"You should see 'em do the Rio rock Nothing like it nowhere else It's a feeling that I've never felt Never stops Never ends It blows your mind just being there.." He leaned out the window. The january air blew through the window and wrapped itslef around the tanned, bare legs of a young, puertorican woman. She shivered and pulled the blanket over her body, still staring at the back of the dark brown haired man at the window. "Robert?" She said with a slight accent, almost close to a whisper. The man turned around and smiled at her. Navy blue towel around his waist, he bent over her and kissed her forehead, and could almost taste the strawberry wine scent of her perfume. She was a beautiful woman, sure, but he didnt love her. Most of the woman he was with now-a-days were just temporary. With each one, his name changed, his personality, his wardrobe, his parents hames, sometimes even his accent. As he walked into the bathroom and into the shower, he reminisced about the countless women he had donned. There was Patrice, Rachel, Trish, Chrissy. Or was it Clara.. She had lived on a yacht down in Key West, and he spent the summer living on her boat. He was "Hank" to her, a college marine biology teacher from San Francisco. He remembered that she had beautiful, thick, strawberry blonde hair, and had a thing for white tank tops. He smiled as he thought of the nights they had spent drinking straight vodka underneath the stars, and then making love to eachother absolutely gone. A few months later, he was gone, without a trace. Clara or Chrissy or whatever her name was, woke up one hot august morning to find Hank no longer beside her in her queen-sized linen covered palace of a bed. No note, no nothing. Just as mysteriously as he had walked into her life, he had walked out. Jack edmonds never showed remorse as he moved from one woman to another. Stepping out of the steamy shower on to the cold tiles of his new ethnic woman's bathroom, he knew that in about three days, he would have packed all of his belongings (and a few of her's) into his maroon Volkswagen GTI and set off east to New York City. Jack lathered his face with shaving cream and began to shave the bit of stubble growing underneath his chin. Humming along to the Barry White record playing in the background, he felt a pair of slender, chillingly cold hands slip around his waist and down his hipbones. He sighed to himself and continued shaving. "Hispanic women.." he thought, "they never tire." She began to unravel the towel that hung tightly around Jack's waist and pulled him away from the sink, towards the shower, still only half shaven. He grimaced, and gave her a look of complaint, but she shot him a provocative, sharp brown eyed stare right back. Entirely nude, she pulled him into the small, discolored shower and tossed his towel on the ground. Running her fingers through his already wet hair, she pulled his slightly pale, freckled body towards her tan, goosebumped one. He thought to himself as she moved her lips towards his why he was still here. Even though he was usually the one that was using every woman he met, she was almost just as sex driven as he himself was. He had found her in a bar in downtown Chicago, absolutely gone-drunk and puking on the brick curb outside. He drove her back to her house and stayed and took care of her for the night. As much as this might seem like he was concerned for her, it was quite the opposite. He needed a place to stay, food to eat, woman to fuck. It was a never ending cycle, and he loved every second of it. She lived in a great home on the lake, built by her father, who was now "lejos" away, back in PR, she had just gotten over a guy and was on the rebound, and needed a man to fool around with. She wasnt one to settle down, and instead lived for the nightlife in Chicago's many clubs. Everthing she did just screamed "rebel", and she liked it that way. Isabel was her name, or at least that's what she told him. Considering all the different names he had taken as his own, he learned never to trust people and their version of the truth. After Isabel and his first night together, he decided to stay a while. She turned out to like sex just about as much as he did, and welcomed the stranger's penis without a second thought. Sure, he liked this woman. Fearless, sensual, yet with an incredible resume. She had studied at some ivy league art school up north, and had come to chicago to persue her musical career. Although she prefered to down shots accross the street at the pub, she took a job on Maple Avenue as a community theatre director. Jack had seen her in action. The play they were doing.. he could not remember. Something she had writen herself, in fact. Something about a traveling group of ballet dancers. He couldnt remember. All he could see was Isabel. It was one of the last rehersals before the show began, and she just was screaming and dancing and flirting all at the same time. She had worn a purple zip up sweatshirt, faded jeans, and the ugliest orange heels he had ever seen in his entire life. But all he was focusing on was her face. Her tanned, flushed, hispanic face. As she yelled and laughed, her features just shimmered in the glistening sweat that had built up on her forehead and the sides of her nose. But he noticed with her, that she never seemed to be attatched. This, he hoped, was going to be an advantage when he left, so that there could be a bit less chaos than usual. He stepped out of the shower, soaked to the bone and exhaused. She slinked out of the shower and into the bedroom, grabbing the last clean towel on the way out. Jack shot daggers at the back of her head with his eyes, yet loathed her for being able to remain so perky and alert after so many hours of intercourse. "Isabel," he said, stepping out of the bathroom, drying himself with a damp towel, "I cant stay here any longer. It's driving me insane" She shot him a quizzical look, but silently continued to brush her long brown hair with a comb. He stood in the doorway, waiting for a responce. "Well? What do you want me to say? Dont go? I cant force you to stay. I have no control over your actions. If you want to leave, go. I'm not stoping you" And with that, she picked up her comb, her towel, and walked out of the room.

So, i officially decided. Sitdiary is going to be where I write my stories. The first one. Due to the lovely log in name. Is going to be called "the paroxysm" and i still have to figure out where im going with this but i have a general idea. so here goes...

The next few days consisted of silent packing. Clothing, vinyls, artwork, food; It all dissapeared into three big brown bags. As he finally loaded his belongings into his car outside the house, four days and 96 hours of silence, he stood outside the house, staring out at the faint flicker of lights that reflected on the small lake in front of him. As he backed out of the gravel driveway for the last time, he began humming the tune to some Beatles song he could hear faintly coming out of the house next door. As he slowly drove away, almost afraid to move on, he saw her standing, there, at the window. Her black sillhouette, sleek and smooth against the harsh light of that tall metal lamp that stood in the middle of the room without its lampshade. All these things he would never forget. Maybe she wasnt just another girl to him. Did he love her? No. She wasnt like all the others though.. Five hours east on Interstate 95 and he decided to stop in Baltimore. He didnt know why the exit lane had attracted him so intensely, yet something inside him knew to get off. Had he been there before? Not in his recollection. Seen it before on television? Maybe.. The Wendys sign at the end of the parkling lot blared at him as he swung open the heavy glass door and walked inside. Chicken, he decided. Time to break his vegitarian habits to endulge in some meat that probably wasnt even alive at one point. Hey- its fast food. What were you expecting? The only woman in the place at that time was a woman, a bit older than him, but not by much. Her face, as she sipped her clam chowder, crinkled with the faint hints of lines around her eyes and forehead. The brown hair, chopped haphazardly, dangled in front of her face, threatening to dive into her soup. She wore a red scarf around her neck, olive colored coat, fuscia painted nails, grey newsboy hat, gloves.. Although he had rid himself of his second ex girlfriend's vegan influences,

So, considering I have a xanga and all, I doubt i'll be writing in this. It's for commenting on J-.. i mean Acey's sitdiary. That is all.