241427542 from Picture Trail
Wednesday, December 17, 2008:
Seneca: “Happy Birthday, honey!”
Roxanne” “Mike, I’m 27! I’m too old for you!”
Seneca: “Awww, c’mon, honey!”
Roxanne: “That’s 59 in Mike-years!”
Seneca: “You gotta point there!”
Irrevocable Decision to Give Up Women
liaisons by retrodiva88
Friday, October 17, 2008:
My firm and irrevocable decision to give up women forever has been rescinded.
Golden Retrievers everywhere may breathe a sigh of relief.
No! No!
Maggie didn’t return my call.
That call could cause me to consort with alligators!
Roxanne returned my call.
Aren’t women wonderful?
To Danielle on Roxanne and Christina
unperfect_by_frauplanlos
Sunday Morning, September 28, 2008:
My Dear Danielle,
Happy Sunday!!!
Today is the day some very lucky photographer will be allowed to photograph one very pretty girl!!!
Roxanne did upset me yesterday by figuratively blowing me off, but she has saved the relationship by offering to go to the 3:00 PM show today. So, I will have company today, and that company is pleasant.
We have been going out for years, but have such a weird relationship! I do not understand women. Who does???
In four years, I have yet to hold her hand, let alone kiss her. If something was to happen, it would have happened by now, don’t you think? She is cute……well, HOT…… she does take her clothes off for a living…….. less is more…….. but my interest in her romantically departed several years ago. The weird part of the relationship is that she claims to have strong interest in me romantically.
So, why don’t I kiss her?
Glad you asked!
Before kissing a woman, things happen that tell a man she wants to be kissed. It may include sitting near one another with little touches occurring, a certain gaze, in general, flirting. None of those things happen with Roxanne. Only the words!
On my deathbed I am sure to discover that Roxanne is of a rare species of human beings who feign lack of interest to mask intense lust. Perhaps she will be at my deathbed, and this discovery will return me to life.
One might say that she just doesn’t know how to give signals. That may be true. When I’ve brought dates to the club and purchased private dances for my dates with her, she doesn’t wait for any signals. Her lips are immediately on theirs, her tongue is in their mouths, and she doesn’t wait for no stinkin’ signals!!! All is in clear violation of the club’s rules.
There is one other male Roxanne sees. He is gay. I refuse to consider the fact that women who see only gay guys seek my company.
My Dear Danielle, I have dreamed all my life of a hot, 26-year-old dancer professing love for me. I have attained my dream. In the future, I will flesh out my dreams a little more.
As a substitute for Roxanne yesterday, I was able to get a date with Christina. Christina is of the type I am trying to get away from. I was out of women. Forgive me.
Christina and I had been trying to get together for a couple of months. She was always busy at the hours normal human beings function. Her invitations to me were for a drink at midnight in Logan Square, where Adriana lives. I am not of the type who commences dates at midnight.
When Roxanne cancelled our date yesterday, my frenzy to find a replacement caused my fingers to accidentally go into my immense “bad girl” directory. You yourself are in a different directory. I mean you would be if I had your phone number! Christina returned my call at 5:30 PM, too late for dinner, but early enough for the play.
Christina is 28 and attractive. Her hair is short and prim, reminiscent of a non-sexual school teacher. I have heard she is anything but that, but do not know that personally. She did mention that she could give me an incredible girlfriend experience, but I’d rather get that from a girlfriend.
Holding the car door open for her, she walks toward me with a glum expression on her face. Now I don’t wanna be here either. Without a smile, she plops into the front seat, with the usual pleasantries kept to a minimum.
My spirits slightly revive, for I have been in desperate need of a woman who breathes. I note that she is breathing unaided.
Her face must be bathed in Botox, for it is expressionless the whole evening. She is able to watch the whole show without comment or enthusiasm, while the rest of the crowd, and I, go wild.
After the show, I offer her food or drink, but she needs to get home. Thank God for that!
So, I think of the weekend. A horrid Saturday night date and an upcoming pleasant Sunday date in wild contrast to the richness, brilliance, and beauty of my Friday night date. One must explore the valleys to gain the mountaintop!
I do have hope for the future. My Friday night date (what was her name?) just might see me again. There is just no accounting for women’s poor taste in men. Although there is to be no romance with her, her fire and brilliance are more than enough. Her immense sexuality does satisfy my need to be with a woman, even though I do not partake of that sexuality. I wonder if that makes sense. It does to me.
And, while typing this note, Chloe contacted me. She has returned from Paris and is available. I will not ask of her whining fiancé. That guy whines almost as much about her as I do about Adriana. What kind of guy is that?
My Dear Danielle, I have dreamed all my life of two sexy 21-year-olds wanting my company. I have attained my dream. In the future, I will flesh out my dreams a little more.
Mike
A man never loses by loving.
He loses by holding back.
Adriana, I love you.
Bodacious Ta Ta’s
Actual Photo of My Friend Sara
Written Saturday Afternoon, August 30, 2008:
Roxanne, age 25, formerly of Scores, has a white satin blouse full of ruffles. But the thing has no buttons except down towards her waist. I’m surprised a blouse that expensive saves money by failing to have buttons sewn in!
Roxanne buys custom-made bras at Nordstrom’s at ridiculous prices. She says that’s one of the few places where she can buy bras in her 32E size.
When she wears that blouse, the tops of her breasts are covered, but the plunging neckline fully reveals the sides of those monsters. They are perfectly-formed and retain their shape. Being store-bought, they hardly move. They are stunning to look at.
On another day, Sara, age 22, slides into the front seat of my car. How can anyone with such a small, tight little tush have such huge, natural ta ta’s?
Her top is low-cut, and I have trouble remembering to look at her eyes when we’re talking. Her speech causes ripples to fan out in her ta ta’s, and it is mesmerizing. When I ask her why I want the woman I can’t have, she snaps her head around to face me and, with a big smile, says
“Cause you’re a man!”.
That snap of her head causes waves to move across her chest. I watch the waves crash into her bra, then bounce back the other way, then settle into tremors.
It is breathtaking!
She’s looking so good today, with highlighted hair and beautiful eyes.
Seneca: “Honey, give me your hand!”
She gives me her hand with a playful smile.
Holding her arm outstretched, her palm down, I say:
Seneca: “Honey, look at how perfectly-formed you are! Look at how pretty your hand is! Look at how your skin just radiates!”
She knows I am smitten!
Show vs Substance
flow by eliara
Saturday Evening, October 18, 2008:
Dance music blasting through the car stereo
Stripper girl’s face against the lit visor mirror
Cue tip carefully cleaning an eyelash
Lip ice smoothed over young lips.
“Mike! Do my lips look bigger?”
“Geezus, Honey! Your lips are perfect!”
Roxanne was forty-five minutes late tonight, so we missed our reservation at Sushi Wabi and ended up at Meiji. It is obvious to me why one restaurant is packed and the other isn’t, but Roxanne loves Meiji.
I look at Roxanne.
New high-heeled leather boots to the knee,
tight, carefully-faded blue jeans,
tight white knit top with plunging neckline,
huge store-bought ta ta’s holding perfect shape,
teeth whiter than white,
sparkling blue eyes,
and, of course, she’s blonde.
Roxanne is stunning. That’s her business as a stripper-girl. We make quite a stir meeting my friends at the Black Ensemble Theater on this the opening night of “The Other Cinderella”.
Roxanne is the red Ferrari for which everyone goes wild and which everyone wants to have.
The initial cost is outrageous.
The maintenance is staggering.
As we cross the stage to get to our seats, I am uncomfortable. All eyes are upon her and I am trying to look invisible. She’s an outrageously-built young blonde walking on the stage of a theater with an almost all-black audience. We are not traveling incognito.
I much prefer Danielle,
just as stunning,
but in a classy, quiet manner.
I wanted to introduce Danielle to my friends tonight,
and somehow be enhanced by having a friend such as her.
I wanted her quiet elegance next to me.
Tonight was important,
and I needed to share it with her.
I hope Danielle will accept my need for emotional closeness.
I will not ask her.
I’ll just see what happens.
She requires that I do without physical intimacy.
I do need emotional intimacy.
I see Danielle Thursday.
It’s difficult to wait that long.
The Ultimate Stripper Girl
Jenna Jameson
Sunday, May 25, 2008:
I had seen her in the print advertisements and in the website for the area’s premier strip club.
She was the perfect American girl with shoulder length, highlighted blond hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that electrified. Her body was slender and curvy, sculpted by a perfection of genetics. Her grooming was impeccable, down to her French-manicured nails.
She was, and is, simply perfect.
I assumed she in fact worked for the club, as stripper girls are indeed sometimes that perfect. Not having seen her at the club, I assumed she was in one of the Champagne Rooms in the back doing private dances or off work that night. It did occur to me that she might be a professional model.
But she wasn’t!
She was a stripper girl!
Driving home from visiting Adriana on a Sunday afternoon, Roxanne calls and asks me to redirect the car to the expensive McCormick & Schmick’s Seafood Restaurant in Schaumburg to meet her and a girlfriend for dinner. I like to think that I was invited because of my overwhelming masculine charms. The jaded may say that I was invited to pick up the tab for a couple of youngsters gone wild ordering things they could not afford.
I check that my credit card is with me and has availability, note that I have a half-tank of gas, put on my sunglasses, and tell the car to head for the girls.
Roxanne danced at the same club as the stripper featured in the print ads. I am stunned to find whom her girlfriend at dinner is.
She’s the one in the print ads and on the website.
Her name is Becky.
Jenna Jameson
In person, Becky is hotter than her photos, if that is possible. An animated pretty girl is always better than her photos, and Becky is stunning.
She seems to be a genetic abnormality, as every part of her is beyond perfection.
Her white dress stops just a couple of inches from the knees of her very expensive legs. Her dress covers her neckline except for a slit exposing just a little of large, firm breasts. The tone of her calf muscle is just right, exercised yet feminine. At age 28, she is in her prime!
Roxanne, age 26, is also gorgeous. I look at these two American girls, laughing, talking, and drinking with the confidence and fun attitude of dancers, and I am in awe.
But maybe not!
Becky is surprised at Adriana’s reluctance to kiss new acquaintances, and Becky says:
“I’ve given a ton of bj’s, and I’ve never gotten anything in my mouth!”
I note three things. First, her bj’s are given away freely, thus terribly devaluing them. Second, her adding “in my mouth” to this careful listener implies that she has had sexually transmitted diseases in other parts of her body. Third, in spite of her overwhelming beauty, I don’t want her phone number.
For years now, I’ve been with these women of extraordinary beauty who have been corrupted to their core by drugs, alcohol, and monstrous childhood abuse. I can take it no longer.
I think of how careful Adriana is with her body. I think of the impact on me of Adriana simply lifting her gaze to meet mine. I think of the softness of her eyes, and I know that these moments with Adriana are infinitely more treasured that any sexual treat that can be delivered by Becky.
What Adriana, and women like Adriana, deliver is much more valuable and satisfying!
As perfect as Becky is looks-wise, her speech isn’t. It’s rough and full of foul language learned by talking to lust-crazed men over a number of years.
The clubs do seem to damage women, for no one can handle long-term exposure to the sometimes worst of men at their worst behavior.
They get me excited over the supposedly perfect women who will inhabit the new Pink Monkey strip club, and we make plans to go Friday. On the way home, I cancel, totally tired of that life and the women in it.
Roxanne lives nearby, and Becky wants to go to Roxanne’s place for a make-out session. I am not invited, as I have served my purpose of picking up the monstrous tab, fueled by two plates of sampler oysters and exotic drinks. Roxanne is embarrassed, and pretends Becky is kidding about the make-out session. The two do head to Roxanne’s place, Roxanne’s interest in men having been long ago destroyed by exposure to men in strip clubs.
Although Becky is wonderful to look at, there is little else of interest. Real women who take care of themselves, who value their bodies, and who are struggling for a real life are so much more attractive.
Just the touch of Adriana’s hand is everything to me.
But much more valuable than the touch of Adriana’s hand is what goes on inside of her. I sometimes see her look away, thinking, thinking about her life, thinking about how to treat me properly, thinking about her career and her schooling. She tells me of her passions, sometimes her sexual passions, and tells me her feelings. She lets me connect with her very core.
I’ve never had a connection like this before. I wonder how it would be to go through life connected to a woman like this. That must be what marriage is about.
Will I ever find a connection like this again?
Two Roxannes
Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Roxanne herself.
August 19, 2006
A drunken feast always took place when the Macedonians conquered an enemy. Upon defeating Bactria 2,327 years ago, Alexander the Great was watching the local girls do their dances. He was taken with a slender, young thing, tight and toned, arms raised over her head, doing her little wiggle, with a huge smile on her face.Her name was Roxanne.
Alexander was so taken with the little thing that, upon finding out that she was the daughter of the defeated King of Bactria, he asked permission from her father to marry her. Told that he didn’t need to marry her, that, as victor, he could have his way with any women of his choosing, he still insisted on marrying her. Roxanne was Alexander the Great’s first wife and did bear him at least one child.
A couple of thousand years later, a slender, young thing, tight and toned, arms raised over her head, doing her little wiggle, with a huge smile on her face, is dancing at Scores.
Seneca is smitten.
Her name is Roxanne.
Roxanne
Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Roxanne herself.
August 17, 2006
It’s getting to be a nice habit that my first thought in the morning is to call Roxanne. She mentions that, right now, she’s wearing nothing but pink panties with pink flowers bought from Victoria Secret. I think of her blond hair, her big eyes, her firm set of B’s, her flat dancer’s tummy, and her killer legs, and I am truly affected! Is there a school where women go to learn how to entrance a man?
Tonight is her first visit to my home. She will see the bed where Maggie and I held one another month after month. She will sit in the same chair the Little Sailor Girl sat wearing nothing but a SPAM tee shirt. She will view the Little Stripper Girl’s bedroom. She will sip the Pinot Noir I keep for Anastasia.
Will tonight be our first kiss?
Things are going soooo slowly with Roxanne, and I love it. The Little Sailor Girl was fiery and intense, and I am not up to another one of those just yet! Roxanne and I had been going out for a few months, more as friends than as dates, and the growth of our relationship was interrupted by the Little Sailor Girl. I’ve known Roxanne three years.
I’m not sure how to deal with Roxanne. She is not a drug addict, not an alcoholic, not a tramp, she’s fit and toned, and she doesn’t even smoke. Has anyone ever met a woman like this?
Roxanne Wears Prada
Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Roxanne herself.
August 19, 2006
I pick her up at her town-home, and am waiting in the car for her.
I hear shouting, and find that she’s yelling at me to tell her which purse looks better with her shoes. I see a very short white sun dress emphasizing killer legs forged by dancing and non-stop roller blading. I see a gold brooch pinning her dress together at her breasts, emphasizing her wonderful cleavage. Insist that she may, I cannot take my eyes off her long enough to look at her shoes. What shoes???
I pretend that I’ve seen the shoes, and pick a purse. Turns out to be a Prada purse!
The next evening, it’s the same scenario. This time she’s in a perfectly cut and fitted dress of multiple colors, mainly red and white, very short. I gasp at how beautiful she looks! Of course, it’s a Prada dress. Of course, she’s carrying a Prada purse. I ask the Good Lord why ALL of my women are so expensive!
As she sits in the car, the Prada dress rides up higher than any dress ever has in the history of man. The front passenger seat is filled with legs, legs, legs, long and toned, soft and smooth. I have trouble breathing!
On another evening, her fitted jeans blend well with the twilight and become almost invisible. She is a white lace cammi floating in the night, and the cammi lovingly presses on young, firm breasts.
Thursday night, she was simply a sexpot wearing a very short jean skirt and a simple white top emphasizing her cleavage. I cannot believe how those legs fill up my car and my vision and my life!
What Am I Doing?
Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Roxanne herself.
September 8, 2006
Sitting outside Roxanne’s house waiting for her to jump in the car, I’m frantically clearing my phone of Mika’s text messages. Roxanne likes to check my messages.
I hear movement and look up. There’s Roxanne’s toned midsection at the passenger window. Her breasts are covered in a tight white top. Glittering rhinestones surround her cleavage.
Damn!!! I’m here to tell her of my new relationship with Mika, and I’ve gotta give that toned body up!!! Worse, I’m livid at Mika for some reluctance to perform her wifely duties. Dammit Mika, you can be replaced!!!
Roxanne jumps in the passenger seat with a leopard Prada bag and matching Prada shoes. She’s expensive, gorgeous, and hot!!!! This breakup just ain’t gonna work!
I’m late picking up Roxanne as I’m buying Mika birthday gifts all night. The shop girls are crying as they gingerly pack my gifts in Marshall Field’s bags, as those bags will be replaced with the hated Macy bag tomorrow. Me and the shop girls take blood oaths to hate Macy’s forever!
Having forgotten to eat today, Roxanne and I start drinking martini’s at 10:00 PM. I quickly get ripped. Sushi Wabi is fortunately horribly loud, and I take out my anger at Mika by yelling at Roxanne that, if she wants sex tonight, it’s gonna cost her $500 per hour. She thinks I’m funnier than hell and encourages my yelling! She’s laughing and having a great time. Later, I profess my undying love to her!
Mika who???
Mika, you’d better get your ass on the ball!
Mika, I mean your ass, got it?
Faith Hill is singing “Breathe” as I pass Sally’s on Harlem Avenue. Damn, Maggie used to jump around when she heard that song. We ate at Sally’s so often! Maggie, get your ass home!!!
And YOU, Little Sailor Girl, you were my anchor!!! Where the hell are you??? Was our relationship real at all??? Are these chicks just filler while I wait for you???
