The Morgan Hill Story

A friend of mine reminded me of one specific sexual “adventure” from my past, so I thought I’d write it out here. Oh the lengths us guys will go, just to get laid……


It was 1999, I had just bought the house on Dawn Circle in Galt, and my son was living with his mother. The older woman that I had been dating for 2 years had told me that I was too young and naive to be in an exclusive relationship with her and that I should expand my horizons a little bit (we could still see each other though). I wasn’t for the idea at first, but thought I’d give it a try, since I was still “newly single”.

I had been chatting with a girl in Sacramento (I forget her name) who was rather cute, younger than me, and had a 6 year old daughter by some guy that’s “not in her life”. I had been to her house a time or 2, chatting mostly about her car; a 1990 Ford Probe that would not start. She said several mechanics had looked at it but could not fix it. Being a mechanic, I thought this would be a great way to win her over, so I looked at the car. It cranked fine, but had no spark. That weird “6th sense” kicked in and I thought it needed a power transistor in the distributor. So on Saturday I went to Pick & Pull only to find every Probe there was missing the distributor. Hmmmmm, maybe I’m on to something, because lots of other people are needing this part too. A new one was upwards of $150, there was no way I was going to spend that on a guess repair, so I thought about what other cars shared parts with the Probe; and it struck me that Mazda made cars for Ford while Ford made small pickups for Mazda. I went over to the Mazda section and sure enough, I found a 626 with the same motor. I popped off the distributor cap, unscrewed the power transistor, and stuffed it in my sock. $1 for admission, free parts, and I run back to the girl’s house. As I’m installing the part in her car, she says “If this works, you can buy me dinner and I’ll buy the drinks“. I agreed, turned the key, and the engine came to life. We agreed to dinner later that week.

The next day, Sunday, I had done a rear brake job on my orange ’78 Dodge pickup. Stupid me, I did not wear gloves back then (and rarely do now), so all of the brake parts were washed with spray cleaner. Being right handed, I held the parts with my left hand as I sprayed them with a total of almost 2 cans of brake cleaner. The brakes worked great, so I cleaned up and did not think much about it. The next day, Monday, my left hand started itching, much like a poison ivy feeling, but deeper under the skin. Tuesday the itching was worse, so I made an appointment with my doctor for an office visit. I brought one of the old brake cleaner cans with me and told the doctor about the brake job. He said the itching was “Contact Dermatitis“, and gave me a prescription for some anti-itching cream. By Wednesday, my fingers were starting to swell up. Thursday night I went out to dinner with the girl, who also invited another girl (a friend of hers, seemingly as a backup). I ate dinner using only my right hand, keeping my left below the table cloth and out of view. Dinner was OK but it was obvious that nothing else was going to happen that night, or ever. Never even got a kiss or a hug from her.

Friday I left work early so I could drive to San Jose and pick up the older woman at the airport. She was going to be in town and invited me out for the weekend. By now, the itching was constant and my fingers were swelling up like small pickles. She told me that if it did not look any better by morning, we were going to the local hospital. She was staying at her brother’s house in Morgan Hill, who was not home that weekend. We went off to the spare room and made sure to not upset my left hand while fucking our brains out. Saturday morning arrived, and off to the hospital we went. I explained to the lady doctor there about the brake cleaner and the previous doctor’s assessment. She looked at my hand and said “It’s cellulitis” and I asked what the difference was. “Contact Dermatitis is an inflammation of the top layer of skin, while cellulitis is an inflammation of the cells that are between the skin and the muscles“. She gave me a shot, 4 more prescriptions, and recommended that I buy a soft cotton glove to cover my hand while it was healing. I got the prescriptions filled (one of them was Vicodin) and we went back to the brother’s house for another day long fuck-fest that went into the evening hours.

Sunday morning I’m driving back to Galt, high on pain killers, hung over from too much wine, and grinning from ear to ear. I also had to concentrate on my driving efforts because I was thinking to myself “Maybe this was what the 60’s were like“……  🙂

The swelling in my fingers eventually went down, but the skin on my fingers had been chemically killed. They dried up, turned black, then peeled multiple layers deep. The fresh skin underneath hurt as much as the old dead skin had. But they did get better and it was a total of 30 days before my fingers were back to “normal”.

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