Truth and Obsession from Rhonda

Back in the late 90s I worked with a woman named Rhonda. She was petite with enormous 1980s plastic glasses, Jewish, in her mid-40s and was a second mother to myself and many other co-workers. Always quick witted and adorable, it was about 5 months into our working together that she showed me an entirely different side of herself that bonded us for life. I was working in the backroom and playing Metallica's infamous Black Album. "Enter Sandman" came on and Rhonda glided into the stockroom with a glow about her. She walked up to me, grasped my hands as if she were about to tell me that a loved one had passed and said, "Oh my Lord. Dear, are you a Metallica fan?" I hesitated, thinking the next thing she would say would be to chastise me for listening to the devil's music. I responded yes and she closed her eyes in a near overwhelming sense of pride and told me of her love of lead singer and rhythm guitarist, James Hetfield. She then stated slowly and as if in a deep state of ecstasy, "You just know that with every note he plays that that guitar is bangin' up against his big cock." Everything following that statement is not quite appropriate for a blog that is not centered around sex and pornography.