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Posts Tagged ‘mussels’

The World Cup game on the 7th was intense. We all gathered at a local Irish pub and with beers and ciders in hand, stayed glued to the screen for over 90 minutes of tension, until finally, the match was called and Spain was declared the winner over Germany.  Cooper Fiennes and I had discussed going dancing that evening, however, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He decided he wanted to get some work done that evening and sleep in, so perhaps no dancing. Instead, we planned on some dinner and then I was going to head home. Only I didn’t make it home any sooner than if we had gone dancing.

I brought him to a local seafood and barbeque place that is known as a foodie’s paradise. He ordered barbecued beef ribs while I had mussels and french fries. We chatted in our normal friendly way and then, after our meals were finished, I moved over to the banquette and sat beside him. His hand ran up my skirt as we drank bad sangria and looked around the room to ensure no one saw what he was doing. After we left, we walked around wondering where we could go make out. There were no parks, no alleys, no where private. My place, dirty, was too far away. His place, new flat mate, wasn’t cleared for overnight guests yet. So, dilemma, what to do?

Cars by the hour, cars when you want them…. rental cars are the saving grace of horny people everywhere! I made a reservation over the phone and picked one up about 20 minutes later. As I drove, panties on the floor board of the car, his hand was between my legs. That makes it really difficult to concentrate on the road, in case you are wondering. At one point I pulled off the road into an alley because I was going to crash or cum. Unfortunately, I didn’t do one, and fortunately, I didn’t do the other. I did, however, ask him to stop so we could get somewhere that I could park the car without risk for arrest.

20 minutes later we were parked behind a warehouse with a waterfront view of the city. After ten minutes of grinding my knee on the passenger door as I was grinding myself on him, we decided to move to the back seat.  it was a remarkably roomy car, allowing for extended foreplay, three sexual position changes, and some post coital cuddling. Not bad. We looked at the view of the night skyline and listened to the radio pump out old Cure songs. I was strangely content.

I made him return the car, it was in his neighborhood. Since we fucked behind a warehouse in mine, I figured he could return the car to his. Only fair, correct?  The only truthful negatives to car sex? Upholstery burn on my knee, a bruised nipple and arm. Are these wounds a fair trade for hot sex with my Spaniard? Always. Viva Espana!

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Okay, it was Wednesday and totally NOT on the game plan. The day started as normal as most of mine do. My pup was out to meet with her canine boyfriend for a playdate, I had a client meeting, and then after a long look in a mirror, that is when things got interesting. I noticed my grey was more noticeable than my highlights, at least to me. Jesus Christ, time for a hair appointment.

I always forget that my hair stylist  is constantly booked. She IS amazing, but considering I live my life in a constant state of spontaneity, it sucks to have to plan. I also forget that she doesn’t work on the days that are usually best for my schedule. I called the salon and was told that she had some appointments on Saturday. Ugh, the problem with that is this, once you have noticed how bad your hair looks, there is NO going back. You feel awful everyday until it’s rectified. I realized that I would be ending my day a bit earlier than expected so I called to see if there was a way to get squeezed in at some point in the late afternoon. Turns out she had an opening at the end. THANK YOU GOD!

Hmm, so then I started thinking, well damn, my hair looks SO good after a cut and foil, shame to let it go to waste. No, really, it looks HOT. I texted Cooper Fiennes to see what his availability was for drinks after work. Turned out he had a soccer match in the park so he wanted to make it a dinner and drinks scenario later, if that would work for me. Hells yeah!

Now, I don’t have much of an excuse these days to get really sexy. What I do for a living, what I do for fun, it’s all fairly casual. Wednesday night though, I wanted to feel like a sexy woman, so I ran by three resale shops and found a dress that I was semi on the fence about when I tried it on… consider that my legs were furry, my hair still grey and shaggy, and I wasn’t wearing the right undergarments or shoes or makeup. There was SOMETHING about it though. It had this rouching to it that gave the illusion of curves to my no T and no A body…and a neckline that kicked ass! Did I mention it was $24 ?! Score. Maybe it could produce a miracle and make me feel hot even though I was day 4 of my fucking period. So, unfortunately, no sex was on the table. I don’t fuck when I am bleeding.

I had two hours to get my dog home, shave (I know! This girl is having issues affording the professional waxing though), grab my makeup, the shoes, and jewelry and get to the salon for my hair appointment. I decided I would apply the makeup and get dressed after my appointment and then meet him at a local bar. I had considered that it would be hot to do a little role-playing. Pretend we are strangers, etc. Alas, by the time he told me he was headed home to shower after the game and I was still getting my hair trimmed and blown out,I found myself a bit tired, so I decided instead for Starbucks.

As per usual, my stylist did an AMAZING job. I love you, you know who you are and eventually you will read this post, when you have some free time and can catch up! Sadly she ran out the door as I was getting ready in the dressing room, so she missed the final look, but BRAVO! I paid, ran out to CVS to grab some polish and touch up my fingernails since there was no time for a manicure with his arrival in T minus…. x amount of minutes. The nails got painted in an alley way and the iced Americano imbibed while trying to look nonchalant yet sexy while reading the New York Times. I refused to look up at the door each time i heard it open. I hate public transportation because it’s so reliably unpredictable. I made it through all the interesting segments of the Times and was just headed into the mind numbing part when C.F. was standing over me with a grin from ear to ear. When I looked up,” wow”, was the only thing he could say. Yay! Now THAT is the response most girls want when they get sexied up, right?!

We wandered over to a local restaurant that I had previously had really great experiences with. Wednesday night however, I had the waiter from hell. Disinterested, unattractive, unfriendly and just hilariously awful. He didn’t ask what we wanted to drink, he didn’t mention specials, he didn’t say hello, instead, he lumbered over to the table, stood too closely and just stared at us. Umm, ok. I have a food allergy, so I asked him to ask the chef what would be appropriate, instead he told me that I should just tell him what I like, and the chef will make me something special. I don’t want that. I just want to know what 4 dishes on the menu are safe. He should know this automatically. That is HIS job. Anyway, the service just kept getting more and more laughable. I asked for my mussels and my heirloom tomato salad to come together, the salad gets dropped off first. I moved it aside. The other server notices and asks if I want my mussels to come out with C.F’s steak frites. Umm, yeah, that IS why I asked for them together in the first place. After we finished our meals he stood over us and asked,”yeah?” as we looked at the dessert menus. Seriously, Gordon Ramsey would make this fat man cry if he were ever to serve him! At the end, C.F. asked how much we liked him, “10% “, I replied. Then C.F. asked what we were doing next. “Going back to your place?”, I replied with the added stipulation that we could only do 85% because of my bitch ass period.

After an eventful train ride that provided a lot of amusement from the drug and alcohol fueled patrons, we arrived at our stop. I quickly switched from the heels to my flats for the walk to his sublet. The 15 minute walk took 30 because of all of the times he stopped to push me up against a building or tree and kiss me. Awesome awesome. Not complaining about that. Not complaining about the molestation in the elevator or the hallway or even that we weren’t in his place 5 minutes before he had picked me up and thrown me on his bed. Okay. Sure. So, long story short… aside from a 20 minute mood kill when I noticed the lighting in the room shift and glanced behind me to see the computer scrolling through a  photo slide show that was resting at an older fat photo of his best friend, we had 4 hours of total naked hotness. He asked me later how it’s possible that I give such good head, having been a lesbian for 12 years. I replied that it must be kinda like riding a bike… you don’t really forget. He accidently gave me a hickey on my neck (definitely NO dates for a few days. Thank GOD Type Geek is in Europe drinking beer right now and not here!) and I was feeling a little grrrr-umbly about that until I looked at his bed sheets and saw the hand prints. One thumb nail sized hickey versus bloody hand prints? Ha Ha Ha. I think I got the better end of the deal. Obviously I eventually decided to fuck him, regardless of my rule about my period. I looked too good. So did he and honestly, at a certain point… you aren’t feeling self conscious anymore, you just want to fuck. And fuck we did. Thank you my Spaniard friend. I will gladly give up 4 hours of sleep every night to be thrown around by him.

What does everyone think? Do you or don’t you when you or your partner is in period hell?

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Yes, my dear dedicated readers… I went on a date last night. With someone new. With someone different. I know, shudder to think, huh?!

Anyway, we met up around 4, I had an appointment in the area that ended at 3:30 and so we decided to meet in the grassy park area in front of a local coffeehouse. 3:45 turned into 4 and a text message apologizing that a client phoned him soon followed. The dog and I sat drinking our iced green tea, reading a Bark Magazine and time turned into 4:30. Oy, with the waiting. He finally appeared a few minutes later. We decided to get him an iced green tea as well and then take a walk to the river with my pooch. The dog was on full tilt. I often joke that my dog has an illegal meth production lab in my bathroom that she runs when I am gone for the day. She’s a crazy tweaker, but I love her madly. Maybe it’s something less insidious… like a love for espresso, that enables her to maintain this insane energy. He decided to hold her leash, ummm, ha ha ha. She behaves for me on leash, not so much for the boys. To her, boys are meant for playing tug of war. I chuckled watching him try to control her.

So, who is this guy? He’s a professional design geek with a love of typography and sinister imagery. He used to be a rock musician, hence the creepy leanings, but since I have a taxidermied deer leg lamp and Bison skull, who am I to judge? So, we will call him Type Geek. He’s nice. Shorter than what I tend to, and over time I have realized I love having hair to play with, which he doesn’t have either. Grr, with the shaving off of the hair. Oh well.

We sat on the side of the river for a while then decided to go get some adult cocktails. It was nice out, so we decided to sit outside. Slowly the sun started to fade and the night grew cooler. Having the dog meant being unable to move inside so we suffered the cool down with a couple cocktails, some steamed mussels and shiitake mushrooms baked with goat cheese. The dog had a side of anchovies, a few mussels and a crostini, while making friends all over the patio. Conversation flowed easily but it felt more friendly than anything. He gets approached by 50-year-old cougars and I was his first ever internet date. I seem to be a lot of people’s first ever internet dates. Sigh.

I have a couple tentative dates set up with two other guys but rain is predicted. I would rather stay home and organize my house, do laundry and get some things taken care of with work. Does this make me pathetic? I know, I am just not feeling the enthusiasm. It’s hard to get excited for vanilla ice cream when you want creme brulee. Hard to have creme brulee when it’s out of stock.

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I had the birthday that almost wasn’t. The night before I had met up with a friend for Pho, knowing I was sick, he offered to drive up to the curb and pick me up, then drive me the few blocks to my condo.I had all of my belongings in my hand, including my phone and walked 8 feet to his car. I remembered looking at my phone in my hand in the car. I then hug him goodbye and get out of the car and walk the 8 feet to my door, unlock it, place everything on the chair next to the door and walk my dog. When I got back in I went for my phone so that I could call Brooklyn back in order to coordinate our plans for my bday but my phone wasn’t there. Hell, it was in his car. I had a friend online texting the friend whose car it was in, only to have that friend respond repeatedly that it wasn’t in there. I’m not crazy, days later and I still say that eventually it is going to show up in his car. Now, here is where it get’s funny. As I am talking to Brooklyn via internet IM, a storm is coming through and wipes out his power. So, he is available only by phone and I am available only by email. Well, surely his power will be on by the morning, right? No, it wasn’t. He sent a text message to my email letting me know his phone battery was dying and I responded by exclaiming that he needed to get out of his town and find someplace with power to recharge!!!

It’s 4 pm before I get a new phone, which before mail in rebate, kills my budget. As soon as it is charged I send-off a text to Brooklyn hoping that all is going to run smoothly. The little alert button makes its special little noise and success, we are reconnected! The day’s follies are yet to be over though! I rush home, meet my last client and jump in the shower. We plan on his picking me up around 6, but he gets lost. This seems to be something he does quite often. He recently called me from Brooklyn, completely lost and needing my mapquest help. It’s endearing, it doesn’t bother me. As someone who runs always 15 minutes late, it buys me time in getting ready! He calls me at 6:30 and again, I pull out the mapquest and talk him through the route. I hang up when he is 4 minutes from me, a straight line of 8 blocks. 15 minutes later he is still not at my house. Did he evaporate on the bridge? Finally he shows up, turns out he got a work call that required his urgent attention and needed to pull over to write some things down. I finally get into the family van at 7. I don’t care about any plans other than hanging out with him, so the evening is already a success in my mind.

He had said that he wanted to take me out to dinner at least, so I decided I was craving mussels and french fries and we headed to a place that has a non traditional approach, cooking the mussels in a Thai coconut milk and lime broth. Yummers! There was a half hour wait by the time we got there, after getting lost, of course. We walked down to a little bookstore and wandered around for 20 min to pass the time waiting for our table. He looked at a book on Gnomes, a favorite of mine from childhood, while I bought a book about the Bronx Zoo, printed in 1913. The restaurant called us and we headed over. We had plantains to start and then our meals came, Brooklyn had never had french fries dipped in mayo, which is the only way to have them with mussels, and he had never had mussels. Yay, two firsts eliminated with one meal!

What to do next? It was only 10. I had read that there was a midnight viewing of a 1974 sexploitation film at a local theatre that night, so we decided campy and hilarious was the way to go. With two hours to spare we walked to a local cafe and sat and drank tea for an hour, only to be kicked out at 11 when they were closing. PLEASE, closing at 11 pm on a Friday night? I miss NYC. We walked to the car and drove over to the neighborhood where the movie was showing. At that hour, in this town parking was easy and the theatre said we didn’t need to pre purchase tickets because there was no way it would sell out. Okay, 45 minutes to burn until movie time. There was a cute little bar a block down the street and tables available, craziness. Again, with this being a Friday and a ghost town. WTF?! We cozied up at a table and made mention to each other that we are that obnoxious pda couple at bars and restaurants. The sheer amount of times we kissed across the dinner table or I fed him a mussel or french fry by hand. Ha, oh well. We looked at the clock. Shit shit movie starts at 12:30, it’s 12:32.

We walked quickly to the theatre and made it just as they were locking the door, phew! He got the tickets, I bought the peanut m&m’s and we settled into one of the last rows. The theatre staff wasn’t joking. This particular theatre seats 350 people, at least. There were maybe 15 people there, total. The film was hysterical. The acting, the clothes, the soundtrack, all of it was pure 70’s brilliance. I fed Brooklyn m&m’s while we kissed and laughed our asses off. At one point I got up to use the rest room. Upon coming back I straddled him for a minute in his chair for a few minutes of inappropriate public theatre kissing. It was fantastic. Have I mentioned that he is awesome?

By the time the movie was over it was after 2. He needed to get home. I needed to get home. But I also really needed to kiss on him for a bit in a way that was far too intimate to do in public. When we were sitting in the van getting ready to go, I moved all the items from between the seats away so I could kneel there. The seats are so far apart that you can’t sit in your seats and kiss from there. It’s as if he is in Boise and I am in Charlotte. We made out, 98% chastely as we were on a main street, for an hour. He slid my hand down at one point and may I note, knowing what I am missing is not making missing it any easier. Why did we say we are being chaste and waiting? Oh yes, because we are masochists.I am not sure how much longer I can wait without climbing walls. We need to either reduce the amount of times we see each other each week and do so only in public places or we need to, in the great words of Marvin Gaye, get it on.

When he brought me home I was exhausted, yet intensely awake. I straddled him in the car and we kissed for 10 more minutes before we said goodnight. Really, I was a lesbian for 12 years? Who is this boy? He’s killing me slowly but super friggin’ fantastically.

Our Tuesday posts are now being web syndicated by The New Gay. For more intelligent queer coverage of culture, ideas and events, check out www.thenewgay.net

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