1969 Volkswagen Minibus – 1969 to 1984 – Part 2

I think it was Christmas 1978 and Janice got a blue VW Rabbit for Christmas. Great gift. But she was the first born and the first child going off to college. She had been accepted to Franklin & Marshall. She was always a good student. So I guess Dad wanted her to have solid transportation to and from school, or to at least get around while she was away at college.

Blue was her favorite color and it was a cute little car. But all this meant was that the minibus was going to me next. Dad had discussed it with me. The age to drive in PA was 16 but in NJ it was 17. But the drinking age in PA is 21 and it was 18 in NJ. Go figure. So in 1980 I was legal for everything.

My dad would take me out for a few hours in the morning on the weekends and teach me how to drive. I really learned how to drive a van. Because Wildwood, NJ is an island, tidal flooding must always be taken into consideration. So many of the roads crown in the middle so that water will run along the sides and not the middle.

So here I am with a very patient teacher (Dad) teaching me how to do K turns on a crown in a VW minibus without stalling the vehicle. It’s a 4 speed stick. Oh, and the van has a big blind spot on the back right side. It was very challenging for a new driver. I stalled her out plenty of times until I learned how to balance the clutch and the gas. It’s all just a balanced dance with the feet. When you learn in a vehicle like that that is big, awkward, sluggish manual steering and stick, you really learn how to manage any car after that.

It took a few lessons and I studied the book you get from the DMV when they issue you your permit. I aced the test, and passed the driving test thanks to Dad.

But that was the 2nd time I took the driving test.

The first time I was nearly through it and the guy that was in the van with me when I took the test yanked on the emergency brake and broke it. The van was 12 years old by then, it just gave way because he pulled on it really hard. So he failed me not for my performance but because of the vehicle.

My dad was pissed. I remember him being angry at the guy. It’s always okay to do stuff to your own kids, but see what happens when somebody else does something to them. I remember we were walking back to the barracks and a piece of the paperwork blew out of my dad’s hand and we were both chasing it in the wind.

Well I guess we chased that slip of paper into a restricted area, and when we looked up there were two formidable soldiers with automatic weapons pointed at us. We explained that we were chasing a document and had gotten it. We walked back to the barracks and re-scheduled another test for me. My dad was still salty about the test guy, but we had a good laugh about having armed soldiers pointing their guns at us.

So now the old horse was mine. My dad said he wanted the van to be nice when he passed it to me so he took me to a stereo store and he had a cassette player installed in it. two speakers up front under the dash and three in the back. I didn’t even have a cassette player at home. I was still buying vinyl records and had some 8 tracks.

I remember I had heard a song on the radio called “Girls Got Rhythm.” I wanted that to be the first cassette I ever bought. So I drove out to the Rio Grande Mall and  picked up AC/DC’s Highway To Hell album. I cranked that shit up all the way back to the house.

Sometimes after dinner I would just get in and drive around for a while. I just loved listening to my music and driving around. If my sister April needed she and her girlfriends to be transported or picked up, I had the capabilities and the space to carry a load of them.

Having the minibus all summer back in 1981 was glorious. We could cruise around in it, carry my band gear, it was awesome.

There was an old drive in movie theater out in Rio Grande. One of my coolest memories of the van was, we’d drive out there and see double features. It was fantastic fun for a bunch of young guys. I remember the road leading in was all broken seashells. It was a dilapidated dump of a place but we loved it. We’d find a good spot and park the van at dusk. We’d have our tickets and all get out of the van and head towards the broken down fence. We’d slip through the opening and hit the liquor store on the other side on Rt. 47. I’d usually get an 8 pack of Miller ponies.

We’d slip back in and then go buy a bunch of snacks. Once it got dark the movie would start. It was always a double feature, which as awesome. I’d recognize other guy’s I knew there sometimes. I’d walk by this one dude’s car I knew and if the windows were all steamed up, I did not approach. He had a girl in there.

But for the most part it was a fun night with the guys. You would pull up along side one of the metal poles and hooked to it was a speaker. It had a clip on the back so you could hang it on your window to provide the audio. (A few years later you could just tune your car stereo to a certain station and hear the movie that way.)

Sometimes I’d pull up sideways between two of the audio station poles, and just open up the van. Some of the guys brought beach chairs and we’d all just sit outside and watch the movie. I’d leave the audio boxes on the poles and just crank them up so we could all hear.

Lovely memories.

I think it’s a shopping center now.

Now it was time to make some new memories with the Magic Bus!

 

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1969 Volkswagen Minibus – 1969 to 1984 – Part 1

Back in 1969 my family was growing with my sister April arriving in 1966 and now another baby was on the way. It looked like our family was growing out of our little black Volkswagen beetle.  So my dad went out and bought a white VW minibus.

We loved it! We went everywhere in that thing. Everybody picked their favorite seat.

Dad always drove. Mom rode shotgun because she never learned to drive. We all traveled without seat belts back then. I don’t even think the car had them. Crazy by today’s standards. I sat on a little square stool behind my parents and between them so I could be near them and see all of the oncoming action through the windshield.

Janice sat in a seat facing backwards behind my dad the driver. Behind her seat between she and dad was a an elliptical storage hole that held maps and what not.

there was a retractable table that was usually up and April sat back there in the back left corner. I think baby Grace was held in my mothers arms most of the trip. There were no baby seats back then. If we had gotten into a crash the only survivors would have been Janice and April because they stood a remote chance. Me, Mom, Dad, and baby Grace would have all been splattered through the windshield and probably killed.

The Sixties for families back then was like the wild west. But we had no fear. Just laughter and fun trips to the shore and even camping in our cool new family van.

I remember my dad driving down the highway at 70 miles and hour and I would stand up in the back on the floor and act like I was surfing. How crazy is this by today’s standards?

Under Janice’s seat was a portable toilet if we ever needed one for long trips or camping or for whatever else my dad was using the van for. Me sitting on the stool, or as he called it the jump seat, to my right was a cabinet that had a little foldable counter with a sink where you could pump fresh water from! Science Fiction! Under that was a fridge where you could store drinks and whatever else you wanted to keep cold.

This was the perfect family vehicle. And we utilized it to its absolute fullest. Thank you Dad. Perfect choice.

Sure there were the times we’d all be singing 29 bottles of beer on the wall and my baby sister Grace would spew her breakfast into an old cookie can my mom brought for just that reason. Motion sickness. April was usually back there with her to man the can.

“I told you not to give her the godddamn orange juice!” My father would exclaim every time somebody barfed.

“She’s fine.”

“It’s the citric acid!”

I knew full well about puking. I was the king of anxiety, depression, fear and motion sickness. I was just happy it wasn’t me, but I knew it was just the motion. Poor baby Grace.

I remember now driving my own little girl Lorelei to her grandmothers one day and there was some flooding and we were in the car for a long time one morning and she puked all over me when we got there and I had to go to my bank job in Philly and I didn’t even care because I was so familiar with being young and being sick in cars as a kid. I wiped up and was just happy my little girl was okay, but sad I had to leave her. But I knew she was safe in the able hands of her grandmother.

But we had so much fun in that van. As a kid I never realized how a vehicle coud become a fixture in and almost a family member in the family. I’m sure my sisters don’t feel this but if they’re reading this now they will.

The 69 VW was our family chariot. Men get the vehicle thing. Men love cars and think hey can impress girls with great cars. Huge mistake. Girls don’t give a shit about what you drive. That shit stays outside in the car park. You need to be the man to her. If she cares about what you drive she’s a shallow fool. That’s a depreciating asset.

Look at who the man is, who his female friends are, and how he lives his life. Cars don’t mean shit.  Just toys that men get off on.

Our VW minibus took us everywhere and comfortably. Air cooled rear engine, plenty of amenities and you could even make the seat in the back pull our into a bed. The German’s that designed this lovely transport thought of everything.

I remember my father told me a story about how he had lunch with a colleague in the van one day. They had picked up some sandwiches and just decided to go stop and have a lunch in a park somewhere. ( I’m sure he was banging her)  But today they were just having lunch and a bee had gotten into the van and was buzzing around. There were other cars parked near them and all the other people heard was this:

(Van rocking)

“Oh my god! get that away from me!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it, dear!”

“Ahhh It’s huge! No stop! Get it away from me!”

“Wait! you’re fine!”

“Nooo! get it away!”

This story was actually told to me by my dad and I got the meaning even at a young age but I knew what he was eluding too and thought it was cool and funny, his bumblebee/penis reference.

I can almost see the faces of the other people parked in their cars eating their lunches and hearing this crazy commotion.

This VW bus was a durable friend. He had installed an 8 track player in the glove compartment. Which I thought was absolutely amazing, because there was no radio in the car. I was astounded how he had this big metal player jammed into the glove box. It was like an added magic aspect to the van.

All we had was vinyl back then but 8 tracks got invented and and somehow music was in the minibus. we had Tommy: The Who, In A Gadda Vida by Iron Butterfly, and best of all a yellow 8 track from the soundtrack from the film; Easy Rider.

I remember my Dad driving the van and me in the passenger seat. No seatbelt, bouncing on the seat and hearing the motorcycles rev after the song The Pusher, and it would go into Born to be Wild and I would just lose my shit.

That music inspired me to become a musician and my love of hard rock music. Born to be Wild is to this day is my go to karaoke song!

There was always music in my house growing up. My Uncle Jack was a music Producer an my dad loved music and my mom came from a family of musicians.

I remember hearing Born to Be Wild for the first time and just knowing I loved furious music that was hardeer and angrier than the lovely Beatles and the psychedelic drone of Iron Butterfly. That was the moment I knew that was the music I need to love and make.

There was a certain fury to that song that I couldn’t get enough of and and it happened with my dad while driving down the road in our 69 camper van.

Euphoria. That music was me.

I remember he took me to the shore in the winter just to probably get me away from my mom because I was such a fuck up.

We were going to hang out at the shore house and go fishing and father son stuff. I didn’t want to do it but when you’re a kid you’re basically a hostage to your parents.

We hung out and fished and his friend Steve was down with his daughter Stacy. Steve was a crazy guy who owned a restaurant with his hot wife and wanted to hang with my dad.

I remember being in the minibus with my dad on the beach. We had a permit to fish. It was cold as hell. I was casting a huge rod and reel trying to catch bluefish. They are fighters of the sea who will straighten our your hooks and chew to shit your steel leaders.

We would use a teaser which is a tiny lure up on the line and then a plug which is the real lure. But what it looks like to a big real fish is a little fish chasing a little fish and sometimes the real fish would hit them both and you’d pull up a bluefish on the plug and a striped bass on the teaser. Insane. That shit really happened.

I was out fishing and catching blues and I was damn cold. We went back to the VW van and it was a warm moment from the cold wind of the vacant North Wildwood beach.

My dad sipped a shot of Remy Martin cognac because he was classy like that but I wouldn’t taste that brandy until years later.  He asked me to dig out our permit for fishing.

I’m around 12 or 13 in this moment.

I’m sitting there, wet and shivering and dig through the glove the glove compartment. The 8 track player is already showing signs of salty corrosion.

I come across and envelope and open it and instead of finding our permit, I find naked pictures of his secretary that I know who is his co-worker and friend of our family. She is smiling sweetly with a kerchief on her head an is naked in a bathtub. She’s beautiful.

“Dad”

“Put that way.”

He knows I know from stuff he’s told me. In that moment I kind of wonder why he told me. Why was he always so open with me about his infidelities with mom?

Maybe he always wanted to be honest with me about everything because his father was such a wise bullshiter. His dad was an absent parent that didn’t give a fuck about my dad that loved him so much for no good reason. He just wanted to tell me what was what. I carried that responsibility with me. I couldn’t mention my secret to my sister Janice. She adored my dad. She can’t know he’s a womanizing adulterer.

He went crazy in the 60’s and 70’s and even the 80’s. I met them all. It’s cool. I know my mom knew and he never rubbed her nose in it in proper English fashion.

She was done with him anyway. It had been over in the 70’s and they being Depression babies just didn’t want their kids to be a statistic.

We lived in Philly and we grew up as my parents grew apart but grew together in their agreement to keep the corporation of our family solid.

They did that.

I’m grateful for that to both of them for making that sacrifice for me and my sisters.

The VW Minibus went to Janice in 1978 when my dad got a company car at his new job as a regional manager at a bank in Jersey.

So my parents were basically separated but still together.

He would work at his bank job at the shore and come home on the weekends and give us all greatest hits.

Janice had the minibus. That meant rides to school and runs to Roger Wilco’s in Jersey for 6 packs of Heineken for us. Drinking age back then was 18 in NJ.

The game was changing but my dad’s game was staying the same.

 

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Cherie – Chapter 36 – Four to Eight – Part One

So baby’s coming down on Sunday to see me. We both have crazy busy schedules. But we make it work and I like it. I like the distance between the pillars that support the temple of our relationship. I’ve never had that. It’s always been the traditional American bullshit progression that goes nowhere and ends in failure. This actually works really well for me. I love intense bursts of energy with my friends but then I like to be alone for a while. It’s inevitable right now based on where we both are in our lives and it’s working beautifully. I love it.

She says she’ll be down around 4:30pm on Sunday.

Cool.

I get done at the salon at 4. She says she has to be on an 8:30 train back to Pottstown. I’m thinking, perfect. Come down early Sunday, I’ll feed her and give her some dinner, and then tomorrow we’ll get up early, I’ll take her to breakfast and she’ll be on a train back home or to school, and I’ll be writing this blog getting the 1/2 off cheesteak by noon on Monday at my local haunt.

I finish up at the salon, and we meet up on the street after she gets off the train. I take her to Mix Pizza, because I know she loves that place from our early encounters.

We get there and instead of sitting in the back bar, we sit in the main dining room. We order a 12 inch pie that is just enough for the both of us. We’ll murder that tiny pie. She likes extra cheese, and I’m okay with that because she wants that but I know that dairy will fuck with my stomach. But I don’t care. I love her. If that’s what baby wants, that’s fine.

Our waitress is banged up. I don’t mean drunk, I mean it looks like she was in a car accident or is a victim of domestic violence.

We can’t say anything even though I want to so badly. Puffy eye, cuts and bruises on her. I’m feeling sad and concerned. I have three sisters a daughter and a girlfriend. If I know a man raised his hand to my waitress I’ll have a hit put out his worthless ass.

But Cherie tells me to behave. We’ll get our little brick oven fresh pizza and go home.

She brings out not a 12 inch pizza, not the next size up, but the biggest fucking pizza they make with extra cheese. The order is wrong, I’m tired from work and I know I’m going to spend some quality time in the bathroom. But I’m happy to be sitting across from my queen and I’m okay.

I make some jokes to her about why the order is wrong to Cherie and why our server got beat up.

“Because she doesn’t listen.” (Kidding. I feel bad for her. Maybe she just fell off her bicycle.)

“I will kick you so hard under the table your mom will feel it, if you don’t stop.”

I always make jokes when I’m sad or suffering for someone, to ease the tension in my heart, and Cherie knows this but she just wants me to stop.

(I did make a few more. Just to deal with it, and I love to watch her lovely dark almond eyes narrow and tell me to shut up.)

She knows I’m kidding. She knows me and knows I feel for this girl, and hates the fact that she is feeling what she’s feeling from my dark jest.

When I’m scared or sad I always joke to deal with my anxiety, sadness or depression. It’s a combative mechanism to help me deal with life.

We have a nice dinner and she’s happy. I love her braids. I hope they last all summer. Every time I see her, she seems more beautiful to me. She’s already gorgeous, but I am falling deeper in love with her soul. Her spirit. Her voice. Her mind. Her heart.

Cherie is a complex, beautiful human being that has come a long way at her ripe 27 years. I love her sweet calm with me. I love her wise maturity. I love that she is a parent like myself. She’s always struggling with what we all do with work, children and education, but she does it as a woman. My relationship with her has redefined me as an adult. I continue to evolve. She makes me grow as a man. I love that I continue to evolve. My life is changing.

I’m about to open a new business in Rittenhouse. If it’s successful, it will change my life dramatically. It will mean I can do more for my daughter Lorelei and change her life too. I’m beginning to think that sitting at Square 1682 getting cheap drinks and hanging with the same cast of characters is a waste of my talent.

I like these people but I think our time together is a bit of a waste of time. Nice people, but I’m carrying a lot of their water on my ship. I appreciate them.

I do. But I think I am growing out and away from them.

Just evolving as usual. It happens.

I was sitting at the bar the other night at Square and as usual I am loving the bartender Roman. He’s glorious. He is what I need him to be and he knows that. I take care of him. He’s amazing. He’s a husband and a dad and we have a history that is connected.

But I looked to the friend to the right of me and I started to see that I don’t need to do this anymore. The game is changing.

I’m changing.

There’s no value in this anymore. She has positioned herself with someone I no longer speak with and I know is nuts and has hurt my friend Alice.

I look to my left and here is my other friend. A lost confused damaged soul that can’t get out of his own fucking way to do go forward.

What am I doing here?

I was at City Hall today with my business partner getting our permit to open our fitness center.

That’s what I need to focus on. Going forward and building a business.

This happens throughout ones life if you continue to evolve. They come in and visit for a while and then they have to go because you grow beyond them. I think I need to faze them out. I may or may not do that, but I need to withdrawal from their stagnant drama.

I used to be in the public eye all of the time. Blowing up social media constantly. Many people and beautiful women basked in my light and I was just left with the hangover.

It’s okay. I had a great time but I’m getting older and I just can’t carry their weight anymore.

I want to build something.

 

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Wildwood Daze – Autumn of 1979 – Shadows Fall

“Whatsoever I’ve feared has
Come to life.
Whatsoever I’ve fought off
Became my life.”

I was doing well in Frankford back in Philly. I had a life. I had a band and friends. All ripped from me. Don’t worry, I’ve forgiven all of the fuckers in my life in my forties, but I’m just documenting what happened. You live through it and try to rise above it.

After the summer of 1979, which was awesome, (Just like all of my summers. Thanks dad!) It was my first Fall/Winter away from Philly and living in a resort/retirement town which was Wildwood, New Jersey. That’s completely different from living in a city.

I’m isolated. I have anxiety and depression. The summer is over. I have no friends. I have no life. I have no band. All of the things I loved are gone.

Just like that.

My older sister Janice is facing her own challenges but she’s off at Franklin and Marshall college to go forward in her life. I’m stuck here now. My younger sisters are at Margaret Mace. They’re little kids. They’ll be fine. They’ll make a life and new friends. They’re little. Who cares. They’ll be fine.

But I’m a fucking senior in a High School in a shitty town that is only good for summer fun. I know one guy. A freshman who is a fourteen year old guitar player. I don’t know if this is even going to work. The guy looks older than me and I like him but aren’t we in two different places in our lives?

School was weird. I went from being the mighty burner in 11th grade chatting up chicks when I was in a band, and doing pretty well, to nothing.

I was well aware of my anxiety. I had been by the cold embrace of that demon since I was 6 years old. Knew him well. An insidious beast that controlled my every move. My own personal prison that I was always trying to escape from but to busy vomiting to let go of the bars of my own cell.

Wildwood in the summer is fantastic. That’s the only way I had ever known the town since 1970. Non stop fun. Sun, fun, beach, amusement rides on the boardwalk, summer friends and neighbors, kites, custard, movies, just an amazing life at the circus for two months.

Wildwood after Labor day was a desolate ghost town. My life was over. Janice…college. April and Gabrielle, kid school. Who cares. They haven’t formed any real relationships in life. They’ll be fine.

Me. Senior year in a school I know nothing about. Alone. Anxiety. Depression. Cold. Not the fun shore town I only knew during the summer months. This was desolate place. They would turn off the traffic lights and the place was an empty ghost town. To me this was a nightmarish prison I had been dropped off in because of someone elses little idea to escape Philly.

I think the only one that felt the fury of this burn was my mother. Because she was so connected in our old neighborhood with all of the ladies, I think she felt the isolation as well. But like my mother always did. She suffered in silence. She was so good at that. She had been through so much of my father’s wrath and nonsense, that she had become comfortable with being a prisoner of his OCD and anxiety and narcissism. She simply folded into the lifestyle.

I know I have crazy anxiety, but at that time I didn’t even know that anxiety and depression are best friends. I’m afraid and sad. I’m a victim of my weakness and fear and my depression is just my rage just turned inward because I don’t know what to do with it and I don’t want to get in trouble if I let my rage go.

I had a terrible temper when I was growing up, but because I was so beaten down by my father I just turned it inward because I was too scared to express my feelings.

He always said, ” Don’t be a victim.”

But that’s what he exactly shaped me into with his behavior toward me. I actually felt these word when he was screaming at me and hitting me.

Oh the irony!

One morning I came down to breakfast and I was just sad. I didn’t know anybody but Jim and I was just living in a ghost town going to a school where I didn’t know anybody at 17.

I didn’t even know I was depressed. I just felt disconnected and sad. I think that’s a normal reaction for a kid that once had a life and a band and friends in a city and got dropped off in a fucking ghost town because of somebody else’s idea.

My mom was fine, because she had already been broken years ago by this man.  But I was a teenage boy who was trying to find his way.

I was eating my cereal, and he just lit into me. Out of nowhere. I don’t know what ignited him. He loved to attack at meal time. My mother knew. He started in on me because I seemed unresponsive. I didn’t know I was depressed because what had happened to me, I thought I was just weak  just like always.

My father tore into me and told me to buck up and pull myself together.

I started to cry just like I always did when he was harsh with me. I looked over at my mother and her eyes were wet with tears. Hardened by years of dealing with his bullshit and affairs but she saw one of her own feeling his nonsense and wrath. I had gotten better and become a better person and my mother and I had become so much closer in the last few years.

But dad didn’t want a kink in his little plan. He couldn’t have any part of his plan fucked up. No. Everybody has to be compliant. I was sad and that is unacceptable because that would make him question his intentions of moving everybody to the shore and would work on his mind.

Super OCD and insecurity.

I was crying my eyes out into my cereal and he really let me have it. He didn’t like that I was sad about the whole move to Wildwood. That fucked with his whole plan. That can’t happen. That’s not supposed to happen according to his well thought out plan.

He can’t have a weak link. But my mom knew. She had already accepted him as the solid provider that was going to fuck his secretaries wherever he went because of his own insecurities. She knew it and accepted it and suffered in silence.

I remember many years later I had an opportuniy to fool around with a woman while I was in a relationship. I didn’t do it. He asked me why I didn’t take advantage of the available ass. I told him:

“Because that would be wrong, dad.”

He actually softened and said he was proud of me. I know in that moment he knew that he had raised a boy that wasn’t a fucking cheater like him. He actually looked surprised.

So that Autumn morning before school my father ripped me a new one because I wasnt on board with his bullshit dream of escaping the city and all of the bad loans they made at the Provident National Bank. That and his girlfriends. Eileen Lentz and the others.

He got up from the table and went off to work. I sat sobbing in my Cap’n Crunch with my mother.

“I’m sorry.   He got you.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

I smiled and took a spoonful.

“It is what it is.”

The silence is deafening. I can’t keep these thoughts out. My father spent his entire life keeping it out. Never fixing. Just banishing them. Covering. Burying.

But I felt it all… and so did my mother.

 

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Cherie – Chapter 35 – Jungle Fever

“My heads under water but I’m breathing fine.”

Jungle Fever: “When a non-black person is attracted sexually to black people. Originally it was used for when a white woman dates black men, but now it could refer to a white man who thinks black women are hot and wants to date them.”

A Stevie Wonder song about black man/white woman love.

“She’s gon’ black guy crazy
He’s gone white girl hazy
They got jungle fever”–Stevie Wonder.
It’s been nearly a month and I’m going crazy. I miss her. She’s so beautiful and sweet. She’s an absolute pleasure to be with. A calm, loving, grateful, sexual, amazing woman. I haven’t seen her in three weeks.
She is crushing it in her life. Finals at Temple destroying her life just like all of the other girls at that damn school. Raising her son, working at CHOP as a medical assistant and the pediatrician’s office and everything else she’s dealing with.
She told me today that she got a flat tire on her Saab. That’s horrible but she said as bad as her life is, she says it could be worse. I like that because that is how I live my life, with positivity. Cherie is my sweet match.
I love her optimism. Maybe she got that from me but it doesn’t matter,  I just want her to be okay.
I’ll see her tomorrow at 4pm after a long hiatus.
 Sometimes I think she’ll just give up. Far away. Distant factor. Right side of thirty. Beautiful black girl.  Me… white guy in his mid fifties.
I’m prepared for her to bail. I’m writing this now in my home office, listening to the band Morphine and thinking she should just bail on me. Distance. Time. Age difference. She’ll just decide  it’s too difficult and I’ll be dead in the water.
Again.
She’s young and beautiful like Michelle and Annabelle and she’ll just wise up and just go.
I think about that on a weekly basis. That’s a real thing when you’re a middle-aged bachelor.
It feels like love and mad sex but it all could end if at 27 she wants a husband and more kids. You’re done. I’m dead. I’m alone. I have to start again. Or not. I say that she was the last one and it was great, but I’m finished. I’m out. I’ve punched all of the holes in my romance card, an it’s over.
If this one fails. I think I’m done.
That’s a real thing for guys my age.
But I’m not like guys my age. They’re scared and insecure without game. I’ve worked hard to build game. But that could also be my undoing.
Men my age try to surround themselves with affluent things that mean nothing.
Cars, gadgets, shoes, suits, watches, lifestyle. It’s all bullshit. Just build the powerful you to move forward with nothing but your own powers and the women will notice. Most men can’t do this.
But you have to practice guys. Get to know women. They’re great. Talk to them. Listen. Love them. Let go of whatever you were taught and just get to know them.
I’m having brunch on this rainy Saturday with my dear friend Alice who blew me off for drinks and quizzo last Wednesday. I love Alice. But the weather sucks. I would love to take her to the craft show in Rittenhouse Square this weekend. But the weather could take a dump on our plans.
It’ll happen because she’ll feel bad that she blew me off so she’ll do it. But I don’t even care because I love her (as a friend) and I want her to do well in her business.
All I need to do is get Cherie at 4pm and make sweet love to her.
That’s it.
I have a giant umbrella for me and Alice for the craft show but all I want to do is get Cherie at the train station and take her home and tear her to pieces.
My time with Alice is important. I love hanging with her. But I need to get to Cherie.
That’s the magical time.
That’s the time that everyone in the world wants.
That’s the time that everyone envys.
That’s the time that everyone regrets.
That’s the time everyone wishes they had again with their current partner.
That’s the time that you only get once but wish you could have again and again.
I’m not wrong. You all want that. What if you could have that again and again just as good as the first time? That would be the perfect drug for us all right? Can you have her or him again and again and it always feels like the first time? That shit’s magic.
That’s my life. Cherie and I built that together. I’m lost in that.
We’re always wishing for the first date. The euphoria. The excitement. Then they’re gone.
But this time she stays.
But also stays away. Just far enough to love her. And it works. Its magic together, but I’m alone. I like that. She’s busy and can’t be with me. I’m okay with that. I like it. She’s a nymphomaniac and I  love that.
It’s not all of the time. I need my alone time. She’s busy with school and life. So am I…  busy building a business. I have finally found a balance that works for me.
intense.
I love you, Cherie.
See you soon.
Magic again.
Watch this video please. Cut and paste if you can.
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=450p7goxZqg

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day 8am & 12pm EST.

 

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Cherie – Chapter 33 – It’s All About The Journey – Part 1

“Despite the appearance of Ambria, I’m able to compartmentalize my relationships.”

The blog really is action packed this week! So strap in. It’s going to get crazy good! Thanks for reading!!!

It’s been over 3 weeks since I’ve seen Cherie. When I last saw her she rolled into town on the train around 11:30 in the morning. Normally she can get into the city at dusk on a Saturday, but that day her parents took her son and some of the cousins to something for the afternoon, so she was able to slip away for the afternoon to see me.

She’s been super busy with finals at Temple and her job at CHOP. (Children’s Hospital) It’s been a hectic time for her. She gets her Bachelor’s of Science in neuroscience and her Bachelor of Arts in Psychology soon.

Unlike all the Temple girls that come into the salon to tan, when they finish finals this week, they’ll all be off for the summer, or get a summer job. Cherie will be taking courses all summer because she wants to graduate early and get it over with.

So I asked her if after next year when she’s finished school if she’ll have more free time. Cherie said after she graduates next year, she’ll have to start medical school for like 4 years and then more medical school with a residency at the hospital.

I think this is how my life is going to be for a while. But here’s the thing… If you’ve been reading this blog for a while you’ll know my last few relationships didn’t work out. But I love having a girlfriend that adores me that isn’t around all the time.  She’s not needy, she’s not clingy, she’s also just not present most of the time.

And I love that! I mean… a little more time with her would be nice, but this is like the perfect relationship for me. A young, hot girl who knows what she wants and is going after it. She’s working hard all the while raising her son, and doesn’t want anymore kids!

It’s like the perfect girlfriend has been created for me. I like my alone time. I like my social life with all of my friends. I don’t give a shit about being showy on social media. I don’t even care about Facebook or Instagram anymore. I only post stuff on the phicklephilly Instagram and it automatically throws it to the Facebook page for phicklephilly. (Also, Twitter, Tumbler and Linkedin) Cherie doesn’t do Instagram, but has a facebook page she never goes on. I no longer care what the world is eating and drinking or doing with their kids on social media anymore. There aren’t even any photos of Cherie and me together. Because when we’re together it’s all about us. We’re sharing a meal together, or going to the movies or doing whatever, we don’t have the need to document it, and share it with the world. We’re awesome together and that belongs to us, and only us. If we shared us it would probably be too much for the world to handle.

Do I miss her? Sure I do, I miss her a lot. She’s beautiful and funny and sexy as hell. I miss worshipping at the “Temple of Cherie” with my mighty Scepter of Virility. (Lol!) She’s a great, chill girl who is so agreeable and easy-going.

I’m sure she misses me too. We normally don’t let a day go by without at least one text being exchanged. I normally don’t like a girl who needs to contact me everyday. It’s annoying. But with Cherie I’m always happy to hear from baby. If she’s missing me I just hope she isn’t hurting about it. I’m pretty sure she accepts that this is her life and this is just how it is now.

 

I like having my free time alone and look forward to our time together. When she arrived on Saturday I was at Suburban Station waiting for her like always. I’m always so happy to see her. She always takes my lead, and I’m not a big PDA (public display of affection) person, but lately when I see her I’m so glad she is before me, I hug and kiss her. (Not make out, but a hug and a peck on the cheek)

We’ve basically got from noon until 5:10, then I need to have her back on a train back to her life in Pottstown, PA.

She always tells me that when she’s with me it’s like a mini vacation from her hectic, hard-working life. We had once spoke that how nice it would be to just spend an afternoon in bed together. Just a block of time to relax and do nothing.

And everything.

When your time is this limited with a loved one, you will seize the absolute core of what satisfies you both equally.

I’m happy just sit across from baby at a diner and eat breakfast or hang at our favorite pizza or wings place. (Again, she doesn’t want anything from me, ever)

But if we are so driven together by our love that if our time is so limited to only hours, we will celebrate in an explosion of sexual desire.

As I write this she’s studying for finals that will end Monday, but she’ll go to summer school to propel herself forward in this life. I spoke with a heart doctor I know who comes to the salon and she said it is a long road ahead for Cherie.

But this afternoon is ours. A brief repose from our hectic lives. We come together. We disappear for a few hours. Wishes fulfilled. School gone. No children, studies, or following doctors around, no bills or responsibilities. No salon, people, friends, clients, alcohol or cigarettes. No trying to figure out which lawyer is best to set up the partnership agreement for my new business.

Nothing.

Just two people who have come together and love each other for different reasons, but are in firm agreeance that we accept the terms of that lifestyle because it runs like a swiss watch.

Four hours with my beloved. We grind each other to powder in a searing session that feels Olympian to this old lion. But he loves her dearly. She loves him more. All is given. Physical vessels are taken to the furthest they can withstand with great joy and rapture.

Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion!

 

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Cherie – Chapter 31 – Loving You Sunday Morning – Part 2

We navigate through the sea of St. Patrick’s Day revelers and homeless population that has taken residence in the station. We make the chilly walk back to my house in Rittenhouse. I love chatting with her and hearing about what’s going on in her life. Her family is close and they all look after each other.

We get to my apartment and I take her coat. She says she’s cold. I love my address, but it’s a 125 year old building, and although it’s got so much character it’s a little drafty in the winter. Cherie wants to get under the covers in my bedroom. I see this as a signal, so I do the same. Garments were removed and we snuggled down. It was really brilliant to do this. (I mean that in the ‘English’ way not in the “smart” way.)

I’ve missed her very much lately. It’s been 2 weeks, but it always feels longer to me. Cherie says it’s probably with our crazy schedules, I missed her more because I didn’t know how long it would be until I saw her again. I have to agree. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve been watching videos of Ana Foxxx and Jezabel Vessir to deal with her absence. (Google it. You’ll understand.) Of course Cherie is fine with it because she’s a near perfect sexual being.

I devour my love. Her thighs are like the walls of a temple and I need to enter the gates of glory. I know how to please her. Someone once told me I would always be good at the things I love and they were right. I am good at it. I have always loved women and I know how to please them. Cherie is so appreciative of my prowess, and I’m up to the task.

Great talent is always squandered on those who don’t know what they have. I’ve been with women that’ve appreciated the power briefly but they don’t have a good alignment with their minds and their lady parts. The brain is the biggest sexual organ in the body, and Cherie’s is correctly aligned. I’ve never experienced anything like her.

Amazing.

I’m actually surprised during our lovemaking how many times her train rolls into the station. I have the power and control to sustain the act. Honed from years of courting the fairer sex.

Listen to her. Don’t go faster when she’s going. Stay with her… and bring her home. She’s delicious.

Cherie is built for sex… and I’m Mario Andretti.

Her beautiful skin is brown and soft as a baby’s skin. Every inch of her is a machine made of adoration and sex. I’m the instrument to deliver to her what she wants. I’m playing my 1979 Ibanez Iceman electric guitar, and I dive into the audience after a solo. I take her backstage and she’s the one I have chosen to spend the night with, but after this concert I get to keep her.

It’s beautiful. We didn’t plan this except for the meeting, but we are absolute fire together. She’s a perfect sexual partner and I’m the fury she needs to bring her to the destination she wants to reach again and again.

I love Cherie.

For once I’m not in love with the idea of love, or that I’m banging a former Reinhardt model or the hottest girl that everybody wants at the venue or the blonde with the long shapely legs. I’m making love to my girlfriend that I genuinely love.

I never had the euphoria with Cherie I had with Michele or Annabelle. Of course I will alway love Michelle. We have history and a deep friendship that goes beyond sex. But Annabelle was a mistake and a distraction that cost me two years of frustration, aggravation and disappointment. But Cherie…. I feel real love for her.

She’s a good woman who’s a good match for me, and we fuck each others brains out. (I know this is a dating blog, but that shit is absolute FIRE)

At my age to have a woman who will destroy you in bed at least three times a night, and love you and be grateful is an amazing gift. So I will say to any of the men out there who are middle-aged… hang in there. Keep living and put your heart out there. Who gives a shit if it’s been broken several times. Don’t be bitter. That’s just you drinking the poison hoping somebody else dies. Total bullshit. Keep your heart open. Get the fuck up and try again. She’s out there. Somewhere. That special lady is out there and waiting to love the shit out of you. It happened to me and it can happen to you. Don’t be chained to your past. Let go of the bars of the cell you’ve been keeping yourself in and walk the fuck out.

She’s waiting.

Forget your separation, and your divorce and your loneliness. Get out there and find her. She’s waiting for you!

It’s noon and I have to watch the clock to get baby on the 1:05 train. I want to go again, and she asks if that’s possible because our sex is always epic. I tell her I know it’s possible. I can but she’s tired, and she tells me she’s feeling lazy. So I quote Lemy Kilmister (God rest his soul) from Motorhead, and tell her to “Roll over and make my day.”

Fifteen minutes later we both cross the finish line with another notch in the bedpost. Not for me but for us. Okay, she crossed twice during that encounter!

We get dressed and she said her legs hurt. She feels her orgasms down to her knees and being pinned cramps her up a bit.

That’s what it feels like to be alive and to have mad sex, baby.

She gets up to run to the bathroom. I love seeing Cherie’s body naked upright. Because normally the clothes come off in the bed, but when you see the woman you love walk naked past your bed, it’s an event. That’s different. You see her face, her breasts, and her whole body. It’s rare to see a woman moving naked past you. It’s a bit of an anomaly. But to see her beautiful body in locomotion, is lovely. Her legs and posterior.

  Magic.

Those delicious, perfect chocolate thighs.

I love her thighs.

I wish I could clone Cherie and send a copy out to all of the lonely heartbroken men in the world. Because you would have the perfect girl that you always wanted your wife to be. A loving sexual baby that’s loyal and adores you… for YOU! (And fucks your brains out!)

I love Cherie. You can all see it in my words. I wish I could be more graphic in how amazing it is to be with my love. I’d say things like. “I split her like a ripe melon.” Or things like “A freight train coming off the tracks.” Or… “Moist folds and stiffened giblets.” (well maybe not that last one! lol!)

Cherie has strength and flexibility. Her strength is inherent and her flexibility is her schedule, but she displays both of those in bed. But she does want to be restrained and controlled in the bedroom. A powerful woman who is tired of making decisions every day… all day for herself and everyone else, wants to be taken in bed.

I get it. I’m proud of how together she is as a woman.  \

A rock solid lady.

We’re getting ready to roll out of the batcave. I go to my bureau and pull out a black bag and hand it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She looks confused and puzzled because she never expects or wants anything.

She opens it and inside is a purple pashmeena. (Guys… when its cold out give your girl a pashmeena in her favorite color. They aren’t  expensive and they love them because girls are always cold.)

She loves it.

“Aww! I love it and it’s purple! My favorite color! It’s beautiful! Thank you! (kisses of real gratitude ensue)

“It’s been cold and I saw it and thought of you.” (this move isn’t better than taking her again and again and bringing her to orgasmic heaven the last two hours but it’s a romantic gesture that shows you thought of her when she wasn’t with you and you wanted to do something for her. This means a lot to her because it shows you love her for real and not just love fucking her like the lion you are guys.) I didn’t do this for that reason. I really did see it and thought, baby loves me and gives me everything and I want to give the girl who wants nothing to have a sweet soft scarf.

Phicklephilly!

 

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