I was at work on Wednesday trading emails with Suburban Melissa. Suburban Melissa wrote that she had recently done backup vocals on a recording by a local indie rocker and I asked if she was looking for groupies. She responded that if I wanted to be her groupie I'd have to provide her with sex, booze and pills. I wrote back that I'd willingly provide the first, the second was no problem but the only pills I had around were vitamin C. So, she hopped on a train and we met up for drinks.
The last time I slept with Suburban Melissa was back in April. Before that, it was in December. Despite her sobriquet, Suburban Melissa is actually something of a late-30s hipster whose parental duties keep her in the suburbs. Blonde, blue-eyed and buxom, she is a former art student who ended up marrying a banker and we all know what happens when free-spirited women marry the kind of men who go into banking. After their divorce, she moved into a house on the lake in one of Chicago's nicer suburbs but absolutely hates suburban living and dreams of moving back to the city.
She is also a keen follower of the local music scene and possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of rock music. As well as an impressive collection of concert t-shirts.
She told me over drinks that she gets into the city quite a bit for interior decorating jobs and had wanted to give me a call but thought I might be seeing someone. Then she asked me about Christy:
"Christy left some pretty provocative messages on your myspace. Were you sleeping with her?"
"Yes."
"Ha! I KNEW it! I KNEW it! She was not discreet at all! So tell me, how was the sex?"
If most women I've dated had asked this question, I would not have responded. Suburban Melissa is, however, more frank than the average bear and I told her that sex with someone who's totally into you will always be fun, but Christy was pretty conservative---not into talking dirty, head-reticent, etc., and a bit of a nag if she didn't get the attention she felt was her due.
Suburban Melissa laughed.
"I know women like that. Be careful with the married ones---a lot of them will see you as a way out. An escape. You live in the city, you're in shape, sophisticated, good conversation..."
"Please don't stop there...."
"....and married life in the 'burbs can suck. I bet Christy left those messages on myspace hoping to get caught. Saying Fuck You to her husband before she left him. I know women like that. I know what they're like. That's not what I like. ......."
Then she said, "I don't want to "be made love to." I want to be fucked."
After another glass of wine, we left for my apartment. The sex was raunchy and uninhibited. Suburban Melissa is confident enough to let me know what she likes and she said and did things that got me totally excited and the next morning, we had round 2. I'm not really a morning sex guy, but I will totally make an exception for her.
We shared a cab downtown---her to Union Station, me to work.
"I hate living in the suburbs, David. I feel alive in the city. It's like a third cup of coffee. When I get off the train in the suburbs, I feel dead."
Then, "Next time we get together, I want you to fuck my ass."
Last night after film class, I got together with Waffle and Grandpa for a drink. We went to a sushi-nightclub hybrid that piped forgotten 80s tunes just a bit too loud but not overpowering loud and Grandpa told us about his trip to Isthanbul. We wound up debating the merits of the Ottoman vs. British empires when the lights came on and the bartender told us he was closing up for the night. Tonight I'm going out with Marla. And I don't think I've had a decent night's sleep all week.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thoughts on the Size Debate
I was drinking last night with Drinking Buddy. As the bartender serving us was also male, we started talking about sex. The bartender said that he hates to use condoms, because they don't make them big enough for equipment. He said that Magnums are long enough but nowhere near wide enough for him, and consequently tend to cut off his circulation.
Drinking Buddy remarked that he's had the same problem----condoms are not big enough to accommodate his girth. Both the bartender and Drinking Buddy played major college football, and are large men overall.
I have no problem using condoms.
It is the nature of men to be very touchy about the size of our penises. A friend of mine kept an anonymous blog on which she would recount her dating haps and mishaps. She told me over drinks that one of her former paramours discovered her blog and read the entries she posted about him. He didn't tell her that he had read them----she knew from the way he behaved towards her. She had written good things and bad things about him but the most devastating entry referred to his penis as being on the small side of average---I think the words she used were along the lines of too small to do any real damage.
The man in question will most likely greet her with a glazed, hostile look whenever they meet in the future.
I had a roommate in college who was still a virgin, and this was after our freshman year. He soon discovered that he was enormous, and crowed about it for weeks.
"She said I was hung like a horse. She asked me if I had a license to carry it."
He prominently displayed his box of Magnums on his nightstand.
Like, I suspect, all men, I have measured myself. I came in between 7 1/4 and 7 1/2---not small, not large, but on the slightly larger side of average. I have had a few women tell me I'm huge, but they have usually been women with comparatively little sexual experience. After an acrimonious breakup with a co-worker, I found out that she had told the other women in the company that I was tiny. I have not dated a co-worker in 13 years. I can live with my equipment.
Mar, who is Japanese, told me that she preferred to date white guys because Asian men had smaller penises. I really didn't like hearing her say that, as it struck me as another example of ethnic self-loathing which is never, ever attractive. Maybe she was referring to her own experiences and meant the comment quite innocently, but I really didn't want to hear her say it and it turned me off.
Bigger, however, is not always better. Most sexually adventurous women I know have a story about having sex with someone who was uncomfortably large. These women don't want to have sex with someone who causes them to feel pain. Not fun pain, but real, honest-to-God pain. Size matters, we all know that, but elephantitis carries its own problems---imagine never being able to receive head. Most of us are within a few inches of eachother and staying power combined with enthusiastic cunnilingus will go a long way toward keeping a woman happy.
Tonight, Suburban Melissa is staying over. Friday, I have Marla. Saturday afternoon/evening is Ginger. I have a busy couple days ahead. I may need pop a Rize pill on Saturday. I will keep you posted.
Drinking Buddy remarked that he's had the same problem----condoms are not big enough to accommodate his girth. Both the bartender and Drinking Buddy played major college football, and are large men overall.
I have no problem using condoms.
It is the nature of men to be very touchy about the size of our penises. A friend of mine kept an anonymous blog on which she would recount her dating haps and mishaps. She told me over drinks that one of her former paramours discovered her blog and read the entries she posted about him. He didn't tell her that he had read them----she knew from the way he behaved towards her. She had written good things and bad things about him but the most devastating entry referred to his penis as being on the small side of average---I think the words she used were along the lines of too small to do any real damage.
The man in question will most likely greet her with a glazed, hostile look whenever they meet in the future.
I had a roommate in college who was still a virgin, and this was after our freshman year. He soon discovered that he was enormous, and crowed about it for weeks.
"She said I was hung like a horse. She asked me if I had a license to carry it."
He prominently displayed his box of Magnums on his nightstand.
Like, I suspect, all men, I have measured myself. I came in between 7 1/4 and 7 1/2---not small, not large, but on the slightly larger side of average. I have had a few women tell me I'm huge, but they have usually been women with comparatively little sexual experience. After an acrimonious breakup with a co-worker, I found out that she had told the other women in the company that I was tiny. I have not dated a co-worker in 13 years. I can live with my equipment.
Mar, who is Japanese, told me that she preferred to date white guys because Asian men had smaller penises. I really didn't like hearing her say that, as it struck me as another example of ethnic self-loathing which is never, ever attractive. Maybe she was referring to her own experiences and meant the comment quite innocently, but I really didn't want to hear her say it and it turned me off.
Bigger, however, is not always better. Most sexually adventurous women I know have a story about having sex with someone who was uncomfortably large. These women don't want to have sex with someone who causes them to feel pain. Not fun pain, but real, honest-to-God pain. Size matters, we all know that, but elephantitis carries its own problems---imagine never being able to receive head. Most of us are within a few inches of eachother and staying power combined with enthusiastic cunnilingus will go a long way toward keeping a woman happy.
Tonight, Suburban Melissa is staying over. Friday, I have Marla. Saturday afternoon/evening is Ginger. I have a busy couple days ahead. I may need pop a Rize pill on Saturday. I will keep you posted.
Monday, November 26, 2007
If I Were Your Senator....
I spent the previous week in California rock climbing in Joshua Tree with some friends and I just arrived in Chicago on the redeye flight from Las Vegas and I'm a wee bit exhausted from the flight and battered from my encounters with the rocks but I wanted to bring everyone up to date while everything is still fresh in my mind.
To begin with, I met the famous Alice (whose blog The Incredible Dating Adventures of Alice has sadly been retired) for drinks at a Hollywood pub and am pleased to report that she is every bit as charming and engaging in real time as she comes across in her writing. It's curious, this blogging world---meeting someone for the first time, yet knowing intimate details about that person's life and having that person know intimate details of your life. Anyway, it was a pleasant evening and I'm looking forward to hosting her when she interviews at graduate schools in Chicago.
The next day, I drove to Joshua Tree where Ted had rented a house with a swimming pool, hot tub and sauna. Very, very California. There were seven of us in the group, and after the second day of climbing everyone gathered around the X Box while I soakded my weary bones in the whirlpool and poured myself a scotch on the rocks. I remember pouring a second, then a third. The next thing I new, I was on top of my bed, fully dressed. The clock said 1:30, and I was suffering from an unquenchable thirst.
The next morning, I asked Ted what had happened the night before.
"Really? You don't remember?"
Bad sign right there.
"It wouldn't have been a big deal, David, but you're really the only drinker in the group. Except for Barry, everyone else is pretty much a teetotaler."
By talking to three different people, I was able to piece together what had happened. Apparently, I was arguing for Barack Obama and making disparaging remarks about Bill and Hillary Clinton. Specifically, that they represented the dark side of American politics. I may have been a bit conspriatorial.
The highlight, or lowlight, depending on your point of view, came when Ted's sister Jenny announced that she would not vote for me if I ran for the senate. I have no idea how the subject came up---I am as far removed from having a political career as anyone who is not currently in prison and I imagine this blog would pretty much nip any public service aspirations in the bud. I can only assume that I was speaking hypothetically. I really have no memory of this at all.
So, I became apoplectic on discovering that Jenny would not vote for me. She told me that it was because I didn't have a healthy regard for women. She apparently challenged me on the fact that I've been dating multiple women and asked me if I informed every new prospect that I'd be juggling her with six or seven other women.
After things had calmed down, I played X-box, or committed suicide via X-box, depending on whose version you believe, and went to bed.
My position regarding women has been that I'm free to date whomever I wish until I have the exclusivity talk with someone. If I ask someone if she wants to see me exclusively and she accepts, then we're in a relationship. Obviously, there are other things I can do along those lines----tell her I love her, ask her to move in, discuss marriage, any and all of which would rightly convey my intentions to pursue a monogamous relationship with the young lady in question. There are also gray areas, which I'm very careful to avoid. My conscience on that point is clear.
Still, I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a bit. I like Jenny and I hope that I can give her a reason to formulate a better opinion of my character in the future.
However, if I'm launching political campaigns under the influence of alcohol then she's probably right to vote against me.
To begin with, I met the famous Alice (whose blog The Incredible Dating Adventures of Alice has sadly been retired) for drinks at a Hollywood pub and am pleased to report that she is every bit as charming and engaging in real time as she comes across in her writing. It's curious, this blogging world---meeting someone for the first time, yet knowing intimate details about that person's life and having that person know intimate details of your life. Anyway, it was a pleasant evening and I'm looking forward to hosting her when she interviews at graduate schools in Chicago.
The next day, I drove to Joshua Tree where Ted had rented a house with a swimming pool, hot tub and sauna. Very, very California. There were seven of us in the group, and after the second day of climbing everyone gathered around the X Box while I soakded my weary bones in the whirlpool and poured myself a scotch on the rocks. I remember pouring a second, then a third. The next thing I new, I was on top of my bed, fully dressed. The clock said 1:30, and I was suffering from an unquenchable thirst.
The next morning, I asked Ted what had happened the night before.
"Really? You don't remember?"
Bad sign right there.
"It wouldn't have been a big deal, David, but you're really the only drinker in the group. Except for Barry, everyone else is pretty much a teetotaler."
By talking to three different people, I was able to piece together what had happened. Apparently, I was arguing for Barack Obama and making disparaging remarks about Bill and Hillary Clinton. Specifically, that they represented the dark side of American politics. I may have been a bit conspriatorial.
The highlight, or lowlight, depending on your point of view, came when Ted's sister Jenny announced that she would not vote for me if I ran for the senate. I have no idea how the subject came up---I am as far removed from having a political career as anyone who is not currently in prison and I imagine this blog would pretty much nip any public service aspirations in the bud. I can only assume that I was speaking hypothetically. I really have no memory of this at all.
So, I became apoplectic on discovering that Jenny would not vote for me. She told me that it was because I didn't have a healthy regard for women. She apparently challenged me on the fact that I've been dating multiple women and asked me if I informed every new prospect that I'd be juggling her with six or seven other women.
After things had calmed down, I played X-box, or committed suicide via X-box, depending on whose version you believe, and went to bed.
My position regarding women has been that I'm free to date whomever I wish until I have the exclusivity talk with someone. If I ask someone if she wants to see me exclusively and she accepts, then we're in a relationship. Obviously, there are other things I can do along those lines----tell her I love her, ask her to move in, discuss marriage, any and all of which would rightly convey my intentions to pursue a monogamous relationship with the young lady in question. There are also gray areas, which I'm very careful to avoid. My conscience on that point is clear.
Still, I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a bit. I like Jenny and I hope that I can give her a reason to formulate a better opinion of my character in the future.
However, if I'm launching political campaigns under the influence of alcohol then she's probably right to vote against me.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Drama with Mar
The sound of my cell phone jarred me from my sleep at a little after 2:00 this morning. I looked at the number---definitely and out-of-state area code. I let it ring through. A moment later, my phone beeped indicating that someone had left a message.
A woman with a foreign accent was babbling something about a "Margreet" and asking if she could stay with me because she was crying and a horrible thing had happened with her roommate and "priest-man" was there and she needed to get away and I erased the message before I got to the end. Some people should learn how to dial.
Five minutes later, my phone rang again. Same number. This time I picked it up.
"Hello, is this David?"
"Who is this?"
"Mariko's mother. She asked me to call you. Policeman is there. She's crying. She had to get away from L and her roommate and they are plotting and policeman is there and she asked me to call you and see if she can stay at your place."
It's worth remarking here that if Mary Tyler Moore could have said the word "no" during the first five minutes, there would have been no basis for the TV show. However, I did promise Mar that if she was in a jam or got into trouble she could call me. I stand by that promise.
"Yes, she can come over. I'll call her."
"Please, have her call me when she gets there."
I called Mar. She was in tears. I told her she could come over and spend the night.
Mar arrived at 3:00. She was still crying.
"My roommate got violent. He's the one who has the crush on me. He grabbed me and dragged me and hit me."
Some men, clearly, do not handle rejection well.
"I called the police and they did nothing. The cop was in the Navy and my roommate was in the Navy and they got all buddy-buddy and made it sound like it was MY fault and the cop told me they'd take me in if I didn't stop crying."
Yes, that does sound like our Chicago Police Department at work.
I told Mar that she could grab the sheets and blankets and towels from the closet and make herself at home. I went back to sleep.
Four hours later, I left for the gym. When I returned, Mar was sleeping on the chair in a fetal position. I had brought her a bagel and proceeded to make coffee. The story then emerged.
Her new roommate, referred to hereafter as Dahmer, confessed to having a crush on her as soon as she moved in. Dahmer was going through a difficult time in his life---he had just gotten out of the Navy, his wife had filed for divorce and he was facing a possible bankruptcy. Additionally, he had recently been charged with DWI after driving his car over the sidewalk and ramming it into a fence. Mar was the passenger.
She put off his advances couteously and went as far as to meet his therapist with him. Last night, however, she invited her ex-boyfriend, L, over. Dahmer became jealous, started slamming doors and accused her of messing around with L when he was out of the room. She told him he was crazy. He started to get physically threatening with her at this point.
I asked her what L was doing all this time.
"Nothing. He kept saying we should leave, and I made him leave the room."
"Wait a minute, he left you alone with Dahmer?"
"I made him leave. He's not a fighter."
"And he LEFT?"
"He waited outside."
L is clearly not a man. If some guy gets rough with one of my female friends and I'm in the room, I don't care how big he is. We're going at it. You don't get physically violent with women. I relayed this to Mar, and she replied,
"No! I made him leave. He'd get something broken. I wanted to handle it."
Apparently, he punched her and dragged her and she hit him back. Mar is not the violent type, and I'm certain she didn't initiate it. She called the police and when the police arrived Dahmer told them the he had acted out of self-defense. Then there was the Navy connection. One of the cops looked into her purse and pulled out a container of pills.
"Ma'am, are you bi-polar or schizophrenic?"
Dahmer told the police that she was trespassing and, SURPRISE! she was not actually on the lease. L, apparently, was no help at all with the cops, which made me understand why she didn't want to stay at his place. Mar cheated with me periodically while she was dating L, and I was understanding why.
Anyway, the police asked her if she wanted to go to the homeless shelter. They threatened to take her to jail if she didn't calm down. I imagine that it was at this point she called her mother and asked her mother to call me.
Mar tells me that I'm the only sane person in her life. God help her.
When I met Mar, she was studying for medical school. That plan appears to be on the back-burner. She's currently looking to get into real estate and is looking at properties in the city. To my knowledge she does not have a full-time, regular job-type-job outside of her volunteer work at the hospital or for various candidates. I'm wondering now how I could have dated her on-and-off for the six months that we were together. When Mar is around, drama is never far behind.
A woman with a foreign accent was babbling something about a "Margreet" and asking if she could stay with me because she was crying and a horrible thing had happened with her roommate and "priest-man" was there and she needed to get away and I erased the message before I got to the end. Some people should learn how to dial.
Five minutes later, my phone rang again. Same number. This time I picked it up.
"Hello, is this David?"
"Who is this?"
"Mariko's mother. She asked me to call you. Policeman is there. She's crying. She had to get away from L and her roommate and they are plotting and policeman is there and she asked me to call you and see if she can stay at your place."
It's worth remarking here that if Mary Tyler Moore could have said the word "no" during the first five minutes, there would have been no basis for the TV show. However, I did promise Mar that if she was in a jam or got into trouble she could call me. I stand by that promise.
"Yes, she can come over. I'll call her."
"Please, have her call me when she gets there."
I called Mar. She was in tears. I told her she could come over and spend the night.
Mar arrived at 3:00. She was still crying.
"My roommate got violent. He's the one who has the crush on me. He grabbed me and dragged me and hit me."
Some men, clearly, do not handle rejection well.
"I called the police and they did nothing. The cop was in the Navy and my roommate was in the Navy and they got all buddy-buddy and made it sound like it was MY fault and the cop told me they'd take me in if I didn't stop crying."
Yes, that does sound like our Chicago Police Department at work.
I told Mar that she could grab the sheets and blankets and towels from the closet and make herself at home. I went back to sleep.
Four hours later, I left for the gym. When I returned, Mar was sleeping on the chair in a fetal position. I had brought her a bagel and proceeded to make coffee. The story then emerged.
Her new roommate, referred to hereafter as Dahmer, confessed to having a crush on her as soon as she moved in. Dahmer was going through a difficult time in his life---he had just gotten out of the Navy, his wife had filed for divorce and he was facing a possible bankruptcy. Additionally, he had recently been charged with DWI after driving his car over the sidewalk and ramming it into a fence. Mar was the passenger.
She put off his advances couteously and went as far as to meet his therapist with him. Last night, however, she invited her ex-boyfriend, L, over. Dahmer became jealous, started slamming doors and accused her of messing around with L when he was out of the room. She told him he was crazy. He started to get physically threatening with her at this point.
I asked her what L was doing all this time.
"Nothing. He kept saying we should leave, and I made him leave the room."
"Wait a minute, he left you alone with Dahmer?"
"I made him leave. He's not a fighter."
"And he LEFT?"
"He waited outside."
L is clearly not a man. If some guy gets rough with one of my female friends and I'm in the room, I don't care how big he is. We're going at it. You don't get physically violent with women. I relayed this to Mar, and she replied,
"No! I made him leave. He'd get something broken. I wanted to handle it."
Apparently, he punched her and dragged her and she hit him back. Mar is not the violent type, and I'm certain she didn't initiate it. She called the police and when the police arrived Dahmer told them the he had acted out of self-defense. Then there was the Navy connection. One of the cops looked into her purse and pulled out a container of pills.
"Ma'am, are you bi-polar or schizophrenic?"
Dahmer told the police that she was trespassing and, SURPRISE! she was not actually on the lease. L, apparently, was no help at all with the cops, which made me understand why she didn't want to stay at his place. Mar cheated with me periodically while she was dating L, and I was understanding why.
Anyway, the police asked her if she wanted to go to the homeless shelter. They threatened to take her to jail if she didn't calm down. I imagine that it was at this point she called her mother and asked her mother to call me.
Mar tells me that I'm the only sane person in her life. God help her.
When I met Mar, she was studying for medical school. That plan appears to be on the back-burner. She's currently looking to get into real estate and is looking at properties in the city. To my knowledge she does not have a full-time, regular job-type-job outside of her volunteer work at the hospital or for various candidates. I'm wondering now how I could have dated her on-and-off for the six months that we were together. When Mar is around, drama is never far behind.
Monday, November 12, 2007
I Gotta Be Me
Friday night, I saw No Country for Old Men with Marla. I highly, highly, highly recommend it if you like to be scared shitless. If you don't, you should still see it. Saturday, I had tentative plans with Zibi to hang out at a Polish watering hole and hear a band, but at about 5:00 Drinking Buddy knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to go to Nick's.
I will always go to Nick's.
Drinking Buddy introduced me to an independent filmmaker that he knew and the shot glasses came out before we were done with our first round. I mentioned seeing No Country for Old Men with Marla and Drinking Buddy said,
"Of the girls you've been dating, she's the one I like. She seems very....respectful."
Respectful is probably the highest praise Drinking Buddy will give to a woman. I let it sink in, and we continued to do shots. At about 8:30, I stumbled out the door intending to grab a Maxwell Street Polish. Next thing I knew I was in my bed and it was 3:00.
I had slept past my saturday night! Damn you, Drinking Buddy! Damn you for my lost hours and for my excruciating hangover!
My morning run dispelled most of my hangover and the two bloody marys I enjoyed over brunch took care of the remainder. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry and watching football. At 6:00, Urban Melissa sent me a text asking if I was up for going bowling. I answered, sure. It had been a few years since I had held a bowling ball. She responded with the venue and asked me to bring one of my lady friends, as she was afraid she might be the only female in the group. I asked Marla.
We met up at Diversey Rock and Bowl, where ironical slumming and full-on kitsch appreciation meet head on and it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Urban Melissa arrived with her boyfriend and a friend of his and introductions were made. Marla went to the Ladies' room and Urban Melissa grabbed my arm.
"David, she's a keeper! I like her better than any of your women! We should do more things together with her!"
This was about ten minutes after they had met.
That my two most discriminating friends (by discriminating I mean not liking the girls I date) like Marla speaks very well in her favor. I like Marla too. However, I also enjoy being a single guy and playing the field. I'm not going to get into a serious relationship based on what my friends would have me do and I'm not ready to stop seeing other women. The moment may come but right now, I'm having fun.
I will always go to Nick's.
Drinking Buddy introduced me to an independent filmmaker that he knew and the shot glasses came out before we were done with our first round. I mentioned seeing No Country for Old Men with Marla and Drinking Buddy said,
"Of the girls you've been dating, she's the one I like. She seems very....respectful."
Respectful is probably the highest praise Drinking Buddy will give to a woman. I let it sink in, and we continued to do shots. At about 8:30, I stumbled out the door intending to grab a Maxwell Street Polish. Next thing I knew I was in my bed and it was 3:00.
I had slept past my saturday night! Damn you, Drinking Buddy! Damn you for my lost hours and for my excruciating hangover!
My morning run dispelled most of my hangover and the two bloody marys I enjoyed over brunch took care of the remainder. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry and watching football. At 6:00, Urban Melissa sent me a text asking if I was up for going bowling. I answered, sure. It had been a few years since I had held a bowling ball. She responded with the venue and asked me to bring one of my lady friends, as she was afraid she might be the only female in the group. I asked Marla.
We met up at Diversey Rock and Bowl, where ironical slumming and full-on kitsch appreciation meet head on and it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Urban Melissa arrived with her boyfriend and a friend of his and introductions were made. Marla went to the Ladies' room and Urban Melissa grabbed my arm.
"David, she's a keeper! I like her better than any of your women! We should do more things together with her!"
This was about ten minutes after they had met.
That my two most discriminating friends (by discriminating I mean not liking the girls I date) like Marla speaks very well in her favor. I like Marla too. However, I also enjoy being a single guy and playing the field. I'm not going to get into a serious relationship based on what my friends would have me do and I'm not ready to stop seeing other women. The moment may come but right now, I'm having fun.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Head
Last night I caught Before the Devil Knows You're Dead with Marla, followed by a late-night dinner in Old Town, followed by an exhausting session back in her apartment which left me drenched in sweat and needing three large glasses of water to restore my pre-coital state of hydration. At about 3:30 this morning, I felt Marla's hand on my penis---the tell-tale sign that she was ready to go again. At 3:45, fighting leg cramps, I collapsed in another pool of sweat.
At 11:30, eight hours away, Ginger was arriving in Chicago so I didn't want to get too exhausted. Ginger had already emailed me that she was having her period so intercourse was out of the question, but she indicated that she'd give me head. OK. I won't complain about head.
I should mention that my emails can be monitored at any time by my bosses. And I am blocked from accessing non-work email accounts. Just another example of the many ways The Man fucks with you on a daily basis. Well, my bosses are the kind of guys to be amused by that sort of thing. And seriously---I have to endure Fox News all day but I shouldn't be sending or receiving sexually explicit emails at work? One's much much more obscene than the other.
OK. Ginger arrived and back to my apartment we sprinted. I put on Mister Magic by Grover Washington---very possibly the best makeout song ever recorded---and off came the clothes. Ginger had indicated that she preferred cherry to grape, so I had the cherry gel at the ready and after bumping and grinding and licking her mouth went south.
Wow. Ladies, if there is a secret to giving good head, it's this: act as if you are enjoying the experience. Christy would do it, but was always upfront that it wasn't her favorite thing. I never asked her to do it of course but she knew that it's something all men love so her mouth would close around me for about 10 seconds of silence and then she would look up expectantly like a puppy dog seeking praise. Ginger told me to let her know what I liked but it really wasn't necessary.....she appeared to be having as much fun as I was.
And, which is also pleasant, she swallowed.
Ask any guy----we like to be swallowed. To spit is physically to reject us. Swallowing is acceptance: like us, like our sperm. It's not a deal-breaker if the chick doesn't swallow, but I always remember the swallowers very fondly. Deep throating is cool, but not necessary---you can get as much mileage wrapping your hands around the base. In my experience, the most proficient deep throat artists have been bulimic girls and I never knew why until a friend pointed out to me that they had probably lost their gag reflex.
Over the course of four hours, she finished me off a total of three times. I felt bad that there wasn't anything I could do for her and told her that sex during that time of the month didn't bother me. She replied that she doesn't even do that with her husband, but added that she felt very comfortable with me so perhaps at some point in the future....
Her afternoon bag contained a CD of music she wanted to dance to---it was pretty sentimental stuff, but I couldn't deny her a dance so we slow danced for awhile like we were at a wedding. Or maybe a junior-high dance. We ordered a pizza and I picked out a bottle of wine. White Zinfandel.
Yes. Ordinarily, it would make me gag. But I figured that Ginger would love it (she did) and I will go out of my way to please a woman who can go down on me three times in pretty rapid succession. If she can swallow me, I can swallow white zin.
After dinner I dropped her off at the train station and returned home to finish the bottle.
In other news, I have been flirting online recently with Zsa Zsa and Casperina. Had a couple cyber sessions with Casperina and if we can work out the logistics we should get together within a month. Zsa Zsa is actually Italian, as in native Italian. Bonus points for foreign birth. I was a little disturbed that she used text message spelling in our IM conversation but will now be willing to cut her some slack. I will probably go out with Zibi and a couple of his friends tonight. I am taking the aspirin in advance.
At 11:30, eight hours away, Ginger was arriving in Chicago so I didn't want to get too exhausted. Ginger had already emailed me that she was having her period so intercourse was out of the question, but she indicated that she'd give me head. OK. I won't complain about head.
I should mention that my emails can be monitored at any time by my bosses. And I am blocked from accessing non-work email accounts. Just another example of the many ways The Man fucks with you on a daily basis. Well, my bosses are the kind of guys to be amused by that sort of thing. And seriously---I have to endure Fox News all day but I shouldn't be sending or receiving sexually explicit emails at work? One's much much more obscene than the other.
OK. Ginger arrived and back to my apartment we sprinted. I put on Mister Magic by Grover Washington---very possibly the best makeout song ever recorded---and off came the clothes. Ginger had indicated that she preferred cherry to grape, so I had the cherry gel at the ready and after bumping and grinding and licking her mouth went south.
Wow. Ladies, if there is a secret to giving good head, it's this: act as if you are enjoying the experience. Christy would do it, but was always upfront that it wasn't her favorite thing. I never asked her to do it of course but she knew that it's something all men love so her mouth would close around me for about 10 seconds of silence and then she would look up expectantly like a puppy dog seeking praise. Ginger told me to let her know what I liked but it really wasn't necessary.....she appeared to be having as much fun as I was.
And, which is also pleasant, she swallowed.
Ask any guy----we like to be swallowed. To spit is physically to reject us. Swallowing is acceptance: like us, like our sperm. It's not a deal-breaker if the chick doesn't swallow, but I always remember the swallowers very fondly. Deep throating is cool, but not necessary---you can get as much mileage wrapping your hands around the base. In my experience, the most proficient deep throat artists have been bulimic girls and I never knew why until a friend pointed out to me that they had probably lost their gag reflex.
Over the course of four hours, she finished me off a total of three times. I felt bad that there wasn't anything I could do for her and told her that sex during that time of the month didn't bother me. She replied that she doesn't even do that with her husband, but added that she felt very comfortable with me so perhaps at some point in the future....
Her afternoon bag contained a CD of music she wanted to dance to---it was pretty sentimental stuff, but I couldn't deny her a dance so we slow danced for awhile like we were at a wedding. Or maybe a junior-high dance. We ordered a pizza and I picked out a bottle of wine. White Zinfandel.
Yes. Ordinarily, it would make me gag. But I figured that Ginger would love it (she did) and I will go out of my way to please a woman who can go down on me three times in pretty rapid succession. If she can swallow me, I can swallow white zin.
After dinner I dropped her off at the train station and returned home to finish the bottle.
In other news, I have been flirting online recently with Zsa Zsa and Casperina. Had a couple cyber sessions with Casperina and if we can work out the logistics we should get together within a month. Zsa Zsa is actually Italian, as in native Italian. Bonus points for foreign birth. I was a little disturbed that she used text message spelling in our IM conversation but will now be willing to cut her some slack. I will probably go out with Zibi and a couple of his friends tonight. I am taking the aspirin in advance.
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