Ramblings..

Time marches on, doesn't it? One day bleeds into the next and if we're not careful we forget to pay attention to all those little things that make us who we are. It's been a month since my last post, and it's not that I have been lax inasmuch as I have been busy paying attention to the minutia of my days. 

What have I done, and where have I been? Well, there was the young guy - 10 years my junior and I have to say he was fun.. for a bit. One more of the walking wounded and as it turned out, he was in need of a caretaker. I'm pretty sure I'm not it. When asked by his other friends to make sure he made it home safe, I knew time was running out. My nurturing gene is sadly lacking. I can rustle it out of retirement for young children and old folks, but not middle aged men. Driving drunks home and tucking them into bed (and out of my capris) is not my idea of a good time. Yep - you read that right. One night he got up after we were in bed and put on my pants.. not long after, I decided to go home to my own bed and couldn't find them. Prying them off his passed-out body is never going to be my idea of a good time. I suppose I should take solace in the fact that he was not in my underwear!! And no, I have not seen him since then. Some things are just too telling.

Another thing I have done is dropped off the online dating sites. When the same men are still there for years and years and the lines are all the same, it is time for a break. The faces change, the needs don't. I swear, a lot of men see online dating as a call-girl service for the price of dinner. And when did phone sex get so popular?? Has it always been? Cell phones are a wonderful thing - you can make long distance calls that are not 900 numbers and call it a 'get to know you' call while getting off... of course this can work both ways and I am not adverse to such carrying-ons now and again.. but really? How long can one do this without feeling empty? There is something to be said about a shared wet spot. Really.

Giving up all hope for sanity, I agreed to a set-up by a friend. Now, I have to say I have lost some faith in friends for this in the past.. after all, if you really know me, you have to know there are some men that will always get a FAIL when set up with me.. I am who I am and the right man is not going to change that---ever. At any rate, The Analyst is from Colorado and has a mad-professor sort of look to him, and no - not the Gilligan's island guy. More like Robyn Williams with white hair in disarray and a beard. Looking at him from afar, I am amused and curious.. but would I have picked him out of a room and said "That's the one!"? Probably not. That said, he is interesting.. very interesting and not at all what his cover suggests. I do like a man who is a bit of an enigma, so this is working out quite well for now. We have dinner, conversations, see bad movies together, and somehow keep our sense of humor and fun intact. Maybe I am just better with men from out of state...

I have come to the conclusion that I am not and have never been a good wife. I am a good mother, and excellent lover (if I do say so myself - and I just did!), but a wife? Not so much. And, you know, that seems to be ok for everyone except for the men who want to make me into one - a woman acting in a specified capacity. I have never really defined myself in any specific terms and have always defied anyone else that attempts to do so; it is no wonder I fail at that. I am not a role player except in the bedroom (ok, maybe the kitchen and living room - but only when sex is on the table) and then only when we both agree to such fun. And you know, I'm ok with all that too.

Until next time, and as always...

A. Tan Gledmess...

running amok...

Dating site memberships are coming to the end of their contracts and the time to determine what I am doing is on the table.. it does get discouraging. As easy as it is to make light of it all and fun of many of them, the truth is I am beginning to wonder what the point of it all might be .. after all, toys are mildly satisfying and sometime more satisfying than the men I am meeting. UGh.. when did sex become such drudgery and so vanilla? A little flavoring is always nice - some fudge, caramel, cherries and nuts spice up a Sundae, why not allow a little crazy in the door? I blame novels for this - the pitfalls of enjoying novels filled with erotic smut, I suppose. This summer I get to blame Shades of Gray - the trilogy. Hot steamy sex.. I like that. need it. want it. Even the men I am meeting are not into it these days. What happened to the joy of lovemaking anyway? I absolutely refuse to believe I am too old for this!

After informing Mr In and Out that hickies are off the table, there has been absolute silence - though I can see he is still looking at me online. God bless dating sites that let you know who the voyeurs are .. and one would think if a man looks at you numerous times, saying hello would simply be the polite thing to do. On the other hand, we have Mr Meet and Great who acts like the starving puppy - afraid that he must charge right in - cave man style (or is that bulldozer?) and shove into me over and over again - never saying  a word and then wondering why A) I am not responding and B) he is not getting off.. or is that old age?? He can't let it fly like he once did but also lacks the stamina for the long haul. Sad to say, all I can think about lately is that there is all that mess for nada,, such a shame. If there was something in me - willing and able to be the counselor, the sex therapist, I could maybe deal with it all, but alas, I simply want to be ravaged and enthralled. Too much to hope for I suppose.., though there have been a few that really rocked my world. And I have discovered that men who play with guns seem to have a bit more verve! They have spoiled me, to be sure. I want that.. too much to ask?

can we say NO! NO!

So, how do I order a man? This strikes me as a little more than simply a mail order bride.. I want great, eye popping, fireworks yielding, wet, gushing sex along with hand holding, cuddles on the couch and comfortable silences.. seems like an easy request, doesn't it? And I wish I could advertise it.. but alas, simple minded creatures that most men appear to be, they see only the sex and think whore with no payments.. ok, maybe a dinner and some flowers. And can we schedule a night- date night (Wednesdays) and weekends, and usually my place - saves them from cooking and cleaning I suppose. I might even feel better about this if they paid the bills. Was I always meant to be the kept mistress? Is this what I was in a previous life? Perhaps this is simply the rambling of a woman awake way past her usual bedtime. After all, if I am going to be up after 2am, I should be having more fun!

 out side the box

So, the beat either goes on or it ends.. and I drift gracefully into celibacy.. wish I was better at that to be sure..

any words of advice there, faithful readers? I seem to have hit a slump....

As always,
A. Tan Gledmess

Livid...

..As livid as the mark on my neck and the one on my breast! OMG, how old are we!?!? I had a feeling it was happening but didn't stop him - guess I am culpable too, but Jeeze! This body is a temple, we don't hurt it! 

So, date with TNG last night.. who shall forever more be named the In and Out Guy, because that is about all he does (can do?). You know, you like to give a guy some time, let him relax a little and see what he's worth. First night sex is not always so great - booze is generally involved, nerves are taut, everyone is self conscious. Well, maybe not me so much... what would be the point after all these years? There is truly something to be said for getting older.. what used to offend only amuses these days. Go figure. Anyway.. back to the story....

I headed over to his place. It is always good to see how the other half lives; and this guy - like the last one- lives in model home style - in suburbia. What is that all about anyway? To top it off, there is a lock box (the kind they place on homes that are for sale) on the back door. This certainly gives me pause as he has told me he has lived there for 2.5 years. Who leaves that stuff on a door?? Makes me wonder if he is simply occupying the place while the real owner has it up for sale (with no sign). He does have boxes of stuff in the basement though - unopened still.. guess we are not really moving in - at least that is the message I get. 

Do men think that living in a sterile environment makes them look good? Is it a sign of low intelligence? Is it a sign of control? Are they housebroken??Is that it? I don't know anymore, but this is 2 for 2 on the weird stuff scale. I need someone who lives in their house - and is surrounded by things that are meaningful. I don't know, it just makes them seem more human. On the other hand, they also look entrenched so maybe his game is to appear to be moveable.

Ok, back to the main story on Mr In And Out... and this is for that reader who wanted more details (LOL)... there is no romance here, he tells me. This is about lust  - his I am thinking - and once we are naked, he rolls on top of me, smashes my face in what is supposed to be a kiss, and shoves it in.. ok, truth is, I do like it in me, so I go with that for the moment. Some grunting and shoving later - along with his mouth on my neck, I realize that this is not going to end well. He flips me over - more shoving and grunting - and I am thinking  'ok, this is not exactly doing much for me', but hey - last time was good and I can be fair - maybe this is about him tonight. We flip again and now I am getting somewhere and no longer concerned about him .. except he is back to the neck and pinching a tit... a bit later, I am on top - getting what I am here for, and he is playing boy toy - use me baby, use me! Done - at least I am, and I am sorry (maybe?) that he did not get what he wanted...  but

Is this my job? am I responsible for that? Seems to me that a man who makes me responsible for my own orgasm cannot possibly expect me to be concerned about his!

  I fall asleep, he does some twitching (restless leg syndrome?), and I wake in the morning to find I am alone in the bed. To the bathroom and WHOA! A hickey on my neck???!! W?RUFK!? How old are we!? Livid is what I am. Livid. Are manners no longer important and have we learned nothing in 62 years of life?? You do not give women hickeys. Ever. This body is a temple - we do not cause it harm... We do not mark it up! I am not a territory!

Do I tell him? yes. His reaction? sadness - he's sorry. My response? this is not about sorry - this is about it never ever happening again, which of course, it won't.. because I'm done... Done! I say - although this was only in my head.. I do know that a certain amount of caffiene is necessary before I say too much out loud. Speaking of which, I have to make the coffee because, although he drinks it, he has not bothered to figure out how the coffee pot works; and then he complains about an after taste.. and did (I) make it right? Did I say DONE? Let me say it again.. D.O.N.E. done!

The question now is do I continue with this dating thing? we all know he is done, fini, over...  but I am pretty close (if not in excess of 50) and the numbers game is not working. There have been a few men I could have (did?) fallen for, but they seem to be among the walking wounded and I am not a very good nurse.

Decisions, decisions...

As always,

A. Tan Gledmess

weekend madness.. and then some...

It has been some time since I last wrote.. why? you might ask.. And I have no real answer except that I have been lazy and uninterested. Dates have not been very interesting of late either. Since being dumped by the CO, I have become a bit more circumspect.. wondering what I do want, why I want it and if it is worth having. I am, however, still dating, meeting men and living life.

Baseball games and plumbing were on the agenda the last time I wrote.. week 2 (or was it 3?) with MachI had him experiencing me dirty and sweaty.. and no, not that kind of dirty, but maybe that kind of sweaty.. can we say salted? Peanuts, beer, sun and the game made for that sun glow kind of sweat and grime, but ceiling failures and looking for a shut off valve resulted in a whole different kind of grime.. ewwee baby! The best part- worst part? - We never did find the shut off valve and the whole reason for the season was to fix my diverter valve in the bathtub..now that does sound dirty! But no... we did not do that nor did that other deed appear on the horizon - and this would be me, not him. He was ready!

The following weekend we went to an end of school party - and, speaking to a complete stranger (could it be my boss's wife?! Holy $h*&, I believe it was!), he reveals that I hate the guy... oh am I glad I had not parted my thighs for that guy! Bada bing, bada boom ~ it is the last date. And, in case you were wondering, MachII never called again.. vomiting on the first date is not a great way to leave an impression on a gal - or is it??!

Not to be discouraged or dissuaded, I continue to browse the dating pond, and meet up with The New Guy. Now, the new guy is cute and tall and funny - and gets drunker than a skunk on our first extended meeting/date. I blame my friends for this, at least in part. TNG has recently had surgery on a malfunctioning artery - only the week before as it turns out, and is on coumadin . As it also turns out, this is one of those things you should tell a gal you have just met - especially if it is me and you are agreeing to party with me. The friends embrace TNG and have decided they definitely like him - and this, after they fill him with 18oo Tequila (eh, Patron!). I do give them points, I think, for pouring him into his truck ~ for which yours truly had the key ~ but I discount the points once we arrive at my house... the bus stops here?... and I am the only one left to roll him up the steps to the house. And roll he does.. by the way, any of you share this with him, and I will have to accuse you of lying! We are still dating.. Drunk, he is funny, feisty, a bit stubborn, but not mean. We eventually make it to the house, and the couch, where he snores the night away. I sleep in my bed with earplugs. Amazingly there is no hangover, and I make him one of my famous omelets...

As it turns out, TNG can laugh at himself, laugh at life. He has spent a day in the rain with me along with another day in the sun since then. He isn't big on email, rarely texts, but he does know how to use a phone. And he has not been drunk again.. thank goodness! I like him. ... not that I am putting my eggs all in one basket mind you...

I have begun a correspondence with a man in Afghanistan - training police officers there - he's due back in the states in October, and I spent an evening in the company of an old date from POF while visiting a friend in Eastern PA... oh, and I met a Resident  of my friend's fine establishment Behind the Green Door... I might have dated him if I had met him online first - I have a feeling he looks better online! He wants an honest girl, an attractive girl, a gal who will not dump him for another gal or his best friend (wife 1 and wife 2). He respects women yet has no control over the number of expletives that exit his mouth. He is a man of woe and hard knocks. I found it incredible (~y~easy to understand why) that he can't find a gal... Go figure!

and until next time, this is, as always...

~A. Tan Gledmess