Chicago

by jenkapotente

Care to listen?

I was sat on a sort of wrap-around bench MJQ has in their disco ball room feeling disgruntled from the unwanted attention of a polo-wearing, non-thug affiliated (maybe) club-goer who cockblocked my imagined opportunity with one of the guitarists of Smithsonian post Drunken Unicorn set with his incessant attention and gropeyness forcing me to improvise a plan B for the night. The lad next to me was in a black v-neck tee, black thick-rimmed square glasses, black tailored trousers and black boots to which my over-sized black and gold studded union jack sweater, black leggings and black leather ankle boots found to be familially comfortable. Comfort-able (This story is about comfort if anyone asks). At this point I’d had three plastic cups of bar wine and was feeling pretty outspoken, friendly, somewhat-uninhibited and endearingly sleazy, or well, let’s say, I’d run out of fucks to give.
I was attracted to him. His posturing. He sat with back straight, head slightly cocked, legs crossed with ankle rested on opposing knee (I’m a sucker for right angles and good posture). We both observed the dance floor, and without hesitation I turned slightly while maintaining eye contact on the object of potential discourse: “She knows what she’s doing. I’d do her. What about you?” He responded with shock, amusement, and interest. I successfully broke ice with a complete stranger.
Over the next hour I learned he was in town on business with a partner (the good-looking but obviously bored and boring lad sat on the other side of him), he was involved in advertising, currently living in Chicago and had previously lived in ATL and was checking out his old haunts. He spoke to me of what MJQ used to be like, the way everyone always speaks about MJQ–with some element of romantic whimsy–the way I imagine some people speak of attending Studio 54 in its heyday.
We had way too much in common, but it was the fact he was a previous massage therapist before going into advertising that moved our setting to his W-Midtown hotel room. He’d mentioned a knee injury but I don’t recall getting below his hip. We’d lost his partner during the MJQ-W migration and we were alone, two silhouettes twenty stories high overlooking Midtown, appreciating body work. It was when he turned supine that things took a more intimate direction (he must have been really into my pectoral compressions). But I had no idea what I was in store for.
He was delicate but intense and acting with my arousal as his purpose without vocalizing it or appearing eager. His actions were fluid and seamless. His positioning was like a plank over me, without rigidity or awkwardness. He fulfilled me multiple times with an ease not even a long-time lover has ever accomplished. He inspired a stereotype: his fitness impressed, or perhaps cemented, upon me the idea men in their 40s are the best lovers.  I wanted to move to Chicago for him. I wanted to fly there and find him, uproot myself, my home, to be his favored phallic glove (did I really just say that?). But alas, my memory failed me. And all I knew of him was that night.

Humorous

by jenkapotente

I ❤ wordpress’ blog stats.

I was particularly amused by the search engine terms used to find one of my blog entries: “rubbing crotch video”.  So, someone out there is searching for ‘rubbing crotch videos’ and I find this very amusing. 

Let’s take a moment and visualize what sort of person would run a search for ‘rubbing crotch video’, shall we?

…Think…

Seriously, imagine a figure and bring the figure to life with a cacophony of colorful adjectives, please. 

If so inclined, leave it as a comment. 
If you want me to like you leave it as a comment. 
If you’d like me to fantasize about having your babies leave it as a comment.
If you’d like me to manifest the proper member to impregnate you leave it as a comment.
If you’d like to see me disintegrate in a vat of acid leave it as a comment.

In other words, I’d like to see some participation.  Also, I’d like you to do it before reading mine so I don’t contaminate your thoughts with my own!

 Okay, here’s mine:

 It’s male, because I consider males to be far more depraved and corrupt and more likely to type something like ‘rubbing crotch video’ in a search engine (as opposed to the wholesome and virtuous female :P)

I would imagine him in his 30’s and definitely single.  He’s got what I kindly call ‘cul-de-sac’ head, which refers to the receding hairline of men (Think Hunter S. Thompson).  He also sweats profusely, is unkempt, and lives in his mother’s basement in a small town somewhere in the bible belt of the US. 

This man is a machinist with a severed thumb and last copulated with a female in his late 20’s (when the receding hairline was only minor and the thumb was more than a knub) after deciding to go to a bar with some work buddies.  They were both fairly drunk and she was rebounding from a 4 year relationship.  She was homely, which was par, but of course appeared more comely with each imbibed drink.  She asked if she could go back to his place, but he said his roommate had guests over, being too ashamed to admit he still lived with his mother.  So they walked to her apartment and fumbled inside, sloppily kissing and groping one another.  He flipped the light switch and she immediately flipped it off.  Casanova tripped, knocked her down and they decided the hallway would be the best place to commence this act of drunken fornication.  Neither of them had condoms and in their drunken and excited stupor, decided it best to fuck without protection.  The coitus lasted all of 2 minutes and Casanova passed out without even pulling out, not noticing she’d already been asleep for at least one-third of the act.   She awoke 4 hours later and pushed him off her with pure repugnance.  He eventually awoke, zipped his pants, realized she’d already gone, and he left for home. 

The following week he discovered something quite disturbing and to this day still resents her for never warning him of her unsightly case of herpes.  He regularly reenacts the moment they entered her apartment in his head and demands the lights stay on.  He’s a hermit and spends most of his time in the basement playing video games and perusing porn sites when not running searches on ‘crotch rubbing videos’. 

This man will commit suicide before reaching 40 by way of hanging.  Song most likely to be randomly playing on the radio during his suicide? Ironically, (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes from the soundtrack to his favorite film: Dirty Dancing.

I’ve been thoroughly entertained.

What stereotype can YOU come up with and how detailed can you get?

Thank you and good day.