Sheryl – The Past Revisted

“I wish I could find a guy I could trust to blindfold me, restrain me and have his way with me, but in a safe way.”)

Advertisements

So I reluctantly sent a text to Sheryl about how I’m writing a blog and she’s going to be in it.

(See: Sheryl – Not The Muse) to get the full history.

I wish this had gone better, because it could have been so much better!

I was torn with the decision to contact her due to the 20 year gap and the history there. But the blog won’t write itself and I did it.

She responded positively and really wanted to re-connect with me and meet up this time. I tried a year ago, and it went to shit because she bailed on the last-minute because she said her ex husband was going to jail and her son was upset.

Red Flag.

But it’s been a year and I wrote about it and figured why not, at least meet with her. She was the inspiration for a character in a book I wrote in the 90’s and she was fun to be with then.

We set it up and instead of me meeting with the 22-year-old girl I knew back in the day I am now meeting with the divorced 42-year-old mother of 2 in 2018.

No big deal. I’m divorced and Lorelei is with me at 22.

We set it up for a Sunday at 4:30pm.

I’m picking up a shift at the tanning salon from 11 to 4pm.

She has anxiety about travel but caught the PATCO line from Jersey and I tell her I’ll be there to meet her at the station at 16th and Locust.

I finish work and head to the stop. Some guy begs for change and I blow him off just like all of the grifters I can’t help in this city as I descend the steps into the final stop for PATCO.

 

I hear and feel the rush of hot air as the train rushes into the station. I stand in a spot where I’m easily seen from all exits.

 

People pour from the train and rise on the escalators and climb the steps to the sidewalk above.

I’m waiting.

I watch for her. Many people pass. A crowd of commuters roar past me and I stand there like a statue in the middle of the terminal.

Once the people are gone I remain thinking maybe she’s on the next train, but based on her texts she should have been on this one.

I walk down the hallway, and there is one woman standing there in a long dress looking at the city maps and frantically texting.

I walk down and look through the bars and speak.

“Sheryl?”

“Oh Hey! I didn’t know which way to go. I was just texting you.”

Sheryl is much older than I remember her. The youthful curvy blonde is gone. Here is a dyed red-haired middle-aged woman who has a considerable number of miles on her. This is not just age. This is bad experience and a collection of bad decisions. Decisions  that have been made over and over. Bad men, alcoholism, crime, abuse, poverty, children and bad lifestyle decisions.

We hug and it’s nice to see a ghost from my very distant past that isn’t dead.

 

We sit outside at Fado, a really great Irish bar at 15th and Locust. (The food and service is terrific!)

It’s all a little weird so I order a Manhattan to take the edge off. She goes with a Jack and Coke.

We catch up and I tell her everything that’s been going on in my life for the last 20 years and she does the same.

But I hear how bad it’s been for her. I know things were bad in her life when I met her 20 years ago, but it hasn’t stopped.

 

Her whole life has been poverty, baby mama drama, shitty family, alcoholism, abuse, kid problems, horrible men, and employment struggles.

It’s sad but true.

But it seems nothing’s changed in Sheryl’s life as she’s grown older.

But I will say this. Hanging with Sheryl, and drinking and smoking and reminiscing about the old times was really nice. We picked up like in was 1996.

 

But it’s 2019.

 

I’ve evolved beyond all of the trappings of all of my old life. So much has changed in my life. No more anxiety. No more depression. Love to work at my job. Love to be busy. Great friends and all is good with my family. Daughter is fine and happy. We live in Rittenhouse. We’re firing on all cylinders here at camp phicklephilly.

But when I listen to Sheryl, she still sound like she’s struggling with all of the trash from her past that sadly is still sitting front and center in her present life. Her whole life is in a stinking bag someone left at the curb.

As the drinks flowed, of course the conversation turned sexual.

Sheryl is still trapped in making bad decisions in regard to bed mates.

I know Sheryl very well and the things that will ignite her libido, but at her current age I have zero interest in approaching her.

During our meeting I could tell it was made clear to me she wanted me to meet her at some future date and perform a certain deed that would have fulfilled her desire.

“I wish I could find a guy I could trust to blindfold me, restrain me and have his way with me, but in a safe way.”)

I love the idea of what we discussed, but sadly, I’d rather act that play out with a much younger and prettier victim than this target.

(To be honest with all of you my faithful readers… I just want to live my life and have no interest in doing anything with anyone kinky anymore. That’s all behind me now.)

Here’s the worst part.

(Not really)

The first server comes out and tells me that her shift is ending and we can close out so she can transfer the check to the next girl.

Of course knowing the industry I want to cash her out and tip her.

Sheryl offers No Quarter.

No offer of cash or help with the tip.

 

Okay. No big deal. She took a train out of her bubble and came to Philly on a Sunday to meet with me.

But we continue on with another server and Sheryl wants food. She gets Salmon and I get chicken fingers.

The drinks are still flowing and she’s pounding Jack and Cokes.

 

Everything’s great, and it feels like the old days…. but it’s 2019 and so much has changed for me, but it seems like nothing’s changed for Sheryl.

If anything, it’s gotten worse for her. She’s great at her job at the bank and is very much-needed but it’s obvious why she never gets a raise or is promoted.

The corporation is ashamed at the way she looks.

Sad but True.

Sheryl is still driven by her sexual urges and that was the thing that drove us together 20 years ago, but for me I have grown past that in so many ways. Sadly, Sheryl’s life is still ruled by that nonsense.

I am light years beyond all of that, and I now look upon these meetings as only fuel for this blog and novelty.

But here’s the worst part for me.

It was nice to reconnect with my former friend, but after the second round of food and drinks, there was no effort on the part of Sheryl to kick in for the bill.

 

All of the best people in my life at least offer.

 

I have friends where I’m actually surprised when they even try. I love them dearly.

Sheryl texted me and wanted to pencil in the last Sunday of every month to meet up and hang.

I can’t afford that. $80 a month to circle the drain? No fucking way. That’s a thousand dollars a year.

I’m offended at this point.

Thank you for your time in the 90’s. I really enjoyed our conversations and the sex.

I’m glad I got to see you, but I expected you to be a bit further along.

I know we could have had some fun together this year, but I’m going to pass Sheryl.

 

You’re cut off.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly            Facebook: phicklephilly       Twitter: @phicklephilly

Celebrity Sightings: Joséphine Jobert on What it’s like Filming Death in Paradise

Apparently my global audience is as much in love with Josephine as I am. So I’ll keep posting during my free time.

And on Saturday nights… I like to publish whatever I want!

 

https://www.radiotimes.com/travel/2018-01-18/josephine-jobert-on-what-its-like-filming-death-in-paradise/

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly         Facebook: phicklephilly

Wildwood Daze – 1980 – I’ve Had It With This Town

I love the summer. I’ve been dropped here against my will by some other person. My father. I have no control over my life. I have to go to school at a new school as a stranger. I know you have a problem with my dissatisfaction and depression.

I excel in school and start a band. I thrive in this shit hole you’ve dropped me off with no concept of how that will break your son’s spirit.

Janice is off in college so you’re good. If anything is of kilter your going to lose your shit and that is me.

What did you think was going to happen?

Let’s rip the 17-year-old son from all of his friends and his band from Philly and drop him off in Wildwood, New Jersey. A retirement and resort town the you already know is a deathtrap for young people.

You dropped out of high school to get away from this hell hole. You joined the army rather than turn to crime at 17. You fucking asshole that I love.

I get it. I worked in banking just like you for 30 years. You were making a bunch of bad loans at the Provident in Philly and got out when the getting was good.

You retreated to NJ. your little safe haven to escape, but you never thought of what that would do to the children in your life.

The little ones were fine. April and Gabby didnt;t know any better. But I was a senior in high school. I never got to graduate with my friends at Frankford in Philly. I had a band. You destroyed that for your little escape plan.

But what was that. You replicated your life in NJ as the regional manager at First Fidelity Bank. You’re a great manager and a great man. But you really have a taste for some of your employees, man.

I remember telling you about a girl I met once how I was in a relationship and I told you about how I had feelings for her.

You said, “Why don’t you just move on her”

I said: “Because that would be wrong. I’d be cheating on my girlfriend and that would betray her trust in me.”

You were pleased and happy with my answer.

I knew it.. because you could never be that. I could see it in your eyes you were relived that I wasn’t like you in that respect.

That respect.

Bitch, please.

If you’re unhappy in your liffe, divorce mom and just send the check and leave us the fuck alone. Then you can bag Jennifer Sweeten or as you call her “sweet meat” all you want until her husband finds out.

You’ll figure it out.

 

You and your brother Jack were dropped off here after your parents divorced. Nobody got divorced back then.

Why the hell would you think it was a good idea to drop me off in this shit hole?

Wildwood is a glistening sand castle of magical fun and romance in the summer… and then it turns into a bleak shroud of dark depression where there is nothing going on in the winter. It is a desolate hole of isolation that is impossible for a teenager to escape.

Here I am. I know you and there is a part of you that is me. Some great. Some awful. But you have the chore of raising the shitty you and now the shitty son you don’t understand who is too much like your brother Jack.

So if there were any questions as to why Chaz wanted to load up the ’69 Volkswagen minibus and drive across the country to go live in sunny California let’s put all of that to rest right now.

I love you, you selfish, self-serving prick.

I really do.

Thank you for teaching me to read. Thank you for all of the books. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for teaching me to ride a bike. Thank you for teaching me how to catch a fish. Thank you for teaching me to drive a car. Thank you for teaching me about wine, art, and literature and film. Thank you for teaching me about women. (To an extent) Thank you for everything.

I’m not going to mention all of the bad stuff here.

All ready did some of that.

 

Time to load of the 69 VW minibus and head to California.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly      Facebook: phicklephilly   Twitter: @phicklephilly

10 Steps to Take to Tell Your Partner You’re Unhappy

https://va.topbuzz.com/s/jwSy

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly      Facebook: phicklephilly   Twitter: @phicklephilly

Sun Stories – Chanel – American Gypsy – Part 1

It was late on a Wednesday night. I had worked at the salon the day before from open to close. That’s 10am to 8pm on your feet. To some that may seem like a long day, but I revel in it. I get up early, go out to breakfast then head to Wawa for all the food I need for the day. (Which is normally too much) I get a sandwich, some fruit, chips, a can of soda and a desert. That worked just fine yesterday.

The reason I had to work all day at the salon alone, was because the gym we’re trying to open in the front of our shop is in conflict with the folks upstairs.  They have a cardio gym up there and they are suing us and the landlord for $50,000 to cease and desist. It’s a joke and we know it, but Achilles needs to go to court until we resolve it.

It’ll be fine… they don’t have a leg to stand on. They’re just afraid we’ll take business from them but our fitness center is all strength training and has nothing to do with what they do.

So here I am on a Wednesday doing my thing when the phone rings. It’s around 7:00pm.

“Thank you for calling Sunlight Tanning, This is Charles, how can I help you?”

I hear a youthful, girlish voice on the line.

“Hi. I want to go tanning and I forget where you are.”

This is a common dilemma for people. We used to be up on 16th Street near Steve’s Prince of Steaks but we’ve moved down to the shopping district on Walnut Street.

“We’re at 1234 Walnut Street second floor over Shaffer’s clothing store.”

“I used to go to you to tan… near a pizza place. Where are you?”

At this moment I realize this girl formerly went to a place that was near our old location, called “Sun Myst” which is a piece of shit tanning salon that does nails, threading, cryo and who knows what else to stay afloat. Their tanning beds are junk, the staff is surly, and they are more expensive that we are. I see a potential sale here so I go in teeth out and dorsal fin up.

Oh, you mean Sun Myst near Joe’s Pizza.

Oh, yes… thank you… (Ready to hang up. Sales God instincts kick in to steal from a competitor)

We have the best equipment to get you tan and have better prices than they do. What do you pay there?”

“How much for one UV?”

“$17 for one but $40 for five and they’re good for three months.”

“Oh. I only want one to try it.”

“Okay, we have state of the equipment to get you dark.”

“Oooh I want that! Sounds good!

I’m on the wireless house phone walking into the front of our business which is the gym. The machines stand silent. We can’t open our gym because of the lawsuit. I think of that as I walk toward the  windows that over look Walnut street.  A lovely view of the shopping district. It’s alive with people. We are mired in legal troubles but it’s the only quiet space in the salon because we have no members yet.

“Do you have lotions I can use to make me darker before I tan to make my color come out?”

“We have an array of product like that. (I smile)

“Okay. Where are you again?”

“1234 Walnut Street. 2nd Floor.”

“Okay, I’ll try you guys.”

“$17 for one. $40 for five good for three months.”

” I only want to do one to try it.”

“Tell you what. You do a single and a packet of my best lotion I’ll knock 10% off so the whole experience will be $22.

“Oh my, yes! see you soon!”

“Okay, well if you get lost on the way here call us again.”

“Okay I’m Chanel. Thank you.”

“I’m Charles… nice to meet you Chanel. I hope you come to our salon.”

 

“Hey , I’m underage. I’m only 17. Can I still come?”

 

Okay, my loyal readers this is where the rubber meets the road. Because without parental consent we are breaking the law tanning a person under the age of 18.

 

“Nah it’s cool. I’ll let you tan, dear. But we just need to discuss that when you get here. Okay?

“Mmm… thank you Charles.”

 

I’m on the phone with this girl who has already been tanning at a competitor and hates the experience and has been paying too much. As a sales guy I need to destroy my competitors and covet their clients. She’s only coming in for one, so I’ll figure it out when and if she even shows up.

It’s 7:50pm which is the witching hour for tanning salons. We don’t want anybody coming in at closing because we’ll never get out of here on time.

I’m mopping the floors and folding towels out of the dryer when there is a knock at the door.

There through the glass is a very pretty Eastern European girl  in a t-shirt, sweat pants and sneakers.

“Hey, hello. I’m sorry I’m late. Are you closing? I’m Chanel.”

Chanel, the 17-year-old minor I spoke to on the phone. She was beautiful. Raven black hair. The T-shirt said I love Zombies.

 

This one looked like she was fun and trouble all rolled into one delicious pastry.

 

Tune in tomorrow for the jarring conclusion…

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly                                     Facebook: phicklephilly

Phicklephilly – 2019 – 1000 Posts! – We Did It!!!

“If you live a life that is without the elements of who you really are you will never be happy.”

I’ve just been notified by WordPress that after 2 1/2 years of writing this blog I’ve written a 1000 posts!!!

It’s been an incredible journey to finally be writing again. I started out in this life as an artist. Then a musician, and then a writer.

But life, marriage, a child, and a career removed me from all of that. Other people needed me and the bills had to be paid.

But after 10 years I decided to write again.

I created Phicklephilly in the spring of 2016 and then did nothing.

By the fall I asked myself, is this something you’re going to talk about in bars with your friends and never do? I had discussed the notion of writing a blog about my life with many of my friends. One who is a better and more visceral writer than myself.

But I started to write.

I published a post about a waitress I had been infatuated with for some time on a Monday.

I worried no one would read it or like it. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to come up with content every Monday.

But I did.

Then I started writing updates for a Wednesday release.

Once the wheel started to roll, I did what needed to be done.

I wrote.

Writing is a hard lonely existence.

It’s something that you have to push yourself to do. Especially in the beginning. But like anything you really want you push yourself to do.

You begin a fitness program and you stick with it. The muscles grow and the fat disappears. You keep at it and then it gets easier.

I started to write like mad. Cranking out content until I had something happening  few times a week.

 

Then I found other things I liked and started to write about them. The Tanning salon, Tales of Rock, Crazy dates I’d been on in the past. Celebrities I’d met, and most of all, past relationships.

Some beautiful. Some bittersweet.

I’m not a great writer, but I kept at it. Like a pilot, I put in a certain number of hours until the plane called Phicklephilly soared.

And now here I am with all of you my loyal followers and readers after two and a half  years of writing.

1000 posts and over 50,000 views!

I couldn’t be happier.

 

If you want to do something, don’t talk about it. Like Nike says: Just do it.

Write everyday.

Push yourself. Who cares who reads it. Just create and express yourself.

 

I GUARANTEE  you that if you start writing and keep at it, the rewards will be like pieces of gold falling into your lap.

When you write from the heart and tell the truth about everything in your life, (Not everything. Keep some of yourself for yourself. That belong to you.)  You will find this liberating weight lifted from your shoulders.

Get it all out. The good, the bad and the ugly. Don’t be afraid. It’s just words. But it will lighten the load you’ve been carrying around your whole life.

Once you write it down and publish it… It’s gone but not invisible. But it’s out of you for the first time in your life. It’s now safely on the paper. You can understand what you’ve experienced so much better once you write about it.

You can look back on your work and your life and it’ so much easier to process, forgive and understand.

 

Writing Phicklephilly has been the most singular liberating experience of my adult life.

 

And there is so much more to tell.

I have so much more to say.

Knowing that these stories are now out on the internet forever. Even after I’m dead it is comforting.

Because they are no longer my responsibility. WordPress carries the weight for me now.

But by writing all of these stories guarantees my immortality.

 

I don’t need that, but it’s so much to live a simple, happy, and uncluttered life once you write.

I love most of what I’ve written. Everybody knows I hate writing dating and relationship advice but I found a way to keep it going for my readers who enjoy it.

I think my followers now know that I write Phicklephilly because of my simple love of creating. I’ve always been that way since I was a child. Drawing a picture. Sculpting something out of clay. Writing a song. Writing a book and a screenplay. Creating a comic strip.

I am an entity that apparently must always be creating and am happiest when I’m doing that very thing.

“If you live a life that is without the elements of who you really are you will not be happy.”

I feel happier than I have ever felt in my entire life.

I’ve lived a big exciting life. I’ve done a lot and experienced much. But it really comes down to a few simple components for me and please take heed if you wish.

  1. Your health is essential. You have that. you’re already winning.
  2. Surround yourself with good people. Whether they are friends, family or even some wonderful pet companions.
  3. Have something to do every day that you like to do. If you hate your job, find a better one that suits your life needs. It’s a third of your life, work. Why spend your day being miserable? Do something you don’t hate every day. It’s a short life. Enjoy yourself!
  4. To love and be loved. This is a tough one. Most people need this one. Love yourself and find someone else to love. If they love you back… Awesome!
  5. Have something to look FORWARD to. I don’t care what it is. Just have something. Brunch with a friend, a red envelope arriving from Netflix, a party, a day off, something you want to do that you made time to do. 

 

That’s it.

The rest is just stuff and bullshit.

Focus on the top 5.

 

Thank you one and all for taking the time out of your busy lives to take the time to read my little blog about dating, relationships and a bunch of stuff from my life.

I wish I could throw a big party and invite each and every one of you and we could all hang out and really get to know one another.

I’ve had the joy to become friends with some of the other talented writers on WordPress and it has been an absolute delight.

So many great people on here.

I also really appreciate my friends who have read and have subscribed to Phicklephilly. I love knowing they are here with me on this journey of self discovery and I hope some of this will inspire them to push forward on their lives.

Two and a half years ago there was nothing. I decided to start to write and now this is here.

You can create anything you want. You just have to do it and do it every day.

Look what can happen if you put your mind to something.

I’m still going to try in 2019 to get a couple of books published on Amazon Kindle this year!

 

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!!!!

 

Anything can be done, and you can do it too.

Please reach out to me for anything. I’ll always get back to as fast as I can.

 

My heart is full of love.

 

Life is good and my daughter Lorelei is healthy and happy, so that’s all I need.

 

Thank you one and all. This means the world to me and I hope you continue to enjoy the content I provide in 2019 and beyond!

 

There’s so much more to the story!!!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly      Facebook: phicklephilly   Twitter: @phicklephilly

 

More Love for Legs

I love women’s legs. I remember intentionally dropping my crayon on the floor in 2nd grade, just so I could check out my teacher’s legs as she dangled one shoe off her foot while sitting there reading us all a story. I can’t learn that. It’s just something in me that I love about women.

This subject is actually a bit complex, I think, because there are both biological and cultural factors involved. Yes, from the standpoint of evolutionary biology, we could definitely point to strong, shapely legs as an indicator of fitness, and no doubt human legs have evolved in terms of both length and shape because of both natural and sexual selection. However, I tend to think that various cultural factors overlaying all this are probably even more important for “leg men,” who imprint on their particular focus within a specific cultural context.

The accidents of personal experience play a very significant part. If you come to associate women’s legs with sex during puberty, that will probably stick with you for your whole life. And it could be for various reasons: seeing sexy pantyhose commercials on TV, noting a particular girl’s legs in school (because of how she’s dressed), talking about women’s legs with friends at the time, etc. And then perhaps this association becomes even more strongly reinforced by envisioning and dreaming about women’s legs (including images from the media and real life) while you masturbate.

Our culture definitely tends to treat women’s legs as sexy, so there’s also a very potent trans-personal cultural dynamic at work. Personal experience hooks into that quite readily, because it’s out there in various forms in the media and everyday life. Just seeing, say, a dance by a “leg goddess” such as Cyd Charisse in an old musical might imprint on your mind for life.

A culture doesn’t have to grant women’s legs this particular sexual emphasis, and not all do, but it’s a non-arbitrary association, because their legs lead directly to the obvious.

And this association is enhanced by cultural norms in various ways. First, in our culture, women shave their legs, making them smooth and even sexier and also yet more different from the legs of men. (They’re already naturally much less hairy, more rounded, and more shapely.) Women also often exercise them specifically in order to improve their tone and shape and perhaps tan them as well. And use skin softeners and so forth. Further, they wear stockings or pantyhose, which gives them an even smoother, sheerer texture and conceals minor blemishes, suggesting physical perfection. They also wear high-heeled shoes, which flex the muscles of the legs with each step, emphasizing shapeliness and fitness. And they sometimes wear short skirts or slit dresses or whatever that draw the eyes to the legs and emphasize them. A male who grows up surrounded by all this can be forgiven for developing an obsession with women’s legs.

And what’s not to like? Legs appeal to multiple senses: sight and touch. There’s a superb shape and line as well as an enticing texture (enhanced, of course, by shaving and perhaps nylons). At the sight of a woman’s legs, a man might well dream of running his hands over them and coming between them. And that smoothness in turn suggests and evokes what? Well, the vagina itself. So it’s no “accident” at all that shaving and wearing nylons are cultural enhancements that even more strongly allow legs to evoke feminine sexuality and enhance female sexual power.

With clothing, legs can also very handily be both revealed and concealed, which makes them almost uniquely empowered to allow women to tease and seduce men and inflame their imaginations. Legs being long, a little can be revealed, then a little more, then …. and so on, all the way up. It all depends on how much she wants to show. And sometimes less can be more. In addition, the momentary flash of legs through a slit skirt while a woman is in stride or crossing her legs can burn a potent image into a receptive man’s mind, both because they are beautiful in and of themselves and also because they suggest sexual availability. And if they are subsequently concealed, you yearn to see them again and also to see more. Dresses and skirts are all about advertising accessibility while also concealing and withholding.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

Instagram: @phicklephilly Facebook: phicklephilly