One for the record books  

rm_1spiderskiss 47M
64 posts
8/20/2006 10:15 pm

Last Read:
8/24/2006 7:17 am

One for the record books

Hello My Lovelies,
(I’m trying out new greetings. I give this one a C+),

My subscription to the New Yorker finally kicked in and between that and a radio perpetually tuned to KCRW I’m feeling overly-cultured. It would only be better if I had a couch from which to enjoy them. It’s on my list right after coffee maker and wine glasses (oh, and silverware I suppose). Anyway, I pledged my support to said public radio station for the first time as a single male hoping buy some positive karma ‒ sort of modern-day buying of indulgences without the Catholic guilt.

Speaking of cardinal sins, I believe I’ve set a world record for the rise and fall of a relationship. About a week and a half ago, young SH tumbled happily into my bed. We devoured each other for the next four nights but I became nervous when she started tossing out such gems as, “Did you ever think this would happen?” and “Promise me this isn’t a rebound.” and my personal favorite, “This isn’t too soon for you right?” (Um, maybe.)

Desperately in need of fresh air and sustenance we made our way to Venice for surf and sushi. As a herd of waterlogged grommets screamed passed I casually remarked, “And that’s why I’m never having kids.” You’d think I told her Fred Segal closed. The next hour was excruciating with SH questioning my previous relationship, my sexuality and indeed my very moral fabric. I’ll explain it to you as I explained it to her:

I don’t want to have children of my own. The only reason fathering a child might be interesting is for purely narcissistic reasons ‒ to see what kind of child I would produce. This seems like a very bad reason to have children. In addition, there are hordes of children that need good homes and if I want children I’ll adopt. I’m educated, employed, free of felony convictions ‒ I’m surprised people aren’t handing me children all day long.

The hour-long pout coupled with the implication that she wants to have my children had me running for the hills. Luckily, I had friends in from out of town giving me a natural out. The next day, SH comes into my office (oh, did I mention she’s the boss’s assistant ‒ I know bad idea, blah, blah) and tells me her grandfather died and she’s leaving town for a week. Praise Jesus! I mean, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss and please let me know if there is anything I can do.” I called her the next day to make sure she arrived safely, she had.

It’s now been a week and no word from SH. No phone call, no email, no text. Relationship total running time: 4 days.

Luckily my KCRW membership card gives me a discount to the local adult bookstore. Now if only I had a couch…

redmartinigirl 44F

8/21/2006 5:49 pm

This post has me laughing hysterically! good thing you'd bought that KCRW karma, huh?

rm_1spiderskiss replies on 8/22/2006 12:15 am:
If this is good Karma I seriously need to up my pledge.

rm_aWench4U 63M/62F
741 posts
8/21/2006 9:51 pm

Okay, Spider, you're right: I don't want to trade places. Besides, I was thinking I'd have to hook up with the people you do--that would be females, right?--and while I'm curious, I don't think I want a steady diet of pussy. I would simply miss my favorite toy in all the world too much: a nice, hard cock.

I think that's got to be some sort of relationship world's record. You might want to check with the folks at Guiness, and if they don't have that category yet, offer to be the founder. . . At least it wasn't a One Night Stands! Pardon me for pimping my own Blog--it's the first time I've ever done it--but it seemed to go along with my comment. Better luck to you soon!

Remember the past but do not dwell there.
Face the future where all our hopes stand.


rm_1spiderskiss replies on 8/22/2006 12:24 am:
First, denying a girl her favorite thing is the ACTUAL cardinal sin in this scenario. Second, pimp away, pimp away! If there’s one thing my incessant drivel is good for it’s creating a medium for pimping. In fact, that’s my new greeting.

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