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.”



“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.”


“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.


“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.”



“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.”


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


“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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Shara – Moonless River – Part 2

Fair warning, it’s slightly NSFW

Upon arriving to her shared bungalow I followed her inside, watched her get a couple of beers from the fridge, and then continued out to the back porch to sit and drink and talk some more. Her skinny dachshund joined us and I did my best to accommodate his restless curiosity. It was there that we finally managed to have a real conversation, though my buzzing senses told me that it was largely perfunctory. I was in no state to be as thoughtful or funny as I can be on my best days, and so we mostly talked about her neighbors, my work, her school, and how we both ended up in Philly. She had moved from Texas less than six weeks earlier and was studying to take the bar exam. She said that Philly was everything that Houston wasn’t, though the fact that she’d moved to Philly sight unseen made me wonder how she’d determined that in advance.

As the summer sky cycled through a darkening palette of blue, a silent shift occurred and our conversation ceased. I spent a long moment peering out over the yard before turning to her and drawing close. We kissed. We kissed again, and again, and she eventually ended up seated on my lap, her arms around my shoulders and my arms around her waist, the first stage of weaving in which bodies can engage.

I felt good. I wanted this to be happening. I wanted to meet a young, clever girl in a bar, have a few drinks, talk, and then go to bed with her. It didn’t have to be complicated and it didn’t have to last longer than a night. It was just what I needed. After a few minutes she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house. Had she turned toward me at any point while we descended the stairs leading to her basement bedroom she would’ve glimpsed the stupid grin that I was wearing in her wake.

I’d like to claim that things improved from there, but two factors worked in concert to make the next several hours more of a psychosexual endurance test than anything else. One: I was still really, really drunk. Two: I had grown surprisingly intimidated by the aggressive, exotic woman sitting astride me, which affected my ability to keep it up. Initially everything went just fine, but as time went on I found myself managing an ever increasing pendulum sweep of hot sex and performance anxiety. The slats of her Ikea daybed squeaked noisily and shifted with our movements, and fearful of her housemate’s moral judgement she pulled us both down to the clothes covered concrete floor for more.

Going down on her temporarily renewed me, but her almost belligerent approach combined with the men’s magazine spread of her lithe, strong body continued to daunt and distract me from the unspoken but obvious goal of getting both of us off. Sexual ineptitude was a wholly novel experience for me, and I am being honest when I say that she was, and remains, the only woman who has ever provoked it.

Back in bed, partly sated and completely exhausted, we continued to caress each other’s bodies. I rolled on top of her and nibbled her neck while running my hands through the moonless river of her hair. I liked the way her compact frame was boxed by my knees and elbows, my back and hips forming a tabletop above her. My mouth moved to her breasts, first left, then right, and there I discovered a stainless steel barbell piercing a small, dark nipple. Now, it is true that I’d never been with anyone with a nipple piercing before, but that doesn’t mean that what happened next was completely my fault. It might have been, but that shit was steel and my teeth are not.

Soon after my discovery, the ministrations of my mouth managed to break one of the balls off the shaft of the piercing, which then slid free of its years-old home. She recognized what had happened immediately and within an instant the lights were on and she was angrily assessing the damage done. Drunk, tired, bleary-eyed, and naked, we both peered at her nipple like inept scientists. I made the mistake of trying to gently squeeze it to determine where the piercing had been, after which she yelped, slapped my hand away, and disappeared upstairs with the broken barbell in one hand and her throbbing breast in the other.

She was up there for a long time. I fell asleep for a while. She later told me that she’d attempted to shove the shaft back in and nearly passed out from the pain. When that didn’t work, she resigned herself to returning to bed and dealing with it in the morning. I laid down beside her, flummoxed by and apologetic for what had happened. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly four in the morning. As much as I needed to sleep, I recalled with a sigh that I’d made plans to go to the farmer’s market with a friend early that morning, which somewhat incredibly had now arrived.

I allowed myself to rest fitfully for an hour before blindly collecting my things and padding upstairs. I don’t remember if I gave my partner in the previous night’s fiasco a kiss goodbye, but I’d like to think that I did. I also asked her to call me later about getting her nipple fixed up.

Like a gentleman.

As I walked to the street and I realized in a thrilling moment of disorientation that I had no idea where in the city I was. I chose a direction and began to walk, and after noticing the increasing house numbers, turned around and walked back the other way. By the time I determined my location I was still over a few miles from my apartment. It was a beautiful morning, bright and clear, and as I followed the river south I laughed aloud at the last twelve hours. My city was still slumbering, and I was welcoming the day.


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Shara – Moonless River – Part 1

One of my favorite tales!

I’ll just admit it: I looked at her pictures first.

I did that with everyone. I looked at their pictures first and then, with my immediate physical interest either whetted or withered, go back and read their profile. If I found their profile suitably charming or at the very least cogent, I would craft a brief introduction relevant to their interests that established common ground, ask a question or two, and end it, nearly always, with some variation of: “You seem interesting and I think we’d get along well. Let me know if you’d like to see if that’s the case sometime.”

Sometimes they did want to see if that was the case. And sometimes it was the case, and sometimes it was wasn’t, and sometimes it so very much wasn’t that I’d begin to imagine while the date was still in progress how I would retell the story later that night in a bar to my friends. By the summer of 2015 I’d been split from my girlfriend (See: Annabelle – Nice to Meet You) for over a year and a half and was largely finished with the sudden solitude induced frenzy of fear driven dating that I’d forced myself to endure immediately following my newfound status as a single adult male. Also, for almost a year I’d been in an on-again off-again on-again relationship with someone who I cared for but knew without a doubt would eventually be off-again and never, ever on-again.

Which is, in part, why I continued regularly meeting new people, not in search of someone better, but of everything better… better friends, better talks, better laughs, better misunderstandings, better in-jokes, better love, better life. Around that time I often claimed that I didn’t want to be a part of any relationship that precluded any other relationship, which I do still believe to some degree, as far as that goes. No one can be everyone else for another person, nor should they be expected to try. But there’s always that one person that no one else can ever be for you, and I had yet to meet that person.

I was hopeful.

As I said, I looked at her pictures first. I can still recall the dark-haired, doll eyed, almond skinned beauty in each of those first images. Here she is, petite as a teenager, standing in front of a graffiti wall, her hips at an awkward cant. And here, in a black summer dress with white polka dots, holding two dogs, her smile the brightest thing in the photo. And this one, her hand smashed against her face, soft nose and lips squishing out between small fingers, almost daring me to find her attractive. And finally, there’s that smile again as she strums a guitar, her downward glancing eyes forming the bold semi-circles of a particularly adorable Sanrio character.

Her online dating profile mirrored mine in the fact that they both tread a delicate path between witty condescension, feigned disinterest, and actual, useful information. Her intelligence was immediately apparent, as were her pop culture, gourmet, and internet meme credentials, but if I had to choose one reason for contacting her, I would have to say it was simply that I recognized a familiar voice (echo?) behind all of it, a voice I liked tremendously, and I suddenly wanted to hear what else it had to say.

Eventually I sent the girl a message that detailed my interest in cooking large meals from scratch and my love/hate relationship with food poisoning, which were both topics mentioned in her profile. Later that day she replied, and for the next several hours we volleyed messages back and forth until phone numbers had been swapped and plans had been made for the following evening. Our initial exchanges were playfully guarded, like two unfamiliar boxers dancing around each other, neither very interested in being the first to connect or be connected with.

The following day I worked and then met friends for drinks at a much buzzed about bar that had opened only a week before. Unexpectedly, my ex-girlfriend had also been invited, and so we chatted cooly with each other while sipping cocktails with names like “The Coltrane”, “Joe McCarthy’s Ghost”, and “The Chimney Sweep.” “The Chimney Sweep” was a eye-watering concoction of scotch, ouzo, vermouth and bitters, and it was the last thing I drank before saying goodbye to everyone (“What, no hug?”) and began my journey up Ben Franklin Parkway. It didn’t hit me until I was riding just how drunk I’d managed to get myself in such short a time. This did not bode well for the date to come, which I had been allowing myself to feel cautiously optimistic about. My biggest concern at the moment was that she’d ask me if I was drunk, because I most certainly was.

We’d agreed to meet at a small hipster bar in Fairmount that neither of us had ever been to. Earlier in the day the battery of my phone had died, so I hoped my date wouldn’t try to call and reschedule with a voicemail I’d never receive. I walked inside and found a spot at the bar. Then I went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and squint at myself in the mirror. My disappointed reflection shook its head derisively before sighing and shrugging its shoulders. As I walked out of the bathroom back to my seat, she walked through the door and identified me immediately. We then shook hands efficiently, our arms as stiff and fully extended as soldiers at attention.

She wore a white tank top, jeans, and a pair of black Chuck Taylors faded to gray. Her inky hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her large eyes were boldly outlined with makeup. A long, well structured nose hovered above a full pair of cupid’s-bow lips. But the most striking thing about her face was the uncommonly potent mixture of youth and world-weariness that it possessed. She was pretty and petite, but seemed both aware of this and tired of it being mentioned, so I didn’t.

I don’t recall what introductory pleasantries were exchanged, but within seconds of arriving she eyed me suspiciously and then asked if I was drunk. “No,” I lied, “but you’re going to have to play a little catch up.” This turned out not to be an issue for her. A round of gin and tonics were ordered and downed, followed by a second round that we consumed with equal ease. I remember liking that she drank to drink.

My plan, pre-happy hour overindulgence, was to meet her at the bar, chat for a while, maybe walk around the neighborhood, and then go to a nearby house show where a band that I wanted to see was playing. It was still very early when we stepped out of the bar and back onto 21st Street, which was glowing warmly in the fading sunset. We briefly debated ducking into another bar, but then she made this suggestion: “So, I’m not trying to be too forward or anything, but my roommate has a bunch of liquor we can have and I live really close by, so do you want to just go there?”

Yes. Yes I did.


Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion!


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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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Online Dating Can Be Tough


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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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Beware of Men Who Pursue You Too Much


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