Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Surprise!
Will wonders never cease.
Was with a 37-year-old Aussie this morning, Tony was his name. Good looking guy, imports watches, jewelry, diamonds, married to a Filipina. Nice dick, hot and hard, just the right size, around six inches and thick enough. For some reason, I just wanted to suck cock. His was circumcised and clean, no offensive odors. And he had a body just like Chris', round and firm and hairy all over. But Chris has sexier legs.
At first, Tony wanted to meet me at the motel; he'd just text me the room number. I said no. That is just too strange. Imagine me driving up to the motel in a cab and asking for the room. It simply isn't done. And besides, I'm no prostitute. I didn't need this.
Tony: I'd be on my bike. You can ride if you like.
Me: I see. Well, let's just hook up when you've a car.
Tony: Hold on...Ok. I'll bring the car.
Me: Great! What sort of car is it? What color and license plate number?
Tony: It's a gray BMW.
Aha. Nuff said.
He loves to eat pussy. I came a lot, although no explosions. Then I sucked on him. For a long time. He grabbed my hair and held it up so he could watch me eat his dick, lick it and suck on it, and nibble on the head. I don't know why but it really felt good. And he wasn't even making a sound. I could tell he was enjoying it because his cock kept pulsing up and down, stiffening more and more with every motion.
I came up to breathe and he suggested that I put the condom on him. I did. That was my first time to put a condom on a cock. It was surprisingly easy. Probably because by then, his cock was rock hard.
I sat on him and rode on that fucker. Or tried to, since he was bucking up and down himself. It wasn't doing anything for me so I asked him to fuck me from behind. That was nice. He felt really good inside me. Then he put my knees together and pulled my hair back so I was sitting on him, facing the mirror on the wall. He pulled me closer to him, forcing me upright and his cock sliding deeper into me. Twisting his fingers in my hair, he whispered in my ear, "Look at yourself."
I did and that did it for him. I found him really exciting, being forceful like that. I looked as my tits bounced up and down with his thrusts, my neck fully stretched, my shoulders thrown back. I looked hot and "cookin'," as Dale would say. It felt good with my butt jutting out behind, my knees together and my breasts thrust forward, my arms down at my side. It was actually a great pose. I was helpless and under a man's control, his hand twisted in my hair and the other under my breasts.
He came soon after. Too bad.
Another surprising thing is that there were no preliminaries, no talking on the way to the motel, no talking during and after sex, none even on the way back. It was purely for the act, nothing more, nothing less. And the Inner Slut didn't care. She just sat back in the car, not caring to find out about this person. She was tired and sleepy, satisfied.
What's more, this was a spontaneous meeting. I had no idea that I was going to be fucking this morning so I didn't bother to shave last night. That's not the surprising part. It's the fact that I didn't bother to tell him that I hadn't shaved. I didn't care. So, I didn't shave. Big deal. That was surprising. In retrospect, I felt like a guy out for a good fuck. I didn't care about how he'd find me: fat or thin, sexy or boring. I was out to have a fun time. I was going to have a fun time no matter who it was I was with. The other person wasn't important, it was my self-gratification that was. From the moment I stepped out of the car at the motel, I had made up my mind that I was leaving right after he cums.
And there's this. After I suck his cock, I kiss him. His face smells of my pussy juice and I recoil in disgust. I go back to sucking on his dick. My pussy juice smells exactly how it should smell. I just can't stand it. I guess it's because I've been taught that to leave my pussy smelling like it should is unsanitary, unhygienic. And I'm obsessed with personal hygiene. That's also why I can't bring myself to eat pussy. Classic conditioning: pussy is is dirty, thus, sex is dirty.
My, oh, my. Too many things to ponder on.
Was with a 37-year-old Aussie this morning, Tony was his name. Good looking guy, imports watches, jewelry, diamonds, married to a Filipina. Nice dick, hot and hard, just the right size, around six inches and thick enough. For some reason, I just wanted to suck cock. His was circumcised and clean, no offensive odors. And he had a body just like Chris', round and firm and hairy all over. But Chris has sexier legs.
At first, Tony wanted to meet me at the motel; he'd just text me the room number. I said no. That is just too strange. Imagine me driving up to the motel in a cab and asking for the room. It simply isn't done. And besides, I'm no prostitute. I didn't need this.
Tony: I'd be on my bike. You can ride if you like.
Me: I see. Well, let's just hook up when you've a car.
Tony: Hold on...Ok. I'll bring the car.
Me: Great! What sort of car is it? What color and license plate number?
Tony: It's a gray BMW.
Aha. Nuff said.
He loves to eat pussy. I came a lot, although no explosions. Then I sucked on him. For a long time. He grabbed my hair and held it up so he could watch me eat his dick, lick it and suck on it, and nibble on the head. I don't know why but it really felt good. And he wasn't even making a sound. I could tell he was enjoying it because his cock kept pulsing up and down, stiffening more and more with every motion.
I came up to breathe and he suggested that I put the condom on him. I did. That was my first time to put a condom on a cock. It was surprisingly easy. Probably because by then, his cock was rock hard.
I sat on him and rode on that fucker. Or tried to, since he was bucking up and down himself. It wasn't doing anything for me so I asked him to fuck me from behind. That was nice. He felt really good inside me. Then he put my knees together and pulled my hair back so I was sitting on him, facing the mirror on the wall. He pulled me closer to him, forcing me upright and his cock sliding deeper into me. Twisting his fingers in my hair, he whispered in my ear, "Look at yourself."
I did and that did it for him. I found him really exciting, being forceful like that. I looked as my tits bounced up and down with his thrusts, my neck fully stretched, my shoulders thrown back. I looked hot and "cookin'," as Dale would say. It felt good with my butt jutting out behind, my knees together and my breasts thrust forward, my arms down at my side. It was actually a great pose. I was helpless and under a man's control, his hand twisted in my hair and the other under my breasts.
He came soon after. Too bad.
Another surprising thing is that there were no preliminaries, no talking on the way to the motel, no talking during and after sex, none even on the way back. It was purely for the act, nothing more, nothing less. And the Inner Slut didn't care. She just sat back in the car, not caring to find out about this person. She was tired and sleepy, satisfied.
What's more, this was a spontaneous meeting. I had no idea that I was going to be fucking this morning so I didn't bother to shave last night. That's not the surprising part. It's the fact that I didn't bother to tell him that I hadn't shaved. I didn't care. So, I didn't shave. Big deal. That was surprising. In retrospect, I felt like a guy out for a good fuck. I didn't care about how he'd find me: fat or thin, sexy or boring. I was out to have a fun time. I was going to have a fun time no matter who it was I was with. The other person wasn't important, it was my self-gratification that was. From the moment I stepped out of the car at the motel, I had made up my mind that I was leaving right after he cums.
And there's this. After I suck his cock, I kiss him. His face smells of my pussy juice and I recoil in disgust. I go back to sucking on his dick. My pussy juice smells exactly how it should smell. I just can't stand it. I guess it's because I've been taught that to leave my pussy smelling like it should is unsanitary, unhygienic. And I'm obsessed with personal hygiene. That's also why I can't bring myself to eat pussy. Classic conditioning: pussy is is dirty, thus, sex is dirty.
My, oh, my. Too many things to ponder on.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Proper goodbyes
I'm losing my Dale.
How do you say proper goodbyes? Lines like "It was fun while it lasted" come to mind. But it was more than just fun. That's the problem.
Dale took me deeper into my self more than anyone ever has. With him, the Inner Slut came alive and thrived. She had never achieved greater confidence than with Dale. She had never been more of a woman than with this man.
So how do I say goodbye to this man? With thanks and a promise of faith.
How do you say proper goodbyes? Lines like "It was fun while it lasted" come to mind. But it was more than just fun. That's the problem.
Dale took me deeper into my self more than anyone ever has. With him, the Inner Slut came alive and thrived. She had never achieved greater confidence than with Dale. She had never been more of a woman than with this man.
So how do I say goodbye to this man? With thanks and a promise of faith.
Defining the good fuck
I don't really know how to take this but -- I'm being read by college boys. One was sweet enough to offer to fuck me. Thanks, but, uh...
What is a good fuck, anyway? Why do I hesitate with young men in their 20s? Even in their early 30s? Because there's more to a good fuck than just staying power. What the fuck, Dale doesn't even use his dick but he's the best fuck I've ever had and will probably have in this lifetime.
Size is important -- to me, at least -- but it's not the most important thing, either. Nelson is big and thick but he can't sustain it. Patrick is bigger, but can't sustain it, either. Bond was the biggest but didn't know how to please me. In fact, he was too big for me, it hurt.
So what makes a good fuck? For Mara, it's a hard dick she can sit on and ride till she comes. For me, it's a big dick, hot and hard, that can fuck me doggie-style and then, missionary style afterwards, till I come. In both instances, the dickhead's got to last long. In my case, he's got to last long enough to set off the first of several of my orgasms. But he's got to last longer if he wants to have me explode cum several times in a row. It's just the first cum that's difficult to release but once it explodes, there's no stopping it. That's what happens to me with Dale.
Charles was able to make me squirt three times that first time. He wasn't that big, but his dick was hard and curved nicely for doggie-style fucking. He didn't really last long but it worked well that first time because we spent some time getting comfortable with each other and, well, I was really horny that time.
One of the women in Nancy Friday's book, Women on Top, wrote that most men just don't take the time to please her. I agree. Most men forget all about their partner because they apparently see sex as mere individual gratification. They forget that a good fuck is mutual gratification. They don't know what mutual means. Is it so difficult to achieve, this mutuality in sex? And it seems that the younger they are, the less proficient men are in this regard.
However, this is not to say that age guarantees a higher degree of proficiency. Most men remain unskilled in mutual gratification, precisely because they don't practice it. Neither do they delve into it because, perhaps, of lack of interest or the difficulty involved or both. So it takes more than practice or interest to acquire this skill in mutual gratification. It takes a particular sensitivity to a woman's body and mind, a mindset, if you will.
Older men are more aware of women's desires and needs, not necessarily because these men are mature, or more sensitive or are more interested, but simply because they've seen more in their life compared to younger men. Not very encouraging, I agree. Can men really be so blind? Too lazy, too selfish, too scared of the difficult? Does it all boil down to ego? Hence, the macho thing? Very tempting to say, yes.
A heightened sensitivity -- to anything -- requires intelligence (here taken to encompass both intellectual and emotional intelligence) of a degree higher than average. Of course, I'm limiting the statement to those of, at least, normal intellectual and emotional capabilities. In this light, can we, therefore, say that there is a direct relationship between a man's intelligence and his sexual prowess? In the translation, therefore, a guy who's a bad fuck is not as intelligent as he thinks he is.
There is, in addition, another factor: the libido. It seems that men of higher libido tend to be more interested in pleasing women along with themselves. Intelligence, libido. Complicated? Not really. It just adds another perspective to the equation: A man who's a bad fuck is not only less intelligent than he perceives himself to be, he's also not as horny as he feels he is. Ultimately, he's not into sex, only masturbation, using the woman as a tool.
I fuck; therefore, I am. = Inaccurate.
We cum; I become. = To the point.
What is a good fuck, anyway? Why do I hesitate with young men in their 20s? Even in their early 30s? Because there's more to a good fuck than just staying power. What the fuck, Dale doesn't even use his dick but he's the best fuck I've ever had and will probably have in this lifetime.
Size is important -- to me, at least -- but it's not the most important thing, either. Nelson is big and thick but he can't sustain it. Patrick is bigger, but can't sustain it, either. Bond was the biggest but didn't know how to please me. In fact, he was too big for me, it hurt.
So what makes a good fuck? For Mara, it's a hard dick she can sit on and ride till she comes. For me, it's a big dick, hot and hard, that can fuck me doggie-style and then, missionary style afterwards, till I come. In both instances, the dickhead's got to last long. In my case, he's got to last long enough to set off the first of several of my orgasms. But he's got to last longer if he wants to have me explode cum several times in a row. It's just the first cum that's difficult to release but once it explodes, there's no stopping it. That's what happens to me with Dale.
Charles was able to make me squirt three times that first time. He wasn't that big, but his dick was hard and curved nicely for doggie-style fucking. He didn't really last long but it worked well that first time because we spent some time getting comfortable with each other and, well, I was really horny that time.
One of the women in Nancy Friday's book, Women on Top, wrote that most men just don't take the time to please her. I agree. Most men forget all about their partner because they apparently see sex as mere individual gratification. They forget that a good fuck is mutual gratification. They don't know what mutual means. Is it so difficult to achieve, this mutuality in sex? And it seems that the younger they are, the less proficient men are in this regard.
However, this is not to say that age guarantees a higher degree of proficiency. Most men remain unskilled in mutual gratification, precisely because they don't practice it. Neither do they delve into it because, perhaps, of lack of interest or the difficulty involved or both. So it takes more than practice or interest to acquire this skill in mutual gratification. It takes a particular sensitivity to a woman's body and mind, a mindset, if you will.
Older men are more aware of women's desires and needs, not necessarily because these men are mature, or more sensitive or are more interested, but simply because they've seen more in their life compared to younger men. Not very encouraging, I agree. Can men really be so blind? Too lazy, too selfish, too scared of the difficult? Does it all boil down to ego? Hence, the macho thing? Very tempting to say, yes.
A heightened sensitivity -- to anything -- requires intelligence (here taken to encompass both intellectual and emotional intelligence) of a degree higher than average. Of course, I'm limiting the statement to those of, at least, normal intellectual and emotional capabilities. In this light, can we, therefore, say that there is a direct relationship between a man's intelligence and his sexual prowess? In the translation, therefore, a guy who's a bad fuck is not as intelligent as he thinks he is.
There is, in addition, another factor: the libido. It seems that men of higher libido tend to be more interested in pleasing women along with themselves. Intelligence, libido. Complicated? Not really. It just adds another perspective to the equation: A man who's a bad fuck is not only less intelligent than he perceives himself to be, he's also not as horny as he feels he is. Ultimately, he's not into sex, only masturbation, using the woman as a tool.
I fuck; therefore, I am. = Inaccurate.
We cum; I become. = To the point.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Bad fuck
I was with Jake last night. He's really sweet. Not as sweet as Patrick but, still sweet. He loves to kiss and nibble at legs and feet. That was different. He said I had pretty feet. Well, I am proud of my feet. And they are pretty.
Unfortunately, he's not that good a fuck. Perhaps it's because it's the first time. He's very passionate. But we started to talk about work and his plans of getting married and that totally turned me off. He's a very intelligent young man but very slight of build, not much to hold and bite. Average dick, not much fun. Didn't know how to finger, either, or eat clit. You know, meeting Dale may have been the greatest thing that's happened to me but in the light of the sheer number of bad fucks around, it's turning out to be the worst thing ever.
Anyway, Jake and I talked a lot about books and movies. We seem to like the same kind of reading and viewing materials. Cool. I don't mind seeing him again although I get the feeling he's not calling back. We'll see.
My Dale says he's coming over tomorrow to see me at my place, although he's not sure if he will have time. Nelson says he's coming over too, around 10 in the evening or so. If I know, I'll end up alone on Satruday evening. Oh, well. I can always watch videos. Like I always do. Or read a good book! Yeah! Although I will have to go to the bookstore for one. Or I can finish Nancy Friday's book, the one Dale gave me.
My Valentine gift for Dale is still here, languishing in my drawer, sad and forlorn. It needn't worry. It's in good company.
Unfortunately, he's not that good a fuck. Perhaps it's because it's the first time. He's very passionate. But we started to talk about work and his plans of getting married and that totally turned me off. He's a very intelligent young man but very slight of build, not much to hold and bite. Average dick, not much fun. Didn't know how to finger, either, or eat clit. You know, meeting Dale may have been the greatest thing that's happened to me but in the light of the sheer number of bad fucks around, it's turning out to be the worst thing ever.
Anyway, Jake and I talked a lot about books and movies. We seem to like the same kind of reading and viewing materials. Cool. I don't mind seeing him again although I get the feeling he's not calling back. We'll see.
My Dale says he's coming over tomorrow to see me at my place, although he's not sure if he will have time. Nelson says he's coming over too, around 10 in the evening or so. If I know, I'll end up alone on Satruday evening. Oh, well. I can always watch videos. Like I always do. Or read a good book! Yeah! Although I will have to go to the bookstore for one. Or I can finish Nancy Friday's book, the one Dale gave me.
My Valentine gift for Dale is still here, languishing in my drawer, sad and forlorn. It needn't worry. It's in good company.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Down & out
No Dale tonight. Nor any other day this week. Very sad.
He sounded very tired on the fone. He had gone to bed around 9.30 last night, he said, and woke up at 4 am, thinking of me. I just wanted to cry, I miss him so much. It's been three weeks! And all I have to show for it is one bad fucking dickhead, cold as hell.
Went to the gym this morning. Third time this week! Wow. Actually spent five minutes running on the treadmill. You go, girl. On the way out, I was smiling as I imagined how it would be to find Dale waiting for me at a cafe. He'd wave, pull out a chair for me, get me a latte at the counter and maybe a fudge brownie...or two....mmmm...and he'd pay me so much attention, even open the sugar sachet for me. Omigads, but I miss the guy!
This is a preview of things to come. (...Ominous music in the background...) Me, smiling to myself as I sip coffee at Starbucks, Shang, reminiscing (...segue to theme from Benny & Joon...) that first time we met, him with very pale blue eyes, no hair, large hands, take-charge attitude, and me, very nervous, uptight, crossed legs, shy eyes, small smile.
And then tears held back, deep sigh.
I miss my Dale.
(...Fade out...)
He sounded very tired on the fone. He had gone to bed around 9.30 last night, he said, and woke up at 4 am, thinking of me. I just wanted to cry, I miss him so much. It's been three weeks! And all I have to show for it is one bad fucking dickhead, cold as hell.
Went to the gym this morning. Third time this week! Wow. Actually spent five minutes running on the treadmill. You go, girl. On the way out, I was smiling as I imagined how it would be to find Dale waiting for me at a cafe. He'd wave, pull out a chair for me, get me a latte at the counter and maybe a fudge brownie...or two....mmmm...and he'd pay me so much attention, even open the sugar sachet for me. Omigads, but I miss the guy!
This is a preview of things to come. (...Ominous music in the background...) Me, smiling to myself as I sip coffee at Starbucks, Shang, reminiscing (...segue to theme from Benny & Joon...) that first time we met, him with very pale blue eyes, no hair, large hands, take-charge attitude, and me, very nervous, uptight, crossed legs, shy eyes, small smile.
And then tears held back, deep sigh.
I miss my Dale.
(...Fade out...)
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Second time around
Had a rather roundabout chat with Chris yesterday via instant messenger. (See posts of 19 and 29 November 2003.)
Me: Hi! How are you?
Chris: Fine, what about you ?
Me: Fine thanks. So do we meet tomorrow?
Chris: Sure, but can we do it a bit later ? Let's say 9 am ?
(Thirty minutes...)
Me: No problem. 9am, Starbucks, SP Mall
Chris: Having second thoughts about Starbucks...somebody might see me there...would you mind to meet again at lobby of SH ?
Me: That's problematic. Remember the last time? The stupid doorman thought I was a hooker. I don't want to go back to that place again, esp. as you won’t bring a car...
Chris: Hmm, am not sure whether it is possible but can we meet in the motel room ? The idea of me waiting for you naked somehow turns me on...
(Oooh, kinky...)
Me: Too complicated. How do I know which motel?
Chris: Yeah, you are right...too complicated...
Me: You can get a room some other place easier to set in advance…like a hotel somewhere in OR…that's easier to get to...
Chris: Let me think about something else…
(Cheapskate...)
Chris: What about we meet at the entrance in the back of SH ? Then you would not need to go inside the hotel ?
Me: How about you pick me up from my office building in a cab? That's easier, less hassle…
Chris: Sounds good too, how do I find it ?
Me: It's right in front of MM Mall, on E Highway, going to MK City. From MK, you go toward OR Ave., make a u-turn there, under the fly over…
Chris: Also complicated…
Me: You know what, you take a cab and pick me up at Starbucks SP Mall. You don't have to get out of the cab.
Chris: That's sounds good!
Me: Pick a cab with dark tinted windows…I'll wait for you at Starbucks SP Mall.
Chris: You know what, that's all really complicated. Let's just stick to the plan and meet at Starbucks SP Mall...
(Omigads...)
Chris: Just be business dressed, so if anybody sees us you can pass as my business associate...
(Oh, please...)
Me: You don't have to worry about how I look. So ok, I'll see you tomorrow at 9am. You sure you don't want to just get a cab and pick me up from there? That way you don't have to get out and we could just go straight to the motel…
Chris: Would like this, thing is, I do not know EXACTLY the location of Starbucks SP Mall. Can you describe ?
(Ah, soooo...)
Me: It's not inside the mall, but outside it. It's alongside the driveway of the Mall, right after the intersection of SH Boulevard and E Highway…
Chris: That means I am coming via E Highway, turn right into the SP Mall driveway and then Starbucks is on the right, correct ?
Me: Your directions are correct, but you turn right after the intersection of E Higway and SH Boulevard…
Chris: Now it gets complicated....
(Oy...)
Me: Just tell the cab driver to go to SP Mall, turn into the driveway after the SH Boulevard-E Highway intersection, and Starbucks is at the right hand side.
Chris: Can we not just meet at the back entrance of SH ?
(Oy, vey...)
Me: The hotel again?
Chris: OK, now I got it. I pick you up at 8.30 in front of Starbucks SP Mall.
(Illumination, at last!...)
Chris: What will you be wearing so can find you easily ?
Me: Dunno yet. Will text you tomorrow. Will you be using the same number?
Chris: Yep!
Me: I’ll just text you then. I'll be on the walk. So is it 8.30 or 9?
Chris: Pls bring condoms - don't have them at home...
(Objection, your honor. Not responsive to the question...)
Me: Ok, no problem. So 8.30 or 9?
Chris: 8.30
Me: Ok then! See you!
Chris: Looking forward to taste you again!
Me: Same here, baby!
Needless to say, this morning I was at Starbucks ten minutes before the appointed time. He arrived a few minutes after that, in a cab, with no hint of color whatsoever on the windows. *sigh*
Anyway, the sex was better this time. He paced himself, lasting longer than the first time. I sucked on his big cock in the shower. He liked that. He really likes being sucked on, and he's crazy about the way I do it. He just can't have enough of it.
He is, however, still a bad fuck. Patrick was a better fuck the second time. (Big smile on my face...) In fairness, Chris was more aggressive this time, grabbing my hair and trying various positions. I showed him how to use his fingers the way Dale would, but it didn't produce the desired effect. No explosive cums. Not even a small bubble. *sigh*
But he was as heavy and round as I remember him. And, omigosh, those legs....to die for. He has such a beautiful round body, very pink and soft nipples, blond hair all over, salt-n-pepper hair, and mustache and goatee. Such a man all over. But not good fuck. *sigh*
I guess you can't have everything all at once.
Chris is cold as Europeans go. He wasn't uncomfortable anymore, though, as we spent quarter of of an hour talking after fucking. We finished around 10 am.
I miss my Dale. Was on the fone with him this afternoon. He's stressed out again with problems at work. Wasn't sure if we can meet tomorrow. He promised to call in the morning to confirm. Sad.
Me: Hi! How are you?
Chris: Fine, what about you ?
Me: Fine thanks. So do we meet tomorrow?
Chris: Sure, but can we do it a bit later ? Let's say 9 am ?
(Thirty minutes...)
Me: No problem. 9am, Starbucks, SP Mall
Chris: Having second thoughts about Starbucks...somebody might see me there...would you mind to meet again at lobby of SH ?
Me: That's problematic. Remember the last time? The stupid doorman thought I was a hooker. I don't want to go back to that place again, esp. as you won’t bring a car...
Chris: Hmm, am not sure whether it is possible but can we meet in the motel room ? The idea of me waiting for you naked somehow turns me on...
(Oooh, kinky...)
Me: Too complicated. How do I know which motel?
Chris: Yeah, you are right...too complicated...
Me: You can get a room some other place easier to set in advance…like a hotel somewhere in OR…that's easier to get to...
Chris: Let me think about something else…
(Cheapskate...)
Chris: What about we meet at the entrance in the back of SH ? Then you would not need to go inside the hotel ?
Me: How about you pick me up from my office building in a cab? That's easier, less hassle…
Chris: Sounds good too, how do I find it ?
Me: It's right in front of MM Mall, on E Highway, going to MK City. From MK, you go toward OR Ave., make a u-turn there, under the fly over…
Chris: Also complicated…
Me: You know what, you take a cab and pick me up at Starbucks SP Mall. You don't have to get out of the cab.
Chris: That's sounds good!
Me: Pick a cab with dark tinted windows…I'll wait for you at Starbucks SP Mall.
Chris: You know what, that's all really complicated. Let's just stick to the plan and meet at Starbucks SP Mall...
(Omigads...)
Chris: Just be business dressed, so if anybody sees us you can pass as my business associate...
(Oh, please...)
Me: You don't have to worry about how I look. So ok, I'll see you tomorrow at 9am. You sure you don't want to just get a cab and pick me up from there? That way you don't have to get out and we could just go straight to the motel…
Chris: Would like this, thing is, I do not know EXACTLY the location of Starbucks SP Mall. Can you describe ?
(Ah, soooo...)
Me: It's not inside the mall, but outside it. It's alongside the driveway of the Mall, right after the intersection of SH Boulevard and E Highway…
Chris: That means I am coming via E Highway, turn right into the SP Mall driveway and then Starbucks is on the right, correct ?
Me: Your directions are correct, but you turn right after the intersection of E Higway and SH Boulevard…
Chris: Now it gets complicated....
(Oy...)
Me: Just tell the cab driver to go to SP Mall, turn into the driveway after the SH Boulevard-E Highway intersection, and Starbucks is at the right hand side.
Chris: Can we not just meet at the back entrance of SH ?
(Oy, vey...)
Me: The hotel again?
Chris: OK, now I got it. I pick you up at 8.30 in front of Starbucks SP Mall.
(Illumination, at last!...)
Chris: What will you be wearing so can find you easily ?
Me: Dunno yet. Will text you tomorrow. Will you be using the same number?
Chris: Yep!
Me: I’ll just text you then. I'll be on the walk. So is it 8.30 or 9?
Chris: Pls bring condoms - don't have them at home...
(Objection, your honor. Not responsive to the question...)
Me: Ok, no problem. So 8.30 or 9?
Chris: 8.30
Me: Ok then! See you!
Chris: Looking forward to taste you again!
Me: Same here, baby!
Needless to say, this morning I was at Starbucks ten minutes before the appointed time. He arrived a few minutes after that, in a cab, with no hint of color whatsoever on the windows. *sigh*
Anyway, the sex was better this time. He paced himself, lasting longer than the first time. I sucked on his big cock in the shower. He liked that. He really likes being sucked on, and he's crazy about the way I do it. He just can't have enough of it.
He is, however, still a bad fuck. Patrick was a better fuck the second time. (Big smile on my face...) In fairness, Chris was more aggressive this time, grabbing my hair and trying various positions. I showed him how to use his fingers the way Dale would, but it didn't produce the desired effect. No explosive cums. Not even a small bubble. *sigh*
But he was as heavy and round as I remember him. And, omigosh, those legs....to die for. He has such a beautiful round body, very pink and soft nipples, blond hair all over, salt-n-pepper hair, and mustache and goatee. Such a man all over. But not good fuck. *sigh*
I guess you can't have everything all at once.
Chris is cold as Europeans go. He wasn't uncomfortable anymore, though, as we spent quarter of of an hour talking after fucking. We finished around 10 am.
I miss my Dale. Was on the fone with him this afternoon. He's stressed out again with problems at work. Wasn't sure if we can meet tomorrow. He promised to call in the morning to confirm. Sad.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Saved
7pm, and I was just on the fone with my Dale. He's had a very busy day. I'm such a fool to doubt him. I am so insecure.
I got him Arthur Golden's book, Memoirs of a Geisha. That is such a wonderful book. It really transports you to that period in Japan. I'm also getting him Lighthouse Family's cd, Postcards From Heaven. I find that album very relaxing. There's this song in the album that I think Dale will relate to pretty well. When we were discussing how to define our relationship, he said that he had great faith in me. So I dedicate this song to him:
Lost In Space
Sometimes, I get tired of this me-first attitude
You are the one thing, that keeps me smiling
That's why I'm always wishing hard for you
'Coz your light shines so bright
I don't feel no solitude
You are my first star at night
I'd be lost in space without you
And I'll never lose my faith in you
How will I ever get to heaven, if I do
Feels just so fine
When we touch the sky, me and you
This is my idea of heaven
Why can't it always be so good
But it's alright, I know you're out there
Doing what you've gotta do
You are my soul's satellite
I'd be lost in space without you
And I'll never lose my faith in you
How will I ever get to heaven, if I do
I'll never lose my faith in you
I'll never lose my faith in you
I feel exactly this way about my Dale. He gives me faith in myself. And even if I were to lose him, I'd still have a well of memories of him, a rich source of faith that I am worth loving.
Jake
Looks very boyish, but will grow up to be a take-charge guy! Very results-oriented. Believes in post-evaluation and sensitive enough to appreciate what "the human experience" is all about. Very bright. Read: understands what I'm talking about. Hah! My arrogance is showing.
What I mean is that he has a philosophical bent to him. And more than just a horny streak. Wanted to go and get down to it! I couldn't, being in the middle of my period and all. Of course, I didn't tell him that. I just said that it didn't work that way for me, that I had to know the person a bit more before I get down and boogie. The Inner Slut was laughing all the way back to the car.
He was slight of build, but wiry, with well-defined muscles. A young body. He was tense the entire hour we were having coffee. And, yes, he did go to the counter and got me coffee. Good start! He wasn't a Dale, though.
Ok, no fair. No comparing. Not fair to Jake.
He has very dark eyes, with thick, stubby lashes all around. They showed intelligent humor when he smiled, which wasn't very often. Tense. And I was very amused at this young man. Oh, well. At the very least, there'll be penetration.
I got him Arthur Golden's book, Memoirs of a Geisha. That is such a wonderful book. It really transports you to that period in Japan. I'm also getting him Lighthouse Family's cd, Postcards From Heaven. I find that album very relaxing. There's this song in the album that I think Dale will relate to pretty well. When we were discussing how to define our relationship, he said that he had great faith in me. So I dedicate this song to him:
Lost In Space
Sometimes, I get tired of this me-first attitude
You are the one thing, that keeps me smiling
That's why I'm always wishing hard for you
'Coz your light shines so bright
I don't feel no solitude
You are my first star at night
I'd be lost in space without you
And I'll never lose my faith in you
How will I ever get to heaven, if I do
Feels just so fine
When we touch the sky, me and you
This is my idea of heaven
Why can't it always be so good
But it's alright, I know you're out there
Doing what you've gotta do
You are my soul's satellite
I'd be lost in space without you
And I'll never lose my faith in you
How will I ever get to heaven, if I do
I'll never lose my faith in you
I'll never lose my faith in you
I feel exactly this way about my Dale. He gives me faith in myself. And even if I were to lose him, I'd still have a well of memories of him, a rich source of faith that I am worth loving.
Jake
Looks very boyish, but will grow up to be a take-charge guy! Very results-oriented. Believes in post-evaluation and sensitive enough to appreciate what "the human experience" is all about. Very bright. Read: understands what I'm talking about. Hah! My arrogance is showing.
What I mean is that he has a philosophical bent to him. And more than just a horny streak. Wanted to go and get down to it! I couldn't, being in the middle of my period and all. Of course, I didn't tell him that. I just said that it didn't work that way for me, that I had to know the person a bit more before I get down and boogie. The Inner Slut was laughing all the way back to the car.
He was slight of build, but wiry, with well-defined muscles. A young body. He was tense the entire hour we were having coffee. And, yes, he did go to the counter and got me coffee. Good start! He wasn't a Dale, though.
Ok, no fair. No comparing. Not fair to Jake.
He has very dark eyes, with thick, stubby lashes all around. They showed intelligent humor when he smiled, which wasn't very often. Tense. And I was very amused at this young man. Oh, well. At the very least, there'll be penetration.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Losing it
Dale called me up on my mobile fone last night, at half past 11. He had just landed at the airport and was in a taxi for home. We chatted for a few minutes and, as I was scared that he might rip his mouth from too much yawning, sent him home. He promised to call the next morning.
I missed that call as I was still in bed at home when he sent me a text message confirming if I was already at my desk at the office. I hate having my period as I'm so sluggish and I wake up tired and grumpy in the morning. So, this morning, I decided to sleep in till 8 and masturbated.
This is a recent development for me, masturbating while having my period. It's funny but I get really gratifying orgasms when I do.
Anyway, I'm terrified that I'm losing my Dale. I sent him a text message saying I'd be leaving in a few minutes. No reply as yet. Perhaps he's too busy to even check the messages on his phone. He hadn't even opened the e-card I sent him yesterday.
Maybe he just didn't want to open the e-card, seeing who it was from. Maybe he just doesn't want to see me or have anything to do with me anymore. Maybe I'm just not seeing it at all.
Definitely losing it here.
So I lose him. So I was taken for a ride. It wouldn't be the first and the last, and I wouldn't be the only one in the world. Shit happens, and why shouldn't it happen to me?
Prepare for the worst. That's all I can do. I only wish that we could say proper goodbyes.
I'm meeting a new guy in an hour. Jake, 33 or so, Pinoy, sounds educated on the phone, very confident. Hope he's attractive enough and bright enough for interesting conversation.
I miss my Dale.
I missed that call as I was still in bed at home when he sent me a text message confirming if I was already at my desk at the office. I hate having my period as I'm so sluggish and I wake up tired and grumpy in the morning. So, this morning, I decided to sleep in till 8 and masturbated.
This is a recent development for me, masturbating while having my period. It's funny but I get really gratifying orgasms when I do.
Anyway, I'm terrified that I'm losing my Dale. I sent him a text message saying I'd be leaving in a few minutes. No reply as yet. Perhaps he's too busy to even check the messages on his phone. He hadn't even opened the e-card I sent him yesterday.
Maybe he just didn't want to open the e-card, seeing who it was from. Maybe he just doesn't want to see me or have anything to do with me anymore. Maybe I'm just not seeing it at all.
Definitely losing it here.
So I lose him. So I was taken for a ride. It wouldn't be the first and the last, and I wouldn't be the only one in the world. Shit happens, and why shouldn't it happen to me?
Prepare for the worst. That's all I can do. I only wish that we could say proper goodbyes.
I'm meeting a new guy in an hour. Jake, 33 or so, Pinoy, sounds educated on the phone, very confident. Hope he's attractive enough and bright enough for interesting conversation.
I miss my Dale.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
My Aunt Flo; A Proposal
I got my monthly visit from Aunt Flo last night. She's staying for a week. I feel so awful.
Dale's in Hong Kong. I don't know what it is, but I get the feeling he's slowly distancing himself from me. He didn't call in the morning this past two days. Monday, he called in the late afternoon but I had already left. He sent a couple of text mesasges but, since he was so busy, I let him go. I was waiting till almost midnight last night for him to call as he promised but he didn't.
Six this morning, he sent me another text message saying he was on his way to the airport and that he would be in Hong Kong the whole day, and that he'd call me later tonight.
What the hell is going on? Was it because of all those lovey-dovey emails and e-cards that I sent him, professing my love and all that stuff? But I did make it clear that I wasn't demanding anything from him in return, that I was well aware of the parameters of this relationship.
Men. Can't live with them, can't kill them.
On the other hand, he is the CEO of a large company. Perhaps he's simply too busy to pick up a phone and make a call. And I am having my monthly visit, so my hormones are all messed up. I shouldn't jump to conclusions. But it is terrifying to think that it is possible that my Dale is a real jerk and all those little things about him that I choose to ignore, I shouldn't have.
Hormones. Can't live with them, can't kill them.
I think I'll go home. I'm feeling really murderous at the moment and heaven help the person who dares bother me now.
Oh, by the way, Nelson's proposed a business and domestic partnership. He's looking for a house for us. I've accepted.
Dale's in Hong Kong. I don't know what it is, but I get the feeling he's slowly distancing himself from me. He didn't call in the morning this past two days. Monday, he called in the late afternoon but I had already left. He sent a couple of text mesasges but, since he was so busy, I let him go. I was waiting till almost midnight last night for him to call as he promised but he didn't.
Six this morning, he sent me another text message saying he was on his way to the airport and that he would be in Hong Kong the whole day, and that he'd call me later tonight.
What the hell is going on? Was it because of all those lovey-dovey emails and e-cards that I sent him, professing my love and all that stuff? But I did make it clear that I wasn't demanding anything from him in return, that I was well aware of the parameters of this relationship.
Men. Can't live with them, can't kill them.
On the other hand, he is the CEO of a large company. Perhaps he's simply too busy to pick up a phone and make a call. And I am having my monthly visit, so my hormones are all messed up. I shouldn't jump to conclusions. But it is terrifying to think that it is possible that my Dale is a real jerk and all those little things about him that I choose to ignore, I shouldn't have.
Hormones. Can't live with them, can't kill them.
I think I'll go home. I'm feeling really murderous at the moment and heaven help the person who dares bother me now.
Oh, by the way, Nelson's proposed a business and domestic partnership. He's looking for a house for us. I've accepted.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Pizza with a twist
I had lunch with my Dale today at California Pizza Kitchen. Big, airy place, lots of huge windows to let the sunshine in. He ordered for us. I was at peace, feeling spoiled and taken care of, not having to make any decisions at all. Dale is a sub's dream.
I was wearing my low-cut blouse with the pretty light pink and green floral print, and my new bra which showed off my cleavage to full advantage. Needless, Dale couldn't keep his blue eyes off it. Neither could the waiters who didn't know which anatomical part of me they wanted to stare at: my breasts or my legs. I was wearing my denim mini-skirt.
We looked around at the women and wondered which one of them owned a vibrator. Dale was certain that that woman in her early 50s, Chinese-mestiza, and looking very smart, owned one. I just had to disagree. I haven't seen a 50-year-old pussy but I thought it would be too dry for a vibrator. She looked like she was menopausal. No offense to more mature women! I'm just stating an opinion. It might be uninformed and uncouth but just an opinion, nonetheless.
The foccacia came with a chickpea hummus dip, with tomatoes and powdered with chopped fresh basil. Yummy. Dale launched into this movie about Tiger Woods, and how his Thai mother made him wear a red shirt for a golf tournament which he won three times in a row. I forgot what it was, Something Open. I'm hopeless at sports. Tiger Woods, I've heard of, but -- well. That was why Dale was in a deep red shirt, as it was for strength and power. He had a meeting right before our lunch date.
"How'd your meeting go?" me, practicing ego-building skills.
"Oh, pretty well, I suppose. I'm selling this company to this guy, and we talked a lot of lawyer stuff. There was just one problem, though."
"What?" me, very concerned.
"I just found out yesterday that we don't own the company."
Aha. Turns out the deed of sale from the original owner to Dale's company was never signed, much less registered. Hence, the lawyer stuff. I got to show off my lawyering skills and asked him, hopefully, the right questions, you know, about SEC registration and taxes and stuff. He didn't have the answers because, as CEO, he doesn't really handle these everyday details. I stopped as I got the impression that I was badgering the witness. What was important to him was that the sale went through without a hitch. Now it was the lawyers' problem to straighten out the papers.
Pretty soon, we were giving this big black guy two tables away from us the eye. Dale spotted him first, and said that the guy was probably a basketball player. I had to agree. Big hunk of a fella.
"I bet he has a dick as huge as he is," Dale says, blue eyes dancing.
"Yeah," me, eyes widening at the thought. "I bet it's really huge..."
"Maybe I should write him a note, asking him if he's interested to fuck you..."
"Maybe I should just go over there and give him a lap dance," me, wryly. "Will you stop! This is a family restaurant! There're kids all over the place!"
"So? Oh, miss!" he calls the waitress over and asks her if "that big black guy is a basketball player?" The girl didn't know but would go and find out.
"Oh! But don't ask him, please--!" me, after her rapidly receding figure. They don't kid around at CPK about fast and full service, do they? Mercifully, she confers with the other waiters. When she comes back, she confirms Dale's theory, but the guy hasn't been signed up with a team yet.
"So, he's still a nobody!" Dale, blue eyes still twinkling. "You want I go over there and ask him?"
"Will you stop!" me, hissing and pulling him down to his seat. "You're a fucking horny bastard!"
Dale flops back and leans over with a very mischievous grin. "You think these people would notice if I pretend to drop my spoon, disapper under the table, and get under your skirt and between your legs?"
Such a naughty grin.
"Let me see...Hmmm..." me, hamming it up.
We laugh. I slide my bare leg against his. We laugh like high school kids. When the pizza came, we were just rolling in our seats. Laughing, just laughing!
I was wearing my low-cut blouse with the pretty light pink and green floral print, and my new bra which showed off my cleavage to full advantage. Needless, Dale couldn't keep his blue eyes off it. Neither could the waiters who didn't know which anatomical part of me they wanted to stare at: my breasts or my legs. I was wearing my denim mini-skirt.
We looked around at the women and wondered which one of them owned a vibrator. Dale was certain that that woman in her early 50s, Chinese-mestiza, and looking very smart, owned one. I just had to disagree. I haven't seen a 50-year-old pussy but I thought it would be too dry for a vibrator. She looked like she was menopausal. No offense to more mature women! I'm just stating an opinion. It might be uninformed and uncouth but just an opinion, nonetheless.
The foccacia came with a chickpea hummus dip, with tomatoes and powdered with chopped fresh basil. Yummy. Dale launched into this movie about Tiger Woods, and how his Thai mother made him wear a red shirt for a golf tournament which he won three times in a row. I forgot what it was, Something Open. I'm hopeless at sports. Tiger Woods, I've heard of, but -- well. That was why Dale was in a deep red shirt, as it was for strength and power. He had a meeting right before our lunch date.
"How'd your meeting go?" me, practicing ego-building skills.
"Oh, pretty well, I suppose. I'm selling this company to this guy, and we talked a lot of lawyer stuff. There was just one problem, though."
"What?" me, very concerned.
"I just found out yesterday that we don't own the company."
Aha. Turns out the deed of sale from the original owner to Dale's company was never signed, much less registered. Hence, the lawyer stuff. I got to show off my lawyering skills and asked him, hopefully, the right questions, you know, about SEC registration and taxes and stuff. He didn't have the answers because, as CEO, he doesn't really handle these everyday details. I stopped as I got the impression that I was badgering the witness. What was important to him was that the sale went through without a hitch. Now it was the lawyers' problem to straighten out the papers.
Pretty soon, we were giving this big black guy two tables away from us the eye. Dale spotted him first, and said that the guy was probably a basketball player. I had to agree. Big hunk of a fella.
"I bet he has a dick as huge as he is," Dale says, blue eyes dancing.
"Yeah," me, eyes widening at the thought. "I bet it's really huge..."
"Maybe I should write him a note, asking him if he's interested to fuck you..."
"Maybe I should just go over there and give him a lap dance," me, wryly. "Will you stop! This is a family restaurant! There're kids all over the place!"
"So? Oh, miss!" he calls the waitress over and asks her if "that big black guy is a basketball player?" The girl didn't know but would go and find out.
"Oh! But don't ask him, please--!" me, after her rapidly receding figure. They don't kid around at CPK about fast and full service, do they? Mercifully, she confers with the other waiters. When she comes back, she confirms Dale's theory, but the guy hasn't been signed up with a team yet.
"So, he's still a nobody!" Dale, blue eyes still twinkling. "You want I go over there and ask him?"
"Will you stop!" me, hissing and pulling him down to his seat. "You're a fucking horny bastard!"
Dale flops back and leans over with a very mischievous grin. "You think these people would notice if I pretend to drop my spoon, disapper under the table, and get under your skirt and between your legs?"
Such a naughty grin.
"Let me see...Hmmm..." me, hamming it up.
We laugh. I slide my bare leg against his. We laugh like high school kids. When the pizza came, we were just rolling in our seats. Laughing, just laughing!
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
The next step
It's finally there, this "arrangement" with Dale. Who am I kidding. It stopped being an arrangement weeks ago. It's now a relationship, and officially so. Yesterday, he said those three dreaded words, "I love you," over the phone. He was saying bye and he muttered something. It was only after I put the receiver down that I realized what he had said.
Oh, but did my chinky eyes grow wide as wide can get. I grabbed my mobile phone and sent him back those words.
Now what?
There are times when he's at a loss for words. And that's not like Dale. He always knows what to say and how to say it and when. He's the take-charge guy. So when he seems to be grasping for words, it surprises me. But that's when I love him the most.
That silly little tart
When Charles invited me to a threesome with his girlfriend, he said that he was sure I'd find her sexy. I knew then that I shouldn't go. And yet, I did. I never listen to myself.
When I got there, she was still in the bedroom. She wasn't in the living room ready to welcome me to the place. That was one. When she came out, she didn't look inviting. That was two. When Charles couldn't sustain a hard-on with me, she started that silly teasing game with him, calling his dick her magic wand and fondling it, and saying that it needed a bit of magic potion. That was the third.
Three too many.
I was the first woman Charles met when he came in last year. I was with him twice and he didn't have any difficulty sustaining a hard-on then. Now that he has this silly little tart with him, his dick can't even get up to say hi to me.
I hate being compared to others. I hate being forced into this mold where I don't fit nohow. Contrariwise, I am unique and no mold can hold me. I broke that mold when I was born.
That tart was petite, with a well-proportioned body. Small perky breasts. Not exactly a beauty but she has clear skin. Her eyes are too small for her face which makes her cheekbones look too wide. She has a furtive look about her, expecially around the eyes. She's a tart and men like tarts like her, the giggly, shallow kind. And she was 37.
And she liked the fact that Charles prefered her to me.
Men like Charles. Dickheads. And I mean that in a most derogatory sense.
The next day, I was crying over the phone, telling a story of a date (Charles) who ran off with another man's date (Pia). I couldn't tell Dale the truth. Although there were no promises made, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. No matter how matter-of-fact you take this kind of relationship, there are always feelings involved. He didn't get panicked by the tears and the soft sobs, the broken voice. I appreciated that.
I suppose I should feel flattered, really, that that silly little tart felt so insecure of me, so threatened, that she was so happy that her sumbitch dickhead boyfriend didn't find me attractive. I suppose I should feel flattered that my intellect intimidated her, and the fact that I work for some of the most respected brilliant lawyers in our time was just too much for her. Now it makes sense that she relished the fact that she knew more about the men common in our lives, like Alex/Felix, Peter and Bond, than I do.
Yet, I take rejection from these people to heart. Amazing. And I'm supposedly an intelligent woman.
Admittedly, I crave for approval. I grew up with my folks teasing me about my weight. I can't remember my parents ever praising me for being pretty or lovely or anything remotely close to praise for aesthetic appearance. I had always been held up to people by my family as an intellectual.
Right.
So now I crave for approval. I want Mara's Frenchie because he's young and virile and, well, not really good-looking but very appealing. I want Alex/Felix because he's mature and strong and in charge. I want each and every dickhead that I've ever had to yearn for me and desire me with every fiber of his body, every drop of semen.
Fuck them all to hell.
Mara's going to lose her Frenchie this year, as he's going back home. I'm going to have my Brit forever, as this is his home. Not one of them can hold a candle to my Dale. He's not young and virile, but he's his own man, in charge of everything, in control of his fate. And he's not just a small-time entrepreneur or a foreign consultant on anything, either. He's the CEO of one of the largest manufacturing companies in the country, earning millions in US dollars.
And he's mine.
So this is what it feels like to love. It's not like being in love, no. I remember that. Young, juvenile, silly, with love songs going on and on in my head. No, this time, it's not like that. It's the morning sunshine, and the wind in my hair, the ring of a phone and the voice that calls you home. It's the cool dark of night, and the sounds of a faraway world, and dreams of life and living, and love and loving. It's the strength to go on despite the knowing that someday, there will be a goodbye. It's the hope of forever and second chances.
Finally, I love.
Oh, but did my chinky eyes grow wide as wide can get. I grabbed my mobile phone and sent him back those words.
Now what?
There are times when he's at a loss for words. And that's not like Dale. He always knows what to say and how to say it and when. He's the take-charge guy. So when he seems to be grasping for words, it surprises me. But that's when I love him the most.
That silly little tart
When Charles invited me to a threesome with his girlfriend, he said that he was sure I'd find her sexy. I knew then that I shouldn't go. And yet, I did. I never listen to myself.
When I got there, she was still in the bedroom. She wasn't in the living room ready to welcome me to the place. That was one. When she came out, she didn't look inviting. That was two. When Charles couldn't sustain a hard-on with me, she started that silly teasing game with him, calling his dick her magic wand and fondling it, and saying that it needed a bit of magic potion. That was the third.
Three too many.
I was the first woman Charles met when he came in last year. I was with him twice and he didn't have any difficulty sustaining a hard-on then. Now that he has this silly little tart with him, his dick can't even get up to say hi to me.
I hate being compared to others. I hate being forced into this mold where I don't fit nohow. Contrariwise, I am unique and no mold can hold me. I broke that mold when I was born.
That tart was petite, with a well-proportioned body. Small perky breasts. Not exactly a beauty but she has clear skin. Her eyes are too small for her face which makes her cheekbones look too wide. She has a furtive look about her, expecially around the eyes. She's a tart and men like tarts like her, the giggly, shallow kind. And she was 37.
And she liked the fact that Charles prefered her to me.
Men like Charles. Dickheads. And I mean that in a most derogatory sense.
The next day, I was crying over the phone, telling a story of a date (Charles) who ran off with another man's date (Pia). I couldn't tell Dale the truth. Although there were no promises made, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. No matter how matter-of-fact you take this kind of relationship, there are always feelings involved. He didn't get panicked by the tears and the soft sobs, the broken voice. I appreciated that.
I suppose I should feel flattered, really, that that silly little tart felt so insecure of me, so threatened, that she was so happy that her sumbitch dickhead boyfriend didn't find me attractive. I suppose I should feel flattered that my intellect intimidated her, and the fact that I work for some of the most respected brilliant lawyers in our time was just too much for her. Now it makes sense that she relished the fact that she knew more about the men common in our lives, like Alex/Felix, Peter and Bond, than I do.
Yet, I take rejection from these people to heart. Amazing. And I'm supposedly an intelligent woman.
Admittedly, I crave for approval. I grew up with my folks teasing me about my weight. I can't remember my parents ever praising me for being pretty or lovely or anything remotely close to praise for aesthetic appearance. I had always been held up to people by my family as an intellectual.
Right.
So now I crave for approval. I want Mara's Frenchie because he's young and virile and, well, not really good-looking but very appealing. I want Alex/Felix because he's mature and strong and in charge. I want each and every dickhead that I've ever had to yearn for me and desire me with every fiber of his body, every drop of semen.
Fuck them all to hell.
Mara's going to lose her Frenchie this year, as he's going back home. I'm going to have my Brit forever, as this is his home. Not one of them can hold a candle to my Dale. He's not young and virile, but he's his own man, in charge of everything, in control of his fate. And he's not just a small-time entrepreneur or a foreign consultant on anything, either. He's the CEO of one of the largest manufacturing companies in the country, earning millions in US dollars.
And he's mine.
So this is what it feels like to love. It's not like being in love, no. I remember that. Young, juvenile, silly, with love songs going on and on in my head. No, this time, it's not like that. It's the morning sunshine, and the wind in my hair, the ring of a phone and the voice that calls you home. It's the cool dark of night, and the sounds of a faraway world, and dreams of life and living, and love and loving. It's the strength to go on despite the knowing that someday, there will be a goodbye. It's the hope of forever and second chances.
Finally, I love.
