Kimiko – Chapter 5 – Text to Fix

After my wonderful first date with the lovely Kimiko, I really wanted to see her again. I was going to try to set something up for a lunch this week. I also sent her a link to this great documentary about the Asian Bank, “Abacus: Small Enough Too Jail.” (If you’ve been following this blog you’ll know that I saw that film in the theater with Ambria.)

I’m texting her.

“Thank you! I’m still at work! How are you?”

“I’m at the salon working too! I’ve been thinking about our fun date last night!”

“Another busy day, right?

“Not too busy here tonight. Rain is keeping people away.”

“Yea…Wholefoods too.”

 

Tuesday

“Would you still be up for lunch on Thursday?”

“Hey, I’m done work now. Thursday I have a doctor’s appointment at 2pm. What time is good for you?”

“Shall we do 11 or 11:30? What works best for you?”

“My doctor’s office is in Moorestown. Quite far away from the city. You have to work Thursday?

“3 to 8pm. Looking at a property at 10am.”

“Oh.”

“Weekend better for you?”

“I guess so.”

“Aww! Saturday after 5 or Sunday after 4pm? Movies? Or I could do a Zip Car and come to Jersey. Or I could hop on Patco and we could dine in Haddonfield or Collingswood.”

“Great! We can talk later.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________

The week passes and so does the weekend. I don’t hear from her at all. I really like Kimiko and want to hang out with her again. (And kiss her again!) My schedule just really sucks right now.  I decide to make another attempt.

Monday

“Hi Kimiko. Have you lost interest?”

“You didn’t text me last week?!”

“I wanted to after I came up with a few solutions on how we could meet and I didn’t hear from you for the weekend. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“You know what, it’s a misunderstanding, because I didn’t hear from you again, I thought you went on another date.”

“No. Like I said I have been working a lot lately. I like you and I thought our first date went really well.”

“Thank you. Yea, I had a good time too.”

“So you’re still interested in getting to know me and you’d like to go out again.”

“Sure!!”

“Yay!”

“Things have been busy getting this business off the ground. But I want to stay in touch with you and find ways to spend time with you whenever we can!”

“Yes! Sounds good! Because this weekend I’m going to New York for a baby shower.”

“Sounds good. I’m so glad we chatted tonight. I feel so much better and I hope you do too, Kimiko.”

“Indeed. You know sometimes online dating just ends for no reason.”

“I guess, but I think we have a good connection.”

“Yes!”

“Awesome. “Well have fun at the shower up in New York. We’ll chat again soon!”

“Absolutely!”

“Thank you, Kimiko.”

So I’ll leave it there for now. Hopefully once I get through the next week, I should have some free time to see her. I don’t want her to get away, but I fear that if I wait too long she will.

 

 

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Cherie – Chapter 45 – The Return of my Love

“I owe you for some birthday sex.”

Cherie has returned from Japan! She and her family have been visiting her brother for the last few weeks. He’s married and works in Navy Intelligence. This is the last time they’ll all be able to visit him over there so they took the opportunity. He’ll be stationed back in the States next year.

We’ve been in touch the entire time she was over there on the other side of the world. We used an international texting app called WhatsApp. It works great for chatting with your loved ones or anybody when you’re traveling abroad.

I was just happy that she and her family all arrived home safely and had a good time.

A couple weeks went by and there were some milestones while she was gone. We reached our 10 month anniversary, on the 8th and I celebrated my birthday on the 9th. She was in a completely different time zone so she said happy anniversary to me on the 8th over there and then the next day I said the same to her here in the US. (Because Japan is ahead of us by 14 hours?)

She said she owed me some birthday sex. I don’t think anyone has ever given me that before. They may have and I’ve forgotten over the years. But based on the sex we’re currently having, birthday sex may very well kill me.

She tells me she wants to come down this Saturday around 6:30. I’ve been working a lot lately so that’s the best I can do. She always has to get someone to watch her son which is usually her sister or mom. I finish up at the salon and head home at 5:30 so I’ve got a little time to prep. And by prep, I mean clean. Fresh sheets, Fabreze, give the bathroom the once over and replenish the candy dish on her side of the bed with fresh treats. Baby loves her milk chocolate.

She says she’s looking for parking so I head out of the house. She finds a spot down on 19th and Fitzwater. Perfect. That’s only a few blocks away and she won’t have to pay for parking. I start walking south on 19th and she walks north. (Cherie hates when I use words like North and South because it just further confuses her.)

I can see my love walking towards me in the distance. I’m so happy to see her! It’s probably been over a month and we’re both way overdue for some intimacy.

Finally we meet. We embrace and kiss. I’m so happy to see her! She looks beautiful of course. Her hair a tangle of raven and copper braids. Tight black slacks and heels. A sheer black top. She’s wearing a little jacket over it for modesty but she certainly is not wearing a bra.

We stroll together back to the batcave. The weather hasn’t been as hot lately, so all of the windows are open and the air conditioner is off.

Cherie once said to me that if she’s carrying her backpack then she’s staying the night. If not she has to go home in a few hours. Thankfully tonight she has her bag.

“How long can I keep you?”

“I should probably roll out of here around 7:30 or 8:00 tomorrow morning. My dad has to cook at a barbecue he and my mom are going to in Delaware.

“Oh that sounds fun!”

“Nah, I think my mom roped him into cooking because he’s great behind the grill.”

We chat, and I bring her up to date on my stuff. Work, the salon, the fitness center, my other job, etc. She in turn tells me all the fun they had in Japan. I had lots of questions obviously. I think I was just amazed that my girlfriend who was sitting on the edge of my bed right now was on the other side of the world in a foreign country just last week. I’ve done some traveling but mostly here in the US. I haven’t done any global trips in my life.

It was all very fascinating to me. I’ve always been interested in Asian history and culture. They just seem a bit more evolved than the rest of us. They certainly embrace honor and manners and I certainly appreciate that. (Plus I’ve always had a thing for hot Asian chicks!)

Then she starts pulling things out of her bag. First thing is a little blue box. She hands it to me.

“Got you a gift.”

“Aww! You didn’t have to that!”

It’s a little shot glass with some Asian symbols on it and the word Japan.

“I love it! I’ll do a shot tomorrow and send you a pic.”

“Well I know you like to drink so…”

Perfect gift. Thank you, dear! (kisses)

Then she pulls at this very interesting looking cylindrical bottle, with Japanese writing all over it. She tells me that it’s Japanese plum wine, and you have to wait 3 months to drink it, and can only wait 3 years to drink it. I take a closer look and it appears to have 3 or four little plums inside it. I don’t know what the proof on this wine is, but I’m certainly willing to find out. I guess the drinkability window is based on the age and pickling of the plums. (I’ll have to do some research on authentic plum wine.)

“We should drink it together.”

“That would be a new thing for us Cher. We’ve never shared one drink, ever.”

“Well we should do it.”

“Hey, how about for our one year anniversary?”

“Perfect. But you know with our crazy schedules it may not land on the exact day, but somewhere around it.”

“I’ll just be proud to know that we made it a year and we’re a happy couple.”

Maybe I could take her to a nice BYO restaurant for our anniversary and bring our little bottle of plum wine!

Cherie have never drank together. That time she and I went to Mix Pizza she told me if I wanted a drink I should get one. You should all know by this time that I love to drink. But when I’m with Cherie I just don’t feel like it. We don’t engage in any activities that involve alcohol. She’s not much of a drinker at all. We like movies, food, sex and whatever else but you won’t see us ever hanging at a bar. I don’t need to get her loosened up with booze. She’s always horny and ready to go. Besides, at my age, I don’t want anything messing with my signal during sex. Alcohol could affect my altimeter if you get my meaning.

Then she pulls out a keychain with Arielle from The Little Mermaid.

“We went to Tokyo Disneyworld. I know you told me that Lorelei liked the little mermaid when she was little so I wanted to get her a little something.”

“You are the best, Cher. I think she’ll love it. Maybe she’ll hook it to her bag she carries around with her.” (hugs and kisses)

I’m still chatting and walking about the room. Cherie smiles and lays back on the bed.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’ve really missed you a lot and I’m really horny.”

“Alrighty then.”

It was an amazing evening and lasted into Sunday morning. Glorious!

I’m so glad that I have Cherie in my life. She is such a lovely woman, and an absolutely chill girl that never wants anything. I even had a few “wife” moments again when we were giggling in bed tonight.

 

 

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Tales of Rock – Kurt Cobain Kills Himself Twice

“Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.”

Few musicians’ experiences with drug abuse have been as complex and intense as Kurt Cobain’s. For proof of this, see the index of Charles Cross’ 2001 Cobain biography Heavier Than Heaven. If you check, “Cobain, Kurt Donald; drug use of…” you’ll basically be instructed to read the entire book. He started off heavily averse to heroin; during his formative years, a friend suggested they try it and he stopped hanging out with him in response. He eventually tried the drug; when asked how it was by Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic, he shrugged, “Oh, it was all right.” But his habit escalated.

By the time Nirvana appeared on Saturday Night Live in 1992, Cobain was so deep in heroin addiction that he was vomiting and barely able to stand right until the time came to perform. He somehow pulled it together long enough to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Territorial Pissings” on live television. In March 1994, Cobain attempted suicide for the first time by washing down a large dose of flunitrazepam with champagne while in Rome. He nearly died and ended up in a coma for a day (Novoselic claimed that, mentally, he was never the same after this).

Within weeks he was back in Seattle, crashing on his daughter’s junkie nanny’s girlfriend’s couch and popping out occasionally to purchase speedballs and burritos. Cross quotes the girlfriend as saying, “He’d sit in my living room with the hat with the ear coverings, and read magazines. People came and went; there was always a lot of activity going on. Nobody knew he was there or recognized him.” By the end of the month, Cobain was given an intervention and packed off to rehab in California. But he soon escaped the facility by scaling a six-foot wall and, improbably, found a seat on a flight back to Seattle next to Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan.

Despite beef between Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses, the two bonded, finding a great deal of common ground as famous musicians from the Pacific Northwest with heroin problems. Once back at his house, Cobain reattempted suicide and this time he meant business. He injected a lethal dose of heroin and then blasted himself in the head with a shotgun, effectively killing himself twice. Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.

Another sad rock and roll tragedy. Showbiz is the only industry that eats it’s young.

Check this out:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

A footnote from phicklephilly: “I never understood suicide. You get one chance to be here, why leave early if you don’t have to? Suicide’s for quitters. I’ve suffered with anxiety and depression my whole life. I’ve beaten the shit out of them both (without drugs) and now we’re all on the same side. Suicide is always a long term solution to usually a temporary problem. I just don’t get it, Kurt. I was in a band when I was younger. It was an amazing experience. Kurt, you play music for a living. You’re in a famous genre inspiring band. You’re surrounded by a gaggle of moist women. Your bank account is full and your nuts are empty. WTF?”

 

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Kimiko – Chapter 3 – The Devil Made Me Do It – Part 1

I finished work at the salon that Sunday, and headed over to Devil’s Alley. It’s a bar/restaurant at 20th and Chestnut. I’ve written about it before. It’s one of my go to spots in Rittenhouse. Southern cuisine, cool spot. Dining room on the ground floor, and the bar and the balcony seating upstairs. There are lots of cool light effects and plants. There’s actually a tree growing in the middle of the downstairs dining room.

They have the best spicy dry rub wings in the city. The food is great there and I’ve just learned that they do Happy Hour every day. Even Sundays! So I’ve come to the right spot for my first date with Kimiko.

I’m early of course. I head upstairs to the bar and order a vodka and tonic. The bartender Tim is charming and we chat a bit about work and how life is tough right now. Classic bar banter. I throw it back and order another just to take the edge off the day and this date.

I text her.

Me: I just arrived at Devil’s Alley.

K: One min.

Me: I’m at the bar upstairs.

Perfect. It’s 4:57 and she is right on time. Points for her punctuality.

The place is dead and I love that it’s quiet so we can chat and get to know each other when she and I dine together.

I hear the light click of heels coming up the metal stairs behind me. I turn and there before me is the girl from the profile on Bumble.

But better.

The angelic fine boned features of the face. Alive. Real. Her raven tresses tumble about her shoulders like ribbons of coal. The lovely almond eyes. The lean body. She’s wearing a black and white blouse, with a fitted short jacket over it paired with black clinging slacks and heels.

She’s absolutely perfect. We do the perfunctory awkward hug that doesn’t feel that bad at all. I catch a whiff of her lovely hair.

We grab a quiet table on the balcony. We sit and the bartender comes over and she gets a beer and I ask for another V&T. We exchange the usual greetings and pleasantries. She tells me she’s parked a few blocks away at 20th and Walnut.

We’re sipping our drinks and I tell the server we want to chat a bit but will be ordering food. I ask her how long she’s been on Bumble. She tells me only about two weeks. She’s been on two dates but it hasn’t yielded anything significant. One was just a no and the other didn’t look like his profile pics. That’s good, the shark has gotten this baby seal before she could disappear. I can tell by her expression and body language she’s telling the truth.

I decide to open and tell her about myself first. She’s fine with that. It’s time for Led Zeppelin to go onstage. I tell her I like to talk. She responds that she’s a good listener.

I give her the sales pitch. Single dad. Daughter, 22 lives with me. Former banker and advertising guy. Works at a tanning salon and investing in a fitness center in Rittenhouse. I talk about my family and where we’re from and a little bit of history. I tell her I want her to know who I am and I’m very honest and open. I want to put her at ease. It’s an easy play because it’s all true.

To a point.

We seem to be hitting on all cylinders. She jokingly brings up my profile. About how I make the statement, “If you don’t look like your profile pics, you’ll buy me drinks until you do.”

I assure her that she won’t be buying me any drinks tonight. (Smokin’ hot and better than her profile pics.)

She laughs and I see how sweet she is. She can tell I’m a gentleman, and that I’m old-fashioned and she likes that I like dating, romance and courtship. That puts her further at ease.

She tells me her story. It’s an old family. Older than mine but she’s the baby of the family. There are eight children! She was born in Hong Kong. (Funny how my girlfriend Cherie is in Japan right now and I’m with a Japanese girl. Oh, the irony of life!) A long time ago Great Britain ruled Hong Kong and Japan. But then they had to give all of the countries they ruled over back and Japan went under the rule of China. She said her family didn’t agree with Chinese rule and fled Hong Kong and came to the US long ago.

Her parents and extended family always worked in the restaurant business. Chinese restaurants of course. Asians are some of the greatest restauranteurs in the world. Think about it. They’re in every city in the civilized world and you never see them go out of business.

So that’s what they did when they came here. The whole family worked like dogs running a Chinese restaurant. Then they opened up another one, and then another. They did this to afford their future generations with a better life. That’s how it’s done. Just good hard-working, bright people. I admire them and their tireless work ethic. Good manners and discipline. All of the qualities instilled into my family by my parents.

She was married once and I tell her my history, but I keep it brief and light. Too early to get to deep in that on a first date. She was married for many years and it yielded two sons. They are both in medical school.

Do you see the pattern here? Come from a crappy place, get to America. Work your asses off so your kids and grand kids have the means to become anything they want. Something you could never have imagined doing. She is very proud of her boys. At this point we whip out the cell phones like people used to bring out the wallet photos of their kids in days of old.

“You’re daughter is gorgeous. Pretty as a model!”

“I do nice work, but the mold is broken and there’ll be no more.”

We order the spicy dry rub wings so she can try them. Because its happy hour you can get a little four plate. Perfect. She orders the chicken quesadilla and I go with the pulled pork sliders. I order for us both and ask her if that’s okay. She likes it and digs the manners and skills.

Ex girlfriend Annabelle didn’t like when I did that but she was a raging feminist, but she was just a fool who didn’t understand manners and chivalry because she never grew up with any good male role models. That’ll never happen to my daughter Lorelei.

It’s going well and I want to learn more about her. She met her husband here but they had a lot in common. Both from Hong Kong, and similar cultural and familial histories. They started dating and then married three months after that. She tells me that’s kind of stupid, but I tell her how I was married to my ex-wife after ten months of dating.

We share a laugh over that and there’s definitely a connection. Life happens. People make decisions and you just hope for the best. It was probably just everyone tired of the dating scene and you settle on what you hope is a good one and just go for it.

She looks at her watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be? I don’t want to keep you.”

“I have to put money in the meter.”

“That would be a brilliant out if you felt the date wasn’t going well. You could just not come back.”

She touches my arm, “Oh I would never do that! You’re funny. I’ll be right back!”

She apologizes and I tell her the Parking Authority in this city is vicious so she should go now.

Off she goes. I know she’ll be right back. She only put enough for two hours and if it hadn’t worked between us, she could have bolted. She’ll come back right?

She’s been sweet, and she touched my arm.

Kimiko is coming right back. I joke with the bartender how this could be her out.

 

Wait… What if she doesn’t come back?

 

Find out tomorrow on Phicklephilly!

 

 

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Racquel Writes! There Is Enough to Go Around

via There Is Enough to Go Around

 

http://www.racquelwrites.com

 

 

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The Beach House – Chapter 1

I’ve been writing a great deal of fiction in the last year. Mostly story driven erotica. I’m just trying some new things and it’s not going all that well over at La Petite Mort. The site is failing despite 5 series running daily over there.

I was inspired to write a story of redemption by a friend of mine. I was listening to him and spending time with him, and this tale began to form in my mind. I don’t know where it came from, but it began to form like everything else I’ve ever written.

I’ve always thought about my art.

I need to draw a picture.

I need to write  song.

I need to tell a story.

 

That never works.

 

I get a feeling from a person, in this case my friend Church. And it just comes. The words flow out of the pen onto the page, and in this case, keys to a website. Forever.

I got it!

Thank you Church!

 

This series is dedicated to my dear friend, Church. Who has faced many struggles but continues to prevail. 

I ran the idea of this story by him a few months ago and he liked it, so I’m writing it for him. Normally anything new I’m doing I announce it at the beginning of the new year. But I’ve been so inspired lately I’m releasing it NOW.

I hope you all like this work. 

It’s a tale of redemption and change, and I think we can all learn from that. (If it gets too sexy, I’ll post those chapters on the other site, La Petite Mort)

Thank you for your friendship Church. 

I am here for you on your journey.

 

Life is fleeting and fragile. Enjoy yourself!

 

Okay… here we go into a fictional fun story. I hope you enjoy it! (I’m new at this! Be gentle!)

 

 

I looked out over the pool to a pristine beach not one hundred steps below the chlorinated water. To the left, I saw trees and a stone fence, to the right, more palm trees and the same stone fence. Both fences transitioned into a jagged rock wall that defined the perimeter of the private beach. I couldn’t see the neighbors on either side. It was perfect.

I heard the real estate agent exit the sliding glass door. She was a heavy-set woman, impeccably dressed, with a phony happy sales attitude. I didn’t care for her much. She wore a bit too much perfume and always thought she knew what was best for me. Of course, I didn’t really care for anyone so she was at a disadvantage to begin with.

“I’ll take it.” I said without turning to look at her. I heard her high heels stop on the rock patio.

“You haven’t really looked at the house, Mr. Tomlinson.” There she goes trying to control my thoughts again. I was only interested in the privacy. This place blocked out the rest of the world. It would be my private little slice of heaven. The house was devoid of furniture which was a good thing. It meant it was already vacant and I could close the deal quickly.

“Make the offer Mrs. Johnson. Full asking price.” I raised my hand in hopes she would see that I had already made my decision. This was the fourth place I looked at and the first to meet my original qualifications. If she had just listened, she could have sold it this morning and not wasted half my day.

“Are you sure? I am quite confident we can negotiate it down ten, maybe twenty percent.” God, I am glad she doesn’t work for me. I would fire the bitch on the spot. What part of “make the offer” didn’t she understand? I wanted the property and didn’t want to deal with anyone any longer than absolutely necessary. I turned to her.

“Make the offer. Full asking price.” I made it sound a bit ominous. Why did I have to repeat myself? I hated the need for agents. She stepped back a bit and reached into her purse for her phone.

“Of… of course, Mr. Tomlinson.” She fumbled her phone, and it almost dropped to the stone patio. “I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately. They will want ten percent in earnest money.” She was back to her business self. “Would you like me to bring the paperwork to you tomorrow morning?” Like I wanted to see this woman first thing in the morning or ever again for that matter.

“A Monica Rose will call you and complete the purchase.” I started walking back through the house toward my car. I wasn’t interested in a conversation or politely accompanying her out. Happily, I chose not to ride with Johnson so I hopped in my car and sped off.

I entered the hotel at the rear entrance. I don’t have to feign niceties to the staff that way. I needed to get my new house livable as soon as possible. I expected to close by end of next week. I had enough lawyers on the payroll to make sure that it would go smoothly. I would need furniture and all the other necessities to make it home. I called up one of the few people in the world I respected.

“Monica, its Dale Tomlinson.” Monica handles things for me. She doesn’t discuss options and try to help. She just does.

“Mr. Tomlinson, what can I do for you?” Yes, that’s what I like to hear. No bullshit niceties. Just business.

“I am purchasing a beachfront home and need it furnished and move-in ready as soon as possible.” Watch her work.

“This week, sir.” She sounded a bit hesitant. Not like her at all.

“That is what ‘as soon as possible means.’ ” I usually didn’t have to repeat myself to her.

“Of course sir! Address?” I could almost see her writing it down as I regurgitated it. I told her to talk with Mrs. Johnson to finalize the sale and to access the property.

“Style?” I told her it would be classic comfort. I intended to spend a lot of time there. I don’t think it was an actual style, but Monica had a wonderful way of interpreting my needs.

“Budget?” Whatever it takes. I didn’t want to limit her creativity. I was going to actually live there.

“I will get a flight out tomorrow.” She was fast. That’s why I liked her. I don’t think she cared for me personally, but that was unimportant. I knew she liked my business, and she charged me well for her speed. Fine with me; I can always make more money. It’s time that is at a premium. What’s funny is that I have only met her in person a couple of times. Now I just call her with what I want and it’s done. I couldn’t think of a more perfect arrangement. I hung up the phone—no need for goodbyes.

It took three weeks to occupy the house. Damn owners were out of country, and I had to wait till they returned. They should have made arrangements for a possible sale before they left. Assholes pretty much ruined a week of my life. I really hate people. On the other hand, Monica was wonderful as always. The house was move-in ready. I was sure it cost me an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Even the kitchen and bar were stocked. I only had to transfer my personal effects, and I was home.

I wasn’t sure why she had put a pool table in the rec room. I never have guests so it won’t get any use. I guess it was just there to take up the large space available. The pool had way too many lounge chairs, but I guess it gave the area a more lived in look. The beach itself was exactly as I envisioned. One lounger under a giant umbrella. This is why I bought the place. I aimed to spend a good portion of my life lying in that chair, reading books and letting the gentle waves wash away the rest of the world. This was paradise as far as I was concerned.

I walked down to the sand, and sure enough, the waves were playing a symphony on the bordering breaker rocks. Civilization was drowned out. The adjoining beaches were completely blocked from view so I could expect zero interruptions. I was so pleased, I decided not to go back up. I stripped to my boxers and lined the lounger up for maximum shade time. I loved the beach, the waves, and the warmth. I could do without the sun. It was way too bright and made me sweat. I lay back and let the sound of the waves roll over my body. This was by far the best purchase I had ever made. It wasn’t long before I was sound asleep. It was just that peaceful.

The damn sun woke me about two hours later. It began to roast my feet by the time I had pulled myself from dreamland. There has to be an umbrella that tracks the sun. I vowed to find one as I snapped my knees up to cool my feet. There is always something in this universe that likes to screw with my well-being. Today, it was the sun.

I returned inside and fired up my laptop. It was time to review my trades. I had inherited a huge bond portfolio just before the 2008 crash. My grandmother, the only person I ever enjoyed being around, had conservatively purchased munis, federal and triple A corporate bonds. She purchased them from selling off my grandfather’s position in a highly profitable internet firm at his death. She was a lovely woman whose passing I took hard. Having lost my parents early in life, Grandma was my rock and my soul. As the bonds matured and the munis were called, I dumped the money into the stock market. My timing couldn’t have been better. When everyone was selling, I was buying. I grew a $100 million portfolio into a half billion dollar empire with me as the emperor.

Most people didn’t even know my name, and I liked it that way. Money can buy power and influence. I used it to ensure my isolation. Monica was my wall against the world. She would handle all the crap that the money generated when it was spent. She, unfortunately, was becoming a bit irreplaceable. I paid her generously in hopes that she never moved on. It would be almost impossible to find anyone who could match her efficiency. I sometimes got shivers thinking about life without her.

With my portfolio looking as good as ever, I started opening cabinets in the kitchen looking for something to eat. Monica had seen to that with her usual perfection. There were plates and silverware, a drawer full of take-out menus sorted by Yelp ratings, the fridge and freezer filled with food, and one cabinet filled to the doors with wonderful cans of heaven. My one vice was SpaghettiOs.

High School was hell for me. I had never fit in so I spent four years trying to stay far away from others. When I failed, I suffered. I wasn’t big enough, not good looking enough, and I never knew what to say. There was only one person who didn’t care about my awkwardness. My Grandma would be waiting for me to return home and could tell from my expression what kind of day I had. My best memories of high school were sitting in the kitchen eating SpaghettiOs with my Grandma. It may sound sad to others, but to me it was a wonderful stress-free environment. Just the smell of the canned wonder cooking on the stove would let me forget my nameless torturers. To this day, those cans brought Grandma back to my mind. Monica was priceless; she knew me well.
I poured a can into a pot on the stove and sat back to enjoy the aroma. Just like the waves, the smell washed away the world. I could almost see Grandma’s smiling face. I tried not to eat it every day so I wouldn’t get bored. I grabbed a bowl and poured a serving and headed off to the flat panel to watch a movie. A nap on the beach, SpaghettiOs and a good movie. This day was better than most. I made a mental note to eat something a bit more nutritious later.

Besides some annoying interruptions by assholes that needed my signature, my week went fairly well. I allocate one day a week to clean house and do the laundry. I had a maid once, but I just couldn’t stand having her around. The repeated “good mornings” and “how are you todays” made me want to puke. I decided it was easier on my soul to just handle it myself. Hell, it was the only real work I had to do anyway. It was almost therapeutic. One day of work made the other six days more valuable.

 

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Cherie – Chapter 44 – Sister Love

As you know, Cherie is visiting with her brother who is stationed in Japan with the US Navy. He works in Intelligence so we don’t know what he does, but he’s working hard to keep America safe. Her whole family went over there for two weeks. So until she gets back I’m going to hold you over with a funny little story.

Not too long ago I went over to Cherie’s house to take her out to dinner. I get there and her younger sister, (who is smoking hot) answers the door. She’s wearing a white tank top and denim cutoffs. It’s obvious she isn’t wearing a bra.

This is what I’m talking about…

“Hi Serena.”

“Hey there. (Big smile) Cherie’s not home yet but you can come in and wait if you want.”

“Sure, thanks.”

“I join her on the couch and we’re watching TV. I text Cherie and she says she’s tied up with patients. She apologizes and said she should be home within an hour.”

I was a bit disappointed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ahh.. she says she’s not going to be home for like and hour. It’s no big deal.”

Serena is just staring at me and smiling. Her one foot is up on the couch and she’s rubbing her shin.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“You’re a beautiful young lady, Serena.”

“Cherie’s told me about you.”

“Oh really? I hope it’s all good stuff.”

“Oh it’s good alright.”

She leans toward me, her face close to mine.

“Since Cherie won’t be home for about an hour, why don’t you take me upstairs and fuck me real good like you fuck my big sister?”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. Gimme that dick hard and deep just like you give it to Cherie all night long. I want you to make me cum over and over like you make my sister cum. Take me upstairs and fuck me, Daddy.”

 

I got up off the sofa and walked out the front door.

 

And who do I see standing in the driveway?

 

Cherie.

 

She runs toward me and gives me a big hug and a kiss.

 

“Cherie…you’re home. I thought you wouldn’t home for like an hour.”

 

“It was a test.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yea. I put Serena up to it. I needed to know if I could really trust you. She’s a cutie, and you passed the test with flying colors. You’re the best boyfriend ever!”

“Wow. You’re something, honey. You know I’d never do anything like that. Especially not with your little sister. I love you.”

“I love you too, and I trust you completely. I’m sorry I did that, but like I said, you passed with flying colors. Thank you!”

“Of course. Ready to go to dinner?”

“Yea. I’m starved.”

We hopped in the car and off we went.

 

The moral of this story is this:

 

Leave the condoms in the car.

 

Disclaimer: The story you just read is complete fiction. I just wanted to give you all a little chuckle while Cherie is away in the Orient. She’s doing great and she’s been texting me. I’m happy she’s with her family and they’re having a marvelous time!

 

 

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