B Does an
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Publié :25/5/2009 8h46
Dernière mise à jour :25/5/2024 17h9 1366 vues
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Ms. Lawless has advised me to steer clear of B. She remembers herself at age 19, chasing much older men and having a romantic notion that the relationship somehow made her more mature than she actually was and that she could make the older man love her if she would just love him enough for both of them. After the tumultuous three days I had with B two weeks ago, B seemed to be very much on that same path. And I was inclined to agree with Ms. Lawless’ recommendation.
Last weekend B texted me about babysitting this summer for me. Ms. Lawless thought she might have an ulterior motive, and I agreed that this might be a possibility. While I was shopping Friday with my daughter, I saw that B was working. I took the opportunity to introduce my daughter to B. I had been talking to my daughter about a babysitter for the times when I have to work while she is here, so it seemed like a very good time to introduce her to B.
After that meeting, B started texting me again, complimenting me on how handsome I was. We had several more texts that evening, following the pattern of two weeks prior, with her telling me at one point that she very much wanted to have sex with me.
In response to that message, I told her that I was interested in having sex with her, but that she would have to be patient with me. That, before I would go that step, she would have to convince me that she wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with me. I told her that I was not sure of her motives after what had happened between us two weeks earlier.
Her response to this was the exact opposite of what I expected. She replied that, as she recalled, it was ME (??) who got upset and stopped texting her when I learned that she wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship. She also told me that, “no offense, but you are forty something, so of course I don’t want a long-term relationship with you.”
I told her that we sure seemed to have a difference of opinion on what actually happened two weeks earlier, and I lamented the perils of trying to have any kind of significant discussion via text messages.
At that point, we stopped texting for the night (Friday nite) and both had time to think on what had just happened. On my end, I tried to understand if what she had just told me made any sense at all. I have concluded that it just might.
I thought I understood why B reacted the way she did, but I at least have to acknowledge the possibility that there is an alternate explanation. It could be true that B really was just fine with me being a swinger and having a girlfriend. It could also be true that she wanted nothing more than sex from me, having recognized a spark of sexual attraction between us that she would like to enjoy. At a critical point during our texting two weeks earlier, she asked why I was disappointed that we did not meet, because she would just be one of my many conquests. At the time, I assumed that I had hurt her feelings with the swinger and girlfriend talk, but now I realize there actually is an alternate explanation: she was hurt (and mad) that I had reacted so negatively to her decision to cancel. If that is true, she appears to have the makings of a beginning swinger with that outlook.
What she misunderstood about me from two weeks ago was that I was not looking for more than just sex when I told her that I was disappointed that we weren’t going to get together on that Friday evening. What she failed to understand is that, even in a casual relationship, it’s always best to let someone know as soon as you can that you aren’t going to be able to make it. Waiting until an hour after you are supposed to meet is usually not acceptable without a very good excuse, and that particular evening she was not willing to provide one. So of course I am going to lack trust in her motives and intentions and be concerned about any future encounters. I could have just ended it after her first no-show, but that’s just not my style.
So now I have done (nearly) a 180 about B, and I think that we could get along just fine as fuck buddies. At least, I think I am okay with proceeding cautiously. I do have a trio of concerns about her. The first is whether or not she might be lying now about why she reacted the way she did. If so, it’s just a little scary to think that she wanted to be with me so badly that she concocted this whole story of me (not her) being the one who was looking for more than a fuck-buddy relationship, just to convince me to let my guard down. In other words, there’s still some risk.
The second concern comes about as a result of thinking about the scenario from the opposite point of view. If she is telling me the truth now, can we really be so bad at communicating that I completely misunderstood her, and she completely misunderstood me? As long as we’re just fuck-buddies, this isn’t a big concern, but when you are going to have sex with someone, you do have to communicate at least a little for it to be pleasurable for both of you. If she tells you that she hates anal sex, and you hear that she loves it instead, there might be a problem at some point during the evening!
The third concern I have came about when I told her that I would rather not get involved with her sexually if she was going to hate me when she realized that I wasn’t interested in a long term relationship. She responded to me that “the only way I could end up hating you would be if the sex was bad.”
Now THAT was an eye-opener. Does bad sex ever result in you hating the person you had it with? Maybe if you are with a partner that does something really stupid either out of ignorance or carelessness you might. I don’t expect that to be a problem, but I guess a 19-year-old might have had a few sex partners recently like that. But it’s never been my experience that I would hate someone for a bad sexual experience. I wouldn’t even lose respect for them, as long as I was convinced that their poor performance sexually was not a deliberate act. I guess that type of poor performance could damage a friendship, as well.
I always look at bad sex as being at least half my fault, and maybe more, because if it was bad for me it probably was just because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. Maybe B didn’t mean that she would hate me if the sex was bad, but instead she just meant that she wouldn’t do it with me again. If so, that’s a sentiment I can live with.
Anybody else notice all of these unanswered questions when I have a conversation with B? I very seldom have these with Ms. Lawless, and when I do, we go to work and figure out the answers together. I am starting to think that I need Ms. Lawless to translate, because B is definitely speaking Venutian, and I only know Martian.
I did extend an offer to her on Saturday to come over. I had lucked into a babysitter for a few hours, so my daughter was at the babysitter’s house. B was getting off of thirteen hours straight working two jobs, so she asked for a rain-check. Or maybe she had a better offer or maybe she just enjoys the thought of getting me spun up or maybe she had a family obligation … I can work myself up a pretty good headache trying to figure out B, so I am quickly learning to quit thinking about her. She has said that Monday night might be a possibility. If so, she’s going to get in touch with me ‒ not the other way around. And as Ms. Lawless has taught me so well, I am releasing any expectations I might have and simply allowing the Universe to work whatever Vanilla World magic might be circulating.
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Meanderings in the Vanilla World
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Publié :24/5/2009 6h49
Dernière mise à jour :17/8/2009 22h05 1512 vues
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I have made several calls now to DJ, who runs the swingers club in Louisville that I am trying to get an interview with, in the hopes of joining. DJ seems to be screening my calls. I have the sneaking suspicion that I am not a very high priority on his list of new members.
Outside of those calls to DJ and about five emails to couples and women on passion who appear to be compatible with what I am looking for (and also within 60 miles of where I live), my efforts at swinging are at a stand-still. K&D remain a possibility, but they also have busy schedules, live about 200 miles from me, and our schedules just haven’t matched up lately.
So my time away from Ms. Lawless has been very much immersed in the Vanilla World. At least I can say that the Vanilla World has not been without its share of interesting encounters, although none of them have resulted in me getting laid. Yet.
I just mentioned B (again) in the last blog. More on her in the next blog. That girl makes my head hurt, LOL! Right now I will talk about Vanilla World women who are at least half my own age….
This past Tuesday, I took my 8-year-old daughter to the middle school track. Sometimes she jogs with me, but mostly she likes to play in the sand of the long jump pit while I run. At one point during my run, I had just passed a group of walkers (four women and one man) when one of the women started chasing after me, sparking a round of hysterical laughter from the other four members of her group. The next time I went past, the same woman watched as I neared her group and started running trying to time it so she could keep up with me.
Had I not been on pace to set the fastest 1.5 mile run I have achieved in at least six years, I would have slowed so that I could jog alongside her, but the competitor in me had me keep going until I did set that 6-year personal best. Dummy!  After I finished my run, I called for my daughter, and we sat down on a bench near the east exit to the track. Later, I introduced myself to the woman, K, saying hello and exchanging names.
Since then, I have seen K two other times at the same track. I stopped my run and walked with her for two laps, learning that she is 36 (my generation, at least), lives in Oolitic (just north of Bedford), is divorced, has two sons, and works in the billing department of Bloomington (Indiana) Hospital. Not sure if I want the billing department of that hospital to know my new address, but you’ve got to give up something to get something, I guess. On the third encounter, I happened to have my cell phone with me, so we exchanged full names and phone numbers.
In my first text message to her, I introduced myself and told her that I am trouble. She responded by telling me that she is “double trouble.” I told her that “it sounded like we would get along just fine, then!”
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This past Thursday, I coaxed my friend (Glenn) into going out for a few drinks with me. Three younger co-workers and one older one got wind of this rarest of occurrences and decided it would make for good spectator sport to watch the two of us try to hit on women.
We went for happy hour at a local bar ($1 cans of beer was a sweet deal), and I did see a woman that interested me there - J. I have actually known her for at least eight years, though until recently I had not seen her for quite some time. All those years ago I thought she was a very intriguing woman who seemed to be uninhibited sexually, and it saddened me to think that I would never get to know more because I was a married man. Within the last few months, we started working on the same project, and so we have once again struck up a friendship.
J is a super-intelligent, hardworking, professional woman in her late thirties. On this particular night, J was spoken for, but she did spend at lot of time at our table chatting with us. She mentioned that her divorce is now final, and I told her about my impending divorce. After a few beers and some fun discussions (the youngsters in our group seemingly never tire of the 19-year-old with bad eyesight who thinks I look like Kevin Costner), J had to leave with her man. She gave me a hug and told me she would be in touch with me. Hmmm.
After she left, I learned from a friend who has been a sex partner of hers that she is also bisexual. Talk about a piece of information that got my mind thinking naughty thoughts! … introduce Ms. Lawless and J, ply them drinks, sprinkle in some naughty talk whispered in one (or both or all four) of the ladies’ ears, then sit back and watch the fun! Could it possibly be that easy? One can only hope….
I have heard several people mention that J is very active sexually. If she is not a swinger, she’s as close to one as I will probably find in the Vanilla World. During the evening discussion, she told N, a 27-year-old female engineer I work with, that it’s much better to play with men without getting romantically involved ‒ that way you don’t have to worry about how old they are, you just pick the ones that are hot and go with it. The only thing that gives me pause toward pursuing a “friends with benefits” relationship with J at this point is that my friend also mentioned that J has contracted herpes.
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B Texts Me Back
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Publié :23/5/2009 19h32
Dernière mise à jour :23/5/2009 19h33 1220 vues
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Ms. Lawless is a genius.
During a recent instant message conversation we were having about a 19-year-old woman (B ) - who did not appreciate the gift of honesty I gave her and who was seriously messing with my head ‒ Ms. Lawless suggested that I simply not respond to her last text.
Usually I am smart enough to listen to Ms. Lawless and take her advice. That time, I wasn’t, I didn’t, and I really regretted it.
After getting burned, I eventually did follow Ms. Lawless’ advice. I texted B asking her if she regretted giving me her phone number and promising to delete it if she wanted. B texted me that she did regret it.
I surprised myself with how sad I became when I respected B’s wishes by deleting her phone number and all of her text messages from my phone. I thought B was a very nice young lady, and her rejection stung me more than I cared to admit.
Precisely one week after my last text to B, I got a text message from someone whose number my phone did not recognize, saying that their name is “BR” (I don’t know anyone by that name) and that they would be interested in babysitting my two children for cash.
Considering I really need help in that area (and soon), I figured this was a text I needed to respond to. B was the only one I could think of who I gave my phone number to that I had also talked to about babysitting my children, so I responded to the text by asking ‒ “Is that you, B?”
She responded that it was B, that she normally goes by B, but for some reason that morning she decided to type “BR” instead. I told her that I wasn’t sure it was her, because I had deleted her phone number from my phone per her request, but that I did really need help watching my kids this summer and that I would really appreciate the help.
She told me that it was okay to keep her number this time. I asked her when she thought she might be able to watch them, wasn’t she already working two jobs? She said that she was still working two jobs, but would be able to watch them on some afternoons and on Sundays.
That’s not exactly when I need the help: during the week, first shift while I am working is primarily when I need a sitter. At this point, though, her message was very welcome ‒ mainly because she’s willing to help me watch my kids, but also because she at least appears to have decided that I am no longer so creepy that I should delete her phone number.
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Of Lawnmowing and Lovemaking
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Publié :19/5/2009 20h24
Dernière mise à jour :21/5/2009 3h34 1544 vues
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Did anyone hear that I had a sleepover at Ms. Lawless’s house last weekend?
It was just a little bit less than two days, and true to the old adage about time flying while you are having fun, it now seems like it was five minutes. But I also feel like I lived a lifetime. Come to think of it, that’s how I felt the last two times I was with Ms. Lawless, too.
I felt welcomed. I felt loved. I felt like I had come home to a place I had never been been before.
I met two of Ms. Lawless’s beautiful daughters. I cut Ms. Lawless’s lawn. WingBoy (WB ) and WingGirl (WG) honored me greatly by giving up their Friday nite to break bread with me, regaling me with stories of the MC. I survived a jog in the mile-high air in Ms. Lawless’ downtown Denver neighborhood. I met more of Ms. Lawless’ friends and extended family at a barbeque in my honor just before she took me to the airport on Saturday.
And just in case anyone thinks that we toned the lovemaking down because of the close proximity of family and friends … not a chance! We stole every available moment, including lots of that rocking middle of the night sex (which WB and the youngest daughter both commented on) and two extended showers getting dirty and clean at the same time.
Unfortunately, we forgot to take any pictures (but if we had taken one, it would have looked a lot like the one I included here - haha!).
As with the last two times I spent with Ms. Lawless, the great humor, laughter, and romance was nearly as amazing as the lovemaking. Here are some of my favorites from the weekend:
-Ms. Lawless offering to blow me until I came in her mouth if I would cut her lawn.
-Me accepting this offer, figuring I just got the deal of a lifetime.
-Ms. Lawless deciding, after I didn’t get up to cut the lawn right away, to “sweeten the deal” by offering (in addition to the blow job) one of several additional hot sex fantasies if I would cut her lawn.
-Me starting to wonder after this second offer just how big a job cutting her lawn was going to be (for the record, I’m sure I ran my last 13.1 mile race in less time than it took me to cut her lawn).
-WB teasing Ms. Lawless that, while she had become very skilled at saying ‘no,’ she might need to begin giving special consideration to potential new sex partners who agree to mow her lawn.
-Ms. Lawless warning me that, if I suddenly developed a dominant streak while swinging with WG, that I would have to answer some tough questions from her.
-After my run on Saturday, Ms. Lawless wordlessly turning on a dime and sprinting back up her stairs toward the shower (despite a sore knee) when I asked her if she wanted to scrub my back.
-Ms. Lawless to me on Saturday morning: “Can I say this, so that I can get past it? You have GOT to learn how to shut the kitchen cabinets!”
- Ms. Lawless apologizing on Friday morning for not shaving her legs, telling me that lack of effort on her part was in no way an indication that she didn’t love me.
-Me telling Ms. Lawless that, shaved legs or not, the look of joy in her eyes was all I needed to be certain of how very much she loved me.
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Phoenix
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Publié :17/5/2009 19h44
Dernière mise à jour :18/5/2009 17h54 1248 vues
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I did something my last day in Phoenix - less than three hours before I boarded a flight to Denver - that I am still trying to get my head around.
I had one of the most productive working group meetings ever this week, and I’ve been coming to these meetings six times each year now for five years. Buoyed by my good spirits, I got to my meetings early both Wednesday and Thursday. I learned. I networked and made valuable contacts. I worked out, lifting weights and running, and even networked while I exercised by meeting up for a spectacular early morning run with a fellow running enthusiast and working group attendee from Canada. I got numerous compliments and inquiries about my weight loss success over the last six months from the people who have known me all of these years.
Against the backdrop of a visit to Denver to be with Ms. Lawless on Thursday evening, my mind wandered to thoughts of sex, lovemaking, more sex, and more lovemaking. It seemed like every woman I saw in Phoenix was smoking hot, and nearly every one had a smile for me.
As I waited for my luggage at the Phoenix airport, I wondered about Tiffany, the mid-twenties blonde at a local Phoenix club who changed my life last November by making me realize how much I missed sex. Shortly after that visit with Tiffany, I decided it was time to confront my wife about the issues that were preventing our intimacy. I thought about the fact that Tiffany is a bisexual, and I thought about how much fun it would be to watch Tiffany make Ms. Lawless squirt. Having arrived in Phoenix fairly early, the urge to stop by the club was strong, but I was able to push that thought aside by reminding myself that I would be together with Ms. Lawless in just over two days.
At breakfast at the resort Wednesday morning, I was served by a Hispanic waitress named Lina, she of the imperfect teeth yet brilliant smile, large brown eyes, and dark skin. I could imagine me and Ms. Lawless on either side of Lina, each kissing a small girlish breast, me pulling off her panties while Ms. Lawless fingered her pussy. As I signed the check after breakfast, I wrote “Thanks,” and added a smiley face to my signature.
On Wednesday evening, I attended dinner at the “Yard House” restaurant in Scottsdale with a group of 17 other colleagues. Our table was waited on by Sarah, oval-faced, short and curvaceous with pale skin and blonde hair. Well, Sarah actually did have the help of a waiter named Adam, but that’s beside my point here…. After seeing Sarah, it seemed very fitting that the first ale on the drink menu was a Pale Honey Blonde.
When Sarah asked for my drink order, I told her that “I would like a blonde honey.”
Gerry, sitting across the table from me, deadpanned, “Yeah, but what would you like TO DRINK?”
Sarah laughed and at least put on the appearance of enjoying the joke. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t heard that one a hundred times.
At breakfast on Thursday, Lina was my waitress again. She was even friendlier this time, telling me how my smiley face “had made her day.” She left a smiley face for me on my copy of the bill, and I wrote her a note on her copy telling her to keep smiling, and that I hoped that I would see her again when I returned to for the next Phoenix working group meeting in September.
Close to lunch time (12:30 pm in Scottsdale but 3:30 pm in Tampa), Ms. Lawless and I exchanged texts. I told her that I was so much looking forward to seeing her that it would be a miracle if I did not cry. She replied with a plea that I not cry if I could help it ‒ that she just wasn’t sure she could take it today, and that she may need time to transition.
Considering the meat grinder she had put herself through the last two weeks, her request was completely understandable. I promised that I would not cry ‒ that I would “suck it up and act like a man, haha!” I told her she would get all the time she needed to decompress, and that I hoped she would want me to rub some of the lavender-scented body lotion that I brought with me on her body to soothe and relax her.
Had the working group not finished ahead of schedule on Thursday, I would have had to skip out on most of the Thursday afternoon session to make it to the Phoenix airport for my 5:42 flight. Instead, the working group wrapped up at 2:15 pm.
Before I logged off my computer, I snuck a peak at the Phoenix club website. I felt a jolt of sexual intensity run through my body as I saw that Tiffany was going to be there that that afternoon.
Damn, too bad that I didn’t have more time. I have to be at the airport by about 4:12. Plus, I was going to be with Ms. Lawless in just a few hours, so it was really silly to visit the in-call place. Right?
I got in my car at about 2:30 and started driving to the airport.
It’s a long way from North Scottsdale to Sky Harbor airport. Traffic’s almost always a bitch. I’ve got to get gas. I’ve got to drop off the rental car. I’ve got to take the shuttle over to the terminal. And a beautiful woman who loves me is going to be waiting for me in Denver.
Traffic was amazingly very light. I made nearly impossible time, getting from North Scottsdale to the area of Sky Harbor in less than twenty minutes. I still had three hours until my flight. Doing the mental calculations, there actually was time to make a short visit to the in-call place.
Too bad I don’t really remember where it’s actually located, or I could go. At least, I think I don’t remember where it is. Something like … take University, turn right onto Elwood, to some other street, then another, and then the place is on the right.
Instead of heading straight for the rental car return, I took Highway 143 South past the airport. I turned onto University, but …
That’s too bad. Elwood Avenue is nowhere in sight. I knew that I couldn’t remember where the place was. The other direction on University, maybe? Well, I’m not going back, there just isn’t enough time.
I just kept going, knowing that I would eventually get back to I-10 and be able to head straight to the rental car return. Besides, it really was dumb to be going to the place for sterile sex anyway, when I’ve got a beautiful woman waiting to make love to me in Denver.
Hmmm. There’s Elwood Avenue. And it’s a left onto Elwood, not a right. Then another right and then another right. And here the place is, right in the middle of an industrial complex. Too bad I don’t have enough time to go in … it’s … quarter after three? I DO have time to go in. I knock on the door. A short, curvaceous brunette with an entire back covered in tattoos opens it. I walk through the metal detector. She asks me to pick a girl, but she turns around to see that she is the only girl there. No Tiffany ‒ only Taylor. She asks me if I’d like to go back with her.
I go back to a room with Taylor, we take off our clothes, and we discuss options. By 4:15 pm I’m dressed again and on my way to the rental car place. I gas up the car, return my rental car, take the shuttle bus to the terminal, get through security and make my flight easily.
I keep telling myself that it was just sex, and that I shouldn’t freak out about it. But if it wasn’t anything to freak out about, why didn’t I tell Ms. Lawless about it while I was visiting her from Thursday nite to Saturday afternoon?
I keep telling myself that it was because I didn’t want anything to distract from the precious few moments we had together this week. But if it wasn’t that big of a deal, what why would it have been so distracting?
I keep telling myself that Ms. Lawless was very tired after doing a heroic job getting her project back on track, spending two straight weeks in Tampa, and that my visit with Taylor was just a way to take the pressure off of us when we got together. It was certainly true that I needed to do something to release the tremendous amount of sexual tension I had accumulated over the past month. But wasn’t my trip to visit Ms. Lawless supposed to be the release?
I keep telling myself that the visit with Taylor was a great deal. Definitely the antithesis of the "Vanilla World", absolutely no worry about any strings being attached.
I thought visiting a club like that was something I USED to do because I was depressed, because I was out of shape and felt undesirable, because I was rarely ever having any sex and when I did, it was very unsatisfying sex. Am I still depressed? I don’t seem to be. I’m not out of shape anymore, and I do think I’m desirable. Maybe I’m not having sex as often as I would like, but I am having it, and it is GREAT sex, beautiful, intense, passionate lovemaking, better than anything I have ever experienced in my life.
I keep telling myself that the act of having sex with Taylor doesn’t change the fact that I really love Ms. Lawless. Of that, I am very certain, and I have no doubt that is why it was very easy to put all of this self-doubt and recrimination aside and have a great time in Denver last weekend. But as I struggle to understand and cope with the new and strange emotions that I am feeling as I explore being a swinger - and having a relationship with one - I can’t help but wonder just WHAT THE HELL that was all about.
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Being Noticed
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Publié :17/5/2009 12h50
Dernière mise à jour :19/5/2009 20h51 1432 vues
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Without a doubt, I am in better physical shape now than I have been in at least 25 years - maybe even ever. It’s really amazing to me to think that I have lost 50 pounds since November while improving my strength in the weight room by over 50%. Perhaps after losing another 10-15 pounds, even I won’t be able to hate my body any more.
It is very life-affirming to be able to say that people are noticing. I’ve already mentioned that B, a 19-year-old woman from Bedford, flirted with me and told me I looked like Kevin Costner (and that was a good thing ‒ LOL ). My beautiful GF1, Ms. Lawless, has been showering me with praise (among other things  ) today (Friday), calling me a “hottie.” Even colleagues I saw at my conference years have been complimenting me and asking for my secret.
For the record, my secret is the low-glycemic index diet 5 to 6 days per week and the same number of days of exercise (running and weightlifting).
On Tuesday, the day I flew from Indianapolis to Phoenix, I had several self-confidence building experiences. No less than four different women I had never met before said nice things to me. The first, a young lady who was pushing a baby carriage, told her six-year old son (or much younger little brother, I wasn’t really sure which) that he should get in line behind “the nice man.” That was me! I thanked her for calling me a nice man, to which she responded that she was in the habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt until they proved to her otherwise.
The second, a stewardess on the flight from Charlotte to Phoenix, said “come on through, sweetie” while motioning me to walk past her in the cramped aisleway of the Airbus 320. As I tried to squeeze past her, I thanked her for calling me “sweetie,” then had to apologize for bumping hard into her after my backpack hit a seat behind me. She was at least still nice to me for the rest of the flight, though that didn’t help me when they ran out of food before I got anything to eat.
The third was a cashier in a convenience store in the Phoenix airport. As she was trying to decide whether my work badge entitled me to a military discount, she mumbled “so handsome!” a little too loudly. I was blushing furiously as I attempted to explain that I just support the troops like all good citizens of this great country, and I was not entitled to a military discount. She gave it to me anyway.
The fourth was the clerk at Zorba’s, an adult novelty shop in Scottsdale, Arizona. As I was looking for a present for Ms. Lawless, she asked me “do you need any help, dear?” I thanked her for calling me dear, and then I asked her if the store had the item I was looking for. She smiled, pointed out that they did indeed have what I was looking for, and proceeded to show me where. Then she asked if I needed anything else. I had been put in such a good mood by all of the kind things women had been saying to me that day that I briefly considered telling her I could use a kiss, but I decided not to press my luck.
I find it fascinating how my reaction differed in the third case. Obviously, the first, second and fourth were all innocuous comments that wouldn’t even necessarily be considered flirting (although I can’t remember the last time I was called “sweetie” by a flight attendant). In each of those cases, I was in a lighthearted mood and decided to respond as if I was being flirted with, just to add some humor to the situation.
The third case, however, was obviously not an attempt to flirt at all. The woman simply said something out loud that she meant to only be thinking. I saw humor in the situation, but I was way too embarrassed to acknowledge her remark by making any attempt at flirting. I also felt it wouldn’t have been very polite to acknowledge (other than by my red face) what I wasn’t meant to hear, even if it was about me.
Still, for a man who has gone through a lot of body hating for the last fifteen years or so, it has been a lot of fun to be noticed.
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Rusty
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Publié :15/5/2009 7h45
Dernière mise à jour :17/5/2009 14h39 1205 vues
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Having coached myself up, I put on a dress shirt, jeans and my Converse basketball shoes that look like they were made by Gateway Computer Company and headed over to the Rusty’s. At about 10:30 pm, I walked right in. There was no cover charge and no one to check my ID. I quickly noticed that I was over-dressed by just being in a nice shirt, clean jeans, and new basketball shoes. Everyone else seemed to be wearing T-shirts. I walked over to the bar and asked the bartender what she had on tap. She looked at me like I was from another planet. They didn’t have a tap here. I asked her if she could tell I hadn’t been to Rusty’s in about 15 years. She didn’t smile ‒ I was wasting her time. So I asked for a bottle of Miller Light. The courtesy of the wait staff left a little to be desired, but no cover and a $2.50 beer on Saturday night wasn’t too bad.
I wasn’t planning on staying very long ‒ maybe two hours at the most. I found an open table with four seats and I sat down at it. It was empty because there was a live band playing that night, and the table was the closest one to the band’s speakers. But the seats afforded a good view of the dance floor and the band, so it was all good.
The band, Rusted River, was also pretty good. The lead singer was a waifish young lady - a very good singer with stringy brown hair named Kenna. She came up to me after her first set and introduced herself. We had an enjoyable conversation. She said she noticed that I was by myself and seemed to be really enjoying the band. I told her that I did enjoy the band, but that, after her first two songs, I wasn’t too sure I was going to be happy with the band’s song selection. I explained that I was getting a divorce and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and Pink’s “So What” were two songs I could definitely see my wife singing in response to the current divorce proceedings. But then I complimented her on all of the songs her band performed, and I told her I especially liked the lead guitarist, who was very impressive. She raved on him, as well.
So talking to someone while at Rusty’s turned out to be a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. (The wait staff didn’t count). I wasn’t so sure that I had made a friend in Kenna, though, so I didn’t consider my goal as having been met.
As the night approached midnight, I was still looking for a new friend. As I described the evening to some of my co-workers on Monday, a female co-worker of mine (N) told me that I was being the “creepy guy who was obviously looking to score,” by showing up at the bar all by myself. Maybe that is why the women kept their distance from me. 
It probably illustrates where my mind was that I didn’t seriously consider trying to make a guy friend while I was there. N told me after the fact that I was going at it all wrong by trying to make a “girl friend”: in her opinion, I needed a buddy to go drinking with, not a girl friend. And my job would have been significantly easier had I decided to go the guy friend route; the women at this place ran in packs! From time-to-time, groups of women would get up and head to the dance floor together. Not having near enough courage to try to break into the midst of those packs, I just sat and watched.
Near the end of the second set of songs the band played, I saw a lady who seemed to be a promising prospect for a new lady friend. She was pretty, dressed nicely, and had a sexy, shapely figure. She also appeared to be a little closer to my age than a lot of the kids, most of whom were at least twenty years younger than I was. She was sporting a couple of rings on her fingers, but none on the ring finger of her left hand ‒ one of those important considerations in the Vanilla World that is often a complete non-issue in the swinger world. I am really looking forward to the simplicity of the swinger world with regards to selecting potential friends, in so many respects.
As she and three of her girlfriends danced to a set of songs, I tried to gauge whether she would be receptive to having me approach her. I watched her intently to see if she ever tried to make eye contact with me. Initially, I thought that if she did look my way, I would know that she would be okay with me approaching her.
Surprisingly, after a while the opposite happened. She never did look my way, even though she danced facing me and looked in my general direction all the time she was dancing with her friends. What I realized was that she gave every appearance of trying very hard NOT to look at me, despite the fact I was sitting all by myself and looking right at her. Coming to that conclusion, I decided to go ahead and try to talk to her after all.
After making that decision, the next step was figuring out what I was going to try to say to her. For just a few minutes, nothing came to mind, and I definitely wasn’t going to move from my seat without at least a vague idea of what I was going to say. I finally settled on telling her that I had come to Rusty’s tonight to try to make one new friend, and that I hoped that new friend would be her. Simple enough that maybe I could say it without screwing it up….
I got up to introduce myself as she and her girlfriends sat down from their dance. She continued to ignore me completely as I approached, even past the point where it was obvious that she should have noticed me. I tried my pick-up line, adding “Hi I’m S ….” on the front end of it. One of her girlfriends overheard it and was either impressed or decided that it was so lame that I needed to be pitied, because she said “Awww…!”
My potential new friend giggled, shook my hand, and introduced herself by saying “Hi, I’m BA….” A little while later, BA gave me a piece of paper with her phone number on it. I guess I didn’t do too badly considering I hadn’t been in such a situation in over twenty years.
Just a couple minutes after BA gave me her number, I programmed it into my phone. Then I called it. She was still in the bar, and I half wondered whether the number was her cell phone, and she would pick it up, answer, and then turn to see me talking to her while we were both still in the bar. I got her answering machine and left her a message … “Hi, this is your new friend S, thanks for giving me your number.”
Ms. Lawless told me later that this was a “puss” way of calling her, and that I had to call BA for real if I was really interested in her. After we both got a chuckle over that, we did have a great discussion about just how and when I should come clean about swinging and about having a GF that I’m in love with. I told her that it was my belief that, if the relationship progressed beyond casual friendship (like it did very quickly with B ), that I would tell BA what my situation was. She made a great point that in the Vanilla World, even explaining the situation that early seemed too late and too disingenuous. We both agreed that the swinging world is far superior to Vanilla in this regard.
In the end, I did make a new friend ‒ me. I learned some more about myself, about the differences between the swinging world and the Vanilla, and I gained some much needed confidence, becoming more comfortable in my own skin. After getting BA’s number, I realized that I didn’t much enjoy the thought of explaining that I am a swinger, that I have a girlfriend I love, that I am looking for sex partners and not an affair of the heart. BA would be a rare member of the Vanilla World indeed if she were to take all of that in and say “let’s go for it.” Nevertheless, I didn’t want to be a “puss,” so I did try calling her number a couple of other times. Shortly after my third attempted call, I got a text message from BA telling me she was going to try to work things out with her “ex.”
Maybe I am reading too much into that text, but it sounded like something a woman firmly grounded in the Vanilla World might write. I texted her back … “Ok friend, thanks for letting me know. I wish you and your ex the very best of luck.” Far from being torn up about it, that ending just felt right.
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Rusty
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Publié :15/5/2009 7h43
Dernière mise à jour :25/5/2024 17h9 1140 vues
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Saturday night I tried something I hadn’t done in at least 15 years: I went to a bar. I listened to a live band and had a couple of drinks. I spoke to a few strangers. I tried a pick-up line on a lady who I found attractive. She even gave me her name and phone number. Or at least, she gave me SOMEONE'S name and phone number....
I really hadn’t planned on doing it, but by 9 pm on Saturday, having completed the construction of my son’s bed, gotten in a run, eaten dinner on my porch, and finished another great conversation with Ms. Lawless, I realized that I had a weekend evening with nothing planned.
I should have been able to relax and enjoy a quiet evening, watching TV and reading a good book, but what I really felt in that moment was loneliness. My two youngest children were at their mothers for the Mother’s Day weekend. B and I had both decided that we weren’t going to get together on Saturday ‒ or probably ever. Ms. Lawless’ wonderful Tampa friend (T) had succeeded in cooking up some trouble for the two of them, so my beautiful GF1 was off living her amazing life. She talked with me on the phone all the way up until she picked T up to go to the store. As I said goodbye to her for the evening, I sincerely hoped she would have a great time. She had been working so hard lately and deserved to have fun.
In addition to loneliness, I was pretty damned horny. The heady feeling of being desired by a 19-year-old woman (at least for a few hours) certainly had my juices flowing on Thursday and Friday. Imagining what T and Ms. Lawless were up to added some gasoline to the flames. And it had been nearly a month since I had last been with Ms. Lawless. During my marriage, a month between sexual experiences was a very welcome improvement in frequency, but now a month without sex is almost intolerable.
My first choice for an evening of fun would have been to attend a swinger’s club, but I haven’t found one yet. (As an aside, attending a swinger’s club as a “shark” is fraught with its own perils, but that’s a subject for another blog). I realized that I could simply give in to my feelings of sexual frustration and loneliness, go up to my bedroom, curl up in a ball, and go to sleep. Sleeping too much and brooding did not sound attractive at all - I tend to get depressed if I allow myself to think too much while in that kind of mood. Action is a much better choice, as long as I am responsible enough to act while keeping my vulnerabilities in mind (more on that later).
So I decided to act. I thought of Ms. Lawless in Tampa grabbing hold of life and wringing as much fun and enjoyment out of this evening as was possible, and I decided that I needed to do the same, after a fashion. I decided to go to Rusty’s West End bar, just a few miles from my apartment and see what kind of fun I could find.
I considered calling G, a good friend and coworker who is also divorced and living on his own, to see if he wanted to join me, but then I remembered that he had been sick late in the week, so I decided against calling him. With my brother living in Louisville (70 miles away), my other best friends married with children and living about 30 miles away, I really couldn’t think of another soul to call on the spur of the moment to go with me. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to do it, I was just going to have to do it alone.
As I began to get ready, I realized that the sexual frustration I was feeling could get me into trouble (as it has so often in the past), so I decided to focus on a very simple goal of introducing myself to one new person and making one new friend. I kept reminding myself that getting laid was not the plan. Ms. Lawless may not have been with me in person, but her lesson about letting go of expectations was a welcome companion on Saturday night.
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Actively Seeking
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Publié :14/5/2009 4h50
Dernière mise à jour :14/5/2009 7h28 1830 vues
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I am actively searching for a swinger’s club (are they more properly called "social clubs?” to join, but my efforts have been unsuccessful so far. On Saturday, April 25th, I went to the Louisville Manor Motel and asked an attendant about whether there was a swinger’s club that met there. The attendant said he didn’t know of any such group. I followed up that question with another, asking if he knew of any such clubs in Louisville. He responded that he had heard of such clubs but didn’t know anything about them. Not a whole lot of help there, which disappointed me, as I was sure that swingers use the Louisville Manor Motel facility.
This past week, once I got my internet connection working at the apartment, I googled a few links about swinger’s clubs. I even found one in my own small town of Bedford(!) called “Club Whispers,” but when I followed the link I was disappointed to learn that it was closed and all memberships to Club Whispers were being honored at a club called the Reel-One in Indianapolis. I need to find out who was running Club Whispers and get into their good graces…!
In addition to a couple of active clubs in Indianapolis (Reel-One and Topsideii), I did find two clubs located in Louisville. The website for one said that it is not accepting single males at the moment, so on Friday I called the other one (DJ’s Social Club). I asked for more information about it: where it was located, what the hours of operation were, etc.
The gentleman who answered (none other than DJ himself) told me that he couldn’t give out that type of information over the phone. He explained that the way his club worked was that people who wanted to join needed to meet with him for an interview and fill out an application, which he would then review. If approved, he would call me back. I told him I was very interested, and I asked him when we could meet. He said that his weekend was very busy, and that usually he conducted interviews during the week. Because our schedules did not match up, I told him that I would contact him again after I return from my business trip (Sunday the 18th), to set up a meeting with him.
So no fun found just yet, but the groundwork is being laid. Anybody with any bright ideas on how to accelerate the process, or with inside information on clubs in my area, please let me know!
Maybe I’ll celebrate my 20th (and last) wedding anniversary (May 27th) at DJ’s Social Club. Now THAT would be a wedding anniversary worth remembering!
Oh, and less than 12 hours until I get to hold Ms. Lawless in my arms again. Whereas a trip to this new club has the potential to be memorable, any time with Ms. Lawless at all is memorable, guaranteed.
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Hey Nineteen
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Publié :10/5/2009 19h46
Dernière mise à jour :13/5/2009 6h25 1390 vues
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Hey Nineteen,
No we can’t talk together
No we can’t talk at all
Please take me along when you slide on down.
---Steely Dan
B was not pleased that I told her “no” that Thursday night. I attempted to explain that I had taken a class on parenting after divorce that told me not to introduce dates to the children early in the dating relationship, but she seemed to think I was blowing her off.
After I put my daughter to bed for the night, I texted B and asked her if she wanted to talk. I decided that since she seemed really interested in having sex with me (the age gap is so large that I’m still in disbelief and doubt over that one), that I needed to tell her where I stood with regards to my relationship with Ms. Lawless and also with swinging. I did not want a 19-year-old stalker or, worse yet, a 19-year-old pissed off enough at me that she could go to my ex-wife and tell her about it when I am just now beginning the process of proposing a custody arrangement. More than anything, I just didn’t want to hurt her in any way.
We began talking, and I questioned why B would be interested in an old guy like me. She told me that she didn’t think I looked 45 at all, and that she had also had sex with a 36-year-old man previously. This helped to reassure me somewhat, but there was still a nagging doubt that I just couldn’t put aside. At some point, I asked B what she was looking for out of this. She said that was a good question, but didn’t have anything more specific to say than that. So I responded that I hoped she would let me tell her some more about myself. I asked her if she knew what a swinger was, and she replied that she did, so I then explained that I was a swinger. I asked her if she was okay with that, because if she wasn’t, we could end the conversation right there, and there would be no hard feelings on my part at all. B responded that she was okay with that, but didn’t have a whole lot to say.
I then told her that I had a girlfriend who lives in Colorado that I love very much, and that we both play with other people outside of our relationship. I told her that I would love to have sex with her, that my girlfriend would be okay with it, and that having sex with her would be a fantasy come true for a middle-aged man like me. She was okay with that, as well, so we compared schedules and determined that 7pm Friday night looked like a great time to get together. We talked about possibly having dinner or going to see a movie to break the ice, but we would text each other about 7 pm Friday evening to figure out the where and when.
As I hung up the phone, I was really in a daze. The biggest age difference between me and a sex partner is 10 years, when I had sex with M (35), when I played with her and her boyfriend L. I even recently lamented in a blog here that I would really like to lower my purity score by playing with a much younger woman (and that I was taking applications), but 26 years younger? This was way beyond my expectations, and too good to be true, my mind screamed at me. Things that are too good to be true scare the hell out of me, because it usually means they aren’t true, and it also usually means I’m getting screwed somehow (pun intended).
All sorts of crazy conspiracy theory thoughts ran through my mind. One thought I had was that my oldest son (the same age as B and they went to the same high school together, graduating in the same class of about 400 students) was setting me up for a prank. This would be just his style, and we would both get a great chuckle out of such a prank, after the black eye I would give him over it healed up. Another was that my wife was putting her up to it as a sort of custodial litmus test, and if I had sex with B, I would flunk the test big-time. That one may sound a little crazy, but my ex and her father got really upset when I flirted with a 27-year-old mother of four when I was looking for sex partners, so I could only imagine what they might try to do if I had sex with B.
I needed some advice. Late Thursday and early Friday morning, I considered texting Ms. Lawless, but she was working her butt off at her consulting job, putting in 12-15 hour days, so she had much more important things to consider than whether I should pursue a 19-year-old or not. On Friday, I talked with my brother about it, and he reassured me that I was handsome enough to strike the fancy of a young woman like B. He advised me to learn more about her sexual experience, so as to understand whether she was in this strictly for fun or looking at the situation romantically. He has always had a strong desire for much younger women, and so he joked that if he could, he would send me his dick to use after I wore out, just so he could say he had a 19-year-old at our age, too (he’s 49).
After talking with my brother, I felt better. Not completely convinced, but at least confident enough that I would go ahead with meeting her.
As afternoon rolled into evening, I got less and less accomplished at work. Living in the moment was definitely not working for me. I decided to leave about a half an hour early, head to the gym, and get my workout in. That put me back in Bedford at about 6:30 pm. I had texted B in the early afternoon about what she might like to drink, because I only had decaf coffee and water at the apartment, and I wanted to have something she might like. She did not text me back.
I waited until a little before seven to text B. She was supposed to get off work at 6:30. At the same time, I was also texting Ms. Lawless and filling her in on my “39lawless” like experience with B for the first time. I told Ms. Lawless that I was beginning to wonder if I was channeling her “boy toy” not showing up experience, and that if yes, I hoped like hell that the female equivalent of DU shows up for me.
Once Ms. Lawless got to her hotel room and back online, we started IMing each other. She was asking for more details on the situation, and I was catching her up in more detail and more rapidly than I could while texting. I explained how I had met B, how long we had been talking to each other at Walmart, how she finally decided to flirt with me (because I just wasn’t going to go there), how we talked Thursday night about my swinging lifestyle and about Ms. Lawless herself.
One moment that was very funny at the time was when I announced to Ms. Lawless that I had just gotten a text that I hoped would explain what was going on with B. I read it, and then started to relay the information in an IM to Ms. Lawless. It was taking me a while to get the IM done, transcribing word for word what B had texted me. Ms. Lawless got antsy waiting for the next juicy tidbit of information and IMed “type faster!” I just about spit all over myself laughing at that.
By 9 pm B wanted to reschedule for Saturday nite. I told her “sure”. She asked if I was upset. I said that I was “confused and disappointed, but not really upset.” I explained to her that, from my point of view this was a situation that was just not to be believed, so I was confused as to whether I was being played or not, and I was a little uncomfortable committing to Saturday nite when I wasn’t sure she would show. She did not like this response at all, and shot back “why would u be disappointed? I would be just another lay, one of many for you.”
Ms. Lawless very wisely counseled me that this response was likely a result of my admission to her that I was a swinger. Never mind that I might have had fewer sexual experiences in the last year than B has had. I asked Ms. Lawless what she thought my response should be. Her suggestion was that I didn’t need to respond at all, just let it ride and if B wanted to contact me again, the text messages go in both directions.
I replied to Ms. Lawless that I needed to respond to B because we had made plans for Saturday, and I wanted to know whether or not we were on or not. At this point, Ms. Lawless wished me luck and excused herself, stating that she needed to go and that she probably wasn’t the best one to advise me on this issue. She had been working long hours and had another day on site on Saturday, as well.
As usual, in hindsight Ms. Lawless’ advice was flawless ‒ I was too caught up in the emotion of the situation to see that truth. The best answer was simply to shut up, make any plans I wanted to for Saturday (just no plan on doing anything with B ) and let B make the next move. B would certainly get the hint that Saturday was off and do whatever she wanted.
My response to B wasn’t a terrible one (just not the best). I told her that I could tell that I had hurt her with my admission that I was a swinger and that I had a girlfriend, and that I didn’t want to make any plans for Saturday because I wasn’t sure she would show. I further told her that, given my doubts as to whether she was serious or not, a second no-show likely would upset me, and I would be done with her.
So we didn’t make any plans for Saturday. We also didn’t schedule any future times to meet. And although we exchanged a few more text messages on Saturday and a couple today, I decided that I should let her wiggle off the hook if she wanted to. I sent her a text asking if she regretted exchanging phone numbers. I told her that if she did, I would delete her number and wouldn’t bother her again, but that I hoped we could go back to just saying hi to each other when we saw each other in Walmart. Just about an hour ago, she admitted that she did regret giving me her number and asked me to delete it. I did. And she hoped we could go back to saying hi to each other, as well.
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Ten Days Already
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Publié :10/5/2009 5h27
Dernière mise à jour :17/5/2009 14h25 1219 vues
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It’s hard for me to believe this, but I’ve already been in my new apartment for ten days now. It’s a nice place ‒ a two story duplex house, with my apartment on the right as you face the front. It has an attached storage shed in the back and parking in an alley behind the house, so that I don’t have to park on the street out front. It’s not as nice as having a garage like I had at my old house, but it will still do nicely (at least until winter).
One of the nicest things about it is how clean it is. For some reason, my old house was always very dusty. It seemed like a layer of dust would settle on something in that house within minutes of the time you sat it down. Thankfully, after ten days there is no sign of dust here, and I haven’t lifted a finger to do any dusting, either.
The apartment is a little smaller than I’d like ‒ it’s a two bedroom when I really could use three ‒ one for me and one each for my two younger children (one boy, one girl) when they stay over here. That was one of the reasons that I decided to pay an extra $25 a month for a six month lease instead of a year. Until the end of October we will have to make do with two bedrooms, so we hashed it out, and when they come over, the oldest of the two (my second son) will get the 2nd bedroom, and my daughter will take my room. I will sleep downstairs on the couch. Maybe. My daughter, who is eight, will probably beg me to sleep upstairs with her. At this point, she’s concerned that the upstairs is haunted.
Certainly, one of the reasons why time has flown by is that I’ve been so busy. At least 20 trips to the local Walmart (about a mile down John Williams Boulevard) for crap that I don’t have (and a lot of stuff that I really don’t need but wanted). Probably close to that many trips to the old house to get crap that I do need. And to wash and dry my clothes, because while I have hookups for a washer and dryer, mine are staying with the ex. One item on my “to do” list is to find a laundromat nearby. Two trips to the DMV, one to find out that the DMV is closed on Mondays (WTF?) and a second to get my license changed to my new address (at least the picture is a little better this time, even if my eyes look like they are bugging out of my head). One afternoon waiting for the cable and internet to get turned on. Several hours spread over several days wrestling with the wireless router before giving up and calling tech support yesterday. At least it’s working now.
I’ve also been slowly gathering the pieces for a bed for my son. Got the frame for it from a friend, but they informed me that they lost the frame bolts, so I went to Lowes and bought bolts, only to find out that the bolts were too short, so I went back and bought longer ones. We had an extra box spring at my old house, so I made a trip over there to get that. On Saturday, I drove around town certain that I would find a place that sold mattresses. After about twenty minutes of fruitless driving, I decided to go back to my apartment to look up a place that did in the phone book. After finding one, I went there and shopped, but quickly realized two things: (1) I was going to need a truck because I wasn’t going to be able to fit a mattress in my Ford Focus and (2) I wasn’t sure whether I needed a twin or a full-sized mattress. So it was back to the apartment to measure the bed (twin) and then back to the ex’s to borrow her neighbor’s truck, which she was borrowing herself because her car is being repaired.
After taking possession of the truck (leaving my car with my ex as collateral), I made one of those many trips to Walmart for sheets, pillows, and a comforter. Dropped those off at the apartment, then headed off to the furniture store to buy the mattress. Transported the mattress back to the house, lugged it upstairs, added it to the rest of the bed, and started tearing into the pillows, sheets, and comforter bags. Soon I had everything assembled, except that the sheets I bought were actually just ONE sheet, the flat sheet rather than the form fitting one. Who the hell sells just one sheet? Apparently “Mainstays” does…. Another trip to Walmart for the form fitting sheet (sitting right next to the flat sheet on the shelf, duh!), my collection was finally complete, and I had a bed that was fit for my son to sleep in.
So far, I’ve had three house guests, not counting a few others who dropped of a bed frame (friends), stopped by to see the place (ex, neighbor girl), or helped me move something in (ex, oldest son). My middle son has come over for two visits of a couple of hours each. My daughter has spent the night with me twice, once on the first night that I moved in and the second time this past Thursday night. My brother visited last week to celebrate my daughter’s First Communion and to help me move some stuff in to the apartment. Later, we watched “Cleavagefield,” while having a very fun and naughty conversation with my GF1, Ms. Lawless. I’m not sure yet whether we are going to talk him into a threesome. At this point, we will just have to consider that a “stretch goal”!
Ms. Lawless seems like she has been a houseguest. Despite her hectic schedule, she has been spoiling me with tenderness and affection through long phone calls and instant message sessions, and numerous text messages. I try to save my favorite texts from Ms. Lawless for as long as I can, but I have so many favorites stored there that I am now faced with making some tough choices on which ones to delete.
I did have the opportunity to have a fourth house guest recently. B is a 19-year-old woman whom I had met several months ago while I was shopping at (where else?) Walmart. She was working as a cashier for the line I was standing in. While waiting my turn, I noticed that she had a beautiful smile. A few months earlier (before my marriage was in tatters) I would have simply taken notice of the smile but done nothing about it. This time as she handed me my receipt, I decided to tell her that she had a beautiful smile. As a reward for that remark, she gave me another smile and, showing genuine gratitude, she said, “Why, thank you!”
Putting B and Ms. Lawless in the same room would be hazardous to that room. Two smiles with the potential to light up a room like theirs would probably blow out the walls if both of them smiled at the same time.
From my oldest son, I learned that B was his age (19), not the mid-twenties I thought she was. Oops, my bad! Over the next few months, I decided to be nice enough to say “hi” and engage in a little small talk when I saw her, but I was careful not to linger too long around her. This past Thursday evening, I started small-talking with her again, when she decided to compliment me on my looks, telling me, “You look like Kevin Costner, and that is a very GOOD thing.”
I was absolutely stunned. I’m not sure what I said next, but somehow we ended up exchanging phone numbers. Soon we were exchanging text messages, and she was even telling me that I was a handsome stud and that, despite our age difference, “you know you are going to get this.” Shit!
She wanted to come over to my apartment on Thursday night after her work shift, but since I had my daughter, I told B no. I could just see my daughter telling her Mom about hanging out with me and B. I don’t think that I would lose visitation with my children in the divorce proceedings over such a visit, but since I had just finished a “Parents Forever” seminar where the counselor implored us not to introduce our children to dates, I decided that this was an opportunity that I had to pass on.
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A Day in the Life of Luna's Muggle Lover
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Publié :5/5/2009 17h53
Dernière mise à jour :5/5/2009 19h17 1345 vues
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I am a 45-year-old man who is blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Luna Lovegood is my hot, 27-year-old girlfriend. She is also a witch.
Luna comes by her surname honestly, because she is an amazing lover. She is brilliant in everything she chooses to do, with perspectives on just about every topic that make me re-examine my beliefs just about every day. And in the bedroom (or on the floor, or while snuggling in the branches of a dirigible plum tree), she makes my passion glow like Harry Potter’s stag patronus during the new moon of December.
Luna is also a bisexual and a swinger. She loves me above all (besides herself of course), but just as she would never limit herself to one series of books or one author, she would never limit herself to one sex or sex partner. Luna’s favorite girlfriend sex partner is none other than Harry’s wife, Ginny. Harry and I love to sit back and watch as Luna and Ginny take turns pleasuring each other.
There are definitely some advantages to having an accomplished witch as your girlfriend, especially one who is so adept at potions and draughts. Luna keeps a steady supply of fresh Polyjuice potion handy and travels the world on her thestral to get hair follicles of the most desirable women on the planet, just so she can transform herself into any woman I might be fantasizing about at the moment. One night I am with Luna, the next with (Luna as) Jennifer Aniston, Ginny Potter, Hermione Weasely, Beyonce Knowles, or Nicole Kidman…!
And the things Luna can do with virility draughts! She always fixes me a sex potion before we go to our favorite swingers club. After drinking one of her sex potions, I am ready to go all night with as many women as I want (or with just one woman as long as I want). Luna’s potion strengthens my tongue muscles so that I can lick my partner’s pussy with more or less pressure or speed as needed. Her virility draught is so expertly brewed that I can appear to have a very large erection in order to fan the flames of lust in my partner, but then I can also “shrink” if needed to be the perfect size for her utmost pleasure during sex!
One recent night while Harry and I were watching Ginny taking Luna in her ass with a strap-on dildo, we had set up a special surprise for Harry. I excused myself to sneak a sip of leftover “Nicole” polyjuice potion, discarded my boxer briefs (they weren’t very sexy on Nicole’s body anyway), and then returned to the sofa to snuggle close to Harry and watch the show some more.
As we watched Ginny and Luna, Harry was soon running his fingers down my naked back, raising the hairs on the back of my Nicole neck and making my Nicole pussy wet. I looked up into his beautiful green eyes and reached out with my hand to rub his chest. His look told me that he knew I was really Luna’s boyfriend and not Nicole, but that he didn’t care ‒ he wanted to fuck me anyway.
Soon, I was removing his pants and kneeling between his legs to suck his cock. Harry has a beautiful cock, but as I ran my tongue along the connection between the glans and his shaft, I wondered whether Harry or Ginny might be just as accomplished as Luna in virility potions … the perfect cock for the moment? Whether real or potion-enhanced, the thought of his cock inside my Nicole pussy definitely inflamed at the moment.
I spread my legs and Harry was kissing my breasts, my ribs, slowly making his way down to lick my pussy. After just a few licks, I could stand it no more. I had to have him, now!
“Please fuck me now, Harry” I begged him. He smiled at me, but pretended not to hear as he went down on me again. His licks were forcing gasps and moans of pleasure out of me, my body spasming uncontrollably. I grabbed his hair and pulled him up to me, forcing him to stop licking me so that I could catch my breath. But even before I could recover, he was inside me, fucking me, kissing me (he smelled like pussy ‒ my Nicole pussy!), pulling one-two-three orgasms out of me in rapid succession.
Soon, he was moaning and gasping himself, and the intensity of his thrusts continued to build, taking me to even higher levels of pleasure. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and pleaded with him to come inside me. Goosebumps exploded on his arms and chest as he drilled my pussy and slammed his pelvic bone against mine. In the next instant, he was coming inside me, kissing my neck as we embraced.
This was just another typical day in my life with Luna: my beliefs tested, my horizons expanded, inhibitions thrown to the winds. How else can I explain that I, a heterosexual muggle male, fully enjoyed some hot sex in the body of Nicole Kidman with the husband of Ginny Potter?
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Communication and Separation
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Publié :29/4/2009 21h59
Dernière mise à jour :5/5/2009 19h18 1704 vues
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My relationship with LadyFriend has brought into sharp focus for me a required element that was missing in my marriage. Great sex certainly comes to mind (and it comes to my mind very often), but in this case I am talking about communication. Today, I am owning up to the fact that I did not respect my wife as my equal, as a full partner in our marriage. As a result, I failed to communicate with her when I was prepared to make an important decision that affected our lives. Additionally, I failed to share with her the little things that happen daily ‒ the secret actions and thoughts that lay bare the soul, allowing the creation of an intimate bond between two lovers.
To be fair to myself, I learned early on in our marriage that we just do not communicate well. It seems like it takes us two hours to get our points across in what should be a 15 minute conversation. We value things differently - including whether sex is critically important in a relationship or simply a necessary evil - so there are the frequent arguments that slow progress to a crawl. And even when we would see eye-to-eye, it seemed like there was a critical misunderstanding about who, what, when, where, why, or how.
Unfortunately for my marriage, in order to get anything accomplished in a time-efficient manner, I began taking the shortcut of NOT communicating. When it came time to put more (or less) money in the 401k every paycheck, I didn't ask what she thought - I just did it. Something significant or funny happen at the office today? She didn't ask, and I didn't attempt to explain it to her.
So let’s leave it alone
Cause we can’t see eye-to-eye
There ain’t no good guys
There ain’t no bad guys
There’s only you and me, and we just disagree.
Here is a perfect example of how we don’t agree and how that causes us to spend hours on a conversation that should take minutes.
Last Sunday evening, my wife told me in a very ominous tone, “We need to talk.” I had no idea what I had done and was genuinely confused when I walked out on the back porch to learn what was so important. My wife explained to me that my oldest son’s new girlfriend is “terribly uncomfortable” around me. At issue, it seems, was that I had walked into my bedroom at 10 pm on a work night (to go to bed), and my son was on top of his girlfriend with his hands up her shirt playing with her breasts. In order to defuse an awkward situation, I attempted to use humor, telling them “don’t mind me” and “get the hell out of my room, I need to go to bed.” At the time, both of them laughed at the situation. I retreated to allow them to get fully dressed, and in a few minutes they had vacated my room.
Acknowledging that the situation might have been more awkward for my son’s girlfriend than what she let on at the time, I told my wife that I would contact our son and send my apologies to his girlfriend through him. And that should have been it, right?
Unfortunately, that was ONLY the beginning. My wife decided to rant on how my behavior could have landed me in jail. I’m still not sure what I would be charged with. Lame humor? Then she proceeded to attack me for giving my son a book on sex practices that are found in the Kama Sutra and The Secret Garden. Now, I know for a fact that my wife has never read a book on this subject, and if she ever does (on purpose) I will be completely shocked. She told me that I was wrong to give him that book, and “if HER son is going to turn into a sex pervert, let him do it on his own.”
I responded that, since it is an undeniable fact that OUR son and his girlfriend are having (protected) sex, they should get the most enjoyment out of the act possible. I told her that we would have to agree to disagree on whether it was right or wrong to do give him the book, and that I wasn’t going to take the book back unless my son decided he didn’t want it.
And there were MANY more points brought up during this talk, from how I did her wrong before we were married, how I did her wrong five years into the marriage, ten years into it, and so on. At the end of two exhausting hours of what was at most should have been a 15 minute conversation, I simply said (again) that I would apologize and that as far as I was concerned, this conversation was at an end.
Except it wasn’t, because she followed me to my room for another 15 minutes of sparring; rehashing the same points again, disagreeing on key points without changing the other’s opinions, blah, blah, blah. Absolutely exhausting! No wonder I take stress medication, and no wonder I have stopped needing to take so much stress medication since she filed for divorce.
The second incident happened earlier today and shows how, even when we DO communicate and develop a plan of action, we often end up with a misunderstanding in execution that ends up pissing one or the other of us off (or both).
A couple of days ago, in order to begin the process of separating our finances, I put together a spreadsheet that lists all of our income and all of our bills. I took a stab at which bills she should be paying once we split and which ones I should be paying. From that spreadsheet, I was able to come up with a dollar amount that we should each receive. I got more than she did on the spreadsheet, but that was only because I was taking all of the big bills. My wife didn’t have any problem with this and even helped me get more accuracy in the spreadsheet by pointing out where I had underestimated some bills and overestimated others.
After getting a great response from her on this spreadsheet, I proposed that we go ahead and get our separate accounts set up, and then split the next paycheck along the lines in the spreadsheet. She said okay to this, but she wanted to wait until this Friday to do so. I said that was okay with me, because we both needed to be present to remove my name from her account and remove her name from my account, and Friday was the earliest we could both make it to the bank branch where we live.
So, today I went to the bank branch near my work and modified how the money was going to be distributed to each account. I sent her a courtesy text message telling her that the distribution of the paycheck was set, and that all we had to do now was go in on Friday and remove our names from each other’s accounts.
At this news, she went ballistic. Instead of paying attention to my training class, I ended up engaging in a text message war with her. I attempted to explain (without success) that I didn’t do anything permanent, that the distribution amounts I changed today could be changed back tomorrow if she had real heartburn with the numbers. Not only was this point not getting across, she was so upset that she decided to tell me that I needed to move out of our house immediately, and that I should ask one of my co-workers if I could spend the night with them.
So I did, and one of my co-workers was gracious enough to offer me his couch for the evening. After I explained to my co-workers what was happening, one said that I needed to “put on the big boy pants, tell her that I wasn’t leaving the house, and if she had a problem with that, go get a restraining order from a judge.” Another told me that I should consult with my lawyer before deciding to leave. Great advice from both.
This is the life I have been leading for the last twenty years. Sigh. I know that I am not the greatest communicator in the world, but it seems that with my wife, the comprehension between the two of us grinds to a screeching halt when we attempt to communicate. It is not very surprising that for at least 15 years, we never felt close to each other except through a shared experience with one of our three children.
The silver lining in all this is that this last miscommunication lit a fire under my rear end regarding locking down an apartment for May. After talking with my wife, I contacted a rental agency about a property. I completed an online application. After work, I inspected the property and found it suitable for my needs. While I was at the property, the rental agent called me to tell me that my application was approved, and I asked when I could sign the papers. I drove up to his office this evening, signed the papers, paid my rent and deposit, and took possession of the keys.
When I came home, I told my wife that I now have an apartment, but that I would be spending the next couple of days in our home until I get the electric and utilities turned on.
By Saturday, I will be separated.
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