“You left a pair of sandals. I’ll hold them for ransom.”

As I was driving to the airport at 5 o’clock this morning, my intuition kept badgering me about something I’d left behind at Tank’s home. I’d been careful to pack separate bags and suitcases—the one for Saturday night’s party containing my little black dress with a balloon skirt that I just love and my five inch spiked sandals from my last New Orleans trip, the one with my travel clothes and shoes for today and two large roller bags for my engagement in Philadelphia.

2.25 hours of sleep, even with a 90 minute nap after dinner last night had knocked me off kilter by a mere heartbeat. I know better than to deliberately leave anything at Tank’s home. Especially after he’d shared a story about a woman he slept with who left tons of items at his home after their first night together. He countered for their second and last date by going to the drugstore and buying five toothbrushes, various types of flowery deodorant and countless other products and leaving them out in full view for her to see—and not fucking her. I gotta hand it to him. She never showed up again, which was his intent.

Tank and I began our hanging out together time on Saturday by seeing the late morning matinee of “How to Train Your Dragon.” I found it to be a delightful flick—with a great message about how a young boy’s refusal to see the world through his father’s eyes sparked an innovation that ultimately saved the town in which he lived from future strife.

Then it was on to Costco for stuff. I love stuff. Heck. I love shopping. Doesn’t matter for what. It’s the looking part that seduces me.

Followed by a paddleboat ride that Tank is surely not to let me forget. You see—I’m uncoordinated. I can fall merely by walking in flat shoes on flat ground. Getting into the boat almost had me tipping it over. And getting out? Well. I tried a few times to do it first. But I couldn’t seem to stand up and hold the dock without moving the boat on direction or the other, which meant getting thrown back into my seat. I’m very fortunate that Tank is a patient man. Notwithstanding he chides me forever about moments like these. Which only finds me laughing along with him.

Then came a Greek meal for four that’ll get Tank through Monday (maybe J) and the nap, which I only take in dire circumstances. Which meant tonight we were going to an invite-only swing party—the one I’d invited Drew to originally, only he didn’t followed up with me about it.

What intrigued me about this gathering was that it was in a locale far from my home—so I sensed we’d meet people we’d not seen before. And I was right. Except for the two people that Tank recognized from work-related activities over the years (who didn’t recognize him) and the guy I’d communicated with prior to the New Year, we didn’t know anyone else in a group of about 80.

As soon as we entered, we were given an icebreaker activity—and stickers. Kiss a person. Get a sticker. Have sex in a public area of the home, get a sticker. Have sex with multiple people you don’t know, get lots of stickers—one from each of them. LOL

Of course, on the entry that said: Bare a breast, your ass, your pussy or your cock, Tank decided to pull up his shirt when a GILF (grandmother I’d love to fuck) did the same. The irony of the situation did not evade me. He also took quickly to the item that encouraged women to let others fondle their breasts. In fact, I think he gave up a majority of his stickers to the cause.

That’s my man!

I was more reserved. Observant. Atypical for me. But tonight it just was.

I didn’t feel the need to fuck or suck anyone but Tank. We’d started the afternoon with a bang. There’d been no men in my stream of consciousness worth fucking since our last soiree (see “Oh, What a Night”). That was a full two weeks earlier. Oh, what this guy can do with his tongue and lips on my clit and his fingers in my pussy. I’m left breathless here in Philly just thinking about it.

The game caused us to meet more people than we usually do. That’s when I discovered a lot of newbie’s were in our presence.

The phrase to remember came from a woman who lived in Toronto and had come to town with her hubby for a conference. Tank and I saw her attaching large hair clips to the V-neck on her shirt. So he inquired.

“What are those for?”

“A girl never knows when she might need to pull hair back.”

That made me wonder which hair and whose hair that might be.

I did meet a fellow who’s acted in a few porn flicks. A gorgeous hunk of a guy.  What fascinated me is he’s very picky about who he plays with and how much he knows about them. A year or two ago, his doctor put the fear of God in him when she told him he could get STD’s through oral contact. Up until the time we left at 1:15 in the morning, he hadn’t played with anyone.

But we had fun. The Toronto couple joined us on the same bed for a while. Tank finger fucked me in the hot tub while a husband caressed me. I got to stroke his lovely cock while he was close by. And we joined the Toronto couple in another room as her husband slowly—and I mean slowly fucked her while she lay on her back and sucked down the entire dick of the guy I met over the holidays. That reminds me: I need to ask him how it felt.

You curious about the ransom? Me too. Tank hasn’t responded yet to my request. Lord only knows what he might have up his sleeve.