Black Coffee In Bed

September 13, 2006 at 4:29 PM | Posted in Personal | 3 Comments
  Back in the Outer Metro Area, I once again enjoy the 45 to 55 minute drive to work.  I was used to it, and then I easily adapted when living with my dad to a 17 minute drive.
  What helps the most, of course, is living with Detroit.  Not in Detroit, with Detroit; pay attention.  Although I do spend an inordinate amount of time in–
  Okay, never mind.
  But the times, they are a changin’.  Time in my life for change.  I swear I feel I have never been happier in my life.  Sucks for the writing:  how the hell am I supposed to find shit to write about and bitch about?  It’s a bunch of fuckin crap, I tell ya!  This is more happiness than one man can fucking stand!  How the hell am I supposed to maintain my edgy, eclectic, on-the-edge style of writing?  Fuck.  I am going to turn all soft and mushy, and my fans and groupies are going to turn on me, and I will go the way of the mastodon or George Michael, although with much less sexual ambiguity.
  It’s bullshit, I tell ya.  My sane, well-reasoned, carefully crafted blurbs on various topics, such as customer service–which always seem to come off as childish, psychotic, incoherent rants for some reason– are what the customer (you) come to me and read for.  I get that I am a security blanket for a lot of people.  As long as I rant, all is well with the world.
  But what the hell do I have to complain about now?  Too much sex?  If it was anything, it would be the way my goddamn middle-aged body has betrayed me, not allowing me to have as much sex as I want.  And how much would that be?
  I’m torn here.  I know most of you know Detroit, know her better than me, like her better than me, are better friends with her than me.  Any tales I tell out of school will come back to her, but also make me sound like a crass, uncouth jackoff.
  I suppose it should suffice to say that she is getting all she ever wanted, and she is very satisfied, and happy.  And of course I am too.  Go ahead, just try to wipe this stupid grin off my face.  Try.  We aren’t having sex like teenagers, of course–we aren’t that clumsy.  More like middle-aged. . . minks.
  Minks that are making up for lost time.
  Speaking of making up for lost time.. .
  I started smoking recently.  If you recall one of my articles from the past, I said I was going to wait until I was 60 to start smoking.  I figure that most people start when they are young, and I feel young again all over.  Plus, since I am older, I will die of something else before this kills me.
  Detroit has said she wants to quit, so this was probably a bad time to pick it up.  But I have smoked before, for literally months, before I got tired of it and quit.  I will probably do the same this time, especially if she wants to quit.  I can drop it pretty easily.  But right now I am enjoying it, I smoke thin cigars, cigarellos, and I look REALLY cool.  Plus, I only smoke in the car, and it is a drive to and from work.  Max, 2 or 3 a day. 
  I never was a heavy drinker, but I like a beer once in a while.  The Storm was occasionally on my back about it.  Not verbally; she would just give me the look, and sigh.  But that came to lose meaning for me after a while.  I mean, I did whatever I wanted before, with a wife breathing down my back, disapproving of everything I did.
  Now I have Detroit, who has said repeatedly (and she has had to say it repeatedly, because I was so indoctrinated, so trained, that it has taken a while to undo my previous brainwashing) that I can do what I want.  She says I can do what I want because she knows that "whatever I want" does not include anything that would hurt her.  Mostly, whatever I want has to do with pleasing her.
  Whatever I want–
  I feel like a teenager with his first car.  Freedom.  I can go over to my friend Karl’s without getting bitched at, getting the 3rd degree, getting guilt trip over spending time with someone other than my family.
  You all know I am highly sexed, right?  Sex-crazed, sex obsessed, a pervert, a dirty old man, whatever you want to call me.  All I can say is, "no convictions."  But the Storm made me this way, partially.  I mean, I had it in me, always.  But she kept me suppressed and repressed so much, that it was screaming for an outlet.
  Look, I couldn’t even have porn, or look at it.  Ever.  At all.  Part of it was our religous thing, but a big part of it was her over-extreme prudishness with regard to everything.  She didn’t even like Victoria Secret commercials on TV.
  If I may psychoanalyse myself, this took a person with a highly active sex drive and put him over the edge.  I fantasized about everyone and everything (okay, not quite; I do have some limits) all the time.  I took to hiding some porn, and keeping some sites hidden on the internet.  I stared at women like a predator.  Not a sexual predator.
  More like a tiger, stalking prey.
  All because I had such a high sex energy that was being squeezed out and pushed down and bottled up and capped off.  I could have been a normal guy, with a high libido.  Instead, I am a sex obsessed freak.
  It’s how I felt anyway.  Detroit comes along, and tells me its okay.  As our relationship grew, I found that many of my feelings were normal, just swollen, throbbing.  Erect.  Rock-hard.  Pulsating. . .
  Okay.  And now, I get to share this with someone who appreciates it.  I feel normal now.  I feel in love, and sharing it with someone I love, instead of predatorially trying to connive, convince, bargain, barter, or trade wares for sex with a spouse who was not on the same page sexually as I was.  Sexually, I was a size 54 in a 34 inch straight jacket.
  Geez, this turned into a longer piece of bullshit than I intended.  I may go back and shorten it, then add some random cuss words to make it more of a fucking bullshit goddamn asshole piss rant.
  Cause the other point I wanted to get to was that, since I do what I want, I started to drink coffee as well.  Of course, I still have to pussy it up, because I’m a sissy.  I used to drink half coffee, half hot chocolate.  But I really like it with lots of cream and lots of sugar.  I was talking with the ladies on the floor here, because we have coffee and all the fixins provided for us, so one of them brings a caraf up every morning, and we have cream, sugar, et cetera. 
  They were discussing my newfound appreciation for coffee, and how they like theirs.  I couldn’t even finish the sentence, all I got out was, "I like my coffee like I like my women–" before I started to giggle.
  These straight-laced, proper, uptight office women thought is was funny too, they’ve heard the rest of the joke.  But it could go several different ways.
  I like my coffee like I like my women–
  "Hot and black."
  "Liquored up."
  "Tepid and bitter."
  "From a truck stop."
  "Full of cream."
  "With a buttery croissant."
  "In the car with the top off."

Addenddum:  March5 2008:  I had to add this thought I had about two months ago:  "I like my coffee like I like my women.  In the morning, I’d like my coffee to shut the hell up….."



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  1. It\’s so hard for me to leave a comment after reading your blogs.  I feel like you\’re right here and I\’m listening to you talk first hand.  You\’ve got a real talent. 
    I\’m so happy you two are together.  I get all warm and fuzzy feeling.  hee hee

  2. Found your blog thru someone elses…very much enjoyed my visit…thanks!

  3. I\’m so glad that you finally found your happiness.  You may turn all soft and mushy but I doubt very much you will ever lose your \’edginess\’. 
    It\’s good to be able to do whatever you want…someday I might be able to…
    Coffee has become my new addiction!  I started out making my cappuccino with coffee (instead of water), then went to French Vanilla creamer, then regular creamer+sugar (don\’t really like that), then just recently started doing 1/3 hot cocoa 2/3 coffee.  I like the capp/coffee duo best though. 
    You need to QUIT SMOKING!!! It\’ll mess with you bad, just ask me….that\’s right, you already know what happened to me with smoking.  I\’ll have to post what happened to me one day, it may save somebody from being like me. 

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