Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Separated from the Herd

I was at an event with my son on Monday night, the kind of event where there are typically lots of fathers there with their sons. I wasn't running the meeting so I had the opportunity to just observe. I haven't had passionate sex in months so I felt like a kid in a candy store, salivating as I looked at all the variety.

Most of the dads were grouped together, but several were not. These few were standing or sitting alone throughout the room or sitting with their sons. One of them was a very hot, new-to-the-group fireman dad.

The mom next to me noticed me watching him and said, "Kat, I don't think he needs your help."

I smiled and replied, "Oh, but I'm sure he does," and I walked over to the other side of the room where he was sitting alone at a table with his young son.

Nothing happened, of course, except that we got to know each other better and we exchanged phone numbers so we can communicate about activities for the boys. The point of the story is that he may or may not have been the best looking guy in the room, but if he had been sitting with a pack I would have avoided him (unless I was in a really playful mood, but that's another story). He was more attractive and attainable because he was separated from the herd.

I wonder sometimes if married men are aware that they are being observed and targeted for possible consumption by horny women? I know it happens more than they know.

Here's how it will go with fireman dad.  Next week I'll bring a small, inexpensive gift for his son, related to the group to which we belong, and I'll say I heard him mention he needed or wanted whatever it is.  It could be a hat, neckerchief, patch, handbook, whatever. I'll also strike up a brief conversation with dad, but I'll be sure that *I* walk away from the conversation first.

If he doesn't bring wife with him to the next meeting, I'm good.  If he does, I'll back off.

If it's a go, I'll sit next to him at the next meeting with my son sitting next to his. Yes, I may have to bribe him, but it's only right to help the new kid feel welcome, isn't it?

Then, I'll back off until there's an outing.  I'll suggest that we car pool. By then it will be clear if there's any chemistry or not. If not, I've made a friend and all is well. This is where things usually stop with men in my real life. It's too dangerous to go further so there has to be some serious chemistry to even think about that.

If there is some chemistry, it's time to suggest a meeting for coffee. At that meeting, if it feels right, I'll suggest something even more private, if he doesn't do it first.

Why take so long?  Because I met him in a completely non-sexual context. It usually takes longer than meeting someone on AM or in a bar. Obviously.

He separated himself from the herd to some degree at that first meeting, but I have to completely separate him from that herd to know if he's a prowler or if he wants to be.

So, Prowlers, what tips do you have for separating other prowlers from the herd so you can move in for the kill?  Gee, that sounds so violent. It's time to ditch the herd metaphor, I think.

How do you go from meeting someone in a coffee shop or the grocery store (or wherever) to making them a playmate?

Friday, September 20, 2013


Last night I stepped out of the shower to see my 9-year old son standing in the bathroom, looking at me. I jumped at first because I was shocked to see anyone there, but a second or two later I realized I needed to cover up.  I grabbed a towel and tried to cover myself as I asked, "What are you doing in here?" He proceeded to tell me all about a video game he was playing.

I looked down and noticed that my boobs were partially exposed.

"Turn around!" I barked at him, desperately rearranging the towel. He complied, of course, but when I looked up again I saw that he was still looking at me - in the mirror on the opposite wall. *sigh*

The tension I released during my relaxing shower (and I do mean relaxing....I'd had a special moment with my big purple waterproof vibe)  started coming back immediately.  My son, though, was oblivious to the whole thing.  He just kept talking, sharing the news that apparently couldn't wait five more minutes.

From the moment I had my first child, all privacy and privacy-related boundaries in my life disappeared. It started in the delivery room.  I had my feet in the stirrups and my legs spread wide open waiting to deliver. We were waiting for the doctor who was apparently taking his time.  Nurses came in and out chatting with each other. Every now and then one would tell me not to push. At one point, there were three nurses standing there chit chatting about the potluck coming up later in the week.

And then the janitor walked in. He walked passed me, took a look at my woohoo and then continued to get the trashcan in the corner. There were six people in the room at the time, all of them monitoring the activity between my legs. That hadn't happened since that time in college when I played with that group of drunken fraternity guys, but at least they were all participants.  In this case, those in the room were spectators, voyeurs, witnessing the happiest day of my life and the day all boundaries related to my "princess zone" became blurred.

From that day forward, there was no such thing as private time in the bathroom, for any purpose, for me. If my husband wanted to have a deep conversation, he'd wait until I was in the bathroom to start talking. If one of the boys needed a field trip permission slip signed, he wouldn't catch me at any point during the 4 hours of the evening I was in the living room or kitchen.  No, he'd wait for bathroom time.

There were many times when all of them would gather in the bathroom and we'd end up having a family discussion. I'd try to push them out to postpone it for a minute, but one of them would say, "No, no, this'll just take a minute." It always took more than a minute. On the most reason occasion, the dog joined us, too. Why should he be left out?

Once I reached under the bathroom sink for a tampon and my oldest actually said, "Mom!  That's gross.  You're going to do that here in public??!!" I exploded. "I wasn't in public when I came into the bathroom and closed and locked the door!!" He replied, "That lock is broken, Mom." No shit.

Interestingly, the boys have drawn very strict boundaries for themselves regarding the bathroom. If I even speak to them through the door, I'm met with a torrent of pleas and screams. "Mom!!!!  Don't come in here! Get away! I mean it....don't come in!"  Sheesh. I wiped their butts and bathed them for years.  Now they are terrified I'll see anything I shouldn't, yet they may walk out of the house with their jeans pulled down around their ass.

Maybe they're protecting me from seeing too much.  God forbid I see a dick that doesn't belong to their father.  ;-)

Last night definitely shocked me, but it's not a big deal. I sometimes wonder how it will go over when they just walk into the bathroom and start talking to their girlfriends, but that's not my problem, is it?

I put up with the lack of bathroom boundaries because, after 21 years (the age of my oldest) I've finally discovered where I can get some uninterrupted peace in the house - the kitchen after dinner and the laundry room. They all stay away from those places like the plague, afraid that they'll be forced to work.

Except for the dog. He stays to keep me company, and as long as he doesn't start talking, I'm ok with that.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Two Weeks

I've been unable to communicate with SNS Guy for two weeks.  Two weeks. In the online world, that's like a year, isn't it?

Time is different in this world. Not hearing from someone for two days is a big deal, and responses are expected for emails within 24 hours, at the most.  Sooner is better, of course.

And time becomes more intensive for long distance relationships.  If all I have of you is email or text messages, the longer the time between them feels like time without you. And that hurts.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the relativity of time today. The two weeks without contact with SNS Guy were long and drawn out. Time crawled and I was a victim to it with nothing to do but wait. I've missed him terribly.

Sometimes, though, time flies by.  My oldest son leaves in two weeks to move to the other side of the earth with a one way ticket and no return date. I can already see the days moving faster than I can count them until he leaves, and I'm powerless to slow them down, just as I couldn't make them go by faster so I could talk to SNS Guy sooner.

Of course, I know that the amount of time within a two week period is constant. Every two week period has the same number of days, hours, and minutes.  I'm the one who's changing. I'm the one aching for it go faster or desperate to slow it down. I'm the one with the emotional investment. Time has absolutely no sense that I'm dying to speak with someone I love or that I'm afraid that I won't see my son again.

To the relentless march of time, it's just two weeks.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Coupon

As Hubby and I were going to bed last night, I floated a few signals about having sex, like I always do, and he showed no signs that he was interested. So I finished my bedtime routine, turned off the tv, turned off the light and climbed into bed.

After about 2 minutes, the light came back on and Hubby said, "I think I'd like to collect on that blow job you owe me."

"What blow job?" I replied.

He proceeded to remind me of a day a few weeks ago when he had helped me set up a bunch of tables and chairs for a community event.  It was my responsibility, but his help cut the work in half for me, so I thanked him for his help and told him I owed him a blow job. That very night, I gave him a BJ and I thought I had kept my promise.

"I gave you a blow job that night and several times since then. Don't any of those count?" I asked.

"Nope," he said. "A coupon is still good until you use it.  I didn't ask for it any of those other times, but I'm asking for it now."

"I see. So you want to redeem your blow job coupon tonight."


"I there anything in it for me," I asked.

"You already got something for it. I helped you move all that stuff.  Besides, you love giving head. You'll get something out of it. And why are you resisting?  You usually jump at the chance."

He was right. I wasn't actually resisting.  I was just clarifying the coupon redemption rules. That's me.  I always need to clarify things.

"Ok," I said, "Let's do it then."

He pulled off his boxers and grabbed the peppermint lube.  No lube is needed for a BJ, of course, but he knows I love the peppermint and he likes the added enthusiasm I bring to it when he uses the peppermint lube.

I moved into the position and took him into my mouth. For that first stroke, I went down on him very slowly.  When I felt his head at the back of my throat, I pressed down so I could take him even deeper.  He moaned loudly. I swallowed a few times, until I needed some air, then I pulled back again, just as slowly as went down.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Feel free to do that again."

So I did, several times. When I felt him close to coming, I changed it up, moving a little faster, but not sucking as tightly, squeezing his balls.

I changed my approach thee times, each time when I felt him ready to explode.  Finally, the third time, he grabbed my hair and pulled me off of him.  Then he said, "I want to fuck you now."

"But this still counts as your blow job coupon redemption, even though you chose not to come in my mouth."

"Shut up about that! Get on your hands on knees."

Being the bitch brat that I am, I said, "Not until you agree that the coupon has been redeemed."

As I said that he was rolling me over, pulling my hips up and positioning between my legs. "Fine, fine," he muttered, and then he drove into me hard. The force pushed me forward, but he roughly pulled me back toward him and tightened his grip on me.

I squealed at the first stroke and put a hand on the wall in front of me to steady myself.

He fucked me forcefully for about 15 seconds, and then he moaned loudly and came.

A moment later he pulled out, reached over to the shelf beside the bed, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to me. I cleaned up a bit there and then headed to the bathroom to finish cleaning up.  When I came back to bed, he was asleep.

I looked at him as he slept.  We've had a lot going on lately and he's been dealing more than his share of stress, but he looked so calm and peaceful at that moment. I felt a wave of love for him sweep through me.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, "Coupon! This entitles Hubby to a free blow job.  Just for being you.  I love you. Kat"  I slid the coupon under his pillow, curled up next to him, and drifted off to sleep.