Category Archives: Fuckbuddies

Ire Land

So, while people seem bent on concerning themselves with everything I do and my mother’s reverted to High Martyrdom, Kelly’s in Dublin on business. We met at a hotel near the airport to have sex before he left. Well, also to kiss and take a shower together and stuuuuuff. Cos it’s fun to have sex in hotels.

Anyway, I gave him a flash drive with music. Cos that’s what he does. He makes me playlists and this was the first time I’d made one for him, and I sort of worried about whether he’d think I was sappy or in luuuv or whatever (WHATEVER), and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t give it to him because now that I listened to it on the drive over, I think maybe it’s cheesy and awful and weird.

It is cheesy, but I give it anyway. It’s a sweet thing to do. As many sweet and goofy gestures as Kelly has done, I am put to shame, and nothing I do with a stupid iTunes mix is going to trump his collection of stunts.

I have never seen High Fidelity (and no, Kelly’s never stood outside my house with a portable stereo), but I think that mix tapes (cds, thumb drives, whatEVER) should tell a story, or at least make sense to somebody, and not just be some random collection of songs that somebody happens to like. So here’s our story, I guess.

I give you a selection from this music I gave this person who has had five sexual relationships in his life and who calls me from his seat while they’re telling people to turn off their portable electronics just to say thanks for the music, SugarPop, I had no idea you liked the Ramones.

First up: Fluorescent Adolescent by The Arctic Monkeys

You used to get it in your fishnets
Now you only get it in your night dress
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness
Landed in a very common crisis
Everything’s in order in a black hole
Nothing seems as pretty as the past though
That Bloody Mary’s lacking in Tabasco
Remember when he used to be a rascal?

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Opposing Counsel

Some of you who follow my Twitter updates may have noticed a short tweet last night that went something like this: “Omg, rudest date ever.” Here’s the (longer than 140 characters) story:

Joe called last Saturday, after basically three months of silence. It’s cool, we didn’t have an exclusive relationship, goodness knows, but I tend to gravitate toward the “Hey, let’s take a break for a while, no hard feelings” line of breaking things off, rather than screen and ignore calls or emails which he seems to favor.

I like Joe. He’s fun to hang out with and go to football games and watch basketball games and Mike & Mike in the Morning. You know, buddy-style. And while I am, in his words, “damn sexy,” we have never had penetrative vaginal intercourse (Ew, sex ed.) I look good on his arm at parties and restaurants and I’m smarter than most women he knows, which is a big turn-on.

So, last Saturday I picked up the phone and he asked me to dinner on Monday, after he finished his hearing at the courthouse.

(Did I mention that I referred my sweet little brother to Joe, who is a hell of a divorce attorney?)

I met him at a bar downtown, we had a glass of wine and I admired his suit. I’ve never seen him in pants other than jeans, and never in dress shoes. Like, ever. He started telling me about the hearing, and how clueless my sister-in-law’s attorney was. I could tell he was in lawyer mode, and silently thanked the universe that I didn’t have to face him in court. Since this was a dinner date and I was starving, I suggested we finish our wine and go down the street for sushi. And that’s when the real trouble started.

Instead of sitting at the table to which we were shown, Joe scooped up the menus and moved over to a different table. I have no idea why; they were right next to each other. Then, when our server came to take our order, he wanted her to have the chef make half an order of the sashimi assortment because, as he said, “20 pieces of sashimi is too much food.”

For two people? Seriously? That’s 10 bites of food each.

I ordered a spicy tuna roll and he rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re just going to fill up on rice. It’s a waste.”

“Even so, I would like the spicy tuna roll, please,” I said to the server.

Joe threw up his hands. Poor server walked away with our order and my apologetic look.

Soon the server was back. “Excuse me, I’m very sorry, but the chef cannot halve the sashimi plate.”

“Why not?”

“It’s restaurant policy.”

Joe laughed menacingly, as if this server and the sushi chef had conspired against him and he was now prepared to make their lives a living hell, “Bring the menu back.” Then, “Give us the seven-piece tuna sashimi. And some more sake. Hot.”

No “please.” No nod of acknowledgment when things were presented, much less a “thank you,” which I attempted to deliver, embarrassed by his lack of etiquette. I fucking hate that.

So, dinner for two consisted of one seaweed salad, one spicy tuna roll and seven pieces of sashimi. What?

Midway through the salad, he mentioned something which gave me a chance to tell one of my famously funny sushi stories. Two sentences in, he corrected a detail about a James Bond movie, “It’s blahblahblah,” he shot. I replied, “Huh, really? I thought it was blahblahblah.”

“Listen, I’m the 007 expert here. It most certainly is blahblahblah; I’ll bet you a hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars.”

I sat there, stunned.

What?

“Um, okay.”

“Finish the story.”

“No.”

“Just finish the damn story, Linnie.”

“I will not tell the story simply to finish the story. It’s not funny anymore.”

I took a bite of seaweed. The couple at a nearby table were looking over nervously. We sat in silence.

“Listen, you could have at least waited until I’d finished before you–”

“Shot you down?”

“–interrupted me and shot me down. I’m not opposing counsel.”

He apologized to me, but maintained his rudeness to our server for the remainder of dinner. I didn’t see the check, but I’m sure he didn’t tip her nearly enough for having to put up with him and his pompous, condescending attitude.

We walked out, and said goodbye on the corner. His car was at one end of the street, and mine was at the other, “I’ve missed you, baby, we should see each other again soon.”

I smiled wanly, “Thanks for dinner, Joe.”

I waited for the light while he walked to his car. I turned on my heel and walked back into the restaurant. The hostess held up my umbrella, “Back for this?”

“Oh, I forgot about that! Thanks, but I actually wondered if you could please give this to our server with my apologies.”

I handed her a ten dollar bill and went home hungry.

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Filed under Dating, Divorce, Frustration, Fuckbuddies

Today I met my mother for coffee. It was Starbucks’ coffee, at the SuperTarget in my city, and since I had to go to Target and get the final details for the boys’ costumes, it was basically a “we’re both going to be there, so why not do our shopping together” sort of thing.

I had largely forgiven her for her “I have a question; where exactly do you stand with all the people you are seeing?” infraction from last week. Seriously, WTF? Just to be clear, I was appropriately deferent and basically said, “That’s none of your damn business.” Sheesh.

She didn’t ask any probing questions this morning, and shopping at UberTarget commenced as we sipped our Grande Pumpkin Spice Lattes (two pumps, thanks), and later had Tomato Basil Bisques at some lunch spot, after I’d procured the appropriate skeleton hand gloves for Miles’ Halloween costume.

Several IMs into our lunch, she asked who I was talking with.

“Kelly.”

“Oh.”

And that was that.

But imagine getting an IM from Kelly asking if he could “finger your pussy and your ass simultaneously” when you met on Friday and you’ll understand my predicament.

Cut to the Used Furniture Store 30 minutes later when (without my mom) I answered Kelly’s phone call and stated my great desire to suck his cock, peppered with my descriptions of the huge dresser with the huge mirror which I thought would look spectacular in my bedroom, let alone the amount of free space it would give me, to which he replied, “sounds great, how big is the mirror again?”

It’s being delivered Wednesday.

He’ll be here on Friday.

I sort of can’t wait to prop myself up on pillows so I can watch him do naughty things to me.

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Glossing Over

It’s Autumn!

Yay!

I mean, I love hot weather, don’t misunderstand, but I love, love, love it when the air turns chilly and I have to put the downy duvet back on the bed.

(Also, I really prefer jerking off with a cover of some sort. I think it may have to do with muffling the sounds of my battery-powered fuckbots, but even when I’m home alone, give me a sheet, even, and I’m much happier.)

In celebration of Autumn, I bought new lipgloss: Maybelline’s shiny*licious in Chocolate Cherry. Unnnnnnhmygod, it is the perfect color, and not sticky. Like, my chin-length hair doesn’t get caught on my mouth when the slightest wind blows. It makes my lips shiny and looking like they aren’t wearing anything. Just how I like it.

So, this morning, after I took the kids to school in chilly 40-degree temps, Kelly brought me coffee. 40 minutes later he was out the door on his way to an all-morning meeting and I was pulling on my shirt, leggings and big writerly cardigan. I walked past my dresser and saw my new lipgloss. “Mmm,” I thought, “my lips are a bit dry.” So I slicked it on, stepped back and stared in wonder.

Do you know what 40 minutes of cocksucking does to a pair of lips like mine? Not to mention topping them with chocolate cherries (By the way, it SMELLS like chocolate!)? I’m talking beestung, man.

lips.jpg

I may actually use up the entire tube of this stuff, and that never happens. Now, if I can only figure out a way to keep these lips full all day long which doesn’t involve periodically producing a dildo from my purse…

Viva!

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Catharsis

They come out of hiding as soon as my children are gone. Friends and lovers calling to check in. I am grateful for the contact, as it is much too quiet here.

Over the next two days I have plans with nearly all my friends (and several lovers, two of whom I’ve already seen since returning). Here’s hoping the activity level can be sustained and continued over the next two weeks.

I’m busy working and writing, too, and doing big projects in the house, so to all of you who said, “Just keep busy, Maddie. It’ll help pass the time,” check my shit out, man.

Oh, I got another phone call from Jack yesterday, and one this morning at 6:19. Gack. I’m sure the hushed tones as I hid in the bathroom piqued the interest of the person half asleep in my bed:

“Baby, I love you. You are my brave, sweet boy. I know you’ll have a good visit. I saw your photos from day camp and it looks awesome! Take hugs and kisses, and call me whenever you want.”

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Scowl

Joe is having a cardiac catheterization this morning.

Luckily for him, he’s nice and doped up on Valium. I am, however, preoccupied with the idea. Not only is it something I didn’t think I’d be dealing with at my age (he’s twenty years older than me–welcome to the wonderful world of May-December, ladies), but I’m in a particularly delicate position.

I was the first person he called.

He told his sister and kids on Monday night. They don’t know about me.

Chances are that everything will go well and he’ll be home by the end of the day. But if things don’t go as expected, he’ll be having surgery. He promised to let me know either way.

But if he can’t call, there is no one else who will.

Feeling helpless = Worst thing ever.

Update: Next to someone whom I love very much slurring his speech in amorous drunken exultation of me, I’ll take someone whom I like very much calling to tell me his procedure went well while he’s all loopy on pain meds and amnesiacs. Cuute.

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Brunch

After a 22-hour long date with Joe involving NCAA men’s basketball tournaments, king crab legs as big as my arm, copious quantities of alcohol, cigars, weed and a crazy blowjob, I met my girlfriends for brunch. It was all very SITC but with less skin and nobody was wearing a trashy gold necklace.
Joe was making coffee that morning when I got a text message from Vix:

Vix: My tummy hurts. It’s been partying like it’s 1999 all week.

Me: You too? Dude, I don’t remember going to bed, and I’m starving.

Vix: Me, too! Should we have brunch?

Me: I’m leaving Joe’s place in 10 minutes and I’ll call you. I can’t find my shoes and there’s come in my hair. Let’s go someplace nice!

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