As you kind readers may know, I had a whopper of a day on Wednesday.
I arrived in a certain Latin American country EARLY. While I had business scheduled, I also invited a local blogger who I read and email here and there to meet me for a cup of coffee. Considering that she is MUCH younger than me (I was double her age not that many years ago), I figured it would be a great cup of coffee, good conversation, a nice hug, and off she goes. As I said in my previous 3-part post, we talked, walked and ended up at my hotel room just 2 hours later. 2 orgasms on her part, 1 on mine and we had a nice afternoon in my king-sized bed.
I wasn't sure if I'd see her again, considering my busy schedule and her summer of fun with friends, but the next morning, as I was walking to get breakfast at 9:45am, I received an SMS from her: "I want to see you, NOW." Uh oh, I need to eat.
As I wandered looking for food to eat, I saw her walk up. Tall, slim, curvy, gorgeous Andalusian eyes and hair that makes me swoon, my gaze was fixated on watching her walk up to me. Since she's my secret latin lover, and I'm her gringo, we had to limit PDA to basically a latin hello smooch on the cheek. It was hard not to embrace her, bend her at her waist and throw my lips on hers. Ouch.
I hadn't eaten, and I didn't see any breakfast-type places at the center of the action, so I invited her to my hotel lobby for breakfast there. She had already eaten, but we sat down in the lobby restaurant and she helped me order an omelette with cheese and chilis. The waiter, in Spanish, warned me that they were caliente. Duh, it's LATIN-FUCKING-AMERICA. I ordered coffee, she ordered orange juice.
My plate came, quickly, and it was perfection. I'm not sure what it is about the beef and eggs in this country, but it definitely tastes better. Sandra, my new latin lover, sipped her orange juice while we talked about her evening prior, hanging out with friends and doing the college summer break thing. Ahh, to be sub-21 again.
I finished, quickly, as I always do, but realized I had forgotten my cell phone in my room upstairs. I asked her to follow me while I get it. No, no, you perverted fucks, I really just needed my cell phone, and it wasn't a Costanza-style leave-behind. In the elevator, she threw her face at me and we kissed, arriving at the 3rd floor too quickly. We wandered down the hallway, and I could FEEL the eyes of the cleaning ladies after the loud cries of pleasure emanating from my room yesterday. I hope Sandra didn't notice.
We entered my room, and I snagged the cell phone, and a few more kisses. I've said it before: I love passionate women, age is not a factor. This gal, with her minor dalliances of past lovers/boyfriends, has passion down to an art and a science. She can get Little Fire Hydrant ready to put out her fire in about 3 seconds.
But that's not how Sane rolls. It's important to me to stay one step ahead of their teases, and she knew full well what I had in mind. Our first day we met, and 2 hours later I had my face between her thighs, bringing her off loudly and harshly. But no sex. I wasn't going to corner myself into bed with her without knowing how she'll handle the next step -- if there is to be another step. I'm here for a few days, and then who knows when I'll see her again? It's important to me that a lover's head, heart, body and soul all be in the right place; I never want to be the guy who takes advantage of someone.
So we left the hotel room. The smile on both of our faces was bright, and it brought smiles from every hotel employee as we walked past them. I wanted to check out the mall in town, which was a 10 minute cab ride from my hotel. We caught a cab in front of the hotel and zipped off, ready to spend my money on something nice.
We arrived at the mall, which is very modern, just like back in the States. $5 for quite a long haul, not bad. As we wandered, I told her I needed a belt, but I would love to put her in some shoes, or a dress, or get her a purse or another accessory. She had no part of it at all. I could barely pay for her orange juice earlier; she's not looking to be my sugar baby. Too bad, I'd love to doll her up and then strip her down to only what I bought her.
So we wandered the mall, looking at every men's store for the belt I want. I HATE belts with holes and pins, prefering the kind that clasps at any size without the need to puncture leather. After 3 or 4 stores, we found it: PERFECTION. The perfect color (light tan), the perfect size, and a unique clasp I had never seen before. I paid for the belt after trying to get her to pick out something for herself, but I let with only my bag.
We wandered the mall a bit more, and then hopped another cab to yet another mall to wander around a bit. Again, she denied my desire to put her into something sexy or slinky or gorgeous. We sat down and I had an espresso doble (again) and she had a strawberry smoothie (again) just like our first "date" yesterday. We also shared a keylime and grapefruit pie/cake that was fairly decent if not enough acidic.
After the second mall, we headed back to my hotel, both of us realizing we hadn't slept enough and needed a nice cuddle-and-nap. Back up to the third floor it was, and she sat on my bed while I checked my email, twitter, Facebook and blog comments. I could see the tiredness in her eyes, so I sat on the bed with her, laid down, and cradled her head on my chest and shoulder.
It didn't take long for her bronzed skin and toned body to beckon my fingers, and again I played teasingly on her shoulders and arms, taking her hands into my hands and entangling fingers while I returned back to her upper back. Goosebumps, again.
As she let me tease her skin and back, clothes slowly came off as we embraced, holding each others faces with our fingers as we passionately battled lips and tongues. I withdrew a few times, which made her erupt "TEASE!" more than once. Yes, yes I am.
She inhaled my man scent a few times, and commented on it. I've heard it before, and I have no idea what I smell like: cigarettes, coffee, halitosis? Well, whatever works.
She straddled me, her gorgeous thighs wrapped around mine, both of us still wearing our jeans. She removed her top, and I moved my hands from the small of her back to her shoulders, casually flicking her bra strap off in a split second. I'm sure she was impressed, and she laid her tits on my chest and we wrapped ourselves up in our bodies, our kisses, our mutual passions and desires for one another.
After what seemed like eternity (but wasn't, I move too fast with this gal!), I brushed her off of me in order to go wash my hands in the bathroom. It's a good tactic, because I also leave my medicine bag in there, the one with the 6 condoms. I was a bit worried about not being able to find my particular brand of condoms in this part of the world, and I was right: none of the pharmacies carry it. Argh.
As I returned, I had her remove her jeans and her underwear. For a young gal, she is quite the comfortable nudist. I absolutely adore her body: her curves, her skin, her almost-invisible tan lines. Her goosebumps I provide her drive me up a wall, and her pussy is always glistening and ready for what I have in mind, be it teasing or licking or touching. As I stroked her thighs and they spread, her scent filled my nose and reached down into my soul. There is nothing more sexy than a woman who is wet with desire from just my kisses and my caresses.
I needed to taste her, and I didn't waste time at all. I kissed my way down her chest, actually giving her nipples a smooth encircling with my tongue before teasingly biting only a slight bit. She moaned as my mouth passed her pubic mound; I inhaled and took in her gorgeous feminine scent. I had already made her come with my mouth once yesterday, so I turned her over onto her belly.
I spread her legs, ass pointing to the ceiling, and shoved my head between her legs. With her belly on the bed and her pubes also touching fabric, I wanted to give her a different clit licking than she had probably had before with her limited experience.
Her pussy tastes amazing, definitely a top notch situation. I've tasted some boring ones, but this is nothing short of perfection. I lapped at her lips, her clit, fucking her pussy with my tongue as I rubbed her ass and thighs. Every time her ass tried to move into the air, I forced it down with my hand, knowing the pressure against the bed will bring her off quicker.
And it didn't take long. Her mouth her buried in the pillow, biting down possibly on the fabric. I kept her ass forced down as I put all the pressure I could on her clit, taking it into my lips and then licking at it as it became fully engorged. She moaned, muffled, and tried to tell me she was going to come, but it really came out as "ah, Ah, AHH, I'm going to (muffle) AHH AHHH AHHHHHH" and then she did.
My face, as the day before, got soaked as she came on it and into my mouth. I slurped up as much as I could while she came down, her hips grinding less and less.
The she collapsed on the bed, and I nuzzled up next to her, my arm around her back and shoulder, my hands on her arm, feeling her breaths slow, her body loosen, her goosebumps falling away as she basked in the glory of what seemed to be a very strong orgasm.
To be continued in Part II. Suckers.
Showing posts with label anonymous blogger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anonymous blogger. Show all posts
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Somewhere in America, Part I
Meeting bloggers is always fun, but lately my bloggers I've met were local to me in Chicago, and one in DC.
I've talked about my world travels that occur often, and a blogger who I chat off-and-on with asked if my next trip would land me anywhere near where she lives, somewhere south of Mexico and north of Argentina. I like to make fun of her when she calls the U.S. "America" because where she is from is ALSO America. North America, Central America, South America, we're ALL Americans.
As luck would have it, I had a trip planned to HER America region. And not just to her country but to her home town. I dropped her a note when we chatted, and a possible coffee "date" was planned at some time in the future.
My client kept moving his schedule, so I booked 5 different flights for 4 different date segments. The blogger was also busy here and there with life, but I did want to meet her. I'd seen her picture and even some video she shared with me, and she was gorgeous, slim, curvy and fun to chat with. Just like with Delecta and AFCBs #1-3, my goal was to make friends.
Finally my client said "Come on this day" and I told the blogger to see if she was still interested in that coffee. She confirmed her interest, so we made plans to meet on one of the days I'd be there when she was free.
I hopped a bunch of flights, landed in said random country, and texted my client and her as I walked out of the plane just shy of lunch time. My client decided to be too busy, so I checked into a VERY nice hotel, turned on my laptop and found the blogger online.
We'll call her Sandra, not her real name. Sandra told me she was free in the afternoon around 3pm, and that we could meet at the mall that was 1 block from my hotel and just a half mile from where she lives. Bonus. She asked me where we should meet, and I quickly picked a coffee shop at the mall.
The mall is awesome, but wasn't very busy. The coffee shop was in a rotunda part of the mall, all glass -- I could see people entering the mall, and I seated myself so I could see her coming up the escalator. She's tall, loves to show off her body, has an ass that one should worship, and is completely out of my league. Oh, and she hasn't hit 21 -- yet. Umm, yeah, that's as safe as it can get.
At 2:30 she chats me that she'll be there early. ARGH, no time for a shower, a shave, or a change of clothes even. I haul into the elevator, walk over to the mall, find the coffee shop and situate myself so I could see her before she sees me. A few minutes late, as the latin women prefer, and I see her coming up the escalator. Holy crap, I need to bail.
I became nervous, which is very rare for me. As she walks around the windowed second floor of the rotunda (the coffee shop wraps around about 40 degrees of it), I stand and she beams a smile. I throw back my toothy, crooked, broken smile and we embrace, hard. Nice boobs. TIGHT, muscular body. Amazing skin and her face is just lit up.
We talk, my nervousness obvious. A cute waitress brings us menus, and we order our drinks: espresso doble for Sane, some sort of strawberry smoothie for Sandra. We continue our conversation, just feeling the other out for comfort and comedy. We smiled, we laughed, we made eye contact. We drank our drinks, fast.
At one point, she turned her head and her neck cracked, causing her hand to shoot up to rub it. "Ow, that hurt," she told me, sitting across from me as I watched her unsuccessfully rub her own back.
As I paid for the drinks, we decided to walk the mall since my belt was so loose it was falling off my ass. We wandered in and out of various stores, me pointing at cute gals clothing and her nodding her head NO. She knows I like to buy pretty gals gorgeous clothes so I can be seen with them, but she already looked gorgeous in her red A-shirt, tight jeans and red fuck-me-heels. Oh, and the bitch wore glasses. Grr.
We checked out a bunch of NICE stores (high fashion labels), which is surprising since the minimum wage in the country is around $1 per hour, maybe less. I found TWO suits that I am buying before I leave, but no belts. I needed a belt in the color I was wearing. Tomorrow I'll find a leather shop that can poke holes.
We wandered a bit more, neither of us hungry, but I needed toothpaste and lip balm, so she took me to the local pharmacy, which is more drugs than consumer goods like Walgreens back home. Found the toothpaste and the lipbalm, I paid, and we left.
She had plans with friends in the evening, and I had a fresh carton or two of cigarettes, plus I had to drop off my purchases at the hotel barely 2 blocks away, so I asked if she wanted a pack of smokes in exchange for showing me around the area. She agreed, so we headed up to my hotel.
Originally I had a penthouse suite, but they were doing construction in the hallway and it was NOISY, so I requested a lower floor to avoid the noise. No big deal for them, and I was lucky to still keep a smoking room ($20 tip lucky). The majority of the hotel is non-smoking, so the rooms are hard to come by.
I showed her my room and then sat on the large, red couch while she sat on the king size bed, her feet dangling off. We talked some more, her flirtatiously making eye contact with me while her legs kept dangling off the bed, swinging, inviting, teasing. Argh.
I stood up, for whatever reason, adjusted my ponytail, and sat down next to her on the bed. Why? Because it was safe. We were fully clothed, there wasn't any touchy-touchy beyond some accidental glances (uh huh) and she had plans with friends so there wasn't really that much time to do anything but talk.
So there we are, talking, making eye contact, laughing, obviously enjoying each other's company. For background purposes, the gal doesn't have a lot of sexual experience. Less than anyone I've met in a LONG time. That means that Sane has to be a total gentleman, and I stick to it.
And then she fucking seduced ME. Her hand was on her neck a few times, obviously hurting. At one point, she laid down on the bed (it's comfortable), so I did, too, staring at the ceiling as we talked. Then she rolled over to her side facing away from me, continuing to talk but also putting her hand on her neck, her entire back north of her bra-strap exposed with tan skin. Uhhhh, yeah.
I asked her if she needed help, and her hand was replaced by one of my hands as I rolled to my side to get a better angle. I used my (very) soft fingers with some force to detect what muscles were tight and found that her left neck muscles were extremely tight, and her right neck muscles were needed some attention but not as much.
I proceeded to find the pressure amount between healing and pain, not pleasure and pain. As I used my thumbs and fingers into her neck and shoulder, I could see her body loosen up. She even let a gasp fall from her lips. Just a few minutes of that and she was feeling looser in the neck and shoulders, and her body's posture took on a different angle -- more relaxed, rehabilitated.
Her body slid back a bit, her back touching my best, her ass pushed up against my cock which was already starting to get happy from the body touching, from her scent, from her gasps and moans from my simple back rub.
In order to find a comfortable position, I put my arm on her arm, my fingers on her shoulder and my other hand that I was laying on rested on her back.
To be continued in Part II.
I've talked about my world travels that occur often, and a blogger who I chat off-and-on with asked if my next trip would land me anywhere near where she lives, somewhere south of Mexico and north of Argentina. I like to make fun of her when she calls the U.S. "America" because where she is from is ALSO America. North America, Central America, South America, we're ALL Americans.
As luck would have it, I had a trip planned to HER America region. And not just to her country but to her home town. I dropped her a note when we chatted, and a possible coffee "date" was planned at some time in the future.
My client kept moving his schedule, so I booked 5 different flights for 4 different date segments. The blogger was also busy here and there with life, but I did want to meet her. I'd seen her picture and even some video she shared with me, and she was gorgeous, slim, curvy and fun to chat with. Just like with Delecta and AFCBs #1-3, my goal was to make friends.
Finally my client said "Come on this day" and I told the blogger to see if she was still interested in that coffee. She confirmed her interest, so we made plans to meet on one of the days I'd be there when she was free.
I hopped a bunch of flights, landed in said random country, and texted my client and her as I walked out of the plane just shy of lunch time. My client decided to be too busy, so I checked into a VERY nice hotel, turned on my laptop and found the blogger online.
We'll call her Sandra, not her real name. Sandra told me she was free in the afternoon around 3pm, and that we could meet at the mall that was 1 block from my hotel and just a half mile from where she lives. Bonus. She asked me where we should meet, and I quickly picked a coffee shop at the mall.
The mall is awesome, but wasn't very busy. The coffee shop was in a rotunda part of the mall, all glass -- I could see people entering the mall, and I seated myself so I could see her coming up the escalator. She's tall, loves to show off her body, has an ass that one should worship, and is completely out of my league. Oh, and she hasn't hit 21 -- yet. Umm, yeah, that's as safe as it can get.
At 2:30 she chats me that she'll be there early. ARGH, no time for a shower, a shave, or a change of clothes even. I haul into the elevator, walk over to the mall, find the coffee shop and situate myself so I could see her before she sees me. A few minutes late, as the latin women prefer, and I see her coming up the escalator. Holy crap, I need to bail.
I became nervous, which is very rare for me. As she walks around the windowed second floor of the rotunda (the coffee shop wraps around about 40 degrees of it), I stand and she beams a smile. I throw back my toothy, crooked, broken smile and we embrace, hard. Nice boobs. TIGHT, muscular body. Amazing skin and her face is just lit up.
We talk, my nervousness obvious. A cute waitress brings us menus, and we order our drinks: espresso doble for Sane, some sort of strawberry smoothie for Sandra. We continue our conversation, just feeling the other out for comfort and comedy. We smiled, we laughed, we made eye contact. We drank our drinks, fast.
At one point, she turned her head and her neck cracked, causing her hand to shoot up to rub it. "Ow, that hurt," she told me, sitting across from me as I watched her unsuccessfully rub her own back.
As I paid for the drinks, we decided to walk the mall since my belt was so loose it was falling off my ass. We wandered in and out of various stores, me pointing at cute gals clothing and her nodding her head NO. She knows I like to buy pretty gals gorgeous clothes so I can be seen with them, but she already looked gorgeous in her red A-shirt, tight jeans and red fuck-me-heels. Oh, and the bitch wore glasses. Grr.
We checked out a bunch of NICE stores (high fashion labels), which is surprising since the minimum wage in the country is around $1 per hour, maybe less. I found TWO suits that I am buying before I leave, but no belts. I needed a belt in the color I was wearing. Tomorrow I'll find a leather shop that can poke holes.
We wandered a bit more, neither of us hungry, but I needed toothpaste and lip balm, so she took me to the local pharmacy, which is more drugs than consumer goods like Walgreens back home. Found the toothpaste and the lipbalm, I paid, and we left.
She had plans with friends in the evening, and I had a fresh carton or two of cigarettes, plus I had to drop off my purchases at the hotel barely 2 blocks away, so I asked if she wanted a pack of smokes in exchange for showing me around the area. She agreed, so we headed up to my hotel.
Originally I had a penthouse suite, but they were doing construction in the hallway and it was NOISY, so I requested a lower floor to avoid the noise. No big deal for them, and I was lucky to still keep a smoking room ($20 tip lucky). The majority of the hotel is non-smoking, so the rooms are hard to come by.
I showed her my room and then sat on the large, red couch while she sat on the king size bed, her feet dangling off. We talked some more, her flirtatiously making eye contact with me while her legs kept dangling off the bed, swinging, inviting, teasing. Argh.
I stood up, for whatever reason, adjusted my ponytail, and sat down next to her on the bed. Why? Because it was safe. We were fully clothed, there wasn't any touchy-touchy beyond some accidental glances (uh huh) and she had plans with friends so there wasn't really that much time to do anything but talk.
So there we are, talking, making eye contact, laughing, obviously enjoying each other's company. For background purposes, the gal doesn't have a lot of sexual experience. Less than anyone I've met in a LONG time. That means that Sane has to be a total gentleman, and I stick to it.
And then she fucking seduced ME. Her hand was on her neck a few times, obviously hurting. At one point, she laid down on the bed (it's comfortable), so I did, too, staring at the ceiling as we talked. Then she rolled over to her side facing away from me, continuing to talk but also putting her hand on her neck, her entire back north of her bra-strap exposed with tan skin. Uhhhh, yeah.
I asked her if she needed help, and her hand was replaced by one of my hands as I rolled to my side to get a better angle. I used my (very) soft fingers with some force to detect what muscles were tight and found that her left neck muscles were extremely tight, and her right neck muscles were needed some attention but not as much.
I proceeded to find the pressure amount between healing and pain, not pleasure and pain. As I used my thumbs and fingers into her neck and shoulder, I could see her body loosen up. She even let a gasp fall from her lips. Just a few minutes of that and she was feeling looser in the neck and shoulders, and her body's posture took on a different angle -- more relaxed, rehabilitated.
Her body slid back a bit, her back touching my best, her ass pushed up against my cock which was already starting to get happy from the body touching, from her scent, from her gasps and moans from my simple back rub.
In order to find a comfortable position, I put my arm on her arm, my fingers on her shoulder and my other hand that I was laying on rested on her back.
To be continued in Part II.
Read the rest...
Monday, July 13, 2009
A quiet week
I have a quiet week ahead, with no major plans to keep my attention from much needed sleep, cuddle time with the kittie, doing some cleaning and preparing for some rehabbing of the old apartment, etc.
AFCB#1 called me up today out of the blue, telling me she saw me on Saturday but I didn't notice her waving. She told me she's missed my company and would like to hang out again, so I'm putting some ideas together for gal-pal festivities. I'm thinking of taking a road trip up to Ren-Faire or maybe Woodstock, Illinois for good food and sunlight. We'll see.
I'm going to drop a line to AFCB#2 as well, might as well make it a blogging buddy week. Maybe lunch, maybe dinner, not sure really. Always good to have eye candy 3 feet in front of me while I stuff my face and belly.
My mind is cluttered from lack of good sleep, so I'm definitely doing a nap this afternoon in the sun. Millenium Park or the beach, anyone?
I have two VIP tickets to Harry Potter for Tuesday night at 12:01am at a fantastic theater (the best in Chicago if you ask me) but I can't go due to plans I already made for Tuesday, so I traded the tickets for Wednesday. Not sure if I should take a friend for movie and dinner, or push for calling up a possible date interest or not. It's a tough call.
Bea from Saturday added me to Facebook and said "we should hang out again soon." I would very much like to stick my ears on her thighs for awhile, but I also don't like hooking up with any of gay Miguel's friends. He loves to blabber, and then simple stores like "He had sex" become "He's having orgies and is going to have a polygamous marriage and children with his entire concubine." So I'm leaving that one simmering on a back burner because I think it would be wise to stay 10 feet away. My resolve this weekend was nearly broken.
I'm trying to make lunch plans with a competitor of mine, Brach, who is in town from Germany. He's about my height and weight, but his body fat is probably 2%. When he comes to town, we pound on each other in an alley behind one of my buildings, and then wander into bars bloody and bruised. Lots of fun with the surly German, but I'm not sure if these old bones can take it.
So that's about it. Not a lot of interesting things happening, but I sure as hell am ready to get my mouth on someone's lips (yes, those too) and tell you all about it.
Any of you getting laid? Tell me about it.
AFCB#1 called me up today out of the blue, telling me she saw me on Saturday but I didn't notice her waving. She told me she's missed my company and would like to hang out again, so I'm putting some ideas together for gal-pal festivities. I'm thinking of taking a road trip up to Ren-Faire or maybe Woodstock, Illinois for good food and sunlight. We'll see.
I'm going to drop a line to AFCB#2 as well, might as well make it a blogging buddy week. Maybe lunch, maybe dinner, not sure really. Always good to have eye candy 3 feet in front of me while I stuff my face and belly.
My mind is cluttered from lack of good sleep, so I'm definitely doing a nap this afternoon in the sun. Millenium Park or the beach, anyone?
I have two VIP tickets to Harry Potter for Tuesday night at 12:01am at a fantastic theater (the best in Chicago if you ask me) but I can't go due to plans I already made for Tuesday, so I traded the tickets for Wednesday. Not sure if I should take a friend for movie and dinner, or push for calling up a possible date interest or not. It's a tough call.
Bea from Saturday added me to Facebook and said "we should hang out again soon." I would very much like to stick my ears on her thighs for awhile, but I also don't like hooking up with any of gay Miguel's friends. He loves to blabber, and then simple stores like "He had sex" become "He's having orgies and is going to have a polygamous marriage and children with his entire concubine." So I'm leaving that one simmering on a back burner because I think it would be wise to stay 10 feet away. My resolve this weekend was nearly broken.
I'm trying to make lunch plans with a competitor of mine, Brach, who is in town from Germany. He's about my height and weight, but his body fat is probably 2%. When he comes to town, we pound on each other in an alley behind one of my buildings, and then wander into bars bloody and bruised. Lots of fun with the surly German, but I'm not sure if these old bones can take it.
So that's about it. Not a lot of interesting things happening, but I sure as hell am ready to get my mouth on someone's lips (yes, those too) and tell you all about it.
Any of you getting laid? Tell me about it.
Read the rest...
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
More "Sex" with Delecta tonight
Over the past few days, Delecta and I decided we would regroup for another round of stuffing our pieholes with good food, maybe good drink.
We're picking a restaurant that gets rave reviews for their large beer selection and HUGE selection of pork products made fresh in-house.
Considering the proto-orgasm that we both had, simultaneously last time, I'm looking forward to more good food, more cherished and hilarious conversation, and quite possibly another night where we both adjourn to bed, fulfilled, flush and exhausted.
We're picking a restaurant that gets rave reviews for their large beer selection and HUGE selection of pork products made fresh in-house.
Considering the proto-orgasm that we both had, simultaneously last time, I'm looking forward to more good food, more cherished and hilarious conversation, and quite possibly another night where we both adjourn to bed, fulfilled, flush and exhausted.
Read the rest...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Breakfast with Lilies, Part II
Continued from Part I.
Lily and I sit down at a table after a 2 minute wait. She faces the door, I face the painted wall behind her.
She's very attractive, as is the case with all the Anonymous Female Bloggers I've met so far. Her eyes are bright and she smiles a LOT. She has nice teeth, unfortunately. I love a gal with a few junky teeth in her grill.
"So. Who are you?" I smile. "I mean it." I continue to smile. "That's not going to work on me. I've read your entire site, I know your tricks." I'm Sane. I like to write words. What do you want to know?
"Born here?" Chicago, yeah. "Why are you so interesting?" I shrug. "Are you for real?" I'm here, right now. "You bullshit a lot, right?" Not at all. Every story I've written is backed by real people, many of whom have read the stories about them. Sometimes I discombobulate time frames or reference points, but they're as accurate as they can be.
"I read the post about that girl Celine. And I read her blog, too. You killed that girl." Woman. And I may have, but she wanted it and needed it. What do you need? "Nothing. Just breakfast. I'm surprised you accepted my invitation." Why? I like to meet people. "To sleep with them?" No, definitely not. "So what's the reason?" Just to meet people with a similar passion. "And that's it?" Totally. "And you don't try to sleep with them?" I'm not a whore, I'm picky. Plus, I never try to sleep with anyone. If they want me enough, they come to me.
"I would never do that." A lot of girls don't. It doesn't bother me. "What if you miss someone great?" Then I do. Women, and men, are a dime a dozen. I have no time for dancing around chances. If an opportunity doesn't arise, I don't bother. It's not a risk worth taking. So why did you bring this topic up first?
"Just wondering. Your blog isn't about sex always, but it seems to be a reoccurring theme." I have readers who request those stories more. I always oblige a faithful reader or commenter or emailer. "That's nice of you." I guess. I don't do it to be nice, I do it because it gives people more reason to communicate or look for new paths to take in their own lives.
"You like knowing the effect your words have." I do. Not just sexual vibes, either. "I like that. You talk for yourself, but you talk to us." Do I? I never thought of it that way. Most of my older stories are cut-and-paste from past journals with a little refreshing.
"What do you do for a living?" I'm a writer. "I know, it's your cover and all that. I mean for real." I slay dragons. She laughs. "Dragons?" Big ones. Fire-breathers with huge wings. I'm like Harry Potter. "Your glasses and haircut are wrong." I smile. "Your hair isn't too long. There are many women who go for that look." Maybe. I don't do it for them.
Our waitress comes and we order near identical breakfasts. She gets orange juice, I ask for a glass of OJ only 1/10th full. To mix with water. She raises her eyebrow. "No sugar, right?" Bingo. "So you slay dragons and cast magic spells." Basically. What do you do? "I working in marketing and advertising." I figured. You dress well. "I love this dress. We're a casual office, so we get to wear what we want." Better than jeans and a T-shirt. I secretly look over her body and realize it's pretty nice. Good rack, not too big. I'd jump on it given the right chance.
We chat, nice conversation and all, as our food quickly arrives. She covers her mouth as she eats the bigger chunks of flesh, which is cute. "So why are you single now, again?" I haven't met anyone that I like enough, or that likes me. "So you have people you like, but they're not into you?" It happens. The crush passes quickly, I don't get sad or frustrated over anyone anymore. How about you? "I'm dating a guy, but not that seriously. He's a good guy, just a bit boring." A bit? "Ok, a lot boring." Video games, sports, etc? "Something like that. He's nice, just not very confident about trying new things." I nod as I eat.
"So are you looking?" For a girlfriend? She nods. No, not really. "Then what?" A summer lover. A secret mistress. A sugar baby who wants to jump on my chest and put her face in my V on my hips. Someone fun who isn't going to go crazy for me, who understands my busy schedule means I can disappear for a week with little warning but an email. "Good luck. That's hard to find." Not that hard. But I don't look that hard, either. "You should. You're interesting, women get a kick out of that." Some. Most want a simple guy, I think.
"I have a simple guy and it drives me crazy some days." What do you do about it? "Fantasize about something better." Does it help? "Not really. Your blog helps me through that, that there are interesting guys out there. If you're for real." I think I'm for real. "Do you hold anything back, when you write?" A lot. Details that shouldn't be shared. Sometimes I'll do a dinner or a movie or drinks with someone and not post it for their sake. Or my own.
We get halfway through our meal, chit-chatting about this and that. Common friends, common writer's block issues, etc. "So tell me what you think about me." That's a new question. Haven't gotten that one before.
Cute, mature, good conversation. We probably wouldn't get along in real life, but here we're comfortable, one not knowing the other. It's the opposite of normal comfort. I'd do this again, just to chat. "And?" And what? "What will you write on your blog?" About? "Your typical sexist female rating." Ohhh, do you mean would I have sex with you or tease you? "Something like that." Hmm. That's a tough question. You're not flirtatious at all. You haven't done any of the usual signs of physical attraction. So it's a hard question to answer.
"What if I don't do that stuff." Then I wouldn't waste my time. "You never chase?" Only when the door is opened. "That has to make dating hard." Actually, it makes it easy. If she's too immature or frigid to show me a good sign of attraction, I don't ever have to worry if she likes me enough or not. Girls grow past those problems, usually. Some don't. "So if I was flirtatious or showed you a sign?"
I ate as I thought about it, and took a drink. "And?" I'd play it right back. "With no goal?" I never have a goal. "You don't meet a girl and think right away about kissing her, or more?" Sure I do, but I don't act on it unless she gives me the green light, even passively. "I've never done that." And you date boring guys. Go figure. "Maybe it's a problem." I'm certain about it. Ever dated a guy who showed no interest in you? "Sure, a lot." I bet they were interested, but they played it cool because you played it cold. A man can never be warmer than a woman is or the woman will quickly get bored.
"You know this game well." It's not a game, it's hormones and chemicals and posturing and peacocking. It's how humans have done it for all of history. "And you know this why?" I've succeeded, always. I rarely get hurt or burned. I never hurt or burn another. I give them exactly what I can read that they want, and fulfill them completely. "Do you know how hot that sounds?" I'm sure it does. "You know it drives some women crazy, right?" I guess. It's not a goal. "You probably love it." I love knowing that for some people I reignite that burning desire inside. That's a worthy goal, but I don't aim for it.
"You're really interesting." You said that. "I mean it. So if I don't do one of the signs you like, you wouldn't make a pass at me or anything?" No. And since we're talking about it, I would venture that it will never happen. But you are cute, you have a great body, and if I was any other guy, I would try. And you'd be disappointed. "I would. But thanks for that."
Breakfast was interesting, to be sure. Will I see her again? I'm not sure. If she invites me out again, I'd do it if my schedule allowed.
As for her, as a woman, physically she's totally fuckable. That's my problem, though, with Chicago women. The ones who want me are really not my type. The ones I want don't have an attraction to me. So I move on these railroad tracks, softly sliding over the hills and valleys, not really looking back but also unsure of the road ahead.
It's always great to meet someone who reads me, or who I read. This gal was pleasant, fun, jovial with an obvious air of sexual desire for SOMETHING, just not me. I hope things get spiced up with her boyfriend, or that she meets someone that she can't stop touching because she needs to.
That's what I look for. The gal who meets me and just needs to feel her hand on some part of my body, even for a glancing moment. It's electric for her, and it opens the door for me to pursue, woo, envelope, tease and inhale. In time, I'm sure she'll appear. Hopefully before the summer is over.
It was nice meeting you, "Lily," and I hope we can share breakfast again. Thanks for some interesting questions, and thanks for some heart-felt answers. I hope I was everything you thought I'd be with a little surprise thrown in for good measure.
Lily and I sit down at a table after a 2 minute wait. She faces the door, I face the painted wall behind her.
She's very attractive, as is the case with all the Anonymous Female Bloggers I've met so far. Her eyes are bright and she smiles a LOT. She has nice teeth, unfortunately. I love a gal with a few junky teeth in her grill.
"So. Who are you?" I smile. "I mean it." I continue to smile. "That's not going to work on me. I've read your entire site, I know your tricks." I'm Sane. I like to write words. What do you want to know?
"Born here?" Chicago, yeah. "Why are you so interesting?" I shrug. "Are you for real?" I'm here, right now. "You bullshit a lot, right?" Not at all. Every story I've written is backed by real people, many of whom have read the stories about them. Sometimes I discombobulate time frames or reference points, but they're as accurate as they can be.
"I read the post about that girl Celine. And I read her blog, too. You killed that girl." Woman. And I may have, but she wanted it and needed it. What do you need? "Nothing. Just breakfast. I'm surprised you accepted my invitation." Why? I like to meet people. "To sleep with them?" No, definitely not. "So what's the reason?" Just to meet people with a similar passion. "And that's it?" Totally. "And you don't try to sleep with them?" I'm not a whore, I'm picky. Plus, I never try to sleep with anyone. If they want me enough, they come to me.
"I would never do that." A lot of girls don't. It doesn't bother me. "What if you miss someone great?" Then I do. Women, and men, are a dime a dozen. I have no time for dancing around chances. If an opportunity doesn't arise, I don't bother. It's not a risk worth taking. So why did you bring this topic up first?
"Just wondering. Your blog isn't about sex always, but it seems to be a reoccurring theme." I have readers who request those stories more. I always oblige a faithful reader or commenter or emailer. "That's nice of you." I guess. I don't do it to be nice, I do it because it gives people more reason to communicate or look for new paths to take in their own lives.
"You like knowing the effect your words have." I do. Not just sexual vibes, either. "I like that. You talk for yourself, but you talk to us." Do I? I never thought of it that way. Most of my older stories are cut-and-paste from past journals with a little refreshing.
"What do you do for a living?" I'm a writer. "I know, it's your cover and all that. I mean for real." I slay dragons. She laughs. "Dragons?" Big ones. Fire-breathers with huge wings. I'm like Harry Potter. "Your glasses and haircut are wrong." I smile. "Your hair isn't too long. There are many women who go for that look." Maybe. I don't do it for them.
Our waitress comes and we order near identical breakfasts. She gets orange juice, I ask for a glass of OJ only 1/10th full. To mix with water. She raises her eyebrow. "No sugar, right?" Bingo. "So you slay dragons and cast magic spells." Basically. What do you do? "I working in marketing and advertising." I figured. You dress well. "I love this dress. We're a casual office, so we get to wear what we want." Better than jeans and a T-shirt. I secretly look over her body and realize it's pretty nice. Good rack, not too big. I'd jump on it given the right chance.
We chat, nice conversation and all, as our food quickly arrives. She covers her mouth as she eats the bigger chunks of flesh, which is cute. "So why are you single now, again?" I haven't met anyone that I like enough, or that likes me. "So you have people you like, but they're not into you?" It happens. The crush passes quickly, I don't get sad or frustrated over anyone anymore. How about you? "I'm dating a guy, but not that seriously. He's a good guy, just a bit boring." A bit? "Ok, a lot boring." Video games, sports, etc? "Something like that. He's nice, just not very confident about trying new things." I nod as I eat.
"So are you looking?" For a girlfriend? She nods. No, not really. "Then what?" A summer lover. A secret mistress. A sugar baby who wants to jump on my chest and put her face in my V on my hips. Someone fun who isn't going to go crazy for me, who understands my busy schedule means I can disappear for a week with little warning but an email. "Good luck. That's hard to find." Not that hard. But I don't look that hard, either. "You should. You're interesting, women get a kick out of that." Some. Most want a simple guy, I think.
"I have a simple guy and it drives me crazy some days." What do you do about it? "Fantasize about something better." Does it help? "Not really. Your blog helps me through that, that there are interesting guys out there. If you're for real." I think I'm for real. "Do you hold anything back, when you write?" A lot. Details that shouldn't be shared. Sometimes I'll do a dinner or a movie or drinks with someone and not post it for their sake. Or my own.
We get halfway through our meal, chit-chatting about this and that. Common friends, common writer's block issues, etc. "So tell me what you think about me." That's a new question. Haven't gotten that one before.
Cute, mature, good conversation. We probably wouldn't get along in real life, but here we're comfortable, one not knowing the other. It's the opposite of normal comfort. I'd do this again, just to chat. "And?" And what? "What will you write on your blog?" About? "Your typical sexist female rating." Ohhh, do you mean would I have sex with you or tease you? "Something like that." Hmm. That's a tough question. You're not flirtatious at all. You haven't done any of the usual signs of physical attraction. So it's a hard question to answer.
"What if I don't do that stuff." Then I wouldn't waste my time. "You never chase?" Only when the door is opened. "That has to make dating hard." Actually, it makes it easy. If she's too immature or frigid to show me a good sign of attraction, I don't ever have to worry if she likes me enough or not. Girls grow past those problems, usually. Some don't. "So if I was flirtatious or showed you a sign?"
I ate as I thought about it, and took a drink. "And?" I'd play it right back. "With no goal?" I never have a goal. "You don't meet a girl and think right away about kissing her, or more?" Sure I do, but I don't act on it unless she gives me the green light, even passively. "I've never done that." And you date boring guys. Go figure. "Maybe it's a problem." I'm certain about it. Ever dated a guy who showed no interest in you? "Sure, a lot." I bet they were interested, but they played it cool because you played it cold. A man can never be warmer than a woman is or the woman will quickly get bored.
"You know this game well." It's not a game, it's hormones and chemicals and posturing and peacocking. It's how humans have done it for all of history. "And you know this why?" I've succeeded, always. I rarely get hurt or burned. I never hurt or burn another. I give them exactly what I can read that they want, and fulfill them completely. "Do you know how hot that sounds?" I'm sure it does. "You know it drives some women crazy, right?" I guess. It's not a goal. "You probably love it." I love knowing that for some people I reignite that burning desire inside. That's a worthy goal, but I don't aim for it.
"You're really interesting." You said that. "I mean it. So if I don't do one of the signs you like, you wouldn't make a pass at me or anything?" No. And since we're talking about it, I would venture that it will never happen. But you are cute, you have a great body, and if I was any other guy, I would try. And you'd be disappointed. "I would. But thanks for that."
Breakfast was interesting, to be sure. Will I see her again? I'm not sure. If she invites me out again, I'd do it if my schedule allowed.
As for her, as a woman, physically she's totally fuckable. That's my problem, though, with Chicago women. The ones who want me are really not my type. The ones I want don't have an attraction to me. So I move on these railroad tracks, softly sliding over the hills and valleys, not really looking back but also unsure of the road ahead.
It's always great to meet someone who reads me, or who I read. This gal was pleasant, fun, jovial with an obvious air of sexual desire for SOMETHING, just not me. I hope things get spiced up with her boyfriend, or that she meets someone that she can't stop touching because she needs to.
That's what I look for. The gal who meets me and just needs to feel her hand on some part of my body, even for a glancing moment. It's electric for her, and it opens the door for me to pursue, woo, envelope, tease and inhale. In time, I'm sure she'll appear. Hopefully before the summer is over.
It was nice meeting you, "Lily," and I hope we can share breakfast again. Thanks for some interesting questions, and thanks for some heart-felt answers. I hope I was everything you thought I'd be with a little surprise thrown in for good measure.
Read the rest...
Breakfast with Lilies, Part I
I woke up too early. I had my mental alarm clock set for 6am, but I pounced awake at 5am because something didn't feel right. I live in a ghetto neighborhood of a prominent town, as I have always. Wherever I move, I find the ghetto. I prefer the ghetto, there is more to do, there is more vibrancy. The wise people float to the top of the shit pile, form a union of barter and negotiation; we watch each other's back.
I sleep really deep -- World War III won't wake me up, but if I think my neighbors or my own property is being penetrated by a vile creature, I am up and conscious and defensive/offensive immediately. My cat looked up at me and licked her paws in shame of her daddy bouncing up, fully naked, at nothing.
Pulling my sleeping pants on, I went into the hallway and realized what I was nervous about: the neighbor was trying to break into his own apartment on the top floor. I wandered up there, asked if he needed help. 5 minutes later, I popped the lock on his door and told him to get a more secure lock. He was thankful.
As I wandered down, I logged onto my Google Mail account for this blog to see what lovely emails I had received from the night before. While I love email from all of you, I especially love the emails from the foreigners halfway around the globe. When you're about to get off of work, I'm waking up. I promise some of you that someday I will come and visit, just for the simple fact that I am greatly entertained by your random expressions. There's also a few of you who are worthy of being bent over the rickshaw or the rice paddy float or whatever other prejudice thing I can think of.
Nonetheless, I was up. A quick shower, just to rinse down from a sweaty eventless night (plus I wanted all traces of the manspooge gone from my belly hair), fed the cat, Swiffer WetJet'd the kitchen and living room floors, and noticed I was out of eggs.
I get fresh eggs delivered 2 times a week to my humble tiny apartment from a dairy farm. Eggs, cheese, heavy cream (pasteurized but not homogenized!), and sometimes little trinkets that they or their neighbors have grown. Sadly, today is the day for the next delivery, and I made too many eggs since Friday. Damn it.
Ask I pondered a low sugar protein bar instead, my "phone" rang. That's what I say when someone pops open a chat to yours truly. My friends find it comical, my clients and employees find it annoying. I almost always say, out loud, "Hello?" when I hear that lovely bloop sound.
It's a Guest. That means I have no idea who it could be. I look outside and notice the sun hasn't crested over the top of the apartment complex, leading me to think it is shy of 6am. I check my clock, which shows that I'm short of noon, according to GMT, my preferred time zone.
I say good morning/good afternoon, not knowing where this person is from. "Good morning. You're up?" I am. "At home still?" For now. "What's your plan?" Car wash. Maybe lunch with someone. "In the city?" Maybe. Which city, I have no idea. Who is this? "A reader."
Oooh, anonymous. Sexy. I am not one to dive into mystery too much, I prefer to dole it out. I'm not a chatwhore or a mailwhore, but I never mind a new friend or two online. Offline, I have little time for more people until I dump the remaining 9 friends who are on my axe list.
"Want to get breakfast?" they ask, before my reply completes. I hit the backspace key to erase my reply. What town are you in? "Chicago." Have we met before? "We've never talked before." Email? "No."
Hmm. When this person asked to get breakfast, I made a short list of who it could be. 4 possibilities, 5 if I included one person who would be obviously making a joke. What the hell, I'm out of fucking eggs and I look good after my shower. "So?" they ask again, a little impatient.
First, I didn't shave today so I look extra scruffy. "I don't care. I don't even know what you look like." Second, I don't know if you're male or female, so I think we should at least describe each other. "So that's a yes." Impatient, aren't you? "I work at 10am." Oh, on a time limit. Fine, what area? "Closer to the loop. Or convenient to the El." I throw out an idea.
"I haven't been there before, but fine." I throw on some slacks (grey with pink pinstripes), a pair of shoes I just acquired but haven't worn in, a dress shirt that I've been wanting to wear (pink, linen) and avoid the tie. Of course my cufflines are a mess, so I grab a pair of Turk's heads instead. Americans don't wear Turk's heads, ever. It's a nice change of pace, and 99% of people don't even notice them.
I zip back a reply: I can be there in 40 minutes. "Exactly?" Or whenever you're ready. "How about 8 instead?" 8 is fine, that gives me time to find coffee. "See you at 8, Sane."
Her description of herself: 26, 5'5", athletic fit, summer brunette (light), blue eyes, glasses (YES, cock-in-mouth), will be wearing a green casual dress. So she's a female, that's interesting. So far, I've yet to get any man-date requests from the 2 guys who are supposedly reading, lurking, fearing whatever it is that they fear so they don't post or at least say hi. Time to de-lurk, men. I know you're out there.
I break into the car and notice some lilies are blooming. When was it hot enough or wet enough for the lilies to come out, I have no idea. I like lilies, they remind me that the hot of summer has come, but in Chicago this is untrue. Poor lilies, reaching the peak of their lives late, I guess. I pop a few of my post-bulb beauties off to keep in the car as a reminder of my hard work and the dirt I had under my fingernails not that long ago.
Traffic is fine. I zip downtown and drop my car off at my usual lot, the owner a long time friend. I wander the area, missing my office in this part of town, talked to a few business owners just opening up their lighting galleries or furniture showrooms. It's early, very early, but the city is alive. The El passes overhead and I'm thankful for my earplugs, which I always wear near public transportation. You can't make it to your 30s with great hearing with a box of the ugly orange 28db plugs at the ready.
I have no idea who this person is. I know I've never talked to her, and she mentioned her name and I have no idea who she is. Still, I like meeting bloggers, and I will go out of my way to do so because you're all such interesting folk.
I finish my slow-paced walk around my old 'hood and finally make it to the restaurant we chose. It's a perfect day for a walk, and I may do more of it later, if these new shoes weren't bugging my ankles. Nordstrom FAIL, these fuckers are going back.
I look at the sun and estimate it to be around 8, so I have one more cigarette outside when I notice a brunette in a green dress. A lovely specimen of a young lady, she smiles at me with a crooked smile behind her awesome and sexy glasses. Her hips shake just enough, but more to the left than the right which tells me that her purse is really heavy.
She walks up to me and we shake hands. "You're exactly what I was expecting." One of my eyebrows raises in surprise, since most people's fantasies about what I look like are far from reality. "You're short, but you do stand tall." I laugh as I open the door for her, flicking my cigarette almost 15 feet away with a tap of my middle finger.
The restaurant isn't too busy, which is sad. 2 years ago, their morning crowd was always pretty thick. I guess the interior design "artists" have their credit cards maxed out and can't afford $20 for breakfast anymore. Their loss, my gain, but I really prefer busy restaurants because the food is fresher, usually.
We sit at our table and she smiles nervously. I ask her if she's nervous. "Hell yeah, you could be a crazy murderer and if I'm late to work, I'll get fired." Late because I killed you? "Exactly."
I smile.
Continued in part II.
I sleep really deep -- World War III won't wake me up, but if I think my neighbors or my own property is being penetrated by a vile creature, I am up and conscious and defensive/offensive immediately. My cat looked up at me and licked her paws in shame of her daddy bouncing up, fully naked, at nothing.
Pulling my sleeping pants on, I went into the hallway and realized what I was nervous about: the neighbor was trying to break into his own apartment on the top floor. I wandered up there, asked if he needed help. 5 minutes later, I popped the lock on his door and told him to get a more secure lock. He was thankful.
As I wandered down, I logged onto my Google Mail account for this blog to see what lovely emails I had received from the night before. While I love email from all of you, I especially love the emails from the foreigners halfway around the globe. When you're about to get off of work, I'm waking up. I promise some of you that someday I will come and visit, just for the simple fact that I am greatly entertained by your random expressions. There's also a few of you who are worthy of being bent over the rickshaw or the rice paddy float or whatever other prejudice thing I can think of.
Nonetheless, I was up. A quick shower, just to rinse down from a sweaty eventless night (plus I wanted all traces of the manspooge gone from my belly hair), fed the cat, Swiffer WetJet'd the kitchen and living room floors, and noticed I was out of eggs.
I get fresh eggs delivered 2 times a week to my humble tiny apartment from a dairy farm. Eggs, cheese, heavy cream (pasteurized but not homogenized!), and sometimes little trinkets that they or their neighbors have grown. Sadly, today is the day for the next delivery, and I made too many eggs since Friday. Damn it.
Ask I pondered a low sugar protein bar instead, my "phone" rang. That's what I say when someone pops open a chat to yours truly. My friends find it comical, my clients and employees find it annoying. I almost always say, out loud, "Hello?" when I hear that lovely bloop sound.
It's a Guest. That means I have no idea who it could be. I look outside and notice the sun hasn't crested over the top of the apartment complex, leading me to think it is shy of 6am. I check my clock, which shows that I'm short of noon, according to GMT, my preferred time zone.
I say good morning/good afternoon, not knowing where this person is from. "Good morning. You're up?" I am. "At home still?" For now. "What's your plan?" Car wash. Maybe lunch with someone. "In the city?" Maybe. Which city, I have no idea. Who is this? "A reader."
Oooh, anonymous. Sexy. I am not one to dive into mystery too much, I prefer to dole it out. I'm not a chatwhore or a mailwhore, but I never mind a new friend or two online. Offline, I have little time for more people until I dump the remaining 9 friends who are on my axe list.
"Want to get breakfast?" they ask, before my reply completes. I hit the backspace key to erase my reply. What town are you in? "Chicago." Have we met before? "We've never talked before." Email? "No."
Hmm. When this person asked to get breakfast, I made a short list of who it could be. 4 possibilities, 5 if I included one person who would be obviously making a joke. What the hell, I'm out of fucking eggs and I look good after my shower. "So?" they ask again, a little impatient.
First, I didn't shave today so I look extra scruffy. "I don't care. I don't even know what you look like." Second, I don't know if you're male or female, so I think we should at least describe each other. "So that's a yes." Impatient, aren't you? "I work at 10am." Oh, on a time limit. Fine, what area? "Closer to the loop. Or convenient to the El." I throw out an idea.
"I haven't been there before, but fine." I throw on some slacks (grey with pink pinstripes), a pair of shoes I just acquired but haven't worn in, a dress shirt that I've been wanting to wear (pink, linen) and avoid the tie. Of course my cufflines are a mess, so I grab a pair of Turk's heads instead. Americans don't wear Turk's heads, ever. It's a nice change of pace, and 99% of people don't even notice them.
I zip back a reply: I can be there in 40 minutes. "Exactly?" Or whenever you're ready. "How about 8 instead?" 8 is fine, that gives me time to find coffee. "See you at 8, Sane."
Her description of herself: 26, 5'5", athletic fit, summer brunette (light), blue eyes, glasses (YES, cock-in-mouth), will be wearing a green casual dress. So she's a female, that's interesting. So far, I've yet to get any man-date requests from the 2 guys who are supposedly reading, lurking, fearing whatever it is that they fear so they don't post or at least say hi. Time to de-lurk, men. I know you're out there.
I break into the car and notice some lilies are blooming. When was it hot enough or wet enough for the lilies to come out, I have no idea. I like lilies, they remind me that the hot of summer has come, but in Chicago this is untrue. Poor lilies, reaching the peak of their lives late, I guess. I pop a few of my post-bulb beauties off to keep in the car as a reminder of my hard work and the dirt I had under my fingernails not that long ago.
Traffic is fine. I zip downtown and drop my car off at my usual lot, the owner a long time friend. I wander the area, missing my office in this part of town, talked to a few business owners just opening up their lighting galleries or furniture showrooms. It's early, very early, but the city is alive. The El passes overhead and I'm thankful for my earplugs, which I always wear near public transportation. You can't make it to your 30s with great hearing with a box of the ugly orange 28db plugs at the ready.
I have no idea who this person is. I know I've never talked to her, and she mentioned her name and I have no idea who she is. Still, I like meeting bloggers, and I will go out of my way to do so because you're all such interesting folk.
I finish my slow-paced walk around my old 'hood and finally make it to the restaurant we chose. It's a perfect day for a walk, and I may do more of it later, if these new shoes weren't bugging my ankles. Nordstrom FAIL, these fuckers are going back.
I look at the sun and estimate it to be around 8, so I have one more cigarette outside when I notice a brunette in a green dress. A lovely specimen of a young lady, she smiles at me with a crooked smile behind her awesome and sexy glasses. Her hips shake just enough, but more to the left than the right which tells me that her purse is really heavy.
She walks up to me and we shake hands. "You're exactly what I was expecting." One of my eyebrows raises in surprise, since most people's fantasies about what I look like are far from reality. "You're short, but you do stand tall." I laugh as I open the door for her, flicking my cigarette almost 15 feet away with a tap of my middle finger.
The restaurant isn't too busy, which is sad. 2 years ago, their morning crowd was always pretty thick. I guess the interior design "artists" have their credit cards maxed out and can't afford $20 for breakfast anymore. Their loss, my gain, but I really prefer busy restaurants because the food is fresher, usually.
We sit at our table and she smiles nervously. I ask her if she's nervous. "Hell yeah, you could be a crazy murderer and if I'm late to work, I'll get fired." Late because I killed you? "Exactly."
I smile.
Continued in part II.
Read the rest...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
I had sex. And a date. Actually 2.
I had sex tonight. Not the kind of fast and furious sex you're probably used to here, not even in a bed. That kind of slow and passionate sex that includes every taste, every touch, with conversation and laughter in between sessions. The kind of sex everyone should hope for, but rarely gets.
We fucked on the dining table, sloppy sex that tasted amazing. It was loud in the room, the lights were bright, and our neighbors didn't care at all.
THE SETUP
It all started when an anonymous blogger and I chatted a bit online. Neither of us had much in the way of large plans later, and I'm flying out of the country tomorrow, so tonight would be a good night to get together with someone fun and cute. Since my in-town bootie calls number in the low zeros, I figure what better than to take a lovely lady out for dinner, drinks and good conversation?
I proposed we get together, and she said she'd let me know. Usually that's a bad sign, but it WAS last might. She left work, I went home. Eventually, she hit me up on the Google Chat, confirming wanting to do something.
We bantered back and forth about where to go: Taxim (tapas) or maybe Avec (French). I love Avec because it's good French cuisine served "family" style: everyone sitting at one big table, with their own orders.
I left my house at 7:55pm and told her I'd be there in 22 minutes. She didn't seem impressed with my ability to know times and distances. 21 minutes later, I pull up to her apartment building and stepped outside of the car to call her.
I'm here, but I'm a minute early. "Oh, that's a problem, I need a minute more" she joked. We laughed and she said she'd be right out front. She was a COMPLETE FUCKING KNOCKOUT in a purple dress. I told her to dress casually and she comes dressed in a way I'd expect a woman to dress for Alinea. Thank god for tanned women with great curves AND good legs who can dress. God graces me regularly.
I hold the car door for her and she makes a comment, to which I replied that my mother taught me well. We hit the main thoroughfare to get to the highway, and we're pulling up to Avec not 20 minutes later. Avec is a restaurant that packs itself to the gills. Family-style dining is WISE if you're busy, there is NEVER an empty chair. This makes it hard to give the hostess $20 for a seat when there are none. So I drop my name and we step outside.
THE TEASE
The hostess warns us that the bartender may or may not come outside. Anonymous Blogger and I look over the menu, her noting that she doesn't like heavy reds (generally my favorite) and both of us agreeing against pink wines. She likes Champagne, as do I, but there is neither Champagne nor prosecco on the menu. Drat!
Within 20 minutes, our 2 seats are called so we wander in. Our waiter is Gentile Dave (my nickname for him so I don't forget). I do ask him if he's Jewish Dave, to which he frighteningly/jokingly responds "No, Gentile Dave." Good enough. We're seated in between a party of 4 or 5 guys and a pregnant girl, with a bunch of ladies on the other side of us. Not many gorgeous people in the joint, but everyone's cute and dressed well.
I wore a simple pink linen dress shirt and jeans. Anonymous blogger had tits, I mean, she had a purple dress. Right. We decided to take a stab at a PINK sparkling wine, I believe a Baga Rose Brut. I could be wrong. The waiter wasn't sure if he even had it, so I proceeded to back it up with the best sparkling white on the menu. The price list was CHEAP.
A few minutes later, he arrives with our wine, the rose brut I ordered. He pours for me to check the wine, and I take a whiff and nod as he finishes my pour and then hers. GOOD wine. Perfect for a hot summer day.
Anonymous Blogger and I go over the menu. I'll call her Delecta from now on (it doesn't mean what you think it means). She hasn't been to Avec before, so I make a few recommendations. She wants the Yelp favorite small plate, and we decide on one large plate to share. Gentile Dave takes our order, and we don't see him much from that point on unfortunately. I hate shitty unfriendly unbantering waiters. FAIL.
We imbibe more of our sparkling pink and make GOOD conversation. She's laughing. A lot. I'm laughing. She notes that I talk about myself a lot, something I rarely do if EVER. But I'm comfortable with her, and I don't mind making a fool out of myself if it means she'll laugh again. Contagious, damn it.
THE FOREPLAY
The first small plate comes out: asparagus, hummus-s spread, on crostinis. It's VERY good. I don't eat asparagus often due to my kidney stones, but they didn't affect me at all tonight. Hott. My spooge will taste like asparagus for the next 2 days though.
We eat, in conversation, and continue laughing and drinking our rose sparkling wine.
The the date portion of the night comes: spicy chorizo, wrapped in dates, wrapped in bacon. She had 2 dates, I had 2 dates (hence the 2 dates of the night). I try to talk, but she shushes me and puts her finger up to her mouth. I'm not kidding, I was 80% tempted to throat fuck her then and there. If that wasn't the hottest move I've seen a woman due as a precursor to food fucking, I don't know what is. I think Little Fire Hydrant may have moved a bit to the left.
We eat the chorizo/bacon/date combos slowly. They're AMAZING.
More chat, all over the place. We do cover it all: movies, dating, fucking, food, friends, animals, family, hobbies. I even told her about a real sword fight I had. Fun.
THE FUCKING
We're on our second glasses each of the wine as the foreplay comes to a close. In perfect timing, the final small plate comes with the large plate hitting our table moments later. The small plate is a hand-crafted boudin (sausage) with fava beans, parsley and onions. GOOD, but fell far short of the other plates. But then the orgasm happen, and it was mutual, and it happened over and over: pork shoulder, basted with sausage (boudin) and noodles in its own cast iron tub.
Her eyes rolled up into her head as her eyelids shut. We split it in two and it was so tender that it fell apart, but still so tender it didn't get snagged in my rough teeth. And it was GOOD sex, I tell you: wet, tender, loud, quiet. She swallowed all she could handle and still left a little bit for later.
Sadly, it was passing 10:30, more than 2 hours of fun, and she had responsibilities at home, plus work in the morning. I tabbed us out, surprised at the low 3 figure total. My car was valet parked right in front (I usually as for my car to be placed RIGHT in front, but the valet guys did anyway). The restaurant was still packed as we left, her with her doggie bag, me with a post-orgasmic look on my face.
I drove her home. We continued to chat. Fun was had by all.
THE CUDDLE
We both admitted the lack of good sex in our lives. I've had it more recently than her, but she's ready to pile-drive the next big dick that comes along her way attached to an attractive and intelligent man.
Still, I was THISCLOSE to the throatfucking after she confided in me regarding something about my blog. I'm not kidding, if I had let her out of the car, I'd have bent her over the hood of my car and had my way with her. There will be a LOT of fun-times by myself tonight thinking about THAT story that, alas, I can't share.
So there it is. It wasn't the sex YOU wanted to read about, but it was as good as it can come. And I'm looking forward to doing it again.
Maybe next time we'll hit a dive German bar, get sloppy drunk, and food fuck for 4 hours. Who knows? But I definitely am ready for round-two.
We fucked on the dining table, sloppy sex that tasted amazing. It was loud in the room, the lights were bright, and our neighbors didn't care at all.
THE SETUP
It all started when an anonymous blogger and I chatted a bit online. Neither of us had much in the way of large plans later, and I'm flying out of the country tomorrow, so tonight would be a good night to get together with someone fun and cute. Since my in-town bootie calls number in the low zeros, I figure what better than to take a lovely lady out for dinner, drinks and good conversation?
I proposed we get together, and she said she'd let me know. Usually that's a bad sign, but it WAS last might. She left work, I went home. Eventually, she hit me up on the Google Chat, confirming wanting to do something.
We bantered back and forth about where to go: Taxim (tapas) or maybe Avec (French). I love Avec because it's good French cuisine served "family" style: everyone sitting at one big table, with their own orders.
I left my house at 7:55pm and told her I'd be there in 22 minutes. She didn't seem impressed with my ability to know times and distances. 21 minutes later, I pull up to her apartment building and stepped outside of the car to call her.
I'm here, but I'm a minute early. "Oh, that's a problem, I need a minute more" she joked. We laughed and she said she'd be right out front. She was a COMPLETE FUCKING KNOCKOUT in a purple dress. I told her to dress casually and she comes dressed in a way I'd expect a woman to dress for Alinea. Thank god for tanned women with great curves AND good legs who can dress. God graces me regularly.
I hold the car door for her and she makes a comment, to which I replied that my mother taught me well. We hit the main thoroughfare to get to the highway, and we're pulling up to Avec not 20 minutes later. Avec is a restaurant that packs itself to the gills. Family-style dining is WISE if you're busy, there is NEVER an empty chair. This makes it hard to give the hostess $20 for a seat when there are none. So I drop my name and we step outside.
THE TEASE
The hostess warns us that the bartender may or may not come outside. Anonymous Blogger and I look over the menu, her noting that she doesn't like heavy reds (generally my favorite) and both of us agreeing against pink wines. She likes Champagne, as do I, but there is neither Champagne nor prosecco on the menu. Drat!
Within 20 minutes, our 2 seats are called so we wander in. Our waiter is Gentile Dave (my nickname for him so I don't forget). I do ask him if he's Jewish Dave, to which he frighteningly/jokingly responds "No, Gentile Dave." Good enough. We're seated in between a party of 4 or 5 guys and a pregnant girl, with a bunch of ladies on the other side of us. Not many gorgeous people in the joint, but everyone's cute and dressed well.
I wore a simple pink linen dress shirt and jeans. Anonymous blogger had tits, I mean, she had a purple dress. Right. We decided to take a stab at a PINK sparkling wine, I believe a Baga Rose Brut. I could be wrong. The waiter wasn't sure if he even had it, so I proceeded to back it up with the best sparkling white on the menu. The price list was CHEAP.
A few minutes later, he arrives with our wine, the rose brut I ordered. He pours for me to check the wine, and I take a whiff and nod as he finishes my pour and then hers. GOOD wine. Perfect for a hot summer day.
Anonymous Blogger and I go over the menu. I'll call her Delecta from now on (it doesn't mean what you think it means). She hasn't been to Avec before, so I make a few recommendations. She wants the Yelp favorite small plate, and we decide on one large plate to share. Gentile Dave takes our order, and we don't see him much from that point on unfortunately. I hate shitty unfriendly unbantering waiters. FAIL.
We imbibe more of our sparkling pink and make GOOD conversation. She's laughing. A lot. I'm laughing. She notes that I talk about myself a lot, something I rarely do if EVER. But I'm comfortable with her, and I don't mind making a fool out of myself if it means she'll laugh again. Contagious, damn it.
THE FOREPLAY
The first small plate comes out: asparagus, hummus-s spread, on crostinis. It's VERY good. I don't eat asparagus often due to my kidney stones, but they didn't affect me at all tonight. Hott. My spooge will taste like asparagus for the next 2 days though.
We eat, in conversation, and continue laughing and drinking our rose sparkling wine.
The the date portion of the night comes: spicy chorizo, wrapped in dates, wrapped in bacon. She had 2 dates, I had 2 dates (hence the 2 dates of the night). I try to talk, but she shushes me and puts her finger up to her mouth. I'm not kidding, I was 80% tempted to throat fuck her then and there. If that wasn't the hottest move I've seen a woman due as a precursor to food fucking, I don't know what is. I think Little Fire Hydrant may have moved a bit to the left.
We eat the chorizo/bacon/date combos slowly. They're AMAZING.
More chat, all over the place. We do cover it all: movies, dating, fucking, food, friends, animals, family, hobbies. I even told her about a real sword fight I had. Fun.
THE FUCKING
We're on our second glasses each of the wine as the foreplay comes to a close. In perfect timing, the final small plate comes with the large plate hitting our table moments later. The small plate is a hand-crafted boudin (sausage) with fava beans, parsley and onions. GOOD, but fell far short of the other plates. But then the orgasm happen, and it was mutual, and it happened over and over: pork shoulder, basted with sausage (boudin) and noodles in its own cast iron tub.
Her eyes rolled up into her head as her eyelids shut. We split it in two and it was so tender that it fell apart, but still so tender it didn't get snagged in my rough teeth. And it was GOOD sex, I tell you: wet, tender, loud, quiet. She swallowed all she could handle and still left a little bit for later.
Sadly, it was passing 10:30, more than 2 hours of fun, and she had responsibilities at home, plus work in the morning. I tabbed us out, surprised at the low 3 figure total. My car was valet parked right in front (I usually as for my car to be placed RIGHT in front, but the valet guys did anyway). The restaurant was still packed as we left, her with her doggie bag, me with a post-orgasmic look on my face.
I drove her home. We continued to chat. Fun was had by all.
THE CUDDLE
We both admitted the lack of good sex in our lives. I've had it more recently than her, but she's ready to pile-drive the next big dick that comes along her way attached to an attractive and intelligent man.
Still, I was THISCLOSE to the throatfucking after she confided in me regarding something about my blog. I'm not kidding, if I had let her out of the car, I'd have bent her over the hood of my car and had my way with her. There will be a LOT of fun-times by myself tonight thinking about THAT story that, alas, I can't share.
So there it is. It wasn't the sex YOU wanted to read about, but it was as good as it can come. And I'm looking forward to doing it again.
Maybe next time we'll hit a dive German bar, get sloppy drunk, and food fuck for 4 hours. Who knows? But I definitely am ready for round-two.
Read the rest...
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Anonymous Female Chicago Blogger #2
What should I call these folks who I read and who may read me? AFCBs? Argh.
Today I went to look at a filly, a young female horse. When they walked her out, I noticed she's way too small and way too fat. Not what I like. 14 hands is too small for me, even though I'm a short guy. I like big beasts. So I rode her for 15 minutes and realized it wasn't going to work.
Will see another filly this week, and a gelding colt next week. Hopefully one of the two works. They're both convenient to my home.
After the ride, I decided to head into the city to see some friends later. I was going to just sit at an outdoor patio, smoke a ceegar, have a nice cold drink and let the day pass. I brought my tiniest of netbooks so I could even get some writing done on an assignment due Saturday.
Instead, I received an invitation from Anonymous Female Chicago Blogger #2. I already met one Anoymous Female Chicago Blogger last week, and had a great time. Since I'm always intrigued by writers, and the vast majority of those I communicate with are strangely female (not strange themselves, of course), I figured I'd take up her offer to join her for lunch.
We decided to meet at a restaurant near her work somewhere in the mysterious city of Chicago. We texted back and forth, and she said she'd meet me there. I got to the city about 15 minutes ahead of schedule, so I ran to Walgreens to pick up some things. This particular Walgreens is home to 50,000 homeless people buying Snickers, at least it was today.
I hopped back in the car and zipped to the part of town where the restaurant is, a few blocks walk from her office. She asked me to text her when I was close. I paid the parking meter (2 hours, just in case!) and ventured down the street looking for the place. Being my clueless "blonde" self, I picked the wrong side of the street and likely walked right by her, only the turn around, cross over and notice her when I was making the double-cross to the other corner. Oops. Is embarrassment cute?
She was standing outside, looking surprisingly prettier and happier than I had expected. This is the second blogger I've met, but for some reason I always picture them in my head to be... not like the two I met. She was wearing a fantastic dress that should not be worn within 45 feet of a horny old man. No glasses, thank God (sunglasses on her head, though). Cute shoes, cute bag, not overbearing on the makeup from 10 feet. Surprising, considering the area she works in tends to be all bleach bunnies with too much face paint.
I walked up, said hi, shook her hand and proceeded to walk towards the restaurant. A little bit egotistical of me: when meeting someone you don't know and it's a random encounter, it always makes sense to keep them comfortable. We decided to sit indoors (it was a bit muggy out). The restaurant had maybe 2 tables with people, and we were seated by a cute hostess who played on the fun banter AFCB#2 and I provided.
It's good to see a woman smile. In fact, I would say that a woman's smile is probably tied for a woman's "Flush and I can't move and don't touch me until I can get my breath" look. She sat facing the door and I sat facing rows of empty seats.
The chit chat was good with no pregnant or uncomfortable pauses. I ordered a cocktail and she ordered her own alcoholic beverage, which to me looked like way more than her frame could handle in a weekend. She had to get back to work in an hour or so, alcohol being the preferred consumable for us both. We both took sips of our water glasses, and the drinks were presented quickly by our waitress, another cute 20-something who definitely did not want to be there.
She talked with me intruding a bit more than I normally do. Her eyes were curious and her smile contagious, but the dark cast behind her pupils showed that she was stressed. She mentioned this, and we talked about the lead-up to the stress in her life. I don't like to see people stressed, and I try to do my best to let them discuss things in hope that they find a new solution to the stress than what they're already letting weigh in on their chest (note: she had a great rack).
We jumped subjects like hipsters jump the turnstyles at the Red Line (one of Chicago's subways). The conversation started off with a bang, neither of us remembering to share with the other our real names (it came up, but it passed too fast). She's confident, with no obvious twitches, fidgets or lip biting (too bad on the last one). She does have a significant poker tell, a glance to the right when she's thinking deep about something.
That's a good thing, to see her thinking deep about what we talked about. There is always a way to get someone to realize a different path to take if they think deeply. I didn't know what to expect with her (we've never chatted or emailed before, ever), so to see her open up to digging into her cranium to produce answers (and honest ones, at that) was great. Seeing her think and respond and even react with laughter to some of my (not so great) comedy pleased me greatly.
Our lunch came and it was fabulous; I had chilean sea bass and she had a sushi-style roll. Since she made time for me out of her day, I offered to cover the first round of drinks. Food was the perfect size: neither her nor I were stuffed at the end. When our server came back, it was obvious she wanted to either spend some more time, or at least talk some more, so I offered to order desert. The desert was a cake, and as many people know I am anti-sugar and wheat. The cake came highly recommended, so we decided to share it (two forks) and returned to our drinks, our conversation. Her eye contact is fantastic, never breaking or falling away shyly unless she was deep thinking. I like that, it's rare.
Between obvious sadness over her stress point and unforced laughter, the conversation had a good rhythm to it. I interrupted to ask questions based on parts of her answers. The stress she has should be easy to overcome, but her answers to other seemingly non-related questions I pitched leads me to believe that she's still got a few weeks to get over it. Other things in her life should help, though, so I think she's going to be A-OK and soon.
I spoke a little bit about myself, which again is rare when I am talking to a woman. It's obvious we hit it off in some sort of odd virtual friend manner, and I do think we'll do it again. I am in her neck of the woods at least 2-3 days a week already, so lunch at the very least will be a possibly regular event.
Our desert arrived and we each ate 1/3 of it. It wasn't too sweet, and was a perfect end to a wonderful lunch. I'll return again. After paying the bill (she paid for her meal, I paid for mine, drinks and desert), we tipped and continued talking, well past the hour mark. Neither of us checked our phones or the time until we realized it was probably late. She confirmed it by checking her phone, and then we chatted some more, probably 20 minutes.
At the 90 minute mark, it was obvious she needed to go back to work. I doubt it was because the conversation lulled, but an honest need to be responsible. I can appreciate that. The waitress came and thanked us both for the generous tip (about 30%, but it was slow and I always tip at least 25% if the server checks on our water and drinks, which she did constantly). That was a nice thank you, too. Rare.
AFCB#2 and I walked out together to the corner, her work in one direction, my car parked in the other. I thanked her for a great meal, and we agreed to try it again in the future. Before I turned to leave, she says "So we don't hug or what?" or something like that, so I step forward and embraced her quite-perfectly-suited-for-my-size frame. This girl definitely can be a firecracker, she needs a strong guy to throw her up in the air, catch her on his shoulders, and parade her in front of the world. I'm sure a little of that would get her unstressed really fast. I hope she gets it, and soon.
She is smooth though, and she pops like a spark plug, so I think she'd be awesome to go drinking with. She mentioned that her life doesn't allow for much time or desire to drink, but we can change that, can't we? I think I can.
Today I went to look at a filly, a young female horse. When they walked her out, I noticed she's way too small and way too fat. Not what I like. 14 hands is too small for me, even though I'm a short guy. I like big beasts. So I rode her for 15 minutes and realized it wasn't going to work.
Will see another filly this week, and a gelding colt next week. Hopefully one of the two works. They're both convenient to my home.
After the ride, I decided to head into the city to see some friends later. I was going to just sit at an outdoor patio, smoke a ceegar, have a nice cold drink and let the day pass. I brought my tiniest of netbooks so I could even get some writing done on an assignment due Saturday.
Instead, I received an invitation from Anonymous Female Chicago Blogger #2. I already met one Anoymous Female Chicago Blogger last week, and had a great time. Since I'm always intrigued by writers, and the vast majority of those I communicate with are strangely female (not strange themselves, of course), I figured I'd take up her offer to join her for lunch.
We decided to meet at a restaurant near her work somewhere in the mysterious city of Chicago. We texted back and forth, and she said she'd meet me there. I got to the city about 15 minutes ahead of schedule, so I ran to Walgreens to pick up some things. This particular Walgreens is home to 50,000 homeless people buying Snickers, at least it was today.
I hopped back in the car and zipped to the part of town where the restaurant is, a few blocks walk from her office. She asked me to text her when I was close. I paid the parking meter (2 hours, just in case!) and ventured down the street looking for the place. Being my clueless "blonde" self, I picked the wrong side of the street and likely walked right by her, only the turn around, cross over and notice her when I was making the double-cross to the other corner. Oops. Is embarrassment cute?
She was standing outside, looking surprisingly prettier and happier than I had expected. This is the second blogger I've met, but for some reason I always picture them in my head to be... not like the two I met. She was wearing a fantastic dress that should not be worn within 45 feet of a horny old man. No glasses, thank God (sunglasses on her head, though). Cute shoes, cute bag, not overbearing on the makeup from 10 feet. Surprising, considering the area she works in tends to be all bleach bunnies with too much face paint.
I walked up, said hi, shook her hand and proceeded to walk towards the restaurant. A little bit egotistical of me: when meeting someone you don't know and it's a random encounter, it always makes sense to keep them comfortable. We decided to sit indoors (it was a bit muggy out). The restaurant had maybe 2 tables with people, and we were seated by a cute hostess who played on the fun banter AFCB#2 and I provided.
It's good to see a woman smile. In fact, I would say that a woman's smile is probably tied for a woman's "Flush and I can't move and don't touch me until I can get my breath" look. She sat facing the door and I sat facing rows of empty seats.
The chit chat was good with no pregnant or uncomfortable pauses. I ordered a cocktail and she ordered her own alcoholic beverage, which to me looked like way more than her frame could handle in a weekend. She had to get back to work in an hour or so, alcohol being the preferred consumable for us both. We both took sips of our water glasses, and the drinks were presented quickly by our waitress, another cute 20-something who definitely did not want to be there.
She talked with me intruding a bit more than I normally do. Her eyes were curious and her smile contagious, but the dark cast behind her pupils showed that she was stressed. She mentioned this, and we talked about the lead-up to the stress in her life. I don't like to see people stressed, and I try to do my best to let them discuss things in hope that they find a new solution to the stress than what they're already letting weigh in on their chest (note: she had a great rack).
We jumped subjects like hipsters jump the turnstyles at the Red Line (one of Chicago's subways). The conversation started off with a bang, neither of us remembering to share with the other our real names (it came up, but it passed too fast). She's confident, with no obvious twitches, fidgets or lip biting (too bad on the last one). She does have a significant poker tell, a glance to the right when she's thinking deep about something.
That's a good thing, to see her thinking deep about what we talked about. There is always a way to get someone to realize a different path to take if they think deeply. I didn't know what to expect with her (we've never chatted or emailed before, ever), so to see her open up to digging into her cranium to produce answers (and honest ones, at that) was great. Seeing her think and respond and even react with laughter to some of my (not so great) comedy pleased me greatly.
Our lunch came and it was fabulous; I had chilean sea bass and she had a sushi-style roll. Since she made time for me out of her day, I offered to cover the first round of drinks. Food was the perfect size: neither her nor I were stuffed at the end. When our server came back, it was obvious she wanted to either spend some more time, or at least talk some more, so I offered to order desert. The desert was a cake, and as many people know I am anti-sugar and wheat. The cake came highly recommended, so we decided to share it (two forks) and returned to our drinks, our conversation. Her eye contact is fantastic, never breaking or falling away shyly unless she was deep thinking. I like that, it's rare.
Between obvious sadness over her stress point and unforced laughter, the conversation had a good rhythm to it. I interrupted to ask questions based on parts of her answers. The stress she has should be easy to overcome, but her answers to other seemingly non-related questions I pitched leads me to believe that she's still got a few weeks to get over it. Other things in her life should help, though, so I think she's going to be A-OK and soon.
I spoke a little bit about myself, which again is rare when I am talking to a woman. It's obvious we hit it off in some sort of odd virtual friend manner, and I do think we'll do it again. I am in her neck of the woods at least 2-3 days a week already, so lunch at the very least will be a possibly regular event.
Our desert arrived and we each ate 1/3 of it. It wasn't too sweet, and was a perfect end to a wonderful lunch. I'll return again. After paying the bill (she paid for her meal, I paid for mine, drinks and desert), we tipped and continued talking, well past the hour mark. Neither of us checked our phones or the time until we realized it was probably late. She confirmed it by checking her phone, and then we chatted some more, probably 20 minutes.
At the 90 minute mark, it was obvious she needed to go back to work. I doubt it was because the conversation lulled, but an honest need to be responsible. I can appreciate that. The waitress came and thanked us both for the generous tip (about 30%, but it was slow and I always tip at least 25% if the server checks on our water and drinks, which she did constantly). That was a nice thank you, too. Rare.
AFCB#2 and I walked out together to the corner, her work in one direction, my car parked in the other. I thanked her for a great meal, and we agreed to try it again in the future. Before I turned to leave, she says "So we don't hug or what?" or something like that, so I step forward and embraced her quite-perfectly-suited-for-my-size frame. This girl definitely can be a firecracker, she needs a strong guy to throw her up in the air, catch her on his shoulders, and parade her in front of the world. I'm sure a little of that would get her unstressed really fast. I hope she gets it, and soon.
She is smooth though, and she pops like a spark plug, so I think she'd be awesome to go drinking with. She mentioned that her life doesn't allow for much time or desire to drink, but we can change that, can't we? I think I can.
Read the rest...
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