Something big between my legs

I was driving on a very scenic, winding road today. I had gone to run some errands and I decided to take the long way home. I was alone on the road for a good while, enjoying the cross-breeze through the open windows of the cab of my truck. Eventually, I approached a group of bikers, all on late-model Harley’s. They were taking their time, driving the speed limit, not in a hurry as they navigated the challenging curves the road offered. Respectfully, I kept a good distance between my bumper and the bike in front of me.

It’s “Bike Week” here in NH. Bikers from many neighboring states visit the Lakes Region of NH, primarily concentrated on the area in and around Lake Winnepesaukee. Bike Week has been a standing institution in NH for decades. It has evolved from a drunken, bloody week of hell-raising to an enormous gathering of bikers from all socio-economic backgrounds, all celebrating everything that is the motorcycle. Local businesses prep, advertise and rely on the revenue of this event. My Mom and Dad used to go as well.

I personally think that nothing screams ‘Murica more than thousands of loud, shiny 2-wheeled stallions ridden by men in helmets or merely bandanas and sunglasses on bikes ranging from choppers to full-dressed cruisers with women of wildly varied levels of attractiveness, decorum and let’s face it, weight class. You are almost guaranteed to get flipped off and flashed at least once during this event. The problem is that some of the “flashers” would be well advised to keep them under the shirt.
fat chick

It is truly a sight and a “people watcher’s” paradise.

Today, as my peaceful road morphed into a crowd of motorcycles I was in no hurry. I let them pass. I respect them and know how to keep my distance. I was now on a different road. Memory Lane.

I once had a bike, and although it was only for a brief, fleeting period it was one of the happiest times of my life. Every time I think about my riding days I’m not going to lie, I get a bit aroused. Seem unusual? Not when you hear this story.

In 1987 I worked at a local supermarket. I had been there for many years and had been promoted to Receiving Manager. The RM is the guy who takes deliveries from vendors and makes sure no monkey business is happening. I dealt with bread guys, the Hostess Guy, the milk guy etc., everything went through me. It was a great job. In the summer months, I would ride my motorcycle, a glimmering Honda CB650 which was a real nice bike in its day and park it on the loading dock so that I could keep an eye on it. It made me happy.

One vendor in particular was the Leggs pantyhose driver. I don’t think they are around anymore but in the day they sold their pantyhose in egg-shaped containers. They were also notorious for almost exclusively hiring smoking hot women to drive their trademark Vans. Our driver was no exception. Cheryl was a gorgeous woman of about 33 years old when I met her (I was 22). Five foot nothing, blonde hair, a cute smile and a posterior cortex that would make Perez Hilton straight (OK I exaggerate). Every time she made a delivery, she would progressively escalate her flirtatiousness towards me a little more. I was helpless to stop it. When she walked away, I truly couldn’t take my eyes off of her. How’s the saying go? “I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave?”

One day, she motioned to my motorcycle outside and asked me if it was mine. I told her it was. Her reply floored me. “I like motorcycles, it’s something big between my legs.”

My only response, after rolling my tongue up and forcing it back into my mouth was “I”m taking lunch soon, care to join?”

She looked at me and began walking out the back door. Transfixed as always by her gait, I was surprised when she did a hair flip, looked over her shoulder and said “meet me in my van.”
schwing

to be continued…

 

Dating in the modern world…

I’m an old-fashioned guy. In short, I look to a previous time for guidance in how I conduct myself. I have an eclectic approach, I’m not stuck in the past, but I do believe that previous generations possessed a code of conduct that worked and is lost on younger generations. I keep it alive because I’ve seen it in action, I believe in it and I do believe it is ingrained in me.

I suspect that I’m much older than most of my readers and I may be talking about an unfamiliar topic. For the sake of this writing, the old-fashioned values I cherish are as follows:

  • respect for elders
  • honoring your word
  • a firm handshake and direct eye contact
  • be tolerant and accepting of other’s viewpoints
  • holding the door for a lady

Did you double-take on the last one? Yes, I am a guy who holds a door for a lady. Not for a chick, a broad, a ho, bae, some strange or a side-bitch. A lady. And I will not apologize for this. I am fully aware that a woman can open her own door and I make no assumptions of dominance nor intend a lack of respect when I do it. It’s a nice gesture and I do it. I believe there are women, and a lot of them, that long for an old-fashioned guy. If they’ve never met one it’s about time they did.

Last night my mother opened a video sent her by one of her dating site connections. It was titled “Does this turn you on?” She opened it, it was a 74-year-old man jerking off for the camera. Facepalm…I thought an older man would be better than that. Mom does too.

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Dating has always been a game. Even though I’ve been in an exclusive, faithful relationship for 25 years I know that the game has changed. Dating is very casual. The conventional “relationship” has changed on both sides. Monogamy is considered an almost outdated construct. Sex is much easily obtained with a lot less effort and commitment. The way I knew it was a lot of work and few guaranteed results. Now, a man has to put in a bare-bones effort and is almost guaranteed to score. Women like hounds apparently.

I get it, it’s a by-product of the times. We live in a time where we are entitled to everything, hard work is not valued and instant gratification is awesome. We talk to each other through screens; we use text messaging to avoid conversation; we compromise our own integrity in the interest of cheap pleasure. There has to be something between my Grandfather’s day when a man “went a’ courting” his best gal and today’s man texting “‘sup bitch, wanna hook up?”

I don’t just want a woman that I can respect, I want a woman that respects herself. Sex is not a true victory, it’s just her letting a man into her pants. A true victory is when she respects you for how you treat her and she then lets you into her heart. Sex is great, but what are you going to talk about after?

I’ll continue to hold the door for a woman. I’m pretty sure when she’s done being offended she’ll find herself just a little turned on.

Dog chasing a car

Ever seen a dog chase a car? My first question was always “what is he going to do if he catches it?”

I made the mistake the other day of clicking on one of the “hookup” site links. I was feeling, well what the fuck let’s call it what it is, horny. My wife had told me earlier that day that even though we are not officially divorced yet if I wanted to “get back out there” she was fine with it. I guess that means she suggested it. I certainly don’t want a relationship so I entertained the idea of a casual thing. So I signed up, no credit card required appealed to me.

I instantly regretted it. I began getting bombarded with nude pics of really slutty women “near me” and very provocative messages. I immediately knew that this wasn’t for me. Despite how “delicious” I appeared to one lady; despite the fact that Paradise was the “only one who could take me there”; and contrary to Sexygodess17’s assertion that she’s “the one I’ve been looking for”,  it’s just not my style. I deleted the account immediately. Like a dog, if I chose to chase this car, what would I do with it if I caught it?

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I’m not a casual sex guy, never was. I like the idea of a Friend with Benefits. I have friends that have this. Just sex, no commitments of any kind. But I’m not wired for it. When I was a younger man I had many long-term relationships and a few one-nighters. I never felt right after the one-nighters. Laugh if you want but I respect women and felt dirty if I objectified them in any way. Even when they seemed perfectly fine with it I still needed two showers after. It’s how I am and if I have to choose, it’s a good thing.

I recently entertained the casual route because I’m not ready for the real thing.  For a lot of reasons, none of which has anything to do with my wife, she’s actually the one that gave me the green light.

I don’t like how I look. I’m still heavier than I want to be even though I’m losing it. I’m very self-conscious of the swelling in my legs and how it would look to someone should I take my clothes off in a lit room. And, since I am a brutally honest guy, I only have one testicle. I had testicular cancer when I was 31 and lefty was removed. I was offered a prosthetic but I said no, it’s not like I was dating or planned to. I was with my wife. I regret that now. I think a woman might get freaked out about that. Do I bring it up ahead of time or do I let her find out for herself? Should be interesting.

Again, in the interest of complete and brutal honesty, I must also confess that I haven’t had sex in 8 years. My wife shut me off then and I couldn’t bring myself to break the vows of my marriage. Several opportunities arose, as did I, but I abstained. I have stayed in my marriage for the children and all I had was my honor. If I was unfaithful, my children would lose respect for me and that’s all I have. So, not having gotten more than a handshake in that long, I am very reluctant to ask my next potential suitor for an instruction manual for her vagina. And a kleenex.

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Another issue is what do I have to offer? A woman my age would most certainly see that I have little or nothing to offer them. I can see the ad now:

Broke, balding, chronically ill heavy guy with one nut and a great sense of humor who lives with his mother for the foreseeable future seeks, well shit, ANYBODY. Confidence in the bedroom depending on how long it takes to turn out the light.

I really want to meet someone to spend time with. To walk and talk, read and watch movies, drink and hang out, and be casual with the pace. On top of everything else I don’t have, I don’t have baggage. I’m actually a pretty good guy and fun to be with if someone can get past all…that…shit.

At least Advil helps with the Carpal Tunnel.