We do this once a year. Before I present our thrilling trip, I want to point out that MW endured some years of family vacations with my parents along, so she had earned some credit that she has been using up lately. My parents are long gone; it is now only hers...
July 28, 2008
July 28, 2008
Due to an on-going restoration of my office all of our computer equipment is squeezed into our bedroom that already has the regular bedroom stuff and then some! This is a big cramp: two desks, two chairs, one work station, one filing cabinet, three computers with monitors, printer, scanner, book case, and miscellaneous junk. I have just finished cabling so that we don’t trip over them.
I am up at 3 AM working on my computer. I try to be quiet and don’t have any lights on except the little USB light. Mistress Wife creeps silently out of bed and moves as if sleepwalking. I can’t discern her form in the dark, but I hear an occasional crunch as she steps on toys the cats left. I ask, “Are you up for good?” She does not answer. I walk to her and run my lips over her lovely parts. Again I ask what the problem is.
“We will be leaving in 28 hours.”
She is already stressed over what could be a good time. Pity.
July 29, 2008
We are sipping my robust brew on the front deck watching the bunnies, quail, doves, thrashers, etc. She begins to make oblique references to something that did not register on my mind immediately. Then at some point I feel the edge of former hurt. I remember forgetting her anniversary of something or other. Today is her birthday. Suddenly I understand the subtle pokes at my psyche. I put down my coffee, and blurt, “I will return.” I hasten to the garage where I kept an item just for this occasion. I left it in the garage because she stays out of there, so it was unlikely for her to find it too soon. It was meant as her birthday gift.
I retrieve the box and go upstairs to present the contents. She is thrilled. It is, by her words, “A lovely gift from my pet. A glass turtle. He remembered my birthday.” I am in a state of grace. I may be totally guilty of something in the next minute, but for now I relish here appreciation of a decadent and frivolous beauty.
We are only an hour or so late leaving. I run to keep up with the demand for my services: take care of the animals, pack our miscellaneous electronic gear, pack my own stuff, and load a ton of material into the Beast. The Beast is a tall, big, beautiful, black truck that can accommodate the driver and five passengers, has four wheel drive and off-road equipment. Yes, we are decadent and proud of it.
“We will be leaving in 28 hours.”
She is already stressed over what could be a good time. Pity.
July 29, 2008
We are sipping my robust brew on the front deck watching the bunnies, quail, doves, thrashers, etc. She begins to make oblique references to something that did not register on my mind immediately. Then at some point I feel the edge of former hurt. I remember forgetting her anniversary of something or other. Today is her birthday. Suddenly I understand the subtle pokes at my psyche. I put down my coffee, and blurt, “I will return.” I hasten to the garage where I kept an item just for this occasion. I left it in the garage because she stays out of there, so it was unlikely for her to find it too soon. It was meant as her birthday gift.
I retrieve the box and go upstairs to present the contents. She is thrilled. It is, by her words, “A lovely gift from my pet. A glass turtle. He remembered my birthday.” I am in a state of grace. I may be totally guilty of something in the next minute, but for now I relish here appreciation of a decadent and frivolous beauty.
We are only an hour or so late leaving. I run to keep up with the demand for my services: take care of the animals, pack our miscellaneous electronic gear, pack my own stuff, and load a ton of material into the Beast. The Beast is a tall, big, beautiful, black truck that can accommodate the driver and five passengers, has four wheel drive and off-road equipment. Yes, we are decadent and proud of it.
I shower when I think that all that is done. She has me install the CB3000, and then I dress.
The way out of town is boring. I already know that I will suffer at least until we get to check into a motel in the evening. Tight cock ring, tight cage, in tight shorts, pressed upon by tight pants does not help as I sit driving. I keep adjusting the seat like John Candy in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” (until he breaks it). Even when I take a break to give the boys a chance to breathe I am in pain. In spite of that I appreciate her gesture. About half way to our first day’s destination we stop for a picnic lunch in an area just off the highway. Food is good; we relax a bit. I need to make a deposit, so I head into the bushes. Have you ever tried to pee with a cage on while trying to negotiate tight pants, tight shorts, and the wind? I should squat. The outcome is not bad, but I do have to wash my hands thoroughly.
At the motel after half a day of suffering she says, “Take off the device so that we can check for problems.” I finish unloading our equipment, which takes about twenty minutes. All the floor space in the room is taken up by our stuff that I don’t want to leave in the Beast overnight. I undress and remove the cage. Cleaning the equipment and shower time follows. She generously allows me to remain unfettered, but nothing much happens.
July 30, 2008
I am up early as usual and grouchy because there is no way for me to make or get coffee. I read a book, and keep glancing at her bare buns while thinking of what I would like to do with them. At some point I assume that she would not mind connecting with the world again, so I slip into bed behind her. While feeling her smooth curves with my hand, I snuggle up to her back. It takes a short time for the little guy to become the big guy. We enjoy our closeness for a while. Then she says, “We should try something we haven’t for a while. I guess what is coming up.
She lifts her knee, and then guides my slick tip between her lips. We try to connect for a few minutes. It sure would be nice to get down there and lubricate her fragrant private parts with my tongue before going further. Even afterward would be nice. She takes charge of the big guy, and guides him into her warm folds. At that point he takes charge, and I am along for the fantastic ride.
I load our equipment into the Beast, check out of the motel, and then drive through the small town to buy coffee and ice for the trip ahead. We head toward our destination at a relaxed pace, allowing all the stressed-out idiot vacationers to pass us on the two-lane highway. It’s not that I am dragging my ass, just that I stay with the speed limit primarily to conserve fuel and maintain a sane control over the situation. I am comfortable with my thoughts, also with the realization that MW did not bring up the subject of the cage, so it was neatly packed in my luggage. The boys are thankful.
Another half day of driving through the small roads of the colorful countryside brings us to our destination. I haul our equipment up to the second floor of the hotel. Foolishly I pour myself a drink. Being the day after her birthday she expects a fine dinner out. I already consumed half a shot of Scotch, so she expects me to be prostrate with alcohol in my innocent veins thereby being unable to choose, find, and drive to a fine restaurant. I am unfamiliar with the local streets and have no map and she knows that. In not so many words, I am in deep stuff. I feel that we have to go out to eat even if by a limousine.
After one drink neither my driving nor my reasoning ability are affected enough to matter. I decide to drive. The search for a restaurant does not go well. There are many, but with heavy traffic, and always being on the wrong side of the road from our target we are being selective. Driving into the sunset and looking through bug-smudged windshield while each of us is trying to satisfy the other, we are lucky to survive. A few miles down the street I turn back. After some more false starts we pick a decent Italian restaurant that does not seem to have too long a wait. As we sit in the lobby the contention between us is thick in the air. She is almost crying. After fifteen minutes of my concentration on the female customers we are escorted to a booth. Things improve from there. I order a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon from a private label. She orders tea, her favorite appetizer, and a salad. I order a smallish pasta meal. The wine is excellent. We mellow a bit as the evening progresses.
July 31, 2008
The reason for this trip is for MW to visit her parents. It is understood that I am to participate to the smallest extent possible. This decision is based on the tension, and resulting seriously bad times between us borne of earlier years’ experiences with the same. The problem is that she has an obligation that she can’t handle in a lighthearted manner. It goes deep. As a result, she needs my stable presence to assure her that she will not be sucked into a psychological twilight in handling conflicting emotions. I have a more simplistic way of handling situations: I get to the point and do what needs to be done. She, on the other hand, tries to satisfy everyone present, which ends up at her expense more than she can afford emotionally. In theory she could do all that. In practice it takes too much from her. This results in an amount of tension that neither of us can handle with grace.
When I pick her up at the end of her visit I had already spent several pleasant hours alone at the hotel, so I am in good shape. She, on the other hand, had spent the same hours building up stress like a coiled spring. I am aware of it, but not the extent of it.
We are in bed after watching a movie on one of our DVDs. I am ready to sleep; she tries to read to unwind a bit. With tremendous self-control she beats the mattress with her fists behind my back while she blurts the source of her angst. I understand. The only comment I make is, “I am glad that it was not my back that you have just pummeled. You are welcome to use a light instrument like a crop if you really feel the need, however.”
August 1, 2008
The morning begins with the expected stress. I make the mistake of offering her advice on how to handle her situation. It is not meant to be a lecture, but she takes it as such.
I am always on her side even when I think that she is wrong. She must know that. But when she is stressed like this, she may see things differently. We resolve some issues, and she decides to check her email on the Internet. We are staying at a hotel where Internet access is free. As a consequence, we have no recourse about the flaky service provided. She tries several times, but the connection goes in and out. Each time she complains. I remain silent since there is not anything that I can do, and I know that she is aware of it.
I drop her off at her relatives’ house, then return to the hotel for some hours of solitude. During the day I do some reading, some writing, and also visit some blogs of people who post their experiences on FLR. One particular posting strikes me as relevant to our relationship.
The way out of town is boring. I already know that I will suffer at least until we get to check into a motel in the evening. Tight cock ring, tight cage, in tight shorts, pressed upon by tight pants does not help as I sit driving. I keep adjusting the seat like John Candy in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” (until he breaks it). Even when I take a break to give the boys a chance to breathe I am in pain. In spite of that I appreciate her gesture. About half way to our first day’s destination we stop for a picnic lunch in an area just off the highway. Food is good; we relax a bit. I need to make a deposit, so I head into the bushes. Have you ever tried to pee with a cage on while trying to negotiate tight pants, tight shorts, and the wind? I should squat. The outcome is not bad, but I do have to wash my hands thoroughly.
At the motel after half a day of suffering she says, “Take off the device so that we can check for problems.” I finish unloading our equipment, which takes about twenty minutes. All the floor space in the room is taken up by our stuff that I don’t want to leave in the Beast overnight. I undress and remove the cage. Cleaning the equipment and shower time follows. She generously allows me to remain unfettered, but nothing much happens.
July 30, 2008
I am up early as usual and grouchy because there is no way for me to make or get coffee. I read a book, and keep glancing at her bare buns while thinking of what I would like to do with them. At some point I assume that she would not mind connecting with the world again, so I slip into bed behind her. While feeling her smooth curves with my hand, I snuggle up to her back. It takes a short time for the little guy to become the big guy. We enjoy our closeness for a while. Then she says, “We should try something we haven’t for a while. I guess what is coming up.
She lifts her knee, and then guides my slick tip between her lips. We try to connect for a few minutes. It sure would be nice to get down there and lubricate her fragrant private parts with my tongue before going further. Even afterward would be nice. She takes charge of the big guy, and guides him into her warm folds. At that point he takes charge, and I am along for the fantastic ride.
I load our equipment into the Beast, check out of the motel, and then drive through the small town to buy coffee and ice for the trip ahead. We head toward our destination at a relaxed pace, allowing all the stressed-out idiot vacationers to pass us on the two-lane highway. It’s not that I am dragging my ass, just that I stay with the speed limit primarily to conserve fuel and maintain a sane control over the situation. I am comfortable with my thoughts, also with the realization that MW did not bring up the subject of the cage, so it was neatly packed in my luggage. The boys are thankful.
Another half day of driving through the small roads of the colorful countryside brings us to our destination. I haul our equipment up to the second floor of the hotel. Foolishly I pour myself a drink. Being the day after her birthday she expects a fine dinner out. I already consumed half a shot of Scotch, so she expects me to be prostrate with alcohol in my innocent veins thereby being unable to choose, find, and drive to a fine restaurant. I am unfamiliar with the local streets and have no map and she knows that. In not so many words, I am in deep stuff. I feel that we have to go out to eat even if by a limousine.
After one drink neither my driving nor my reasoning ability are affected enough to matter. I decide to drive. The search for a restaurant does not go well. There are many, but with heavy traffic, and always being on the wrong side of the road from our target we are being selective. Driving into the sunset and looking through bug-smudged windshield while each of us is trying to satisfy the other, we are lucky to survive. A few miles down the street I turn back. After some more false starts we pick a decent Italian restaurant that does not seem to have too long a wait. As we sit in the lobby the contention between us is thick in the air. She is almost crying. After fifteen minutes of my concentration on the female customers we are escorted to a booth. Things improve from there. I order a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon from a private label. She orders tea, her favorite appetizer, and a salad. I order a smallish pasta meal. The wine is excellent. We mellow a bit as the evening progresses.
July 31, 2008
The reason for this trip is for MW to visit her parents. It is understood that I am to participate to the smallest extent possible. This decision is based on the tension, and resulting seriously bad times between us borne of earlier years’ experiences with the same. The problem is that she has an obligation that she can’t handle in a lighthearted manner. It goes deep. As a result, she needs my stable presence to assure her that she will not be sucked into a psychological twilight in handling conflicting emotions. I have a more simplistic way of handling situations: I get to the point and do what needs to be done. She, on the other hand, tries to satisfy everyone present, which ends up at her expense more than she can afford emotionally. In theory she could do all that. In practice it takes too much from her. This results in an amount of tension that neither of us can handle with grace.
When I pick her up at the end of her visit I had already spent several pleasant hours alone at the hotel, so I am in good shape. She, on the other hand, had spent the same hours building up stress like a coiled spring. I am aware of it, but not the extent of it.
We are in bed after watching a movie on one of our DVDs. I am ready to sleep; she tries to read to unwind a bit. With tremendous self-control she beats the mattress with her fists behind my back while she blurts the source of her angst. I understand. The only comment I make is, “I am glad that it was not my back that you have just pummeled. You are welcome to use a light instrument like a crop if you really feel the need, however.”
August 1, 2008
The morning begins with the expected stress. I make the mistake of offering her advice on how to handle her situation. It is not meant to be a lecture, but she takes it as such.
I am always on her side even when I think that she is wrong. She must know that. But when she is stressed like this, she may see things differently. We resolve some issues, and she decides to check her email on the Internet. We are staying at a hotel where Internet access is free. As a consequence, we have no recourse about the flaky service provided. She tries several times, but the connection goes in and out. Each time she complains. I remain silent since there is not anything that I can do, and I know that she is aware of it.
I drop her off at her relatives’ house, then return to the hotel for some hours of solitude. During the day I do some reading, some writing, and also visit some blogs of people who post their experiences on FLR. One particular posting strikes me as relevant to our relationship.
MW wants to be in charge, because she likes the perks of being in charge. On the other hand, she does not need or want the responsibility or the obligation that go with being in charge. In a simpleminded fashion I can assess this relationship as, “She gets the mine, and I get the shaft.” This is not as bad as one could assume since I love to get the shaft by her. But it is definitely not the ideal FLR. Given the stress-induced volatility of her nature this presents us with a difficult situation. She needs my complete attention, and I can’t give it to her under the circumstances. So, FLR is out the window, she feels abandoned by me, and we get nowhere in trying to explain how things really are. We don’t fight, just remain unsatisfied in most ways.
When she is stressed, she can’t force herself to be in charge. I would not expect her to arrange a full-scale DS session with me, but it would be nice if she just came out as a person who knows what she wants, and has me help her in any way that she needs. I could continue my role as a submissive husband to provide all that. Instead of telling me or even asking me to do things, she skirts issues and makes vague references that even in my best moments I would not understand. I don’t give her what she needs, and I fail as her submissive. The scenario reinforces her already negative feelings, so there is no chance of a reasonable solution.
The relevance to what I read in the aforementioned blog is that at times like this is when a working FLR could really be helpful. She needs to know that I am there to serve all the time, especially when she needs it most. All she needs to do is ask or tell me the details. She knows that I am not thrilled to be with her relatives for all the hours that she decides to spend with them, but that does not mean that she can’t say, “I need you with me for such and such occasion, and after that you can leave.” I have done that in the past, and can do it again. The problem is that she then begins to watch me, and notices that I am not exactly thrilled. I am not the most gracious guest who entertains and charms the pants off all the other guests. She takes this as antagonistic behavior on my part, so she does not want me to be there. She ends up “throwing herself onto the grenades,” and I am not there to pick up her pieces.
August 2, 2008
The grand conjunction of her visit is about to take place. Two of our adult children fly in to join her and her relatives. I am invited but am not pressed to attend, so I decline. She does another visit in the morning, and comes back to the hotel to relax until the reunion. Late in the afternoon our children arrive to pick her up. They head to the event.
I settle back to a relaxed evening. I have dinner out of our larder in the kitchenette. For the next two hours I read a mystery novel. About every fifteen minutes I flip through the hundred or so channels on television only to be dismayed by the trash that is offered. My novel has far more attraction, so I stay with it.
The phone rings around nine in the evening. MW wants to know whether I would like to join the three of them for dinner. My first thought is to decline the invitation, and remain naked in bed enjoying my book. Then I realize that this is her way of asking me to be with her, with the children.
Fortunately for all of us I had not been drinking my usual amount of wine, so I graciously accept her invitation. I put on my clothes and zip down the freeway to the restaurant where we are to meet. Since I am not hungry, I take my dinner in the form of an excellent Margarita. I take some pictures of the three of them as they are conversing. We are having a pleasant time. After dinner I drive the two of us back to the hotel. MW appears relaxed. I made the right choice in joining them for dinner.
August 4, 2008
I don’t remember what we did the yesterday. She decides that we would start our trip home one day ahead of schedule. After breakfast I load the Beast. We stop at her folks again to say goodbye. We leave before noon with far less stress and some pleasant expectation of the trip home. We do our favorite sight seeing at national parks and old towns that we remember from prior trips. We go out of our way to find roads that we have not traveled recently. We choose to travel those two lane roads that still allow us to see what the country was before the interstate highways were put in with the subsequent chain motels, hotels, restaurants, and rest stops.
We take many pictures. MW chooses not to give away our location, so I include only one here. You can interpret it to a certain extent and form a conclusion. The small towns through which we pass allow a glimpse into the past. I find it charming and sad. Houses built in the past century, homes with small cornfields and vegetable patches in the front yard, decaying buildings and rusting farm equipment speak of a different life style of the past.
Old crumbling buildings, barns with sagging lumber, and old businesses locked and boarded up for ever. Some ambitious families thrived in these places until the children left to the cities, and the homestead lacked the support it needed. Soon now, bulldozers will be used to make still another shopping mall, and modern housing developments will sell their houses to people from out of state who come for the “relaxed old style country living”. Yeah, right!
We drive into the early evening. Because we started home one day early, we had to cancel our reservation. Being in a small town with accommodations ranging from “undesirable” to “forget it” leaves us two options: drive home or go back a few miles and try in a larger town. Driving home would be another 6-7 hour affair, so we decide to backtrack. In this larger place we have more options. We choose a motel where we stayed many years before. It is relatively clean, but it is a dump in other respects. However, we like each other’s company, and there is a Mexican restaurant next door. We walk across the lot to have dinner.
August 5, 2008
The last day of our trip home begins with my driving to the local coffee shop for coffee. It is not Starbucks, but it is better than the swill I would get at a Denny’s or such. I return with two cups. After coffee I have breakfast, then load the Beast again for the last time while MW is dealing with her email. We head for home.
In spite of all the coffee that I consume on this trip, I keep falling asleep at the wheel, so I need to stop often to pump some adrenaline into my veins. I also stop to buy more of the thick black stuff to keep me juiced. Somehow we make it into a city where we often stop to have lunch. The place is a college town that caters to tourists passing through year around. The waiter staff consists of college students in most eateries. We seldom get adventurous, but the place that we frequent is different. It serves flavorful simple meals and has a microbrewery on site that displays the equipment. The atmosphere is college-like, although the clientele is definitely not. Then there are the waitresses about whom I should not talk. In some people’s opinion they are way too young for me.
I park the beast in a slot about half the size needed. We squeeze ourselves out the doors. A glance around to assess potential damages does not reassure me. I notice that the tattoo and piercing parlor next to the restaurant is still in business. I toy with the idea of visiting it. But, knowing that MW is already hungry after skipping breakfast, I control my urges. We enter the restaurant. It is a shame that the time of the day is lunchtime. Because the place is packed, we don’t get our usual booth, so MW is more than slightly annoyed. I am OK with the table, but realize that a storm is brewing. A nearby booth is vacated, so I ask the waitress to move us to it. As the lunch crowd thins the noise in the place abates, I am beginning to hear and understand her words. After a bit of recrimination directed at me she is all right.
After lunch we drive through some of America’s most beautiful country to get to our next stopping point. As usual I am well fortified with coffee, and manage to keep us on the road most of the time. We stop to pick up MW’s favorite dessert, and then continue to head down to the final destination, home. A couple of hours later we again face the grand entrance to our homestead, being greeted with a view of Titanic proportions, framed in the gateway to a well known legendary location in the USA (MW wants to keep this private for now).
I have some work to do to unload the Beast, take care of the animals, and make MW comfortable. I am tired, but it feels good to be home.
August 8, 2008
It is two days after the trip. We are well settled once again. I am awakened by one of our cats who likes to get attention at around 2AM. I put him out upon his request, and make espresso to start my day. A few hours on the computer to catch up on writing, accounting, and some surfing has me relaxed. Around six I again look at the beautiful butt that MW presents as she sleeps on her side. I just have to do something about it. I slide behind her, and feel her softness along her back, cupping her butt, then down her thighs feeling her perfect legs. She is ready for coffee. I am ready for sex. We compromise. Sex first, followed by coffee.
I prepare my perfectly thick but deadly brew, and we enjoy the cool quietness of the landscape on the upper deck. We make plans to return to FLR real soon. It is the start of another perfect day.
We drive into the early evening. Because we started home one day early, we had to cancel our reservation. Being in a small town with accommodations ranging from “undesirable” to “forget it” leaves us two options: drive home or go back a few miles and try in a larger town. Driving home would be another 6-7 hour affair, so we decide to backtrack. In this larger place we have more options. We choose a motel where we stayed many years before. It is relatively clean, but it is a dump in other respects. However, we like each other’s company, and there is a Mexican restaurant next door. We walk across the lot to have dinner.
August 5, 2008
The last day of our trip home begins with my driving to the local coffee shop for coffee. It is not Starbucks, but it is better than the swill I would get at a Denny’s or such. I return with two cups. After coffee I have breakfast, then load the Beast again for the last time while MW is dealing with her email. We head for home.
In spite of all the coffee that I consume on this trip, I keep falling asleep at the wheel, so I need to stop often to pump some adrenaline into my veins. I also stop to buy more of the thick black stuff to keep me juiced. Somehow we make it into a city where we often stop to have lunch. The place is a college town that caters to tourists passing through year around. The waiter staff consists of college students in most eateries. We seldom get adventurous, but the place that we frequent is different. It serves flavorful simple meals and has a microbrewery on site that displays the equipment. The atmosphere is college-like, although the clientele is definitely not. Then there are the waitresses about whom I should not talk. In some people’s opinion they are way too young for me.
I park the beast in a slot about half the size needed. We squeeze ourselves out the doors. A glance around to assess potential damages does not reassure me. I notice that the tattoo and piercing parlor next to the restaurant is still in business. I toy with the idea of visiting it. But, knowing that MW is already hungry after skipping breakfast, I control my urges. We enter the restaurant. It is a shame that the time of the day is lunchtime. Because the place is packed, we don’t get our usual booth, so MW is more than slightly annoyed. I am OK with the table, but realize that a storm is brewing. A nearby booth is vacated, so I ask the waitress to move us to it. As the lunch crowd thins the noise in the place abates, I am beginning to hear and understand her words. After a bit of recrimination directed at me she is all right.
After lunch we drive through some of America’s most beautiful country to get to our next stopping point. As usual I am well fortified with coffee, and manage to keep us on the road most of the time. We stop to pick up MW’s favorite dessert, and then continue to head down to the final destination, home. A couple of hours later we again face the grand entrance to our homestead, being greeted with a view of Titanic proportions, framed in the gateway to a well known legendary location in the USA (MW wants to keep this private for now).
I have some work to do to unload the Beast, take care of the animals, and make MW comfortable. I am tired, but it feels good to be home.
August 8, 2008
It is two days after the trip. We are well settled once again. I am awakened by one of our cats who likes to get attention at around 2AM. I put him out upon his request, and make espresso to start my day. A few hours on the computer to catch up on writing, accounting, and some surfing has me relaxed. Around six I again look at the beautiful butt that MW presents as she sleeps on her side. I just have to do something about it. I slide behind her, and feel her softness along her back, cupping her butt, then down her thighs feeling her perfect legs. She is ready for coffee. I am ready for sex. We compromise. Sex first, followed by coffee.
I prepare my perfectly thick but deadly brew, and we enjoy the cool quietness of the landscape on the upper deck. We make plans to return to FLR real soon. It is the start of another perfect day.
2 comments:
I like how you have written about your road trip. It must have been a delight for the eyes and very relaxing for the soul to drive the lesser roads on your return journey.
We have traveled many roads in this bountyful state. We have seen the changes over the years. As much as we still enjoy the back roads, there is a bit of nostalgia for what is no longer there. This is why I insist that we enjoy what we have now rather than awaiting future pleasures.
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