Parenting.

This is another in my series of “I had nowhere else to put this”.

Cookies for dinner. AGAIN! I fucking love being an adult. To think that there was a time that I couldn’t eat what I wanted…. Like, my parents told me I couldn’t have cookies and candy for dinner. Man, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not a father because I would let my kids eat whatever they wanted for every meal. Then I would end up at the hospital with some judgy doctor asking me questions while some fucking Helicopter parents who are there because they want to discuss the “merits of not getting their child vaccinated” with their physician stare at me like I’m some abomination.

So when the doctor is asking me why I let my kids eat whatever they want I point to Mr. and Mrs. Helicopter and I say: “Hey, you see those two nervous wreck assholes over there that are so anxious about fucking up their kid that they are making the next Jeffrey fucking Dahmer? I don’t want my kids to be like that pencil-necked little puke. That kid is so pathetic that germs are going to bully him. My kids are going to be his boss. That kid is going to be so straight and narrow with his nose to the computer screen, he will work 12 hours a day out of a fear of not paying his bill two weeks in advance. My son is going to stand around the water cooler telling the middle management how he’s nailing some poor bastards wife on afternoons and weekends while her husband isn’t home and when that kid over there looks around to hear more of the story my son is telling, my son is going to scream at him to get back to work. Which that kid over there is going to do. Then, when he does my son is going to tell those other management pricks ‘That’s the guy’ and laugh hysterically as he outlines how he intends to increase his hours and give him the minimum raise this year. Then he’ll mention how he steals his sandwich out of the break room fridge everyday but doesn’t even eat it, just throws it in the garbage.”

The doctor will look confused and the Helicopter family will look appalled. “Oh, I forgot to explain why. Well you see, my kids will get sick and get their stomachs pumped and that will be the worst thing that has ever happened to them.  Then I’ll explain to them it was because they made bad choices. They ate candy and cookies instead of healthy balanced meals. Then I’ll explain that there are always consequences to bad choices. Also, when you make bad choices you have to live with the consequences, take your lumps but then rise up from them, not dwell on them and move forward. Move past it and learn from it. Without hesitation and without fear.”

“So old Pencil-neck No-needles O’Helicopter over there will get polio and his legs will shrivel up as he sits in front of a computer and my kids will stomp on everything in front of them like dinosaurs.  They will have no fear, they will take risks and yes they will make mistakes, but they will come through smelling like a rose with confidence.”

Then the doctor will probably either call or consider calling child services and the Helicopters will ask about boosters for Pencil-neck.

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Hatred From Love/ Gauntlet of Fire

Well Jack has really stepped in it this time.  Let’s start with why.
Imagine loving someone as hard as you possibly can.  Maybe you already do, perhaps you’ve been lucky enough to have found that person in your lifetime already.  To the point prior to these events I had not.  I had thought so on numerous occasions only to be let down.  Alas, nothing obviously had ever stuck and sadly I had never known the full and true feeling of love.  Extreme fondness?  Yes.  Yet love had eluded me repeatedly.  Love is something that you would expose yourself knowingly to harm for, willingly.  As I have come to find out.

My love Lies on the other side of another relationship.  Not only this, but in a small tightly woven community of lizard minded, neanderthals, predominantly men with outdated views on relationships and gender roles who see women as property rather than people.  So when it was discovered that I was “involved” with another man’s woman (read, “property”) I was very realistically risking my life.  These are men that I considered friends, men that I worked with, men who were close to me.

The facts surrounding our relationship, or her former relationship that nobody else was aware of, were irrelevant.  The fact that she was in an abusive relationship, not physically but emotionally and psychologically.  The fact that he had cheated on her more than once (confirmed to me personally by HIS best friend whom I still have a good friendship with).  These things do not matter when you are a woman, because you are only property.  The fact that she had been repeatedly breaking up with him and the only reason that she had not moved on was simply because he would deny it and point to the children.  The fact that the oxytocin I was providing her was making her healthier by providing her with the will to eat.  The fact that she was for the first time in months happy and excited about something, that she had answers to the psychological issues that had plagued her for life.  That someone was LISTENING to her rather than let her drown at the bottom of her own well.  That like Gelflings in “The Dark Crystal” we were the last two of our kind on the entire planet because our disorders are almost identical which is SUPER rare.

None of the above things matter to other people.  The lizard minds of the mob mentality only want blood.  Which is how my love became a bitter hatred.  The hatred of them for me.  I becometh Frankenstein’s monster.  People fear what they don’t understand and fear turns into hatred.  In turn, I full well understood exactly what was happening and I was offended.  I was deeply wounded that on an individual level people wouldn’t come to me to clarify the details.  There were plenty of people who were mutual friends of both of us, she and I.  Yet they approached neither of us and instead fanned the flames of the rumor conflagration.  These people have only identified themselves as posers.  False friends.  They will not be missed.

There are those however who have redeemed themselves and stayed loyal throughout.  While people were being openly hostile and attempting to force others to choose sides there are those who stood fast.  They will be at the wedding.

That’s right, I want to marry this woman.

Balanced On One Hand

I had an epiphany with respect to my girlfriend: she isn’t crazy.  In fact, she is by far the most sane woman I have ever dated.  The second most sane is still a good friend of mine and her nickname is in fact “Crazy”.  No joke.  I’m forever a Gomez seeking a Morticia, a Joker in search of his Harley.  I’m a wild spark leaping for the stray black powder around the keg.  All of my relationships play out like Sid and Nancy, with or without drugs…

My girlfriend is regular folk.  There is nothing at all wild about her.  Which has pros and cons.  You might recall my complaints about being stale and bored.  Well I’m not.  It only occurred to me just recently that I was feeling that way because I am used to things being more chaotic.  Having a woman that picks at me until something happens, either we argue or we fuck.  Or we argue and fuck.  Then we make up and fuck.  It’s a whole process.  With my girlfriend we are copacetic.  Even keeled.  We fuck without event.

Toward that end, if you remember from this post I am very skilled with my hands.  I was able to give my new girlfriend, at the young age of twenty-two a vaginal orgasm that lasted no less than five minutes.  As it persisted I would whisper: “A little more…” and it would go on for another twenty seconds.  When it was over I said to her: “This is likely the best thing that has happened in your life thus far.”  She agreed.  The reason that this is news and noteworthy is because she was having intermittent mental blockage of her orgasms.  She would get right to the edge, over and over and then stop herself.  Also, generally speaking, younger women (even ones that masturbate) aren’t open to rolling vaginal orgasms.  I’ve found it to be nearly impossible to produce in anyone under the age of twenty-eight even with stellar technique.  I was going to attempt to bind this to a follow-up clitoral orgasm, however it seemed like once I released the rolling vaginal one she almost instantly lost steam.  Good enough though, for a start at any rate.  I actually pity her a little in a way.  You might wonder why, well the answer to that is simple:  She is very young and I am long in the tooth.  She is in her first actual relationship (I will note here that I am not her first sexual partner) I am just adding another nickel to my first dollar.  Should things go south for us (knock on wood) it will be probably a while before she encounters another man who can do this for her.  Men are notoriously horrible in the bedroom.  Largely because they are convinced everything is done with their penis.  I won’t claim to the be the best, though at least I put the work in with some skill.  This is, from what I understand, a rare quality to find in a man.

There are obvious reasons for why I have put the time into the aforementioned.  My bipolarity has found me in enough situations in order to practice it.  One of my favourite symptoms is the hypersexuality.  Women and cigarettes are the only two drugs that I just can’t quit.  If I was told that women were giving me dick cancer I would quit them, but even if I was told I had lung cancer I wouldn’t stop smoking.  So, big tobacco wins in the end.  Too bad “big vagina” isn’t how we refer to the porn industry.  Though, to be fair not all porn has something to do with vag…

So, my girlfriend isn’t crazy.  I feel as though she might be centering me.  She has become like a focal point.  I have two problems with this:  What happens when Jack feels trapped?  What happens when I no longer have her to center me?

 

Closure.

First I would like to start this by stating that things are progressing with the young lady that I spent the weekend with.  This would be irrelevant but for the fact that someone from my exes camp, a friend of Zoe’s who happens to know someone that my date knows is spreading rumours and misinformation about me.  I wouldn’t give it much merit except for the fact that they are being malicious and making wild claims about my character and just plain lying.  Saying things like that my ex has a restraining order against me, no she doesn’t.  Not even a little at all.  I cannot directly contact her.  Also, however this is a two-way street and kind of backfired when she made it happen as I showed the police my texts which were the catalyst for the incident and they agreed that she was crazy.  Of course it was in my best interest to stay away from her (I agreed heartily) as I had told her in the text that I would, yet she still called the police… proving essentially that she was spastic.  The police assured me that anything coming from her would be reasonable for me to contact them and have them intervene on my behalf.  Now, in public occupying the same business, like the club I was at, I only attempted to make contact in order to remain diplomatic and she decided to be a drama queen and run to a bouncer like a fucking child.  Whatever.  Great way to make yourself look more sane and mature, well done.  Also these same people were telling my new lady friend that I write a blog about how horrible my ex is… For fuck sake.  Don’t flatter yourself.  My blog is about me as I am way more important than you.  Even if I was a stranger and looked at the two of us I would identify myself as the important one between the two of us.  Save for the fact that you have children.  Most of the entries about Zoe were positive ones until she actively began rejecting me from her life (about a month and a half into our relationship, more on this later).  I worship women, even in my total disgust with Zoe I still love her.  I still find her valuable in a small way.  Despite the fact that she is utterly useless as a mate to anyone and completely self interested to a detriment to her children I still think that she is beautiful.  Even though I think that she is actively doing harm psychologically to both of her children (more on this later) I think that she still deserves to be mother to her children.

At the end of it all really the only thing about this blog that matters in the grand scheme is:  It’s anonymous.  Made up names and places, no ties to any reality at all whatsoever, so unless I told you about it personally you have no way of knowing who is involved or what all of this is about.  I did however tell Zoe.  So this pretty much assures to me that she is personally involved in the attempt to sabotage my character and my current ongoing… I’ll say relationship for lack of a better word as we haven’t defined it, nor do I think we intend to.  So happy birthday Zoe, I hope you are reading intently because I am about to ruin your day.  I would like to remind you that the pseudonym I chose for you came from a prostitute.  Because let’s be honest the best aspect of you was your body and I would say your ability in the sack but that was 80% me.  You were a sex puppet.  Thanks for showing up though, you do have a nice body, as always if you ever get bored look me up.  Hate sex is better than love sex in my opinion.

I want to begin by saying two things: First the only reason that you stick in my mind is not because of who you are, but what you represented, the potential that you had and utterly failed to live up to.  Second, all humans are fallible and I will accept that my assessment below might be a bit biased and not necessarily accurate being entirely from my perspective.  I am going to do my absolute best to remain as objective as possible because I want this to read with purity.  I want it to be understood why I was over you as a person right away yet I cannot shake the idea of you like a supercharged case of chlamydia.

You were

Things started rough between you and I because you put no effort into anything and your excuse is: “It shouldn’t take effort.”  Actually, if you ask any successful couple anywhere they talk, they argue, they compromise, essentially they are constantly expending effort on making their relationship work.  You had no intention of doing this from day one.  Which is why anything that you have ever complained about with regards to us has been squarely on you.  From very early on you would go to your friends places and bitch about me.  You would fill their heads with all kinds of strange ideas about how I was a terrible guy but then return to me and carry on as though everything was okay.  When I first met all of your friends they liked me.  They liked me a lot.  Then you went to them and cried wolf.  You painted some horrible monster image and they believed it.  In reality it was all just you clucking about growing pains and there really wasn’t anything there except for a loving guy who brought you flowers, cooked you fine meals, rubbed your feet every night, gave you 7 or 8 orgasms to his 1 (or none) and was bipolar and having a tough time adjusting to a small child.  In short, a really good guy trying his very best for you and being repaid in betrayal by a self-centered, entitled cunt.  You refuse to talk about your relationship issues.  Flat out.  This is the stupidest thing I have ever fucking heard I think if you asked any of your friends they would tell you that you should talk over your problems with your significant other.  In fact, rather than do this you went and cried to your friends, whom you’ve known for around 20 years, who are going to agree with and reinforce everything that you tell them.  You did this rather than take it up with me, your boyfriend.  If you had a problem with me, the only fucking person you should have spoken to about those issues was me.  Your friends are only going to commiserate.  They aren’t going to tell you that you are wrong.  They aren’t going to challenge your crazy even though they clearly know that you are crazy.  I’m not shaming you for your obvious psychological illnesses, I have disorders too.  The difference being that I track mine, I take pills, I see a therapist.  While you on the other hand are just running around free to be as batshit cuckoo as you see fit with no checks nor balances.  Your friends are doing nothing to save you from yourself.  Why?  You might ask, because they know that the moment they try to intervene you will go vesuvius.  Your temper is beyond all comprehension.  When I’m dysphoric I am problematic, your regular anger defies logic.

So we can see that you had self sabotaging habits very early on in our relationship.  You didn’t want it to work.  You would say things like that you wanted us to be together for the next 60 years, but then bitch to your friends at work.  While you were perpetually keeping me one foot out the door.  I would talk about ways I would improve your place, at first you seemed kind of part way lightly interested in the ideas.  Ultimately you were never even a little bit interested in the reality, because it involved a future with me.  You wanted to keep a pretty man on the other side of the phone who was good in bed to show up and sexually satisfy you at a whimsy.  Eventually this got old and you began flirting with other men.  You tried to keep this private but it was fairly plain to see.  Where once you would use your phone any old way and lay it down face up you had started using it 3 inches from your nose and setting it face down.  I’m not an idiot.  I eventually called you out on this but you denied it.  Sure, I have no proof but I don’t need any, everything about your behaviour and demeanor during this period was suspicious.  Maybe you weren’t sleeping with him/them, but you were flirting with other men.  I mean fuck, I even saw messages to you from other men.  Men who don’t feel as though they will get a response do not just randomly message women flirtily uninitiated.  Hell, maybe whatever you were sending their way was innocuous, but you hadn’t made that very clear to them obviously.  You had also removed me from your facebook half way through our relationship.  Completely shady.  There was nothing about you that was trustworthy behaviour as a person.   You spoke poorly about me behind my back, you dealt favorably with other men behind my back.  All in all you were a shitty person and a shitty partner.

It would end there except that you are having massive negative impact on your whole family.  All of them.  I really like both of your children and your mother and aunt were very sweet until you turned them against me.  Your self-centered behaviour is spoiling the children’s relationship with their grandmother at times.  You are really needlessly hard on your daughter and yeah I know that you think that you are being helpful or playful or trying to get through to her or whatever the fuck you think that is, but I think it deeply affects her more than she lets on.  You cycle men through your life every few months.  I offered you a long-term stable alternative and you injected it with rot and plague.  The men that you choose other than myself thus far that I am aware of are not what I would call positive examples for your children.  Even myself, you fucked with me so much that you made me a nightmare to them as well… I would have been just fine had you not been perpetually turning me away, casting me aside, treating me like shit and frankly frustrating me to the point of dysphoric fits.  Yes, I yelled on a few occasions.  After you had made my life with you so fucking miserable, been as shady, backstabbing and disrespectful as you could potentially be.  Fuck, even the food I made for you, you made a habit of throwing it back in my face and making statements like: “We don’t eat anything fancy.” or “We just eat normal food.”  I made normal food, you are white trash.  I was trying to elevate you to regular blue collar plus status.

So your daughter is a wonderful girl and intelligent, I hope that when the time comes she is smart enough to see what is wrong with you and just accept you for you and carry on with her life.  Your son however… I have spoken to my parent friends.  None of their kids are afraid of the dark nor piss the bed at 4.  You know why?  Because they don’t mollycoddle them.  They weaned them off of those things, got rid of the night lights.  Your son is a sweet boy.  He has a very mild and kind disposition.  I do actually miss him a great deal sometimes.  I reach for kinder eggs when I am out shopping and observe that I have no reason to buy them,  realize what I have done and I get a little teary.  Everytime I’m in the dollar store I think about getting finger lights and again… same thing.  I’m actually crying as I type this right now.  You daily accused me of hating him.  That little bastard has a spot in my heart and you dared to say that.  Every fucking day.  The only reason we ever had conflict over him was because I cared.  I cared in the outcome.  So I’m sorry if I offended your perfect parenting sensibilities but being a helicopter mother who is creating a mothers boy the likes of Norman Bates frightens the shit out of me.

The idea of you was that of a readymade family.  A woman with a comparable lifestyle and income with a home and the intention of improving her life.  You have no interest in improving anything.  You have your myopic Zoe-land where you will continue to go out dancing at the same shitty small town club with your bimbo 25 year old friend because it keeps you feeling young and desirable.  The same 25 year old bimbo who stole a boyfriend from you no less.  The same 25 year old bimbo who is doing her best to sleep with everyone but her boyfriend, that didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, you are the company you keep.  Yet, you never do get approached there.  You have all of your high school friends, which should tell you something about yourself.  You never did really move past the high school stage of your life and they will take everything that you say as gospel.  You will never grow, nor change.  Yet you are probably happy with this because you will have a never ending supply of fresh horny dudes who want to use your body poorly to gratify themselves.  And you had a champion.  I’d pity you but anyone who throws away as much as you have without a concern is too stupid to pity.  If you were an animal you would be so pathetic nobody would even take the time to put you out of your misery.

I’m sure there are loads more things I could say but this is all I could think to type up in a minute or two and I really don’t want to waste anymore time on you.  I only did this because these things have been rattling around in my head and needed a way out.  I have a life to live and other better women in vastly better places to explore.  FYI: I won’t live in this region for long so if you can manage to shut your pie-hole about me that would be just fucking peachy sweetheart.  I’m no longer any of your business, so if you could kindly refrain from spreading manure and lies around about me that would be swell.  The offer still stands though, if you want to get together for a cheap thrill in a motel 6 my number hasn’t changed, I promise not to call the cops if you call me.  Unless it’s for anything else.

 

Lightning By Twos.

My weekend featured a rather strange series of events with a few twists.  First I will begin in my therapists office.  There I am with Lilith and we have come to the conclusion that because I can no longer contact Zoe (my most recent significant ex) I cannot gain closure.  Therefore I still harbour some unresolved issues that are hindering my progression.  She notes that I have a changed demeanour since she met me (when I was still with Zoe).  That my habits have changed and that I seem less focused.  I admit that this is true, that I suppose without someone else in my life, someone else to look out for I have no reason to work on me.  If it’s just me on my own I can ride whatever wave of debauchery or destruction suits me.  She suggests that maybe for my own sake that I write (maybe even here in my blog, which I will in fact do next) a letter of closure addressed to Zoe, get it all off of my chest.  Say all the things that I wanted to say that were left unsaid.  I like this idea so I am going to do it, of course.  Though, speak the devils name and she shall appear.  I have not encountered nor caught the faintest glimpse of this woman in several months in the tiny, shitty community to which we are inured.

I have my standard Friday Karaoke only this night I have assisted a female colleague, who is nearly a decade my junior and quite pretty, to dress as a woman.  You see, she has a bad habit of dressing as though she is a teenage male nerd.  She “doesn’t know how to girl” as she puts it.  Of all the people she could go to to solve this issue, she came to me and I feel quite touched and proud that she trusts my taste.  We go shopping and I make some suggestions (including really sexy Calvin Klein formal evening heels that were on sale for super cheap) until she eventually begins selecting clothing that I approve of.  She dresses herself for the evening entirely in items that she selected (with my approval) proving that she can in fact “girl” with a little light guidance.  There is a birthday party taking place at our regular watering hole for one of our co-workers hence the requirement to put in the effort.  We arrive earlier than we normally would in order to make well-wishes to the birthday boy.  There are drinks and mostly good times, the ladies in attendance are astounded by my colleagues newfound feminine appearance and quite impressed with her taste.  I receive some credit but feel it important to point out that she chose the entire outfit with the exception of accessories.  She is actually the best dressed woman in the group.  I am proud.

There is a small amount of drama surrounding the posting of pictures to facebook that I rise above because frankly I have better things to do and women to sleep with this very night.  When I am done with the birthday party and Karaoke I round up some of my young male hang-abouts and we head to the one local dance pit.  I am admittedly a tad sliced, someone else pays my cover and gets my first drink.  Young males tend to like Jack McBastard when he is let off the leash.  Tonight Jack is being genial because I think he knows that we have similar goals.  I get to the dancefloor and spot you-guessed-it Zoe.  I take a few steps toward her to let her know I want nothing to do with her, I’m here to get laid and could care less about her.  You do you, I’ll do me.  However… as I take a few steps, like a childish twat, she and her bimbo friend go scurrying, and  mean scurrying as though they had planned this manoeuvre, behind the nearest bouncer who watches over the dancefloor.  In my state I think to myself: “Oh shit… this psycho bitch is going to get me kicked out.”  Keep in mind that I have never done the slightest thing against this woman (I admit I shouted at her a few times, though it was in extreme cases and I am in fact bipolar, no excuse, I know).  Keep in mind that when she texted me to threaten me with police action for completely inexplicable reasons if I texted her again, to which I agreed, she took THAT as a reason to call the police on me…  The woman is entirely unstable and I’m not sure that she should be responsible for children.

There I am worried that she is telling the bouncer that I am a stalker or worse, so I decide to just go face the music.  Better to get it out of the way rather than be jerked off the dancefloor by your neck.  I approach the bouncer and express that this whole thing is dramatics, that I am no threat to anyone and that she is being completely silly.  Oddly enough, though he does not look friendly nor pleased he simply tells me to go mind my business and have nothing to do with her. To this I am in full agreement, probably to his surprise.  So I continue on my business, though it doesn’t end here…  I dance with the intent of finding a woman.  I find a few and they find me, however everytime I get even close to Zoe’s half of the dancefloor she and her friend once again scurry behind the bouncer.  Which I catch only in passing out of the corner of my eye and only because he is on a raised platform.  Each time this happens and I manage to see it I think there is easily expressed on my face a look that states “are you fucking kidding me?!”  Because I genuinely do not care.  I am getting attention and giving it to women who are more than a decade younger than me.  Ultimately it is a pair of these that I settle on.

Cousins.  I like the taller one and I think the shorter one knows this the moment I dance up as she pushes my pelvis right into her cousins hips.  Bingo, too easy.  After dancing with them for a few songs the tall one goes to the restroom and the shorter one takes a table just off the dancefloor.  I take this opportunity to go get a drink.  Upon my return I find them sitting at the table with a bald man standing there with them, his back to me.  I walk up to the tall one with whom I haven’t yet exchanged a single word, throw my arm around her look at her and say something to the effect of: “Hey sweetie who’s this guy?”

The bald man grabs his drink off the table and darts into the crowd without a word.  The girls thank me profusely but then the tall one asks me what if she was interested in that guy?  I answer instantly: “Oh that’s easy, he was competition and he disappeared into the crowd so fast you’ll never find him again.  I win.”

She admits that this is pretty clever but reassures me that she is way more interested in me.  At some point between getting drinks and cigarette breaks I have a chance to talk to the cousin and she tells me that she was trying to find the tall one a cute guy and I say to her that she isn’t going to find anyone more attractive than me.  I guess she must have agreed because I take the tall one home no more than thirty minutes later.  She’s twenty two, I have more than a bakers dozen years on her.

I wake up next to Delilah and ask her what she’s doing for the rest of the day.  She tells me that at some point she needs to do laundry but other than that nothing.  I ask her if she wants to take a trip to the big city to pick up my new Hugo Boss suit that is finished being fitted.  She thinks that sounds like fun and off we go.  It’s a good day, we have lunch in a well-known, slightly upscale pub downtown (my treat).  The food is phenomenal.  We just enjoy the ride in the car together, the music, the company.  When we return to my place we spend more time between the sheets before I take her home so she can get her laundry done.  I use the term “home” loosely here because it’s actually her cousins as she is currently residing in the big city that we had just visited for work, though she is originally from the area local to me.  Before I drop her off we make plans for that night.

I pick her up around eight thirty and I take her to a restaurant that I only just recently discovered.  As I walk in the front door I recognize a voice resonating from a large table of around ten women in the middle of the main room just off the entrance.  I see a woman I recognize named Gwen who is not speaking that happens to be best friends with you-guessed-it Zoe.  I step past a column that was blocking my view and sure enough there she is with her back to me, easily identified by the large, half-sleeve shoulder to elbow, floral tattoo.  I utter an actual ‘You have got to be fucking kidding me…’ out loud before I grab Delilah’s arm and turn her around quickly explaining.  As I glance back past the column I see Gwen interrupting Zoe’s diatribe with what is obviously: ‘Dysphorian is here’.

I take Delilah to another restaurant where I know the owners husband as he is a co-worker of mine.  A fabulous place that specializes in a particular french cuisine in a cozy little romantic bistro setting.  After a marvellous meal we retire to my place where we yet again spend the night in one another’s arms naked and carefree.  The next morning I return her to her sister this time who is moody that she didn’t tell her where she was nor that she was early enough as she likes to return to the big city early on Sundays.  We have the intention of seeing each other again from here going forward, she is genuinely very interested in me and very turned on by me.  You know, right now maybe that’s all I need.  We haven’t defined this, I don’t think we will either.  She’s young and she will likely move on before long but if she doesn’t that is totally fine too.  I’m not sure I need the closure at this point but I am going to write it just to get it out of my mind.

Hairdresser On Fire.

I’ve alluded to her in the past, my hairdresser, the one who I was flirty with when I started my relationship with Zoe has always been a crush of mine.  We are always a near miss, on our way into a relationship when the other is out.  Well this time I have my fingers crossed.

Things did not work out with the other lady I was dating.  I kind of blew my cool for what I thought was a fairly legitimate reason.  Now I don’t think I’m out of the running entirely but even if I am I am totally not sweating it.  I still have a tryst to attend when I go visiting here on my week vacation and now it looks like the hairdresser could be moving back into the picture.  We will call her Samantha.  So she and I have always had the open hots for one another, never so much flirted as simply stated: wow, too bad you aren’t single, I would totally scoop you up!  For real, just blatant, no fucking around, spit-it-out, statement of fact.

Last night I did karaoke.  I am also a really good singer.  I’m not just tooting my own horn here, I went with a group of seasoned musicians and vocalists and my first song was “Sober” by the band Tool.  If you aren’t aware of this band or it’s vocalist Maynard James Keenan, he is debatably the most talented male rock vocalist alive.  His only challenger might be Matt Bellamy of Muse.  With the company I had, experienced in music and knowledgeable I wasn’t sure that my chops would make the grade.  Sure enough when I got back to the table after thunderous applause I got a huge round of congratulations and compliments.  One statement being: “When I saw that you chose Tool I thought ‘Wow, is he really going to try to sing Maynard?  Is he crazy or stupid?’ but then you got up there and did it and man… I was blown away! Good job!”

I was really touched by this reception.  Not only because these people know what they are talking about, but also because they are a new group of budding friends.  They are people that I am growing fond of and close to.  But I digress.  The lady who runs the Karaoke happens to be Samantha’s best friend and I know this.  So I approach her after nailing a few Killers songs.  I say to her: “You should say hello to Samantha for me.” with a wink.

She and I, let’s call her Rachel, end up having a good long conversation.  She doesn’t like Samantha’s boyfriend, which she knows isn’t a good sign for the relationship.  She gets super friendly with me and likes me a whole bunch, which indicates that Samantha would last a while with me.  The night carries on and all goes well, my group closes the place with a quartet of “Bohemian Rhapsody”.

The next day I go for a haircut.  Normally when I go for haircuts my stylist, Samantha joins me in my car for a cigarette.  She does today as well.  We talk and because I’m hung over, turned on and giddy I don’t even veil nor attempt to make my flirting even a little discrete.  I say things like: “I am so glad you wore jeans today, I can’t keep my eyes off of your bottom.”  To which she replies with genuine enthusiasm: “Thanks! I haven’t felt good I’m glad someone thinks I look good!” Among other things that were less lewd like how pretty she was etc.

We talk excitedly throughout my haircut, light flirting included and at the end she doesn’t charge me.  I insist but she doesn’t yield so I graciously accept the free haircut.  Sexiness has its perks.  Throughout our conversation she did partially confirm that things were not going well with her guy and in so doing I laid it out there that I was available and willing as she already knew.  I felt a little guilty but really… I should have been with her instead of Zoe.  Zoe was a mistake that I should have abandoned for Samantha.  I even said to her that I wasn’t attempting to give her incentive, I was simply reminding her that we’ve missed the opportunity twice now and we haven’t stopped flirting since we’ve known each other.  There’s something to this.  As I’m writing these very words she is telling me how handsome I look these days through facebook messenger… Wow, we are in this thing deep.

As she is getting done work she messages me to tell me that she is going tanning.  We chat a bit and she invites me to join her though she doesn’t have much time.  I go.  I get 9 minutes of stand up because my tan is just about where it needs to be and all I really need is a maintenance.  After I get out I wait for about a minute and she comes out looking glossy and fuckable in yoga pants.  She has such a bubbly and vivacious attitude I could just grab her right there in the middle of the tanning studio in front of the ugly people and show them what pretty people look like when they mate.  She drives me totally wild.  She has curves.  I love it.  She isn’t big but she’s also not petite.  She certainly has something I could put my hands on both up front and on the bottom.  She has the best wavy, wild, full volume brown hair, the brightest blue eyes, her whole person lights up when she speaks.  I am smitten.

She will be mine.  Oh yes.  She will be mine.  In the meantime I have Sylvie to make sweet fuck to.  I’m looking forward to rectifying that little lapse in performance.  The woman is gorgeous and since Zoe I’ve been lacking any real activity.  I’m in my thirties as attractive as I’ve ever been and feel more now than ever like my best before date is approaching…  I want to let my freak flag fly and I am kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere with few options other than to mine my facebook for past lovers, which is pathetic, it’s like a crackhead raking through the carpet looking for a rock to smoke (something I’ve been privy to sadly). Yeah, Tinder is sparse, Plenty of Fish may as well actually be populated with REAL FISH.  It’s pretty bad out here as I’ve mentioned in past posts.  I do better than most out here and it isn’t all that grand.

Let’s hear it for hot hairdressers!

Great White Buffalo

During the winter right before my wife left me I reconnected with a high school sweetheart at my wifes work of all places.  My wife worked as a barista at a locally owned and operated cafe in her small city where I met her as a teenager.  Where I also met this woman, we’ll call her Sylvie.

Sylvie and I originally met at the catholic school I had been attending there in that small city.  I was only attending it because it had superior academics believe it or not and all my friends went there.  Sylvie and I shared a home room and morning advanced English class.  I sat directly behind her and I used to tease her.  But not in the mean spirited, rude and pugnacious way that most ignorant male teenagers do.  In a legitimately cute and forgivable, charming, misunderstood genius, witty and broody kind of way.  I sold this really well by being a total smart-ass and well liked by the teacher, who would call upon me whenever he needed an answer to prove a point.  The kind of answer that tells the class ‘you see? this stuff isn’t impossible to grasp, one of your peers is following along, you should be able to get this too!’  Yeah… I was that guy.

So I was sitting pretty, literally.  Soon enough she was joining me after school to hang out on the couch at my mother’s music store which I worked at.  There was one problem, she had a boyfriend.  He was short and had a stupid nickname to reflect that fact.  I’m not normally an overly judgmental man but he was beneath her.  He was controlling and stifling, he had very little to offer (not that I had much, I was 16 or 17), wasn’t terribly clever and hung around with go nowhere, violent losers.  I understand the appeal, I had and have been similar at various points in my life due to bipolar.  Alas, I clean myself up and move on, knowing that there is better out there for me.  I was angsty and broody.  I was artistic and idealistic.  I liked to drink red wine and write poetry.  I fancied myself a renaissance revivalist (I was a pretentious and ambitious little shit).  I had all kinds of appeal to a teenage girl.  I was actually good friends with my future wife around this time and she was very similar to me in these regards, except she never outgrew these things…

So one afternoon fading into evening on the couch at the front of my mother’s music store I am making my move, about to kiss this gorgeous girl still wearing her school uniform.  Suddenly BAM! A huge explosion of noise right beside my head.  Sure enough, her boyfriend is outside watching us just about to share a kiss.  She gushes apologies and dashes telling me to lock the door when she leaves.  They go without a hassle but I do lock the door anyway only because this is my mother’s store and I don’t want anything to get ruined or have the police involved.  It burns me up inside that I was cheated out of the sweetness of her lips.  My blood is boiling at the thought of her touch and how it doesn’t belong to me.  My stomach is rolling over imagining her with that repugnant squirm of a man.  I wonder then as I will wonder several thousand times before and since why such amazing women choose literally the MOST pathetic, disgusting, useless and in all other ways horrible men.  It is a recurrent theme.  There is no such thing as perfect, if there was I’m not it, but even with bipolar I’m vastly better than most.  It seems like most women are TRYING to find the biggest loser that they can.  No joke.  Anyway, this is neither here nor there.  I’ve been that loser for at least a half dozen or more women so I shouldn’t talk.

For a short time she avoids me.  I don’t see her in home room.  I hear rumours about how he hit her and make vows about how I will bury him in the woods.  A week goes by and she returns.  Apparently she was only sick it just so happens that it was really poor timing  (I personally suspect that this was around when she had an abortion).  She is single upon her return and seems sad but resigned.  At first she doesn’t seem herself but after a time she opens up.  We become quite attached rather quickly.  I’m an anxious horny teenaged boy but not totally insensitive so I don’t push too hard for sex.  I suspect it’s this lack of killer instinct, this adherence to empathy and compassion that is the reason that I haven’t quite made it to triple digits.  I used to think I wasn’t very attractive, apparently it’s my self-sabotaging behaviour more than anything that drives women away.  I’m too nice and not pushy enough at times.  I’ve since learned to put my needs ahead of my manners when the situation requires.  I can thank Bukowski for this.  So I take it way too easy, we make rude jokes and I get the feeling that she is more sexually charged than I am.  Good to go.  Eventually I do push it.  She tells me that she doesn’t want to.  Oh, okay.  All that sex talk and jokes about blowjobs was just that, talk and jokes.  Okay, I’m a teenager so I am a little confused but I’m respectful so I back off.

I have to move back to my hometown, a slightly larger city about an hour away.  Ouch.  I have no license and no car.  This is relationship death for teenagers.  We manage to keep it going for a time.  I visit by train and she even talks her parents in letting me stay at her house so long as I sleep downstairs.  The next day her family goes to run errands.  She brings me up to show me her room.  She sits me on her bed and starts kissing me.  She tells me that she isn’t wearing a bra.  I immediately check to see if she is just teasing me.  Nope.  She slides her legs under her blankets and her skirt comes flying out a second later.  I am erect.  She invites me to join her on the condition that I lose my pants.  I take the deal.  I touch her through her panties.  I still remember every detail of her.  Now here’s the thing, I’m not an endowed man, I am average.  Like, perfectly so.  Yet she was tight.  I had difficulty getting situated and once I was due to being a teenager and so excited I think it took me about 2 minutes and I’m being generous.  So tight.  I marvel at it because it made no sense.  She wasn’t new to this, I wasn’t large and still it was like pushing a sausage through a fruit loop.  I would be pleased with this if I hadn’t been looking forward to a session.

I know that you are thinking, how good can a teenager be in the sack?  Well, funny that you are first asking that question to yourself in your own head, but second that I heard it and am now going to answer it.  Right around this time I had recently been in a relationship with another girl my own age and we used to have mutually satisfying marathon sessions.  We would frequently have sex wherein I wouldn’t even need to recock after an orgasm.  Often lasting several hours at a go.  So to have this disappointing short session with Sylvie was embarrassing, yet she seemed to expect it.  It occurred to me later that maybe this is what all of her sexual experiences had been to this point.

We had a similar situation at my place in my hometown when she came to visit me.  Shortly after this due to the distance we slowly tapered off and dissolved completely shattering my heart.  I really loved this girl.  I had written poetry about her.  I was a lovesick little puppy, it took me 9 months to recover from the loss of her.

Almost 20 years later I’m married and sitting in my wifes place of work enjoying a mocha latte, when I look across a narrow aisle from my plush leather chair to the couch.  Thereupon, sitting with a girlfriend is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.  Drinking a tea that my wife just delivered to her.

“Sylvie?”

“Yes? Oh, but… Dysphorian?!”  Her face flushes immediately and her eyes light up, she cannot hide the fact that she is excited to see me.

We speak only momentarily but I get her business card and gather that she is recently separated.  It makes no difference to me at the time.  I’m married and quite happily so at that particular time, I’m just so blown away to see her after such a long absence.  My heart has a room set aside for her with a candle lit in vigil for her.

My wife leaves me and a few weeks after that when I come to pick up my stuff I ask Sylvie to have lunch with me.  She does but she shoots me down very hard and in the most firm and polite way.  She leaves me with the impression that I will never talk to her again.  We become friends on facebook I suspect so that I can torture myself later.  Her reason for denying me is that she doesn’t want to be inappropriate with regards to my wife, seeing as we just separated she feels as though it is disrespectful.  I see her point and conceed, kind of… But I counter that she did leave an emotionally distraught bipolar depressive a week after a valentines upon which he spoiled his wife, even wrote her a poem…  She thinks this is cute yet sticks to her guns and I am glad she did really.  I was being bipolar and seeking validation through sex.

Summertime rolls around and I find myself staying with some friends in that very same small city once again.  I get to messaging her on facebook about how I would like to see her and bring her a tea.  She agrees, I do.  When I arrive with the tea she is puttering around cleaning and preparing to go to the cottage that night.  She is wearing a low cut flowing top and tights.  Her legs, cleavage and ass are all beautifully on display and looking almost exactly the same as in high school, in fact, she might actually look better.  At first the conversation is slow and awkward.  Sooner or later we come around to the fact that I am very attracted to her and she to me.  We discuss vaguely the possibility of us and she makes it clear that we can’t have a relationship.  Still I get the feeling that it doesn’t end there so I mention that I am not local.  Nobody knows that I am here so they don’t need to know about our business.  I make a metaphor about how if you have a craving for a food item you just go the grocery and buy it and nobody cares.  She understands.  The whole time I am helping her clean things in her kitchen.  Eventually I tell her that I just need to go and that it was good to see her cutting my visit short abruptly.  I make sure that this seems obvious.

About an hour later I text her something to the effect of: “I’m sorry, I had to go.  I think you knew exactly where our conversation was going and you were so sexy that I just wanted to take you right there on the kitchen table.  I figured with your sons upstairs that would have been inappropriate.”

She replies: “LOL yeah, I’m glad you showed some restraint.  I will be at the cottage tonight by the fire, why not join me there when the boys go to bed?”

Game on.  I pack some drinks and she sends me directions.  It’s very late when she finally gives me the go ahead.  When I get settled by the fire I drink at least two beers, we walk down to the water and back to the fire.  We talk.  I feel like an awkward teenager again.  It takes me more than an hour to make my move but when I do… It isn’t fireworks, it’s more like an ordinance stockpile and a pyrotechnics load being lit up all at once.  In the conflagration we manage to bust a hole clean through to hell and the fires of that unholy pit smother the rest of the universe so that there is nothing left but us and we are the two hottest, most powerful deities remaining, floating in a void of our own.  Her body is a stradivarius and I am a concert violinist.  Her mouth is the sweetest, softest thing I have ever tasted, her tongue dancing in concert with mine, flitting about my own lips and alighting momentarily on her own at just the right times.  If kissing was a sport this woman would make the olympics.

Eventually I ask the question, where do we go to have sex?  The boys are in the one room cabin.  She points into the dark and says one beautiful word: trampoline.  I love that word, because it starts with tramp and ends in a good time no matter what you do with it.  Unless you’re the poor sap who hurts himself.  Sadly…

This is where the story gets terrible.  I had only recently started taking most of my meds so an erection seriously wasn’t in the cards… Pathetic.  I put extra effort into going down and foreplay but I think she was upset and self-conscious about my utter refusal to get erect, thinking that perhaps it had to do with her, maybe her stretch marks?  I can say that it certainly did not have anything to do with her.  She was lovely.

Things got very awkward after that.  I bailed the heck out of there.  I tried to apologize through facebook messenger, she accepted but I got the impression she was being polite.  After that I tried commenting on the odd things on her wall to stay mildly relevant but would be met with mild hostility so I backed off.

Until today our conversation begins in reply to a wall post where she began redressing me publicly for stating that there are plenty of men that she overlooks (it was one of those picture posts about there not being good men, blah, blah, blah…):

Dysphorian: Why do I upset you so much? I actually know a fair few things but that isn’t what I am getting at. My point here is really that there are excellent men who crawl on broken glass to please you, if only you let them in. Yet you antagonize them.

Sylvie: I’m a Gemini lol

Dysphorian: And I regret nothing more than not being there to put my face in your crotch and then make you crepes

Sylvie: Omfg

Dysphorian: You’ll have to be more specific. It’s true what I say. I really feel horrible about my last horrible kick at the cat… My medication screwed me over. But you know what I think of you and that I would love nothing more than to pamper you.

Kissing you is one of the best feelings I’ve ever had.

Sylvie: Oh Dysphorian ,,,,, never worry about that … And that’s a good line how many times have you used that one ;))

Dysphorian: Sylvie, do I seem like the line type to you? Really? I just told you I would like to put my face in your crotch… Sometimes I am refined and sometimes I am blunt. I use what comes to me. You know that you are my great white buffalo. You have a very special place in my heart. Besides which you are just plain sexy as fuck. I still dream about you kissing me over your shoulder by the fire. That was particularly exciting.

Sylvie: White buffalo? Lol really

Dysphorian: You have seen Hot Tub Time Machine yes?

Sylvie: Omg yes. Magical things happen and hot tubs LOL.\

Dysphorian: You’re the one that got away, you’re my great white buffalo

Sylvie: Ohhh

Haha

But in that movie that white buffalo was actually a bum ass

Dysphorian: She turned out to be a bitch, yes… but that doesn’t mean that’s what they all are

Sylvie: Lol I know

I’m a fucking nightmare lmao

Dysphorian: How so?

Sylvie: Noooo just an angel

;))

Dysphorian: what are you doing sunday through tuesday?

Sylvie: Hanging out with my kids

Dysphorian: you should create some space for us to make out.

orrrrr… have coffee…?

Sylvie: Make out ? You know I like to fuck Dysphorian.

Dysphorian: Ah, okay, then it’s settled.

Sylvie: Or I guess coffee. Less mess

Lol

Dysphorian: seriously.

Sylvie: Hahaha

Dysphorian: worst case coffee, best case sexy times… set a day and time.

Sylvie: When r u around ?

Dysphorian: From sunday noonish to wednesday morning

so monday and tuesday nights are best

Sylvie: Okay we will have to see it would have to be after 8 PM

Dysphorian: I’m totally okay with that.