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" No word from Blythe \u2014 and just when we were about to seal the deal! Although I realize that I should probably just write her off as a nut job, I admit that she really left a mark \u2014 and not just the sand rash on the inside of my thighs. No, this woman intrigued me. So much, in fact, that I even went so far as asking the gym to look up her name for me. They didn&amp;#039;t go for it \u2014 against gym policy. What is this, the CIA? Arrogant bastards.  But I guess all this drama pales next to what happened this morning. I woke up late. Might have slept later if Jack&amp;#039;s damn dog didn&amp;#039;t yelp like his balls were caught in a vice. Next, I heeded my morning ritual: Grab the paper and head to Stir Crazy for a cup. There&amp;#039;s a really cute counter girl there, and I&amp;#039;ve been working that angle for a month now.  Before I could even leave my apartment, however, I spotted something I didn&amp;#039;t like: Donatela&amp;#039;s SUV. Her bodyguard sat in the front eating what looked like a bagel with jam. Real masculine. No sign of Donatela, but her Escalade has tinted back windows, so I couldn&amp;#039;t see her anyway.  I closed my door quietly and ran to my front window, where I pulled back the blinds to watch. Then I hightailed it down to my door and bolted it shut. Last time Donatela was pissed at me, she sent a few thugs to retrieve her things. I wasn&amp;#039;t in the mood to get my face rearranged, Tony Soprano-style. And even if that wasn&amp;#039;t the reason, I had no interest in getting into another fight with Don. I avoid confrontation like Harry Potter movies, while she feeds on it \u2014 confrontation, not the movies. If she&amp;#039;s here to tell me what an incredible mistake I&amp;#039;ve made and how I don&amp;#039;t deserve her, blah, blah, blah, then she&amp;#039;s made a long drive for nothing. There was no way I was answering the door.  The problem was that now I felt like a prisoner in my own home. Like any decent bachelor worth his name, I had absolutely no food in my fridge, except a bottle of vodka and a two-week-old half-eaten Snickers, which was satisfying for about 15 minutes.  Donatela wasn&amp;#039;t knocking, and the bodyguard was out in the car reading my newspaper. My place is on the second floor, so there&amp;#039;s no back exit, meaning that unless I wanted to be spotted, I had to stay put.  At around noon, the hunger pangs were just too great, so I began to brainstorm a Plan B. Using about 10 tied-up towels. I&amp;#039;d lower myself down the window, then scale my neighbor&amp;#039;s fence, putting me behind Donatela&amp;#039;s car and out of sight. I&amp;#039;d seen it work well on Prison Break.  It was about 15 feet from my bedroom window to the ground. I tied the towels to my bed frame, opened up the window, said a prayer to my God, and rappelled. Amazingly, I hit the ground without a hitch, landing in front of the French doors in Jack&amp;#039;s apartment.  That&amp;#039;s when I heard it. A groan of pleasure. I&amp;#039;d heard that groan before. I knew that groan. Almost unconsciously, I moved toward the window and looked inside. What I saw will not soon leave my memory. It will haunt my dreams forever.  Jack and Don doing the nasty on his waterbed. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/mens-perspective/a1834/diary-he-071007/>