Fiends with Benefits, Part I

Auto-posted at 11am while I am on a flight somewhere over the Atlantic. More auto-posts coming, and I'll be returning tomorrow evening.

March, 2008:

Beward the Ides of March! It's my favorite holiday, actually. The one where the people revolted and took down their monarch. What is better than revolution? I prefer peaceful revolution, of course, but it's still a holiday to celebrate.

I was semi-seeing Lena. She was a mix of 16 races and I'd say she had the absolute best combination of each. She wasn't pretty, really. She wasn't hot. She wasn't cute. She wasn't what I normally considered someone I'd date. But she was sexy as hell and looked good in EVERYTHING. Lena was my most recent sugar-baby. We had some sex, here and there, but I didn't really get into her as much and I think she sensed it. It was good sex, but nothing mind blowing (not for me at least).

I still loved seeing Lena in great outfits, and when I had particularly good jobs, we'd go out and splurge a bit. After returning from a trip to South Africa (I was TANNED and I was CUT because of surfing for 5 days straight), I called her up and asked if she had found any digs she liked. "Nothing much. Oh, wait, I did find something!"

Lena was the perfect sugar-baby: she never asked for things, and when I proposed shopping, she rarely bought. When she did, it was always something we both loved.

"Shoes!" Uh oh. Shoes are a tricky part for me. If I buy a woman shoes, she's getting fucked in them, that day. I don't care WHO the woman is, but shoes are a line drawn in the sand. Usually with Little Fire Hydrant. Shoes?

"Yeah, I found this little boutique in the city. And I'm horny. And I know you're horny. Let's get shoes." Let's! We made plans to meet around 1pm at her place, and I arrived a few minutes early. She was dressed for success, and I was excited to see what shoes she found.

We drove down to one of Chicago's many boutique neighborhoods and popped in the shoe store. She went to find her shoes while I browsed other women's shoes to see if I saw anything I liked for her. The store had tons of great smaller boutique brands, but the styles were just boring to me. As I wandered down the long and thin boutique searching out Lena, I passed the check-out counter lodged in the middle of the store.

"Hi!" said a young-looking brunette. I turned to look at her and replied back. "Looking for something for your wife or girlfriend?" No, just a friend. I pointed at Lena down at the end of the store. "Oh! She's been in here before. Does she have something in mind?" I think so. I look at the gal closer, and she reminds me of a friend of mine from high school. So I ask her name.

"Kari." Nice to meet you Kari. She smiles and I turn to see what Lena is trying on. Sadly, she doesn't find her shoes, which happened to be on sale and were already sold. Neither of us is sad, so we prepared to say goodbye to Kari when she added "We can order you shoes, even those that are on sale." Lena jumped up at the chance after looking at me for approval, brought over the style she wanted and asked for her size. "You're going to love these, they're really comfortable. Who should I call when they come in?" Me.

I wrote my number down and made a joke about being the most frequent customer at women's shoe stores it seems. Kari laughed at it and let her hand glance mine that was holding the paper. Interesting. I looked up and her eyes were twinkling and her smile was wide. I didn't break the glance as I pushed my name and number towards her.

"Thanks, I'll call you next week when it comes in." Lena and I left and went to her apartment. We fooled around a bit on her couch but didn't have sex. It had been over 2 months since we had last fucked. I liked seeing her in pretty things but I didn't really like fucking her. Ugh. I was horny, too.

We made out for a bit, went and grabbed a bite to eat, and I told her I'd give her a ring when the shoes appeared. A few more kisses (she WAS a great make-out buddy) and off I went.

2 days later, I had a call: it was Kari. "Your shoes, err, your friend's shoes are in." Awesome, that was fast! "We had another order from the same company so they put them in the boxes. When should I expect you?" Later today.

I zipped over there, Lena was at work and she had a first date with a guy later that night who she met online. I was on her ass to date more, and I figured good shoes wouldn't hurt her chances of meeting a decent guy. When I got to the boutique, Kari was working solo again. And she looked better than just a few days ago.

"Hey, Chicago!" she said, remembering my name. I go by Sane, if that's OK with you. "Sure Sane. Again, I'm Kari." I remember.

We chit-chatted while she rang me up. "So she's not your girlfriend?" No, not at all. "You buy your friends shoes?" It depends on the friends. Clothing, usually. Not shoes generally. "Your girlfriends, too?" Rarely. I haven't dated a lot lately, so it's mostly friends. "With benefits?" Something like that. Whoa this gal is forward. Her eyes were twinkling still, and she had the cutest smile.

"Want to hang out sometime?" AND STRAIGHT FORWARD. I wouldn't have expected that from her, but she did show the signs of interest. I accepted. I asked for her number and said I'd call when I was free. "Hopefully soon, I've been bored lately." Me, too.

I grabbed the shoes and zipped to Lena's. "Was that gal all over you again?" Haha, the shoe girl? "Yeah, she's cute and she digs your shit." She asked to hang out. "Ohh, you should TOTALLY do it." Maybe. "No, she's cute and she's your type. Why, don't you think she's cute?" Definitely. Eh.

Lena tried on the shoes and she looked great in them. Awesome purchase. She was meeting her date at 8pm for a late dinner and asked me to check her over. I thought she looked lovely and told her so. "Oh, Sane, you're so fucking precious. We should fuck, soon." Sounds good to me. In truth, we never did again.

The next week Lena had told me about her date (crash and BURN touchy-feely dork). She reminded me to call Kari, who I had honestly forgotten about. So I did, on a Tuesday evening. Her phone rang 3 times and she answered it. "Hi?" Hi Kari, it's Sane. "Ohhh, hi! I was just thinking about you today, wondering if you were going to blow me off." Why would I do that? "Guys have been weird lately." Tell me about it.

"So are we getting together today?" Again, aggressive. I like it when a woman CAN be aggressive, but not when she's ALWAYS aggressive. I told her tonight was bad, but I was free Wednesday and Thursday. Two options, friends. "Wednesday! What do you want to do?" Afternoon or evening, I asked. "I work until 6 at the shoe store, so maybe 8? Food or beers?" I don't drink beer, but drinks is fine. Food is, too. "How about somewhere quiet?" Done, I'll pick the place.

She gave me her home address (a good sign of interest, actually) and I promised her I'd see her at 8. I was a bit concerned by her enthusiasm (don't get me wrong, I love when the ladies like me!). I had a recent history of breaking hearts and was trying to get over that. It's not that I played around a lot, but I dated a lot and found myself bored a lot.

I never understood it until recently: when a gorgeous guy dumps a gal, she usually accepts it. She knows he's out of her league and at least she "got with him." When an average-looking guy decides not to move forward, it hurts the woman's self esteem. Maybe it hurts more. I decided to play it cool with this one, let her come to me if she wants it, and see if I want it, too.

More in Part II auto-posted later today. Yes, I'm a tease.

Fast Track Day + Lunch

Sometimes my life runs in slow motion: weeks go by where I am blessed with no real work, or at least work on no schedule. The next few weeks are not those weeks.

Today, though, was a mighty fine day prefacing a busy set of weeks. I woke up ultra-early, ran to the office to sign payroll checks (which I ended up NOT having to do because I presigned them last week, oops), cooked breakfast that I forgot to eat, hauled ass downtown to meet with a client's friend's client (long story) to pitch some ideas, talked on the phone with a friend (15 minutes), and motivated myself to contemplate exercise starting in July.

I like working out, I just hate working out. It's so much fun except that it sucks. It's something I have no need for, but really need to do it. I probably should get a membership to a gym, after I cancel the membership I already am paying for. You get it.

Lately, I've been blessed with the desire to walk more. Walking is GOOD for me. My body doesn't need exercise to get really tone (abs, pecs, glutes, and quads tighten up very nicely on their own). So a day of walking in downtown Chicago sounded good.

A newfound friend put out a request to a group of friends to meet her for a late lunch. I'm a big fan of the late lunch, seeing as that I eat 5-6 times a day, separated by 3 hours time segments. 2pm is PERFECT for me: the restaurants are quiet, the food comes out fresher and warmer, I can be way more discrete by not bumping into 700 Joes and Janes who I can't recall meeting, and I can focus way more on the person in front of me than even my super-attentive soul-digging-stare usually offers.

So I confirmed a 2pm lunch "date" (sidenote: what the hell word is appropriate here?) with the gal, wandered my way to the restaurant, and had a few nice conversations with store-owners along the way.

Lunch: awesome burgers for both of us, Bearnaise sauce, asparagi (is that plural?), side of fries, no bacon. I forgot the damn bacon.

Conversation was humorous: I did more talking than usual, but I fully blame it on the caffeine I overdosed on as I walked the city. 2 cups of triple-espressos was a BAD FUCKING IDEA. Sorry, fair friend, for my blabbering. I think I should hand friends and others little caffeine test strips and have them make me pee on them. "Nope, it turned ultra-violet, I can't hang out with you." Gah.

We ate, her with a beer and me with a cocktail (a LARGE cocktail, thank you Karin, our server). Discussions in the short 1.25 hour lunch covered the gamut, including a remark about how I think I met a supermodel who had the name Pantone 468. We laughed. I swooned for a partial second at an amazing save for a huge chunk of burger (note to my female just-friends out there: if you save food from destruction, you have a 15% chance of getting laid). Also note: if you don't save food that stumbles away, I will and you will NEVER get laid. So for most of you, this means let it fall to the floor if possible, and when I grab it, you can feel safe with me. And grossed out when I dive head-first towards a piece of meat on a dirty restaurant floor. Win, win!

As 3pm came and went, we both checked our phones knowing the inevitable was happening: she was late for work, and I was late for non-work. We walked to her office building, had a good sideways hug as I kept momentum moving away from the door (note: I can jab for hours near your exit door if I don't want you to go, so I face away on purpose). I went to Water Tower and tried my hardest to purchase some underwear. FAIL.

I had an earlier swoon over the not-so-graceful food-saving at lunch, and a second one over the absolutely freakish identical twin of Ally Mac Tyana, my favorite french ex-porn star/actress. I think I tripped over my third foot or something. She noticed, smiled, and went on her way. A smile is not enough of a sign for me to dive in and say hi, so I let her pass and continued my search for the Perfect Pair of Boxers (PPoBs). FAIL FAIL.

And then it hits me: I love meat. I start singing a stupid song, loudly, as I venture into Bloomingdales. "I loOooove meat, it's so sweet, a nice treat. Give mmeEeeeee meat, on the street, hold the wheat." And, yes, people noticed. And heard me. One gal laughed, so I said "I have Tourrette's" to which she laughed more. My stupid songs should be kept in my head, but I was in a good mood, damn it, and I like to sign off key.

Bloomies was a super fail, since all the underwear they had seemed to be American sized, i.e. XXXXXXL. That's 7 FAILs: one for each X, and one for the L. I think they should make a section called H: HUGE. So I leave, chagrined and underwearless, except for the pair I'm wearing.

I left, walked downtown some more, and hiked back to my humble abode. Then I showered and fell asleep for a bit. I am oh-so-cool Mr. Old Man Napper at 8pm. I am leaving for my first trip of a half-dozen tomorrow, but the nap? Come on, I can do better than this! I guess 5 days in a row of 3 hour sleepfests probably took its toll.

I'm feeling like I need a bedmate, and soon. Sex, no sex, who cares. She'll put on some nice clothes, I'll take them off, and we'll sit in the sack and play tic-tac-toe or "I'm thinking of something green, something greeeeeen." Or have sex. Either way.

It was a good day. Good days always take my happy mood and make me happier. I wish some of this happy would rub off on the unhappy souls out there. I want a Sane Happiness Pandemic listed on CNN. I want to be a fountain of contagion of The Happy. Maybe I should fart more in public and force a blush.

That'll make you smile. Admit it.

On to work, on to Houston

A call came in this afternoon from a number I didn't recognize, from an area code I didn't recognize.  I answered.

"Mr. Sane?"  Mmmhmm.  "We got your name and number from PET."  Have work?  "A lot.  Do you have a portfolio?"  No.  "We'd like an example of what you've done recently."  No.  It's all under non-disclosure.  Silence.

"How do people hire you?"  Word of mouth.  My name stands for itself.  "Isn't that a bad idea?"  No.  I don't need the work.  "This is an important project."  All projects are important.

"So how do we do this?"  If you're not in Chicago, Las Vegas, Miami, Los Angeles or New York City, you need to fly me out, put me up in a hotel, show me what you want, and I decide.  "It's a tough market out there, why are you picky?"  It's not tough for me.  "That's what Don at PET said.  You'd be cocky, but worth it."

Pick a day.  "Next week?"  Fine.  "Tuesday?"  Just tell me what time and send me a travel voucher.  Good hotel, too.  "What are your rates?"  I don't have any rates.  I'll tell you what I want, and you can say yes or no.  "No negotiation?"  Never.  "Are you busy?"  Constantly.

"Ok, it was nice talking to you.  We'll send you the details today."  I give them my email address.  I really need an assistant, these phone calls are annoying and not worth my time.

I get an email an hour later for a business class flight out of O'hare to Houston.  Early flight.  Put up in a decent 4-star hotel.  I didn't even ask what company I was visiting, but the email confirmed it: some corporate drone holding company, probably owned by GE or the Bush family or the Clintons.  All these large scale corporations are tied to powerful people or powerful companies.

So off I am to Houston for a day.  I won't spend the night, but I'll use the hotel.

Who wants to come with for a day of fun?  The meeting won't last 30 minutes.  They'll hate my price.  They'll accept it anyway, because they have no time to waste.  Maybe I'll charge more than usual.  I don't need the work, and I definitely don't need someone questioning my talents if they already received a rave review and a stern warning not to piss me off or negotiate with me.

My time is not-negotiable.  My wages are not-negotiable.  I am good at what I do, and they will either pay me and get it done right in 1/4 the time, or they'll hire a cubicle-crawler with no real experience.

That means more money to spend on someone I like.  That means finding someone I like.  That means I do need to get out there.  Maybe I will go out tonight and take my two blog friends here up on their offer.  We'll see.

She owes me nothing

I was sitting on a bench in downtown Arlington Heights earlier, watching people walk by, wondering what they were thinking.  When people walk alone, they usually have sad faces.  I walk with a smile, always.  It unnerves people.

I saw a very pretty teenage girl walk past me.  She was obviously a teenager because she had a backpack and a school ID around her neck.  16? 17?  I have no idea.  I noticed her like I notice everyone.  She was wearing a pretty dress and walked tall.  She'll do well in life.

The dress reminds me of a situation I was in 4 years ago.  I am copying and pasting the story from my private blog that I updated 15-20 times a day with stupid comments to remember.

She Owes Me Nothing

I liked Linda the moment I met her.  Linda, meaning pretty in Spanish.  She wasn't Spanish, just a plain jane mutt of American breeding.  I met Linda over the phone when she accidentally called me.  I thought it was my voiceover coach, so I answered in a deep voice.

"Jerry?" she asked.  Oops.  No, sorry.  I talked, letting my voice return to its abnormally high and nasally level.  "Oh, wrong number."  I asked her who Jerry was.  "My boss."

She hung up.  That was it.  A week later, another call from the same number.  I answered without saying hello, just saying it wasn't Jerry.  "I'm so sorry, I keep dialing two numbers swapped!"  I laughed, and she laughed too.  "So who are you?"  People call me Sane.  "That's a crazy name."

We ended up talking for about 5 minutes, and then she said she really had to call her boss.  Before hanging up, she said "Call me again, make it your mistake?"  I would.

Months passed and I thought about calling just for kicks.  Anonymous.  Fun.  Could be any age.  I saved her number as Jerry's Employee.  I called just as spring was hitting in Chicago.  She answered.  I said hello.  "Hi!  I was wondering if you'd ever call again."  Why?  "I like your voice." We talked for half an hour, mostly her.  I asked if she wanted to meet.  "That's creepy."  Ok, then not.  "Well, I think it'd be fun, but it has to be public.  Where do you work?"  I told her.  "Hey, that's really close to where I live!"

We made plans to meet up at a local diner.  I described myself as did she.  We met a few days later, and she was exactly who she said she would be.  We talked over coffee.  She's 26, single, just having fun, working for a used car dealer and hating her job.  She went to school for writing (I didn't, by the way) and couldn't find work.  She was dressed in raggedy jeans and a T-shirt with shoes probably 3 years old.  I paid for the coffee.

We talked on and for a few weeks (she called me).  I told her I was sick of talking, let's get together again.  "Not a date, right?"  No, just people who enjoy each other's company.  I didn't tell her of course it was a date, but the semantics confuse people.

We hung out again twice, each time she was disheveled with almost a teenage vibe to her.  Life was not treating her well.  The second time we did, she cried, having recently broken up with her loser unemployed car mechanic boyfriend who did too many drugs.  I held her and she said the words I hate hearing: "Why can't more guys be like you?"  I stopped her and said no guys could ever be like me, because most guys have no idea what it means to be a man.

"What does it mean?"  It means not listening to the bullshit out there in the media, in the public's mind, in the gossip columns and on the TV shows.  "Huh?"  I'm a man, and I treat others like a man should.  I demand things, I stick to my word, I treat women like women and whores like women.

She nodded her head, but obviously didn't get it.  Linda complained about needing new clothes.  I asked her what kind of clothes.  "More jeans, more t-shirts, whatever is cheap."  She thrifted not out of adventure but out of necessity.  She lived at home and her folks didn't have alot.

I offered to take her shopping.  "I have a car."  No, I mean I'll buy you something nice.  "No, that's not necessary."  I reminded her that I treat women like women, and a beautiful woman needs to look like it and feel like it once in awhile.  "Beautiful?  Me?  Look at how I'm dressed.  I'm fat."  You're crazy.

"I wouldn't feel right."  I don't expect anything in return.  "What would you have in mind?"  Hit some stores and boutiques I like.  I'll pick out a few things, you pick your favorites.  I buy, you decide when and where you want to wear them.  "For you?"  No.  She thought about it for 5 minutes.  "I won't sleep with you."  Why would you say that?  "I'm not a whore for clothes."  I never said you were.  I'll get you something nice, an outfit or two, and you can wear them with friends or dates or at work.  Never around me if you prefer.

"And what do you get out of it?"  I get to see you smile, and I get to see a lovely lady feel that way.  "Ok.  But no funny business."  If I'm a sugar daddy, there's never a quid pro quo.  I honestly didn't even think once of wanting to bed her, she had this girlie vibe that I detest.  At her age, she should start acting the part, just a little.

We made plans for an entire day on her next day off, the following Wednesday.  On Tuesday she calls crying.  "I got fired, things are slow.  I think I should cancel tomorrow, I'm not in the mood."  Now is a better time than ever.   "Why?"  You're losing yourself to your life rather than being who you are regardless of life.  "I don't get it."  You will.  I'll pick you up at 10.

I arrived and she came out, dressed as a teenager.  Bad makeup, too.  Hair overdone with hairspray and mousse, my enemies.  She got in my car.  "Where are we going?"  We'll hit a few stores, I'll show you what I like.

First we went to Bloomingdales.  Why?  The makeup counter gals are pretty incredible.  Linda sat down, perplexed.  "No one does my makeup, ever."  The rotund older lady spent half an hour on Linda's face, adding a little of this and a little of that.  When she was done, the makeover was amazing.  I see bits and pieces of woman in her.  "Wow.  I'm... pretty."  I just smiled.  I bought all the items the makeup lady used.  "That's too much.  I usually buy $2 lipstick."  It shows.  We're not paying for product, we're paying for advice.  $500 for 6 months worth of makeup is nothing.  "That's like 2 weeks of pay."  She gets sad, but I tell her don't be.

We look around the women's clothing section but find nothing.  We try Macy's, Nordstrom, nothing.  I decide to take her to Blake, my favorite boutique in the city.

Blake used to be on Lincoln near Fullerton, in a non-descript building with no window display.  You had to be buzzed in.  They sometimes wouldn't buzz people who didn't fit the part.  Pompous, I love it.  She looked around the sparsely inventoried store and said "I don't like any of it."  This isn't for you to like.  You didn't like the makeup at first either.  Do you trust me?  "Yes.  I guess."

I spend an hour looking over everything: dresses and skirts, tops and scarves, blouses and pants, jackets and shoes and purses.  I pick out my favorite 2 items each and give them to her to try on.  "I don't like it." Just try it on.  She spends 2 hours getting into everything and getting out of it.  "Yuck.  Not me."  I don't bow to this and I decide to buy a few items, but not too much.  Just one onefit, in fact.  Plus shoes I liked.  "I prefer sneakers."  I've never worn sneakers in my life.  Gross.

We left and I took her to a hair salon I love in the burbs.  They did up her hair without any major product.  A few cuts, some razoring, plucked some of her eye brows, and she was done.  "Wow, I like this."  Wait till you try on that dress.  "No, I hate that."  Trust me.  She looked down, "I do."

I took her home.  Her parents were on vacation so she invited me in.  Her parents didn't like me because I seemed shady.  Oh well.  I asked her to go and put on the dress and the shoes, the thin sweater top and the ankle bracelet.  She did.  When she came out, she looked magnificent.  "Ok, wow.  This is nice stuff."  It better be, I have taste.  "I can't believe it."  Go do your makeup now, just like the lady showed you.  She left and came back 20 minutes later.  Not really done as well as the professional, but close enough.  "My face looks so fresh and nice."  You look like the lady you are.  "I don't really feel like one."

We go to her living room and she says it again, "You're really not expecting anything for this?"  Just one thing.  "Sex?"  No, I said I wouldn't do that to you.  "So?"  I walk to her father's record collection and grab a Sinatra record.  "What the hell is that?"  I want a dance.

"Dance?"  Yes.  "I haven't danced since prom 10 years ago!"  You dance at nightclubs.  "Sometimes."  You dance at concerts.  "I guess."  All I want is a dance.  "Just one?  I feel weird about it."  Weird because you think I will try something?  "No, I just don't dance."  Good, because I will do the dancing, and you will follow.  I put the record on and pick a tune I like.

I grab her waist and put her hand on my shoulder.  She looks confused.  I dance with her.  She starts to smile as she steps on my toes, neatly trips twice when I spin her.  She's laughing by the end of the song.  "Wow."  That's all I wanted.  We're even.  "I'd do that again."  Then I'd owe you.  "You owe me nothing.  One more song?"  I pick another and we dance.  45 minutes and 2 records later, she's beaming and looks gorgeous.  I wouldn't have wanted to sleep with her before, but now I want to do things vile to her.  I made a promise, though.

"I feel so different."  You feel like a woman.  "I do!  Wow.  Can I wear this stuff out?"  It's your stuff, not mine.  "I mean on dates and stuff?"  Of course.  "But you spent so much money!"  Not that much.  The total was over $2000, but she didn't know this.  I've spent more, I told her.  "And you won't be jealous?"  You're not my lover or my girlfriend, and even if you were, I wouldn't be jealous.  "If I was, and I wore this out, you wouldn't get angry?"  Never.  And you won't be my girlfriend or lover, so let's stop talking about it.  "Does it make you sad?"  No, I'm just bored of that conversation.

I leave and notice she's checking herself out in a mirror.  She's smiling and there's a bounce in her step as she spins again alone, her dress floating up past her thighs.  White panties.  I wish I didn't see that.  I drive off, smiling that I made her day, maybe her month.

A few days later she calls me late at night.  1am on a Friday night.  I answer.  "What are you up to?"  Just getting home from a boring night at the pubs.  "With anyone?"  No.  What's wrong?  "Just wanted to talk."  We did.  She went out in the outfit, the makeup, did her hair without all the product.  She said she looked three times better than the first attempt at dressing like a woman on Wednesday.  I believed it.  Wearing that dress made her horny, she was hoping to meet a guy and bring him home.  Her parents return on Sunday.

So who'd you pick?  "No one.  I went to my usual bar and every eye was on me.  I talked to a few cute guys, but they were boring.  They kept looking at me differently, it was disgusting.  "You are beautiful.  "They didn't say that.  They'd said I was hot or I was fuckable."  So?  Isn't that the point.  "I thought so, but I didn't want it from those dirtbags."  Try a different bar, maybe a lounge.  "I did.  I went with my best friend to 3 other places, got the same shit."  I'm sorry.

"Are you tired?"  A little.  "Do you want to come over?"  For?  "Just hang out."  I'm not sleeping with you.  "Why not?"  You drew a line early on, and I will not violate that promise.  "I changed my mind."  I didn't.  "You don't find me attractive?"  Very.  "You don't want to fool around?"  Not at all.  "Will you come over anyway, just to talk and laugh like Wednesday?"  Of course.

I drove there, tired but happy to spend some time with her.  She really is fun.  We talked.  "I'm really horny."  I'm sorry.  "Can we fool around at least?"  No.  "I need it, bad."  Bars are still open.  "I don't want that."  You want to keep feeling like a woman.  "Yes.  Please."  I get up.  I can't do this.  "I'm sorry I said it would never happen."  It's ok.  But it's the truth.  "I want you, I want more of this."  I don't.  I turn to leave and she tries to kiss me.

"Please stay.  You don't have to do anything to me or anything.  Can we cuddle?"  No.  "Will you at least spend the night?"  On the couch.  "Ok.  That's fine."  She hugs me.  I hug her back.  "Am I pretty to you?" Unbelievably.  "So why won't you sleep with me?"  I said so: I made a promise.  "Do you always keep your promise?"  I'm a man.

I lay down on the couch.  "Ok, I guess I'll go to bed."  I'll see you in the morning.  She goes to her bedroom, I lay down on the big couch.  A few minutes pass and she comes back in the dark.  I turn to look and she's still wearing the dress.  "Can I lay down with you?"  Only on the couch.  She does, spooning against me.  The couch is huge so there was more than enough room for two.

"Would you mind if I took care of myself?"  You want to masturbate in front of me.  "Yes.  Unless you'll touch me."  I won't.  "Will you do it when I do it?"  No.  "Do you want to?"  Yes.  "I don't understand.  I turn to face her, and she puts her head in my neck.  "I really need it."  I know.  "From you."  I'm sorry.

She breathes deeply and swallows, nervous.  Her hand hikes up her skirt and pulls down her panties.  I can see her beautiful pussy and I get very hard.  She starts rubbing herself, but I avoid doing the same.  I wanted to take her right there, but I have my standards.  She comes quickly, kissing my neck as she does.  "Oh, I needed that."  I know you did.  Her hand rests on my pants, I'm still hard.  "Oh, did you like that?"  Very much.  "Can I see it?"  No.  "I'll just touch it, or suck it if you want."  No, thanks.  "So you'll just leave it like that?"  I'll take care of it tomorrow if I feel like it.  "That's crazy.  You told me I was beautiful." You are.  Stunning.  "And you don't want to fuck?"  I don't want to ruin this for you.

I left in the morning, her still wrapped around me.  She still looked beautiful, maybe more so than ever.  We talked often through the next year, about her new job, about guys she tried dating, about how she loves that outfit and still wears it once a week, even by herself, just to feel like a woman.  I told her that women don't need the outside to feel it on the inside, but the outside can help them get there.

"I know.  Will you ever sleep with me?"  No.  "Can we try dating?" No.  "Ok."

The phone calls slowed, then stopped entirely.  I'm not sure if it was her or me.  I wonder how she's doing, if she's still feeling like the woman that she is.

Fast forward to today.  I've tried doing the same for a woman or two in the last year, but they were more hung up on the whole sex thing.  What's the problem?  I don't do quid pro quos.  It's just clothes, and a fun day making her feel like she should.  A sugar-uncle, not a sugar-daddy.  Sometimes, we ended up sleeping together, but it was never expected or even assumed.  The sex was separate.  The few women/girls like Linda usually called me over the years and kept asking why I of all people would deny them.

My reason is always the same: I don't break promises.  

Don't draw lines you might some day want to cross.