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Threesomes and Swingers

This is a continuation of my Threesome series.  You can find parts one and two here.

Many moons ago when I was living up in New York I met two couples who were swingers.  I met them through other friends and eventually I became a part of their big group of friends.  We would hang out, party, drink, and just have fun.

It was bound to happen though.  One night when I was hanging out with them one of the women Babs and her lover Ringo asked if I wanted to go out to dinner with them sometime.  I thought it would be fun and we set up a date for the next weekend.

I knew that Babs was bisexual.  However I never really thought much of it because she was nice, just not really my type.  She had other plans though.

After we went out for dinner and drinks we went back to Ringo’s apartment.  Things went from bad to worse as we all ended up in the bedroom.  Thankfully I was drunk enough to not care what was really going on.  I even participated a little.  It was not one of my best moments, but it wasn’t my worst either.

A few weeks later I was over at Babs’ house for another party.  I had been drinking so I was going to sleep on the couch since my friend BSL was having another of his mood swings and didn’t want me sleeping downstairs with him.

So what did I do?  I had a threesome with Babs and her husband.  They had pulled a mattress down into the living room and were making out on it when they asked me to come over and join them.  I was decidedly pissed off at BSL so I decided to just go with it.  This one was a little better because her husband was pretty damn good in the sack and she seemed to enjoy my being there even more that time.  I can’t complain too much about that one, except for the fact that I felt guilty about doing it while BSL was sleeping just downstairs.

I won’t go into too much gory detail about those because it wasn’t that spectacular.  I did however learn that I’m capable of damn near anything if I choose to be.  Thankfully, I choose not to be.  LOL

Happy humping!

Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist – part 2

First of all I’d like to apologize for taking so long to post part two of this story.  I’ve been without internet access for the past ten days.  Thank God it’s back on!  I missed you all so much! 🙂  If you missed part one you can find it here.

After I got back home from my disaster of a trip to NYC, I got a call from the Con Artist.  He tried to apologize for not picking me up and taking me back to the airport, but I wasn’t in a very forgiving mood.  He said that he was hung-over and sleeping that morning and just didn’t hear the phone.  Whatever, I was so over him and his bullshit.

In May 1996 I was back in my hometown living with my cousin.  I was broke and looking at a very bleak future ahead of me.  I had no reason nor desire to live a “normal” life at that point.  I had been fired from my job as church secretary, spent five months sowing my wildest oats in Atlanta, and had lost all hope of ever being that good little preacher’s daughter ever again.

When the Con Artist called me for the first time in nearly a year and asked me to come back to NYC and stay with him, I figured what the hell.  It’s not like I was doing anything else at the time.  I just really wanted out of my hometown and away from everyone I knew.  Even though I didn’t like him or trust him, his offer was convenient, and so I took him up on it.

I packed all of my clothes into a couple of big boxes and shipped them to his house.  My cousin took me to the airport and I got on a one-way flight to NYC.  The Con Artist picked me up from the airport and Continue reading

Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist – part 1

Some stories are just too long to be put into one post.  I could probably write an entire book on my first ex-hubby, but I’m going to narrow it down to just two posts for now.  Enjoy!

It was August 1995 when we started talking on AOL.  Yep those were the good old days of AOL chat rooms.  For some reason he liked stalking the chat rooms set up for various southern states instead of the NY rooms.  I knew that he was Jewish, he lived in Brooklyn, NY and he was 32 years old.  I didn’t know a lot else about him at the time.

After a couple of weeks of talking online and on the phone he asked if I’d like to come up to NY to visit him one weekend.  I was very hesitant at first because then I was a 22-year-old virgin working as a church secretary and even though I had been to NYC once when I was in high school, the thought of going back by myself scared the crap out of me.  He was persistent though and offered to buy my plane ticket and get me a hotel room to stay in while I was there.  It made me feel a little more at ease knowing that I wouldn’t have to stay with him at his house.  Reluctantly I accepted his offer and we planned it out for the weekend coming up.

It was a Friday evening when my plane landed at JFK airport in New York City.  He met me at the airport and as soon as I saw him he said let’s go have a drink.  After having a couple of drinks in a bar there in the airport we went out and got a car service to take us to the hotel in Brooklyn.

Admittedly I wasn’t very impressed with him at first.  He was crass and not that good-looking.  He was a less attractive looking and shorter version of Jerry Seinfeld.  He had on some of those really faded or whitewashed type jeans and a polo shirt tucked in to his jeans.  He looked like he was stuck in the 80’s.  I later found out that his wardrobe wasn’t the only thing stuck in the 80’s.  For him, the 80’s were the best years of his life, full of sex, drugs, and wanna-be mafioso types.  He told me about how his father owned a club back in the 70’s and many of the local mobsters frequented it .  His father died of a heart-attack when he was five and his mother, who on her own had to raise a wild unruly son, just about went crazy with grief and stress.  Well, she didn’t raise him completely on her own.  The local mobsters that were friends with his dad offered to help keep an eye on him.  I think he would have been better off just with his crazy mother raising him.

After we went to the hotel and I changed my clothes we went out to dinner.  It was a nice restaurant in Brooklyn, but he wasn’t the best conversationalist that I had ever met.  He had few table manners and even fewer things in common with me.  When he did talk it was mostly about himself and how much money he had and how he had just gotten back from a trip to Arizona where he took a jet for a test ride.  I’m not really the gold-digging type, but he did make it all sound quite impressive.  Being that I was a poor little Southern girl working a low-paying job, this was about the most excitement that I had in a long time.

He took me to a couple of bars and clubs in Brooklyn and everyone seemed to know him.  There were lots of goodfella types that came over and talked to him.  I was so out of my element that everything was exciting and interesting to me.  I was naïve and clueless and very soon became drunk.  He was trying to drink me under the table.  He failed.  I still had a high tolerance for alcohol and by the time I was feeling tipsy, he was about on the floor.

He finally was too drunk to go anywhere else so he said we’d get a cab and he would take me back to my hotel.  As drunk as he was though, he still tried to get me to let him in my hotel room.  I refused and he got kind of upset.  I told him that I was a virgin and there was no way in hell that I was going to lose it to him.  I ended up having to push him out of the doorway so I could close the door.  Before he left he said that he would be back in the morning to take me back to the airport.

The next morning I got up and got ready to head back to the airport.  I waited and waited.  I called his house, but there was no answer.  I called & called, still no answer.  Great.  I had no idea what to do.  I had spent the last little bit of my cash to pay for the cab the night before because he said he was out of cash.  So there I was with no money and no ride back to the airport.

Before I had a meltdown I decided to just call a cab and then give the driver a check once we were at the airport.  I had no cash so what was he going to do?  Refuse to take it?  It was a plan, although not a great one.

On the ride to the airport the cabby was a talker and asked me why I had come to NYC.  I told him a little about what had happened and then decided to go ahead and tell him that I had no cash, just a check.  I swore to him that it would be good and pretty much begged for his help.  He was really nice about it all and said that would be fine.  I guess my innocent looks and demeanor at the time helped me out a lot in that situation.

I arrived back home later that night and swore that I’d never speak to that asshole again.

Stay tuned for part two of Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist.  What?  You thought it would end there?  My life is never that simple because I’m not as smart as I look. 😉

Happy humping!

Remembering 9/11/01: A view from Brooklyn

It’s been about ten years since I really talked about that day.  It was an awful day and I would like to just forget it sometimes, but that’s impossible considering all the conspiracy theories, memorials, and the fact that as the tenth anniversary closes in there is no escaping it.  Even just looking at the clock and noticing that I tend to always look at it when the time is 9:11, it just creeps me out.  I don’t like talking about it or even thinking about it because it just seems wrong because it’s such a macabre story.  I suppose it’s finally time to face it though.

It was 8:50 a.m. on a clear Tuesday morning and I was driving along the Belt Parkway/Shore Parkway in Brooklyn, New York.  I was headed to work.  The company that I worked for at the time had an office space in the Army Terminal which was just south and right across the river from the southern tip of Manhattan where the towers were located.  As I came around the curve of the Parkway I noticed smoke coming from the North Tower.  I remember thinking how awful that there was a fire in the tower.  I didn’t yet know that it was caused by a plane crashing into it.

I arrived at the office just before 9:00 a.m. and as soon as I got inside Continue reading

One Day at a Time Sweet Jesus

"MARRIAGE AND PISTOL LICENSE" office...

Image via Wikipedia

I got back home Saturday after spending three days with my family.  I survived.  While I was there my sister and I were watching my nephew run off his sugar high and she asked how Skaterboi and I were doing.  She was puzzled as to why I had decided to move in with him and interested to know how things were working out.  “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”  That was my response.

Getting over my fears of being in a relationship again after Manwhore and Bobblehead Nerd has not been easy and it’s an ongoing process.  Not that they were the only bad relationships that I’ve ever had.  I’ve been married twice and neither worked out that great.  I’ve had far fewer long-term relationships than short-term ones and that’s been by choice.

Memory #4 – Follow the Signs

Before my second marriage I was living in upstate New York with a former boyfriend.  I had dated Yankee Cowboy for about six months when he asked me to leave NYC and move in with him.  I was anxious about moving in with him, but decided to go through with it anyway.

My friends had offered to help me load up all of my things into the U-Haul truck that I had rented, but before I left we had a little going away party.  Yankee Cowboy had driven down to help also.  It was getting late, about 3 or 4 in the afternoon so we said our goodbyes and hit the road.  I was driving the truck and left a few minutes later than Yankee Cowboy.  I got as far as the parkway and then the truck broke down.  I made it to a parking area and found a nice lady that offered to let me use her cell phone to call U-Haul.  They said that they would send someone to come and get me and bring me another truck.  I waited, and waited, and waited.  Two hours later I was still sitting there in the truck waiting.

It was winter and it was dark and had started snowing.  I made my way over to a pay phone a few blocks away.  Once again I called U-Haul.  They told me that Continue reading