tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-365953042024-03-13T22:50:20.263+01:00Glasses stories and morphsThis is a collection of glasses fetish and wheelchair fetish fictions written by my friends and some pictures and morphs of girls with glasses added as illustrations. Read About this blog for more informationBobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-50567394796075921902023-11-29T18:53:00.003+01:002023-11-29T18:53:11.412+01:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4OTgjlMQlSveZSZcXxbWiqM5RXIPXAja4o7PIg1b91BfYrcmS2r0Z7_5adz1Fdh3rqaKTHQBCPoMbCq4z5v3oPFp1rORtCGjM70QjYu8K_k5GFQSwdQJ5XBMmPJeYg151EyuwYl7u1B96hxd_N3LsCAZNwQoahEB9Ze-EOQ9mFLZ-ghdbl-6/s960/blach2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="719" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4OTgjlMQlSveZSZcXxbWiqM5RXIPXAja4o7PIg1b91BfYrcmS2r0Z7_5adz1Fdh3rqaKTHQBCPoMbCq4z5v3oPFp1rORtCGjM70QjYu8K_k5GFQSwdQJ5XBMmPJeYg151EyuwYl7u1B96hxd_N3LsCAZNwQoahEB9Ze-EOQ9mFLZ-ghdbl-6/w478-h719/blach2.jpg" width="478" /></a></div><br /> When I shyly asked her about her dark lens in her glasses and the while cane she unfolded to my surprise, she smiled and simply said: "It is all about attitude. I mean positive attitude." From that moment, I admired her.<p></p>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-25968144693186285682023-11-29T18:31:00.002+01:002023-11-29T18:40:02.258+01:00New glasses<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhdvspVjGI6OLN-7ZGJfZGELMrW4s__amleWQsi2oM3hVgsJdfnOeBBWvNWU5n6vppZqdvCYmMcEc8wgG7d7_cjpAPcb6j9v0F5A9xpePxyKR2i2I5lq2gPBelbA55S0RXx7r2o0ZsS4ElKdcAOlQRhbw55xTVIbx8B9SL3BNsmSv_e1xmKFX/s600/superminus1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="543" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhdvspVjGI6OLN-7ZGJfZGELMrW4s__amleWQsi2oM3hVgsJdfnOeBBWvNWU5n6vppZqdvCYmMcEc8wgG7d7_cjpAPcb6j9v0F5A9xpePxyKR2i2I5lq2gPBelbA55S0RXx7r2o0ZsS4ElKdcAOlQRhbw55xTVIbx8B9SL3BNsmSv_e1xmKFX/w543-h543/superminus1.jpg" width="543" /></a></div><br /> She bought glasses with a new type of lenses. The optician told her that the lenses would not be as thick as her old glasses had been. Little did she know how small the bowls in the centres of the lenses will be. She has two options now. Either wear the old pair with 2 cm thick lenses or wear the new ones with small circles. The first moment she saw herself was a shock.<p></p>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-42068465432447554442023-11-29T18:22:00.007+01:002023-11-29T18:39:09.017+01:00High myope with her white cane<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tTyc6Z1qtWQ2GQa6Ga3FP_HO2RKCtsEE3ldtqgr_76ElTo4VzK8TpnZ1ZNRLSxgIGcF728rYqapfjUxh4wJvzlLiMON3G4_YO9JbF11SILDShFIWaLCsdc3vCbnOpiuQfChq21mRu9pyGDHT8zQRI72Pmax1euHzTWaV0ZaYyhmcp0WcjeoL/s960/MyopicMary1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="643" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tTyc6Z1qtWQ2GQa6Ga3FP_HO2RKCtsEE3ldtqgr_76ElTo4VzK8TpnZ1ZNRLSxgIGcF728rYqapfjUxh4wJvzlLiMON3G4_YO9JbF11SILDShFIWaLCsdc3vCbnOpiuQfChq21mRu9pyGDHT8zQRI72Pmax1euHzTWaV0ZaYyhmcp0WcjeoL/w643-h643/MyopicMary1.jpg" width="643" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-14094339130565524752023-11-29T18:06:00.008+01:002023-11-29T18:38:19.247+01:00Left eye covered<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHAQeMOMy5LgIQc2U3TkQAdsQ3xDBVBy5gVDf7OZLliBRp_O9hK3z_jTNyAEBWIkJI2CWibiEb88gtKmiz5Sltuz5NmHKjWtQIC1ZMbX7tTenRqzRmevGCvM8ILs45ECQgNgjr86KYxwlzjYGbsWJdOY5hMZVjCok056vvz1VFltwk7SBbS0h/s688/blackhairedBW1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="623" height="595" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHAQeMOMy5LgIQc2U3TkQAdsQ3xDBVBy5gVDf7OZLliBRp_O9hK3z_jTNyAEBWIkJI2CWibiEb88gtKmiz5Sltuz5NmHKjWtQIC1ZMbX7tTenRqzRmevGCvM8ILs45ECQgNgjr86KYxwlzjYGbsWJdOY5hMZVjCok056vvz1VFltwk7SBbS0h/w539-h595/blackhairedBW1.jpg" width="539" /></a></div><br /> She is used to wearing hair over her left eye because she can recognize only light and darkness with this eye. The left eye also turns to the inner corner, especially when she is tired. So, she hides it under her beautiful raven black hair. Although her glasses have identical lenses fitted, she is virtually oneeyed most of her life.<p></p>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-70296713457156490012023-11-29T18:04:00.002+01:002023-11-29T18:36:47.772+01:00A young woman with -18 diopters<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKD8kfw4hXDnTwtEZjn-FUVY1Lnlir2hkeRguUhWV9FlDz6k-dOKAY-uBPafg4Dmsr2YoBu12WbQZ3xRLolq2fXG17X1Se1Wc815EdDBENSbH6DQ0DxvlmEu9WE7d8i7fdOJ3MnoSyaTRhC9cChlj6GkcVVLumdA544SwAWipPNKiwP60iR0-1/s640/Substitution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="531" height="507" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKD8kfw4hXDnTwtEZjn-FUVY1Lnlir2hkeRguUhWV9FlDz6k-dOKAY-uBPafg4Dmsr2YoBu12WbQZ3xRLolq2fXG17X1Se1Wc815EdDBENSbH6DQ0DxvlmEu9WE7d8i7fdOJ3MnoSyaTRhC9cChlj6GkcVVLumdA544SwAWipPNKiwP60iR0-1/w421-h507/Substitution.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-31903607077893190692014-02-18T02:41:00.003+01:002014-02-18T02:50:28.963+01:00A book by Specs4ever<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">by Bobby</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The prolific author, the man who wrote more than 300 stories about glasses, women in glasses, and wearing glasses over contacts, my friend Specs4ever has just published his first book. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There are stories that have not been published anywhere so far. (And will not be published here till Specs4ever gives me his written permission.) Most of the stories are longer than those you can find here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have read the book. Once I started I had real difficulties to stop reading. The stories are amazing, exciting, fetishistic, here and there bizarre, it is the good old Specs4ever at his best performance. My favourite story is the ninth one. Which is it? Go and see by yourself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is the link: <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/A-Collection-Of-Glasses-Stories-/221376192805?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item338b0ca125" rel="nofollow" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Collection of Glasses Stories by Specs4ever</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Enjoy reading and have fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Bobby</span><br />
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Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-33109119017519957082014-02-15T03:06:00.003+01:002014-02-15T03:07:52.527+01:00The Job<h3 align="JUSTIFY" style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: 13px;">by Fredlr1</span></h3>
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At 33 I was in a job that was going nowhere. I am a software engineer, and have won a few professional awards for my work. My job was getting stale. I was looking for a new challenge. I carefully followed the professional journals and local newspaper want-ads. I saw an ad that fit my qualifications and at the end it said: "First preference given to disabled."</div>
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I am not disabled but the job description was just what I had been looking for. It offered an opportunity to work in a field that had always fascinated me. I knew, with the recent economic slowdown and so many engineers out of work, there would be fierce competition for the job. I had the experience and educational qualifications but so did a whole lot of other people that were vying for the position. I decided I would have to add something that others did not have.</div>
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I scanned the Internet. I tried 'disabled,' 'crutches,' 'wheelchair.' When I found 'braces,' and the many Internet sites that explore the wearing of leg and body braces, I knew I had found my answer. There were several sites for people who were not disabled but wore braces for pleasure. Some wore full leg braces, some just ankle braces, some body braces, some neck braces, and some various combinations.</div>
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</div><a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-job.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-9515277200952199852014-02-15T02:49:00.001+01:002014-02-15T02:49:42.063+01:00Katarina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1t_wuuvGL3Y/Uv7HWSWxGvI/AAAAAAAAAT8/Eyxo7AJm5fw/s1600/kat2myo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1t_wuuvGL3Y/Uv7HWSWxGvI/AAAAAAAAAT8/Eyxo7AJm5fw/s1600/kat2myo.jpg" /></a></div>
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Katarina with myodisc glasses</div>
<br />Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-27437028310391023392014-02-15T02:46:00.000+01:002014-02-15T02:46:05.507+01:00Icon “C”<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">By Susan</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Elliot was on his way home. It would have been an understatement to say that he was in a good mood. He was in high spirits. He could have embraced the whole world. Within the next three weeks his most ardent desire would come true at last.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today was Friday afternoon, and was a warm and sunny day. Actually it was the longest day in the year because it was summer solstice. He would take his girlfriend out to a dinner tonight to the Atlantic Point, the most elegant restaurant in town. They would sit outside and enjoy the magnificent view over the ocean and the sun plunging in the water as a big red ball. It would be time to let her into a secret that he had been carrying around with him for about a week. And it would be time to carry out a plan that he had borne in mind for months. This was a secret, which he could never tell her though it was mostly the reason for his effusive joy. She must never find out the truth.</span></div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/icon-c.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-36474289681327109782014-02-15T02:00:00.003+01:002014-02-15T02:04:17.038+01:00The Timothy's True Story<div style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My wife is very near sighted although when I was first introduced to her I did not know. I met her through a friend at work. He had got four tickets for a Jazz concert and as he knew I would be interested, he asked if I wanted to go but it would mean making a four up, with him, his wife and his wife's sister. I was very suspicious as it was obvious he was trying to set me up but in the end I agreed. We met up on the night of the concert in a bar and Steve my friend introduced me to his wife, Penny and her sister Andrea. I was absolutely stunned because both girls were really lovely looking. Penny had long hair and she wore glasses but that did not detract one bit from her obvious good looks. Andrea, was stunning with blonde shoulder length hair, beautiful features and a fabulous figure, she did not have glasses. </span><br>
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</div><a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-timothys-true-story.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-80693979068144397922014-02-15T01:42:00.001+01:002014-02-15T01:42:47.386+01:00The Storm<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Dieter</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aurora listened as the doctor spoke, “Your prescription has gone up about a half diopter this time. That’s not too bad considering your age. You’re still growing so I would expect a few more increases in the coming years. Other than that, your eyes are quite healthy and normal.” Into her own thoughts, Aurora sat quietly and gave no response. What could she say? Aurora had been wearing glasses since before kindergarten and she was the only one in her class for the first few years. In her 15 years, no one else had ever had glasses with a degree of strength anywhere close. What had she ever done to deserve this?</span></div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-storm.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-88222528392224778962014-02-15T01:27:00.001+01:002014-02-15T01:27:56.703+01:00Cadence<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Dieter</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Meyer Honda, this is Cadence. May I help you?" the voice spoke pleasantly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes, do you carry Palmer Helmets?" I inquired.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes, we do." she replied amiably.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And do you carry parts for them?" I continued.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Some," she countered patiently, "what model is the helmet?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh, I don’t remember" I responded having left the helmet locked to my motorbike in the parking lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Best to bring it with you. We can order anything that we don’t have in stock" she explained with authority.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ok, thanks," I said prior to touching the "End" button on my phone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cadence. Wasn’t that an interesting name? Especially for a lady working at a motorcycle dealership. She had such a pleasing voice. It was clear, soothing, knowledgeable, yet in command. My mind imagined a pretty lady at the opposite end of the "phone line".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After work, I fired up my Kawasaki and rode across town to Meyer Honda. I love riding "naked". Naked bikes, like my Z1000. Sport bikes without windshields or fairings that typically have very little bodywork. Many manufacturers have jumped on the band wagon to build them after the success of Ducati’s line of Monsters and Triumph’s Speed Triple. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of riding a powerful two-wheeled machine built for speed with your body exposed to the wind and elements. It is total freedom. You experience sensations beyond description.</span></div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/cadence.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-48150403922886387052014-02-15T01:20:00.000+01:002014-02-15T01:20:02.140+01:00Fantastic Friday<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Dieter</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peyton studied the glasses lying on her vanity. They were absolutely magnificent. She knew so because she personally chose the frames at the optical shop. Their color was an exceptionally dark red made from high quality plastic. The frames were vaguely reminiscent of a cat-eye style. The shape, however, was more of a modified rectangle where the tops of the lenses were longer than the bottoms. The frame pieces were smooth and sturdy-looking but not chunky. She thought the tastefully subtle rhinestone pattern on the temples was especially appealing. The glasses were distinctly feminine and had been quite expensive. They were worth every penny.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even the lenses were amazing. The shiny gemstones of clear plastic magnified the words on the open pages of a magazine upon where the glasses were laid. It was not apparent that the lower portion of the lenses had an even stronger magnifying power than the top. There was no obvious line or any other tell-tale giveaway. Nothing about the lenses made a statement about the age of the wearer. And yet, Peyton was petrified. Why had this happened to her? Why now did she need glasses? What had changed to make her eyes no longer work well?</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/fantastic-friday.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-50531329708131985862014-02-15T01:19:00.001+01:002014-02-15T01:20:19.268+01:00Super Sunday<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Dieter</span></span></h3>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peyton’s 2nd </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Story</span></b><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peyton examined the faces around the large table in the formal dining room. Everyone’s attention was focused on the task at hand; that of passing dishes of food to each other. As the festive “please and thank you” phrases were offered liberally, she recognized that she was the only person wearing glasses. Focusing her eyes through the doorway, she could see that even the children sitting at the table in the breakfast nook were without. Peyton had to wonder. Was she adopted? Did she share any genetic material with this family? Would it be too much to ask for someone else to suffer vision problems with her? Just one of them! Her grandmother, who passed recently, was the last person in the family she could remember that wore glasses.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though, for the moment, she hoped that no one else would take notice. After all, it would surely return the topic of conversation back to the one that occurred previously. Making her grand entrance earlier, to be met by her entire family at the front door, had been humbling enough. She had not expected to be roasted the moment she entered. If only she hadn’t allowed herself to be the last one to arrive.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had been but four weeks since she first began wearing “real” glasses. The technique her eyes needed to use the lenses with the progressive prescriptions had become natural and efficient. Peyton liked that. If there is anything that a process engineer appreciates fully, it is, well, efficiency. Clearly she missed being able to see without assistance. The doctor had advised her to anticipate that. He implied that it was a sacrifice that was necessary to pacify the headaches and correct her farsighted eyes. However, with the use of glasses now, Peyton had perfect vision. That was an improvement.</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/super-sunday.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-10517772694351121832014-02-15T01:19:00.000+01:002014-02-15T01:19:00.662+01:00Field of Vision<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Dieter</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eyes protested as I left the dark confines of the parking garage and merged into the rush hour traffic on the bright downtown street. Within a few blocks, I was high above the Mississippi on the bridge heading north towards the Iowa side of the Quad Cities. The banks of the river were overflowing with rushing water caused by the extraordinary amount of early summer rains. It was a wondrous sight, though I’m certain the flood victims downstream would take exception to my choice of adjectives.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve always loved working in that high rise building in downtown Rock Island. The view from my office is spectacular. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m there for my job. Today had been a pressure cooker but it was nothing like I expected to find when I arrived home to face my wife. I needed to unwind and de-stress before that. When I descended back to ground level, I continued into the city streets instead of following the main highway. There’s something peaceful about driving through the quaint neighborhoods of older Davenport. I suppose it reminds me of a simpler time when I lived happily as a child in one of those homes.</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/field-of-vision.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-87799747184796788822014-02-15T00:34:00.003+01:002014-02-15T00:34:55.617+01:00Logan’s Obsession - Part 3<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Dieter</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.cz/2014/02/logans-obsession-part-2.html">part 2 is here</a>)</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being scolded by Stephanie was the most embarrassing moment I had ever experienced. She was absolutely correct to suggest that I needed glasses. I had stressed the relationship of a newfound friend simply because I couldn’t see without them. After that exchange, our conversations became cold and cordial. My false sense of pride had obviously pushed her too far. I had inferred that I was not as broken as she was which, of course, simply wasn’t true. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stephanie had been mature enough to correct her vision. I wasn’t. Few conditions can be remedied by solutions that are so simple, quick, inexpensive, and yes, even fashionable. I had been irresponsible, childish, and stupid, all caused by my vanity; an immature fear of wearing glasses which was something that I had secretly wished to do for years.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was my turning point. It marked the end of the person formerly know as Logan. Maybe it doesn’t seem like much, but it was important to me. The moment she finished with me, I passed through a black hole. The Logan that stepped from of the other side had been altered. Thank you, Stephanie. After that weekend, I never saw you again. But you changed my life.</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/logans-obsession-part-3.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-89127889780786385172014-02-15T00:23:00.002+01:002014-02-15T00:37:32.152+01:00Logan’s Obsession - part 2<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">by Dieter</span></h3>
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(<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.cz/2014/02/logans-obsession.html">part 1 is here</a>)<br>
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Just days prior to the start of the school year, I reported to the gymnasium to be given an annual physical required of all students for competitive sports. Since I was entering my first year in high school, the process was a new experience for me. Participation was intimidating due to the size and maturity of the older boys. They seemed more like adults compared to the boys in middle school. I had no difficulties with any tests or checkups until reaching the final station. I panicked as I realized, of the two lines displayed on the eye chart, I could see neither.</div>
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Unable to read the requisite letters, I stammered very quietly, “I can’t”.</div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/logans-obsession-part-2.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-859400545984323642014-02-14T23:38:00.000+01:002014-02-15T01:19:20.313+01:00Logan’s Obsession<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">by Dieter</span></h3>
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At age eleven, upon witnessing a classmate wearing glasses for the first time, my best friend turned to me and said, "We’re better than he is now." I shook my head in agreement but knew that wasn’t true. The notion that someone is inferior simply because they have less than perfect vision is ludicrous. Mike, our classmate, had not been the first to get glasses nor would he be the last. But he had been thrust into that awkward situation where the teacher directed everyone’s attention towards him because of his new glasses. That must have been extremely embarrassing for him. I had never been particularly concerned about anything related to optical matters until that incident occurred. It triggered something in my psyche and since that day I’ve never been the same. My name is Logan and this is the story of my obsession.</div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/02/logans-obsession.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-3491531423863215052014-01-09T11:14:00.000+01:002014-01-09T11:14:08.130+01:00Bespectacled beauty<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-smxqX5h_3Kk/Us52FrNqG0I/AAAAAAAAATc/_TGSqxoaFGk/s1600/beautyfulgirl1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-smxqX5h_3Kk/Us52FrNqG0I/AAAAAAAAATc/_TGSqxoaFGk/s1600/beautyfulgirl1.jpg" height="640" width="439" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High myopic beauty</td></tr>
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<br />Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-57541006245489960402014-01-09T11:10:00.000+01:002014-01-09T11:10:26.857+01:00Eddy's Exchange with Electra<div align="CENTER">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Electra</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> 16 May 2004, 15:27</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eddy are you one of those permanent colonials who wears a panama hat</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Eddy</b> 16 May 2004, 20:30</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1) Leckie. No. Strictly boaters. Panamas tend to clip the monocle.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">19 Apr 2004, 00:35</span><br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Governor’s Dinner</span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking of Puffin's Chinese restaurant sighting, Eddy went to a big dinner last night, a Governor of a Chinese province who was visiting. In a big Chinese restaurant. Eddy himself was quite occupied with the wife of the owner of the restaurant, 40 something lady from Hong Kong with VERY fetching rimless minus 4s which had a nice way of flashing in the lights. However this was but as preliminary play when in walked the official party and just behind the big man himself was a truly stunning gwg, about 30, legs which went all the way up to her armpits and a totally acceptable pair of gold rimmed ovals. Now as you know, I'm not one to judge these things but I'd be prepared to swear that they were in the -7 range. Wonderful!</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were a bit intrigued as to how we would play this one because that level of pulchritude in the company of a "leading comrade" usually indicates minor wife. That's mistress for the more literally inclined. So we were favorably surprised when she took a seat at a table far below the main one, a definite signal for the Eddy move-in. Turns out that she is the deputy mayor of an impoverished county who has succeeded in bringing in amazing amounts of foreign investment by methods which Eddy could only guess at as he sat there transfixed by the way in which her shapely legs disappeared below her very mini skirt.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have decided that a technical exchange should take place tonight. Watch this space.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">27 Jul 2003, 04:37</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/eddys-exchange-with-electra.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-16208722181558150112014-01-09T10:57:00.000+01:002014-01-09T10:57:03.972+01:00Lucy’s Greatest Treasure<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">By Christy</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Father Browne’s large figure crossed the playground once again. He’d spent the best part of a week walking between the church and the school. It was Friday and it was the last chance to talk to the children about Sunday’s special service. He’d made an effort to include them and was now finding that they had plenty of ideas of their own about what form it was going to take. The playground was empty, as the children had just been called into the hall for morning assembly. Father Browne entered the hall, already propping his gold-framed half-moon glasses on his nose. A perfunctory prayer from him, a few brief announcements from the headmistress, then it was back to Father Browne to talk about the arrangements for Sunday. He added that he’d be visiting each class in turn to make sure that all the key players knew what they were supposed to be doing.</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/lucys-greatest-treasure.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-2062474738439692622014-01-09T10:42:00.000+01:002014-01-09T10:47:03.554+01:00New Glasses<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">by Iruckus1</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember when my wife, a full time contact lens wearer, got her new glasses. We had been married for about three years and I’d seen her in glasses only for infrequent late night TV viewing or while she was experiencing her occasional eye infections (how she managed to get to and from the bathroom everyday was beyond me). I practically lived for those rare moments. I’d even miss work to be home with her if she was unable to go out because of it. Though a bit hesitant at first, she’d leave her glasses on when we’d make love (which was as frequent as humanly possible). Her eyesight was pretty bad and she would often bring up the subject of laser surgery. Maybe because she was so attractive she hated the fact that she was physically imperfect. She hated most of all the glasses…the outward manifestation of her imperfection. The lenses were quite thick. They did indeed alter her look. Though severe, I found it very pleasing.</span><br>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/new-glasses.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-2182909954687464602014-01-09T08:41:00.002+01:002014-01-09T10:42:55.309+01:00Serenity<h3 style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: small;">by Hikari </span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Story One : The Eyes of Amy</span></h3>
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Hi! My name is Amy Reed and I am twelve years old now! Today is a big day for me. I'm about to enter Serenity college. It is a private college for girls everybody in town talks about nowadays. My big sister Mia has been going to that school for two years now and I can’t wait to be able to see her all the time again! See, Serenity is a boarding school, so my sister would only visit us for the holidays. I used to cry whenever she’d go back to that distant school, but I'm a big girl now. I never visited my sister here, so I don’t really know how is it to live on a school campus all year so I'm a little bit scared. I can’t wait to see how big my room will be. My bag feels heavy in my hands, and I'm waiting in line so they can give me my room’s number and pair me with my future roommate. I can’t wait to see her. I hope we’ll get along fine!</div>
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My turn finally comes. In front of me, a pretty blonde woman with dark framed glasses smiles at me and asks me for my name. I answer, smiling back and she hands me an envelope filled with documents. It sounds easy so far, but I wish my sister was around so she could help me. However, the older students aren't here today, I'm only surrounded by first graders, and I'm pretty proud to say I look a lot more comfortable with this new life than most of them. The nice lady then tells me to go see the nurse in the other room. I don’t feel sick so I wonder why I should see a nurse… But I obey, without really giving it much thought. After all, it must be a formality.</div>
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I enter the room as soon as the nurse is finished with the previous girl. She looks okay, so I guess the nurse didn't gave her a shot. I am relieved. The nurse is pretty and is wearing large white framed glasses. I had never seen white framed glasses before, but they look good on her. </div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/serenity.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-66721713131114262512014-01-09T06:16:00.002+01:002014-01-09T06:16:26.239+01:00Soulmates<h3 style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: small;">by Specfiend</span></h3>
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„Time to go to the nurse’s office. It’s eyetest time.“ It was the moment Marissa had been dreading. For weeks she had thought of nothing else but the impending eye examination that all sixth years were subjected to, and she was completely dreading it. Well, when you’ve had been trouble seeing for months, coupled with a pathological fear of having to wear glasses, it’s understandable that you would be apprehensive about an exam which will expose your secret faults and force you to do the one thing you’re terrified of. How could she get through it? She had one last ditch attempt at thinking of a plan to convince the nurse that she had perfect eyesight. But, short of memorising the chart, or dropping dead (that option was growing more and more appealing by the second) she couldn’t think of a way to pull it off. They were going in alphabetical order and Marissa listened to the girl in front of her, a girl from a different class, recite the letters from the chart. Carefully, she stored them all in her brain, proud of herself for her memory skills.</div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/soulmates.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36595304.post-58886014126686036492014-01-09T05:53:00.002+01:002023-05-18T21:06:44.636+02:00Stories about Deborah 3<h3 align="left">
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<span style="color: purple;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">posted 30 December 1999 10:31</span></span></h3>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Up until I moved back to the U.S. just a few months ago, I was a contributing editor to the MIRROR, so I will relate as much of the wonderful story about Bobby's stunning photos of Deborah as I can, but I cannot go into any great detail, nor can I reveal any personal information (last names, addresses, etc.) about either Deborah or Bobby. I have been privileged to know both of them as very close friends for quite some time, mainly because I have interviewed each of them many times for my MIRROR articles, and also because I am quite myopic myself (my script is: R -12.50 - 2.50 ax 180 and L -12.00 -2.50 ax 180) and sometimes wear glasses with 1/2" thick plastic lenses instead of my regular soft contact lenses.</span></div>
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<a href="http://bobbylaurel.blogspot.com/2014/01/deborah-by-czski.html#more">Read more ...</a>Bobby Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09250626655457820045noreply@blogger.com0