Andrea – 2014 – S&M Girl

“Hi Lorelei. Daddy’s just going to take this fat, drunk bitch back to his room and tie her up. Then you’re going to hear a lot of slapping and squishing sounds. You’re also going to hear Daddy say a bunch of really foul sexually degrading things to this woman, so you better put your ear buds in and crank that shit up.”

Advertisements

One night a couple of years ago, I was out with a friend of mine. We were having drinks outside at Misconduct at 15th & Locust. He was telling me a story about this girl he met on Tinder. Pure hookup. She comes over to his apartment. Sadly, she doesn’t look like her Tinder pics. Which is not good. That’s like seeing a photo of a car you want to buy in the Auto Trader and when you get to the lot to check out the car, it’s an older model and a little banged up and maybe even a bit more car than you saw in the photos.

But he was drunk and up for the foul deed. He said she was a thick girl but he went to town on her anyway. Like my tinder profile says: “If you don’t look like your photos, you’re going to buy me drinks until you do.” So he said it was good sex except for one thing. He didn’t like that she wanted him to spit on her and hit her. There’s nothing wrong with what two consenting adults do with each other behind closed doors. Especially if everyone’s on board with what’s happening. But he didn’t like it. Just not his thing.

He told me that he wasn’t comfortable with that situation. He said at that point no matter what he was into or what he would do, he couldn’t do that again.  It just wasn’t him. (He didn’t spit on her or hit her at all) At that time, back in the beginning of 2014, I had just come off a break up and told him to send Andrea pics of me. Because I was up for whatever she wanted dished out. The key here is when it comes to dominance, be firm…not mean. There’s a big difference. I would discipline and correct her if necessary. And remember, the submissive party is ALWAYS in control. They have the safe word and hold the power to cancel the fantasy at anytime. That’s the rules of S&M play.

Well, nothing came of it. Until earlier this year when she connected to me on LinkedIn. LinkedIn of all places! Can you imagine with all of the dating websites out there, LinkedIn brings me the crazy S&M chick? So we chatted and did some texting. She wanted me to text her all of the things I was going to do to her, so I did. I have a pretty good imagination. She said she was getting really turned on and that we should meet.

I set it up that we should meet at the Ranstead Room. It’s just a good spot normally to hideout with somebody. I get there and I’m just chilling with a drink. She arrives shortly thereafter. My friend was right about her. In her Tinder pics she looks really hot, but in real life she is a lot bigger, and what was with that low tranny voice? Not good. I just wasn’t feeling it. I would have to drink a LOT of cocktails for Andrea to start to resemble her profile pics on Tinder. So I figured what the hell, I was already here and the drinks were flowing. She wasn’t that hot but at least I was someplace where nobody knew me.

Then the manager from the restaurant where my daughter works suddenly comes through the door and walks right up to me and says hello using my name.

Now I’m made. He can see who I’m with and now everybody there knows my name.

Andrea starts telling me about her life. She hates her job and wants to leave Philly. (Probably a good idea for us all.) She was seeing some crazy drug dealer loser guy. He’s suicidal, and does tons of coke. It’s bad, and she’s not much better.  I always thought if you did a bunch of cocaine you were skinny. Certainly not the case here.

After awhile we’re getting pretty tipsy. We went outside for a cigarette. She was on me like a northern pike hitting the bait. So I’m making out with her and people are walking by on Ranstead and she just pulls her boobs out. She’s losing her shit. She wants to take me back behind the building and give me a blowjob.

Yea. Great. I’ll just go stand behind my daughter’s manager’s Mercedes-Benz and you can give me oral. What if he walks outside and sees that shit? That’s not going to be good for me or anybody. Now, if this was Los Angeles and it was 1982, yea I’d be down for that, but not now. That’s gross. Sure, I’m flattered that she’s turned on enough from my words and the alcohol to want to blow me in a filthy alley, but no. Just no. I don’t roll like that.

She’s drunk. We go back inside and we’re in the vestibule and all sorts of things are happening with lips and fingers. If somebody comes through either door, we’re going to jail. So after that brief encounter, we go back inside. I kind of want to go home. In the right environment, some S&M play could be fun with her, but I’m just not getting a good vibe from her in this moment. She’s calling me daddy and all that shit. She says she loves older men, etc. I tell her I have an early sales meeting in the morning that I have to travel to so we should wrap it up. (A bold-faced lie)

She wants to go back to my place and have sex. Great idea. I can see it now. Me walking through the door to my apartment with Andrea and my daughter sitting on the sofa.

“Hi Lorelei. Daddy’s just going to take this fat, drunk bitch back to his room and tie her up. Then you’re going to hear a lot of slapping and squishing sounds. You’re also going to hear Daddy say a bunch of really foul sexually degrading things to this woman, so you better put your ear buds in and crank that shit up.”

No. Not happening. We pay the bill, and we walk over to 18th Street. I hail her a taxi and send her on her way. I was actually relieved when she was gone.

If somebody I met and was in a relationship wanted to experiment with some things, I’d be down with that, but Andrea just isn’t that person.

Update! She appeared at the salon tonight for a tan before she goes to L.A!

She’s leaving Philly for good!

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly

Rebecca – Chapter 7 – Ghost Girl

“I really want to kiss you.”

“So kiss me.” I leaned in our lips brushed lightly. It wasn’t an overly passionate kiss. Instead, it was a tender, eager one. All too soon, it was over.

I’ve been on a lot of dates. But I always wanted one of those dates you see in movies where everything just kind of comes together naturally and provides an amazing time for the couple. I’ll never forget the first time it finally happened for me. (At least in my opinion)

To be honest, I was part of the reason I never had that movie moment date before. Okay, so I was all of the reason. I over planned before dates and way over analyzed after. I thought about my dates so much that they could never seem spontaneous or natural. True, I occasionally had a few moments during a date, but never the whole date. This was probably due to my anxiety.

Perhaps the reason this particular date went so well is that I didn’t have time to plan, much less over plan. It had been awhile since I’d seen Rebecca. We’re both so busy. I was just happy she agreed to meet up with me again. I barely had time to run home and change. I did of course. And brushed my teeth, and put on extra deodorant, and made sure my hair looked decent, and spent a few minutes repeating, “You’ll be fine,” at the face in the mirror. My reflection seemed unconvinced.

I made it to her restaurant just before it closed. Although she has a great job she’s one of those people that always keep one hand back in their old life. I know another girl that does this. Rebecca works one dinner shift a week at a local restaurant. I think it’s cool. It’s like me with the real day job and working at the tanning salon nights and weekends.

I went inside and tried to ignore her ex-boyfriend who was a cook and who clearly did not try to ignore me at all. I shifted on my feet uncomfortably and attempted small talk with the hostess. She wouldn’t stop smiling and told me how happy she was that I was about to take her friend out. It just added to the pressure and my nervousness. I just have strong feelings for Rebecca. There’s just that “something” about her.

Finally, my date walked out. She wore a brown leather jacket over her uniform. She looked tired from her shift. There was a grease stain on her collar and some other food stain on the front of her blouse. She was breathtaking.

Not her usual, sheer stockings and pumps.

She looked at her feet as she walked over. She looked up at me. Her eyes seemed larger than normal, but no too big for her slender face. They were wide open, eager. My heart beat quickly.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I managed, “Ready to go?”

“Sure. What are we going to do?”

My heart beat even faster in panic. I had no idea what we were going to do. (This is really out of character for me. I am a Master dating expert!)  I had been so busy preparing for our date that I never got around to planning it. I had nothing to offer. I thought I managed to destroy our date before it even started.

I went for the change up. (What it is about this girl?)

“Uh, whatever you want to do,” I said,thinking it would at least buy me a little time.

“Really?” she asked, “What I want to do?” Her eyes widened (which didn’t seem possible) and she looked at me differently. She seemed to express amazement, but that confused me.

“Yeah,” I said, “What you want.”

The edges of her eyes glistened like a perfectly still pool under a waning moon. I worried that I upset her, but she spoke a moment later.

Wow,” she whispered. “Can I think about it for a minute?”

“Of course,” I said. We walked outside into the chilly air. I hustled in front of her as we approached a taxi. I grabbed the handle of the passenger door and opened it for her.

“Are you opening the door for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Uh, it’s just what I do.”

She didn’t say anything, but I think she mouthed “wow” again.

She got in and I shut the door behind her. I smiled to myself.

I got in,  “So, know what you want to do?”

“Yes. I want to do something fun, but I want to go somewhere we can talk.”

In a moment of inspiration I asked, “Do you like pool?”

“Yes.”

“Then I know just the place.”

We took off down Chestnut street. We talked a bit in the cab, but the conversation kept faltering because we were both nervous.

“What’s this?” she asked me as we pulled in the parking lot of Zelner’s Putt & Play.

“It’s an indoor miniature golf course,” I explained, “And it has pool tables.”

“But it’s closed.”

“I friend works here. I have a key.”

I unlocked the doors and secured them behind us. She looked a little nervous about the locked doors.

“Do you want to do something else?” I asked, concerned.

“No, sorry, this is fine.”

We went to the pool table and I put in two quarters. Neither of us played very well. The game ended when I sunk the eight ball (yes, I know I should have let her win, but I’m a little too competitive).

I reached in my pocket for more quarters when she asked, “Can we just sit and talk?”

“Of course.”

We walked over to the stairs. We sat down and talked. For two hours. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation she looked down and twisted her feet. She cocked her head and bit her lip.

“What?” I asked.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” I must have been smitten because I normally would have said, “You just did.”

“Why did you ask me out?”

“Seriously? I thought you were beautiful the moment I saw you. When I got to know you a little bit, I found out how nice you are. I would’ve asked you out sooner if you hadn’t been in a relationship.”

Her face darkened for the slightest moment, but then her mouth spread in a grin and she laughed. I never heard such laughter before and the music of it filled the empty room.

“You think I’m beautiful?” She looked at me a moment and then scrunched her eyebrows. “What is it? Are you laughing at me?” She misinterpreted my grin.

“Well, it’s just that I realized I want to do whatever it takes to see you smile and laugh again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re even more beautiful when you smile.”

She looked down at the floor, but kept on smiling.

“I’m beautiful,” she repeated.

We talked a while longer until she had to get home.

“I don’t want to go,” she said.

“I don’t want you to.”

I took her home and we stood on the stoop in front of her house. The night was quite cold by then, but I felt warm. We stood and talked far longer than we should.

She caught me off guard when she said, “Did you know your eyes are beautiful?”

“It’s because they’re looking at you.” (Yes, I quoted Jermaine Jackson. Sue me.)

She looked down again, which she had done all night, but this time it wasn’t for as long. She leaned up a little and said, “I really want to kiss you.”

“So kiss me.” I leaned in our lips brushed lightly. It wasn’t an overly passionate kiss. Instead, it was a tender, eager one. All too soon, it was over.

“I really need to go inside,” she said.

“I know.” She turned to open her door and I continued,  “I think this is the best date I’ve ever been on.” It was certainly the least expensive. (You all know I love that)

“I know it’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

It was my turn to say, “Wow.”

“Goodnight.” she said as she gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“Yes, it was.”

“Call me tomorrow.”

“I will.”

I stood for a moment after she went inside. I smiled in the moonlight as I walked to my awaiting UBER. As I rode home, I put my fingers against my lips and smiled more. It was a great date. It was perfect.

I couldn’t wait to talk to her in the morning. I couldn’t wait to ask her out again. I couldn’t wait until our next date. I’m glad I didn’t know that night, that perfect night, would be the last date we ever went on. I’m glad I had that moment to sigh and remember one perfect date without knowing there would not be another one with her.

We can all talk about this later, but soon you’ll find out why.

 

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly        Facebook: Phicklephilly

Sun Stories: Pamela – 2016 – Free Tanning Card

“Do you think I’m a prostitute?”

I was in a bar one night having a few drinks and seeing my friend, Prova. (See: Prova – 2015 to Present – Glow of the Sun) I was giving out free tanning cards to the girls working behind the bar, and I gave one to Pamela.

About a month or so later she came into the salon with the card I had given her. She seemed a little crazy. Just fussing over her face in the mirror and chattering about her job.

I take her back to the best bed in the house and show her how the bed works. She seems really into tanning. She’s excited to have a session in the best bed in the house.

When she’s finished she comes out and says she loved it and is going to buy a package. (The Free Tan Cards really work!)

She starts telling me how she’s going to see this guy she met on Tinder in New York. I tell her to be careful, and to let a friend know when she’s going, where she’s going and how long she’s supposed to be there.

Then she shocks me that she’s going there because the guy is paying her.

“Oh.”

“Yea. I’m kind of a sugarbaby.”

She went on to tell me about how she has a guy in Florida that pays her $2000 to come down for the weekend. He flies her in and pays her $2000 cash twice a month. She showed me a picture of him on her phone and he’s a fat half Asian, half Hispanic guy. He’s probably an IT computer guy with lots of money and no game. But hey, if he’s willing to pay…

“Do you think I’m a prostitute?”

Technically, what she’s doing is prostitution, but we’re at the salon and she’s a paying client with a premium package.

“No. You’re an adult and you can do what you like, Pam.”

“Ok. I just don’t want you to think I’m a whore.”

“You’re fine. Pam. No worries.”

“I just got this new phone. Do you have a charger?”

“I do.”

“Can you charge my phone while I go tan?”

“Sure.” She hands me the phone and I plug it in. I notice that there is no code to lock the phone. “Pam, you should put a code on this phone to protect people from looking at your stuff.”

“I don’t care if you peek.” She gives me a sly smile and heads back to the room.

Should I go through her phone and look at her pics?

Of course not! That’s an invasion of privacy. I’m employed here to protect my clients and take care of them.

Did I go look at her pics once she was back in the room?

Of course I did. She did say that she didn’t mind if I peeked.

So I looked.

There were many nude photos of Pam, of a graphic sexual nature. It was exciting to see her nude, but it was also a little gross.

When she came out of her session, she came to the counter to retrieve her phone.

“I put it in Airplane Mode. It charges twice as fast.”

“Thanks.” She gave me an approving smile. She knows I looked at her pics.

On another occasion, she was in room #10 at our old location, and I was next door in room #11 doing a demonstration for a woman who wanted to get a spray tan. Pamela must have heard my voice and opens the door of her room, and asks for an additional towel.

She was topless.

I hate my job.

 

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

Instagram:  @phicklephilly              Facebook: phicklephilly

Antonia – 2012 – Possibly a Mob Front?

“The square shaped balding man burst through the kitchen door with two glasses of water for us, and in a very loud and deep voice, he explained that it was his birthday, and we would eat what he felt like making us.”

Well, this one time I took my friend Antonia to dinner at (what seemed to be) a front for some type of illicit activity.

She had just moved to a new area, and we wanted to check out the local shops and restaurants. While we were wandering, we stumbled into a tiny Italian place. Back home, the small hole-in-the-wall restaurants always have the best food, so we were excited to give it a shot. Big curtains were covering the entry windows, so we had no idea what was inside until we trudged through the door.

Inside, we were met with emptiness and silence. We both immediately thought the place was closed, and I spun around and searched for the store hours posted somewhere on the door. While I was looking, we heard a heavy THUD as a young woman barked “I’ll be right with you!”

She appeared, greeted us confusingly, and asked us ‘what she could do for us’. Which, looking back, is probably a red flag. But we were naive and hungry, so we said we were there for dinner. She looked puzzled but motioned us to follow her to a booth right by the entrance.

She then disappeared into the back, and we heard a muffled conversation between our hostess and a man. The consensus was basically they were not prepared for us or didn’t know how to proceed. I asked my date if she wanted to split, but she insisted we stay for the story.

The square shaped balding man burst through the kitchen door with two glasses of water for us, and in a very loud and deep voice, he explained that it was his birthday, and we would eat what he felt like making us. We whole-heartedly agreed.

We waited around thirty minutes, and he again returned with three large bowls of spaghetti and meat sauce. He placed two bowls in front of us, and one next to me for himself. He sat with us and ate. We had light and awkward conversation with him during, and he kept asking us jokingly if we were cops or with the health board. He was incredibly nervous about us, so my date kept cracking corny puns or awful jokes because he would forcibly laugh at anything designed with humor. We talked about our lives, the cities we’ve lived in, our pets (he had a teacup Chihuahua named Princess) and his wife.

He decided we were good people and didn’t charge us for the meal. We wished him a happy birthday, he hugged us, and we went on our way. Easily the best spaghetti I’ve ever had in my life. The restaurant, unfortunately, no longer exists.

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly Facebook: phicklephilly

Madeline – 2011 – Fire and Desire

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

Here’s one that happened a few years ago…

I met Madeline at a party thrown by friends. It was a big party. We had a great time talking and dancing for a couple of hours, and, we ended up exchanging phone numbers.

I spoke to my friends after the party, trying to find out a little more about her. They didn’t know who I was talking about, but there had been about fifty people or so there, so, it wasn’t surprising that they might not remember everyone. Shiela, my friend’s wife, said she “sort of remembers a redheaded girl arriving with some others from their office.”

A couple of days later, I called Madeline. She seemed pleased to hear from me. We chatted, and ended up making plans to meet for dinner and a show later in the week. I offered to pick her up at her apartment, but she said she didn’t live too far from the restaurant where we were going to meet, so she’d just meet me there after work.

As usual, I arrived at the restaurant first and was able to be seated right away. Madeline called my cell and said she was running about five minutes late, but would try to hurry. I thought it was very considerate of her to call especially since she was only running a few minutes late. Half an hour later, I didn’t think she was that considerate. God I hate lateness, but at least I was somewhere I could have a cocktail.

Madeline arrived at the restaurant with another couple whom she introduced as “friends from work who wanted to meet you.” She apologized for taking so long, saying that traffic had really slowed her down. I mentioned how that was weird  since the day before she’d told me she only lived five minutes away from the restaurant on foot. She laughed and said, “Oh, silly, I live close to this place but I work pretty far away.”

The couple laughed with her, and didn’t make a move to leave. As the waiter brought two more chairs to the table, Madeline said, “I hope it’s okay if they join us for dinner.” What was I supposed to say at that point? Uh…no, I really just wanted to get to know you better and having these people around just makes it harder?

 

Surprisingly, the dinner went fairly well, Madeline’s friends were pretty funny, and we laughed a lot. Once the dinner was over, I said, “Well, it was nice meeting you all, but we should get going if we’re going to make it to the theater in time for the show.”

Madeline and her friends got quiet, and started fidgeting a bit. Finally, the woman said, “Oh, I’ll ask him, you two cowards.”

I was thinking, “Great, now they want to come with us to the theater.” I couldn’t have been more wrong. The woman looked at me and continued, “We all really like you, and think you’re a great guy. Madeline, myself, and my husband would like to invite you over to our place for some games.”

“I blinked, then said, “Thanks, but, we’ve got theater tickets, and I’d hate for them to go to waste. Maybe another time.”Madeline took my hand and said, “Oh, you’ll like our games better than the theater.” Then she winked at me.

 

I was really confused, until they explained that their relationship was more than friendship. Madeline was their partner and they wanted me to join them in swinging.

I was shocked. I mean, I barely knew Madeline and here she wanted me not only to sleep with her, but…with her two friends during our FIRST date!!

I refused, saying I didn’t know them well enough to play like that. I asked Madeline if she still wanted to go with me to the theater, but she said “No, I’m in the mood to play, so we’ll just call one of our regulars.”

I ended up paying for dinner for three, then, going to the theater on my own. I still had a pretty enjoyable evening, after I gave my extra ticket to a lady standing in line. She was grateful, and assured me she wasn’t a swinger.

Nah… I’m just kidding. I gave the tickets away to a couple at a nearby table. We all split the check, and I went back to their place for an insane, sex drenched, kinky night.

Phicklephilly is a dating and relationship blog, not a sex blog. Use your imagination!

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly

Church – 2012 to Present – Angel’s Envy – Part 2

“Did you touch them?”
 
“Yea.”
 
“You’re killing us, Liam!”
 

Church and I step out into the warm afternoon sun. We sadly run into this little troll from the Trestle Inn that loves us both. She literally looks like she has troll or hobbit in her family. She’s awful. We hug her and it’s absolute torture for me and my comrade, but we have to be nice.
Church brings the car around and Liam and I get in. Church is doing his usual rage driving and Liam starts talking.
There is a hip crazy waitress that works at Sofitel. We all love her. She’s a tall brown-haired beauty. She has damage, but who cares, she’s pretty. Church is cranking Ozzy in the car and we’re all feeling good.
Liam goes on to tell us that he’s been to this waitress’ house to drink and she always breaks her tits out. We love and admire this lovely woman and can’t imagine her doing this.
When you go to a bar and love and respect the staff, and you suddenly hear something like this, it’s like seeing nudity in People magazine on the counter at Rite aid. When you hear about your friend and server breaking her tits out with her co workers at a party it creates all sorts of new thoughts in your mind..
We’re driving Liam to work and Church and my brains are exploding because all we can think about how his co workers tits swinging free and somehow we are there. We really like her and find it hard to believe she does shit like that. But the more we think about her and her past, we sort of pull it together.
“Did you touch them?”
“Yea.”
“You’re killing us, Liam!”
We drop off Liam at Sofitel. Church and I are laughing as he searches for a parking spot. He’s the king of finding spots in the city. I don’t know anyone that can always manage to find a great space, usually right near wherever we want to hang out.
Church decides we’re going to crash the Angel’s Envy cocktail party at Dandelion. I’m already buzzed, so I’m down for anything. We walk in and tell the hostesses we’re with the Angel’s Envy party. Without even asking who we are or if we’re on the list they tell us to head upstairs.
Upstairs at Dandelion is nice. London’s culinary revolution cames to Philadelphia with this unique gastropub. Cozy rooms and intimate bars create a storied, Old World aura, while updated seasonal takes on British food make up the menu.
The event is being held in what’s referred to as “The Dog Room.” The whole room and bar is all done up with everything canine. Pictures of dogs, and little figurines on the shelves. Even the brass rail that surrounds the front of the bar is held in place by a row of brass bulldog heads chomping down on the rail. I always said they should hide one cat in there somewhere, and if you can find it among the dozens of dogs in there, maybe you get a free drink.
Now this is a party. The owner of the brand is there, and everybody is plowing delicious food and sipping bourbon cocktails. Church is chatting with his buddy the local rep for PA.  I take a bite out of a delicious slider and take a photo of it in my hand. I send the pic to Prova and tell her she’s missing free food and drinks. I tell her to grab an UBER and get down here.
Crickets.
The owner of Angel’s Envy makes a little speech, and they pour shots of the bourbon for everyone to do a toast. Church is on the wagon, and his buddy is working, so they literally pour their shots into my glass. So when we do the toast I pound down 3 shots of bourbon in one gulp.
I run into a few people I know in the industry and chat with some attractive ladies that are also present. So since 3pm this afternoon we’ve been having a wonderful day.
So after the happy hour/party we head over to Sofitel for some quiet frivolity. The bartender that went with us to Karma earlier is there with Liam. He talks shit on Prova saying she had “an agenda” to take us to Karma. Like she had ulterior motives. I don’t like how this clown was invited to a free bourbon tasting. Ate the food, drank the cocktails, and then disappears from Karma and doesn’t even finish his drink. He just scampers off to work. Then talks smack on one of my dear friends.
But all is forgiven because I can’t control the hearts and minds of others and I’m friends with Prova, not him. I hang out with her, I drink at the bar where he works and we really come to see Liam and some of the girls that host and serve there.
(But Prova has already texted me back and says she is on her way down.)
But he tells an interesting story. He said when he was younger he was riding in the car with his family. They were in the car on their way to New York. His dad has Philly’s local rock station on. The song Iron Man by Black Sabbath came on the radio. He had never heard it before and he instantly loved it. He asks his father who sings that song. His pop says some guy named, Ozzy.
So one day when he’s 12 years old, they stop in a music store. He can’t find the song on any of Ozzy’s records. He ends up walking up to this old hippie, and asks him about the song. The hippie takes him to the section where Black Sabbath’s CD’s are located. He pulls out the album entitled Paranoid and hands it to him.
He had some birthday money from his grandparents so he bought the album and has loved Sabbath ever since.
I really liked that little story. You’ve been redeemed!
Prova shows up half in the bag. On Church’s orders he tells her to get some food. I’m happy we’re all together. Good hospitality and good people make for a lovely day!
I go out for a smoke. I run into my favorite homeless guy outside. He always tells me a joke, so I give him a dollar or two to get him something to eat.
I tell him I may start to write for One Step Away, the homeless publication here in Philly. I’m feeling drunk and get a little misty about it. He senses it and moves on to get his hamburger at McDonald’s. I watch him shuffle off down the street and around the corner. I stub out my cigarette, and walk back into the warmth of the beautiful hotel Sofitel. My friends are there and so is a crisp glass of chardonnay and free bar snacks.
My thoughts return to my homeless guy. But I smile and chat with Prova and the gang and take a sip of wine.

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly

Cheyanne – 2016 to Present – Elegant Power – Grafitti Bar

“I’m going to be in the city more, so I can see you more.”

I’ve met with Cheyanne on several occasions since our initial meeting. There seems to be a definite connection of our like minds. I wish I had built this better in some sort of progression of meetings but we’re both too busy to get our schedules together.

Cheyanne runs a business that empowers and helps entrepreneurial women build their business models and guide them to success. I works in advertising and am building a business in Rittenhouse and writing this blog. Hopefully I can pitch my stories as a series so you don’t have to read it anymore and you can watch it on Netflix in 2019.

One of the things I love about Cheyanne is that she’s positive. Being and artist that has lived his whole life in anxiety and depression I love the positivity because it is one of the things that is our cure mechanisms. It’s refreshing to meet someone who truly devotes herself to helping others and being positive every day.

Cheyanne has devoted her life to helping others and empowering women to grow, evolve and move forward in their lives. I am a man of words but I can not think if of a greater deed.

We’ve kept in touch as much as we can. She’s a busy gal. I have become great at keeping my network together and lately I have been reaching out to a few of my past ladies.

I’m always at the helm of my network and pride myself in that, but there is this one girl who whenever she’s in the city and has a little free time, she always reaches out to squeeze me in for a drink or two.

I like that.

Cheyanne will text and ask if I’m available between 4:45 and 5:45 on a random Wednesday.

She comes out of nowhere, with these days and times, and if it works, I’m there!

I’m just honored that this beauty wants to spend time with me.

So we meet at Grafitti Bar. It’s this cool outdoor space behind the Asian fusion restaurant, Sampan on 13th street. I grab a seat at the end of bar and wait for the queen to arrive. There are four empty seats to my right, so what are the chances of the bar filling up that quickly?

Cheyanne texts me that she’s running a little late but on her way. Within a few minutes, four attractive ladies take all the empty seats beside me. I chat with the bartender who has the same name as my daughter. She tells me I can move down to the other end of the bar where there are two seats open.

Then Cheyanne arrives. I’m always so happy to see her!

Of course she looks beautiful. I love her ruby tresses. Her eyes are emerald and she’s half Asian. I tell her about the blog which is a huge no no. I can’t believe I did that. I just blurted it out while telling her everything else I’m working on.

But she’s proud of my success and even picks her own blog name!

Here is this bright beautiful woman who I share ideas with and love spending time with and now she knows about the blog. There’s just something special about Cheyanne.

She’s married to a gentleman that runs his own solar energy company. I’m sure they were very successful with their business.

We discuss our past experience with Carol. (See: Carol – 2014 to 2016 – There’s No Fun in Dysfunction) Carol actually was the one who introduced me to Cheyanne. I believe at the time Cheyanne was helping her with her career. But I had to cut Carol off because she had too many mental disorders. Cheyanne just stopped answering her texts, after a while because it was all gossipy negative stuff about other people. Cheyanne is one of the most positive and uplifting people I know. She doesn’t want to surround herself with negative people.

We chit-chat and sip our wine. It’s always great to catch up with Cheyanne. The place is filling up for happy hour and it’s getting noisy. Her 6pm appointment shows up. I actually know the girl. She owns a start-up that created cookie cups. It’s a cup you can put things in, like ice cream coffee or alcohol, and then you can eat the cup.

Check it out here: http://www.chocamo.com/

Cheyanne says she’s going to be in the city more so she can see me more. I’m fine with that because I enjoy her company. We say our farewells and I’m off to meet up with Church at Sofitel. (See: Church – 2012 to Present – Seizure Salad)

The place is too noisy now for the girls to have their meeting so we walk out onto 13th street. They head north to find a more quiet spot to chat.

I hang a left on Sansom and head West to meet up with Church who’s sitting at the Liberte’ bar four blocks away.

“I’m going to be in the city more, so I can see you more.” Her words roll around in my head.

 

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

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly