Thursday, April 30, 2009
Read the rest...
"Doesn't sound like you're lonely, just bored and maybe in need of some lovin. How about finding a fuck buddy?"
Read the rest...
For me? I prefer slimmer over chunkier, but I'll date either. I prefer a woman who knows how to dress, even if she's hipster trash but looks good in it. I like a gal who isn't afraid of her own shadow and can keep up with my stamina in terms of seeking adventure and finding it. I love me a woman who wears glasses rather than contacts. Small boobs are greater than huge ones. I love a closet whore who can talk smack with me while watching reruns but who acts prim and proper in social settings. Most of all, I prefer a woman who has things to do with her time so that I don't have to keep her occupied 7 days a week; this is why I prefer to date women who have serious (but not necessarily live-in) boyfriends. I'm exciting, I'm financially solid, and I'm a lover AND a fighter. Sadly, I'm a terrible boyfriend, my life just gets too hectic with no real schedule or warning.
Read the rest...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Read the rest...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Read the rest...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Read the rest...
Her bra is also purple, just lacey enough to know she's proud of her feminine figure, but not too racy to say that she knew this was going to happen. It's obvious she's turned on by the darkened wet spot showing through the whites of her panties. I only looked once, but her body is fantastic. Her legs are shaven, her hips are boney but not too thin, and her chest is a perfect size for me (maybe a little on the small side, but I prefer them smaller over saggy).
Her moans are getting louder, her pleading starts to form words. "Please, eat me." Eat what? "Eat my, please." Where? "My, my..." Yes? "Eat my vagina." Poor girl, no dirty talk. Tell me to eat your pussy. "Please, eat me, eat my... my, pussy." Tell me to lick your cunt. "Ohhhh" she moans. "Please." Tell me. "Lick my cunt, please, eat my pussy." When she is halfway through that phrase, I touch my tongue so softly on her clit that she mumbles the rest.
Read the rest...
Right away, Kerry buys a round of drinks with a $100 bill. Interesting. Trust-fund baby? Good job? Or just didn't have time to break a birthday gift? Who knows.
The night progresses and I'm getting MORE sober. Liz is outpacing us 2-1. Kerry's on her 3rd drink of the night as it gets closer to 3am. Liz hits the head, and Kerry leans in. "Liz told me about your predicament." Which one is that? I have a few. "About your dearth of decent women in your life." Ugh. At least she used the word dearth. I'm not looking anymore, having drinks like this is the perfect way to end the night. Her face pouts a bit, but then she smiles and says "Tacos later?"
I'm actually hungry. Liz comes back out after a long wait, and she says she's dead tired and can't even fathom putting more starch in her belly. We pop outside in the light rain, and we decide to part ways. Liz looks beat, for sure, so I give her a smooch and she grabs the only waiting cab. "So, tacos?" asked Kerry again. Yeah, I could really go for some Mexican, but without the shell. She rubs my abs quickly and says "Is that how you stay skinny?" Skinny? Me? I've 20 pounds on me that must go, but I'd fall asleep in 18 seconds if I bundle up on corn and wheat. Kerry smiles and winks.
Another cab pulls up, and I hold the door for Kerry. "Thank you, ChicagoSane." I smile and wink back, and I hop in the back with her. Her hand is on my leg as we talk about her plans for the summer. "Mostly moving. Finding a roommate. Really not sure about Chicago, but the school I'm attending gets good reviews." She's going back to school for something technical, which is a nice change from what seems to be a common topic. The cab heads to Lazo's on Western and Fullerton or so. Open 24/7. We pop in, and I ask for a seat. "Let's get it to go." Kerry is staying with friends, so I ask her where she wants to eat it. "Your apartment!"
That's not a good idea, I tell her. She's Liz's friend, and if she didn't know, Liz and I fooled around. "Oh, it's just tacos. I'll crash on the couch." I live far from here, northwest side. "I have no idea where that is. Do cabs go there?" Of course.
So we grab our double order of steak and chicken combo fajitas to go. There's a cab out front (a different one), and with our luck we snag it before the drunk yuppies stumble out of Lazo's. It took almost 20 minutes to get up to my place. By the time we arrived, we're both sober.
We quietly walk into my place and she grabs a seat on my couch. "Can you reheat the food?" Kerry asks me. I stick it in the microwave after dumping all the foil and cardboard, and hit the "reheat meat" button. 3 minutes at 50%. I sit down next to her, and we talk.
After the food is heated, she goes to check on it. "Ouch, that's hot!" she said, a little too loud for 4am. "I'll let it cool off." She slams the microwave door shut and sits right back down next to me.
I turn to ask her what part of Chicago she's planning to move to when she plants her lips on mine. I start to pull my shoulders back when her hands both grab them, playing the best offensive move against my very weak defense. She pulls her tiny self closer to me, and I finally accept the kiss from her small mouth.
A few minutes of that, with my arms slowly pulling her in, and I finally break it. I tell her she's pretty, but I'm not looking to run through all of Liz's friends, and I definitely don't want to hurt Liz's feelings. "I asked Liz if I can take you home. She approved." Oh. "And none of her friends would be into you. You're too edgy, and I know they'd be scared of you." That's true, I do scare a lot of people with my lack of reality. "To be honest, I didn't see the attraction at the start..."
What about the food? "It can wait." We get back to kissing. She's not too bad, but not great. Small mouth, slim lips, young. I slow her down, her hands in my hands, and move closer without my lips touching. She keeps jumping her face onto mine, and I pull back, only giving her a kiss on my terms. Softer. Smoother. Less impact, less tongue, more eye contact, more tension being built.
"Why do you tease me?" I don't reply, just look in her eyes and she hops back to try to kiss me. I pull back just enough that she comes up short. "No, why?"
With her hands in mine, I pull them down to her lap and use my shoulder to push her shoulder onto the couch. Our eyebrows touch momentarily, and our eyes are locked. Her first moan leaves her lips as her eyes roll up and close. She's getting very, very sexy.
"Bedroom?" she asks. No, there's no rush. I wasn't even considering sleeping with her, honestly. She's pretty, but her sense of tease and sexiness matches that of most women her age. If I wasn't the man that I am, I'd already have fucked her and sent her on her way in a cab. I'm this kind of man, one who isn't just about meeting my needs if I can't meet hers.
Lets take it slow. "Ok" she tries to say, but before the O is finished I put my lips on hers and release her hands. Her hands touch my shoulder and work their way down my body as my hands are planted on the couch to keep me from smothering her. Good hands, this one. As my lips grace her jawline, she moans again. "Bed, please..."
I haven't been kissing her 15 minutes and she's begging? Not a good sign. So I tell her: I don't sleep with girls who sleep around, really. I don't think the bedroom is a good idea.
Then she says it.
"Umm, I'm a virgin." What? "A virgin? Haven't had sex, well, umm, intercourse?" That's the first two times she's used the word "umm" all night. She's fidgety now, barely able to look into my eyes.
Do you want to have sex? With me? "Umm, yes. Please. Liz told me about your few dates or whatever, and that's why I wanted to meet you." Fuck, I've been had! A blind date hook-up from one hot girl who introduces me to a pretty girl, and she has to be a fucking virgin.
Back in high school, I had many female friends. I wasn't a player. My two serious girlfriends didn't sleep with me because I wasn't ready to take them there. But I ended up sleeping with 6 of my closest gal pals because they all wanted to lose their virginities before college. So I'm the de facto 30-something expert on doing it right. I told Liz this story, and I wonder if she told Kerry.
"Look, I don't live here. I might live here, but if I do, I'm not going to chase you. I can get it from guys my age, but most of them can't even kiss, and not like that." These words she said are paraphrased, because my mind was swimming. The virgins I've bedded knew it was going to happen only a few times (and sometimes repeated in the years since, but it was always great sex). This is a different situation. I haven't bedded a virgin in almost 13 years.
She noticed my perplexity. "If not sex, let's just fool around. When I first saw you at the bar, I didn't think much of you. But all night all I could think about were your lips and hair and eyes and shoulders and hands and your voice." Ah, the voice. I do some voiceover work, and if a woman finds me ugly (and yes, some do), the voice will usually win them over. Ugh.
I kiss her again, sealing the idea that something will happen.
Read on in Part III.
Read the rest...
I met up with Liz at 21:00 sharp, walking up as my cell phone clock informed me of the instantaneous switch from 8:59pm to 9:00pm. I like to be on-time, but watching it happen the second I walked in to the Empty Bottle was a little freaky.
Liz was there, and she was dolled up. She was wearing a dress, which is a first for me, and looked fantastic. I still haven't really seen her tits, though. When we fucked, she wore her sweatshirt, and when she gave me head, she wore a blue hoodie. Now that she's pushing her cleavage way up, I had second thoughts about not asking her back to my bedroom for our first non-cramped experience.
It made things worse that she has amazing legs which I didn't take note of in my car so many months ago. Wow.
She skipped up to me and planted a nice, friendly hello kiss on my lips. Very European, and also a hilariously friendly tease because she knew the minor state I'm in.
I ordered a whiskey-on-the-rocks, and bought Liz whatever draught beer she asked for. A fairly amazing violist (viola-ist?) Anni Rossi is playing her viola, which I really got into, albeit peripherally.
Sadly, it isn't hipster central, but enough doofii (doofuses?) abound for Liz and I to make up funny stories about them. One guy is wearing huge green glasses (not sunglasses) that are obviously no prescription. His girlfriend looks like my dad, dressed as he would've in the 70s. His girlfriend's belly is significantly bigger than her tits, and I think he called her Frank. They started noticing us too much, so we stopped watching them.
The music overall seemed decent, and the bands that followed weren't all that great. Liz and I chuckled about some of the lyrics we obviously misheard, and we were into our 3rd round when the night changed, maybe for the better.
Liz is talking to me about her upcoming week. "So I'm 99% sure that I'm going to blow off work on Tuesday because" -- SQUEEEEEEEAL. Nothing frightens me, ever. I don't get adrenalin rushes. I don't jump when someone tries to scare me from behind me. I think I jumped about 3 feet from ehr squeal. "Hold on, hold on, keep that thought!" she exclaimed, even though it was her sentence, and her thought, she interrupted. She took off behind me.
I turned to have another sip of my cocktail, basically ignoring wherever she ran off to. Not paying attention gives me ammo in case I see JUST ONE other cutie I can go say hi to in the bar. Fat chance (literally).
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Liz beaming a huge smile. With her is finally another good-looking girl in the bar, a redhead. "This is Kari." Oh, no, not another Kari. How do you spell that? "K-E-R-R-Y" the lithe girl says in a surprisingly low voice.
She puts her hand out to shake mine. My hands are grotesquely dirty, I mention, but she grabs it anyway. Firm shake, too.
"We've been friends since back home," says Liz, with Kerry nodding her head. "She's a bit younger, was first friends with my younger brother." Liz is 27, maybe 28 by now, so I tag Kerry at 24/25. Very pretty. Not cute, just pretty. I asked if she lived in the city.
"No, I'm maybe moving to town to go to school, though." I figured it was a Master's Degree, but I didn't ask. "Not art school," she said. I'm guessing Liz mentioned my bad attitude about all the people bundling on an additional $100,000 worth of debt to add another art degree.
Liz buys another round of drinks, but I sit this one out, accepting a Diet Coke or whatever it is that the Empty Bottle sells that is sans sucre. We all jump into a festive discussion about the scenesters, and how both girls are dressed in clothes that aren't expensive but still cost more than everyone else's outfits combined.
After the round, the music is getting worse, so we hit the road, grabbing a miracle cab on Western. The weather is chilly, rainy, dreary. I'm in the front seat with the ladies in the back. I catch Kerry's eyes on me constantly through the cab's rearview, which is defectively pointing straight back at enough of a warped angle that I can see her through her passenger window. She smiles, I smile back, then I turn to angle over my shoulder to inquire where we're going.
"Something on Western north of here," squealed Liz, who is obviously happy that two of her friends are out with her. Minor excitement ensues as we tell the cabbie to pull over to the first bar on the right we pass. It's a longwhile, but we end up at Underbar, a 4am bar near Western and Belmont. Fine with me.
We hop out, and the place is jammed with more scenesters. It's OK, I'm sure it's $2 PBR night. The bouncer spends 3 seconds looking at my ID, about 15 seconds on Liz's, and over a minute on Kerry's. He passes Kerry's ID to another guy, who nods, and he hands it back to her. We're in.
Read more in Part II.
Read the rest...
The rest of the evening could take 5000 words to write. I plan on writing it today. Almost found my bliss, but the endgame fell short of victory.
Good stuff to come later. Need more coffee, maybe an omelette or two.
Read the rest...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
hey dude, its spring and we havent spent more than 15 minutes together since we ran into each other this week at that bar. how about we get together saturday night closer to me and we do some real drinking and maybe make fun of the hipsters like you promised? im free, the boyfriend is out for the weekend fishing or hunting or something and im kinda bored with my friends. maybe 9 or so?
I contemplated it all morning and shot back my reply. "Ok. Get dolled up."
It's not that I'm not really interested in spending time with her, honestly kicking back Scotch on the rocks, but I'm fearful of the new chance at developing a fuck buddy relationship, when we both agreed it wasn't a good idea.
Liz is really cute. 27, which is a good age for me. She's fun, and we do have a lot in common. The sex is amazing, and from what I gather it's great for her, too. I've said it before: I like to have regular sex with a woman who has a great boyfriend who is just boring in bed. Some guys can never learn. Liz would be an obvious choice, except for the fact that she's comtemplating moving in with her beau. That's a good choice, he sounds well-rounded and probably is an excellent provider.
So I'll meet her for drinks, for sure. If she's dolled up, which I hope she is, I can always use her as bait to catch the eye of another pretty girl in the same pub. Should that happen, I'm sure she'll be a good wingman. If I meet a pretty girl in a bar, I'm the kind of guy to go up, say hi, chat for 35 seconds and get her number. It won't take from our drinking and poking fun at badly-dressed scenesters that seem to creep into every village and region of Chicago.
The only problem is that I can really use a night of sweaty banging. It's been awhile, and I think it's the right time for sex. It's raining, and there's nothing better than a good rain to knock the power out while I spill my seed multiple times in a humid bedroom. But Liz is out of the question. If I have to fight the urge, I will. She's too much fun to ruin over a just-sex relationship, and she's too involved to be more than a beer buddy.
It's sad that Celine is dating Paulo still, because she's more of a natural meld for that sort of relationship. But, alas, she's definitely sticking to Paulo for the long haul; he has everything a woman can want and is faithful, to boot.
Maybe tonight will just be a night of drinking with a pal and a cab ride home. If so, it's OK. I'm not going to actively look for sex, just like I don't actively look for love. I think the meter is ticking at 5 months, though, but the worst thing I can do is find another used whore in another hipster bar to try to hook up with a few weeks from now.
That settles it: I'm going grocery shopping tomorrow. Whole Foods is, and will continue to be, the best store of under-estrogened women with too much testosterone. It's too bad that store is anti-Splenda, or I'd be there much more often. Here's to xylitol consumption, at least.
And Bea Arthur is dead. That's sad.
Read the rest...
He asked me a few questions, I asked him a few questions. Yada, yada, yada, 45 minutes later he announced that he had to leave. "You have a date tonight, don't you?" I asked. He was a little evasive, but quickly admitted that he did have a date tonight.
I don't think he was one of the hot young guys when he was in high school, I think he wanted to meet me just so he could truthfully say to himself (and to whomever else he talked with about such things) that on Saturday, April 25, 2009, at the age of 62, probably for the first time in his life, he had dates with two real live women on the same day.
I'm assuming the author of that blog is probably in her (?) 40s or 50s, but who really knows. Being in my 30s, I've given up dating for awhile mostly because of the lack of interesting women that have a similar trajectory in life. I can understand what Madame Yu See sees frustrating in dating, especially in that chapter of life because I feel a certain difficulty with people in my arguably-a-touch-younger generation.
To me, women in my dating market (let's say 24 to 44) don't date competitively. Do you stick to ONLY one grocery store or ONLY one mega-shop (Target/Walmart, etc) before you select your favorite, or do you try a few differet ones? I feel the same way about dating.
Sadly, people my age tie dating to sex too often, and too quickly. I don't have sex with girls I date unless it is going to get serious. Then, if I do sleep with them, it better be serious and monogamous. During the dating process, I'll actively date many women. Why? Because I don't want to make the mistake of falling into a codependent relationship just because there's a girl in front of me who likes me.
When you have 2 or 3 choices of people to date, you give yourself a nice relief-valve. The minute that a woman I date does something psychotic or insane, I dump them. It's usually 2 dates.
I'm not a harsh critique, my definition of insanity really IS insanity (read: adding your entire family from Facebook within 2 dates). That's no good.
As I said before, I also don't sleep with people I date unless it's been awhile. 3 months or 6 months at the minimum, and few make it that far.
Some who read this blog on occasion know I can be pretty graphic about sex, but I like sex. I don't need it daily, weekly or even yearly, but I like it when I can get it. If I am not dating, I see nothing wrong with casual, safe sex. Not with hundreds of women a lifetime, but one or two a year is fine. Even 3 or 4 is possible. I don't do one-night-stands, generally (Celine and Liz were both rarities, and Liz has emailed me about hooking up again if I'm interested).
For now, I won't date. I don't have the patience at this point in my life. I'm busy. I like being single with my tiny abode and my low cost of living. That doesn't mean I'm keeping it in my pants, but I'm not actively looking for sex, either.
When it comes time to date -- or to fuck -- I'll look at ALL my options and not keep it to 1 woman. It's mutually safer for both of us, all of us, and it keeps things interesting, competitive, and raises the desire level of the others for sure.
If you're dating, and your date obviously has another date after you, why aren't you doing the same?
Read the rest...
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I hopped in the car and drove to my usual bank, which is 15 minutes further than the closest branch of the same bank corporation. I prefer my usual bank as the business teller is a great guy who never needs me to fill out anything, and does it all quickly.
Much to my surprise, Mr. Business Teller is off today, and who happens to be in his place? Laura, my one serious crush in the past 5 years. Laura is a senior teller at another branch that I used to visit once a week for 3 years. A great client is less than a mile from her old branch, and they always paid on Thursdays. I'd grab their checks and run to that branch, make my deposits, and drink their terrible coffee.
Laura was my teller about 50% of the time, and she was always friendly. A youthful 23, still in school, taller than me at 5'10" and great brown eyes and natural brown hair. The fact that she wore glasses only made me crush on her more. Please do note that I stopped having crushes on women at the age of 15. It's just not typical of me.
After 2 years of regular deposits, I finally asked Laura for her number. This is going back 2 years from today, almost to the day. She smiled and said she doesn't date clients. That's a cop out excuse, because it's usually a nice way to say one's not interested. I told her that's OK, asked her about her schooling, and left. My weekly deposits continued, and she was never fazed to handle my deposits. Sometimes women seem shy after they've shunned me, but I take it in stride. I'm a funky looking guy with meticulous garb, so I can understand them saying no as much as I can understand them saying yes.
Around the end of the summer of 2007, Laura handled a deposit of mine, and on the receipt she jotted down her email address. I hate email addresses, I'm a phone guy. I don't call to chit-chat, I call to make plans in 2 minutes and get on with my life. I prefer conversation face-to-face; email is hard to read properly.
I stuck the receipt in my pocket, and forgot about it. The following week, I went to make a deposit, and Laura was helping someone else, so I jumped into the non-commercial line. I made my deposit, smiled to Laura, and left. Before I hopped into my car, I heard a cute voice call my name. "ChicagoSane, wait!" I turned, slowly, and there was Laura, trotting out as well as an Amazon-tall gal can trot.
"I was hoping you'd email me!" she squeaked. I smiled and shrugged, and said I probably lost the email address. I put my hand in my pocket full of receipts, and pulled them all out. My luck: her receipt was right on top of the bunch, with her address prominently displayed. Oops.
"Well, now you have no excuse," she said. I don't like email, how about a phone number? "I don't give that out often," she replied. I guess you're not that into me, sort of like that Oprah guy says. "Oh, that's not it at all. Send me an email, and let's see how it goes." This will not end well, I thought.
So another week goes by, and I forgot about emailing her, although I must have jerked off thinking about her 5 times over the week. She's gorgeous in the body, and her face is pretty enough. Great mouth, squinty eyes, and nothing is too big on her, just like I like it. The fact that she towers over me is also a boon, as I usually find myself attracting taller girls anyway.
As I'm leaving my client's, I realize I should drop her an email. I send it off, and before logging out there's already a reply:
"I'm on my lunch break, ran home to eat. See you as usual?" I didn't reply. I logged off, went to accounting to grab my check, and after the usual wait for a signature, I left. I arrived at Bank of America (her bank), and there she was, smiling at me the moment I walked in the door. She took my deposit, and I asked her to dinner. How about next Tuesday?
"Ok, but I'm broke right now, have to save up for tuition next fall." No problem, I don't usually pay for new friends, but I'll make one exception. "Friends?" she asked. I smiled and said that's where we are, or at the very least acquaintances. Her smile vanished and she looked pouty, so I said my goodbye and took my leave.
I didn't get home for a few hours, but when I did, there was an email from her. "Sorry I didn't make myself more clear. When you asked for my phone number, I didn't really think about it. The more I do, the more I think we might have some fun together." I didn't reply.
Tuesday came along, and I emailed her that I didn't have her phone number, so I can't call to confirm dinner that night. She replied about an hour later, saying to meet her at 7pm at the restaurant. Ugh, the "meet me there" catch-all is a sure sign that someone is not interested enough. I don't play those games, but I confirmed 2 restaurants she might like, and she emailed me back with the one she liked most. I emailed her back with the address, and took a nap.
We met at the restaurant, a decent-enough grillhouse with excellent burgers and steaks. It ends up the restaurant is only 3 miles from her apartment, so that worked well. She looked amazing out of her bank apparel. Her neckline was gorgeous, her tits were perfect at a B-cup, and her waist and hips were the kind I could hold on tight to and show her who is boss.
Dinner was great. She laughed at my few jokes, and I listened intently, never once interrupting or positing my own opinion. She asked me a few question, which I did my best to answer quickly and shortly, and kept querying her about her life. No major boyfriends, crazy parents, wants to be a business owner, blah blah blah. Her hands graced my arm and elbow and even once my chin as she laughed at her own words.
"You are so cute, ChicagoSane. I'm sorry I didn't notice it before." That's too bad, I guess it's something that grows on you. We shared a desert, had another round of wine after our original bottle was gone, and the dinner went on for 3 hours. This girl must not have many people willing to listen to her, and she dug into her history of life, love, school, goals and desires.
It was getting late, almost 11pm, so I told her I needed to go because I had early plans. Her face dropped again, and she asked if I'd bum her a smoke and continue talking in her car. I was OK with that, as long as it was just one smoke.
We walked to her car, and one smoke turned into 5. She talked until 1am, and I listened. Finally, I said I really had to go, and she agreed, having to be up at 7am so she could open her branch. She put her cigarette out and turned to face me. I turned to face her and she gave me a HUGE hug and said I am the most interesting man she's ever met. How she could know this as I didn't say more than 50 words all night is beyond me. She broke the embrace, and I smiled and moved in to kiss her. Her face was already falling towards mine the instant I moved in.
We kissed for about 20 minutes. She was not a good kisser initially, so I gently used my hands to move her chin and her cheeks to better positioning, and backed off when she was too sloppy or impulsive. By the end of the kissing, she moaned twice. I put my hands around her waist and pulled her in so I could caress her neck, and she moaned again.
I'll see you again soon, Laura. "Yes, you will!" she replied, laughing at the lipstick on my beard and moustache and lips. She wiped it off, then planted one last kiss on my lips, her best one yet.
She gave me her phone number, I gave her another cigarette for the road, and a lighter, and hopped out of her car. As I walked towards mine, she honked, waved, and drove off.
And that was it.
A week later I gave her a call to make plans, but ended up with the dreaded voice mail. She didn't call back, which usually is a hint for me to get lost. When I went to make my deposit, she was there but she didn't look at me, she didn't smile, and I ended up with another teller so I wasn't able to talk to her. She didn't chase me out of her work, either. No email, no phone call.
I tried her one last time the following week, but no answer. I didn't leave a voicemail this time. Instead, I hung up, opened up my cell phone contact list, and deleted her phone number. I also deleted her email address from Google Mail, and removed her emails from the sent box and inbox. No need to keep that stuff around.
The next time she was my teller, she was courteous, friendly, and quick, as usual. No comment about not making a second date.
Who knows what happened there? Based on the stories she told, she was usually into the bad boy (which, by the way, most women think I am when they meet me). Maybe I was too soft for her, not trying to take her home on the first date. I usually don't do that, unless the woman pushes for it. I'll never decline sex if it is initiated by a sober beatiful lady. I know for a fact I'd have left her breathless and too exhausted to leave my bed if she had wanted to pursue a more sexual response to my kindness, attentiveness and generosity.
It's too bad, Laura. You still pop into my fantasy from time-to-time, but only because your body and face are the kind I would plaster with my markings, and chuckle playfully when you'd beg me for more and more and more. I stopped seeing her at Bank of America when I parted ways with my excellent client. The owner died, and the son was inept. They're out of business today.
Fast forward to today: there she is, at the new bank. I asked her why she's here, and she said she transfered to be closer to school. She wasn't looking good. 25 years old, and 25 additional pounds. Her face is ravaged and ragged. Her cute smile was now a permanent frown. Her gorgeous brown eyes turned into a mean scowl. I asked her if life is as great as it was before, and she said "No. I'm broke, I hate my job, I hate school, and I'm too young for this." That's too bad. Well, see you around.
"Yeah, see you around," was her reply. I won't be going back to that branch anymore. Sorry, Mr. Business Teller, but I just don't need a reminder of The-Crush-That-Failed. I know it was her own drama that ended things before they began, but it's tragic that someone I could have assisted, given advice to, and helped relieve of sexual tension dumped me before we even dated. I guess she won't be in my fantasies anymore, either. That's also sad, because I have fewer and fewer women to think about, mostly due to the fact that all of the ones I've been meeting are at the same place in their lives as Laura is today.
Read the rest...
Last night was a great spring evening. I was planning on staying in and putting away the dry cleaning from Monday, but an old friend sent me an email when her RSS blog reader told her I'm writing again here. Always means I'm in Chicago.
Jules, 31, was a great friend from high school. Her boyfriend, Stephen, is a decent enough guy. They both live in Portage Park, not 10 minutes from me. Jules said they were going to stay in, and invited me over for drinks and dinner.
I brought some fresh cilantro, garlic, oil, prosciutto and cheese. Figured between the 3 of us, we'd have just enough to whip up something tasty. I also brought my favorite Merlot, which we didn't open. None of us were in the drinking mood.
Jules is a "good girl," saving her virginity until after college. Her and I were just pals, only once fooling around after we both went through breakups on the same day. That was 12 years ago. It never repeated, but at the time it was perfect. No sex, just passion to the limit. Stephen doesn't know. She still grabs my ass on occassion, shooting me a dirty/cute smile. Mischievious girl.
We all chatted about summer plans: they're going to Japan in July. Since I'll be in Hong Kong for work around the same time, we agreed to meet for a night out. I love Asia with friends.
Jules and Stephen have a roommate, Belinda, who is quite cute. I'm fairly certain she has the hots for Jules, who denies it. I've told her to invite her into the bedroom for Stephen's birthday gift. Jules' conservative side shuns the idea, but I know she likes it, too.
So we drank tea, ate a mish-mash of fridged goods in an oily pan, and laughed about some recent stories of my 4 months away. Stephen doesn't know about this site, but he does know I love amazing women.
"So how many have you bedded in 09?" he asked me. I told him: none. He was surprised, thinking of me as some player. Nothing could be further from the truth. Jules was not surprised, knowing I went 3 years without a lover when business and travel and writing assignments took up my energy.
That will end soon, I hope. I'm not lonely in any way, but I'd love to attract a beautiful and busy young lady to invite into my bedroom for a long run. Kari and I ended our tryst over mutual desire to move on. Now that I'm 100% free, I'm keeping my eyes open again.
I never look for love or sex, it just comes in my path. Desperation is a sure way to llose your chance with an amazing woman.
Until she comes along, I'm going to revisit my beloved Chicago. This week I'm going to wander Portage Park during the day and at night. Who wants to join me?
Read the rest...
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Finished work by 11am, and decided to hop onto Google Mail to see what I've missed lately. When I'm away, I tend not to read certain email addresses.
As soon as I finished replying to about 3 dozen emails, up pops a chat window. It's Jenna, my most serious ex, the "one that got away." I had broken up with her 7 years ago, mostly because she wanted marriage, kids, a house in the burbs and a 401K. I didn't think I was ready, and looking back I probably wasn't. She's had a few long term relationships, but the most recent boyfriend (now living with her) looks like a keeper.
We chatted for 10 minutes, nothing of importance. Then she hits me with it: "So how do you know how to handle every woman so well in bed?" Oh oh.
Jenna was a great girl, albeit lost and confused when I met her at the difficult age of 21. She'd been around the block, but never really had a passionate lover. She liked the rock stars, the artists, the broke-as-a-joke-mommy-pay-my-rent types. Of course they were terrible lays.
We started off as fuck buddies almost right away. Our first time together was amazing for both of us, one of those all-night romps that is hard to forget. That was almost 10 years ago, but I still remember her clothes, her perfume, her hair, and the room.
We were great as lovers, terrible as significant others. She had a wandering eye, which caused some grief because she wasn't honest about it. As I've said before, I prefer a "girlfriend" who has a serious boyfriend. He'll be stability, I'll be adventure and passion and fun. She dumped her serious boyfriend after 6 months of drinking with, traveling with and fucking me.
We tried to stay together for 3 years, but she wasn't honest. She slept around on the side but didn't say she did. I always wore a condom, but I hated thinking about what she might get if she wasn't safe. I'm a safety freak, taking myself to the health clinic annually for a full checkup. She's never been.
So now she's with Mr. Almost Perfect. I say almost perfect because she told me why: "He has no lovemaking skills." Most guys don't. They fake it the first few times, but once they have a woman, it's wham-bam-let-me-watch-the-game. I told her this.
She mentioned he was always bad: 5 minutes of pleasure (for him) and then he's sleeping. Ugh. So here goes the most uncomfortable "booty" call I've had in years. I explained to Jenna that I'm not a good lover, I'm attentive in bed. There's a HUGE difference. I've said it in previous entries here: I don't touch a woman's tits or clit or ass. I go for the areas that are usually avoided, and I barely touch them, waiting to see a response.
When the good goose bumps come up (and they almost always do), I make sure I back off the pressure even more. A man has no reason to touch a woman; he should let his hands be close, and if she wants the touch enough, her body will respond and come closer.
Everyone woman should shudder openly at least once before I'll move forward with anything else. Most guys think a bite on the nipple and a jackhammer-from-hell on the clit is all it takes.
Growing up feeing ugly, I found it important to talk to my female friends about sexuality. I realized after my first few experiences that women are just as lost about fucking as guys are. It doesn't take much to make a woman scream and cry out and talk filthy: you just have to make them incredibly comfortable and open to anything.
Some of my female friends (just friends) ask me about their sex problems all the time: "He wants to fuck me in the ass" or "he wants to come on my face all the time." Well, I've done both, and I've never met a woman yet who won't beg for either. This even covers girls who have openly said "That's gross, I'd never do it." When a woman is comfortable in bed, her sex-mania appears, and all is desired. I dared a just-friend girl or two in my life that I could get them loving whatever it is they hated with their boyfriends, and within 2 nights of sleeping with me they were there. Nothing is taboo.
So Jenna is listening to (or reading?) my chats intently as I explain to her that a woman has to be verbal in bed to get what she wants. I don't mean pleading or begging, I mean work it up verbally in a way that turns on the man more. If you have to talk dirty to get him to go down on you, do it. If you have to tease, do it. Men just don't know.
Jenna then told me that I'm still the best lover she ever had (oh oh) and that she still misses my touches and my caresses and my pure evil mouth. There's nothing I won't say to a woman to make her feel in control or make her feel completely controlled. It heightens the experience, which heightens the desire, which causes explosive orgasms. Don't ever tell me you can't have an orgasm or multiple orgasms, it's just that you move too fast and don't let your mind build up the desire for more, more, more.
Jenna wanted to try lingerie (fail) or porn (fail) or romantic dinners (fail). Those don't work for long, and they're hard work. I may talk the talk here, but my sex count isn't as high as you'd think. Still, I once fucked the brains out of a girl I had met just 45 minutes earlier (at a grocery store, no less) and that girl STILL emails me 12 years later. We banged 4 times over 2 weeks before she went back to school, and she's still wrapped up at what I gave her and what she gave herself.
So if your guy isn't knocking your boots properly, try to get him to do what you want by opening your mouth in bed and telling him exactly what you want. Don't be nice or coy, say it in the filthiest way possible (if he prefers control), or the harshest way possible (if he prefers to be controlled). It will work.
And if he wants to stick it in your ass or come on your face, beg for it, but only after he's done EVERYTHING you want him to do. None of that stuff is revolting or gross or disgusting: it's just part of what he wants, and if you realize how much fun it is, he will realize how much fun he can have giving you what you want.
And if it doesn't work, dump his ass. Or find a guy on the sly that you can visit on those cold and lonely nights when your guy is too busy or too tired to bring you to where you need to be.
Read the rest...
When I travel, I tend to throw appearance to the wind. I let the scruff grow out, my hair gets longer than normal, and I let my work schedule seek whatever delay is possible. Coming home changes all of that.
Today I sliced off almost 3mm of face fuzz, bringing me down about 10 years in appearance. My showerhead, one of the most powerful (and probably illegal!) ones you can buy, blasted me clean. I wonder if I stink when I deal with those weak, low-flow hotel showerheads?
My schedule filled up within hours of my email-blast to clients. Just a few days back home and I have no idea how I'll accomplish all that is needed work-wise. I think it's time for a new assistant, someone who can handle the humdrum inane ritual of juggling future schedules, past bills, current voicemails, emails, tweets, Facebook updates and more junk.
My previous assistant was a great guy: 23, college drop-out, responsible but not much of a risk taker or a dreamer. He worked for me for 3 years, at which point I helped him start his own small business. I hate seeing people work as an employee when they're gifted enough to be the boss. In the 2 years he's been free from my daily grind, he's built himself enough reputation to do quite well for himself. This "recession" isn't effecting him at all. Neither is it hurting me.
So what is the right way to find a great, hard worker? I pay very well, I only work people 3-4 days a week (although they get paid for 5 days a week since they might be on-call via their Blackberrys), and I even cover a vacation or two a year for them.
Craigslist is out: the vast amount of spam replies overwhelms the real ones. Craigslist seems to have become a central gathering point for awful realtors, irresponsible hipsters, and spammy porn-hawkers. I don't even bother going to the Personals section as I don't (a) pay for sex, (b) seek out transvestites, or (c) want to meet another tub of lard who has kissed too many frogs. So that's way out.
I won't go to an online job site, either. I don't need another geek with delusions of grandeur. It's a rough job, finding a good assistant.
Do I go male or female? Old or young? Trained or fast-to-learn? I guess I'll put the word out.
However I do it, I need that sherpa: someone to carry my virtual pack, navigate my pretend mountain of junkmail and time-wasting.
After I conquer that, a lover for the spring and summer would be a nice addition. And, no, they won't be the same person.
Read the rest...
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Crowd wasn't too busy, but Estelle's being a 4am bar means it picks up at 2am. I didn't make it that far. I ordered a drink, and wandered the short and thin pub looking for a familiar face. No one was there I knew, so I grabbed a seat at the bar and just drank my cocktail.
45 minutes pass, and the people I'm watching throughout are getting drunker as time passes. Cheap beer, I guess. In walks in a couple I've known for a few years, but haven't seen since last summer.
"Hey ChicagoSane," says Charles. He used to dress well, but now he's slowly faded into the hipster-tight-jeans-and-a-hoodie garb that is already overdone in this joint. His girlfriend, Andrea, looks decent but she's put on 20lbs in the past year or so. "Surprised to see you here." They both know I'm fairly anti-scene, but I explained to them that I wanted a drink amongst people.
We talked for about twenty minutes when other friends of theirs came in, so we parted. Nothing much was said.
As the hours passed, the 2 ladies I considered talking to were getting progressively drunker. It was obvious they were bad drunks (on a Monday night, no less), so I stopped paying attention. I turned to my left and a new young lady was sitting there. I smiled, and she smiled back. I then returned to my second heavy drink.
10 minutes of ignoring her and she's talking to me. "Here alone?" she queried.
"I am. Not many choices tonight," I told her, looking at her face and realizing either she's cuter than I first noticed, or I'm more drunk. She noticed me checking her out.
"Me too. Just taking the edge off of work," she replied, giving me a quick once over that passed much too soon. She works in marketing, or advertising, or some industry that isn't doing too well. 5% pay cuts across the board, but I told her it's better than 5% firings.
We both talked, and drank our specific cocktails, hers being some sort of gin and tonic with a splash of juice, I'd gather from her breath. Nothing too exciting, but she definitely was cute. Thin, which I prefer, long brown hair, which I like more, and a great smile.
"I noticed you keep watching," she pointed out. I do, because I'm always interested in what people are wearing, what they're talking about; wondering what their lives revolve around. "People don't interest me," she finished.
It was getting late, about 1am. She paid her tab, and turned to talk to say by to me. "Want to grab a sandwich?" I asked.
"I am hungry, but no. You're not my type of guy." That hurt. I can't imagine what her type of guy is, but I do prefer getting shot down to getting a throw-away email address. It happens, sometimes in great streaks.
Honestly, I wasn't looking to go on a Mediterranean cruise with her, but some mouth-on-mouth action in my car would have been nice. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Hopefully she wasn't as attractive as I thought, and it was just the Scotch talking.
Tonight I'm heading to some new bar closer to Logan Square. Details to follow.
Read the rest...
Monday, April 20, 2009
I had no excitement from December to March, but I'm back.
4 months of no dating at all, no live music, no great pubs. I think I'd prefer the cold.
Read the rest...