I was on my way to work this morning, the tickle at the back of my throat still nagging me somewhat, but I'd taken my Ibuprofen and gargled with salt water, so I'd done everything I could do, right?

I get on the train and start coughing. I'm reading. The back of my throat starts acting up. I'm coughing. Into my hand. I never seem to have tissues with me, especially when I need them.

Then, about three stops up, it starts getting worse. The tickling. The setting off of the gag reflex. The little surge of something wanting to come back up. Do I get off at the next train station and just get it over with? Throw up off the platform and onto the tracks? How "needs to be locked up" would that look?

I decide to try to gut it out. Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over matter. *tickle tickle* MIND over MATTER. MIND over MATTER. MIND over MATTER. *tickle tickle tickle cough cough .... cou-HURP*

Next thing I know, I've got a handful of phlegm, coffee, and Cocoa Crispies. And quite a bit of it down the front of my shirt. In my other hand is my book.

If somebody else on my train had done this, I'd be writing about how gross it was and how utterly stupid it is for someone to try to go to work when they're so sick. But I don't feel sick. I feel fine. My throat is red but it doesn't hurt. It just fucking tickles.

Anyway, some poor lady on the train gave me a handful of tissues and I got off at the next stop and came back home. I have a call in to my doctor, and I'm hoping they will recommend something a little more effective than salt water gargling and anti-inflammatories.*

On a lighter note, I had a wonderful evening with Deb last night. We had steaks, cabbage and broccoli and watched Gilmore Girls. After I washed the dishes, she gave me a wonderful shoulder massage.

*I scored some anti-biotics. Yay. Three-times-a-day dosage. Maybe it will knock the rest of this out fast. I don't want to spend half of my sex month coughing.

Deb put on a silky white calf-length slip for our date. I could see through it. It felt niiiiiice. I just ran my hands over it and her body for a long time as we lay in bed.

I started with oral sex, but I think I was irritating her more than pleasing her, but, being Deb, she didn't say anything. She was squirming�I didn't know if it was good or bad squirming�and ended up pushing my head to one side away from her pussy after I'd put one finger inside her, which made me think it was bad squirming.

Shut up. We're working on our in-bed communication. And I hardly ever perform oral sex, so I'm not real sure what Deb likes.

I'm not sure who's going to volunteer to do me today. Especially after the pleasant description of my morning above.