WARNING: This content will be graphic at times.
So right now, I’m about to get jiggy with a bit of kiss ‘n tell. Names changed to protect the innocent (of course). And to my true-blue friends, yes… I have no shame, but I’ve also grown up/its been almost 6 years since this period of my life. Forgive me. lol
Warnings & Disclaimers done.
So this mountain of sexual variety in my life… I believe it’s all about numbers and how it makes mathematical sense to see, segment and piece together my love life (or sexual escapades) in direct alignment with my marriage to the Starbucks brand. Yes, it’s geographic at first; you know, the Law of Correspondence and how like minds can be found connecting in certain spaces, places and events that affirm our beliefs? But it’s honestly so much more than that. It’s way more than me just sitting in the coffee shop with a giant sponge in hand, trying to soak-up the things I want from the people I see. It’s also more specifically and scientifically about “positioning,” “being receptive” and sort of attracting what I want in life. I can speak to this from experience, as its happened time and time again. And since the past 10 years have found me in a Starbucks coffee shop for 85% of my waking hours, it feels as if by design, the flowers will bloom and nature takes its course. You know, that man/woman connection that finds me taking on the role of the honeybee, attracting to, smelling and then eating from these “flowers.”
Indeed, a number of these flowers that I spoke of… the women I’ve met as a result of loafing at STARBUCKS, were daisies and daffodils that had short lifespans. But there were a couple of orchids and roses that I won’t ever forget; some engagements with longlasting memories I can hold onto. No, I’m not saying that orchids or roses last for six months to a year, however they do represent these amazing symphonies that life has delivered my way. You know those instances that are so unbelievably satisfying at times, and at other times leave you with that guilty conscience in those moments of relief when I found myself shaking off the things that came from my mouth; the nasty shit we did with each other. And for whatever reason these flowers left my garden, my heart is full and satisfied knowing that they were “in-season.” On one hand I could ask myself “well if it was everything you cried and raved about, then why didn’t we keep it going?” Then on the other hand, these could simply be teachable moments that give me great content to write about. And I could resolve it all just telling myself that perhaps this wasn’t sent to be. Women are a trip tho; you come in guns blazing, claiming “I won’t ever leave you,” and then suddenly the curtains close on that one-act play… the love-story part of the fairytale. And what ends up happening is y’all blackout and blockout everything that we had. You don’t even know how to communicate what you’ve done in the end, as if you’d been daydreaming the whole time. Which brings me to Rose…
“Rose” was one of three flowers I shall not forget, how we locked eyes, expressed deep devotion during those first few text messages, then in person one-on-one conversations over coffee out on the Starbucks patio. We’d get to the point that I’m staring at you and where you are sneaking a peek here and there, deciding or affirming me as potentially that next man in your life… a life-partner, even. Then that lead to touching/hand-holding, long hugs and then me stealing a kiss. This could be called “our process” where we are making assessments. And just like clockwork, she eventually testifies “I’m in love with you” just weeks into the courting… this is exactly as it went down with Rose, play by play. At some point, very randomly, Rose said “You don’t understand how I asked God to bring me the man I wanted and needed…” Yup. Heard that one before too. And there I was, ushered into her life thanks to a client who I met where else, but at Starbucks. That client hired me to film an event for her and on that day, in her establishment, I met this dreamgirl (my next girlfriend) with her lil tight body, her darling eyes and afterwards her spicy activities in bed. Was I living my dream? Sure I was, only my dream brought me to living in an RV at the time. And (as was the case with numerous one-night stands), Rose gave me her mouth, her body and her surrender right there on the carpet, and then the bed. I recall the lil fun argument we had about that day I stole a tongue-kiss/how she felt it was waaaay too soon, during those early coffee dates. Yup, days into our relationship I realized what I wanted, did my momentary soul-searching, and boom; I took charge. Argue if you will that I moved too fast… that whole 90-day rule that Steve Harvey promotes. Sheeet… That might be the plan for the cautious and patient men and women on the single’s scene. But my reality, much like I do in business, I’m always a “first mover.” If I see something and I want it, and it makes sense? Done! And I owe my long standing success with women (at least during the last 10 years) to Starbucks! Sure my execution of this process was my own design, however I know people who have also met at Starbucks and who have gotten married, had children, and living happily ever after.
Stealing a kiss was the least of her concerns, because I was at first determined, and then it was my reality to eventually have that ass! I mean look: finding a good looking, progressive, healthy, single chic, age 31… 15 years younger than me, no kids? And I’m gonna pass that ass up? I THINK NOT! That’s what we call “Marriage or Wifey Material.” And I wanted it all, even if I wasn’t ready for it financially. Even if I was biting off more than I could chew. At least I could claim the woman; put my smack down, and the rest would come in time, right?
But as if I had exercised some 6th sense, I came to realize I was SPOT-ON in my quest. Rose hit me with this word-for-word from her action-packed lips: “I like it in my ass. When she said that I was like, damn! What happened to Miss Sweet Polly Purebread who thought I kissed her too early?” But instead, that’s when I felt I’d met my match. Yup!? And not to say that I also enjoy her anal fantasies because I don’t! Although I have engaged in ass-fucking with my wife, it’s really not my thing. But it obviously paints a picture about Rose that screams “she’s a freak like me! She’s a freak like me!” There was once a rapper named Jimmy Spicer. And in his song “Super Rhymes” he spits: I gotta get away, I gotta go to the disco, find the freak of my dreams”
And there you have it. This was the temperature of the sexcapades of me in my RV, way out in rural Conyers, Georgia. Anyone who knows me on social media or otherwise, knows I lived in a 28ft RV; the exact replica of the one starring in The Emmy-Winning Breaking Bad tv series. Only, in the back was a bedroom instead of a methlab. And it was this way for close to 10 years (2008-2017). Yes, I still have the truck, and I’m looking forward to shooting a film with it before I sell it off. But there are enough memories in that RV to soak a cotton field with an ocean of my ejaculate. Yes, the fishies were swimming in my ejaculate. Lol! And, indeed at times I look at that 10yr period of my life as one hot & steamy marathon/enough sex to consider tying it up and storing it away for life. A close friend even suggested that “your dick probably looks like a war-zone.” But while she was hilarious, and while she said this during her own interest in experiencing my lovemaking, she was also underestimating me. Hell, I kept it safe, family. As safe as An author with a fetish could manage. Afterall, we live in a world of diseases and dis-ease. And I din want any parts of that. But also, I should say “Phew! I made it out alive!” And my dick and health are in tact. So, instead of seeing the “warzone,” I tend to compartmentalize that period. I see that as the pocket of time where I transitioned from the realities of infidelity, divorce and New York… where I had to truly learned to live & survive in Atlanta without family support or insurances in place… it was more like a decade of exercising this muscle of mine from a weak loser to a strong warrior spear. These were “The Olympics” for me! Conquer and destroy. I could begin to recall the names to fit the faces. But the faces and bodies were something like my own unlimited gift card. A 10 year magic carpet ride of fulfilling, redeeming sex; fuel that inspired me to be creative, to press on, to get those monkeys of failure, self esteem issues, and that goliath-desire off of my back and to eventually get back to the plan and the purpose… my “why” and the ultimate reason I’m here in the comfortable place I’m in today.
Nevertheless, something like 8 or 9 years ago, I was always surprised that beautiful women like the Rose, the Orchid and (I’ll call the 3rd one) Chrys (short for the Chrysanthemum) could settle so easy and be so comfortable in my RV. Even tho I kept it clean and swagalicious with curtains, mood lighting, and the most soothing jazz and incense you could find below the Bible Belt. My “man-cave on wheels was all that. A mini-wine & liquor shelf, some of my best friends and mentors watching over me from framed photos, and my living space was even “confirmed” with that one autographed photo I got from the King of Pop years ago. And even tho it was so personalized with my success over the years, the awards, photos and years of entertainment memorabilia, it was still a truck. And it was still hard to imagine these flowers trapped in my animal embrace… in my Breaking Bad RV. After all, these women came from families with big or small traditional lifestyles and experiences that would have a person looking sideways at a brotha in his 40s; a brotha on that minimalist journey, living off the grid. But then again, there are a couple of ways to see that scenario: ONE, who’s to say that your excessive ways of living, relating and existing is better than my choices? TWO, why would you assume that someone living a minimalist lifestyle is experiencing any less joy, peace and progress than you are yourself? Wasn’t I saving thousands of dollars in overhead? Isn’t there much less accountability , responsibility and headaches I need to nurse? And besides, how many people have told me “RELENTLESS is the perfect name for you!”
And still, my real-time life in an RV wasn’t a walk in the park. It wasn’t as sensational as an Emmy Award Winning TV show either. But while I was Breaking Bad in my own slick ways, I still had EXTREME CHALLENGES! For instance, I struggled with learning my RV and being stuck with a mountain of mechanical failures and issues of things like keeping three industrial batteries charged. There was the fight to always have enough propane to keep the heater on in 20 degree Winter nights. Or just to keep the stove going. Cuz yall know I love to cook. If that’s not enough, there was the vehicle’s generator that wasn’t strong enough to support the built-in AC. And of course being “off-grid” means no electrical outlet to plug into. That wasn’t something I worked out until 2015/2016. Most of all there was the positioning of the vehicle; where would I park it? (Especially after I bought a car to zip around in.) Well eventually these things worked themselves out and I managed to stay afloat as I became more and more resourceful. Instead of camping in the Walmart parking lot, a chain known to welcome RVs to stay on their property, I was now ready to step my game up. I eventually hit paydirt and found a client who not only allowed me to “park” the vehicle on his property for years, but I was even able to plug-in to electric outlets and pay somethin on that to account for my usage.
But this was certainly me being Relentless, no 9-5 job to take my energy… plenty of clients paying into my talents/enabling me to live free… empowered with good health, a strong libido and that grey area of playing the tightrope of Backpage vs Craigslist, ignoring all levels of ethics, morals and focus. My only focus was soaking that “cottonfield.” Yup. This is a movie alright.
My timeline would show me finding Rose; this thrilling ride flesh, youth and smiles, all gift-wrapped with her cute, perky breasts, a perfectly sculpted ass, captivating smile, and her entrepreneurial spirit. And now (not then) I realize that’s been a trend, how these younger women with their energetic drive and passion just dance into my life for their shot at the long or short SoulTrain spotlight. Not to mention the 2-way street here, how I was also attracted to her younger energy. She was submissive, full of energy and in spite of her hint of sassy pride, I could even feel her obedience playing into my sometimes lingering chauvinist tendencies.
Rose and I progressed rather quickly from the RV to becoming “housemates.” Her mom had expressed overtures of how her new, White boyfriend was her ticket out of an apartment to a 3br house, (Okay? Pregnant Pause) and so my Rose and I moved right on in and shared in the $600 rent.
I got to throw down in the kitchen and to once again taste what traditional housing felt like after two or three years in my RV. And this was the first time since my 20’s that I ran into a woman who matched my skyhigh freak levels. Imagine that I can’t remember this woman’s name but that I can remember her tellin me “I like it in my ass” and how there was an endless routine of early morning wake-up sex that found me half-sleep and my dick wide awake as if it was her exclusive breakfast treat. And Rose loved to swallow me. It was a practice that simply jaded me with expectations far past my recollecting her name and why or how we even broke up. It even reminded me of my first girlfriend with that same fetish, back when I was 17 or 18 years old in Mt Vernon, NY.
No kidding: I’m so grateful for the experience that those five months gave me. At times it was a fairytale. At others, a porno flick. But all of it was engorged with bouts of unharnessed carnal nirvana. As I said, I can’t recall why we broke up, but I do know that it was her sabotaging “us” with something very instant and impulsive. whatever it was it was fixable. But maybe our relationship ran it’s course. I remember the night before the breakup we were making love (or fucking/I can’t tell the difference sometimes). And that next day I was moving my stuff back to my RV. Thank God I had kept old Breaking Bad.
After Rose came the Orchid. (But let’s name her Ophelia). This one I actually met in Starbucks. She was minding her business and I was minding mine and we somehow crossed paths. Another thing I should mention was that I had become a celebrity at this particular Starbucks coffee shop. From the 24inch Imac I toted-in daily, to the live comedy & jazz shows I produced in the shop, to the many business/political/community relationships that I earned, to the front page newspaper article written about me, and that damned 28ft behemoth (the Fleetwood Pace Arrow) out in the parking lot, it was clear that I was present and persistent in making Starbucks my home. And the corporate Starbucks policy allowed for this; for me to stay there all day, drink coffee, do business, incubate my talents. Sure I’d step out to cook lunch in my mobile home. Sure I might need to grab a camera and mic to film a testimonial for some local tv commercials I ran. Sure I might need a sudden change of clothes so that I’d be presentable for somebody’s wedding, a business meeting or even a Governor’s ceremony at the Georgia State Capital. But while people may have witnessed those things, how I was doing the most, they’d never imagine the other stuff… the sex. Me being a human… A single man with real needs and desires.
One thing led to another with Ophelia; the coincidental, first run-in led to more conversation, which led to us becoming business partners and inevitably that lead to her advances. Now I’m no sex symbol by any stretch of the imagination, but I can recognize the attraction if it exists. Upfront I explained to her “I don’t wanna mix business with pleasure;” and this was no psychological ploy or strategy. I was serious.
Ophelia inevitably claimed “I’ve been trying to do this-this and this for years, and you changed all of that within weeks!” She shared this overture, not during pillow talk, but in casual conversation there in the coffee shop. Day by day we worked side by side, chunking away at goals and objectives; building relationships with local businesses so that I could exercise my talents for profit. The websites, tv commercials, book projects, all that… Ophelia helped me to pitch to those clients and close some significant deals along the way.
She had already made a pass, touching my leg under the table, right there in the coffee shop while we were going over business. However as the weeks passed, my resilience and my state of bachelor-syndrome caught up with me. She wore me down and I gave in. This woman really wanted some of this dick! I remember bringing the RV to my client’s home; a Fathers Day barbecue-event I had been hired to film. Running in and out of the RV for equipment, to offload video footage or to charge batteries me and Ophelia to constantly cross paths. She came along because I invited her to bring her and her little boy along. And then there was that moment when she was sitting close to the exit of the RV and she stole a kiss. I have been 1000% honest in this testimony, and this interaction is also the truth: for the first time in my life a woman stole a kiss from me! LOL!!! Not only was that super ironic and impressive all at once, but my pretend anger faded into the night. Ophelia made it clear that she wanted me; and she subsequently supported it with a $10,000 investment into my new company! Whoa! She said something about a 401(k) that wasn’t being put to good use and her wanting to “bring more to the table.”
Again with my pregnant pause; “Okay!?”
And for three or four months, I was now faced with a new reality; a woman who in her early 40s (my so-called age range, according to a close friend) had an axe to grind. Meanwhile she was also jaded from some failed past relationship with her baby-daddy. Yet that scar did not stop her from also hunting for a that next man in her life. I get it. And I inevitably got it.
Sex with Ophelia left no stone unturned and felt like she had something to prove. Perhaps it was her knowing that my last girlfriend was 10 years younger than her? Perhaps it was all of these young women who I worked with as actresses and so on and so forth. Whatever the case, Ophelia was on a “swallow or die” rampage. It was reminiscent of my relationship with Rose. It was reminiscent of my earlier relationships at 19. And later in my early 20’s or 30’s. I don’t know if there’s a target on my head or that I’m listed in some kind of “suck-him-off registry” but once again here’s my epic shoulder shrug.
“How can you blame me?”
“Waddaya want me to do?”
“Hey, i can’t help it. I’m just a man?”
I kid you not; Ophelia had this love for TuPac and Hiphop, and that sort of allowed me some transparency into her psyche. I mean the rappers and singers perform this shit and you ladies chant it all day like these are some kinda bible verses. Even the R&B divas and crooners do the same. Who can forget Destinys Child praising thugs that carry big things, and later Beyonce chirping about giving oral pleasures in the rear of the limo. And this is not to shame The artists who sing or rap this content; just saying that the access to it all has moved and inspired and encouraged generation of impressionable fans (and the so called “culture”to practice and agree with the routine.
So it’s to be expected that the fans also dreamed, imagined and thought about practicing it. (My shoulder shrug goes here). But what took the cake was when I found a little unpublished blog post Ophelia kept on her password-protected MacBook. The Word doc explained her perspective on how sucking a man’s dick, and doing it to completion was something she wanted to enjoy and practice with “the right man.” It went so deep as to explain how swallowing a man’s semen was some show of extreme love, passion and devotion. It was signed by her and it left me with the insight of a man who’d discovered his lover’s hidden diary. But would I take advantage of that “inside information?” That “exclusive intelligence?” Naw! OF COURSE NOT! Who do you think I am?! And inside trader? What do you take me for, an opportunist? But then again, who am I to deprive a woman of her hidden desires? 😳 That, my friend (before you twist your face at me) was nothing less than getting the inside scoop and then acting on it. But then isn’t that Rule #1? Give a woman what she wants.
And can I tell you that Ophelia had some demands that worked that last drop of cum from my body. The many occasions that we left the coffee shop on these 30 or 60 minute “time outs” were legendary. By the time Ophelia and I were in our exclusive relationship I had already worked this magic scenario on my own, convincing one woman or another that a trek all the way to Conyers (from wherever) was worth the hour-long bus trip or car pool. Women came from as far as California (and of course everywhere in Atlanta) to see me. We’d have coffee and conversation that weighed heavy on my social media and text game. Together with whatever influence I’d earned and the sexy one-on-one conversations, my leveraging was all about one thing and one thing only: the emancipation of my ejaculation. So by the time Ophelia was in the picture I had it down to a science.
Even if she was sitting a few tables away, I’d send her a text in response to her constant and sometimes annoying need for sex.
“Okay, you go first and I’ll be right there. Have your tits exposed and be on your knees by the time I get there…”
Were these some man-sized shenanigans fueled by my chauvinistic fantasies? Yes. Is this the blueprint of a man with little money and some lame-assed, semi-celebrity appeal taking advantage of a horny woman trying to find her happy spot in the world? Indeed it was. But there’s this part; Ophelia was a grown assed woman, not forced to do shit… out-gunned by a man who used his way-with-words to achieve his happy endings. Did I lure her in like a fish with a hook? I believe I did, as if the natural order of things. No different than you lowering your wife or husband, girlfriend or boyfriend. We all use or spend or sugarcoat something else to get what we want. She was an attractive, physically fit tennis fanatic who was hitting me with these non-stop requests to “step outside.” Sure she had a mind of her own, but it felt more like she was somehow lured-in even if she always had the option to say “no, not interested.” But did she do this, or did she agree with it all?
So, as if we were scheming teenagers trying to sneak out from our parent’s watchful eyes… as if we were hiding in plain sight so the rest of the world wouldn’t find out about our quickies, every now and then we negotiated this “supply and demand” out there in my mobile home. Yes, this was out in the Starbucks parking lot, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, with me trying not to rock my the vehicle during these submissions, during our grinding. I mean, the endless flow of cars, trucks and traffic in the drive-thru was a constant; all of it crawling past us just ten feet away in convertibles, in the midst of some country music, and everyone knows the drive-thru melody by no: “welcome to Starbucks what can I get for you today?” Yes, all of these different levels of atmosphere serving as the soundtrack while my nasty, selfish give & take played out. It was this crazed conscious mindset I had swirling in my head… my own cloud of thoughts swirling around in my head that, on one hand, kept me from rocking the boat (or, the RV) and maybe having the police summonsed. Shit, half the world isn’t getting this kind of sex-on-demand, in a public shopping area (so to speak), and really with no strings attached. So I can’t blame folks for being jealous and/or disliking my ways and means. At the same time, I also didn’t wanna risk my relationship with the store, which in turn would separate me from all the friends and clients this Starbucks allegiance blessed me with. On top of all of that, I couldn’t engage for too long. Afterall there was always work to be done, projects to complete. And if not, there were sales to be pursued so that there would continue to be work and projects. I had to keep all of this in mind if I was gonna stay productive and in pursuit of my life-sized passions, except I couldn’t shake off this other throbbing, life-sized desire. And still, I couldn’t shake this real-time, hands-on female energy working beside me as a business partner… a woman so damned RELENTLESS, who without hesitation was dropping to her knees to pleasure me time and again. Add to that, I had become an expert at receiving all this joy while holding back my own loud and rambunctious animal tendencies. Hell, people had their windows down, antennas up, country music playing as they starved for their next cup of coffee! That’s a lot of imaginations on high alert!
Many times, when I was hitting it from behind, I had my strong grip on Ophelia’s mouth, muffling her unbearable cries. There were other times when my Feise created a vice grip around her neck during the oral sex. And, as if I was testing the distance I could go with this tennis nut, I had learned to palm a woman’s face with both hands/as you would a basketball. Or maybe this was something like a makeshift mask, and that simple act took my mind to another place, as though it didn’t matter what woman’s face I had hidden in my grasp. In this position I could imagine most any woman from past as well as any woman who I might of dreamed about. I guess I’m a brother with a twisted sense of reality, right?
But check it: even in light of my outrageous sexual overtones, there were also times I had to say no. I had to turn down some of these time-outs of hers because it would interrupt my workflow and suck me dry of my personal energy. Shit, all this sex meant the need for more than hot coffee and a bagel. The diet had to be right. There had to be enough sleep. And more than anything else it was tough to be pulled away from work I had to do. If I wasn’t working I wasn’t making money. If I wasn’t making money I wasn’t feeling the progress. It would pull the focus out of me. Listen to Kanye West tell it; rapping in “This Way”: “ I don’t know what’s better, gettin laid or gettin paid. I just know when I’m gettin one, the other’s gettin away”
Sheesh! A man’s got to maintain some kind of work ethic to stay in business… to stay, well, afloat. As I always say, “No money, no honey.” Right?
So was I right when I suggested, “this is a movie?”
My kiss and tell testimony takes another turn with Chrys who I din meet in STARBUCKS, But like Rose, I met Chrys “on set” it was actually in a hotel lobby that we met, where I took a break from filming for a client. A client who I met (guess where, I’ll wait…) Yup. Its this one degree of separation with all that I’ve been up to lately. One degree of separation from Starbucks.
And different than the previous relationships, Chrystal was living in a “real” traditional family setting. She wasn’t in between housing like Rose had been. She hadn’t been evicted from her baby daddy’s life such that Ophelia told me about. No, Chrystal was living with a supportive family. Even if they were all running to their own bedrooms, secluded in their own worlds except for seeing one another in passing… or on lil family outings. It was stil considered a family, and there’s always that resource when folks agree with, have faith in, and practice the idea of “Family First.”
Well, when I met Chrys it was in that hotel lobby. Prince sang: “i knew a girl named Nikki, I guess you could say she was a sex fiend, I met her in a hotel lobby…” Exactly. She was idling there, admiring some signage that promoted the reason she’d come to the Marriot in the first place. I took one look at this woman and I was sucked-in. I made myself known. She was open and receptive. In record time she explained that she was there with her mother promoting their family business. At once and most authentically, I exclaimed how necessary it was to meet her mom. And then that happened. Things got a little deeper when she told me she was from around my way, back in New York. So, I imagined we were definitely meant to be! Indeed, Chrystal swept my heart away! And then the calls and text messages progressed. And then there was that first date at a fashion show where I was partially working, but able to film from where I sat.
Thing is, where the relationships leading up to Chrys we’re all stapled with sex just weeks after our meeting, Chrys and I didn’t arrive at that junction until nearly 5 months of constant contact, dates and those almighty xoxo texts. With this woman I can honestly say that my intention was marriage and future and even children. Her attributes included consistence, a super-affectionate touch and a conscious attention to my voice. She was just beginning to dig into business and so my world of experience was helpful and felt good to see her wear my advice. But when I think back to the courtship and intentions, I realize that this is (or was) no different from the others. Even tho sex came easier with the Rose and the Ophelia, I still wanted a future with them. I was all-in from jump. No back-peddling. No wavering. Focused. So when I analyze “me” I can say (despite my demented, disgusting and even at times disturbing) ways that I’ve “conquered” and engaged in this carnal activity, I was still conscious and present and determined to see things through. But Rose? Twisted and money-hungry. I mean, yeah, she wanted it in her ass and satisfied me before heading off to work, but when she randomly said “I’m used to being taken care of…” instead of “baby, we’re a team, and I’m gonna do my part” and when I put that together with her cousin zeroing in on and then getting pregnant by an NFL star… when I couple all that with her momma and how she was so proud of herself for landing a man with good credit who got her this new house and so on and so forth, I realized that this was the family practice! And these were some of the red flags I was ignoring while in the psychosis of her sex. But hey, I’m not mad at their hustle, cuz it’s hard out in these skreetz. It’s just that I saw something different when I met and learned about Chrys. The difference between a self-starter who had means and intentions of her own, and a woman who wanted to be “kept,” was so night and day-obvious.
But there was something else that lured me to Chrys. Her performance of innocent, insulated black girl was so alluring and believable. I can’t lie I tried to crack that code for a long time and just inevitably said “to hell with it.“ I had to teach her how to give me head. I had to encourage and push her to talk dirty to me during sex. Even when she did talk dirty it was with perfect pronunciation LOL! I mean there was just no cracking this code I had to believe what I was seeing and hearing and experiencing. And truth be told it was all so lovely.
Most memorable quote from her was “all you need to do is call me and I’ll bring you your pussy“ and I put that to the test and there was just no denying her want and desire to be my partner, my lover and inevitably my wife. I guess I just had to go ahead and believe her story of being one of the last one’s standing: no children, early 30s, pretty as fuck, hot body, head on her shoulders, and attracted to me!? This woman was unbelievably a dream come true; hence the reason I was all in. I mean I said face-to-face with her and said “I don’t think you get it that I want us to be forever.”
But there were occasions when I got the idea that she wasn’t all in; that she didn’t believe what I professed. And quite frankly that back and forth conversation and the feelings and emotions behind it all is the reason we do or don’t subscribe to long-lasting (everlasting) love. At least that’s how I rationalized the break up between me and Chrys. She was not all in; some hesitancy filled the space between us. That and the 40minute distance contributed to a weakening link. And the big red flag that we were over and done with was how she continued to press me for information on how to help her earn greater increase with her branding. She wanted as much of my knowledge and/or as many of my resources as possible before we came to an end. So was a point that I knew we were doomed. Oh yes, and that “family first” element seemed to always interrupt our progress, whether it was the epic event of meeting her “real father“ or the responsibility she took on as a taxicab service for her granny or some other complication. I’m not even mad at her for not taking the deepest dives or making the decisions (or lack thereof) that hurt the bond we had, because again, it was just right and all love, even if for a season. Ophelia was the type of woman who you just could not get mad at. And she had a surprise or two up her sleeves, such as our trip to Florida, and then the real eye-opener was not just her being all-in on having sex in the back of my BMW, perhaps facing arrest for trespassing and indecent exposure. There were also those occasions when I moved locations with my RV to a wooded farm. Ophelia didn’t have a problem going out into the woods and squatting to urinate (in 30 degree weather) since I don’t use the septic system in my RV. I mean what kind of woman would do something like that unless she was down for the long term or, if she had some other lil ulterior motive. No matter, I just know that… well, I just can’t help thinking that we could’ve done better and that she sabotaged the relationship.
In between the Roses, orchids, chrysanthemums were short-lived lilies, daisies and wildflowers. One-night-stands. Quickies. Weekend staycations. It’s a rainstorm of names and faces and memories that were fleeting and enjoyable, if just for the thrill of the chase. How can I forget the quotes they blurted like “Real women swallow” or when a local, married woman wanted to give me money to help out with my progress; but said to me “all I can afford is $100” before she stripped and sucked and sinned. And what about the time one woman suddenly froze during the grinding and thrusting… in a hotel room, a sudden cramp stabbed her thigh with a jolting stiff pain and she cried out in a shriek before telling me “it’s been a long time” she explained.
And in every scenario, this was “the one.” Well quite frankly, she may never be the one. But I always measured my rendezvous’s as wife material or not. This or that woman had all the right stuff, perfect “marriage material.” Always me trying to build the woman I wanted in my life, rationalizing why this makes sense, why this one will work even if she smokes now and then, and oh my God this is definitely the one, if only she wasn’t such a slob! Wow my best friends who know the stories must’ve laughed every time I made these overtures. And I can honestly say I meant it; these relationship start-ups pulled up my best intentions and best foot forward. So just because I’m doing the most sexually doesn’t mean I can’t be a good man with purpose and goals.
And now that I’ve purged, and now that at least 3 women are going “Oh no he didn’t!” How about if I suggest that this is all a “what if.” And what if this never happened and I was lying all along? How are you dissecting my truth from my lies? How are you analyzing my timelines, my details and the glue (or coffee) that keeps it all together? Most importantly I gotta ask, “but did you die?”
So here it is years after my flower arrangement, and a year deep into my latest greatest relationship, and again it’s the 30-something with the business mind and the mindset of loving me unconditionally. Again it’s a beautiful woman with a great appetite for me and claims of undying devotion. Hey I’m with it! But at least I’m consistent with what I want in my life? No shame there. The only difference now is this one… this love of mine… this woman who has been everything to me has lasted a year and counting. And no, I did not meet her directly or indirectly relating to Starbucks. Maybe that was the ultimate determining factor here… finally, I found a life & a love outside of Starbucks.☺️