Serena – The Succubus

This happened a few years ago. I met Serena on OkCupid. She was absolutely gorgeous. Our first date was nice but I’m convinced that she isn’t into me so I’m resigned to never seeing her again.

To my surprise, she wants to see me again.

Next date, I take her to this nice place and we have hors d’oeuvres and share a bottle of wine. She suggests we continue hanging out. I’m house and dog sitting for my friends and they have a pool table, so I suggest we go back there and have some more drinks and play pool.

She was a little spazzy and I was a little worried she’d had too much to drink, so I suggest we hang out awhile to sober up and she insists she’s fine and wants to go now so I have her follow me. She gets lost following me on the freeway, takes the wrong exit and we have a few phone calls and it takes her about 45 minutes to find my friend’s house.

She finally arrives. Great.

There’s good sexual tension and we’re getting along and having a great time. She suggests we go outside and smoke some pot she had brought with her. I tell her I’ll have a hit (I’m a lightweight when it comes to the stuff) but she can go right ahead.

This is where shit gets weird. I’ve never seen someone smoke themselves retarded faster or with such fervor. She just fully bakes out. Hit after hit after hit. The weird thing is that it makes her really argumentative and aggressive. She starts bashing “my place” and I have to keep reminding her that it’s my friend’s place. “These chairs are fucking ugly.” “Why is the deck shaped like this? It’s really stupid.”

Weird shit like that. I gently remind her again that it’s my friend’s place and I didn’t make the decisions.

She wants to play pool now. Oh boy. Maybe this will change the tone of things. She’s so high that she can’t hit the cue ball. She whiffs multiple times and grows increasingly agitated. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. My thoughts are racing. “Was that weed? Was it laced? Is she high on PCP or some shit? It tasted and smelled like weed. Am I going to get all crazy too? I feel fine, but she smoked a metric butt-ton of it.”
I try to bring it back to a positive place. I think it’ll be cute to try to get closer to her and help her hit the ball. Bad idea. She wants to do it herself.

“Back the fuck up! I can do it!”

Woah.

Okay, this date is screwed. She hates me now. Everything has taken a turn. I’ll just be cordial and kind and let her sober up a bit and we can get her on the road.

“Let’s watch TV.” She says.

Okay. I turn the TV on for her. She starts bitching that I don’t have any of the channels she likes. Why don’t I have them? I remind her again that it’s my friend’s place. She seems really agitated. Then she’s suddenly on me like a facehugger. She’s furiously making out with me. Whichever Lovecraftian horror has possessed her obviously needs my seed to make the anti-christ. I am completely confused by everything.

She asks to see my room. I tell her that I have no room, I remind her AGAIN that this is my friend’s place. She wanders off down the hall and finds the guest room which has a futon.

“Why don’t you have a real bed?”

“Not my place. My friend’s place.”

“I think it’s really weird you don’t have a bed.”

She mentions the futon a few more times in case I missed it.

I excuse myself to use the bathroom. What I’m actually doing is staring at myself in the mirror asking what the fuck is going on. I have entered the Outer Limits. Neither the horizontal, nor the vertical, are under my control any longer. (Google it millennials) What is she on? Should I ask her to leave? She’s SO attractive but this is not going well. Maybe I should ask her for more of her weed and she and I can succumb to the darkness together, and we can burn this motherfucker down.

My dick and my brain are at war. Both mean serious business.

I exit the bathroom and return to the living room.

She’s butt naked sitting on the couch watching TV. I don’t see her clothes anywhere. She’s acting like this is perfectly normal. Unfortunately, she’s a sight to behold. Perfection in human form. Her dark hair snakes down her back (I’m pretty sure I see it move of its own volition), her pink nipples glow in the light of the TV and the electric power of the palpable crazy. She’s like some dark succubus from an evil, yet sensual dimension.
My brain is fighting the good fight, but my dick is winning. This girl just dropped the A-bomb on me.

At possibly the furthest from my finest hour ever, my brain loses. I allow myself to fully give in to her crazy embrace. I carry her writhing form as she licks my neck and ears and face as though she’s dedicated to finally knowing the timeless mystery of just how many licks it takes to get to the center of the tootsie pop, but instead the prize is my blood. Her hands are everywhere. I struggle to hold on as this many-armed Kali goddess touches every part of my body at once. Picture frames are thoroughly knocked off the wall, and we finally make it to the guest room and the despicable futon.

I go down on her and she bucks like a rodeo horse. She doesn’t want that, she explains. She wants one thing, and she wants it hard. During our sexual rendezvous she continues to complain about the house and the futon. I’m growing irritated. She says she wants me to choke her and suddenly, a thought comes to me.

Is she purposefully trying to irritate me so that I fuck her in some violent and vengeful fashion?

If so, it has the opposite effect. I stop. My mind has cleared. What the fuck am I doing? What’s going on?

“What are you doing? Don’t stop! Fuck me!”

I ask her to stop complaining about the bed. It’s out of my control. I try to reel things back in. I try to slow things down, maybe connect with this stranger I’m naked with. It’s a little too late for that. She tells me so. She asks me again why I don’t have a real bed.

Something gives. I don’t know if she’s been trying to manipulate me into hating her, if she’s on something that has removed her ability to be in control of herself, or if truly the futon is the worst thing that has ever existed.

Either way. I’m done. I can’t go on.

I stop the crazy sexual olympics we’re engaged in and I tell her that I don’t feel comfortable continuing. She’s up and off the futon in a flash, like a martial artist kipping up from a sweep. She begins to furiously get dressed.

Ah. Her clothes were in here. She took them off in here. In preparation?
She seems more lucid now than she has for the last hour. She decides she’s leaving and I walk her to the door. I’m feeling strange, I don’t know if I was manipulated, or disrespected. I don’t know what to feel. Irritated, a sarcastic quip escapes my mouth.
“Well this was so much fun. Next time maybe I can come over to your friend’s place and complain about all their stuff.”

The look on her face is pure rage.

“YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO COMPLAIN. BECAUSE THEY HAVE A BED!”

I usher her out the door. I close and quickly lock it. I feel relief. I think maybe I just avoided being eaten by the devil. She sits in her vehicle in the driveway for 30 minutes. I peek out the blinds occasionally like a nosy grandmother to see if she’s gone. All she does is sit in her SUV and stare straight ahead. Probably trying to sober up, possibly trying to decide if she wanted to drive through the garage door.

EPILOGUE: I felt guilty about the whole thing. I decided to message her later and ask her what happened, and apologized for the way we left. She actually messaged back and apologized and said something about sometimes people just don’t work out. I wondered how much of that night she remembered.

 

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Andrea – 2014 – S&M Girl

“Hi Lorelei. Daddy’s just going to take this fat, drunk bitch back to his room and tie her up. Then you’re going to hear a lot of slapping and squishing sounds. You’re also going to hear Daddy say a bunch of really foul sexually degrading things to this woman, so you better put your ear buds in and crank that shit up.”

One night a couple of years ago, I was out with a friend of mine. We were having drinks outside at Misconduct at 15th & Locust. He was telling me a story about this girl he met on Tinder. Pure hookup. She comes over to his apartment. Sadly, she doesn’t look like her Tinder pics. Which is not good. That’s like seeing a photo of a car you want to buy in the Auto Trader and when you get to the lot to check out the car, it’s an older model and a little banged up and maybe even a bit more car than you saw in the photos.

But he was drunk and up for the foul deed. He said she was a thick girl but he went to town on her anyway. Like my tinder profile says: “If you don’t look like your photos, you’re going to buy me drinks until you do.” So he said it was good sex except for one thing. He didn’t like that she wanted him to spit on her and hit her. There’s nothing wrong with what two consenting adults do with each other behind closed doors. Especially if everyone’s on board with what’s happening. But he didn’t like it. Just not his thing.

He told me that he wasn’t comfortable with that situation. He said at that point no matter what he was into or what he would do, he couldn’t do that again.  It just wasn’t him. (He didn’t spit on her or hit her at all) At that time, back in the beginning of 2014, I had just come off a break up and told him to send Andrea pics of me. Because I was up for whatever she wanted dished out. The key here is when it comes to dominance, be firm…not mean. There’s a big difference. I would discipline and correct her if necessary. And remember, the submissive party is ALWAYS in control. They have the safe word and hold the power to cancel the fantasy at anytime. That’s the rules of S&M play.

Well, nothing came of it. Until earlier this year when she connected to me on LinkedIn. LinkedIn of all places! Can you imagine with all of the dating websites out there, LinkedIn brings me the crazy S&M chick? So we chatted and did some texting. She wanted me to text her all of the things I was going to do to her, so I did. I have a pretty good imagination. She said she was getting really turned on and that we should meet.

I set it up that we should meet at the Ranstead Room. It’s just a good spot normally to hideout with somebody. I get there and I’m just chilling with a drink. She arrives shortly thereafter. My friend was right about her. In her Tinder pics she looks really hot, but in real life she is a lot bigger, and what was with that low tranny voice? Not good. I just wasn’t feeling it. I would have to drink a LOT of cocktails for Andrea to start to resemble her profile pics on Tinder. So I figured what the hell, I was already here and the drinks were flowing. She wasn’t that hot but at least I was someplace where nobody knew me.

Then the manager from the restaurant where my daughter works suddenly comes through the door and walks right up to me and says hello using my name.

Now I’m made. He can see who I’m with and now everybody there knows my name.

Andrea starts telling me about her life. She hates her job and wants to leave Philly. (Probably a good idea for us all.) She was seeing some crazy drug dealer loser guy. He’s suicidal, and does tons of coke. It’s bad, and she’s not much better.  I always thought if you did a bunch of cocaine you were skinny. Certainly not the case here.

After awhile we’re getting pretty tipsy. We went outside for a cigarette. She was on me like a northern pike hitting the bait. So I’m making out with her and people are walking by on Ranstead and she just pulls her boobs out. She’s losing her shit. She wants to take me back behind the building and give me a blowjob.

Yea. Great. I’ll just go stand behind my daughter’s manager’s Mercedes-Benz and you can give me oral. What if he walks outside and sees that shit? That’s not going to be good for me or anybody. Now, if this was Los Angeles and it was 1982, yea I’d be down for that, but not now. That’s gross. Sure, I’m flattered that she’s turned on enough from my words and the alcohol to want to blow me in a filthy alley, but no. Just no. I don’t roll like that.

She’s drunk. We go back inside and we’re in the vestibule and all sorts of things are happening with lips and fingers. If somebody comes through either door, we’re going to jail. So after that brief encounter, we go back inside. I kind of want to go home. In the right environment, some S&M play could be fun with her, but I’m just not getting a good vibe from her in this moment. She’s calling me daddy and all that shit. She says she loves older men, etc. I tell her I have an early sales meeting in the morning that I have to travel to so we should wrap it up. (A bold-faced lie)

She wants to go back to my place and have sex. Great idea. I can see it now. Me walking through the door to my apartment with Andrea and my daughter sitting on the sofa.

“Hi Lorelei. Daddy’s just going to take this fat, drunk bitch back to his room and tie her up. Then you’re going to hear a lot of slapping and squishing sounds. You’re also going to hear Daddy say a bunch of really foul sexually degrading things to this woman, so you better put your ear buds in and crank that shit up.”

No. Not happening. We pay the bill, and we walk over to 18th Street. I hail her a taxi and send her on her way. I was actually relieved when she was gone.

If somebody I met and was in a relationship wanted to experiment with some things, I’d be down with that, but Andrea just isn’t that person.

Update! She appeared at the salon tonight for a tan before she goes to L.A!

She’s leaving Philly for good!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish Monday through Friday at 8am EST.

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Duncan – Concentrated Dosage – Part 1 – Friday

Duncan: “Dude. Can I crash at your place?”

Me: “Dude. My daughter Lorelei lives with me now. There’s no room.”

Duncan: “Cool. I’ll stay at the Ritz Carlton.”


Eight months ago Duncan scheduled for us to see the German heavy metal band UDO at the Trocadero here in Philly. Duncan lives in Charlotte, NC. Apparently, he likes to make plans far out into the future. I’ve known Duncan for twenty years now, and when he says he’s going to do something, he does it. Especially when it comes to seeing rock shows.

He loves UDO. His full name is Udo Dirkschneider (born 6 April 1952 in Wuppertal, Germany) is a German heavy metal singer who rose to fame with German heavy metal band Accept. After leaving Accept in 1987, he formed U.D.O., with whom he has enjoyed commercial success as well.

Duncan loved the band, Accept back in the eighties. I only remember Accept from seeing their video, “Balls to the Wall” on MTV back then. Other than that one video and the image of UDO riding on a wrecking ball while seeing the song, that’s all I remember. But Duncan loves the songs of Accept. I only know that one. But that’s why he flew up here to hang out with me. I haven’t seen him in over a year.

We’re going to see UDO Saturday night.

Duncan is thrifty with his money. He will always spend money on things he likes or other people, but when it comes to himself he’s cheap. Normally in the past when he came to Philly he’d always stay at my place. A week before his arrival he texts me to check in.

Duncan: “Dude. Can I crash at your place?”

Me: “Dude. My daughter Lorelei lives with me now. There’s no room.”

Duncan: “Cool. I’ll stay at the Ritz Carlton.”

What? That’s Duncan. He’d love to crash at my place for free, but if that’s not happening he stays at one of the best hotels in the city. Crazy, right?

So Friday rolls around, his flight gets in and he settles into his hotel. I text him and tell him I’m on my way. I took the day off so I can hang with him. He loves my sacrifice. I get there, and he’s already sipping a cocktail at the bar. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, but it is Friday, and it is Duncan. (Oh, and he did not bring the giant bottle of vodka that he was supposed to give me for Xmas. (See: The Case of the Missing Bottle of Vodka)

Like I’ve said before, Duncan is not much of a drinker but this is a special weekend, and I haven’t seen my buddy in over a year. He’s sipping a version of a White Russian but instead of two parts vodka he asks the to make it with rum. It really is a creamy delicious drink, but I prefer my booze hard and dry. I order a glass of champagne to kick off our day of fun.

After a couple of rounds, we decide we’re hungry and head out for some food. I decide to take him to a local sports bar in Rittenhouse. My friend Ann Marie works there and I know Duncan will love her. She’s Vietnamese and cute as a button.

We get there and we realize that we’re actually starved. We peruse the menu and start out with their sampler platter of all of their appetizers. I intro Ann Marie to Duncan, and she takes the rest of our order. I think Duncan orders another one of those drinks like he had at the Ritz, but they don’t make it so he describes it. Ann Marie says she’ll do her best to create something as close as possible. I go with their spin on a Manhattan. It’s not very good, but it’s spirit forward and that’s all I care about.

So we obviously destroy the sample platter which I hadn’t had before and was actually very good. We both ordered cheesesteaks. It’s philly. I have to feed Duncan all the fun philly foods.  I went with a side of fries and Duncan chose the tater tots. Who doesn’t love tater tots?

During lunch and more drinking we decide that we’re going to go down to Columbus Blvd., by the Delaware River and go play games and drink at Dave & Buster’s. I hope if you’re reading this you know what Dave & Buster’s is but if not I’ll explain. It’s a national chain of family and adult entertainment centers. It’s a huge building that has a restaurant and several bars, and in the back is all kinds of cool arcade games you can play. There’s tons of stuff to do.

Check it out: http://www.daveandbusters.com/

I call us an UBER and off we go from Rittenhouse to Penn’s Landing.

We head in, power up our playing cards, grab a couple of rum and cokes and hop into this zombie killing game. It’s actually scary. We didn’t want to hog the machine away from the kids that were there, so we jump out after awhile and go to my personal favorite, Jurassic Park. Pretty much the same thing. Me and Duncan, shoulder to shoulder, blowing away all of the dinosaurs that are pursuing us throughout the game. After that we hit up the Transformer game. It’s pretty much all of the same shit. Just dudes shooting, killing, and blowing up stuff. We laugh and play like children, but drink like men.

We burn through $40 of gaming each. I suppose we were there for a couple of hours. When we go outside I decide I want to smoke a little grass. I don’t smoke very often, and when I do it’s normally a little skinny joint with very little in it mixed with tobacco. I never did drugs, and never liked marijuana, but I like to drink. Certain substances work differently with each persons physiology. But a little weed at my age is nice. I offer some to Duncan. He used to be a HUGE pot smoker. But he gave it up. He says he did so much weed and drugs when he was younger, that he wants to hold onto what little he has left. He realizes now that when he would be drinking and getting high, it would change his personality. I like the drinking Duncan way better than the high Duncan.

I smoke up my skinny doob and he says he loves the smell, but just can’t do it anymore. I toss the roach and we’re on our way.

We wander up South Street and so much time has passed it’s time for more chow. I bring him to Lorenzo’s. Lorenzo’s is one of the most famous pizza places in philly. They only serve plain slices, but they are HUGE. It’s what they’re known for. Duncan is blown away at the sheer size of these monster sized slices. But they’re just what we need at this point.

When we finish we make our way west on South street. We have so many fond memories of South street. We’ve been coming down here for twenty years when he visits. We stop in a few of the sex shops and look at some of the toys and gear for shits and giggles. Because I’m half in the bag and high, I can’t help but pick up the rubber dildos and hit Duncan in the face with them. Mostly around his mouth.

I remember talking to some crazy woman in one of the stores and she was going on and on about how she dominates her man. Whatever keeps the marriage alive!

We leave,and we’re walking along, and this guy that is walking towards us. He walks past us and we don’t think anything about it. We get to about 12th and South and suddenly we hear, Pop! Pop! Pop!

“Dude, that’s gunfire!”

Duncan looks back and sees the guy that passed us running in a different direction. We spring into action, and take off at a dead run. We run north on 12th street up to Pine. Once we round the corner, we slow down. We both look back and with no one there we just keep going. We head west and north zig zagging away from whatever that was behind us.

We decide we’ve had enough excitement for one day and head back to the Ritz for a final nightcap. Great thing was, every drink I had at the Ritz that weekend was paid for by Duncan!

Tomorrow we’ll be on to see UDO!

 

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Tales of Rock – David Bowie Thinks Witches Are Stealing His Semen

In fall 1975, David Bowie went into the studio in Los Angeles and made Station To Station, one of the best albums of his career. It saw him transition from playing conventional if fantastic rock and roll to recording a series of genre-bending masterpieces that set a template for ’80s pop and whose influence is still being felt decades later. Pretty impressive, considering he was doing so much coke at the time he later couldn’t remember recording the album at all.

According to David Buckley, the author of the book “Strange Fascination: David Bowie: The Definitive Story,” Bowie’s diet at the time consisted of cocaine, peppers and milk, and he lived in “a state of psychic terror.” Interviews published in Playboy and Rolling Stone depicted Bowie surrounding himself with burning black candles and Egyptian artifacts and believing that bodies were floating past his window, witches were stealing his semen and that the Rolling Stones were sending him secret messages. He lived in fear of Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page, owing to his supposed practice of witchcraft. In Station To Station‘s title track, Bowie yelped, “It’s not the side effects of the cocaine; I’m thinking that it must be love,” which was definitely the wrong diagnosis.

If Bowie wanted to clean up after this album, he made the wrong move by decamping to Berlin with Iggy Pop. Still, the trio of albums he recorded during this period—Low, Heroes and Lodger—honed his legacy. This trilogy along with Station To Station was cherry-picked to create a perfect soundtrack for Christiane F. We Children from Bahnhof Zoo, a German film released in 1981 that captured the harrowing lives of teenage junkies in West Berlin.

Check it out. I saw it at a midnight showing in LA in 1982. It’s great!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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