My Bizarre Fantasy Journal #3

Since I'm a writer (I get paid for it even), I keep a variety of crazy journals that focus on ideas I have.  Sometimes it's business ideas or inventions, sometimes I cover places I want to go and things I want to see, sometimes its sex, most of the time it's just random spewed thoughts.  Rarely is it fully coherent or possible.

Here's one I wrote in 2007 that never panned out.  I figure I'd share it with others, not in hopes of fulfilling it, but mostly in hopes that someone will come back to it again when they need a little entertaining fantasy of their own to write about, publicly or privately.

Fantasy #3: Not Anonymous, but still Unknown

It's always been my desire to hook up with another writer in a semi-anonymous fashion.  When I say "hook up" I don't necessarily mean sexually.  Maybe we'll meet for business reasons, or it could even be a bar pal.  Maybe it'll be a lover, who knows?

The idea of the fantasy is to create a new blog before the first real getogether.  Would we meet online somehow, or maybe one of us got the other's email address and we started talking virtually that way.  Either way, said new friend is not someone I've spent any significant amount of facetime with.

This new blog would be a publicly displayed private journal that we each keep, but not to interact with.  She'll post, I'll post, but we won't interact.  In email we'll plan our future first getogether: we'll pick our new names (I envision her being Chanel and me being Narcissco, but the names don't matter), we'll pick where we'll meet (a bar neither of us has been to maybe 45 minutes from our usual spots), we'll pick the day and time (Thursday, 8pm).

I'll write on the new blog about what I'll wear, how I'll trim my beard, but not about what I hope for.  Basic stuff.  She'll write her own article about the same.  We won't read the other's post, but any followers who are interested will.  Maybe we'll share the common blog on our own blogs ahead of time to get others to jump on as followers and commenters.

We'll meet.  Whatever the purpose (business, friendship, love, screwing), we'll each return to our own homes and update the blog with our opinions of the evening.  Maybe it'll be a very short relationship, a one-time date or hangout session.  We'll comment on what we saw and actually thought: I might talk about her bad makeup or her amazing legs, she might talk about what she honestly thought of me.  We won't know each other's real names or addresses, maybe not even our phone numbers.

If there is to be a future meeting, we'll communicate with each other via the blog journal.  "Post #4: How about Tuesday the 15th?"  "Post #5: Perfect!  Let's check out Young's Grille in Evanston."

If there's a sexual hookup, the details would be amazing, considering we don't know what the other person's real life is like.  If there's no sex but it turns into a joint venture of another kind, those details would also be amazing.

Maybe it's destined to failure, or maybe it's an on and off friendship or relationship with updates in-between times we meet, personal updates regarding the specificity of the relationship, any fantasy or hopes for it.  Minds and emotions displayed to the public, to the other person, but maybe never commented on in real life between the two.

It could be fun, or it could be horrible.  Either way, it's an idea there is still time for.  Maybe this year.

A reply to an email from dbaggrrl

dbaggrrl emails me this morning:

"Doesn't sound like you're lonely, just bored and maybe in need of some lovin.  How about finding a fuck buddy?"

Hmm, the thought's been there, but it's not really that interesting to me.  The whole fuck buddy thing rarely works for me, mostly because the few girls I had who were just about booty ended up either being real sleazebag whores, or ended up falling for me WAY hard and I ended up hurting them.

That leaves me in a quandry: I'm definitely more on the prowl than not, although not too active about it.  As I've said before, I don't seek out sex or love, just companionship and relationships.  Those could be business-minded, or just friends, or geeky co-adventurers, or lovers, or whatever the case may be.  I tend to only keep a few friends active at once, and just don't have the time or energy to pursue a real relationship at this point in my life.  A few years ago I'd probably have settled down with the right gal, but the gal I had was the wrong gal in so many ways.

Theoretically, I have a fuck buddy but it's not someone I've utilized for that in many years.  She was my best friend in high school, I was her first lover in her college years, and off-and-on we'd hook up if the time was right and we were both in the same town.  As we've gotten older, we've both decided mostly to give up those completely-random-booty-calls at 1am on a Wednesday night.  The last time must have been 3 years ago, and we ended up talking more in between the 40 minutes or so of banging that occurred between all our conversations.  I'm no sap, but sometimes having a beautiful lady rolled up against your body and limbs is pretty awesome.

I was propositioned the idea in summer last year by a friend-of-a-friend who I was crazy attracted to on many levels.  I nixed it BECAUSE of that crazy attraction.  There's no way I wouldn't build up some kind of minor jealousy, so I told her the plain truth: we can't date, we shouldn't fuck, and there's not much else to do.  So we run into each other on rare occasions socially, have a few laughs and then part ways to the rest of our evenings.  It's smooth, but I do regret not at least taking her up on a one-night-stand.  If anything, her body and face have gotten better with age, not worse.

I also like discreteness if at all possible.  I'm no player, I don't sleep around, but I like my love life to be as private as possible, unless I'm in a serious relationship.  When I did the sugar-daddy/sponsor thing, I made it clear that our relationship was to be as private as possible.  I don't want to meet your friends or lovers, and you aren't going to meet mine.  That's the fun part of that relationship: we both get outside of our worlds, and do new and interesting things.  The downside is that finding an amazing girl to sponsor is very difficult in this day and age I've seen.  Plus, I don't believe that sponsorship goes with sex, so that wouldn't cure any physical needs.

Since coming back to Chicago, I've had my share of possibilities.  Liz wanted to sleep with me, only because she had a great time and sex with her boyfriend is boring and humdrum.  The girl she secretly hooked me up with would have been sex, but we didn't fit, so that was a miss.  Kari and I still talk, but she's already working on taking her new relationship to a better level, which means sex is out of the question there.  I keep wanting to talk to my new neighbor (we both do laundry often at the same time), but that's too close for comfort, and I've now seen her TWICE at the local Target.  Yeesh.

Maybe I should start hanging out in the burbs or Milwaukee or somewhere a little further away.  A new world, I won't run into ten billion people I know or who know me or of me, and there can be some sense of secrecy with intimacy that only gets better from the short distance.  I do have to say that my few VERY long distance relationships in my life have been the best fun AND the best sex I've had.  Plus there's almost no chance of either of us trying to make it TOO serious.

If it boils down to this versus that, I'd probably prefer a phone sex buddy than a fuck buddy.  Consider this: We're both going to jerk off anyway, but having someone to mutually tease and turn on makes that part of our lives a million times better.  Highly recommended.

So that's my take.  A fuck buddy could be fun, but I don't want to deal with the ramifications of what may happen should one of us get more serious about it than the other.  I'd take on a sugar-lady if the right one came into my life, but I won't seek it out.  I'm definitely not going to pick up some sleazester in a bar, and most of the women I ask out in my daily life seem to desperately want a serious relationship.  Maybe it's this recession that people are talking about, causing couples to appear when they probably shouldn't.

So to Miss dbaggrrl, I appreciate the opinion, but it's not for me at the moment.  On the other hand, if I meet someone I find attractive (sexually) but not so attractive socially, who really knows?  At least I've found some decent porn sites in the interim.

I get busted, and the hard time finding good men

Yesterday was a great day: I went book shopping, picked up an amazing antique wardrobe to replace mine that was damaged in a move, snagged a few DVDs that my ex decided to keep, and had a great cup of coffee at a Starbucks in the burbs.  Oh and I hit IKEA and was enamored with practically every mommy in there (I don't generally have a like or dislike for MILFs, but wow!).

At the Starbucks, I waltzed in and the sweet young lady took my order.  She looked at me, smiled, and went to make it.  Then she looked at me again, so I smiled back.  When she gave me my coffee product, she asked "Can I ask what you do for a living?"  Forward.  Nice.

I'm a writer and I handle some business needs for others.  "Oh." Then she's silent, like she's thinking about what to say next.  I hold her gaze and raise my smile a bit.  "You don't, uhh, write a blog, do you?"  Sure I do.  3, to be precise.  "Do you write about Chicago and bars and girls and work?" Who doesn't?  "You're not Chicago Insane, are you?"  Uh oh.  Did you mean ChicagoSane?  "Yeah, sorry."  I smiled bigger, grabbed my drink, winked and left.

How did she recognize me?  I was wearing the same shirt I wrote about months ago.  Oops.  Busted!  Maybe she'll read this and confirm it, but I think I left her hanging well enough.  I'd have talked more, but I think she was probably barely 20, just a few years younger than I prefer.

I received an email from another blogger who I read and who reads this site on occasion.  I believe (from what her profile says) that she's in her mid-20s, educated and continuing so, looks cute from her impossible-to-gauge photo, and likely single from her attitude about her lovelife.

The email was simple chitchat, but she's obviously annoyed at the lack of amazing confident guys out there, especially at her school (and I assume in her social circle).  I can definitely agree, but I've told some of my gal pals that sometimes their barrier to entry is too high.  I don't mean that their standards are too high (I shoot for heaven on that), just that they need too much up-front before going out on a first date.

I like dating.  Sometimes I'll date a woman who is not really my match physically, and we'll have a ball.  I can't even count how many dates I've been on where the woman actually said she didn't find me attractive at first, but ended up shoving her tongue down my throat and begging for more in just one night.

If you go to Craigslist and pick W4M and look at the general requests, there's no wonder why most women and girls can't find amazing guys: they set their barriers too high.

One post from someone who must be perfect herself wanted tall, handsome, drug-free, disease-free, financially strong, educated and must love puppies.  Breaking that down shows you the problem.

Tall?  Less than 15% of American males are 6 feet or taller.  So you just cut out 5 out of 6 guys, including me, and I'm sauve, interesting and one hell of a fuck.

Handsome?  1 in 4 men have what one would call "handsome symmetry."  Big noses, small noses, large eyes, small eyes, lots of hair, no hair?  None of that matters for beauty.  For us humans, symmetry is what attracts the eye initially.  I definitely am not a handsome male, but I have an attractive quality.  My asymmetry all has a story behind it, and little of it is genetic.  If you want both handsome AND tall, you're talking about approximately 6% of men, so you've cut out almost 15 out of 16 guys out there.

Drug-free?  90% of guys out there have tried drugs, and about 60% of them use some kind of drug regularly, although not habitually.  That 6% of men you'll see drops to 4%.  I don't do drugs, but I believe in the right for people to do it, and I would never say no to a gal who casually uses drugs unless it is obvious her life is ruined over an addiction.

Disease-free?  1 in 5 guys have an STD.  I've been lucky so far, but I fully expect I'll catch something in my life (condoms break, whatever).  Before I sleep with a woman I'll ask about her history and if she knows she has anything.  I've slept with women who had HPV (warts), HSV (herpes), who had previously contracted crabs and gonnorhea.  I'm very safe.  If I'm worried, I'll take extra precautions.  If you require that they're clean and they get tested every 12 days, your 4% of guys will drop to 3% of guys.

Financially-strong?  Over 80% of guys out there are in debt significantly higher than they probably should.  Credit cards, car loans, school loans, ouch!  I'm debt free, but most of my friends are either hurting or are a little over where they should be.  Take your 3% and drop it to 1%.

Educated?  About 30% of men over 25 have a degree.  Take your 1% and make it 0.3%.

So now that simple Craigslist "Where is my prince?" post just chopped out 997 out of 1000 guys.  OUCH.  That's painful.

My recommendation to our new friend was to be more proactive about being the confident female.  If you see a guy who looks OK on the outside, but isn't perfect, why not go up to him and ask for HIS number?  I'll ask out 2-3 women a week and I'll get maybe 1-2 numbers a month.  That means my success rate is at worst 1 in 15 and at best 2 out of 4.  I strike out way more than I hit a home run, and most of the time it's a run to first base and the game will be called for weather.  I don't care.  Neither should you.

Say hi, get a number, call, go out on a date, have fun.  Date 10 guys this summer.  You don't have to sleep with them or even call them for a second date.  Dating builds your confidence like nothing else, AND it helps you see past your own limitations on what you THINK you want.

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.

A defense of sugar-daddyism

In yesterday's post, reader "sienna*star" made a comment about something I wrote about: sugar-daddyism.  I mentioned how I had my last sugar baby type relationship years ago, and how I generally used windfalls to take care of a cute young thing in a purposeless way.  Other than sienna*star's comment I also received two emails (one condemning the idea and one who I think was pitching for the position, heh).

I defend the idea of sugar-daddyism, especially to my wealthy collegues and poor young galpals.  Whenever I've brought it up (especially in reference to my last relationship that involced the idea), I always get shunned by feminists (both male and female) that equate it to prostitution.  That idea is so far from the truth that it's almost science fiction: sponsorship isn't about sex or love.

I picked up the idea of sponsorship when I spent a summer in Europe 15 years ago.  It was quite normal for a college-aged gal to have a slightly older sponsor who took care of her costs while she took care of his entertainment needs.  Every girl I talked to about it didn't think twice about the relationship.  Over half didn't sleep with their sponsors.  The point of the relationship was an exchange of money and time.  Wealthy young businessmen (almost all in their 30s, a few in their 40s) didn't have time to date, but had the need to have a companion to social events or even just a night on the town.  Women who want to date seriously can be a big vacuum of one's time and energy.  Not everyone has time for that.

What does a sponsored girl get?  Basically, she gets help with life's costs; sometimes educational costs, sometimes the cost living, sometimes its for socializing and clothes.  What does a sponsor get?  Unencumbered companionship at a limited level.

The first gal I sponsored was 22 when I was 24.  She was from Europe and introduced me to the idea over drinks one night.  Up to that day, I never touched her, she was just a beerpal who I hung out with a few nights a month.  She was going back to school to get into pre-med but couldn't afford to do it, so she pitched the idea to me.  She needed about $1000 a month extra beyond her part-time job for rent and food and other expenses.  In exchange, she'd basically take care of things for me one day a week.

It was awesome in the beginning; she took care of all my bills, did some minor cleaning and cooking at my place, even drove me around on errands when I was too busy to command the wheel.  It was always 1 day a week, and on some rare busy weeks it'd be 2 days.  She loved helping me, and I loved her company when I needed a girl on my arm for a business event or a social situation (weddings, funerals, etc).

6 months into the relationship, she slept with me.  I never one propositioned her, pitched the idea, or even showed any amount of interest.  She admitted that my lifestyle was very sexy and attractive, and her busy schedule gave her no time for a boyfriend.  At best, she'd get to hookup with a coed and it would usually be a one night stand or maybe two.  She didn't like all the work involved in the hookup situation, plus not knowing what heebie-jeebies the coed guys might have had.  She seduced me over a bottle or two of wine, and the next morning when she was leaving she said "Any time you need me this way, I am here for you."  It was never money-for-sex, it was money-for-help and the sex was optional, on the side, and exclusive of the help she was giving me and me her.

When she finally graduated after a year, we ended the sponsorship arrangement but slept together regularly for another 2 years when she was in town visiting family and friends.  I'd almost say that the after-sponsorship sex was closer to prostitution since I was getting sex for letting her use my extra bed (or my bed) when she visited Chicago.

My second sponsorship was a few years later, when I turned 28.  I met a 24 year old at a Starbucks and got her number.  After 2 dates, it was obvious both of us were too busy to casually date.  We still talked via email every week or two, and when she told me she was looking for a job, I pitched her the idea of sponsorship.  She was turned off at first, stating "I'm not a whore." I immediately told her about my previous relationship, and even offered her the email address of my first sponsored gal.  They never spoke, but she contacted me a few weeks later and said she was interested "as long as it wasn't sexual in nature."

8 weeks into helping me, she seduced me (again, I never prodded or even showed any interest).  She came to help me 2 days every other week, but would often call me on off-weeks for a late night booty call.  She had a boyfriend through the entire time, but he was so busy with his crappy job and crazy family that they never had any regular sex, plus he was like a potato in the sack.  Again, the sex had nothing to do with the aid I was giving her to overcome her college debt.  Her boyfriend never once asked her about me, and for all I know he didn't know I existed.  I still speak with her monthly, and her life is 50 times better (her words) because she paid off her debt and even found a job using my assistance.  Our relationship lasted a little over a year.  The last time we slept together was 2 years ago just before her engagement ("last fling" and she called it).  That was a weekend of sex in Vegas when she went with her girlfriends; I don't think she left my bed for more than 15 minutes the entire 2 days and 2 nights.

The final sponsorship relationship I had involved a 23 year old who was vying to climb the corporate ladder in the entertainment field.  Her and I were friends (I dated her older sister when I was 19) and she overheard from a mutual friend of ours about how I used to sponsor 2 gals.  She asked me about it, intrigued.  "So we'll fuck?" she asked me.  I told her, no, that's not the deal at all.  "Can we fuck?"  I told her that sex is outside of any mutually-beneficial relationship.  She needed me to help her pay for nice clothes and gear to show-off to those in her field.  We went once a month to Nordstrom or Bloomingdales or a boutique store and bought her outfits, handbags, shoes, makeup, whatever.  It worked in less than 6 months with her moving 3 positions up in a short period of time by wowing customers and management alike.

We had sex maybe twice in those 6 months, both times with her practically begging for it.  After the financial support and her assisting support stopped, we had a more regular sexual relationship up until the time that she decided bisexuality wasn't for her because she fell in love with a nice older woman.  Even when they started dating seriously, we still had infrequent sex whenever I was in San Diego (where her and her girlfriend moved).  That sex was approved by her girlfriend, who understood the need for Professor Penis in this girl's life.  As far as I know, they consider themselves married (they're both on my Facebook).

So that's the situation; sponsorship is not prostitution, it's not money-for-sex, and it has almost nothing to do with sex.  I am more likely to sleep with a friend when we both need it than I am to sleep with some I help out with.  Sadly, as women get more "independent" and less reliant on all the options available to them, the opportunity to find someone has diminished.  Also, the Internet has done a terrible job of properly defining this relationship.  There are dozens of websites for money-for-sex relationships, which to me are the equivalent of prostitution.  I'm not against prostitution, I just don't pay for sex myself.

I love bad accounting

Being in the industry I am in, errors in accounting departments can fall both ways: errors that hurt me and errors that help me.  Usually the mistakes don't account for much, maybe 5% in either direction.  Since they're so commonplace, I usually ignore them even if it means I'm short a little bit.  It all evens out in the end.

Today I went to pick up a check from a client for the first quarter of work for the year.  The check's been sitting there since April 1st, but I've been lazy.  I own my own place with no mortgage, own my car with no loan, and have no real debt of any kind, so getting money isn't a high priority.  What am I going to do with it?  Spend it on a non-existent girlfriend?  Buy myself something I don't need?

I know I spend too much on food and sometimes clothes, but even that's rare and isn't that big of a burden.  Whole Foods and Trader Joe's can kill me in terms of overall spending for the year, but month-to-month it isn't so bad.

So at 9am this morning, I left my humble abode and took off like a bat out of hell on a highway with absolutely zero traffic.  What should have been a 90 minute drive took less than 25 minutes.  I arrived at 9:25am exactly, surprised at my luck.

I walk in, see the gorgeous blonde at reception (who gave me her number a year ago but I never called), gave her the usual chit-chat and flirtation grin, and took off once I was cleared through security.  The woman who handles releasing checks is an old friend who I have followed from job to job with her, and she loves me like a grandson (she's going to retire next year).  She pulls up her check file and goes through about 500 checks to find mine.  I get paid in a corporate name, and she can never remember which one it is (surprisingly, neither can I).  She gives me the envelope and we chat.  She ends the discussion with "See you in 3 months.  Or maybe 6."  She jokes because I've been known to leave checks there for over a year before I find the desire to pick them up.

Their corporate office is in the burbs but I work for their branch in Texas.  All my work is in DFW, and they only pay out of Chicagoland, so it's a pain.

I decide to go to the bank where the senior teller who denied me works, since it is close to where I was.  My usual checks from this company aren't gigantic by any means, hovering around $10,000 a quarter.  Note that this may sound like a lot, but it's really not considering the work I do for them.  Also, the fat ugly bank girl isn't there, so I have no one to make sad.

I rip open the envelope and cough uncomfortably: the check is almost 3X as high as I was expecting.  Hmm, this is a problem.

I jam it back in my pocket, get back in the car, and head over to my client's.  More flirtation with the cute blonde up front, another security check and I'm wandering back to accounting.  Lovely Lisa (the older head of accounting) is out to lunch, so I grab a seat in the conference room and wait.  The conference room has a gorgeous balcony that you can smoke from, so I head out and light up while waiting.

1:30pm comes around and Madame Lisa (as I call her) calls me in over the intercom.  "ChicagoSane, come see Lisa immediately.  You have 2 minutes." She says it just like that.  I have a tendency to talk to anyone I run into, even if I don't know them.  She hates waiting.

I wander in and throw her my check.  "It's too much." She laughs, saying that no one would bother with a small overpayment, it happens.  "No, it's around $17,000 too much."  She looks at the check, and then pulls up my invoices over her computer terminal.

The way I bill clients like them is bizarre.  I send them invoices by the hour, broken down to what I think I did.  They then chop those invoices up, approving or denying work for almost no clear reason.  Most people don't tough my industry because of this: I've submitted $50,000 in work to clients only to get approved for $2,700.  I've also submitted $2,700 in invoices to clients only to get checks for $9,000 after they factor in their own overhead and per diem costs that they think I should be reimbursed for.  It makes no sense.

She says "You submitted to us a total of $18,000.  We approved half." I know.  I was expecting around $10,000.  "Let me check." She taps away at her keyboard, nodding and saying "mmHmm" often.  10 screens flash by, then 25, then maybe 50.  She's popping around in the complexity of her software that I don't comprehend at all.

"Your check is correct."  No, it's way too high.  I don't want to be overpaid this much.  It's a hassle to return.  "No, your check is fine.  Michael decided to drop you a big bonus based on the profitability of the jobs you worked on."  I'm not an employee, so I don't get bonuses or commissions or Christmas turkeys or birthday cards.  Also, Michael is a tight-fisted Jewish fellow with a cheap-skate attitude, so he never would pay me a bonus.

"He approved it, right here," she says as she shows me a screen of gibberish.  Just take the check.  She hands it back to me.

I thank her, try to see the boss (denied) and leave.  Instead of the bank, I go home and toss the check on the pile of junkmail I retrieved from my mailbox.  What to do now?

In my 15 years of doing my job, I've only had 5 or 6 checks recalled, usually for small overpayments.  It's not a big deal.  This is huge, my third biggest overpayment in my life.  I'm nervous about depositing it.  I have cash in the bank, but a check this big is waiting to be blown on a huge dinner, or maybe to buy a nice dress for a lovely lady.  Not that I have a sugar baby right now (and haven't in about 6 years, sadly).  But that's what big money is good for: purposeless spending.

So I'm not sure what I'm going to do.  On one hand I'd love to go out and blow $500 on a dinner with a friend, but none of my friends can afford a taxi to go get dinner.  If I had a sugarthing on my arm for this Friday, she'd be getting an awesome outfit from Nordstrom, but the ladies lately take sugarbaby as the wrong thing (it doesn't mean cumbucket or whore).  That's out.

I don't need anything, nor do I have a desire to buy myself something nice and wasteful.  Maybe some shoes, but even the best might set me back $500.  My bills are paid through December, and ComEd won't take anymore advanced payments without sending me the entire prepaid balance back as a check (they do this once a year anyway, idiots).

Where should I go?  I'm thinking a 4 day trip to Hawaii might be nice.  Or Seattle.  Or Atlanta.  Something for 4 days, anything.

Or I'll just go to my local pub and anonymously cover everyone's tab for the night.  At least I'll get a kick out of passing on my good fortune and "luck" to others, unbeknownst to them.

I do love bad accounting, but I hate not being able to do anything good with my gain.  Oh well, it'll sit in a random bank account, probably forgotten, until I desperately need it someday.

Unblemished Purity, Part IV

This is Part IV of a multi-part entry.  You should read Part I, Part II, and Part III first.

She's truly soaking, her pussy is wet and open and throbbing visually.  Her clit is quite large, large enough for me to know it's going to be too sensitive right now for much attention.

I slide my tongue past her soaking slit and do notice she's extremely tight.  Fucking might be a problem.  I'm not a big fan of shoving fingers into a woman's pussy as I feel penetration is best kept for the act of fucking.  Fingers are dry, fingernails are painful, and a guy who fingers a girl who doesn't need it to cum may end up drying her out or causing her pain.  So I skipped that.

My hands on her tight, tiny ass, I slide my tongue to each of her pussy lips as I pull them into my mouth.  My hair is dangling past my face, soaking up some of her juices as I suck on each lips, avoiding the clit and her slit entirely.  Her moans are amazing, and her hips fuck my face as I gently tease her.

I slide my tongue down lower, closer to her asshole as she yelps the loudest moan yet.  "Ohhh, please eat it.  My cunt, eat it please."  She's talking dirtier, which means she's really getting horny.

I put my palm on top of her mound, pushing down slightly to keep her hips from rocking.  A little resistance on the mound does wonders for a woman's orgasm.  After licking up her juices and tasting her lips and slit for almost 20 minutes, I leave her thighs and her calves and place my lips solidly around her engorged clit.  She pulls my hair and comes immediately, soaking my face and the sheets with rage and force.  "Oh fuck oh god oh fuck fuck ohhh." Her orgasm is gorgeous, and her face looks perplexed as she comes with her eyes open.

I slide up to hold her as she continues pulsing her hips and her body shudders less and less.  She has tears in her eyes.  I refrain from kissing her or approaching her as anything more than a bear to hug.  She grasps me tight and says almost silently a thank you.  After a few minutes, she's down from her high and the red color in her face leaves as her breath comes back to normal.

"Oh my god, I've never had one like that even alone." I'm sure.  You can't really tease yourself alone.  "Oh please will you fuck me now?"  Maybe.

Her hand is back on her pussy but this time she has one finger in.  "Will it fit?"  I don't know.

I look at her face and it's just beautiful, this young woman who came on my face and shuddered the moans of perfect pleasure.  I'm not into spilling my load on a woman, but I save plastering a face for the prettiest of the girls I am with.  This woman deserves to be covered in my come from her nose to her mouth to her neck.  Very few women are deserving of it, and I don't throw it around.  I tell her this.

"I never had it that way, but I'd love it."  She's in agreement that she needs my seed all over her.

I turn over to my bedstand and get a condom.  She tries again to put my cockhead in her mouth but fails again.  "I'm sorry.  It's big around, it will take time." I brush her hair out of her eyes and smile as I put a condom on.  Her eyes get huge as she looks at my cock, and I push her back on the bed.

Her legs are split, she now has two fingers in her still-wet pussy and one hand on her nipples.  I put my cock at her slit and rub up and down slowly.

"Please be gentle."  Of course.  I ask if she's sure she wants it and she says, loudly, "hell yes.  Give it to me."  What do you want?  "Your penis in my pussy."  Don't call it a penis.  Tell me what you want in your pussy?  "Your... thing.  Your cock.  I want your cock in my pussy, please." Do you want me to fuck you?  "Yes, fuck my pussy, please."

I push forward a little and meet nothing but resistance.  "Ohhh, push it in harder, please."  I try again, eliciting another loud groan of pain and pleasure, but it still doesn't go in.

"Oh just tear into me, please fuck me."  I try again but it slides down her pussy and lands at her asshole.   "Ohh please try, please fuck me ChicagoSane, I need you."  I tap my cock on her clit to get more of her lube out, and try again.  Still no good.

She grabs my cock and tries it herself but it won't go in.  There's no use trying, it's not happening.

She has tears in her eyes now, but not from pain.  "Please try harder, I don't care how much it hurts, I want you inside me." One last time, but it's no go.

"Can you try with the condom off?" No.  I was testing in February, and I'm sure you're safe, but I don't take risks.  Let's just kiss.

We make out for another half hour, her coming down from her sadness with her hand gently stroking my cock that is still wearing a condom.  "I want this in me."  I know you do, I want to be in you.

We try off and on for another 2 hours.  I ate her pussy to a total of 3 orgasms before the sun pops up.  We tried her on top, doggie style spooning, you name it.  It wouldn't go in.  Finally I find myself exhausted, unable to even keep my erection up.  She's crying now, in my arms as I try to console her.  "I want you to take me, why won't it work?"  Not everyone is made to be with every single person.  I want you, too, but it isn't going to work.

Her tears finally stop and she kisses me deeply.  "I'm so sorry.  You are an amazing lover, I hope you're not mad."  I actually laugh, telling her I'm the one who should be thankful that I was able to please such a beautiful woman and have the chance to try to be her first.  I asked her how she could make it through college to her age without finding one guy to sleep with.

"I haven't gone to college yet.  This is my freshman year."  Now my erection goes from semi-flacid to limp in 3 seconds.  How old are you?

"I'm nineteen, didn't I tell you?"  Now it's my turn to say ummmm.  No, you didn't.  I'm almost twice your age.  A few years ago I was twice your age!

"Liz told you I was younger than her earlier."  I thought you were 24 or 25!

She giggles.  "Why do you think the security guard looked at my ID for so long?  It's a fake!"  Oh, shit.  This isn't cool at all.  This isn't a young woman, this is practically a young girl!  I feel bile in the back of my throat.  I'm a dirty old man.

She grabs my cheek and said it's the first time she found me cute and not sexy, worrying about the age difference.  I laugh with her and realize it isn't that big of a deal, although looking back now it's a HUGE deal for me.  I get yelled at enough by friends for dating 27 year olds or the occasional 23 year old, but 19 is still a teenager.  Ugh.

We fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.  I wake up at 10am, make coffee, and start writing this.  At noon she's up, naked in an alarming way, and I give her a shirt and a fresh pair of boxers.  She showers up, gives me a kiss, and asks, "Do you want to try it again?"  No, it's ok.  "I don't think you came at all!"  I didn't, but that's unimportant.  I'm glad I was able to be almost what you wanted me to be.

I call her a cab which comes in about 10 minutes.  She kisses me deeply and tells me she's sad it couldn't happen, but that she'll be back in a few months and maybe she'll be ready then.  I tell her she'll have to get a fairly big dildo to loosen her up, and she smiles and says the thought crossed her mind.  Like an asshole, I ask her to also pick up 5 more years on her age at the same store, and she pouts and calls me out on it.

I apologize, explaining that the age thing is really difficult for me to accept.  She nods, kisses me again, grabs my cock through my pajama pants, and heads out the door.

I sent Liz a text says "She's nine-fucking-teen.  Why didn't you warn me?"  All she sent back was a smiley.

So here I am, 4 in the afternoon, bored with my porn, wishing I had listened to my internal warning signals.  It's not a big deal, it was really fun and sexy and a helluva fantasy for me to use for the next few weeks or months.  But if she calls me again, I'll have to decline her.  Mid-20s I can accept, but younger than that makes me feel aged and a little sick.

And to think, I had just given some advice to a 50-something female about going after younger guys.  I think after a certain age, it's OK.  But when someone can still call themselves a teenager, they should be keeping it sexual with others of their age group.  At least it'll give them some lessons on bad lovers, so a guy like me can sweep them off of their feet when they do hit their mid-to-late 20s or their 30s.

Ugh.  Anyone have any good porn links?  Preferably NOT one with teen in the URL?

Unblemished Purity, Part III

This is Part III of a longer post.  You may want to read Part I and Part II first.

I kiss Kerry for what seems like hours, but my glance at the clock tells me it wasn't that long.  It's only 4:30am, so we've probably been on my couch for half an hour.  The food in the microwave is long cold by now, with no more scent of "fine" Mexican cuisine wafting in the air.  I can smell Kerry's perfume, but I can also smell a hint of sweat.

I pull away and look at her and realize she's more than pretty, she's beautiful, but something is nagging in the back of my head about it.  She smiles as she opens her eyes to see me watching, and pulls my neck into her, our lips touching again.  Her kissing in a short period of time has gotten better.  Everyone can be a good kisser with time and patience.

Her hands left my shoulders and upper arms and began unbuttoning my dress shirt.  I don't stop her, and she gets it deftly off my body without breaking our embrace.  "Oh, chest hair," she says as she runs her palm over my body.  I try to stifle it, but I shudder slightly from her slightly cold touch.  She notices.

I go back to kiss her again when she uses her palm to stop me.  "What about me?"  I don't control the clothes, I tell her.  It wasn't a cue, but she slowly hikes her dress up, showing me her purple and white cotton panties.  I pull back off of her to watch, and her dress miraculously vanishes over the edge of the couch.

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).

She reaches her arm back to try to remove her bra but I push it away.  While I have her arm grasped in mine, I roll her over onto her belly.  It wasn't very successful as her face plows into the back of the couch.  We both laugh, and I help her get onto her belly.

If I could never touch a woman's nipples or clit or feet, I would.  The back and the hips and the shoulders and the neck are far, far more sensual.  I look at my hands and see the remainder of a night of drinking, but she's no cleaner.  I lay back down with our legs alternating, and put my hands near her back.  Another moan.

First I move my palm just close enough to feel her invisible body hair on the small of her back.  Moan, again.  I warm my hand up as I slide is softly up her side and her spine, my thumb lingering behind my palm to trace goosebumps up her back.  A louder moan.  Her hips slowly grind into the plush couch below her, not giving her any friction in return.

As my first hand is reaching her upper back, I pull my second hand up in a similar motion, albeit faster, so my hands reach her neck at the same time.  I don't choke her, but I place my fingers gently on her shoulder blade, touching her neck, as I touch my lips to the top of her spine.  More moans, more hip grinding.

I strum a melody on her back for over a half hour, getting her to the point of begging me.  "Please take my underwear off.   Please."  She doesn't just mean her bra as her scent of her pussy is obvious and wonderful.  She turns herself over and we embrace again, this time with her hand also removing my belt and then my pants, clumsily.

My cock is hard as can be, and my precum is soaking my boxers.  "I'm not the only one soaked" she says with a grin.  Her hand works its way into my boxers through the front hole as I bite my lip and only let out a minor groan.  "Mmm, now that's a man," she says.  I pull her hand out and place it on my hip.

I kiss her for a few more minutes and break the embrace to her surprise.  I stand up with my cock forcing itself out of my boxers.  I push it back in, grab her hands and lift her from the couch.  I walk her to the bedroom and douse the lights in the living room, leaving us with only the outdoor street light casting a shine through the blinds.

On her way to the bed, she removes her bra and her panties.  I'm glad she doesn't shave completely clean.  Her musky scent is completely addictive.  The knowledge that I will be the first to push into her is turning me on even though the idea isn't ever this interesting to me.

I step to the bed and she loops her finger into my boxers and moves them down to my knees.  I step out of them and climb into the bed, pulling the neatly-folded covers over both of us.  Her hand is on my cock again in 5 seconds.  I pull her hands away and push her head to a pillow near the side of the bed.  I slide myself out of the bed and stand with my cock near her face.  I asked her if she's sucked cock before, to which she only nods while staring more at it than at me.  I push it towards her mouth, and she grabs it and opens her mouth.

Problem: it doesn't fit.  She has the tiniest mouth I've ever encountered.  She gets her lips over my thick head (the thickest part, by far) but her teeth scrape against it.  Ouch.  I pull out and let her use her tongue on it.  She's not good at head.  No surprise there.  I let her try again, but it doesn't really work that well.  Her other hand is rubbing her pussy, not on the clit but up and down her lips.  I taste her hand and it's wonderful, better than I had envisioned from the smell in the room.

"I'm worried.  I don't think it's going to fit."  I didn't think about that.  Her hand can't even wrap around my base, her mouth won't fit over the head.  This is interesting.  I kiss her, moving my hands down her arms bringing goosebumps back.  I slide my hands past her tits, never touching her nipples but circling the sides, which elicit many moans each time I tease her.  I kiss her chin and her jaw, her neck and her shoulders.  Her one hand is still masturbating her pussy so I kiss my way down that arm and look at her pussy up close.  Red hair, as far as I can tell.  Freckly.  So cute.

I barely touch my tongue to her wide open slit, not enough to cause her pleasure but just enough to get a taste.  She is wet, wetter than I've encountered in years.  My sheets are already soaked.  I slide my tongue back in my mouth, choosing not to play in this area right now.  She grabs my hair and pulls me closer to her clit but I back off.

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 final part in Part IV.

Unblemished Purity, Part II

This is Part II of a longer post. You can read the first post at Unblemished Purity, Part I.

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.

Unblemished Purity, Part I

Last night was a fun night. After writing this, I almost can't believe it is real, but it is.

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.

Unblemished Purity, a teasing taste

Made it home in one piece. Had a blast with Liz, kept it purely friendly.

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.

My proclivity to accept "getting beers": a euphemism

So Liz, my beer buddy that I met on Craigslist, sent me an email last night that I will post here, with permission. I would prefer to type [sic] after every sentence, but I will refrain:

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.

The downfalls of "dating"

Over at another blog I follow (I don't know this person, and they surely haven't approved or disproved of the contents of this blog or this particular post), The Writings of Madame Yu See, the writer speaks of their recent dating experience.

They said:

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?

Oh that cute bank girl: fail.

I had to run to the bank today to deposit some checks and cash that have been lingering around in various pockets of practically every pair of pants that need a scrubbing. I'm really irresponsible about depositing money, and have had more than one occasion where I had to call someone up 6 months later to request a new check as the old one expired.

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.

A decent ascent into spring

E-mail update: I nuked a few contacts accidentally at Google Mail, so if you email me irregularly, please send me an email so I can add you again. chicagosane@gmail.com Note that I generally delete emails after replying, so I don't even have that form to look you up. Oops.

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?

The dreaded phone call about booty, but not mine

Woke up early today to get to work on a new idea. 5am rising isn't that bad; in fact it makes me more productive.

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.

Time for a shave, a shower and a sherpa?

Hitting the ground in Chicago is always a fascinating experience when I'm away for a long time. There are friends I've missed, clients to regain some work from, food that can't be duplicated properly anywhere else, and the overall sense of longing for home that is dispelled the minute the tires hit the tarmac.

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.

Crash and burn at Estelle's

I decided to get out and grab a brew at Estelle's last night, in my least favorite neighborhood of Wicker Park.

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.

Back in town, finally

I hate being away from my beloved Chicago. I get really out of character on long trips away. This time it was no different, I just needed to get away from the damned snow.

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.