Monday, August 11, 2014

Tip of the Mountain, part 0

The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from being seen

But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine
Take a woman like you 
To get through to the man in me.
--Bob Dylan

Suspend reality for a moment. Pretend that you know nothing about dating. Pretend you have never been in a relationship in your life. Pretend that you don't even know the first thing about courting a member of the opposite sex (or the same, if you prefer). Picture, for a moment, that all the rules about how a relationship should work are able to violate themselves for one brief moment. And in that moment, love can be born completely ex nihilo. 

Jacob slaved 7 years for the wrong woman, another 7 for the right woman, and ended up in one fucked up dysfunctional marriage. I may as well have bided my time for a woman I am glad I ended up with.  


In my dreams, she was far from angelic. She was the opposite of the aidele maidel that I was programmed to pursue from the time I was young. She would never be the type to stay at home and clean my dishes while I earned some bread. She smoked. She cursed. She most certainly did not put up with my bullshit. I do not even remember what our first conversation was about. All I know is that we argued about something. One of many we would get into. 

And somehow, I managed to get her number by the end of that conversation. Unusually smooth for me. 


I sat there, almost naked in front of her. It was a hot summer day. I was wearing a worn pair of boxer shorts, and nothing else.  I must have looked like something between a beached whale and a hobbit reclining there. 

She sat there on her bed. She was wearing shorts and an orange tank top. She was barefoot, hair clipped upward, and with small round glasses. 

How long can two young, supple ventigenarians successfully live together and not allow their sexual tensions to get in the way. If every bad sitcom and chick flick was correct, not very. 

Sure, society says that a man and a woman should not cohabitate before marriage. Even if they live in separate bedrooms, never see each other naked, and never even hold hands, they have violated a sacred taboo. And even those who are more open and liberated ask what the fuck is wrong with us. Why don't we just fuck already?  Or make love, if you prefer. 
But sometimes, a couple is simply not ready to cross over to the other side. Sometimes, when things are rushed into, they implode. 

I can only imagine what would have happened if we tried engaging in coitis early on in our relationship. 

Perhaps she would find me too forceful. 
Perhaps my lack of confidence would turn her off. She is probably more used to men who already have a well established sexual routine. 
After all
It's not like I was a cherry. I was not. 
Then again
It's not like I ever enjoyed sex either. 
I had never been with a woman who gave me room to find my own sexual identity. 
All the women I had been with were bad for me. 
The wrong sort. 
Yes, they expected me to already know my way around their holy of holies when I was a mere plebeian. 
She might have been put off by my puerility.

Or perhaps she would have enjoyed it.
But we were not ready for each other.
Inevitably, we would get into a fight.
Things would fizzle out.

In short, she would have just been a fling. But the best damn fling I would ever have.

Pop quiz, no peeking:
What's the worst place to take a woman on a date?

A strip club is probably not the absolute worst. But it's pretty fucking bad.

This night in late August was just another night for us. She wanted to go to Atlantic City. Funds were too low. So instead, we went to a strip club.

It was a waste of $200. But the best damn waste of $200 ever.

The drinks were watered down and insipid.
The chairs were comfy.
The girls were concerned that I wasn't slobbering over them. Maybe I was too polite. They thought it was because I was with my wife and she was being a buzzkill. Actually, we are not married and it was her idea to go to the club.

They tried to make small talk with me. I was never good with small talk.
They asked me what I do. I said "special ed teacher". She said "but you don't look like a teacher, you look like a rock star!"
I guess I do look like I'm in a band. It helps when I'm trying to get into a club. They sometimes let me in for free because they think I'm with the band. I do give off that vibe.

The women were very good at what they do. They kept dragging me away from her, into the corner, and tried getting me into the champagne room. I smiled and told them that when I make champagne room money, I will oblige. Until then, I pay by the lap dance.

Our Cupid was a dancer who was on her off session. She was slightly older than the others. She had short hair, yellowing teeth, and a thick Romanian accent. She may not have been as sleek as the other dancers, but what she lacked in youth she more than made up for in experience.

She came over to us. Gave us both a dance at the same time. She caressed us both. She took off her dress. She rubbed her tits against us both.  I really appreciated the lack of cellulite on her. They were probably no bigger than b-cups. They sagged slightly. But I prefer the natural look. They looked great on her.

She even kissed us both on the cheek.

Perhaps the sexiest dance we both had that night.


A moment alone. We were spent and almost ready to go.

I was complaining about how I just didn't have the funds to spend on more services that night.

She said "you know you could have me for free, right?"

Now, I do not shock easily. Very few things in this world actually surprise me.

My reaction must have been a paradoxical combination of surprise and "well, what do you expect?"