WOODWORK CLASS By SimonT --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY. IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING THIS MESSAGE. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED. I AM, I KNOW, AND I DON'T CARE. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Wow -It was just a normal day in cabinet-making class. We were learning the Fox- tenon joint, an immovable joint once it is put together, when I noticed her across the room.
It was her Pine I first noticed, fully treated, smooth-grained, perfectly square. My set-square and bradawl jumped to attention as she bent down and I got a front-on view of the fully dressed timber. It was smooth enough to be a table-top, obviously cabinet scraped. I just had to meet this girl - and her pine.
She moved over to the bandsaw, so I grabbed my dowel firmly and followed. Mentally I dressed her clean pine edges. Her 3-1-1 grip was perfect!
"Hi there" I said stepping past her to run my dowel through the endless blade. Again and again I ran my dowel through the bandsaw until I could could take no more - I'd just cut the end of my thumb off.
As I sat in the first aid room, wimpering, my thoughts turned back to the wood I had just seen. Mentally, I composed a poem to it.
"Oh Pine! Oh Pine How I wish you were mine For some other bloke, The ideal is Oak, But I need your grain To help ease my pain"I had to have it - I needed it - Now; and maybe again at 2 in the morning. I closed my eyes and all I could see was the girl and her wood. Actually, I couldn't even remember the girl, just the smooth curves of the grain and how they moved to it's hot centre, the knot.
I remembered the long nights in my lonely bed as a child, reading carpentry manuals and five-finger-shuffling. I used to hide the books under my mattress for fear that my parents would find them and punish me - I couldn't help myself.
Of course it was just a passing phase, paper just wasn't enough to satisfy me, I had to have more. I used to sneak things back to the house, maybe an offcut of Beech, a wooden spoon; but soon it got too much, I had to have more.
Of course the parents found out, when they found the French Polished Welsh Dresser in bed with me, they knew something was up. The lies and allegations that followed were horrific. But I knew I couldn't stop. I left home and walked the streets looking for an old packing crate. It wasn't much, but what the hell, I loved it for it's sole. Then they took it away, how I cried.
But it was all different now. I'd won the lottery in '87 and built my own wooden house signed up for woodwork class, and I was happy. Well, I thought I was happy - till I saw that pine. I waited in the darkness till the girl emerged then I slunk back inside and took some of her sawdust and shavings and held them to my nose. Oh! What a smell - Beeswax sealing, Mmmemmememem
I had to have it.
I ducked into the project room, and saw it immediately. I swaggered over to the wood slowly, not wanting to scare it. I started with some smalltalk, just flattering the cambium layer of pine, saying how I always loved it for it's nutrients, etc. Secretly, I was counting it's growth rings. 47! I loved a mature wood, they could teach you so much!
Now that I had it's confidence, I touched it a couple of times, just on the edge, in a non-threatening way. It responded by just laying there, like a good wood.
Now, I'm not a woodist, I respect wood for what it is, not simply for it's feel, but everything in it's manner was just saying "Come and get it". So I did. Rougly I dragged off it's cover sheet and laid it down. I licked it's sides energetically, not a splinter at all!
Oh it was heaven!
NEXT WEEK: The Horizontal Planer.
WOODWORK CLASS II By SimonT --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY. IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING THIS MESSAGE. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED. I AM, I KNOW, AND I DON'T CARE. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------I'm just your average guy, you know, average tastes, I never thought I'd have anything to write about, up until I found the love of my life.
A peice of fully treated, perfectly square; sealed, sanded and salivated on chunk of Pine.
I stole it off someone else.
I had to, I needed it, not just for it's grain and groove, but for it's heart- wood. And now I was living with it.
Oh it was magic, down at the beach with my wood, drinking in the small hours of the morning at this little jazz club I know (with my wood), locked up in the psychiatric unit (with my wood). How good can life get?
Of course, my house was very good about things. It knew it was just a stage I was going thru - Solid Oak's good like that, very understanding. And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a bit of attraction left in my heart for it's long rough-sawn timbers. In fact (although I've never told anyone), sometimes when I'm in bed with my pine, I like to pretend it's the house that I'm caressing, running my hands up and down along it's edges, perpendicular to the grain, just the way it likes it. But they get on, and in a way I think the house and the pine understand each other.
Anyway, so the other day I come home, and straight away I know something's wrong. I reach over to dribble along my pine's edge in my special little way and I notice that it's a bit cold to my advances, you know, like I left it out in the frost or something. I ask if anything's the matter, but it just sits there and ignores me. Then I notice the house is quiet too; like they've cooked something up between them. I figure the best way out of this is just to ignore them and wait for the situation to blow over.
Then I notice all the doors are sticking; not REALLY sticking, just kinda rubbing when I open them; enough to concern me, but not really bad. Now I've never believed in violence to wood, but I'm really starting to think about reaching for the planer and reface both of them.
I turn around quickly, and I catch the rafters and the pine looking at each other in that special way that only wood can. Shit! Now I know what's REALLY going on - I'm being dumped. Trouble in Eden! I can't just let it end like this, I just can't. So I get a tree-doctor in. He tells me that it's futile, and that it looks like the pine and the house have been getting it on. Sure enough, 2 weeks later, I come home and there's 3 new oak chairs and a pine spice rack, the cutest little things you've ever seen.
I realise I can't stay angry forever, and after all, I am the wrong species. So I go out for the night. I go to 10 maybe 20 clubs, drinking myself into oblivion, drinking to forget. About 1:30am I notice the woman from the wood- shop but before I can do anything I fall from my stool and collapse on the at her feet, semiconcious. Her toe-jam does the rest, I pass out. The next morning I wake up in a strange house, in a strange bed with the sun streaming into my face. I move to get up, then I notice the posts on the bed. Shit, they look to be Ebony. I sniff them. They smell OK. I lick them, figuring what the hell, we spent the night together, there's no point in being bashful now. They taste like ebony! I'm in a frenzy now, the full dark colour of the wood has in it's grip and I don't want to let go. We go at it like a pair of love-starved pigs....
Three hours later, I wake up to find the woman standing there...
"Seen one of these before?" she asks, holding up a little wooden cricket bat with holes drilled in it, like the one on "Dead Poets Society" "It's a bat like the one on dead poets society" I say, a little interested "No exactly. This one is Hickory" she replied Hickory, the legendary springy wood. Worth it's weight in shavings any day. "BEAT ME!!! BEAT ME!!!" I cry....
Next Week: The Temptation of the Lumber Yard
WOODWORK CLASS III By SimonT --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY. IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING THIS MESSAGE. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED. I AM, I KNOW, AND I DON'T CARE. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------So she hits me with this hickory bat, and I just love the feel of it's smooth-planed 45-degree-bevelled edges! Then she tells me, she's a wood freak too, and she's not going to give up her pine without a fight! Typical of a woman - Immediately thinks that I took her wood from HER!! I tell her that she's mistaken, it was love at first sand for us both. The wood left her for me. She still doesn't believe me, so I take her home and show her how happy we are, just me the house and my pine. I led her astray of course, me and my Pine were over; I knew that, it left me for a cambium layer that it considered infinitely more appealing. Anyway, the woman leaves and I notice that the rafters are looking at me in a strange way that I haven't been looked at in years. Right away I know it's coming on to me, in front of the pine and everything! I pay no attention of course, I may be hurt, but that's no excuse to encourage unfaithfulness. Hey, maybe the pine's just going out with the rafter to make me jealous?!! The slut! So I look to the pine, and now it all clicks into place. Me, the pine, AND the house! I can't believe it, a threesome!!! Everything about the way it was laying on the floor where I left it says "Come on big boy, show us your Shooting Plane!" The rafters are moaning already, so I don't want to miss my chance. I grab my 1.5m fine tooth crosscut saw, and give them both a soughing they won't forget in a hurry. 2 hours later, we're just laying around sated, the pine's smoking, maybe I shouldn't have left it in the fireplace, I dunno. The rafters are creaking sleepily, and I just can't believe how quickly things have changed. Then it gets better!!! The rafter catches my eye with it's knot in the way only rough-sawn wood can. It wants more! Well, of course, I'm no slouch when it comes to treating wood. I get out my sealer and sizer and give that wood the complete treatment while my pine sleeps. I stop short of varnishing because it's probably never been that far before, so I just rub a little french polish in to give it that healthy glow. I can't believe my life is this satisfying. I decide to take the Pine out and show it a good time. First stop is the sexual-adventure shop where we look at a couple of forestry magazines with lots of close-ups of strip shaved timbers and bark removers. I'm getting hot, really hot, so I move away from the heater. Then we go out to a little nature reserve and take some photos of some young saplings who'll be real lookers when they get older. After that it's just a quick trip to the hardware store where, I can't believe I'm telling you this, we had a good planing, while people were shopping all around us! It was amazing. Then I spot that woman again, the one with the bat. I see her over at the sandpaper stand, looking at some 300 grit. She nods me over and invites me back to her place to see some of the best Oak I've ever had wet dreams over. We leave... WOODWORK CLASS IV By SimonT --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- --------------------------------- WARNING! ---------------------------------- THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY. IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING THIS MESSAGE. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED. I AM, I KNOW, AND I DON'T CARE. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- We get to her place and she tells me to make myself at home while she slips into something a little more comfortable - a particle board number... So I look round and notice that her IBM PC's on. I, ask her about it, and she says it's just some work she had to do. Sure. She pops out to get some milk for the coffee and I attack the computer with a frenzy. I check all the main directories - nothing. Into the utilities subdirectory, SHOGIF3 is there just as I thought - work my arse, she's got gifs, I can smell them!! I check back thru the directories again, pub/agriculture. Pathetic - that's worse than UMD's old phantom ftp problem. It's got to be a lie - what the hell would she want with agriculture? I look carefully at the files there. The silo subdirectory - she's NEVER going to want that!!! In the directory there's hundreds of files, named file00001.dat to file00238. Bingo!! I start up VUgif, and pass the filenames Immediately a picture of a bark-shaven knot-hole appears on the screen. Gross! I hate that sort of stuff - but I go on viewing for research purposes only. I also print a couple on her paintjet in disgust. I grab the 238 bits of paper and stuff them in my coat pocket. This sort of thing is far too prevalent, and is not at all tasteful. One day they're going to ban all this sort of thing, it degrades timber everywhere! I leave before she can get back - it digusts me so much I lock myself in the bathroom all night to think about it. The next day dawns.. Another hot day. Supposed to get into the 80s today. I think I'll go to the beach, check out the hot bods out there. And maybe show off mine. That should get some attention out there. I cruise along the shore looking for my dream wood. Nothing! Heaps of guys and girls in cut off bikinis, but nothing to interest me. Then I spot it, way out to see - a peice of driftwood, it's in a bad way, I can tell. Quick as a flash I dive into the water and strike out towards it. I get there just in time, it's all waterlogged and is on it's last shavings. Gently I brought it into the beach and put it in the shade. It was quite a cute one too, obviously off a pleasure craft - if you know what I mean.... Anyway, I gave it a little artificial aeration and it seemed to get better. It's knot holes spoke the words it couldn't say - the gratitude and hero worship was obvious. Shucks. Anyway, from it's grain-language I could tell it had just washed in from over- seas and didn't want to be alone. I spoke tenderly to it, and hiked up it's torn paintwork... The less said about this the better, but lets just say that this was more than a casual cambium affair, this was the real thing.... Three weeks later... Sadly, my life with wood had gone down the drain. It needed more than me - a decent home, security and good sex. It claimed I didn't plane it before a gave it a good sanding. It thought that I was just using it for some cheap thrills, and that went completely against the grain. I was pining for it and it knew it and it didn't care. I was in a cabinet scrape and I knew it. We argued, it called me a cowboy and I sawdust. I left home teaked off & went down to the local Saw-house to get a little executive relief... Sixteen hours later I stumbled back home, drunk, tired and totally gratified and knew things had changed in my absence. Not a creak from the shivvering timbers - the house was giving me the silent treatment. And as for my pine board, I didn't want to say anything, but yesterday when I rang home, I'm sure I heard some other bark rustling in the background. Of course, the pine denied everything, it must have thought I was some sort of sap to take all this. Then I noticed it - suck marks all along the face edge - and they weren't from me. sniff, it's all over now... spt@waikato.ac.nz.