“You’re sexy,” I said.
She smiled a small smile that showed she was well pleased with herself.
“And smug,” I added.
“Smug? What’s smug about me?”
“Your puss,” I said, meaning her face.
“It’s snug, not smug,” she said, patting it over her jeans.
We were on the subway on our way to a party.
A crowd of college students got on at the next stop. I was casually observing them and their antics. Lo looked over at me and gave me a nasty look.
“What?” I said innocently.
“You know what,” she said accusingly.
“No, I don’t know what.”
“Hmmph,” she said, turning away with a snooty look on her face.
“Lo,” I said in my defense, “I admit I was looking over at them, but as I would look at anyone.” I’m a people watcher. It’s true. But when Lo catches me watching anyone who fits her profile of “stick-skinny-blonde-bitches,” then I’m done for.
“Why don’t you propose to her? It’s not too late,” she said.
“Which one?” I shot back, “There’s three of them.”
“The skinniest one. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
Now, dear reader, I have no idea how Lo has gotten this into her head. For some inexplicable reason she thinks that “a mop handle with a blonde wig” is enough to command my attention. Nothing could be further from the truth and you’d think that after all these years of doting dedication to Lo, she would believe me by now.
The rowdy bunch of partygoers exited the train, leaving it quieter and more intimate than it seemed before they got on.
“You gonna run after them?” Lo asked sarcastically.
“Darling, the ladies run after me, not the other way round.”
“Oh, ho!” she roared, “is that so?”
“Well, one lady does, at least.”
“Who is she, I’ll rip her limb-from-limb!”
“Darling,” I said sweetly, “I was talking about you.”
“Oh, right,” she said embarrassed, “I knew that. I was just playing with you.”
Some strangers on the train were taking notice of us. I believe Lo saw them as well as I and then she switched into performance mode, acting out in an exaggerated way like Nick and Nora Charles from the old The Thin Man movies.
“You realize, don’t you, that it’s not long since you were in college yourself. You’re up on a mighty tall horse for one so low to the ground,” I said.
“I’m known for riding tall horses,” she quipped — half the dirty meaning of that lost on our impromptu audience.
I looked at her and said, “I’ll have you know, I’m not an easy stallion to ride.”
“No, I’m the easy one and you’re the hard one,” she said, brushing her hand over my crotch as she reached toward me, pretending to button one of the buttons of my shirt.
“You look old in that shirt and those pants,” she remarked.
“I am old,” I responded.
“You look older than you are.”
“I’m older than that, even.”
I saw the woman across from us laugh and shyly look up at me, slightly embarrassed that her eavesdropping was found out, but I made her feel welcome to continue listening in with the amused look on my face.
“Stop,” said Lo, “you will be old if you keep saying things like that.”
“You know what they say, ‘forty is the new twenty.’ By that logic I’m. . .” I pretended to be figuring out the math in my head, “dead.”
“You will be dead and I’ll be the one to kill you if you ever die on me. You got that mister?!”
Thankfully, it was our stop and we got up to go. I gave the woman across from us a little knowing wink as we left. She smiled.
At the party we met a number of people we knew and some we didn’t. There was one woman, in particular, who was new to both of us. She was probably somewhere between Lo’s age and mine and she didn’t quite fit in with the younger set there. I made some small-talk with her to find out her story. Turns out she was divorced and was invited by a work friend to join the party. Her work friend thought it would be a good way to meet people, but she just felt awkward. I commiserated with her and relayed the story of my own divorce and the troubles I went through. She immediately latched onto me as a social island in a sea of single millennials. But I could see in her eye that she was probably hoping for something more.
As we were chatting, I could see Lo watching my every move from across the room. She pretended like she didn’t care, like she didn’t even notice, but the darts shooting from her eyes into my conversation partner were flying so fiercely that I wondered that they didn’t slay her right then and there.
I lost track of where or what Lo was up to and was engrossed in this woman’s story about changing careers from advertising to public relations for a political campaign. She was charming and just as I was laughing at the punchline of her story, Lo appeared. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked me.
“Hello, Lo,” I said awkwardly. “This is. . . uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I said even more awkwardly. Names go through my noggin like a sieve.
“Diane,” she said, very politely.
“Right,” I said, “Diane. This is Lo.”
Lo introduced herself, “I’m Lo, HH’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Diane asked without thinking.
“Yes,” I said. It the course of our conversation it just hadn’t come up that I was attached. It was an innocent omission. I swear! Changing the subject just as rapidly as I could, I said, “Diane used to be in advertising and now she’s in politics.”
“Really?” said Lo, sarcastically, “I suppose that makes you perfectly qualified to stab people in the back,” she remarked as if it were a joke, but I had to force a laugh. The conversation went downhill from there.
Before long we were making excuses to the host as to why we had to leave so early. On the subway ride home Lo wasn’t speaking to me.
“What? What is it?” I pleaded.
“You know what.”
“Oh, not this again. Just say it. Stop with the insinuations.”
“Her — Diane,” she said with a mocking tone.
“What about her?”
“Blonde,” I completed her phrase. “So what? I was just making small-talk.”
“I saw her. I saw the way she was looking at you. She was staring at your crotch and I can’t say I blame her with those pants you’re wearing.”
“I thought you said the pants I’m wearing make me look old?”
“They do, but they also make your junk look huge!”
“They’re khakis. They bulge.”
“That’s no optical illusion,” she said, rubbing my crotch.
“Lo, we’re in public. You could get arrested.”
She pulled her hand away quickly — not out of fear of the police, but when she remembered she was mad at me. “Were you hard?”
“At the party?”
“Yes, at the party.”
“You looked it.”
“My God, did it look like I was walking around with a codpiece?”
Despite herself, Lo laughed and said, “I love that I’m dating a guy who is so old that he actually uses the word ‘codpiece’ in everyday conversation.”
“Not everyday conversation, my dear, only in conversation with you.”
When we got home, she immediately got naked and said, “Have me, Daddy!”
“Whoa! What’s with the 180?” I asked.
“You know how much seeing you with another woman and getting jealous makes me want to jump your bones!”
“Well, though I do like to see you groveling with your tail between my legs, I’m going to have a little snack first.”
“Yes, the food at that party was deplorable! Who serves popcorn as an appetizer?” As I prepared my snack, I asked Lo, “Were you a Crackerjack kid?”
“I loved the caramel popcorn, but I hated the nuts.”
“Well, I said a resounding Yes to it all — caramel, popcorn, and nuts.”
“Just like Nietzsche would do.”
“That’s right, because you know what I always say? What’s life without a few nuts in it?”
“And you know what I always say?” asked Lo, “What’s life without a few nuts in my mouth?”
“Why do you turn everything I say into a sexual innuendo?”
“Because I’m good at it.”
I poured my milk and had my three chocolate chip cookies.
“You just ate 300 calories!” said Lo, shocked at my horrible diet.
“No I didn’t,” I said, “I just ate two circles of delicious and one cup of yum.”
“You’re incorrigible. Here I am trying my best to work out and eat healthily and you’re showing absolutely no support. You know, I lost eleven pounds.”
“I hope you remember where you put them. Did you check the lost and found?”
“See, no support.”
“I totally support you. I just don’t want to lose this,” I said as I grabbed her by her hips.
“Get out! I’m not a loaf of bread!”
“But I kneed you. Get it?”
“Yeah, I get it. It’s not funny. I hate that you make fun of my weight and grab at me like that.” The laughter had gone out of her voice.
“Sweetheart,” I said, “don’t you see? Don’t you see how beautiful you are to me? Besides your beauty, you are the one person on this planet who understands me inside and out. You’re the one person who knows when I’m sad before I’m sad and knows I’m manic before I’m manic. You’re the one person on the plant who will put up with my craziness. You are the one person whose ego is big enough to tolerate my worship (and still have room for more)! You’re the one I dream of when I’m alone and the one I want to be with when we’re together. There is no one else. You, the way you are physically and emotionally and mentally, are all I want, need, and crave.” As I said this, I looked deeply into her big brown tearful eyes as she stood naked in front of me by the kitchen counter. “I don’t want some blonde-bimbo whose waist is as thin as my wrist. I want you. I know I joke that ‘we have to plump you up,’ but part of me isn’t joking. I love you — all of you. I love this and this and this and this.” As I said it, I kissed different soft parts of her body. “It’s like that song says, ‘Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top.’” As I said it, I slapped her bottom with a love tap.
We went into the bedroom. She hopped on the bed and wiggled her ass. She looked at me over her shoulder as I sang, “I’m bringing booty baaaaaaack.” And I gave her a spank with my leather belt.
“How about that mouthful of nuts, Daddio?” she asked desirously.
“First,” I said, “tell me where you went at the party when I didn’t see you.”
“Oh,” she said very casually, “I went into the back room with the boys.”
“Did you, now?”
“Yeah, you jealous?”
“No, I’m intrigued.”
“You would be! Get jealous. Do you want to know what I did in there?”
“Well, when we were all in there, my engine was revving. I was hungry like a dog for a bone.”
“Were you?” I was getting hard before her very eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, “and at one point I got on my knees in front of all of them.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, I made like I had dropped my napkin, and I went to pick it up. I was surrounded by four or five guys and my face was level with their hips. I felt like a dog begging for their treats.”
“You’re an awfully bad girl.”
“Yes, I’m jealous that I didn’t get to see that.”
She took my treat in her mouth and she was good, very good, at what she did. I came in her mouth she hopped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. I heard the water running. A little put off, when she returned I asked, “Spitting, not swallowing?”
“Counting calories, you know.”
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]