January Ends

Because this month is long, I had the time to create plenty of posts. That has been one of my goals for the blog, a post every other day. The other two are keeping it exciting and expanding my readership. Next month will be more challenging.

The boss indicated we should continue our current work-from-home schedule until directed otherwise. Mine is work from home Monday, Tuesday, and every other Wednesday. This is excellent news, and I hope he doesn't change the policy until after February. We will see.

We are getting our first snowstorm of the year-- eight to fourteen inches. It is occurring Wednesday through Thursday. I am looking forward to it. The Gladiator prefers deep snow over a thin sheet of ice.

Otherwise, I do not have much to report. I stayed indoors this weekend and avoided the world. I had lunch planned with Rose for Sunday, but she canceled. When she suggested dinner, I told her she could text me next week for lunch if she became available. I don't think she will. I like Rose and would enjoy seeing her, but she is not dependable. I probably give her more credit than she deserves and should remember she is the closest thing it a psychopath I have ever met. 

Living in Fear

Bathwater:  I think the days I am supposed to be working are worse. There is little to do for 8 hours.

Rose: Yes, I know! Lol, well, I am not scared to see you if you're not.

Bathwater: Are you sure you are safe?

Rose: I haven't been around anyone, but no one knows for sure, I guess.

I declined to take Rose up on her offer. I am not afraid of getting the virus. I still think I might have had it. I am resigned to self-isolation. Perhaps I am getting used to being alone. There are few people I would break my seclusion to see (the Gymnast being one).

I am in a malaise just short of depression, and it scares me. By the time this is over, being alone could become the new normal. This is not how I expected 2020 would be. I am sure none of us did. The death toll is supposed to peak this week in Michigan and then recede. By May, things should be close to normal. I am sure things will begin to rise again once we return to work, but I do not care. A life living in fear is no life worth living.   

Massage Story

I reached out to Rose Monday.

Me: You want to hang out sometime?

Rose: Yes, please.

Me: Do you have anything in mind, or would you like to just hang out?

Rose: Want to get a couples massage with me?

Me:  Yesss! That sounds like a perfect idea.

I made some last-minute calls and scheduled a couples massage for the next day, two days before Valentine's day. Most places were booked. I scheduled time at a place neither of us was familiar with.

It is a small place located in a strip mall. The waiting area is decorated in dark, peaceful colors. Four or five chairs fight for space with a silver reception desk. To the left of the desk, a brown curtain divides the front from the back area. The back area consisted of five small rooms.

When I arrived, the receptionist handed me a three-page questionnaire to complete. Rose showed up on time. I give her a quick hug when she enters. She smells strongly of weed. She receives her own questionnaire and finishes it just in time for us to head to the back. Two masseuses lead us back to the farthest room, where two massage tables were strategically positioned diagonally opposite each other.

Rose's masseuse is a tall male in his mid-thirties with a shaved head. He is dressed in pants and a tee shirt. My masseuse is a pale young female in a hoodie. They leave us a moment to undress and get under the covers.

Though we are not a couple, Rose and I are comfortable getting undressed in front of each other. She is wearing a midriff-baring tee shirt over leggings.

"Don't judge me," she says while we get out of our clothes. "I didn't have any underwear on, so I had to grab a pair out of my gym bag and stuff them in my pocket."  I just shake my head.

I don't stare at her while she undresses, not that she would mind. I do catch a few glimpses. Her body is perfect. She fell on an ice patch and has been away from the gym for a few weeks. It has only improved her figure, giving it a softness the weight lifting takes away.

Rose enjoyed her massage. "I almost fell asleep," she tells me.

My masseuse had the boniest fingers I have ever felt, and I like skinny girls. She dug her spikes into me, creating pains where there were none before. When she got to my left shoulder, I had to tell her to back off. I did not enjoy it at all. I would say it was the worst massage I have had. Every time she started a back and forth motion, the table would wobble.

The good thing is they were not expensive. I have paid more for one massage than both cost me. After, we went to a Qdoba-style eatery and caught up. I updated Rose about dad's death and the latest with Billie. We talked about Rose's younger sister, who is about to have a baby.

After the quick meal, we sit in the Jeep and continue our conversation. Rose says she wants to hang out more. I am unsure if she wants to hang out as friends or something more mutually beneficial. It is hard to tell with her. She is never straightforward, and I don't ask.

I like Rose. She is mindful and socially responsible, but she thinks differently than most people. I want to say she is a sociopath (she denies this) or perhaps just emotionally damaged. She has a fondness for me, rooted in my positive impact on her years ago when we met in the strip club.

 "I will never forget what you said to me once,"  She says, then recites back words I said to her long ago. "Rose, your life is a book full of blank pages. You write what you want the story to be."

Pain

I have been having stomach issues for about three weeks now. They crept up on me suddenly. I suppose I was ignoring earlier signs. I tend to ignore symptoms. At fifty-five, everything hurts sometimes or other. I wound up in the ER a few times and at a specialist's office. The specialist was an ass. After several tests, they found nothing significant. Just some moderate irritation of the stomach and small intestine.

I find it hard to believe moderate irritation has sent me to the ER and keeping up every night in pain. The tests do not offer any alternatives. So much for my high pain tolerance. I reached out to Billie last week. Frustrated and in pain, she is all I wanted. I cannot explain why. The comfort, I guess. Right now, she is less tangible to me than Rose or the Gymnast. But the relationships I have with Rose and the Gymnast are superficial, based on sex and money.

The stomach issues have set me back. I felt like I was making progress. Expanding my mind and getting over the past. Now I am not so sure. I have hated the holidays ever since the divorce. I find myself alone, emotional, and in pain this year. Just another crappy ending to a crappy year.

Rose and a Weekend Update

Rose strolls through the door wearing the exercise outfit we bought on our shopping excursion. She has a pink top on over the sports bra. "I am not used to you wearing a bra," I would tell her later as I groped her while we lay spooning on the couch. Rose is an enigma. Usually, her stories are a mixture of truths and lies. She is intentionally deceptive but not maliciously so, as far as I can tell.

It is safe to assume she only thinks of me when she needs a new outfit or needs money, but the truth is probably less cut and dry. I find with people like Rose, the first thing she thinks about is keeping her head above water and navigating life without the support of stable parental figures.

There are a few facts that I do know. Rose has a younger sister who is pregnant (I have met her a couple of times) and a brother. She is close to her sister and is looking forward to having a niece to pamper. Rose works out and is proud of her accomplishments with her body. She is down to 12% body fat but not unhealthy like Billie. Rose's ass and thighs are firmer than mine.
She believes she thinks differently than others. I believe she does too. I think she would rate high on a sociopath test. My cat seems to like her though Rose's reaction to the cat's need for affection is one of amusement.

She curls up next to me. She is willing to sleep with me. Rose likes to be dominated, but sex with her is not as fulfilling as with Billie. There is no love. It lacks intimacy.

The weekends are still hard for me. Often I do not feel like getting out of bed. I texted Billie this weekend. She says she still feels awful about everything. I know feeling awful and feeling like you made a mistake are two different things. Regardless, I can not take her back, which is the worst part. I am adrift-- again. The analogy says I was in a house of darkness while I was with Billie, and each of us struggled to provide what little light we had. The world outside is full of light (love).   I am not out in this light yet. I feel like I struggle between trying to pull someone new into the darkness and taking that first step into the light.

The answer to fulfillment is an elusive goal. The books easily describe what I am doing wrong, but they make living life correctly sound like a long and lonely path with a reward that is not tangible.

Shopping

Rose texted me Sunday morning and pulled me out of my hibernation. "You should come shopping with me and tell me what looks good!!!"

"I was just going to ask if you wanted company,"  I replied.  I needed to get out.  Rose is easy on the eyes and easy to be around. 

We made plans to meet at an outlet mall.  I arrived on time.  Rose was an hour late.  Her tardiness allowed me to get me steps in for the day.  "I have to remember when you say noon you mean one,"  I tell her when she finally arrives. 

"I know.  I will be late for my own funeral,"  she tells me, "like Elizabeth Taylor."

"Is she dead?"

Rose looks at me side-long, unsure if I am kidding with her.  "Yes, she delayed her funeral by fifteen minutes."  I did not know.

Rose was looking for workout clothes.  "I have been around this place three times so I can tell you which stores look promising but my sense of direction is bad so we will probably end up walking in circles."  I tell her as we start walking.

I am wearing jeans and a tee with the same light jacket/ heavy shirt I wore through the whole trip to China.  Rose was also dressed in jeans, a burnt orange light puffy jacket over a mustard shirt and black ankle boots with a four inch heal.

Conversation comes easy between Rose and I.  The more time we spend with each other the more our guards come down.  She talks about her weight training and an up coming photo shoot she is doing on Monday for a portfolio.  She wants to do modeling work.  She definitely could be.  She has a great body and large blue eyes. 

We end up picking up a few things in the Under Armor store.  She buys two outfits and some shoes while I buy a pair of pants.  "What size shoe do you wear?" 

I hand her a seven and she tries it on.  She decides she might need a half size bigger.  I press on her toe and tell her the seven and a half seem to fit.  I make a joke about her large feet, because I can get away with it.  There is nothing large or out of place on her.  "I had to kick her out of bed.  Her feet were just too over bearing when we played footsie."

When end our shopping spree at a near by Qdobas.  Rose is mostly vegetarian and eating clean.  She is trying to put on more muscle.  My fear is she will add too much. She looks perfect now.   We sit across from each other and talk about mindfulness, meditation, and things considered alternative.  She is into a lot of the things I am exploring right now.  I pause in our conversation and regard her.  "You are so pretty,"  I tell her and at that moment she was, with her long blonde her framing her features.

"Now you are making me blush."  She did not seem to be blushing.  I always assume a pretty girl knows the effect she has on a man.

I could have spent more time with her but I did not want overdue it.  It is better to leave things on a high note I am learning. Besides we have plans for her to come over Wednesday night weather permitting.  Right now snow is falling .

There is a platonic nature to our encounters.  I have not figured out if it is her guarded nature or if she is just not attracted to me.  For now, I am assuming the latter.  Rose was abused as a child and an adult.  She would trust me with her life long before she would trust me with her heart.  She does trust me.  Which I am sure is something she does not say about many people. 

Right now I do not want to get consumed by another relationship.  The break up with Billy hurt me deeply.  Rose keeps her distance.  Right now that is what I need.  Still our encounters fuel me.  They make me happy.  They preoccupy my mind and keep thoughts of Billy at bay and that is what I need right now.

Grieving

Rose steps out of her car and enters the house through the garage. She is wearing a faded pair of jeans a forest green top that faux ties at the waist.  My eyes are drawn to the curve of her waist and the pale white skin that is exposed there.  She is not wearing a bra. She never wears a bra, and I can clearly see the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material of her top.

We sit on the couch, and we talk.  Rose is content to listen to me ramble.  She is very easy to be around.  She is calculatedly attentive, and we caress each other's hands and legs while we talk.

I unleash a steady stream of stories while occasionally trying to pull some from her.  She is evasive about herself.  She lies about herself.   She has always lied because the truth is either too embarrassing or too painful.  I would like to hear the truth.  It would not change the way I think of her.  I save each grain of truth she does reveal to slowly paint a complete picture.

"You know everything about me, Rose,"  I tell her.  "I don't hold anything back. My ex-girlfriend is a heroin addict.  What could be worse than that?  If I killed someone, I would probably tell you."

"I would help you bury the body."  She tells me with a giggle.  Her remark leads me off into a story about dreams and dead bodies. My story ends in me saying maybe THAT was too much information.

She excuses herself to use the bathroom.  I put on a selection of Dave Mathews Band songs to set the mood.  When she comes back, she straddles my lap and sways to the music.  Rose takes off her top and allows me to caress her bare torso.  After a time, she stands in front of me and takes off her jeans.  She is wearing a pink lace thong beneath.

She lets out light moans as she moves against me.  They are more show than reality, but they have the same effect.  She alternates facing toward me with facing away and leaning back against me.  Her grinding becomes more intense, and I am fully erect.  She allows my hand to slip down between her thighs, and now our bodies are moving in unison.  My hands are on her thighs, and I hold her tightly against me as I release.

Things slow, and we lay on the couch together after.  She is in no hurry to leave.  I lower my voice and continue talking as she closes her eyes.  I tell her I want this to be where she can go to get away from her drama.  Before she leaves, I tell her, "We can work out an arrangement, whatever way makes you comfortable.  You just have to tell me what you want."

The following day I was reluctant to leave my bed.  I found myself missing Billy more than usual.  My mind begins to compare Rose and Billie.  It is a ridiculous exercise. I thought Rose would be a distraction to shift my thoughts away from Billie. Our physical contact just reminded me what I was missing.

The urge to reach out to Billie was powerful this morning.  I almost gave in to the need. I think about the softness of Billie's skin, and I break down. My mind and body are hurting, and she is the cure I desperately want, but she is out of reach.

Rose is lovely, and she likes hanging out with me, but Billie loved me once, and I am still grieving the loss of that love.

Rose

Sam says I should do whatever it takes to get through these days and I try.  I painted the bedrooms, got new carpets and stripped the house of all things linked to Billy.  That was in September.  I am saving further painting for the winter.  I am trying to meet someone new.   Perhaps I am trying too hard.  I have been texting with a dancer from back when I spent many nights at the Penthouse club.  I was a regular at the club before Billy and I became a steady couple.  It is where I meet Billy.

I have known Rose longer than Billy, but she is still a mystery.  I have always had a soft spot for her.  She is pretty.  One of those people that never ages.  She looks the same at twenty-nine as she did at nineteen.  She is working at Colosseum but the strip clubs in the city are not the same anymore.  The city is cracking down on the clubs.  The city shutdown the Penthouse Club and dancers at Colosseum need to maintain a six inch distance from customers at all times.  "Six inches?"  I comment to her. "I might as well just watch porn."

Rose suggested we could meet up outside the club.  She is coming over tonight.  I pulled this from my achieves in honor of the occasion.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

A Rose By Any Other Name

I am sitting in a corner deep in the back of the club, away from the stage, and away from dancers. I came to talk with my favorite Eastern European Waitress Milla. New at her job she lacks the jaded veneer the club gives a person. She is unsure she has what it takes to make it. She looks the part, like a young Katie Holmes, but still has that deer trapped in the headlights look to her-- of course we were instant friends.

Milla is sitting with me when a school of shot girl piranhas swarm us. Shot girls are the worst money leeches in any strip club. This bar's are exceptionally bad. They can pull $50 out of you before you know where their watered down liquor went. I am trying to politely dismiss them when I see Rose walk down stairs onto the stage. She caught my eye and I wagged a finger at her.

I extract myself from the grip of the shot girls and go to talk to Rose. "You know how many Amish communities I went to looking for you? It's not like I could call them either, because they don't have phones."

"Oh, whatever!" She replies, crouching down beside.

"Not to mention the Armenian mob, I still got bullet holes healing from that and you didn't even send flowers."

She plays along. "I did send flowers your dead neighbor's ghost probably stole them."

She get a smirk out of me. "Seriously, what happened to you?"

She shrugs, her big doe-eyes looking at me straight on. "I don't know."

"Come see me when you get off stage."

She avoided me at first.  It did not make sense. Milla, my waitress, keeps stopping by. I tolt her the whole story between Rose and I earlier. "Don't let it bother you," she said.

I could not help it. "It does. It doesn't make sense. I only know of two girls that really hate me, my ex and that tall dark haired shot girl."

Later I catch Milla and Rose talking by the stairs. I don't know what was said. I wrap my arms around Rose's waist before she can get away. "I was just going that way, " she assures me.

"Sure you were."

We quibble good-natured all the way back to my table in the corner. We talk for a while than I ask her again what happened to her.

"I just freaked out, I got scared. It is not that I didn't want to go, I just freaked. Don't you remember what it was like to be my age?" Her eyes glisten as if on the verge of tears and I fell the sincerity in her words.

I say, "Look I like our whole dancer, customer relationship thing we got going here. You don't have to make false promises to keep me around."

She assures me that is not it. The rest of the night continued very un-dancer like. We go upstairs and continue talking. She asks if I have seem Clash of the Titans yet. I say no, we should go see it. If someone calls me and asks to be taken to the movies, I will make it happen. She says she will, except that she would pay.

As we head back downstairs, she gets called onstage. I hand her some money and say wait I still owe you $20. I did not expect to get dances that night so only had a few dollars in my front pocket. The rest was in my wallet which was buttoned down in my back pocket.

"Forget it." She says.

"No. That's not right."

"I'll come by your table."

She came back to the table but was reluctant to take the money. She said she would text me later and she did. We are supposed to go to the movies this Thursday. So we will see. Those eyes are hard to resist.