Hope everybody had a pleasant night last night. Welcome to the New Year, one that promises to be challenging and will no doubt bring you happiness as well as sadness, tragedy, successes and failures.
The cycle begins anew and if you haven’t gotten it by now, the point is not to get stuck on the soap opera; the point of life is to live.
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-=[ Patterns ]=-
“Your self image is your pattern!… Every thought has an activity visualized. Every activity belongs to a pattern. You identify with your pattern or thought. Your patterns lead your life.”
— J. G. Gallimore
I left my place relatively late (due to hangin’ out with Rippa & Co. at his blog). I left my dick there (or at least an image of it LOL!). It’s really cold out here, so I decided to go to a nearby house party (walking distance), where I knew a certain lady I’ve had my eye one would be attending. She wasn’t there, but for some reason some woman I never met, clearly inebriated, immediately attached herself to me.
It’s weird to be in a roomful of people blasted out of their minds when you’re sober. There’s a point where people are having a good time and it’s fun, but then comes the time where many people are going past their limits and all their emotional hang-ups are seeping through the various armor. Some of it is funny, some of it sad.
I mean, do I really need to know you’re an incest survivor the first time I have a conversation with you? I tend to go with the flow b3ecause I know how it is — after all, I was king of that shite for a lonnnnng time, so who am I to judge, right? Nothing worse than a judgmental muthafucka who usedta pillage and plunder.
Anyway… I’m busy politely trying to distance myself away from The Lush, who’s determined to stay by my side, when The One I’ve been eyeing shows up. She looks my way and gives me The Smile. You know “The Smile” — you girls know what I’m talkin’ about here. LOL So, I politely excuse myself from the Lush who doesn’t seem to understand, and I make my way over to The One.
We talk, dance a little, move over to love seat in a relatively quiet section of the house partaking in some good conversation (I’m seducing her), when the Lush barges in out of nowhere and yells out, “There you are!” as if she had been looking for me across a forbidden trek through the Himalayas. Now it’s The One’s turn to look confused, who excuses herself to go to the restroom. To make an already long story short, The Lush somehow managed to put a damper on my night. The One did give me her phone and asked that I call her when I was “less busy.” This despite my assurances that I didn’t even know The Lush’s name.
Which made me rethink the supposed Oneness of The One.
I end up stuck with The Lush, who’s probably a sweet girl in her own right and very attractive in a curvy, sultry kind/ sort of way. She’s dressed tastefully and her hair and nails are professionally done. Her make-up is applied well and there’s this slightly off-kilter look she has that only serves to make her more attractive. We try dancing, but her balance is shot, so we go over to a corner, where she looks into my eyes, says something about me being cute, and then plants a sloppy kiss on my lips. Now, I’m a “good” guy, but I ain’t that well, knamean? I warn her, but she laughs. Some people don’t listen.
The midnight hour rings and she kisses me again excessively long and way too sexually (she grinds her poosie into me). A friend is slapping me on my back congratulating me for the ass I’m obviously about to get, and I’m a little embarrassed. The One, eyes me from across the room.
The Lush wants to fuck, of that I am certain, but I don’t like fucking drunk women. It’s not a moral issue (though I’m wondering how she would act if she weren’t so drunk), the point is I’m in recovery and the smell of alcohol has a bad effect on my passion. The smell and taste is a major turn off for me. In addition, drunken behavior is a turn-off. Nevertheless, she insists, though I propose lurid acts and attach strings (anal sex!) designed to make her think twice but she runs right through them with an obliviousness only a drunk can appreciate.
She asks if I will walk her home and I do and that’s where it all comes out. By the time we reach her door, she’s sobbing about some sadness deep inside of her and when I enter her apartment, I’m wondering if screwing a drunk woman who’s sobbing is really a good idea. Now, mind you: sobbing is a turn-on for me. The funny thing is that I like her: she’s compassionate, generous, sexy, and smart with an edgy, knowing sense of humor.
The story ends here and I’ll leave it to you, the reader to figure out what my choice was — whether I took her or not. You’re encouraged to write the ending to this adventure. Tomorrow, I’ll post the actual deed.