As I sit in front of my twin 32-Inch displays, I contemplate the meaning of life. I enjoy looking at the blank monitors adorned with a picture of my wife almost buck naked except for a thong and red and white striped thigh-high socks. She’s holding a baby cougar that is hiding her naughty bits to keep WordPress happy. Of course, my copy does not have their identities obscured with redacted blocks over the eyes to protect the guilty.
In our travels, we’ve met many strange and interesting people. One of which is a couple who trains exotic animals for movies and television. The young cougar is currently an overgrown tabby who will grow up to stalk you in the night, but for now, he’s just a cuddly cat.
One of the things about living on the fringe of society is that you meet other folks who only exist in the gray shadows at the edge of your peripheral vision. About a year ago, my wife lost an older close friend to cancer. But at least it was relatively quick, as dying from cancer is often a painful and difficult path.
Foxy received a call from her son asking for pictures that we might have of his mother. Now my wife is struggling to collect photos from our file server as dealing with an iPhone is almost overwhelming to her. One of the few things we exchange angry words about is when I’m trying to help her understand electronic devices. As an engineer, I struggle to help someone who feels that explaining brain surgery can be done in one sentence or less.
My wife’s friend’s son doesn’t have any idea of the things his mother was into and one of Foxy’s concerns is making sure all the images are G-rated and don’t give a clue to their location or what was going on.
Until recently, I abhorred Apple products as being inspired by the devil. Foxy has always been a fan of the iPhone culture against my love of Android and Windows products. Several years ago, frustrated by the fact that most Windows laptops do not have a workable touchpad, I bought a MacBook Air and fell in love.
Unlike my various Windows computers, the MBA was a tool that I used to write smut stories on and never tried to tear it apart or learn any more about it beyond word processing. Fast forward to today, and I’m helping Wifey search through the backups of files I took from her various iPhones and computers, which are stored on our network file server.
Long ago, I gave up trying to explain how things work and would simply take her phone du jour and copy all of the files to our NAS drive. As a result, I’ve got numerous folders under her name with images from her phones and various digital cameras. It’s an unsorted and unorganized mess, but I didn’t want to try and figure out where everything should go as Foxy tends to live for the here and now and forget about tomorrow or yesterday.
My day of reckoning was yesterday as I struggled to show her how to search through folders for pictures with my new MacBook Pro. This was complicated by the fact we were both sitting in the same extra wide recliner, dealing with large images over our Wi-Fi connection to my server.
“Can I Air Drop these to my phone?” she asked.
“Air Drop?” I questioned as I’d heard the term bandied about by people on an airplane sharing their intimate pictures with the other passengers. “I have no idea if my Mac has Air Drop?” I asked. “All I use it for is writing stories and reading my emails.” I appreciate my wife’s faith in my know-how, but contrary to popular belief, I don’t know everything.
Discovering that my Mac has Air Drop and getting it to work are two completely different things. I finally figured out how to text message photos to her phone, which temporarily placated her. Not having an iPhone makes it difficult for me to figure out why it doesn’t work, but life moves on. I live in fear for the time she sits down in front of her desktop computer and asks me to show her how to view her stored photos on the server. I’m thinking of marking all the files on the server as read-only to protect them from the impatient finger poking the [Delete] key in frustration. I haven’t shared the network password with her for that reason.
Her current desktop is a Windows machine, and I bought her an iMac so that all of her computers and phones would be of the Apple hierarchy. But I haven’t gotten the courage to remove her current desktop and replace it with an iMac. I might have to take a week’s vacation to overcome that hurdle.
On top of everything else, I’ve been seduced by the incessant ads for a folding phone and have spent close to two grand on a new ZFold 4. It’s pretty cool for a fat phone which takes great videos, but when you send them to someone else, they end up as a pixelated mess. But I guess that’s progress?
So far, I like the folding phone, except for the fact that all of my apps need to be reregistered to work. And you don’t find out until you try to use the app. Sam’s Club, the evil spawn of Walmart sells gas in Las Vegas for typically fifty cents a gallon cheaper plus the five percent rebate you get with their plus card. The downside is that everyone knows that fact, and the lines at the gas pump are often a block long, winding through the parking lot. I get to the pumps at 5:30 AM to beat the line and wait until 6 AM when the pumps open.
By six, there is a significant line of pissed-off people who’ve been waiting to buy gas. Last Friday, I was standing in front of the pump with my new phone in hand, waiting for the pump to turn on. Being the smart person I was, I had already reentered my username and password. Typically, what you do is scan the QR code, and the phone handles everything else. So, I see the QR code (block of squiggly lines) and scanned it with my phone. As I grabbed the gas nozzle, my phone beeps and asks for the security code on the back of my Sam’s credit card. WTF, I thought, “Why now?”
Not knowing the security code by heart, I had to put my phone back in my pocket and dig for my credit card. I then switched to using the card as the guy behind me drummed his steering wheel with his fingers.
But I guess all in all, things aren’t that bad. California is not trying to annex Nevada as Russia is trying with Ukraine. The forest fires can’t make it across the desert and if the water drops another fifty feet in Lake Mead, it will be too low to go through Hover Dam. Then all the water will be ours when we reach dead pool!
Tourists still come to Vegas and are distracted by my wife’s tits while she scarfs up their poker chips. Warning do not play poker against any tall braless brunette with curly, big hair and long legs. Trust me, your wallet will thank you.
I’m Larry Archer, a simple writer of smut stories in both print and electronic format. Foxy and I are swingers in real life, and I write about the things we do and see. While the Lifestyle is not for everyone, it’s been fun for us. My smut is explicit and hardcore but with a somewhat plot. My porn stories are generally positive and fun as this reflects how enjoyable swinging has been to us. If you’re interested in checking out my stories, I publish at all the typical outlets.