and my temperature rose ten
    degrees. I got up to get a cup of coffee from the machine behind
    her. As I did, I said, "How do you expect to find somebody like
    that? Advertise?"
       She chuckled. "I can see it now: Lonely woman seeks good
    fucker. Low pay but great fringe benefits."
       "Those benefits look pretty good to me." I said, still
    standing behind her and sipping my coffee. My heart had calmed,
    but I was still tense. Anticipatory, perhaps. "But seriously,
    that's what you're looking for? Not just any old guy who can get
    it up?"

    "Uh uh." She said softly, almost dreamily. "It would be
    tempting, but hell, if the guy doesn't know what he's doing, it
    just isn't really worthwhile. Not for me, anyway. For him it's
    probably great."
       The it was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, I guess so. Some guys are
    like that. They just want to, um, get off and go to sleep. But
    there are some who are different, ya know."
       "Oh, really?" she said, still seemingly in a trance.
       "Sure." I said. I put the cup down. "For some of us half the
    fun is in making the other person feel good." I placed my hands
    on her shoulders, though I wasn't really aware of it at the time.
    "Sex is an artform. I think so, anyway. I used to have a
    girlfriend who told me I was the only guy who was capable of
    making her come almost every time. The only reason for that was
    because I was the only guy who really tried. I was massaging her
    shoulders while I said this. I looked down and saw that
    she was breathing deeply and heavily, her eyes closed. My heart
    rate jumped back up when I realized what was happening. I felt my
    prick swelling up inside my jeans like a balloon. Slowly I moved
    my hands out along her shoulders while I continued to talk in a
    husky voice.

    "You see, my favorite part of making love is to
    explore the woman's body." My hands moved up and down her arms.
    Her breathing grew more labored and she tilted her head up a bit,
    eyes still closed. I leaned down and whispered close to her ear,
    "Every inch, from head to toe. I like to touch, and be touched. I
    like to lick and nibble until she can't take any more. And
    then..." I ran my hands up her sides and slowly, gently slipped
    them around under her breasts. He breathing turned to gasps, then
    moans. She arched her back as I fondled her. Even through her bra
    and heavy shirt her nipples stood out like little buttons. I
    flicked my index fingers across them gently and each time I did
    she jumped a little.    By now I was hard as a rock and her hand
    found its way to my crotch, rubbing its length almost
    desperately. She seemed almost out of control, her breath coming
    in little cries. She turned around suddenly and buried my mouth
    against hers. The kiss lasted forever, it seemed, as our tongues
    intertwined like two sensuous snakes.
       Then the shift bell rang. Lunch was over.
       We both pulled back, confused and more than a little
    embarrassed. Neither one of us said much as we straightened out
    our clothing and got ready to go back to work.

    Message: 4845
    Author: $ Melissa Dee
    Category: Erotic Stories
    Subject: More later
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 18:41:23

    This story isn't one of mine but I thought I'd see what you all thought of
    it.

    Message: 4846
    Author: $ Apro Poet
    Category: Answer !
    Subject: previous
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 19:08:41

    Tease.  I found it just a bit wordy, but who cares?

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     1:I found the story to have good useful points that are useful to the reader.
     2:end

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    NOTE: I logged on later and left a message explaining the above. Read on.

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    Message: 1675
    Author: $ Melissa Dee
    Category: Filmography
    Subject: Last
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 18:16:51

    ABC has already announced that they would be canceling the show.  The word
    came about two weeks after the last regular show (the last one before the
    finale).

    Message: 1676
    Author: $ Dave Bolman
    Category: Chit-Chat
    Subject: Twin Peaks
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 21:11:12

    While not my own theory, an interesting one is that When Cooper offered his
    life for Annie's he was spared death (love being one of the entrances to the
    Black/White/Grey'ish Lodge etc.), however when he ran from his doppleganger
    (possibly the evil that exists within the Coop that he was unwilling to
    face/accept) an opening was made for Bob to enter his soul (fear being the
    other entrance top the lodge)...comments?

    Does anyone besides myself think that Annie was dead at the end of the show
    and that the Doc and Harry didn't want to shock the supposedly weakened
    Cooper..They gave each other 'that' look when turnin the sheets, and her
    face looked fairly goopy when she was dumped on that dark, grey ground.

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    Subject:last

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     1:Not a clue.
     2:end

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    Message: 75835
    Author: $ Melissa Dee
    Category: Answer!
    Subject: Rod
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 18:27:57

    You are breathe of fresh air.  Thanks for the posts.

    Everyone else, lighten up already.  Especially you smokers!

    Message: 75836
    Author: $ Apro Poet
    Category: Politics
    Subject: Robber Barons
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 19:19:51

      In the 1880s and 1890s, immigrants were pouring in from
    Europe at a faster rate than before.  They all went through
    the harrowing ocean voyage of the poor.  Now there were not
    so many Irish and German immigrants as Italians, Russians,
    Jews, Greeks -- people from Southern and Eastern Europe,
    even more alien to native-born Anglo-Saxons than the earlier
    newcomers.
      How the immigration of different ethnic groups contributed
    to the fragmentation of the working class, how conflicts
    developed among groups facing the same difficult conditions,
    is shown in an article in a Bohemian newspaper, *Svornost*,
    of February 27, 1880.  A petition of 258 parents and
    guardians at the Throop School in New York, signed by over
    half the taxpayers of the school district, said "the
    petitioners have just as much right to request the teaching
    of Bohemian as have the German citizens to have German
    taught in the public schools....  In opposition to this, Mr.
    Vocke claims that there is a great deal of difference
    between Germans and Bohemians, or in other words, they are
    superior."
      The Irish, still recalling the hatred against them when
    they arrived, began to get jobs with the new political
    machines that wanted their vote.  Those who became policemen
    encountered the new Jewish immigrants.  On July 30, 1902,
    New York's Jewish community held a mass funeral for an
    important rabbi, and a riot took place, led by Irish who
    resented Jews coming into their neighborhood.  The police
    force was dominantly Irish, and the official investigation
    of the riot indicated the police helped the rioters: "... it
    appears that charges of unprovoked and most brutal clubbing
    have been made against policemen, with the result that they
    were reprimanded or fined a day's pay and were yet retained
    upon the force."
      There was desperate economic competition among the
    newcomers.  By 1880, Chinese immigrants, brought in by the
    railroads to do the backbreaking labor at pitiful wages,
    numbered 75,000 in California, almost one-tenth of the
    population.  They became the objects of continuous violence.
    The novelist Bret Harte wrote an obituary for a Chinese man
    named Wan Lee:
           Dead, my revered friends, dead.  Stoned to death in
         the streets of San Francisco, in the year of grace 1869
         by a mob of halfgrown boys and Christian school
         children.
    In Rock Springs, Wyoming, in the summer of 1885, whites
    attacked five hundred Chinese miners, massacring twenty-eight
    of them in cold blood.
      The new immigrants became laborers, housepainters,
    stonecutters, ditchdiggers.  They were often imported en
    masse by contractors.  One Italian man, told he was going to
    Connecticut to work on the railroad, was taken instead to
    sulfate mines in the South, where he and his fellows were
    watched over by armed guards in their barracks and in the
    mines, given only enough money to pay for their railroad
    fare and tools, and very little to eat.  He and others
    decided to escape.  They were captured at gunpoint, ordered
    to work or die; they still refused and were brought before a
    judge, put in manacles, and, five months after their
    arrival, finally dismissed.  "My comrades took the train for
    New York.  I had only one dollar, and with this, not knowing
    either the country or the language, I had to walk to New
    York.  After forty-two days I arrived in the city utterly
    exhausted."
      Their conditions led sometimes to rebellion.  A
    contemporary observer told how "some Italians who worked in
    a locality near Deal Lake, New Jersey, failing to receive
    their wages, captured the contractor and shut him up in the
    shanty, where he remained a prisoner until the county
    sheriff came with a posse to his rescue."
      A traffic in immigrant child laborers developed, either by
    contract with desperate parents in the home country or by
    kidnapping.  The children were then supervised by "padrones"
    in a form of slavery, sometimes sent out as beggar
    musicians.  Droves of them roamed the streets of New York
    and Philadelphia.
      As the immigrants became naturalized citizens, they were
    brought into the American two-party system, invited to be
    loyal to one party or the other, their political energy thus
    siphoned into elections.  An article in *L'Italia*, in
    November 1894, called for Italians to support the Republican
    party:
           When American citizens of foreign birth refuse to
         ally themselves with the Republican Party, they make
         war upon their own welfare.  The Republican Party
         stands for all that the people fight for in the Old
         World.  It is the champion of freedom, progress, order,
         and law.  It is the steadfast foe of monarchial class
         rule.
      There were 5-1/2 million immigrants in the 1880s, 4
    million in the 1890s, creating a labor surplus that kept
    wages down.  The immigrants were more controllable, more
    helpless than native workers; they were culturally
    displaced, at odds with one another, therefore useful as
    strikebreakers.  Often their children worked, intensifying
    the problem of an oversized labor force and joblessness; in
    1880 there were 1,118,000 children under sixteen (one out of
    six) at work in the United States.  With everyone working
    long hours, families often became strangers to one another.
    A pants presser named Morris Rosenfeld wrote a poem, "My
    Boy," which became widely reprinted and recited:

         I have a little boy at home,
         A pretty little son;
         I think sometimes the world is mine
         In him, my only one....

         'Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;
         'Tis night when I am free;
         A stranger am I to my child;
         And stranger my child to me....

    Message: 75841
    Author: $ Steve MacGregor
    Category: Chit Chat
    Subject: Cliff/Caller-ID
    Date: 06/19/91  Time: 21:33:13

      The reason the phone-number is there right now has to do with the way 911
    works, from what I caught from the techies.  It appears that you could
    legally create a box yourself and skip the $6 if you could do without the
    number.
      There are some files on GEnie dealing with this, but I haven't gotten
    around to downloading them.  I'll have to do that, and summarize them here,
    if someone doesn't beat me to them.  They're in the PostScript SIG, for some
    dumb reason.
      Yes, it looks like in order for the governments responsible for allowing
    the phone company to provide this service to permit us to make use of it,
    some callers are going to have to be able to punch some kind of code before
    dialing the number, so that their numbers will not be reported.  (The recent
    newspaper article said that a "P" would appear on the magic box instead of
    the caller's number and name.)
      That's fine with me, so long as they realize that I will not answer my
    phone most of the time if someone needs to hide his identity.  It may be
    possible to build the box such that my phone won't even bother to ring if
    the number is either not provided, or is on a deep-peanut-butter list that I
    can key into the box.

      We all live in a   ....,,,,________nnhn____   yellow subroutine

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     1:I guess I was somewhat distracted when I typed that line.  You see, I was
     2:still thinking of the story.
     3:end

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    Message: 75842
    Author: $ Rod Williams
    Category: Chit Chat
    Subject: cause and effect
    Date: 06/20/91  Time: 01:37:12

    Curing the ills of a society (or culture, or race) means that we must
    recognize the cause of the ills.  We cannot just throw someone in a
    jail for doing a deed.

    The whole of society should share the blame as no person is more important
    than any other.  But will it?

    Does each person recognize all others as true brother and sister of the
    Universe?  Not at this time for the majority, I'm unhappy to report.

    I mean, do you love, as your brother, as your equal, an arab?  I do.  I
    would wash the feet of any person on this earth if that person, in his
    being, recognized this important fact. (FACT)

    Many humans seem to worship war and not peace.  Their always has to be an
    inferior race, eh?  Just so's we have something that is below us so that we
    can feel PROUD.  Proud to be Amerikans proud to be a member of the human
    race and thank god we're not Iraquis.

    Woman is the Nigger of the World.  - John Lennon

                                            Rod

    Message: 75843
    Author: $ Rod Williams
    Category: Chit Chat
    Subject: taboo
    Date: 06/20/91  Time: 01:54:06

    I had a dream in the midst of my great pain of late.  In it, someone, a
    friend came up to me and gave me a lit marijuana cigarette.  I drew the
    cool, fragrant smoke into my lungs, filling them and holding on to the plant
    protein that was being released.

    In a few moments (or who could really tell?) I was standing in the same room
    as the pain in my jaw.  I said, "Yes, I realize that you are sending me an
    important message and I respect that."  "Couldn't you back it off a bit,
    because it is 3 A.M. and there is nothing I am going to do now except, ride
    it out."  "The other options that we (and I stressed, we) have are not very
    good at this time, remind me again in the morning."

    Well, I figured that I had learned to "open my hands" from my first real pot
    experience so I should be able to reason with the pain center in my brain.
    It was MY brain after all, I reasoned.
    And it worked.  I saw the rhythm my pain was going in and I set up a counter
    cycle to null it out.  The cells in my mouth area were doing their jobs so
    they had to be tricked by writing a counter-program.

    So, I listened to some music.  I did notice that some music affected my
    mouth more than others.  It was the vibration.

                                    Rod

    Message: 75844
    Author: $ Rod Williams
    Category: Chit Chat
    Subject: Bang-Bang
    Date: 06/20/91  Time: 01:59:22

    I wonder if those kids who were playing with a loaded weapon may have done a
    little sampling with their parents 'liquor cabinet'?  I did some stupid
    things on booze when a kid.  I can't see pot bringing about thinking of that
    nature unless your parents raised you to be a GI Joe.

    Besides it is the 'dry' season for marijuana unless you are rich.  Harvest
    is in the fall.

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