don juan lover

dated a guy who was really into pleasing the woman.  hunting down the things that rocked her, appealed to her.  he knew if he couldn't get a woman excited he wasn't doing it right.  he prided himself on being an impressive lover and having a satisfied woman.  he had his moments, not often, where he got selfish or tired and opted for quickies.  quickies bother me.  coz it's all about the guy getting the quickie when he's in the mood and too bad if she wanted to climax as well.  never the other way around.  what about her getting some when he's not in the mood but she is?  back to the story.  one time he gets on and does his thing all hurried and not taking time to excite me and i kid you not at the end he asked me "was it good for you?"  didn't think anybody really asked that.  being direct as i am i told him it wasn't good for me.  not even nearly.  was he serious?  he was surprised and offended by my response and it lead to a big argument.  i tell him i'm in it for the climax too.  it's not just about him and his climax.  at no point during his advances did he ask me if i did or didn't want to get off as well.  there was no point where a quickie was discussed and determined as being what we both wanted.  he says something about thinking i would be pleased just to have him in me.  probably not meant the way it sounded - like he was a rock god or something.  i flipped out, gave him a big piece of my mind, saying at no time did i agree to just please him.  at no point was it discussed that i didn't also want to be pleased.  he just assumed i would be ok being used as a vesicle to store his cargo (my exact words).  that made him angry and so we both shouted back and forth.  no resolution was reached then and we didn't talk to each other for two days.  me plotting how i would make him understand my point of view, trying to figure out how and what i would say.  then i come up with an idea.  i take him to the bedroom, touch him, kiss him, get him excited.  undress him.  undress myself.  throw him on the bed all barred up.  jump on and work him for a few minutes.  without even pretending to climax i hop off him and ask him "was it good for you?"  he says "what?" realizing it isn't going to go the way he expected (much how i felt after our last encounter).  he tells me he's not done.  i tell him i am and add, "but it was a pleasure having you in me" and i get dressed and leave him alone, all barred up and no where to go.

Later he tells me I made my point well.

table top dancing

I once danced on a dinning table in hot pants and a t-shirt to an entire Deee Lite album.

Those were the days ..

r.i.p beast

Can't take it with you when you go.  So why care about it and hold it in high esteem?  It doesn't matter.  Not important in the scheme of things. It's an object.

I know that.  Logically I get it and I still miss my beloved.  When I see similar cars or cars that are the same colour I feel nostalgic and sad that the car is gone.  Almost brings a tear to the eye.  Yes I am grateful the friends who were in the car are ok.  Yes I am grateful my injuries healed.  It's just a car.  Lives are more important.

Still remember the policeman who arrived on the scene (he was cute) asking me if I drove the little dinky silver car.  The look on his face when I told him I drive the beafy V8 [that crashed into the car in front, that had crashed into the car in front and so on].  He looked a tad impressed.  I felt pride and also greif.  My car was crumpled up.

Now I drive another V8 which people tell me is so much better.  Performance wise, age wise, looks wise.  Yeah, I supose so - there's pride there.  And I still miss my beast, my beafy V8, the shark I use to call it.  Cruising, smooth, sleak, circling it's prey.  It was unique.  As far as I could research, only around 250 ever made.  Now down to 249.  A right-off.  Bye Bye car.

And I still miss my V8.