That would be me.
When in relationships, monogamy has always been my preference. I like knowing where the other person has been, and where they are when I’m not around. I like that my partner knows the same about me. It provides a comfort zone, one of the main reasons to be in a relationship.
As people get older, baggage accumulates. Shit gets complicated. Fourteen-and-fresh-off-the-line not only won’t work for me anymore, it doesn’t sound appealing.
I like my women ripe, not budding.
Dr T summed it up when I was mentioning one lady-friend: “What the fuck fun is a woman without issues?”
One of the issues my girlfriend is dealing with? A ten-year relationship on its last legs. The old boyfriend doesn’t know it, but he’s being replaced…
Meg has been involved with a retired US Marshal for about ten years. I have been respectful of this relationship, even after I found out the Marshal is still married. I did lose respect after hearing the Marshal yelling at Meg over the phone. She has repeated his verbal abuses. I don’t see how she tolerates it.
Lately, things between Meg and I have been nice. I spend almost all my free time with her. She is self-employed, and has been working when I work so we can hang out and do nothing together. I will borrow Sister’s minivan and we will cruise. I will go to her hotel and curl up on her bed until just before 11 PM, when non-residents have to leave. (She gets two weeks of sleepovers per year, and I’ve used up about half of them already.) I bring her an occasional bottle of rum, or a beer. She rubs my back and cuddles me for half an hour before I have to return to work. It’s been sweet.
The Marshal is oblivious. After a particularly abusive diatribe, Meg hung up on him, cried just a little, and said, “Fuck him. He just called me a stupid cunt for the last time.” She began texting furiously. “There.”
“What did you do?” I sensed mischief.
“I just texted him, ‘Hi. Just got laid. HE won’t call me a stupid cunt…’ One more…” She typed some more, then showed me her all-caps missive: “I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU. NO MORE ABUSE, VERBAL OR OTHERWISE. GOODBYE.”
She clicked her phone shut. “He won’t learn how to text, so he has to have his best friend read them to him. He oughta love that ‘Just got laid’ one…”
And so we forgot about the Marshal, and went about our cozy, friendly weekend. An invitation to hurry across town and ‘take care of something’ before work? You betcha! “Swing by for ‘lunch’?” Hell yeah! Wednesday I was sore, tired, and oh so happy about life.
Come Saturday, our significant others were wondering. The Marshal began calling Meg on Friday. “Call me if you can string four words together,” was one voicemail he left.
I suggested a response, “Three words too many.”
While he kept calling and trying to make nice, I was fielding calls from Rain. She had blipped off the radar for a while, and I was too busy pursuing and enjoying Meg’s company to be upset. Rain is used to me coming around on Saturday.
That’s when Meg usually visits the Marshal. Instead, I was in Meg’s bed, tripping on hard candy and fondling her milky thigh. Rain kept calling. So did the Marshal.
“Gee, someone sounds insecure. I think he needs to read his texts.” Meg was impressed at how nice the Marshal was being.
I replied, “He probably already has, and is pretending he hasn’t. Why else would he change?” The Marshal’s obnoxious bellowing is too ingrained for him to stop doing it naturally.
It was early, and Meg looked tired. “I think I’m gonna go,” I said. “The Marshal isn’t going to leave you alone, so enjoy the attention. I’m gonna go home and make some dinner.”
I kissed her goodnight, and could hear her phone ringing as I walked down the hall. Oh well.
Once checked out of Meg’s hotel, I turned toward the west and walked uphill in the rain. I sent a two-word text into the ether: “You around?”
Fifteen seconds later, a picture of Rain’s right boob popped up on my phone screen. “Hey baby, where you been? You mad at me?”
“Nah, just busy. What ya doing?”
“You, if you get over here.”
“I am walking your way.” There are blessings and drawbacks to having girlfriends living five blocks apart.
I spent an hour at Rain’s, testing the limits of old people’s back flexibilities while doing floor gymnastics naked. She received a phone call, and I chose not to listen. I put my pants on, wiggled fingers at her sweet smile and let myself out.
As I stood under the umbrella waiting for the bus, I could smell her on me. I pulled out my phone and texted, “Your scent intoxicates me. I’ve missed you, Miss Innie. See you around…” I hit SEND and looked for my bus. Three blocks away.
My phone rang. It was Rain. “Hey lover, thank you for spicing up my night. Look across the street, in front of the bar.” I looked. It was Rain. She waved. “I knew you was texting me. You always do after. I like that. Love you, Outie!”
I got on the bus, and gave Rain the biggest, cheesiest grin I could muster. She waved three different ways, and a few blocks down the road I received another text: “That was pretty sweet, Outie.” I had to agree. When Rain is into it, and not just putting up with my lechery, it can be a LOT of fun.
Into each life a little Rain must fall, and I’m going to soak in mine.
As long as there’s a retard Marshal in the picture, anyway…