Confidence

Confidence

She played for a while with the cutest little redhead 3-year old boy you've ever seen. Who just so happened to have one hell of a cute Mommy. One minute I was watching her bend over, a nice round ass presented for full view through tight jeans, her tight sweater (Rack City!) riding up her back, exposing slightly tanned skin. Very curvy and filled out in a way that made my weenie warm.

The next moment she was standing next to me. Talking to me. Then sitting down next to me. She started the conversation. She had the smile as she sat down and asked me how old my daughter was, shook her shoulder-length straight red hair from her pretty (yet somewhat hardened by experience I could only guess at) face, and leaned back into her seat, only two kid-sized jackets and pairs of shoes on the bench between us. A slight flash of her eyes showed something. Some kind of interest. Two single parents, with kids of similar ages up playing in a fake treehouse together, sitting on the bench with a spark or two jumping about.

I kept it together FAR better than I thought I would, seeing as how a very sexy divorced redhead who looked ready for some action herself was actually talking to me. Something in her eyes...what was it? I don't have women come up to me. They tend to move quickly in the opposite direction. Was I reading too much into it? Wanting her to want me, like a fucking Cheap Trick song? But no...she was talking to me, smiling. Those eyes. They had the appearance of detachment, but it seemed to be a cover. Jesus. She's trying to hide what I'm trying to hide. What I'm NEVER able to hide. I think we're BOTH failing. It's there. It's been a LONG time since I've seen that look in a woman's eyes and knew it was for me. Fuck-energy flying. I'm NOT imagining this.

Am I? AM I?

Those curves. The tight clothes. The sin in her eyes. Hi, I'm Doug. This is Doug Jr. Excuse him, he's a little excited. Down, boy. Down.

She told me a bit about herself with little if any encouragement from me. Lives in Sharonville. Parents moved away, she went with them, then came back to the Cincy area, and they followed her back. Her ex sees his son when SHE takes him there. He has no car, over an hour away. "How convenient." "Yeah, for HIM." The biting sarcasm in her voice only made me harder. It sounded like an invitation. Hey big boy, prove to me you're not a prick like my ex. Then maybe..................

Unfortunately, I am a prick. Oh well.

She's probably around 30. I stayed cool the whole time, but it took a LOT of effort to keep from looking just a little too long into that face and try not to imagine...the things I imagine...

Her son was ready to go to the next spot long before Katie was. So Anna was gone. Mmmmm...Anna. That name and that face go together so nicely. I'd like to look into those eyes and say your name as I....mmmmm...Anna...

I thought I saw the slightest bit of hesitation, a slight look back over her shoulder at me, and I felt a hammer hit me in the chest. A sudden raging rush of fuck-chemicals burst down the floodgates in my brain, borderline-psychotic cravings sending tsunamis through the waters of my lust to crash on the shore of my self-control and bring the whole motherfucker down.

OK, my pseduo-poetic side is pretty ridiculous. What else is new?

I wanted to go after her. I had to sit still. The insane compulsion to fall to my knees and beg her to come back nearly split me in two. All I could say was "nice to meet you" and offer my hand. She shook it. Friendly. Reserved yet warm, and the reservation was obviously forced. She tried to look detached. Failed. For a moment. I saw it there. Goddammit, it IS there. She wants to stick around, but isn't sure she should. Letting the kid pull her to the next destination, like a flip of th coin. I WANT to fuck this guy, but if Tyler wants to go, we'll go. If he stays, we'll stay.

He went. She did too.

Was there some hurt in that look? Not simply hurt that she was leaving. Hurt in a deeper sense. The same hurt I feel. I wondered if she too had gone this long without the release I was so busy thinking about engaging in with her. Oh, fuck. Look at that ass as she's walking away. She bends over to check her son's shoelaces. A bit deliberately. As if to say "My back is turned, but I know you're eyeing my ass. So here. Have another look, Doug. It's the last one you'll get. I flipped the coin. It came up tails. Here's the tail. Goodbye."

Just that slight look back. She turned back around and disappeared. If only I could have grabbed her hand and taken her over to the tables at the Pizza Hut Express, torn her clothes off and fucked her over a table with an empty pizza box on it. For about ten seconds it looked like she might be INTO that scenario. Drip some of that garlic sauce the breadsticks come with onto those big fat tits and...oh FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

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Powerful sensations this weekend. A shot of confidence. At the gig last night, the guitarist's wife told me how much she liked the new beard. "It really looks good on you. You look great."

This coming from one of the 9 or 10 most remarkably, stunningly beautiful women I've ever known.

I don't feel this often. I usually feel like a turd in a box. The box has a couple air holes in it, just to let the thing breathe. Confidence of ANY kind is hard to come by here. Confidence of the sexual kind is chronically lacking. It came to me for the first time with my marriage. Felt like it was ripped off me like the skin off a traitor's back with my divorce. I don't blame her for that (though I did for a time) it's just a natural byproduct of divorce for some people, and seemingly built especially for me. I find it nearly impossible to believe that a woman would want to have anything to do with me at all until she actually DOES.

A few have brought me back up for air in the last several months, but not for long. I doubt if Jenny has a clue what she did for me. If she did, I've pretty much blown it anyway, since I'm convinced she thinks I'm an asshole now. I'm too obvious, can't keep my mouth shut. I'm lucky I haven't drooled on myself in front of her.

Amanda probably has a clue, but not much. She's locked in with someone else. But I still greet her with variations on "How's the prettiest lady around?" when I walk in to be served by her at lunchtime. I'll do it again tomorrow. But the boost she gives me no longer carries much past me walking back out the door. Dammit.

Melinda was so fucked up, who KNOWS what happened there. I got something good from it, but it was a goddamn mess. I keep thinking I'm seeing her. In a store, a parking lot, out of the corner of my eye. but I hope I don't see her again. I don't need that shit. She got a tiny piece of what she needed, I got a tiny piece of what I needed. And that's that.

Another fascinating little vixen has given me the boost in recent days. It's probably obvious to anyone who reads this shit I write, but I'm leaving it alone, because the Jesus-based guilt I can't seem to rid myself of has me convinced that anything I say in this case will send my ass to Hell. You have any idea what it feels like to be hellbound and not even believe there IS a hell anymore? I'm so full of inconsistency it's ridiculous. But she's got a hook or two in my ass, that she does. I just haven't been sure what to make of any of it yet. Little vixen. :)

Hearing it from the guitarist's wife last night sent shock waves through me. Later. It actually didn't connect at first. After a while, it occured to me that a woman who would easily make me fall to my knees begging for her love if not for the fact that she's married to one of the greatest guys I know, who I respect far too much to want to say ANYTHING...she just told me I look great. And meant it. The look in THOSE eyes was a thing to behold. Eyes that turn my spine to jello.

I've needed this. I was spiraling back down into self-defeat. Not in other ways. Shit, I've been a pretty fuckin' happy guy lately. Lots of things going well, if slowly. Better slowly than not at all. I've had few true complaints in recent weeks. But I haven't felt the confidence I needed in this department. Right now, I do.

Let's just hope it last long enough to be of use.

Love,
Dougie