I Have A Date

I have fallen into a very bad habit.  In reading back over my last several posts, they have all been related to FFF.  It's a problem only in that I focus on a story and then mentally kick myself for not writing about the other thoughts running through my head.  I also think writing FFF was easier than focusing on me.  I will still do FFF; just gonna limit the time I spend so I can include other things too.

 

The first thing worth mentioning is that I have a date tonight.  Yea me!!!  Okay, truth is, I am not all that excited.  I have been second guessing going out for the last two days.  I was working up my nerve to call him yesterday to cancel, but he called me first just to tell me how excited he was.  Now, without being a total bitch, how in the heck was I going to cancel after he said all of that?  I don't know if I have a "type" of guy that I prefer to date or not.  I don't know if women have a "type" or, if we did, would we admit it to ourselves (that might be an interesting blog question someday . . . for someone w a lot of followers . . . hint).  Okay, so if tonight's date is not my typical date, then why am I going out w him.  Timing is everything and he asked at exactly the right time.

 

Which brings me to the second Rachel thing that's blog worthy - I went to Biketoberfest w Harley last weekend.  I said he'd been throwing out the "hey there's" again.  I hadn't thought about Biketoberfest being right around the corner.  I had a great time because I was w Harley.  Harley had a great time because it was a weekend of beer, bikes, and boobs.  Laughing. 

 

Speaking of boobs, wet t-shirt contests are pretty much a mandatory event.  Needless to say, we took in a few (I'm sure Harley had us there at contest time by accident).  I'm curious what you think of the girl below?

 

 

I thought she was kinda cute.

 

 

 

 

 

She's me.  Yes, I did a wet t-shirt contest.  Again.  Okay, to be honest, these particular photos are not from this year.  These were taken of me from another show a few years ago.  But I think you get the general idea of what Rachel brings to the stage.  :)

 

Circling back to my date tonight.  I know Harley.  I knew when we returned to the real world that he would probably pull a vanishing act.  I can't really say that he has yet.  We've texted.  But as the week progressed, I didn't want to be sitting at home thinking about him.  During one of my kicking Rachel moments, my date tonight asked me out to dinner.  And later, I felt bad because maybe the reason I said "yes" was not the best - but what was I supposed to do when he told me how much he was looking forward to it.  One of the things he'd said was that he had not stopped smiling since I had said yes. 

 

Okay, time to go make myself look real pretty for him.  He deserves it.

 

 

FFF

Story One

The Old One picked his way carefully across the cemetery; mindful to avoid walking across the honored warriors buried beneath the ground and equally cautious to avoid treading upon the dead warriors scattered above the ground.  The latter would soon be joining the former in this holy ground.  The victory was costly.  He silently prayed the spilled was worth it.

 

The Old One, w the spilled blood still warm, extended the invitation to discuss surrender at nightfall.  Walking to meet their war lord, he remembered waiting w General Lee for Grant at Appomattox Court House.  He remembered  Lee being resplendent in his dress Greys.  Lee was ever the gentleman.  Grant arrived straight from the battlefield, muddy and rumpled, in his Union Blues.  The Old One approached the agreed upon location to discuss terms of surrender, a specified grave site he knew well from his past.  He laughed silently at his memory of Lee and Grant.  Like the Yankee General, he was walking muddied and rumpled straight from the battlefield.  He wondered if his opponent would assume the role of a resplendent Lee.

The defeated war lord was no Lee, but then who was he thought.  He stood waiting and he was not alone.  His wife had joined him.

And she was naked.

"I had not thought you would come", she said from her perch.

"Given your dress, I rather suspect you DID think I would come," he challenged. 

She smiled demurely, which only emphasized her nakedness all the more, before responding, "given the circumstances, it seemed appropriate".

The Old One said nothing in response, instead turning to the defeated war lord who asked, "your terms, sir?"

"You and your army need only take an 'Oath of Loyalty' to the Pack".

"You are as kind as you are strong sir.  I thank you on behalf of my young pups".

"And me" she asked from her perch.

Silence was his response.

Jumping down, she slowly walked to him.  She stood in front of him, neither of them saying a word, for the longest time.  "You've changed", she said softly.

"Broken hearts do that".

She maybe thought of saying more, but realized more words would have been wasted.  For her, there was but one thing to do.  Getting onto her knees, she whispered, " I submit, Old One".

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Story Two

Cemeteries turned her on.  He did not know what it was about them.  He could buy her roses or bring her a fresh kill; nothing compared to how wet she became in a cemetery. 

Cemeteries made her wet . . . and wild.  He really liked the wild.  She became a beast.  And when she became a beast, then he was free to go full wolf.

Tonight, she had been especially wet . . . and wild.

They wrestled fairly aggressively for a long while before he spun her around onto her hands and knees.  Then he entered her from behind.  Riding her, her hips firmly in his grasp, he began to growl louder and louder.  He brought the wolf then. Literally.  One moment, he was a young man riding his girlfriend, the next he was the wolf claiming his bitch.

Afterwards, she perched atop a headstone, looking down upon his tired and pleased body, in triumph.  She had done this to him.   

But then she wanted more.

"You could become one of the Pack warriors if you wanted . . . maybe one of the sub-leaders".  She saw herself being supportive.  He didn't.

"I'm happy now though . . . I'm not interested in that", he tried to tell her again.  It was not a new argument for them.  He did not like conflict and had no desire for power.  He was happy being in the background.  But, she wanted power and status.  And she did not understand anyone who did not want the same.

They ended the discussion that night like they did every night - w a kiss and mournful parting.  But, as he watched her leave him that night, he knew, there would be no more invitations to meet at nightfall.  He wasn't enough.

He watched her walk away that evening; neither of them knowing that he would one day become far more than a mere warrior for the Pack.

The Old One was not always the Old One.  He was once young.  And this was the day his heart was broken.


 

FFF

The Old One faced the open window stroking the cat nestled in his arms.

 

"War is coming," he said, seemingly to the cat before turning to face the couple standing behind him.

 

They said nothing in response.  Like many before them, they had failed to appreciate the strength of the Pack.

 

"I can keep the body count low . . . " he said w a long pause before adding, " . . . but it will require a peaceful gesture".

 

"Anything, I'll do anything", the man said quickly in desperation.

 

The Old One smiled. 

 

"You will simply need to sit here and share a drink w me . . . "

 

"Gladly", the man responded.

 

"Your witch however . . . ", and she made eye contact w him for the first time since entering the room in defeat, " . . . made many disparaging remarks about the Pack . . . and attempted many unpleasant spells . . . she will need to . . . how shall I say it . . . 'earn' their forgiveness".

 

The cat - her familiar - leapt from the Old One's arms and began to stroll to the open door.

 

"Follow the cat . . . ", he said before pausing again, " . . . naked".

 

FFF

He hated her.

 

He hated those damned earrings her gave her.

 

She'd ruined his life.

 

But men could not be sexually harassed.  And especially not by a drop dead gorgeous woman . . . now matter how big a soul sucking bitch she was.

 

He'd lost his wife, his family, his home, and even his fucking collection of Superman comic books because his wife demanded those in the divorce.  He'd lost his reputation.  At work, everyone saw him as "her boy" . . . no matter that he earned this job long before she was hired and not a damned one of them could put up w her behind closed doors.

 

But no more.

 

Tyler Durden understood, "he that's lost everything is free to do anything".

 

Commanded again to perform, he 'encouraged' her to bend over her desk.  Grim faced, he flipped his tie over his shoulder and slid into her.  Slipping into her, he decided this was the last time. 

 

"How does she always manage to be so wet?" 

 

He lubed himself up on her wetness more for him than her pleasure.  Holding her firmly across her desk, he pulled all the way out of her.  Eyeing his goal, he smiled, she did not know what was coming.

 

When he began pressing back inside of her, it was her ass he was claiming.

 

She started to move away, but was trapped in his grip against the desk. 

 

Fucking her ass until he was done w her, he said, "consider this my resignation".

 

 

Confession: I Was Married Once

It happened not long after Harley left me for the first time.

 

I think I've said before, but I doubt y'all will recall - Harley and I lived together for quite a while many years ago.  The age difference didn't matter to me.  And I don't think it matter any to Harley.  He's very outgoing and his friends were always over.  He never tried to exclude me from any of their activities.  I was excited to come home every day after work.  I wanted to be everything he ever wanted in a wife.  And yeah, while he hadn't proposed, I dreamed that he would eventually.  I've often thought this was one of the happiest times of my life.

 

He left to return to his first wife because he missed seeing his kids every day.  I was married a few months later.  Aside from mom's dying, this was the worst time of my life.

 

It was the cliché rebound relationship.  I knew it was a mistake pretty soon after we were married, but I was honestly determined to make it work.  Looking back, I tried a whole lot harder than I should have.  I was young and naïve.  I felt guilty, like it was my fault for holding him to an unfair standard (Harley).  I took the blame for anytime he got angry.  I thought I was a stronger woman than that - that I would never let myself be in an abusive relationship.  And yet, there I was, taking the blame for when he lost his temper . . . and for getting beaten. 

 

One night, the last night we were together, I had rushed home from work to fix dinner.  When you're in that kind of relationship, you can feel another outburst coming on.  In my warped brain, I thought I could make everything like it used to be when we first got married by having dinner ready when he got home and maybe wearing something sexy for him.  (Now that I think about it, this maybe has something to do w my not being all that great a cook.  Most of his outbursts happened either when I was cooking or right afterwards - because of his drinking and not my cooking, thank you very much.)  When he got home, I could tell he'd been drinking again.  He was always more angry after he'd been drinking.  He saw me in a very shear nightgown and immediately wanted sex.  I don't know, I guess I should have been flattered, but he stank of sweat and beer, and his erections always lasted forever when he was drunk.  I had fully planned on putting out after dinner.  Dinner was going to get ruined.  I was starving.  And he stank.  I just didn't want to be underneath him forever and then eat a ruined dinner.  I tried to encourage him to eat first.  A little something in his stomach would also help sober him up.  In hindsight, maybe I should have just gone to the bedroom and laid down.  When he was done, he probably would have just rolled over, gone to sleep, and I could have found something to eat alone in the living room.  But I didn't.  He got angry and began accusing me of all sorts of things.  He always accused me of sleeping around when he was angry (and, for the record, I had not once).  He threw dinner off the stove making a mess and burning me a little bit w the splatter.  When I got angry, he smacked me to the ground as well.  Then he stormed out to be w people that appreciated him more, he said; code to drink more.

 

I cried on the kitchen floor for what seemed like hours.  The thing that motivated me to call 911 was knowing he had gone out to drink more and would be even worse when he got back.  Making that call was one of the hardest things I had ever done.

 

The police were there in seconds.  There was an officer who lived in the complex and he came running over from his apartment.  Several cars soon arrived.  I was embarrassed at the attention.  Being Harley's ex made me fairly well known.

I was completely shocked when I saw Harley rush into our apartment a few minutes later . . . with my dad right behind him.  Daddy told me later that one of the officers on scene first had called Harley who had then stopped to get him.  The two men I loved most in the world were there on either side of me - and they had apparently already decided I was leaving that night.  Now that I think about it, there never was any real discussion.  Daddy just packed my car and drove me home.  Harley followed and stayed until the officers radioed that they had my ex in custody (I would have loved to have seen his face when the police came into the bar to get him).

I was divorced a short time later.

 

 

Harley Returns

I am my own worst enemy.

 

Harley texted out of the blue this past week.  Nothing special.  His standard "hey there".  It had been a pretty crummy week, Harley's text came at the right moment to boost my spirits, and so I texted right back.  I went w the equally eloquent "hey".

 

Fortunately, we soon moved past our initial mutual guardedness and proceeded to blow up each other's phone.  All he would say was that he had been thinking about me - not what caused him to start thinking about me or what he had been thinking or anything - in other words it was probably mostly just a line.  I didn't care.  I ranted about everything f'ing wrong in my world. 

 

He's continued to text through the week.  No hints about wanting to see me or anything.  But the texts are beginning to get more flirty.  I figure its either a matter of time or he's positioning me to make an overture.

 

When enough time passes, I do okay at getting through most days w/o thinking about him.  As long as I haven't been drinking, then I can usually resist the urges to reach out to him.  But when he reaches out to me again, I just don't have it in me to not respond. 

 

And its always so complicated when I do respond.  Don't be too guarded, but don't be too aggressive.  Don't be too critical, but don't pretend like its completely okay he fell off the face of the earth again.  Don't sound like your schedule is packed full, but don't sound like you've just been sitting and waiting on his call either.  Like now, he's probably positioning me to suggest we go out some night soon, but I've learned that he almost never goes when I make the suggestion first.  When anything else gets this complicated I walk away.  But I can't w Harley.  At the end of this complicated dance, is happiness because we're together . . . .

 

. . . until he goes away again.

A while back, a very dear friend suggested a video about me and Harley's dysfunctional complicated dance (YouTube: The Friend Zone).  I went back today and watched it again several times. 

 

FFF

 

"Who does this remind you of", Therapist asked the group.

 

It was a bizarre group.  A group of women, all w man issues, in a group being led by a man.  Sometimes, to get things started, he would show them a picture and ask them what it reminded them of.  Since it was a bizarre group - he showed bizarre pictures.  Her favorite had to be the angel sitting at a table drinking Jack straight from the bottle.  It reminded her of her. 

 

Most described a fight w their boyfriend.  One where he apologized for whatever sin he had committed, thought they would want to immediately spread their legs, then whining w insistence till they said yes.

 

"Rachel", Therapist asked turning to her.

 

"Harley".

 

"After a fight", someone prompted.

 

"I see photo guy being like my boyfriends - all but for Harley -  asking to fuck; then whining if I'm not in the mood." 

 

"You thought of Harley because he is not like all the others," Therapist said, "what does he do that's different".

 

"He doesn't ask".