Meeting the Couple – Part I

Tonite, I will meet them. But it’s 5am with a long list of obligations before I get there, and I wonder if I will make it.

Now I am me.  Regular me, which means Split me – part observer of the me that is creating this wacky life, and part action-taker, adventurer, body and mind me who doesn’t just walk, but kind of skids into situations that are supposed to be new and improved, and allows the observer me to make the final call when it’s over.

Work with clients. Follow up with clients. Pack.  Drive half way. Deliver dog to doggie camp. Finish the drive, shower,change, drive again to the meeting.

It’s only when I’m in the shower that I realize what I’m doing.  I’m going to MEET this couple. This is real. I am going to get dressed, check the mirror, walk out the door, and deliver myself to two people who are looking for a human sex toy.

I wish I could call someone who would laugh with me.   I hate flying solo in those moments. I’m a natural born sharer.

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We had decided on jeans and a sexy shirt.  My sexy shirt is a silk high collar sleeveless black thing that is held on by one bow.  It’s not a boob shirt, it’s an elegant kind of muscle shirt.  The whole town has perfect fake boobs.  But only some of us have this kind of definition.  My jeans are my ass jeans. Enough said.

Ba Bling!

We’re on our way! – she texts.

Me too!

It’s a Friday night and the bar is packed. I’m immediately overwhelmed with the sight of single men. I am overwhelmed because within that eye blink, I sense the desperation.  It’s a cliché but I have walked into a shark’ nest.  It hits me that this is the real life version of my Internet site – that every time I log on, I am walking into this bar.  I don’t have time to figure out how I feel about that.

I saunter in – not on purpose. I think I always saunter into a bar – training from college.  Walk into a room and quietly own it.  I stand at the doorway, head high, slowly looking around. I know they are somewhere checking me out.

She reaches out and touches my arm.  I turn to greet her.  Hi!!!  Hello!!!!!!!

Immediate reaction – Not a shut down. She is tall, long, lean, blond medium hair, thin features, and welcoming smile.  I don’ t think she is a knockout but she is without question attractive.  I wonder what she sees in me. Neither of us show it.

We hug. She quickly takes my hand and leads me to the table.  There he is. Stud man.  I’m taken aback at first. I’m in a bar filled with guys in jeans and button down shirts of various styles – the standard uniform in this part of town.

He’s wearing a tight black t shirt.  He has a black and silver choker around his neck that oozes collar, but is not. His hair is jet black and longer than anyone elses in the bar.  And he has a combo goatee, beard arty thing going on.  The whole package completely stands out.  He is not one of them.  I’m not turned off.. my body does not click NO.. but this is not what I expected!

I sit down and we start talking, letting the energies establish our relationship.  I’m comfortable, not nervous. The first thing I say is – OK, when I  was driving over here I felt like I was going to half social event, half job interview.  We all laugh and everyone is at ease.

I need to check him out more.  I’m a little confused by the look.  I expected couture, I think, and got harley.  And that is it, indeed.  They are upscale harley folks, he has two (or three), she rides on the back. As if on cue, two loud, spitting obnoxious beasts with requisite assholes at the helm roll on by.  We are on the outside patio.  They turn to look. I so want to roll my eyes and say – oh my fucking god.  She says to him  Nice!  He nods and agrees.

I literally have the observer tell me not to shut them out because they like harleys.  Most of america likes harleys.  Get over it and move on!

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In the next two hours, we talk.  We REALLY talk.  I learn that they both love to watch each other.  She loves to see him with other women, he loves to watch her with other men, and they both love big black men with enormous cocks.  They say it matter of factly and with mischief in their eyes. He loves to watch her play with those huge cocks and fuck the hell out of them because he knows it turns her on, too.  He has a soft voice.  I LIKE him.  I ask him why he likes to watch?  He says very openly –  We have tried to figure out the answers and don’t have them.  We just do.

They are a real couple.  They are in love.  They are committed.  They are together. I see it and feel it. I like it.  There is no tension, no unspoken weirdness.  She does most of the talking at first, and most of the asking.  I speak mostly to her at first, establishing her trust that I am not secretly here to land her man.

What am I in it for, they ask?

What AM I in it for, I wonder? I have no idea but I open my mouth and trust.   I’m looking for the experience, I saymatter of factly.  I have some fantasies of my own that I’d like to turn into reality.  But I think for the most part, I woke up in my mid forties, single, met a guy who like, unleashed this whole sexual part of me that’s been dormant for a long time, and he walked away.  Once I opened up like that, I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to fit myself back into that box I was living in.   I want to go forward and INTO it.. explore it and explore ME.. see what it and I am about…. but it’s an experiment. I don’t know how it will all turn out.

They love the honesty.  They get it. We all get it.  We are more and more at ease.

Within the next hour, I am feeling it.  She is bright eyed and yes, gorgeous. Studly is HOT.  REALLY HOT.  I look around at the desperate single men swamping the restaurant, and all of the women in low cut shirts feeding their awful  hunger.   I look at individuals, observe bodies and faces.

There is not one man in the place that ignites any interest whatsoever.  Not one. I look carefully during pauses in our conversation. Not one out of at least 200. I look across from me and get who studly is.  He is tall,  nice face with a beautiful smile.  When he stands up to go to the bathroom, I grab Sapphire’s arm and gasp. My gasp is real. I make noise and tighten my hand on her arm. He is perfect.  Long, strong legs,  beautiful ass, packaged in a pair of perfect jeans and a black t-shirt.

Oh My God, I sputter.  OH MY GOD! She is enthralled.  Didn’t I tell you?  Did I not TELL you?  Was I overstating it or was I right on?

Right on.  Absolutely right on.