Monthly Archives: October 2011
Soon after marriage two little girls came along. That can happen with a Catholic spouse who doesn’t do birth control – even when you only ‘do it’ once a month or so. Cute and fun; the little girls have a way of becoming the focus of your attention. Happiness for me was now when they were happy, when they had friends, when their lives were right.
My sex life was suddenly not so important which was probably a good thing because spouse was pretty set in her ways on the subject. No trying new things, no different positions, and forget about introducing porn – which I really wanted to do. To my surprise though, I broke through the confines of ‘pope approved’ maneuvers and past the ‘please don’ts’ and forced my way south with an all out assault with my tongue and lips.
She bucked like a colt; but wouldn’t ask for it again. I would have to take charge. Next time I included the fantasy of another girl in the action and, though not a big fan of dirty talk, she fully responded to this even joining in on the descriptions of the mysterious fantasy girl and taking the lead in our oral and phallic exploration of the imaginary buy nubile body. She really went wild. For maybe the first time ever, I had really hot sex.
This was a very unexpected discovery. I needed to ponder what it all meant and where this would lead.
I was scared of getting arrested; scared of somehow getting caught. On travel and staying at a hotel, I nervously picked up the phone and did it: I called an escort service – a total of three times before I declared it to be out of my system, as if you can get pretty girls out of your system. The first time the girl took all her clothes off and plunked down a condom. I wasn’t going to go that far. We talked and touched some. She talked too much; so much that I felt sorry for her because that much talking would be tough for any guy to take. Eventually I rubbed myself against her and came on her belly.
The second time the girl was young (about 20) and pretty. She took off her shirt but not her pants which was fine with me. Her hair was long; and her body had the firmness of a 20 year old hot girl. We talked and touched. I heard her story and listened to her dreams to marry a doctor. I didn’t tell her I was married and at one point she gave a subtle hint that maybe I could have her as a girlfriend. I wished I had thought of this way to meet girls earlier in life; I might have pursued it. I liked her. I wanted to take her away from this; make her happy; love her forever. It wasn’t to be so I paid her more than she charged and missed her when she was gone. Some come got on her pants so she took them off and wore a hotel towel home.
The last time was in Las Vegas. The girl was 26 and gorgeous. She wanted way more money than anyone should pay. I knew I shouldn’t but she was beautiful and I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted to have a beer with her and talk and look at her; her fake boobs were spectacular. We held hands as we walked to the casino cashier where she knew just how to get cash from a credit card. We talked about her son; we talked about how she lied to her parents about her job. I showed her pictures of my two young daughters. She gave me the idea that this was ‘entertainment’ instead of cheating. I liked that thought and embraced it. I couldn’t get hard as she worked me with her hand. Probably because I was intimidated by her looks and maybe partly because I had comet by myself that morning. I walked her to her car – a Lexus. I didn’t feel sorry for this one; she knew how to take care of herself. I was mad at myself for giving her as much money as I did and decided I wasn’t going to do this again.
I have had three recurring dreams that have continued over years. In the first I am in college and it is near the end of the semester. I realize that I have forgotten to attend some of the classes I signed up for. I mean I haven’t attended any classes and now I have to do papers and take exams not to mention just finding the damn classroom – very stressful but probably fairly normal.
In the second dream I am being chased by a murderer. Not in a fun sort of way but in a horror movie kind of panic where I am barely ahead of him the entire time. This goes on for hours and I wake up to great relief. Not quite sure how a body can rest and recharge during all this mental anguish. I hate horror movies.
The third isn’t a specific dream but a dream situation in which I am dreaming but I know that I am dreaming. Kind of like a glitch in the matrix that just has to be exploited. So what do I do? I start looking around for a girl to jump; I literally am going to jump someone’s bones. I don’t really care if she is under 18 and I don’t need to find out about her education or family or favorite movie. I just look for a soft female to grab and molest before I wake up. I never get too far – for one thing if you cum in your dream you do it in real life; and those kind of dreams only happen to teenagers. For another thing, my awareness of the dream is slowly moving me toward consciousness. When someone eventually invents a way to induce conscious dreams it’s going to be a real game changer.
I was still fascinated by the whole concept of women. But really is this what I would do absent any inhibitions, any restraint, any consequences, any shame? Grab a girl on the street and try to dry hump her? I hope not; but there’s always daydreams – and I wondered what it would be like to call an escort service.
We hear how girls dream of their wedding day with the gown and church yadda yadda yadda. Well I used to fantasize about a wedding day too. But in my fantasy, I tolerate the planning, survive the ceremony, have fun at the reception, and race to a honeymoon where you feast on an all you can eat buffet of uninhibited sex. I would be willing to be happy about spending $700 for stupid flowers that you barely notice if I thought I wasn’t making a mistake. But I did. In the movies, it’s usually the girl that’s marrying the wrong guy and they get rescued by Dustin Hoffman (The Graduate) or Leonardo DiCaprio (Titanic). This wasn’t the movies and a leading lady like a Kate Beckinsale wasn’t going to show up and change everything.
Any socially unacceptable feelings needed to be buried – deep. Nobody could ever know that I still noticed girls – in particular a certain centrally located section of the female body. I know; what’s the big deal, you can see them at Mardi gras (I‘ve never been); you can see 50% of them at the neighborhood pool. And if you are lucky enough to see any, you should be able to burn that memory into your minds storage. You can’t. It’s not like seeing the Grand Canyon where you look for a couple minutes and that’s enough – you’ve seen it, time to move on. No. Somewhere in the genius of evolution it became advantageous to passing on one’s DNA if there was no storage capacity in the brain for such an image. In reality, it doesn’t matter how much milk a girl can produce for offspring – that’s so 5000 years ago. But this kind of logic doesn’t satisfy the curiosity aroused by the near perfect convexity pushing on an article of clothing. Yes, the recurring desire to see breasts is completely illogical and women don’t even understand it (at-least according to Julia Roberts in Notting Hill). Though they may not understand, it is apparent that women have figured out there is some sort of a correlation between this part of the female body and attention from men. I read a book that theorized that a long time ago women thought it was just their shirts that were attracting the attention and this led to an erroneous emphasis on fashion that has yet to be eradicated. Okay, I made that part up.
On the surface I don’t seem much different than anyone else; but now, below the surface, I was residing in the shallow end of the pool. Living your life short of complete honesty is a slippery slope. If given the chance to do it again, the path would be clear. Being yourself, even if you’re rotten, would at least be a life without regrets. People understand someone having quirks or even fetishes if that’s who they are. But I was getting married now. Would I grow up and act like an adult or would I melt down. I didn’t really know.
This is not something I’m proud of:
- The whole Susan thing (except for the poison wedding invitations)
- Sexy hands. I really think I could be a hand model.
- Once pretended to be an Architect (long story)
- If you compressed my life into two weeks, it would look pretty good.
- Pool shrinkage (doesn’t everyone?)
- He couldn’t win a ‘contest’ (remember, he cheated)
- Pretzels make me thirsty
It took a while for me to relax, and girlfriend was patient with me. Eventually we settled into a nice and active sexual relationship. I would later wonder why her. In the previous couple years, I had gotten to first base with a few girls and one or two of them might have been sexier than girlfriend. As George Costanza said – “if you compress my whole life into two weeks it looks pretty good”. Why had I backed off pursuing something in one of those opportunities? Why did I not back off here? I think my subconscious considers how a girl will be received by my family. This shouldn’t matter, but I knew after a lifetime of bringing exactly no-one home that I couldn’t roll out just anyone.
Going home with me would be like walking into an episode of the Gilmore Girls with Loralei and Rory . Not just anyone could handle the fast paced witty banter of my over-educated relatives. I needed someone who could handle that environment. Someone who could carry my weight when the conservation turned to 17th century Art History so I could slip out and go get a beer. Evidently this quality carried some weight in my subconscious mind over my conscious desire to find a hot girl at the trailer park and cover her nubile body entirely in whipped cream and unleash my oral fixation by licking every bit off.
So now I showed up places with girlfriend. At my social pinnacle, a friend and co-worker threw a party that consisted of reserving an entire bar. I showed up there with girlfriend nice and late. Walking into a crowded bar with a girl where I knew literally everybody in the bar and they all wanted to talk to me and I wanted to talk to them. The new dynamic was nice, but I noticed that it also lacked the chance for being struck by lightning. Exactly twice in my life, when standing around with buddies holding a drink and wishing I could meet someone, a young pretty girl asked me to dance for whatever reason – I certainly wasn’t the best looking, maybe I looked least threatening, I don’t know. A small but electrifying gesture on their part that I would not forget. Of course lightning strikes are unbelievably rare but when it does it feels really good to be energized like that. The weather was always sunny and nice now. Very nice. I noticed.
What is love? We are told that it develops over time. I feel like I’m completely capable of that but I haven’t gotten there so I don’t know for sure. I happen to believe that infatuation attractions are the most powerful. We just play them down because they are usually associated with teenagers. I have probably fallen in love thousands of times including with girls I haven’t met. In high school I would have given anything to marry Michelle Pfeiffer and I certainly never met her; and even once I totally fell for a girl I hadn’t ever seen or corresponded with – kind of an extreme Sleepless in Seattle thing. It really doesn’t take much to observe enough of people to get a sense of them. And when you really are drawn to what you see, everything about them becomes perfect; their hobbies, mannerisms, everything. And when I would fall in love with someone I barely knew, life of course, would become miserable. Love, for me, was always the end of all happiness. I couldn’t think of anything else; I couldn’t enjoy anything.
So I would plan stakeouts just to see and cross paths with the object of my obsession for a few fleeting seconds. I would pre-plan witty conversation that in reality ended up consisting of a single forced syllable – “Hi”. My reward would be a warm smile and a “hello”. It wasn’t much but it was worth it. I became so desperate to tell the object of my desire how wonderful she is I took to sending anonymous letters or cards. Sappy stuff, like cards with messages written by some card author with three names. Once, my anonymous card recipient started dating a guy I knew who was well below her stature in the dating world but he was well known to openly pine for her. I later realized she assumed the anonymous note was from him. Uggh.
At work, walking to lunch one day in the mid 1990’s, I passed a girl walking the opposite way on the sidewalk. She had long brown hair and a chiseled face. Unexpectedly, she looked me in the eye, tilted her head, and smiled so warmly and broadly it electrified my nervous system and pulsed adrenaline from my glands. My heart literally stopped, then raced. A smile – a seemingly simple gesture on the surface but in reality an awesome power possessed by women of child-bearing age that they aren’t even aware they have. She worked on another floor and I was once again infatuated. Later, in my usual desperation, I would break down and send a note – toned down, but signed. At the age of 26, I had a real girlfriend for the first time.