Archive for Romance
A Man of His Word
Posted by: | CommentsOne day, a few weeks after this all started, I found myself at his house, washing his cherry red Porsche. And then his conventional white car for work. And finally, my grey Honda truck.
I’d been silent for most of the hour we’d been together. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself.
“Tank, do you think you’ll ever kiss me passionately again? I miss those kisses.”
His response was immediate—and firm. “If you have to ask, you don’t deserve to be kissed like that.”
My response was visceral. I could feel the sting of his words in every cell in my body. As I wondered what I’d have to do to be deserving of such kisses again, a single tear scrolled down my left cheek. A few minutes later, I walked in the house, got my things and quietly left—without a hug or a peck on the cheek.
In the Name of Romance
Posted by: | Comments“I can see you between 6 and 9 tonight. Does that work for you? Didn’t know if it’s worth the drive.”
In the best of driving conditions, I’m about 40 minutes from Tank’s home. That’s when I drive 75-80mph. In rush hour traffic? It could take an hour or longer.
But I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to see him two nights in a row. He’d told me that I was on his “to do” list. As soon as I’d heard those words, I’d gotten wet. My mind raced to all the things he does do that drive me wild.
No more than thirty seconds after I entered his home he was guiding me up the stairs to his bedroom. Walking behind me of course. So he could study my ass. His favorite body part.
He quickly undressed me—something I absolutely love. Then, he had me lay on my tummy, spread eagle and proceeded to massage my back, then my ass, down to my legs and both of my feet. But he soon got distracted by my moans and proceeded to enter me from behind. It wasn’t long before I was arching my back and on my knees, enjoying the thrusts of his cock into my wet pussy.
An hour later, he mentioned the possibility of food and I went immediately dry. Huh, I hadn’t realized that hunger could trump my desire for sex. I knew in an instant he was filing that fact in his brain as well.
We didn’t move from the bed right away. While I don’t recall the beginning of our conversation or how we got onto this topic, what I do remember is this part.
“If you haven’t guessed, I’m not into romance. I’ve tried that before. Bought flowers every week for four years for one woman. That didn’t work. Another liked French fries. So I’d get them for her. That didn’t work either.”
“So, you’ll never try again? I like flowers.”
“Right. I don’t do the same thing twice if it doesn’t work the first time.”
“But I’m not those women.”
“I know. But I’ve brought you wine. And I think I brought you food one time too.”
“Yes, you’ve brought me some wonderful wines.”
“I’m thinkin’ of getting you a black guy once a month. In fact, I could probably re-gift the same guy a few months in a row and you wouldn’t mind. Whaddya think?”
I laughed out loud for several minutes. Now that my life had changed, there were new possibilities for romance that I’d never considered before. It was definitely worth the drive. The flowers can wait.
Want to weigh in on the conversation? I’d love to hear your thoughts. What do I do in the name of romance for Tank, other than the obvious?
CNN, Are You Serious?
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I first read this article (“The Downside of ‘Friends with Benefits’”) the day it was published. The premise is that “friends with benefits” have more “concurrency” (several relationships at once) is speeding up the transmission of STD’s because they don’t protect themselves given they know each other. Evidently, people in romantic relationships tend towards monogamy and thus don’t have this issue.
Really? Huh. What’s wrong with this picture? Who made the assumption that people with multiple partners don’t use protection in their sexual relationships? Or that “friends” don’t talk about the subject? Or that romantic relationships imply monogamy?
When I was 26 years old and divorced from my first husband, I went to work in a hospital in the town in which I’d gotten my college education. One of my closest friends was a woman in Human Resources, Barbie, who interviewed me when I came to the organization. She was gorgeous: tall, perfectly proportioned no matter what she ate, dark brown shoulder-length hair long and thick eyelashes, and porcelain skin accentuated by a perfect smile. I idolized her.
Not only did we see each other at work, we exercised at the same gym four nights a week and went out together on Friday evenings for happy hour as part of a group of about ten women. One of those evenings she stumbled onto Jim. He projected as the perfect gentleman—and had a terrific job. They quickly fell in love and saw each other every moment they could. The rest of us loved him too. We all socialized together. What a gem of a guy.
Several months later, I sauntered to Barbie’s office—we had planned to go to lunch together that day to plan the upcoming weekend’s activities. Only I was told she was home ill. Ill? I’d just seen her the evening before and she seemed just fine. Something didn’t feel right. SO I took a chance and called her at home. Her ex husband, who I also knew—a really sweet guy—answered the phone.
“What are you doing at the house in the middle of the day?”
“I’m doing some laundry for Barbie.”
“Laundry?”
“Yeah. She needed some help.”
“What’s going on? What’s the matter with her?”
“Hold a sec. Let me see if she wants to talk with you.”
Barbie sounded fine when she got on the phone. Didn’t seem like she had a cold or the flu.
“Hi. I was worried about you. They said you were sick so I thought I’d call and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
“No. Nothing you can do.”
“You sure.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You ok?”
“No. Not really.”
“What’s going on, Barbie?”
“Jim and I broke up.”
“Over what?”
“He didn’t tell me he had herpes and now I have it too.”
“Oh my God.”
Only what she didn’t know was that the “oh my God” was not so much for her as it was for me. My mind immediately flew back to my activities two weekends earlier. Barbie had gone out of town for a conference. And Jim had called me, wanting to know if I’d like to play tennis. Having nothing else on my calendar, I immediately accepted. We played outside for hours. Afterwards, we went back to his condo for a beer. When I tried to get up to leave, my whole body ached something fierce. Jim had me lie on the floor on my tummy and proceeded to give me a slow, sensual, full body massage. Before you knew it, we were fucking our brains out in his bedroom. We went through a box of condoms. He had great endurance. The (unprotected) oral sex was also fantastic. Before I left, we both agreed not to say a word about what had happened.
And now, here I was, listening to Barbie tell me he has herpes. And that she did too. I panicked. I wondered if I did. Who would I see? In a hospital, words gets around, no matter which physician you saw or the Hippocratic Oath. Nothing stayed confidential.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood, the only place I knew I could go and spill my guts.
Twenty-five years later, I can still recall that phone conversation as though it happened yesterday. It left an indelible imprint on my mind. And a lesson that’s served me well through the years.
Suffice it to say, I don’t buy that people in romantic relationships are monogamous. All you have to do is look at the number of people on the Ashley Madison website where affairs are GUARANTEED. Or that the communication about sex and STD’s is heightened in these sorts of relationships. Nor do I buy that people in concurrency relationships—people like me—aren’t strict about the use of protection. Because we are.
But then again, that sort of story wouldn’t ever make the news.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
