Reltney McFee: Blog

Because I live a life of idle luxury (as if!), I was scrolling through the site's "greatest hits" lists. To my pleasant surprise, I found "Kathy, Again" as number 22 upon the "Top 50 Completed Top Serials in the Last 30 Days" list.

Thank you to everybody who enjoyed it, and voted accordingly. With regard to those who did not enjoy it, well, thank you for reading. Please consider yourselves invited to comment, letting me know what you did or did not like about this, or any other story I've submitted.

I was considering how "Kathy Again" ended, and wondered how else the kids (young adults) could have been introduced to bondage and anal. I have submitted an alternate last chapter for the story, and it awaits moderation and posting. This is a kinky tangent to my usual, but, well, let me know how well it works. Thanks for reading!

It appears that I'll have o submit "Chapter 9 Bravo" as "chapter 10". Stay tuned! Thank you!

It's been 5 months since I completed "Kathy, Again". Driving home from work the other day, I was reminiscing about previous lovers, and wondering what they wee doing nowadays. Elsa found her way into my ruminations, and I wondered if anybody might be interested in a (mostly) true story of our first encounter.

Indeed, I had been chasing another woman at the same ED, and she very gracefully let me know that she was seeing somebody at the time I was making my play. "But", she continued, "Did you know that Elsa has been eyeing you for quite some time? You might think about asking her out!" I did, indeed, contemplate asking her out, we did go out, we lived together for a few years, and then she got weary of Da Big City and the (justifiable) headlines about the violent crime and murders. (not that I had ANY sort of insight into that, nosiree!) It convinced her that she had to move out, into a less exciting neighborhood. Me, I had to live in Da City as a job requirement. We parted ways, and I have repeatedly hoped since then that The Patron Saint of Happiness smiled upon her, frequently and generously.

As I think of it, I have been blessed by the company of lovely women, who were lovely inside as well as outside, and generous with their affections. Probably, more blessed and more fortunate than I really deserve.

Happy Independence Day. Let's pause, and think about folks who sacrificed so much, and who do so to this day, so that you, and I, and my children and grandchildren, can play unconcerned in the sunshine of this beautiful day. That beautiful day, and the courage and sacrifice that made us as free as we are, are Gifts, from a Higher Power. I pray that we are, and remain, worthy of these blessings.

I've posted the final chapter of "Kathy, Again". I hope a whole bunch of you folks read it, enjoy it, and give it high marks. If you have any thoughts, or suggestions, they are welcome.

It was quite a stroll through an alternative reality, for me. I haven't seen the woman upon whom this female lead is based, in just short of 40 years. She has likely lived her life, married and raised her children, and is now anticipating great grand children. I certainly hope she has been happy, and that she has a long(er) and happy life. She left quite an impression, upon mine!

What with nincompoops spouting about their "courage" at cataloging Mr. Trump's shortcomings (...not that they do not have a lot of material to work with...), and news reports of Joe Average coming to the rescue of an officer being assaulted in Arizona, and other Officers, and Firefighters, and Medics going to work day in, and day out, I have been reflecting upon what it means to "be courageous".

I think we all recognize "obvious courage". The firefighters who enter a building, spraying water and searching for victims, the officer who walks up to the traffic stop, hoping some whackadoodle, or some gangster, doesn't think that today is the right day to cap a cop, the medic who walks up on "one over the wheel", hoping this guy isn't waiting for the opportunity to yell "Surprise!", followed by 115 grains of screaming injury. All these folks demonstrate courage, nearly every day. Most all of them are "Aw, Shucks!" about it, for if they weren't, if they really thought about that pistol, that jacked up dope head, that burning floor waiting to propel them into flaming eternity, well, who the hell could do that job?

Then, there's the quieter forms of courage. My daughter, She Who Shall Remain Nameless, who raised a very, very sick daughter, solo, while working full time. Without benefits. And going to school full time. So that she could provide for her child. I thought I had some swaggering rights, back in the day, when I was a medic in Detroit, when Detroit was "The Murder City".

It's all bullshit. That girl, that woman, showed more courage, over a sustained period, on scant sleep, than I could. Yeah, I have some bragging rights. But, true humility requires me to sing the praises of the others, who quietly, without fanfare, without recognition, see the job that they have assumed, the Duty that they have undertaken, and do it. DO. THE. DAMNED. JOB. No backup, no break, no time out. No whining. No "poor me". They, she, look in the eyes of the woman, of the man, in the mirror, recognize the expectation of that judge, and then meet those expectations.

My grandchildren are joys, polite, thoughtful, active, intelligent, curious. They all these things, because their mother made them this way. Her courage, her strength of will, made her overcome the problems in her way. So, for her, and the women like her, for the police officers, the medics, the firefighters, the old men who, seeing a cop gassing his vehicle, stand silently, back to the officer's back, looking over the scene behind that cop, for them I copy and paste Samantha K's thoughts.

That old man? When the officer asked him what he was doing, he responded, "Nobody's gonna surprise attack you from behind, while I am here."

"What Is Courage?" from Sam at the Con
by Samantha K.
Copyright© 2007 by Samantha K.

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The bartender handed me my drink and I took a sip. I'd been drinking mainly fruity drinks during our tropical adventure and this was one of my favorites. If they had a more elaborate setup, I would have asked for a Mai Tai. As it was, this was plenty strong.
"I believe you're right, Sam" he said. "You're very well-read."

He seemed surprised. I decided to push my advantage.
"You mean for a girl, or for a superheroine?"

"For either," he laughed. "Is there a literacy restriction on superheroines?"

"Not that I know of; but then, nobody has asked me to fill out an application."

"So how does one get this sort of job?"

"That's probably the best question I've had yet. The answer is simply 'you go out and do it'."

"Kind of like writing," Mike said. "You just sit down and do it."

"I suppose it is," I said. "Do you write?"

"Some. Nothing published yet. Don't worry, I won't ask you to read it. It's just something I do when things are slow at our bookstore. I don't expect to be able to earn any money from it. If it's not too personal a question, may I ask how one goes about making a living as a superheroine?"

"You mean, do I get paid? Nope. At least, not yet. I may have to hit someone up for a tip, sooner or later. This is actually something my partner and I have talked about. So far, we've been doing this as a sort of hobby. Some people have contributed stuff, but we're not getting paid for this. Were you wondering if I punched a time-clock?"

"Something like that. Fictional characters always seem to be independently wealthy."

"Not me. I'm SuperChurchmouse. We've talked about a rate structure. So much for stopping a crime in progress, much more for rescuing kidnapped heiresses, much less for rescuing kitties up trees. What do you think?"

"It's an interesting problem. Why do you do it?"

There was that question again. I had answered that in various ways ranging from insulting to placating and I still hadn't found anything that would explain how I felt about it.

"Kara," I said, remembering. "Kara Eastman."

"Who's that?" Mike asked.

"A little girl who thinks I'm doing something worthwhile. I've never met her, but it's for her. And all the other little girls who want to grow up and someday make a difference in the world."

"Good answer," Mike said.

I nodded, "Yeah. I like it, too. I'll use that tomorrow during the panel, but forget I mentioned her last name, please."

"Of course. This isn't just a hobby for you, is it?"

"No. It's a calling. If you woke up in the morning and you discovered that you could do all kinds of stuff that few other people could do, what would you do?"

"I don't know. I'd like to think that I would go out and save the world, but I don't know that I have your kind of courage."

He looked so sincere when he said that that I had to believe that he meant it. The poor guy. He didn't have a clue. Courage isn't something you have, it's a way for others to describe what you did after-the-fact. It's a way to say that when the shit hit the fan, you stood up in its path. You peed your panties, but you got to your feet and you dealt with the problem. It doesn't matter if it's charging a machine-gun nest on an enemy-held hill or a hornets' nest over your bedroom window, you got off your ass and you dealt with it. Afterwards, you might feel exhilarated, you might feel proud, but if anyone asks you why, you just say, "It needed doing."
Mike didn't want to hear that. You can't tell someone how to be courageous. You can't train for it. It's just something you do. I understand because I know people who do courageous things, but I don't think I'm one of them.

I got up on tiptoe and I kissed him for thinking I had courage.
He blinked and leaned back, glancing toward the door to see if Deedee had seen. She was his wife, obviously. Single guys look to see if other guys caught the action so they can get a high-five or some such macho thing later. Married guys look to see if they're about to catch hell.