A woman walks into a pharmacy..

So I had this really great time last weekend with the PillPusher. A very VERY lovely dinner on Friday. I don't know that I've ever been on a first date that went so effortlessly. Brilliant conversation. Hilarity overload. Comfortable silences.

And he's tall. Oh yes he is. He's TALL.

This was followed with a beautiful afternoon Saturday at his home in the wilds of Spotsylvania County. Far more hilarity ensued fueled by copious amounts of wine. Far more than was planned or expected saw the late afternoon sun dip behind the trees and dusk rise.

The plan was to cook dinner together. I wasn't allowed to help. I was made to sit at the table, drink more than was acceptable and regale him with the frivolities of my life. Dinner was served with the story of his.

The next morning I was awakened to the smell of fresh coffee. Just roasted beans brewed in a french press. A breakfast of leftovers. A mid-morning nap.

I like this man. I like this man a lot. He's damaged goods like me. He wants quiet like me. He wants intimacy like me. He wants companionship.

He can give me what the Butterfly never can.

He's gone for Thanksgiving. Previous plans to be with his family. That's ok. Gives us time to think. He called from the road today and I told him I missed him. He reminded me that I wanted this time apart. He promised that the frantic pace where he works would be over before christmas. That he would expect time with me then.

Funny that. Someone wanting time with me.

Cherry poppers

Several discussions, both online and IRL contribute to this post. Ok, and some really fucking good Liebfraumilch that chilled all day.

I was having a convo with dood at work about our "firsts", as in first sexual partner. Yes, I remember mine vividly as we grew up together and our parents always wanted us to end up together. I doubt they wanted him to be the one to pop my cherry though. True fact, my mother caught us in the act in the middle of the livingroom floor once. HA!

So anyway, dood was talking about where his first chick was at this point in life and naturally that made me question where Mr. S was. So I did a quick Google-foo as he had been involved in broadcasting. At one point he was a news anchor on our hometown teevee. That made my life miserable as my mother pointed it out to me EVERY FUCKING TIME SHE CALLED since radio/tv production was my major in college and I did fuck all with it. Shrug.

Well dontcha know I found him. Dontcha know he looks just like he did at 16. Dontcha know that made me laugh for quite some time.

I lost my virginity to Mr. S at the tender age of 15. I was DEEPLY in love with him although I found out later (after we broke up and got together again) that he didn't give a flying fuck about me except to tap that ass. Asshole. Second go round Mr. S wrote a song for me even, heh. Anywho, I lost my virginity to Mr. S on New Year's Eve 1976 in my own bed while my mother was next door at a party. Was it all that? Hells to the no. It hurt and I didn't get off. He did of course. Asshole. Sex with Mr. S was fun, he was packin' but it never was the roll your eyes into the back of your head kinda sex. He's also the first man I had anal with. That turned me off from doing that again for another 20 yrs.

So it appears that Mr. S is married with 2 kids and works for a station in the Deep South. Interesting that. I wonder if it's his 2nd marriage? I heard gossip over the years that his wife was an alcoholic. And white. Not that that matters, but it isn't surprising. Mr. S is biracial like me and CANNOT pass. His little bro' could, but he couldn't and always strained to BE white. I think some of that is what helped contribute to my not giving a rats ass about labels. I dunno. I just remember he was always striving to be accepted. His mom was white and that started me on the road to observing how which race the mother was affected the ability for a biracial child to be comfortable in their own skin.

Well the station website has a link to email Mr. S, but it appears to be broken. I think I'm going to keep trying to send Mr. S an email. I'd like to see where his head is at 30+ years later. Dood at work asked me if I would hit that again. Nah, don't think so. I have body image issues (it makes me freak for the Butterfly to see me completely naked) and HE was the one I learned that you don't go back to sloppy seconds.

Deconstructing in the afterglow

booty call

(noun) a phonecall, page or conversation aimed at getting into your pants. Not an invite to a movie or dinner, not just coffee, not a casual or formal get-together, just a plain old-fashioned "let's fuck".


Now I haven't answered a booty call in, uh 13-14 yrs. As a matter of course, I initiate them. Until today.

I'd forgotten the thrill of the proposition, the anticipation as you drive helter-skelter through the streets and the feverish ripping off of the clothes to do the nasty.

Today the Butterfly put out a booty call and I dropped EVERYTHING to answer it. Since I'm basking in the afterglow (with a large glass of wine) I can afford to deconstruct the act. We'll look at the 3 standard "judgements" that could be made about me over this.

Does running off into the evening willy nilly like that detract from my feminist beliefs? Is this some sort of "master"/"slave" situation? Am I a whore for going to fuck a married man because he's got some free time and a hard dick?

Only if you let the patriarchy and the slave mentality getcha.

I ran off to see the Butterfly because I knew that I was going to see little of him in the next few weeks. He's swamped at work and will be pulling double shifts. Besides, he's known to drop everything and take time out and come running when I call. It's a give and take.

Hmm. Ok, so he's white and I'm black. The only time "master"/"slave" comes into play is DURING play. I won't say the man hasn't got some prejudice in him - I defy anyone to find someone who doesn't - but it has never manifested itself in any conversation we've ever had.

Nah. I'm not a whore. I don't get paid for this. I do it because I want to, he does it because he wants to. His marriage is his business, not mine. I never infringe on his personal life, although he does stick his socks in mine from time to time.

So why did I go? Simply because I wanted to. I could have said no. He would have accepted that. Anything I do with him I do because *I* want to do it. We spend more time talking than anything else. He's my friend. With benefits. I wanted those benefits so I drove 80mph on 95 to claim them.

Indulging oneself while on the Blue Streak of Life

So the rules of the game for the Butterfly are very simple: keep me laughing and keep me sexually satisfied. Simple stuff really.

I'm constantly amazed at how well he manages to keep me laughing. The only other person who ever managed to do this consistently was the dead husband. Interesting there in that the 31st was the 5th anniversary of his death and I didn't feel a need to go to Quantico and lay down prone on his grave and weep. Perhaps life is returning after all.

Anyway, the Butterfly has got to be THE most retarded adult male on the planet. In a good way. And yes, he would still dominate much of my day and my life even without the sex. He's THAT good.

So this morning I indulged him in breakfast with an assortment of delishus cheeses while rubbing his back. My indulging him satisfies my personal need to spoil the male in my life who brings me joy. I realize this is considered TEH EVUL by those of the feminist persuasion, but not in my book on feminism. Please to see the sentence prior to the last one: spoiling the male in my life who brings me joy. How the fuck is this anti-feminist? If someone makes you feel good, isn't it only NATURAL that you would want to make them feel good too? If it doesn't, you need some serious fucking help because you clearly have no concept of give and take.

Well this brings me to the upswing here on "My Life: The Rollercoaster Ride Through Hell". Today was a good day for the most part. Hot, wet, monkey-sex followed by a cheese platter and 5 separate conversation topics with an extremely intelligent, retarded 44 yr old male. Really, could it get any better? Well yeah, but we don't do exercises in futility. So it was great. Then I got to work and my boss showed up and sucked all the color out of life. Fortunately, the Butterfly flitted around briefly after work painting the sky blue again. Then I had a fun dinner and lots of zin.

It's the little moments of joy in life you have to fully immerse yourself in to get by. Today turned out to be a good day after all.

Those..lips

Ah my dear, sweet, laughter inducing Butterfly is overworked.

There's nothing I can do for him.

The dood he works for is squeezing EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DIME he pays him out of him.

I wish I could lay a trick on him.

Although my Butterfly loves his work, loves the challenges - he doesn't love the 60+ hour weeks - every week.

Of course, this cuts into the time I can spend with him. So now I'm being affected and WE ARE NOT PLEASED.

There's less time to meet him for breakfast. Never time for lunch. Rarely for dinner.

Understand, these times don't always mean we have sex. We're friends first and foremost so we mostly do what friends do. Luckily he works in a field where he can call/text at will and he does that throughout the day.

I hope I can do more for him soon.

I miss those lips up there.

The Great "Assmitten Experiment" or "Yes, I still have shit in boxes"

Teh Viagra is a LIE CAKE!

For women that is. This woman in particular. Ok, so the damn pills were just too old and didn't do SHIT for me and now I'm pissed.

The sex was still TEH MOSTEST AWESOME, but I was reaching for the eyes rolling back up in my head kind. Didn't happen. But I got laid so there's that, yes?

So how did I come to eat the little blue pill? I lay the blame SQUARELY at the feet of Assmitten. She just HAD to mention her experience with the blue pill and how "interesting" it was that I was all about copycat-dom. And really, I've always been about chemical experimentation except if it involved needles or applying heat to coke. So what the hell, right?

The dead husband had a script for 'em which he never finished (he's the DEAD husband, duh) and I found 'em buried in a pile o' shit I hadn't gone through. Yes, he's been dead almost 4 years, I've been in the new condo for as long and I still have shit in boxes - fuck you too. So in light of what I now refer to as the "ASSMITTEN EXPERIMENT" I took half of one before the Butterfly came over tonite.

All I have to show for that little dealie is a killer headache. Fortunately that came on long after the sex and after-sex comedy hour, but we are disappointed nonetheless.

Going forward, we shall rely upon the old standby's - likker and dope.

now playing on my iPod "She's Got You" - Patsy Cline

On rum, getting cockblocked and the internet

Let me preface this by saying I'm reasonably inebrieated.

My evening plans were cockblocked (shakes fist at Assmitten as it's all HER FAULT dammit!) and I'm turning to alcohol to compensate for the lack of (actually) damn fine conversation. The sex would have been welcome but not required.

Anywho.

Yammering back and forth with the aforementioned Assmitten reminded me of why I lurv the interwebs so much. You get to meet some pretty fucking amazing people. And knowing these people can make some HUGE changes in your life.

Let me also mention that I met the dead husband on the internet almost 14 yrs ago and we eventually got together IRL and lived together and got married. So I don't really subscribe to the "every other person on the internet is an axe murderer" school of thought.

Over these past 14 years I HAVE met some pretty awesome folks who also moved into the IRL state. Back in the day I used to go to "chat parties" held in various cities across the country and meet people I talked to online. I even had one of those individuals (who I thought I was in love with) leave his wife and move in with me - for all of 2 days. Fortunately he wasn't an axe murderer, just an idiot. (Yes, I am a bad ass mama-jama despite what you read here.)

Mr. Davis aka umf is another of those people. Also one who has been a friend for 14 years and for all intents and purposes is my "spiritual partner". We've only managed to get together IRL a few times over those years, but we keep in touch almost daily and our kids even know each other.

Speaking of which, let me direct you to the website (I have been TERRIBLY remiss) Soul Patrol We grew that out of a combination of chat rooms and bbs on Prodigy back in the day. Since that time I've met a shitload of artists and attended the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies in NYC. (Buried deep in there is a rather um, risque listening party chat about Miles Davis' "Dark Magus" with yours truly having what was described by Michael Henderson as "damn fine sex online". Ok, Miles does that to me, what can I say? LOL)

Frankly, the thing that keeps me coming to the internet is PEOPLE. I love to meet new people from the safety of my computer. Yeah, I know folks can lie and pretend with the monitor in front of them, but truly I've only run into a few of those losers. The majority of people I've met and kept in touch with through the internet have enriched my life. Given me the opportunity to look at my own experiences through the eyes of others.

And THAT my friends, is MOST EXCELLENT.

now playing on my iPod "Down in It" NIN