Cherie – Chapter 22 – Shark Week – Part III – Shoes & Scarves

Alright, don’t panic. I didn’t get Cherie pregnant last night during Shark Week. Although she did say a few things last night that shook me up.

  1. It only takes one sperm…
  2. I always wanted a girl…
  3. My husb…

She assured me she was just kidding about the first two. She’s made it very clear to me that she doesn’t want anymore children. But those sort of references always rattle me to my core. But in regard to the third one, she was telling me a story last night, and that’s how she almost slipped to refer to me. I called her out on it, and made it funny. She laughed and was a little embarrassed. I thought that it was cute. Does she want me to someday be her husband? I do love her. Time will tell. Let’s see how this romantic journey plays out.

We head out into the snowy day. It’s not that bad. Pretty flurries, and some snow on the ground. But we’re on a mission. Breakfast was amazing. We didn’t get the special, but it was worth it to spend some extra time in bed together.

You know, when I’m with Cherie, she becomes more beautiful to me every hour I’m with her. I don’t get to see her all of the time. Michelle I saw every day. Annabelle, was a forced companionship to make it work. But with Cherie, I’m denied her presence most of the time. Our schedules and the distance keep us apart. But it’s working! When I’m with her, I’m at peace. Not a euphoric happy that I felt with the last two. Just a satisfied feeling that I’ve never felt before. I haven’t had to change at all with her in my life. I’ve gone good and bad in the last two relationships, but I do what I want in this relationship and most of all…I get to be me.

The real me.

To a point. I smoke, and drink and live my life down here in the city. Working two jobs, moving a business, writing a blog that you’ll one day binge on Netflix. That’s the difference here. I don’t have to be patient and fix the girl I’m loving. I don’t have to stop being me, and transform into an idea. I don’t have to be frustrated, angry or disappointed. I thought that was part of being in a relationship. My parents were that.

All of my relationships have been fucked up. There’s always something missing.

A disconnect. I loved them, but it was always hard. I just thought it was always supposed to be that way. I guess that’s why Michelle went back to Delaware Dave. She did it to save herself. Work on your health. You can’t do that with Phickle. He’s all about joy and vice. It’s fun, but it won’t sustain a relationship. Annabelle was in a totally different child-like, confused part of her life. I don’t even know why I thought it could be anything. It’s just ashes blown off the edge of an old table.

I don’t think we’ll always be at a distance. But I’m not going to do anything to change it now. It’s been three months and I have zero stress or confusion about what this is. Sometimes I’m amazed that this ripe, young, fit beauty really loves me. I know she does. I love her but there’s always an imbalance in every relationship. it’s not a bad thing. It just is. Somebody loves somebody more than the other one does.

Think about it. That’s you. You’ve been there, or you’re there right now.

I love Cherie. She’s young, beautiful, smart, super sexy, and a chill girl with an even temperament, and a great sense of humor. What more could any man want? Nothing. She’s great, and I’m blessed to have her in my life. Sometimes I think of myself and God. I feel like I’ve spent all of my luck and good fortune tickets. I punched every hole in my joy ticket.

Then I think of karma. What if I did something to deserve one more twenty-six year old baby, but she’s the right one? Not a project, but a lovely young woman who has suffered. Worked ten years at MacDonald’s. Has been a mother for the last six years. Medical Assistant at Children’s Hospital. Works at a pediatrician’s office. Tons of hours. getting her degree in neuroscience. Next stop, medical school. End game: Doctor.

But the karma. I haven’t done anything extraordinary since, Michelle. Why have I been granted this maiden?

To love again.

Why do I get to go again?

Then it came to me. February, 2015.

Lorelei came to me. The lead in the school play. The A-B student. The quiet, calm force torn asunder by her mother’s madness.

“Daddy, please. Can I please come live with you? I can’t take it anymore. I have to get out. I’ll sleep on the floor to get away from her.”

There it is. I have entered into and exited bloody from many relationships in my short life, but I got a “Get out of Jail Free” card from God. I rescued my daughter from the clutches of the gargoyle and God gave me another one.

Cherie.

Cherie loves me more than I love her and I know it. But maybe she doesn’t love me more and only loves me differently than the way I love her.

 

We enter Kids Foot Locker and look for some sneakers for kids. Lorelei is twenty and it’s been a long time since I thought about buying shoes for her. But Cherie’s family is young.

My family is slowly sliding down destiny’s rainbow.

There are walls of footwear in these places. I would never go to a store like this. Payless is how I roll in regard to fine footware here in Philly. I am blown away by these prices. There were $100 little baby sneakers in there! Walls of them!

Cherie was very thorough in her search. She finally decided on two terrifically expensive pairs of shoes for a couple of kids that will grow out of them in half a year.

We step out of the store and the snowfall seems to be getting worse. I tell her I know of a retail street cart at the corner of 12th and Chestnut that has the scarves I need. There’s Pollyanna party at my new company. If you ever have to buy a gift for someone in the fall or winter in Philly, buy a street scarf.

Super soft. Silky. That’s how I would describeit… cashmere. But I’m describing these Burberry novachek knock offs that look and feel great for about six bucks.

We trudge over there. The snow is getting colder and meaner. The flakes now feel like cold needles on our tender faces.

Philadelphia is a bitter and grey place today.

We arrive at where the cart is supposed to be but it’s not.

Cherie is not thrilled.

She wanted to buy a hat and some gloves. I tell her I have an idea. I cut South through Midtown Village. We enter at the earliest point to get into the subway.

At least I have baby out of the cold!

Suburban Station in the winter is a den of homeless people. It’s especially frosty out tonight so, we have a packed house full of walkers right now.

I find this subway retails store that carries everything. I get the scarves I need, and Cherie lands her gloves and hat. When we leave the store, I want to keep Cherie underground for as long a possible, because it’s now an ice storm out there.

We’re walking down this long hallway, and I swear to God, the urine stench was so bad, I actually started getting angry. Cherie wanted to turn back, but I told her she’d freeze her sweet black ass off if we were to back track. (Just take out the word ‘black’ please…)

As we’re walking down the hallway of the walking dead, I turn to the right and there is a woman with no pants on. This poor thing is changing her clothes in an alcove under 1601 Market. Cherie, chides me for staring, but I have to explain it to her. If you saw nudity in Playboy, you’d be expecting it. It’s good, but there are higher levels. If you were walking through a train station and you saw a real naked lady, it would feel different, right? It’s a bit of a shocker. As bad as she is, you still saw it and got a story out of it.

I knew this would happen. I created phicklephilly and now we are one. My art is imitating my life and my life is now my art.

We walk back through center city to the house. Her giant back pack is there. The entire walk home was a grueling trudge with snow biting our faces the whole way. We chill for a bit and dry out at the house. Lorelei texts me that she is stopping home between the double she’s working at the restaurant.

“That was nine minutes ago. We should go.” There has been very little exposure for my current, I wanted it do the opposite in this relationship. We are literally in the vestibule of my building, and Cherie says, “How do you open this door?”

I look through the glass and on the other side of the door is Lorelei. Cherie is trying to operate our impossibly tricky locking system. “You’re about to meet my daughter.”

Lorelei is surprised to see me. Probably even more surprised that I’m standing with a pretty black girl. I fumble over my words. “Hi honey. I got your text about stopping home between your double shift. This is Cherie. I’m going to walk her to the train. We just had to pick up some stuff. She doesn’t think anything. My daughter knows I’m friends with so many people in the city and they’re all different races. It’s not like she caught us in the saddle.

We head back out into the snow. It’s really going. I think about how I haven’t told anyone about Cherie. It’s not because of the age difference or the race. That’s nonsense. But for the first time in the last decade, I’ve not posted and shown off what I’m doing. I don’t know why I did that. I guess I’ll figure it out. There are no pictures of Cherie and me. There are no posts about us going out. This love belongs to us. It’s private. Who gives a shit about the rest of the world. Let them look into their own lives. Show all of their greatest hits on all of their trips. Stuff and vacations tell me they are empty. Because when you are calm and happy, you don’t want anything. The best things in life are free.

It’s really true. Everybody wants that. But love is elusive. But what is even more elusive  is people’s ability to go out in the world and open their hearts. Love and sex is all around you. Just relax, smile and go forth and be yourself. They’ll find you.

The most beautiful butterflies I have ever caught have been wonderful. But I never had to pick up my net to catch them. They flew right into the flame.

I’m not worried about Lorelei. She doesn’t give a shit about what I do anyway. As long as she can work, collect her allowance, eat her vegan food, and see her boyfriend, she’s cool.

We cross the street, avoiding the traffic on the street. “Where are we going now?” Cherie says. “I’m calling an UBER. We’re not walking back to Suburban Station in this mess.” “I’ve never taken an UBER.” “You’ll love it.”

We arrive at 16th and JFK and hop out. I take her and lead her down the stairs back into the subway. I take her to the platform and wait with her. We’re standing there and the train roars into the station.

I’m back where I began friday night. But there has been so much joy. I’m standing there satisfied. It’s obvious I ‘ve been satisfied sexually. But there’s a certain feeling you get when you’re with someone you love. You don’t want anything else. You’re good. All set. I’ll miss her, but she has to go. She has to get back to her son, work, and school.

I stand on the platform until she leaves. I can see her at the window. The conductor shouts. The train hisses to life and begins to pull from the station. Our eyes meet. She smiles, waves and blows me a kiss.

I do the same. Until next we meet.

 

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Cherie – Chapter 20 – Shark Week – Part I

“I’m a man alone on the platform of life. Waiting for his girlfriend. The latest model. My newest love. The next one.”

I finished at the salon on Friday night. I text Cherie to see where she was in the travel process. She’s on winter break so there’s no classes for the next week or so, but work and life have been the usual grind. The holidays, raising her son, school, and two grueling jobs are taking a toll upon her health. She sometimes leaves one job and goes to the other one just to keep the machine rolling. She sometimes works twenty-eight hours straight without sleep between Children’s Hospital and the pediatrician’s office.

Cherie texts me back and tells me that she missed the first train, but is currently on the next one from Norristown. It should roll into Suburban Stanton around 8:40pm. I look at my watch and see that it is only 8:20pm. It’s been a long day and an even longer week for me. Being back to working forty hours at the new day job, and running the salon four days a week have clocked me in at sixty hours a week again. I like having a morning purpose to get out of bed again, but the adjustment has been a bit of a challenge.

I lock up the salon and head to suburban station. The winter night kisses my face. She’s always been a Philly bitch.

Suburban Station this time of year is an absolute shit show. There are so many homeless people down there to escape exposure you can’t get a seat. The stench of urine makes me angry.

I see where her train is coming in and I head to that platform. I haven’t seen her since our fun early lunch at Devil’s Alley. That’s always sweet and civil. We love seeing each other and spending time together, but it’s really just a band-aid, to bridge the gap until we will once again share a bed.

I look at the schedule. On Time. Baby is coming…. (Sorry, “Arriving”) I know she’ll be all covered up. Heavy coat, boots, hat, and a scarf. But I know what’s beneath all of those layers. The heart of a lovely, woman.

I plan on asking her if she’s eaten, because if anyone deserves a super din, it’s this girl. She doesn’t eat enough or get enough rest.

If baby’s hungry, I’ll feed her.

I’m a man alone on the platform of life. Waiting for his girlfriend. The latest model. My newest love. The next one.

All of this work I’m doing now is tough. I adapt like a cockroach, and love to work so I know I’ll be fine, but the first two weeks through the holiday were a little cloudy. But I’ve adjusted and I’ll make it happen on both fronts. I’m not the tallest or the strongest man you’ll ever meet. I’m average looking in every way, but I have a kind face and an effervescent personality. Sometimes that, and real enthusiasm is enough. Making tons of money and surrounding yourself with a nice house, cars and stuff is a huge fat lie.

I once had a boss I really liked and one day I asked him, why everybody was so into food and stuff. He said it’s probably because we all can’t have beautiful sex all of the time. I was very close with him and he and I worked well together. He lived in NYC and I would walk him to the train at 30th street every night for months. He was a fish out of water in Philly, but a wonderful man and mentor. We all need mentors.

My father used to say.

But he was right. It was a simple question and he gave me his simple answer. I appreciated his candid answer. I miss him. But think about it… when you meet that special someone and ignition is imminent, it’s is a glorious feeling. You meet that person. There is a connection. There’s chemistry for whatever reason. It’s electric. You fall in love, have all of the dating, sex and love you can make, and then the inevitable happens. You get married.

You fall in love, and then you lock down a mate for whatever reason. It could be a good decision or the worst one of your life, but you make it. If it works, you live in domestic life for the rest of your days. Some of them work, some don’t. Some of us make good decisions and others make bad decisions. I make bad decisions all of the time. But I’m an artist stuck in the corporate world. I’m not an artist that can’t fit in with corporate America. I’m an artist that can swim comfortably through it. Usually the other fat fish that have dedicated themselves to working in business don’t like this strange fish. They’ll eventually get him.

It’s okay, because I know my spirit will always find a way to swim in someones warm pond. If it gets too hot, I can alway hop to another pretty body of water.

I’ll always work, and I’ll always love. I won’t stuff my life with tradition, stuff and lies ever again. I’ve been married, been a homeowner, had hot cars and tons of stuff.

None of it means anything. At the end of the day, you have to come home to yourself. You. Alone in your apartment. You. Alone in your marriage. Maybe you, happy in either one.

But I’ve found that humans are social creatures. We LOVE to be with each other. most people can’t sit in a room by themselves for very long without hating themselves. You need to be truly alone to understand yourself and who you are. You can’t do that around other people. You need to break it all down and get inside your own soul. It’s really hard to do, but some of us, a rare few actually like it.

If you get married, you fall in love, choose the best you can and go forward. House, mortgage, careers, kids, stuff… all of it. Everybody does it. I did it.

It was never a fit for me.

Did you ever notice that there are no great white sharks in captivity? There are grey nurse sharks, sand tigers, and whatever stuff they can steal from the sea to entertain you. An afternoon at the aquarium. But the Great White is at the top of the heap when it comes to marine predators. Little is really known about them. But having the greatest shark ever the star of Peter Benchley’s JAWS would surely be an attraction like no other that would bring Homo Sapiens in to your little circus in droves.

You’ve done it. You’ve kidnapped them from the sea, and what happened?

They all died. Every one of them.

Dead.

The Great White isn’t going to live in a fish tank and have you gawk at him. He’d rather die that give you the satisfaction of owning him. Imprisoning him. He needs to swim and be free.

Would I like to be in a marriage and be satisfied and happy? I don’t know. We all want to have that connection with that one person that completes us.

We do.

I may be the Great White, but even they find a lovely lady shark and go off and make little sharks.

But I’ve made bad choices and have tried to make that work, but it hasn’t. I know it works for some, but they have made such better choices than myself.

I am so happy when I see couples together making it work and are really are connected. It’s amazing to see. I know so few. But the ones that get it right are terrific people. I see it in my own family. All of my sisters have made good choices for their life goals and it’s worked.

But not me. I’ve tried over and over to fit into that and it just hasn’t worked. Like I said, I made bad choices. But what does that mean? I think I’m not meant to be locked into an American marriage model. I need to swim free. I need to be alone. The shark needs to swim.

Appreciate who he is and let him be.

The only upside of being in different relationships throughout your life instead of getting married and locking it down is this: You get to fall in love a bunch of times.

I know everybody falls in love. That shit is magic. I can’t think of anything on the Earth that feels that good. I’ve always known that beyond everything, love is the most powerful force in the universe. When you think about all of the crazy shit people have done in the name of love its mind-boggling!

I know marriage is a great way for people to really bond with your desired match. It yields family, children, grandchildren, joy, pain, life existence. It really is the foundation of our culture.

But what if you could have that feeling again that you had in the beginning, over and over again?

We all long for that initial passion. I know if you’re with the same person all of the time there becomes a familiar. There’s no way to sustain that drug of love.

The only way you could do that and get that feeling would to be alone most of the time.

Most of the populace are unable to do that.

Ever.

So, you meet someone, you fall in love and it doesn’t work out.

Again and again.

You’re sad. Most people have had their heart broken once. Some of us have had it shattered, shredded, tossed on the fire, and kicked to the curb. Because we loved too much.

We’re sensitive people who’ve spent their love dollars on the wrong people for the wrong reasons. Sometimes we end up broke.

But only financially.

We’re still the same people. Growing. Evolving into the future of ourselves.

But…We love again.

Again and again.

See how it works? You either choose once, and hope and works, and most times it does. If it doesn’t work you have to be brave enough to walk away. The consequences can be catastrophic but if you are truly not happy you have to go.

So, here I am. Carcharodon carcharias. Domesticity and cohabitation hasn’t ever worked for me. What should I do?

I should continue to evolve and grow as a person. I should be the best person I can be to the people around me. The shark needs to swim and be free. But maybe I can meet a perfect, low-key, smart, solid lady shark and make it work.

I think of her face. Her lovely eyes. Her smile. Her laugh, when she really loses it. My god, her thighs.

(Is that a Haiku?)

 

The voice over the intercom says that her train is coming in. I’m about to accept the honor of Cherie’s presence for the next 20 hours.

The platform is cold. I smell something. I glance down the track. A flash of light off  the wall. There’s a sudden breeze in on the platform. The air is fresh and clean. The train is pushing life into this sad terminal.

She is about to arrive.

My girlfriend. I once again have a girlfriend.

Oh, if you’re still wondering why this chapter was called, “Shark Week,” It’s because I’m comparing myself to a Great White shark. An elegant animal that’s meant to be free to swim, and can’t be contained into your idea of love.

But I’m trying, and I’ll be fine. I really appreciate you all getting it this week!

No. that’s not what this chapter is about. You missed the whole point. Thank you for reading this far…

Cherie is on her period.

I just got the text. She’s coming to the bat cave for the next twenty hours. There’s going to be a lot of sex and negotiation, but there’s also going to be a lot of blood…

 

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Cherie – Chapter 10 – Hammer into Anvil

“What’s meant for you…won’t go by you.”

Since I began writing phicklephilly a year and a half ago, this is by far and away my favorite post. I started writing about all of the crazy women and relationships and dates I had gone on in my life. But I quickly realized if I was going to write a dating and relationship blog, then I’d better start dating again. If I hadn’t then I may have never have met lovely Cherie.

So if you’re out there swiping right to the point of having to ice down your thumbs, keep at it. Your next great love could be the very next swipe!

Saturday finally arrives. I woke up and got myself together. I did some last-minute manscaping, and started packing a bag. I went into my closet and grabbed a plastic bag that was hanging on a hook. In it is like tons of condoms. Well, not tons. Like 50.

I start going through them. It’s obviously been awhile since I acquired them because most of them are expired. Now if I had some pills that were expired and not by much I might take them. They’re probably still good. But who wants to take the risk with a condom? Only one little dude needs to get through. One.

I need to go to the drug store.

I head out to my favorite weekend breakfast spot. I have my usual. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and a toasted buttery bagel. I should probably go to the liquor store. I had up to Fine Wine and Good Spirits at 21st and Market street. I pick up a fifth of vodka. I figured, what if I want a cocktail later? I’m not paying hotel room service prices. I never drink or smoke around Cherie, but we’ll be together for a long time and I may want to chill with a beverage at some point. On the way back from the liquor store I stop at my dry cleaners and pick up my shirts. I drop everything off and go back out. I head down to the Walgreens at 18th and South. I grab a bottle of club soda and go to the counter.

“Give me ten condoms” Suddenly I hear giggling behind me in line. I turn around and see two teenage girls laughing. I turn back to the clerk and say: “Make it and even dozen.”

No. That didn’t happen. I just love doing that bit.

I went to the family planning aisle and looked at the variety of condoms. They have all kinds now. Ribbed. (For her pleasure) Couldn’t I turn those inside out and make them for my pleasure? Kidding. They have condoms that warm up when you use them. How cold are your genitals? If you’re about to have sex with someone, I would hope your naughty bits are hot. They also make ones that speed her up and slow you down. Okay. I decide on the Durex Real Feel non latex condom 3 pack. I don’t know about you but nobody likes condoms. In my experience latex condoms smell like, well, latex. Fresh rubber. I don’t like that smell. I have cracked open so many trojans in my life that the smell of latex alone could take the wind out of my proverbial sails. Plus if you really get going, who wants your bedroom to smell like burnt rubber? Might as well have sex under the bleachers at the local drag strip.

I only bought the three pack because I still had about eight unexpired condoms at the house. Then I thought, How many times are we actually going to have intercourse? I mean, the reason we got the hotel room is to finally get the sex out of our systems. Not out completely, mind you, just to relieve the tension that’s been building up over our last few dates. Maybe we’ll do it a few times. We’ll sleep. Go out. Get something to eat, etc. Just to be safe. I’m going to bring all of the unexpired condoms and use these new ones first. Cherie says she’s an animal, but the body has its limits. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s been two years since I was in a relationship and having sex on a regular basis. What if I freeze up and can’t perform at all? Nightmare.

I’ll be fine. I really like Cherie. She’s so sweet and easy-going, she’ll understand and be patient with me. I need to stop talking like this. Don’t want to psych myself out. I pick up a small bottle of mouthwash and pay for my stuff and leave.

I get back to the house and pack way too much stuff. I don’t travel anywhere. When was the last time I had to pack a bag and go to a hotel? I’m checking in at 3pm today, and I’ll be out of there at 10:30am tomorrow. How much clothes will I need? I’m really going there to take my clothes off not wear a bunch of outfits. I had like two pair of underwear. Three T-shirts, two pair of socks, just too much stuff. It was one night! I gather all of my toiletries and grab the vodka and the bottle of club and stuff it all in the bag.

I summon an UBER and head outside and stand by the curb. The car arrives, and I tell him to take me to the tanning salon. I have some time to kill before check in, and I figured I’d go chat with Trish.

I get to the salon and put my bag in the back. Trish asks where I’m going. I’ve known her for a long time so I can tell her what’s going on. I tell her how Carly hooked me up with the Club Quarters suite. I have only known Cherie for a little over a month and we’re going there with the sole intention of consummating our relationship. We chat and I realize that I’m just killing time before the 3pm check in. Cherie texts me that she’s on her way. She’s an hour away so I have time to get checked in.

Years ago, I could have simply brought her to my house, but since my daughter Lorelei lives with me now, I just can’t take a chance. Besides, if you really want to accomplish something, you should lock yourself away and get it done. No distractions. Like writing. I have to laugh when I see all of these people writing in coffee shops around the city. Is that to show off and let people know you’re a writer? Writing is a painstaking process. It takes time and it’s a lonely profession. But, I’m one of the few who likes to be alone.

I head over to the hotel. I go up to the front desk. I check in. “One or two key cards, sir?”

“Two.”

The lobby’s really nice. There is a flat screen TVs on the walls. There’s an area where you can get coffee and tea 24 hours a day.  Plenty of spots to just hang out. The hotel is even connected to Davio’s, the Italian restaurant next door. Somehow, I know I won’t be using any of these facilities. Cherie texts me that she’s in the city, and headed to the parking garage. I dash up to the room. 1107. I walk up and down the hallway, but have trouble finding it. Then I realize that it’s near the elevators.

The room is a sort of isolated from the other rooms on the floor. I enter the room and drop my bag. To my left and back is the bathroom. Small but nicely appointed. Big shower. (Noted) There’s a kitchenette beyond that. Won’t be cooking anything in there. (Well, not that kind of cooking) There’s a small table with two chairs. Above it is a flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Then off to the right is the bed. It’s a good-sized bed. I draw back the curtains to reveal a nice eastern view on this sunny Saturday afternoon.

Cherie is texting me that she’s parking. I grab my card key and head back to the lobby and out. I walk up to the Windham Hotel. The parking garage is there. I go into Two Liberty and into the little shopping center inside. I know just where she’ll come up from the garage. I walk to the elevators, and just as I get there, the doors open and Cherie appears.

I take her bag, and we head back to the Club Quarters. It’s 3:15pm. We go into the room and I give her a key card. There’s little bottles in a rack in the hallway that you can fill with purified water, so I fill up a pair for us. She’s exploring the room. I return and she jumps onto the bed. I join her. We kick off our shoes and I hold her in my arms, kissing her ripe lips.

Lips I have sorely missed since Wednesday.

I was having some fear and nerves. I hadn’t been intimate with someone I really cared about since April 2014. (See: Annabelle) Cherie was very sweet and soothing. That’s one of the things I really dig about this lady. She just has a great laid back vibe that keeps me relaxed and cool. We really wanted to begin, so she just started to undress. She was down to her burgundy matching bra and panties with white lace trim in no time. (Wowza!)

I have struggled with what I was going to write at this point. If this ever becomes a book or a TV series on HBO, I suppose they can spell it out. I just don’t want to describe our lovemaking  in graphic detail. It would be fun, but Phicklephilly isn’t a pornographic piece. But I will say this. Cherie was patient and loving. But once we got going. There was no stopping us. It was wonderful. It was pretty much all we did all afternoon. The sun went down and so did I. The curtains closed and her thighs opened. Around 9pm we had a pizza delivered to the room. We didn’t sleep much that night. Great thing was… It was daylight savings, so I got to spend an extra free hour with Cherie. We should make this an annual event. We turn the clocks back an hour and we check into a hotel and destroy each other for 20 hours.  I definitely gave her lots of presents for her birthday.

We got a few hours sleep. We had to be out of there by 10:30 at the latest because I had to open the salon at 11am on Sunday. We woke up around 8:30 I think. We proceeded to do one more for the road. I love morning sex. There’s just something hot and turgid about it.

I have to say. Cherie is one of the most sexual women I have ever met. I’m not going to reveal any intimate details, but it was probably not only the best sex I’ve had since 2002, it was the most times in one session. Just spectacular. I call that kind of sex “Chuck Yeager Sex.” Chuck Yeager was the type of pilot that tested planes not to see how fast they could go. He tested them to see what the plane could withstand. That’s what it was like with Cherie. Just like my Pop used to say, “Anything worth doing, is worth overdoing.”

A-fucking-men.

We shared the spacious shower. She said she liked really hot showers, I told her I didn’t. She purposely kept the water not too hot for me. She looks beautiful. The water beading on her glistening brown body was lovely. I stood in the back like the man always has to when you take a shower with a girl. I washed her back while I was standing there. She told me to get up front under the water and get washed up. So I did, and washed my hair and then I was done. I hopped out. “Great now I can crank the hot water.” she said. I laughed and thanked her for not scalding my tender hide. I toweled off and got dressed. She came out a short time later. “I’m a little ashy” she said. “Will you rub some cream on my legs?” So I leaped at that opportunity. (Those shapely supple legs!) She did the rest of her, and finished dressing.

We gathered our things from  the room and headed down to the lobby. We had a solid hour before I had to open the salon. So we checked out and headed over to the Midtown Diner. It felt good to be there. It was the classic scene. You give me great sex and then I take you out to breakfast. I had scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Cherie had the Hungry Man platter, which is a little bit of everything. (Baby was hungry!) It was delicious and I was feeling great energy. I was a very satisfied lion.

After breakfast I walked her back to the elevator at Two Liberty. She thanked me for everything and for making her birthday magical. I kissed her goodbye and she stepped into the elevator and was gone.

Oh…one last detail.

Last night I told her I loved her.

She said it back.

 

 

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

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Cherie – Chapter 7 – Lion and the Scorpion – Part I

“Do you want more children, Cherie?”

After our epic 10 hour date last Saturday, we decided to go again this weekend. This would technically be our 4th date, but it felt like our 7th. I knew I couldn’t top last week, but I wanted to come up with some fun activities to do with my latest lady.

I looked online for any happenings. It was Halloween weekend, so I figured there must be something fun to do. The pumpkin event at Headhouse? No. Mini Golf in Northern Liberties?  Fuck Northern Liberties. The weather was supposed to be nice. Maybe we could get on the big red double-decker bus and tour the city. I know the city pretty intimately, but it would be fun to get the official tour and be out in the fresh air on one of the last warm days of Autumn.

I go online and buy a pair of tickets. $60. Not bad. Here’s how it works. You go to 5th and Market Streets. The buses run every half an hour. You give them you ticket, and get on the bus whenever you want. That ticket is now good for the next 24 hours. The bus tours around the city and stops at 15 different landmarks. There are even tour guides on every bus telling you what it is you’re looking at. One of the best parts of this tour is, you don’t have to stay on the bus the whole time. You can get off at any number of stops at any time. Why didn’t I ever think to do this with Michelle when we were together? (See: Michelle – A Brand New Day) You chill on the tour, hop off somewhere. Grab a bite. Have a few drinks and then get back on. You could literally eat and drink your way around the whole city for a day. All the while learning things about our fair city. It would be like having your own personal driver and tour guide, while you get hammered all over the city. Genius.

But it wouldn’t be like that with Cherie. She’s a different cat all together. I tell her to meet me at 5th and Market at 1:30pm. I’d like us to start the tour around 2pm. So I have we have this thing called “Cher-time.” I always allow her an extra half hour before we’re supposed to meet at a proposed time. She’s driving down from Pottstown. There could be construction, detours, weather, etc. I’m hardcore about the clock and being on time as you well know, but I’ll make an allowance here. Because it’s she who is driving all the way into the city to see me.

So, I ordered the tickets and printed them out on Friday night. Within an hour, I get a text from Cherie, that she is having babysitter issues, and she won’t be able to get down to Philly until 4pm. That throws a wrench in things. If it were summertime, it wouldn’t matter if we got on the tour at 4pm, because it stays light until after 8pm. But this time of year it’s starting to get dark at 6pm and it’s getting colder at night.

I call the Big Red Bus Company. I tell them my dilemma. The really cordial guy who answered the phone tells me those tickets can be used at anytime. They’re only activated when I actually present them and step on a bus. I was afraid they would expire or I somehow wasted $60, but no. I can use these tickets for another future date, with Cherie!

She doesn’t know any of this is happening, it’s all behind the scenes. I think she’s just a little sad she can’t get down here sooner. I tell her I have everything under control. She says that she loves a man in control.

I like her words.

She’s on her way down and texts me that there is a detour up around 307, because of some rowing event. I tell her not to worry, and just take her time and be safe. She later texts me from 23rd and Cherry. I tell her I’m waiting for her at 21st and Pine. Somehow she gets a little lost, but finally gets to me. I hop in the Saab and off we go. I tell her about the bus tour thing and initially I could tell she was sad that it was too late to do it. I’m looking at her sweet pout lip. I tell her not to worry because we can use them anytime. She’s happy about that. I tell her it’s another day of dating that’s already paid for. I told her if we’re up on the top-level of the bus it may get a little chilly but we can sit in the back of the bus and cuddle to stay warm. She says she’s down for that for sure. I ask her if she has a problem sitting in the back of the bus. She laughs and tells me she does not. It’s not racially insensitive if the person you are with is intelligent and you’re dating her.

I don’t really have a plan at this point. It’s 5pm now. She drives up to a parking lot back out at 23rd and Cherry streets, It’s pretty deserted. She pulls in. There is no attendant. There are some signs up that say weekend permits only. It almost appears we could just park here and nobody would even know the lot is so empty. But being the honest person Cherie is, she pulls up and leans out the window. She starts putting cash in the machine. I glance over at her. She’s half way out the window because she didn’t pull close enough to the machine. Her shirt rides up her back and I see a horizontal patch of lovely brown skin. Framed above her jeans is lacy turquoise underwear. Is she doing this on purpose?

We pull in and she picks this isolated spot. It’s still light out but dusk is approaching. We’re chatting and catching up. But that slowly turns into dreamy kissing. This goes on for a while and becomes quite passionate.

It’s getting dark and Cherie seems to have no interest in going anywhere or seeing anything around the city. She’s content to stay here and be with me. So I start to feel like something is about to happen in the moment of passion. I feel like a teenager again. Making out with a pretty girl in a car in the dark. And then it happens.

The C-Block. The CB. Doesn’t a Police vehicle pull into the lot and circle around and park about 30 feet away at my 10 o’clock position? Just sits there. Motor running. Headlights shining outward. I can’t believe this is happening again. Cherie says the cops can’t see what her hands are doing below the dashboard. She also notes that the idea of law enforcement parked there while things are happening in here heightens the thrill.

It has become clear to me at this point that Cherie is very interested in me. I’m happy about this. I have been on this dating odyssey, and it’s as if I had to go on all of those dates for this woman to be delivered to me. I’ve learned much on this journey. But like she once said to me…” Be careful for what you wish for.” She’s intelligent, funny, easy-going, beautiful, fit, and on the right side of thirty. I think I just checked off every box on my list. Now it appears there is only one box left that needs checking.

But not in front of the cops.

I suppose some of you may be wondering why I don’t just take her back to my apartment and throttle her. I didn’t want to mention this before but I have a 19-year-old daughter. She lives with me. When she came to me during her senior year in high school, I was single. Technically I still am. I don’t want to start bringing strange women into the house just yet. I haven’t even discussed it with her. If she were sitting on the sofa and I just came rolling in with some young chick, and took her back to the bedroom, that just wouldn’t be cool. Maybe when I know the place is clean, and my daughter is away for the weekend for sure. I’m sure the situation is the same for Cherie. Her son is 6 years old. It’s just weird bringing a strange man into mommy’s bed. I have a lot of will power and am a very patient man. I’m not worried. We’ll figure it out.

Anyway, we’re getting antsy. Cherie suggests we take a walk. I agree. It’s a nice night. This way the police sitting there for the last hour doing nothing will see that we are clean upstanding citizens. Not some interracial couple that has to hide their forbidden romance in some vacant lot on the outskirts of town.

We walk a ways. So I figure maybe I’ll take her somewhere and get her something to eat. But she has other plans. We walk a few blocks and end up on this small street with very little on it. We get to the middle of the block and she stops. She just wants to hang out and make out. I can’t believe this is happening. When I think of all of the drinks and dinners I bought for these other women, and felt nothing, this little vixen just wants to play with me. This goes on for about 45 minutes. It’s a deserted street. We’re right in the middle of the block facing each other. So I can see if anybody is walking up the street or if a car is coming. She can do the same in the opposite direction. Again, I feel like I’m 17 years old and I’m out at night with my 14-year-old girlfriend, Anne. We’re just holding each other and chatting and kissing and gazing into each other’s eyes.

Feels like love to me.

From the very first meeting we just sort of clicked. I thought she was great chill girl. She liked that I was a white gentleman that made her laugh. Yes, I did gather more intel on this date. Her son’s father clipped her when she was 17 years old. He was in his 30’s. He was white. She said they waited until she was 18 to have sex. I agreed with that idea. (Avoid those pesky statutory rape laws.) Apparently he was married and has 4 other children! She says she was not the home wrecker. They bet in a bar but I didn’t push her for details. I asked her to describe him. I didn’t know what to expect. She simply said. 5’9″ okay looking. A douchebag. Also she seems a little sore that he doesn’t spend as much time as he should with his son with her. But he does pay child support. So kudos, buddy. But put some more time in with your boy, asshole. You only get one chance.

They’re only children ONCE.

But here’s the best part of all of that. She works in a pediatrician’s office as one of her two jobs. She says she loves children. She wants to be a doctor that practices pediatric neurosis when she finishes her education. That’s awesome. So I’m assuming, young woman, loves kids, already has one would probably want another one or two to round out the dinner table. Based on these stories you know that my last 3 relationships all ended for that reason. I already have been married. I have a child. I have paid over $125,000 in tax-free money to someone who is not a nice person and hurts those around her. My ex-wife has already burned through her second marriage and has another kid.

But I digress.

Oh sure, I could get married and have another kid and live happily ever after. Sure that could happen. But based on my track record, it’s a sucker’s bet. If I did that and somehow fucked it up again. My child support payments would be coming out of my Social Security checks. No. Just place the gun in my mouth and gently curl your finger so that everything I ever was ends up on the wall behind me.

So I pull the trigger. The lynch pin in this lovely, seemingly perfect romance. Because this way I don’t have to say my last 4 relationships ended for the same reason. I can still say 3, because this beautiful flower that has grown between Cherie myself in the last few weeks will be stomped into the earth under the hob nail boot of reality. Doomed from the start. Destroyed before it could ever flourish.

“Do you want more children, Cherie?”

Tune in 2 weeks from now for the chilling conclusion to this deal breaking tale!

 

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

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Cherie – Chapter 5 – Be Careful What You Wish For – Part I

Don’t be a guy.

Be a man.

Saturday arrived. I woke up relatively early. Philly had periods of showers but the rain was supposed to stop around 1pm, so that was good. I didn’t want another rainy day date with Cherie. But actually I was looking forward to seeing her so the weather didn’t really matter.

I stopped by the salon to drop off some detergent and bring my friend Trish some fives for the register. She was hung over from a night of Jameson at Tattooed Mom’s with her friends on South Street. She stopped drinking alcohol about a year ago, because she said she didn’t like how she behaved on it. Said it made her angry. Trish is angry anyway and I can only imagine what a nightmare she is on booze. That’s probably part of the reason she can’t function without smoking marijuana everyday and drinking oceans of coffee just to get through the day. I’ll be writing a chapter about her in the near future but for now I’ll stick to the events of today.

I give Trish the fives and she hands me a twenty out of the register. I’m walking across the lobby to take a seat and chat with her for a bit when she says. You have a hole in the back of your pants. I’m like, “Stop checking out my sweet ass.”

“Seriously dude. You have a huge hole in your pants. Don’t you feel that?”

I reach back and sure enough, there is a pretty good-sized hole there.

“I didn’t want you going out on your date today with a big old hole in your pants, dude.”

I joke that maybe I could guide Cherie’s hand to it in the movie theater for some cheap thrills.

“It’s the 3rd date!”

“I hate that shit!”

I tell her I agree. I don’t know if you all know this but a lot of young people are under the impression that the 3rd date equals sex. Which I find stupid. In all seriousness I would rather get to know someone and if there is a mutual attraction, the sex should just happen as a celebration at some point. There should never be a deadline related to intercourse. That almost sounds predatory.

So I head back to my apartment to put on another pair of jeans. I grab a pair and realize I haven’t worn them in a while. Like two years. They are a 36 waist. I now wear a 32 waist, but can do a 34 with a belt. They’re just too big and I look ridiculous. I grab another pair. Another hole in the seat. What’s going on here? Did I wear out the seat of two pair of jeans? I know I see the occasional mouse here in the building but what sort of butt munching rodents do we have around here?

I find a pair that are in decent shape with no holes in the seat, and put them on. This will have to do. I go downstairs and summon an UBER. While driving down to Columbus Boulevard to the multiplex, I chat with my driver, Hanna. She asks me what movie I’m going to see. I tell her the lady I’m taking likes scary movies, so we’re seeing, ‘Ouija: Origin of Evil.’ Some how she gathers from our conversation that my date is younger than me. She asks, and I tell her she’s a little younger. She tells me about a male friend of hers, who is 50 something and was dating a woman in her 40’s and just wasn’t happy. He said that women his age were all carrying all the same baggage. He’s now dating a woman around 30 and says that younger women are just more fun. I say that I agree, but when you date younger women they all eventually want to get married and have kids.  She says that her friend is always up front about that sort of thing. Maybe I should have been clear about that in my last 3 failed relationships. And here I am being driven to what could possibly be a 4th similar destination.

She lets me out and I go into the lobby and get in line for tickets. The movie starts at 1:50 and it is now 1:30. I get the tickets and as I turn to wait for Cherie, she appears. On time. Early. I like that. It’s really nice to see her. Even though it’s only been four days since our last encounter.

Her hair is up in a bun, exposing her lovely slender neck. makes me think about how I kissed that neck on Tuesday. She’s wearing a yellow blouse, and light brown slacks. They cling to her shapely legs.

We are about to enter our auditorium and we notice the floor is really sticky. Someone must have spilled a soda there, and they tried to mop it up but didn’t get it all up. Now I’ve been to plenty of movie theaters in my time, and have jokes about the sticky stuff and detritus that is on the floor of the theaters, but this was really sticky. I had to laugh out loud. I practically had to curl my toes to keep my shoes from being pulled off by that sticky floor. Just a classic ‘out at the movies’ moment.

We go in and decide that we both like to sit in the back of the theater. I ask her if she wants anything to eat. I suggest some delicious buttery popcorn. She says it’s ok but doesn’t like how it can stick in your teeth. She says she likes chocolate, but not dark chocolate. I tell her I love dark chocolate. She smiles and knows what I mean. I really do prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate, but I also love the color of her skin. I go and mortgage my house at the concession stand on exorbitantly expensive snacks. Medium popcorn, medium cherry coke, bottle of water, and a bag of snickers minis for baby. $21. The food was as much as the tickets. The kid behind the counter even told me I could upgrade to a large popcorn and a large soda for $.50 more. I compliment him on his up-sell, but politely decline.

I get back to Cherie. I get all of our snacks and drinks squared away and sit down. “How did you know I loved Snickers?” she asks. “Well I’m funny and you like to laugh, so I figured, Snickers. she smiles and we settle into the previews. There aren’t many people in the theater. I like that. There’s also no late arrivals and no one is sitting in front of us. I love that as well. People are getting seated and chattering a little but that’s acceptable during the previews. We’re whispering closely. Then we kiss. It’s really nice. I feel like a teenager. I haven’t smooched in a movie theater in years. It was so sweet to hold hands too. She rubbed my arm and caressed my hand, and I was even so bold as to rub her leg and knee. It was all very gentle and romantic. What a refreshing difference from the crap women I went on dates with a few months ago. But I’m really enjoying this elegant romantic odyssey.

There is one rub that I have to mention. It’s happened a few times since then. We call it the C-Block, or the CBs. Cherie and I are in the very back row of the theater. All the way in the aisle to the right against the wall. There is only one way out. Doesn’t some pair of fucknuts sit at the very end of the aisle? This couple just sort of drops it there. One row down would have been fine. But they are right now, in OUR aisle. They could have sat anywhere. There weren’t that many people in the theater. It’s just a human thing. Homo Sapiens are such social animals they have to be together all the time. I can tell Cherie doesn’t want them there and neither do I. But there’s nothing we can do. Nothing but make a bunch of trips to the snack bar and the bathrooms. This way we can thrust our delicious firm buttocks right in their stupid faces.

Oh, never mind. It’s just annoying, we just wanted some private time to neck in the back of the theater!

The movie was a pretty by the numbers horror flick. I’d give it a solid three and a half stars. Demon possession, scary children, and good sudden frights do make you jump. We shared the popcorn and the candy. It was lovely. I was happy to be there sharing this Halloween treat with her.

After the film, we went outside. The sun was out and the rain was gone. It had been warm during the week, but had suddenly turned chilly in the last couple of days. Cherie always has trouble finding a place to park in the city, but down by the movie theater there is always loads of parking spots. We walk over to her Saab, and hop in to get out of the chill. We’re chatting about our next move, (which I have already planned) and more kissing ensues. She tells me she was hoping I would agree to sit in the back of the theater so we could neck. It appears this girl really likes me. She says she likes how soft my hands are. It makes me think of Captain Quint when he grabs Matt Hooper’s hands in the film Jaws, and says “You’ve got city hands, Mr. Hooper, from counting money all your life!” That, and the scene in Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men” when one of the men on the farm puts petroleum jelly in his one glove to keep is hand soft for when he touches his woman. I don’t know why my mind flashed to those two images but for a moment they do.

I suggest we go over to Dave and Buster’s to go play games together. She likes the idea. I will say this about my lovely neuroscience major. She is very bright and quick of wit, but extremely laid back and easy-going. She’s from California, and this chick is chill. I always compliment her about her sweet disposition, because I really like that about her. Peaceful is good. She tells me, that between her two jobs, going to class, and taking care of her son, she has to make many decisions every day. She says she likes how I take charge, and just tell her where we’re going and what time it’s happening. I always have a plan and take the lead. She finds that attractive. So take note male readers, many women like to be told what you’re doing with them and where you’re taking them. Women are great negotiators and communicators, but when it comes to picking a lunch spot, just tell them pizza or sushi or just take them somewhere they serve different stuff and go. I have to give thanks here to my late father in regard to the clock. If he told you something was going to happen, or we were going to be somewhere at a specific time, it happened without error. He taught me that your word is your bond, and always be punctual. Like Beau Bridges says to Michelle Pfieffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys, “Punctuality is the first rule of show business.” Life itself is like a giant long series. You’re the star of your own show. Make it a fun, exciting show if you can. To sum up: Girls like a take-charge man.

Don’t be a guy.

Be a man.

 

 

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

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Cherie – Chapter 1 – Love At First Swipe

“She has youth and beauty, and as I’m finding out about myself, I’m bored with anything else. She fits the criteria. Young. Attractive. Slender. She seems intelligent. Articulate. Good communication skills for the most part. Likes scary movies and thrillers. Getting her education. Works two jobs. What could go wrong?”

I was literally about to begin writing this, and I just got a text from Cherie, so I hope that means something. I’ve responded back with “You must be psychic! I was just thinking about you.” (I was thinking about her because I was just about to write the first half of this very chapter.)

We swiped right on each other on Tinder. Cherie is a 26-year-old attractive, fit, black woman whose zodiac sign is Scorpio. When we first connected I sent her a simple, hello. She got back to me and said she was doing well, but she sitting in a boring class. She’s apparently studying developmental neuroscience. Once the small talk and pleasantries were dismissed, I asked her my standard question. “What prompted you to swipe right on my profile?”

She expressed that she liked the things I wrote in my bio. She said she likes to laugh and dine out, and like me, she’s a good listener. That’s pretty standard fare so far. Everybody likes to laugh and go out to dinner.

I truly hope that she’s a good listener, because I like to talk.

Then she asked me the same question. I told her that she seemed like an intelligent person who wanted to do big things. I really just read her brief profile about her being a neuroscience and psychology major, that had high dreams and aspirations, and spun it back to her in my own words.

I’ve heard from several of the women I’ve spoken to on Tinder that many times when they connect with someone, there is this long period of texting. Sometimes it doesn’t materialize into anything. Since I’ve operated in the real world my whole life, I like to establish things soon, and try to get a meeting. Sound like I’m in sales? I am. Depending on the client you always want to close as soon as possible. Keeps your numbers up and your pipeline full. So I move right in and ask her if she’s like to meet up for a drink sometime.

She thanks me for the compliment and agrees she has big dreams. (I know, I read it on your profile.) She says that having a drink with me sounds like a great idea. That was fast. My next response was positive affirmation and my cell number. She says she’ll send me a text.

Now, that looks like it happened very quickly but it actually didn’t. I was living my life all day, and she was probably in and out of classes and whatever else. That brief and pointed exchange began at 9:45am and ended at 3:30pm. Five and a half hours later! Now I just had to wait to see if she was going to text me.

Within moments she did. We continued our conversation off Tinder. She went on to tell me that she works as a medical assistant at a hospital, and also works at a pediatric office! 2 jobs and school? Wow! I tell her briefly my stuff, and she goes on to say that she loves her jobs because she gets to help people, but they can be stressful. I then hit her with how I get my energy from people and enjoy bringing people together personally and professionally. She likes that, and reveals that she’s a shy person at first but then she opens up after a bit.

I try to get her out for a Wednesday night drink.

I don’t hear from her for the rest of the day. She finally gets back to me and apologizes for the silence. She had a very long day with school and work. She re-affirms that she’d like to meet me for a drink, but she works late on Wednesdays but the weekend is probably better. I tell her I’m free Saturday. She’s available in the afternoon. I lock it down for 2pm Saturday. I tell her I’ll pick the spot. She thinks that sounds great.

That was early in the week. A lot can happen in 5 days. So I ping her Wednesday just to keep the current going. We participate in some light banter about the weather and our days events.

I ask another one of my standards: “What do you like to do when you’re not working or studying?” She likes movies, dining out and dancing, etc. I tell her I’m a former musician and not much of a dancer, but love movies and dining out too. I want to know what kind of movies she likes because that would be a splendid second date.

She likes scary movies and thrillers. I tell her I like the same. (I actually like a myriad of film genres but for this exchange, liking the same thing she likes works) I follow with “Let’s go to the movies together soon!” See what I did there?  I’m actually setting up a second date with a woman I haven’t even met for the first time yet. I’m reading her responses. She’s smart. I don’t ask or suggest, I simply say: “Let’s go see a movie together soon.” She responds with, “That sounds like a great idea. Notice how she uses the word “Sounds?” She is a good listener like she said. It reminds me of a thing that my ex-girlfriend Michelle does when I talk to her. She stays attentive to what I’m saying and usually mirrors my words back to me in affirmation. I like that Cherie is doing the same thing. Michelle does that all the time. (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – A Brand New Day) I love Michelle for that. and she doesn’t even know about her gift. (Ordoes she?)

Cherie says she hasn’t seen too many commercials for scary movies lately. I tell her I’ll look into it. She responds that she thinks that’s nice. I like her manners already. I just hope that if I take her to a scary movie she doesn’t start yelling things like: “Don’t go in there!” or “Get out the house, fool!”

I’m going to go ahead and apologize to everyone reading this in advance for that last bit.

It’s getting late. As a gentle reminder, I tell her she seems really cool, and that I’m really looking forward to meeting her on Saturday.

Crickets.

But at 7:30 the next morning I get a mirrored response. “Good Morning. Thanks you seem cool as well. I’m looking forward to meeting you.” I simply respond with a smiley face. Which brings us back to tonight when I began this chapter. As I finish this part she has responded. “Lol, I highly doubt I’m psychic but thanks. It’s a busy but productive day as well.”

The date is supposed to happen on Saturday. We’re supposed to meet for a drink. It’s Thursday and there is some small talk texts leading up to it. I want to keep the embers glowing until we meet. We chat about our days, and what shows we’re watching. I ask her if she is a beer, wine or a cocktail girl. This way I can gauge where we should meet. She says she’s a beer girl. Then she says she doesn’t really like alcohol and then says: “What about you?” I tell her I enjoy an occasional drink socially. (A bold-faced lie) I ask her if she’d rather meet for brunch instead of a drink on Saturday.

She chooses brunch. I ask her if she has any dietary concerns. She says no, but she is a really unhealthy but picky eater, and thanks me for asking and do I have any. I tell her I can eat anything. So I ask her if she has any preferences. She loves seafood and breakfast food. That sounds perfectly fine to me. I thought of several places I could take her, but went with my go to: Square 1682. The staff knows me. The food’s great, and the service is on point. She can have seafood or breakfast food and so can I.

Friday I text her a “Happy Friday” meme around 5pm. I tell her I look forward to meeting her at Square 1682 for brunch Saturday at 2pm.

She replies: “Where is that at?” I wanted to reply: “I keep forgetting that I am the only one on Earth with iPhone technology because I came from the future, and I also don’t end my sentences with prepositions!” Of course I don’t.

But I do say: “Here, let me google that for you.” And send her a screenshot of Square 1682’s webpage from my phone. She thanks me like nothing happened, because to her, technically nothing did. She closes with: “I’m looking forward to meeting you too.” (Redeemed)

So far just texting her, I like this chick. I’m really looking forward to meeting her Saturday. She seems really sweet. I just pray that she isn’t just meeting with me for free food and drinks. I mean, that could happen. It’s happened before. She is a student. But she has youth and beauty, and as I’m finding out about myself, I’m bored with anything else. She fits the criteria. Young. Attractive. Slender. She seems intelligent. Articulate. Good communication skills for the most part. Likes scary movies and thrillers. Getting her education. Works two jobs. What could go wrong?

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish Monday through Friday at 8am EST.

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Clarice – 2016 – Chapter 5 – Happy Birthday, Baby – Part One

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

Today is Clarice’s birthday. Which she says is the actual birthday of Martin Luther King. She set it up that I would get on a train and go to her neighborhood today. She lives in Upper Darby. She’s supposed to be at the 69th Street station at 12:30pm today to pick me up and take me to her favorite restaurant for brunch. (What’s this day going to run me?)

I stop at the salon in the morning. Normally I work on Sundays but I switched with Trish, so I could hang with Clarice on her birthday. I kind of feel special that out of all of the men Clarice could have spent her 62nd birthday with, she picked me. I chat a bit with Trish and then head over to Suburban Station.

I have to get on the Market Frankford line and take it to 69th street in Upper Darby. Little sketchy, but it’ll be okay. I drop my token at the turnstile and go through. I see that there is a yellow police tape blocking off the steps to go down to the platform. But it’s the only way to get to Upper Darby. So like the moron I am, I go under the tape and head down to the platform. I’m waiting for a while. I notice I am the only one on this side of the tracks.

Some guy who looks like he works there says to me, “You know the trains are only running on the other side today.”

So I scamper back up the steps, under the tape, and over to the other side. Within a few minutes the train to 69th street arrives. I hop on and find a seat. This is only our third date. Do you think she believes in the 3rd date rule? I don’t believe in that horse shit notion, but maybe she does. I know she likes me. She’s a nice looking lady and fit. On our last date she said she has no ass and skinny legs, but great tits. I’m a leg man, and I’m not thinking about any of her physical attributes. She is in good shape for 62 years old. I think it’s that theater background I’m struggling with. She was an opera singer for years which tells me she has little real world experience, like Annabelle. That makes her come off as a little silly and immature. Can you imagine being in your sixties and still behaving like you’re in your twenties. Crazy! But now I know what to expect from these artist types.

She always says I’m fitting her in. Why would she feel she needs to be a priority? Does she think she’s the only woman I’m dating? Couldn’t there be someone younger and of greater value in my life right now?

I’m a little nervous. Is that a good thing? I think it’s only because I going to a strange area, and then she’s going to drive us to a restaurant. Am I going to have sex with her today? I think I would. Yea, I totally would. Maybe since she told me she has cancelled with other guys she wasn’t interested in, and never cancelled with me, I’m the one. I brought condoms. But she’s at an age where she is well out of range of ever having children. Speaking of which, you should be wary of a woman who never remarried, even when she was young, and still hot. What’s up with that? I do like the idea of never being able to get her pregnant ever. Because the last thing I want is that nightmare now. At 62 do you think she’ll have a dry coochie like Halle Berry?

What? You’ve never heard that? It’s true!

I want to have sex with Mary too. (See: Mary – 2014 to Present – The Unexpected Table for Two) That would be a fucking record. Literally. I like Mary. It would probably be low maintenance sex. Me and the hot grannies! Hip cracking sex!

Once you follow my blog into 2018, you’ll know this was all nonsense….

Anyway, I hop off the train at 69th street station. The area is sketchy like I said. I text her that I’m there. She’s parked across the street. I cross the street and get into her car. It’s a little messy. We greet with a kiss and off we go to the restaurant. During the ride over we’re chatting and I’m making her laugh as usual. Maybe I’m doing my ‘nervous talking thing’. I ask her if she’s been on any good dates lately. She says she has decided to not answer that question anymore. I’m fine with that, but it seems juvenile. If she has decided to not answer that question, what is she telling me? That either she has stopped dating and is seeing me exclusively, or that she’s still dating other men. I’m going with the latter. I don’t care. I just feel bad for the other saps like me, buying her food and drinks all the time.

We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. She drives right up near the restaurant looking for a close spot. I tell her there were lots of spots in the back. She doesn’t like this idea. My father never understood why people always wanted to park right on top of a place. He would call them, lazy gasoline asses. He would always park a bit away so we could walk and get some exercise. Plus, it’s easier to leave a place when your car is closer to the exits. So because I was raised like this I don’t like her attitude in regard to parking.

We go into the place and I check our coats. She has a reservation, which is good. It looks like a popular spot. The brunch crowd is good. Apparently, this is her favorite spot to hang out. She seems to know the staff very well.

It’s some sort of Asian fusion place. They seat us at this little table against the wall. It’s one of these little booths where you have to sit next to the person you’re with. Then pull the table in towards you. I don’t really care for this kind of set up. I don’t need to be right next to someone when I’m eating. The manager comes over and greets her, and she introduces me. She announces that it’s her birthday like she was eight. I kind of hate adults that make a big deal about their birthdays. The manager says that her brunch is on the house, but she was so busy projecting, I don’t think she heard him.

Of course she orders champagne, so I do the same. They bring us plates and tell us it’s a buffet. I’m not really a fan of buffets. You don’t know who’s been touching the food. You don’t know how long it’s been sitting out. You tend to overeat sometimes. Just not a fan. I’m thinking a lot of overweight people like buffets. They can eat as much as they like.

I load up my plate and return to the table. The table is really small, and I don’t really like it. But I’ll be good because it’s her special day. I actually went back for seconds.

After brunch the bill comes, and of course she doesn’t go near it. I knew I’d be paying because it’s her birthday. She just isn’t valuable enough to me for me to keep this up. And frankly, this could be the last time I ever see her. The good news is, the bill was only $39 for everything, so that’s not too bad.

I get our coats, and we’re back in the car. Now she wants to go to Ridley Lake Park out in Delaware County.

 

Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of this story.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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