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Friday, March 10, 2006 

The Return of Smitty

We talked for a full two hours. In that two hour time period I realized why I both liked (I won’t admit to love) and hated Smitty.

We hadn’t talked for 2 years. I almost did recognize who he was when I picked up the phone. True to form, it was 7P on a Friday night and he was at his desk at work. The life of an Executive. He said it himself. He hates his job but loves getting paid. Even after we hung up at 9, I’m sure he’d still be at the office for at least another hour. He was reading and replying to emails as we chatted. He had me on speaker phone. How romantic. Now I remembered why I hated him.

It started out nicely. We just caught up. I told him about the job, and school and The Dungeon. How I’m happy to be a homeowner. He told me about a girl he dated a while back. They dated for 5 months. He broke up with her because she wanted to get married. I asked how old she was. 31. Yeah, a lot of 31 year old women want to get married. I asked him how old he was now. 34. I was 21 when we started dating. He forgot to call me on my 22nd birthday.

It’s easy to get sucked back in. His voice is amazing. A mix of weariness, exhaustion, playfulness, and a bit of pent up frustration. The good frustration. The kind of frustration that won’t let you wait till you get home, and you end up fucking in the car in a vodka induced blur.

And then we talked about sex. I told him about the roster and how he’s not on it. I told him about THM. About how I don’t need any because I’m getting some. I told him that I’m in charge and calling the shots now. He didn’t believe me. He asked if I’d been to Vickie’s lately. I told him I had. I lied. He asked what’s my favorite recent purchase from Vickies. I told him the turquoise cami and boyshorts (thongs are over). He asked me what else. I refused to tell him. Remember, I’m in charge. He actually begs. He says please. I’m liking this control. He said that he wants me to wear it when he sees me next. I told him no. He asked why. I told him he doesn’t deserve for me to do anything that he asks. He thinks this is foreplay. He doesn’t realize that I’m serious. I realize again why I hate him.

I curtly told him that unless he wants to talk about something other than how good the sex was when we were together, he could say goodnight there and then. Goodnight, he said. Goodnight, I said. Wait! Before you hang up! What? I’m really sorry about not calling two weeks ago. For a minute, I almost believe him. His voice isn’t playful anymore. He really sounds sincere. Are you coming tomorrow, I ask? Of course he’s not. He asks if I’m free on the 18th. I tell him that I’ve lost faith in him. He can come on the 18th if he likes, and then we’ll see if I’m available. He promises that he’ll come, and he tells me to wear some new Vickies.

let's out him at work this week. we need something to do and that sounds like a good project.

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About me

  • I'm young, single, got a great ass, a serial dater, a sometimes drunk, addicted to the gym, liable to make fat girls cry, have a mild ED, think Notre Dame is the greatest college and Texas is the greatest state. Currently at a standstill since moving from Detroit Area, Michigan (tons of yuppies) to Mason, MI (noted KKK presence). Come be a part of my random, shocking, and exciting world.
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