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Crazy Date #1, Paris and the Theft of Helen
Another Friday night ago,my friends and I went to a bar after a gaming session. Me, Paris and a few friends from the gaming group. We’re all hanging out, laughing, drinking, having a good time. At least, I think so. There are a few women in the group that I have kept my eye on, and Helen is one of them. She has the most beautiful black bird tattoo running up and down the whole of her back. And she always wears shirts that show it off. Helen of Blackbird and she’s at the bar 3 people away from me.
I’m not the most subtle person, so about an hour into the date, Paris notices me looking past him at Helen. Perhaps he’s not the most observant person in the world, either. He tells me to go talk to her, and having gotten his permission, I do. Turns out she is absolutely charming. After an undetermined amount of time pondering life, the universe, and everything, I’m in love. Or, at any rate, I suggest she and I go back to her place. Which she happily takes me up on.
I check on Paris before leaving, and he appears to be doing well talking to another girl at the bar. We were just casually hanging out with a group of friends, so it wasn’t like a “date” date. Plus, hewantedme to do this! We sneak out of the bar with hardly anyone noticing, her and I chuckling triumphantly about our sneaking abilities. Helen has been stolen successfully!
Did Imentionshe has the most beautiful black bird tattoo running up and down the whole of her back? I can’t stop running my fingers along the crisp outlines of her masterpiece. And her skin. Oh, her skin. She is so soft, and for one heavenly night we both get lost in the others’ softness.
Paris never showed up to the gaming group again. A week later, one of our gaming friends told me he was trying to get us to have a threesome. I’m sorry, what? I thought he just wanted me to flirt with a cute girl. In my mind, it had been a huge success. I guess in his mind the result was less than optimal. I almost feel bad. Except I remember how her lips felt, soft and warm against mine. How proud I felt for stealing Helen away. Turnabout is fair play.
Why don’t men just say what they want?
* * *
Crazy Date #2, Odin and Frigga
And so,Paris disappeared to be never heard from again. Perhaps he went on his own personal odyssey. Or perhaps he couldn’t take the shame of feeling emasculated like that in front of the entire group. Or perhaps it doesn’t matter – if he wasn’t strong enough to let me go off and play without his involvement, it’s probably for the better that he did disappear. At least I didn’t have to move continents again.
As a bonus, several couples started pursuing me. One of them, let’s call them Odin (the beard!) and Frigga bonded with me over a game of Dominion. Another night hanging out at the bar after games night. Another life, the universe, and everything conversation, and I’m yet again in love. With him. And with her. I notice they have a dynamic – she calls him Daddy and he calls her Baby girl. We keep talking and flirting and one thing leads to another.
And an hour or so later, we were all in bed together. Their apartment is small, but cozy, and the bed takes up the vast majority of the bedroom. There are an unsettling number of knick-knacks around, making it hard to do anything but to get on the bed when you enter the room. He is not gentle – with me or with her – and I am surprised at how much I enjoy that. He reaches to tear off my clothes only to find out that nobody can beat me in the clothes-off contest. He tears off her clothes, and I enjoy watching what he does with her, her watching what he does with me, forcing us to kiss, to perform for his enjoyment. Any time he tells her what to do, she answers meekly, “Yes, Daddy,” and does it. How does she trust him so much?
Until she doesn’t. Turns out she is not enjoying what he does to me as much as I enjoy watching her. And the moment he calls me “Baby girl,” there is a visceral eruption on her part. She yells. She screams. “I am your only Baby girl; don’t you dare call this whore your Baby girl!” She starts scratching him. I grab what I can of my clothes and make my getaway, leaving one of my shoes somewhere in the sheets.
Somewhere between bemused and shaken, I get back to the house, and notice that the light is still on. I carefully sneak in with the one shoe still in my possession in my hand. The last thing I want is to have David see me in a mussed-up Cinderella state. Not sure why I care about his judgment so much. But whew, there is nobody awake. Just a light that he left on for when I’d get home. I feel oddly comforted as I turn the light and crawl into my own bed.
* * *
Crazy Date #3, Original Thor and Jane the Mighty Thor
Finally,a successful threesome!Why do people fantasize about threesomes? Well, men, mostly. Probably because they don’t realize how hard it is to have a good one.Where Paris was meek, and Frigga was too enamored with Odin’s beard, Thor and Jane delivered. Oh, yes, they delivered.
The night started unusually as well. Instead of going to the bar after game night, we met up the night before game night. I was in my standard position – on a bar stool with a martini in hand. I forgot to wear panties that night. Well, not forgot. I just didn’t do laundry that week. But let’s go with forgot. The three of us spent a good hour drinking, conversing, and touching. Why do I love touches so much? Why do I love scratches on my skin so much? Why do I love so much?
The rest of the night morphed into a wonderful blur. It was soft and it was hard. It was a tangle of limbs and a tangle of energies. My head against her chest. Her head inside my legs. His head inside my legs. It was divine. And while I didn’t climax too much, she did, and watching her was amazing. It felt like a great performance.
It was a great time, and yet, I felt like needed more. Perhaps I just needed someone with more oomph than Thor, I thought coming home Saturday morning. Perhaps I wanted someone who would treat me like Odin, minus the crazy Frigga. Perhaps if I could combine Odin’s beard and Jane’s mighty chest, that would give me that oomph I was hoping for. And yet, Thor and Jane were pretty good. So, well played guardian angel, well played.
As I walked up to the house, I saw David in the kitchen making coffee while peering at a crossword puzzle in his hand. He still confused me. He was perhaps the first straight guy I met who hasn’t made a pass at me. And I lived in his house.It’d be so easy for him. Maybe he’s not straight? What would I do if he did make a move?
* * *
5
If Wishes Were Fishes
January 9, 1:05pm
Anew year, a new me. After I get comfortable with my domestic duties, David stays true to his word and integrating me into his new project. I love the challenge of finding and solving puzzles. This, Iamgood at. And I am good at helping thread the various sections of the company together, ensuring nothing gets dropped through the cracks. He says this is a useful contribution, and I like to feel valuable.
But there are days where I feel like an imposter. I’m told this is normal. Imposter syndrome. This idea that I could never be good at anything and I’m simply fooling people into believing I’m worth something.One day, they’ll find out the truth. Then what will I do?
The good thing is it’s different than when I flew halfway around the world to do something, I had no idea I could do. This time I have him by my side. Okay, so he’s not exactly “mine.” But we still find ourselves spending most evenings together, whether it’s watching a movie or tidying the house or work. A lot of time it’s work. Most of the time, actually. Seems like there’s always some work problem to analyze and clear up. Sometimes we’ll be up till 2am, scribbling on the whiteboard and typing up notes and musing out loud.
I am hesitant around the team. I absolutely feel like the young, stupid one. But they are all warm and friendly to me. Our team is two other men and three women. Four of them are married to each other (two husband and wife teams and a single woman). All are longstanding friends of David and his ex-wife. She's not involved, directly, but she does handle their legal work. And as the project gets moving, and they focus on the investment side, I get my first real assignment - they want me to help bring some younger members on board. Entry level positions and internships. I think I can handle that.
I do wish she wasn’t around quite as much. I feel awful for saying this. She’s always quite polite to me, although it feels strained and fake.But, hey, maybe she’s just awkward.Her words, on the surface, are pleasant and she does talk to me. Like, not just ordinary politeness, either. I sense an almost desperate need for her to be liked by me, and she’ll tell me very personal details at times. As if she and I were the best of friends. I’ve known folk like her before, and I recognize it. She doesn’t wantmelike her, she wants,no, she needs, everyone to like her. She hides it under a cool demeanor that says she cannot be hurt— but that’s only to distract from the fact that she can get hurt far more easily than most.
