So last weekend, baby was sick and so was her son. She texted me that she wasn’t coming down Friday night because of all of that. She just couldn’t do it. I want her to be well, and I also don’t want to catch whatever she has. Oh, and it was also shark week. I swear this girl has more periods than a Hemingway novel!
So I was a little relieved that for the first time in a month, I could simply go home on a Friday night after working at the salon, and chill. I could sleep in, and take myself out to breakfast on Saturday. Nothing to do. Just quiet solitary bliss.
Which I got. So I figured that the next weekend, she’d be all better and I’d see her. But then I got a message from my buddy Duncan, that his flight was getting in on Friday of next week. There was no way I could be with Cherie. Duncan had made this plan and booked his flight eight months ago! Yea, that’s Duncan for you. (See: Duncan – Concetrated Dosage)
So I had to break the news to Cherie. I didn’t know what her reaction would be, but when I told her she understood and was totally cool with it. (I mean, she sort of had to accept it. There was nothing I could do.) But she seems really good at accepting disappointment. I’m sure she’s had enough of that in her short life. My daughter Lorelei is the same way. She lived with her mother for so long she became accepting that life would be full of grinding disappointments. But instead of resentment, these two Scorpios, just knuckled down and made themselves better people. They haven’t met yet, but when they finally do, I hope I remember to thank them both for that wonderful trait.
So this was going to be a three-week intimacy drought. I know that’s really hard on her. I’m used to not getting laid. I’m just happy to be once again having sex. So I decided I should at least take her out to lunch during the week so we could at least see each other.
We met on a Tuesday, at where else? Ruby Tuesday’s! I just realized that connection. It was really nice to see her, but the embers are always smoldering under the surface with us. That feeling that we want nothing more than to rip each others clothes off and tear each other apart. I’m looking at her across the table. She’s telling me some story, and I’m listening, but I’m just letting my eyes dance all over her. Her lovely face, full lips, her lovely skin. She’s wearing her hair down, but in a pony tail pulled to the side. She looks very collegiate with her official Temple I.D.
I want her. But I can’t have her. Not today. Not for another week and a half. She looks lovely today. I tell her every time I see her she becomes more beautiful. She’s grateful and sweet about it, but I can see in her dark eyes what she really desires.
Sometimes I think I like writing about the non-sexual encounters because there’s more to think about. The obvious and easy part of the relationship is just the collision of our bodies in a celebration of pulchritude, but sitting and breaking bread with her and not being “allowed” to be intimate, is somewhat titillating. The forbidden. The denied. I’m a very patient man. I can wait years for things to come to fruition. A week and a half won’t kill me, but to her, it’s making her crazy.
She tells me she thinks about sex with me all day, and it’s driving her crazy. I’ve never experienced a woman like this. I was always a hyper-sexual growing up, but I have truly met my match. Mine has settled with middle age, but the fires can still burn brightly when they are fanned. She says she’s a nymphomaniac, and the only thing stopping her from being a whore is self-respect, control, and loyalty.
All great qualities. Wow. It’s like I’m banging Storm from the X-Men or something. Because when the lightning strikes it is extremely powerful. And once she gets going, you only get a few hours of repose while the eye of Cherie’s hurricane passes over you. But then she returns. Gently caressing your back and arms. You slowly awaken, and the wind increases, and within a short time you are both back at it and the sex storm is back to full force.
I love it, and I love Cherie, but it’s like I’m in some sort of sexual training program. It’s funny… you really do have to be careful what you wish for. I remember reading this book that my ex-girlfriend Michelle once lent me. (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – A Brand New Day) It was called The Secret. I don’t know if this book was something that helped a lot of people but I do remember reading that if you think hard enough things that you want, and you do the right activities, you will actually start to ‘pull’ those things toward you. I started to do it back when I met Michelle, and it started to work.
But Cherie almost seems like a ‘reward’ of some kind. I’ve suffered at the hands of so many for so long, I was finally granted a reprieve from all of the bad drama and problems all of these women suffered from. Cherie was the perfect girl for me. Smart. getting her education. (Graduating next year) Hard worker. Doesn’t want anymore kids. I don’t see her all of the time, so I have my alone time. Super chill, zero drama chick. And of course, there’s the mad sexual appetite.
So we finish eating. We’ve brought each other up to date on what’s been happening in each others lives. I walk her to the train. She has to stop back at school, and then go to work over at CHOP. We’re sitting on a bench that’s a bit further away from the crowd on the platform. I get to steal a few kisses from my lovely lady. She even offers me her soft slender neck. I tell her I love her and she always returns the same.
We agree that another lunch next Tuesday should at least bridge the canyon of desire until next weekend.
“And when I do see you next weekend, and we’re together…”
“I want you to fuck me, and fuck me, and fuck me. Please promise. ”
She says this with all seriousness, like it is something she needs more than desires.
In ten days I’ll fulfill that wish.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day at 8am & 12pm EST.
Instagram: @phicklephilly Facebook: phicklephilly