Monday, April 16, 2012

A Party, A Date Tonight, A Couple Rated-R Pointers

I am going to pretend that the urge to write first thing on a Monday morning is an improvement. In reality, I have had the urge to write this particular entry, or parts of it, since a couple conversations that came up at a birthday party Saturday night. I just have not had the time. My weekend was fairly full again, though I did manage to write a letter to a friend of mine on Saturday. (I spent about 10 minutes determining whether or not “of mine” was redundant in that sentence. I am trying to keep my sentences free of unnecessary fluff. It is one of those things authors are supposed to do. I decided to leave it simply for the way it flows with the prepositional phrase. Yes, I am an “English nerd”.)

Before I go into the R-ish rated portion of the discussion, I wanted to mention that I have a date tonight! Let me share the story with you. I enjoyed it.

The birthday part on Saturday was touted as a murder mystery party and the first eight or so people to accept the invitation were given roles to play. It was a gothic horror theme and all the characters were based on famous monsters. We had Angela, the psychotic dentist; Balihi, the Rogersandhammerstein monster; Aldrinktotat, the Mummy; and so on. I was given the role of Asthmadeus, the Prince of Dimness, little brother of the Prince of Darkness. My friends call me Az. I dressed up in a herringbone Marshall Fields suit with a black dress shirt underneath and spiked the front of my hair into two small devil’s horns. I pulled my London Fog overcoat out of the closet for the first time in years to wear over it. I think I need to find a black silk ascot for such ensembles. Particularly since most of my dress shirts aren’t actually sized to fit my neck.

After arriving at the part I was almost immediately introduced to the only two people I didn’t know: two women clearly in their twenties, a blonde dressed as a nurse (psychotic dentist) and a brunette in civilian clothing. Normal, I mean normal clothing. Sorry, my army brat heritage was showing through there. Both women were attractive, though Key, the brunette, was a little moreso as far as my tastes are considered. One of my friends described her as, “hot as sin.” Those aren’t the words I would use, but she is pretty.

As the evening wore gently on, I was standing at the table while Key chatted my friend Liv. A local restaurant Key hadn’t had the chance to try came up in conversation and Liv told her she should get someone to take her to dinner there. Key responded, “The last five years have all been duds.” I said, “I’ll take you.” No one heard me.

Later, Liv went into the living room and I took her place around the dining table with many of the other partygoers. Said place happened to be a tall stool next to Key, who put her phone down on the table at some point. On a whim, I took it, programmed my number into it and called myself. She asked what I was doing and I said, “You’ll see.” Then, a short while later, I playfully texted her, “Look left.” She appreciated the humor.

Key left the party early, as she had to work the next morning. As she made to leave, she told me, “You have my number, feel free to use it.” To which I said, “Maybe I’ll take you to Little Olive sometime.” I don’t remember what she said verbatim, but it was a positive response.

The next morning, since I was downtown for coffee and breakfast anyway, (a Sunday tradition, recently), I decided not to wait. I went down to the clothing store where she works and found her. I greeted her and asked if I could borrow her for a minute.
“Sure, what’s up?” she asked.
I started to lead her to a more deserted part of the store and promptly ran into a clothing rack. “I’ll tell you, if I can make it past the clothes,” I said.
“Yeah, you have to watch out, they like to attack people,” she quipped.
Awkward moment past, I asked her what her schedule was like on Monday, to which she replied that she had the day off.
“Well, would you like to go to Little Olive tomorrow night?” I asked. “Say, 7:30.”
She agreed easily and offered to meet me there at 7:30. She moved to go back to work and I said as she turned to leave, “I have one request.”
“What’s that?” she asked curiously.
“Dress up,” I said.
She smiled. “Alright,” she said with a playful twinkle in her eye. “I’ll wear heels.”

Which brings me back around to the other topics I wanted to touch on today. They’re related to sex, so if you buy into the American ideals of modesty, you may want to stop now. However, I’m not going to be graphic and I am going to discuss at least a couple things about what I find sexy and wish more women did/knew as general rules of thumb, so you’re welcome to stay and satisfy your. . . curiosity.

To quote a friend, “SEX! I mean, hello.”

To begin, I have never understood why, in a sexy situation, women take off their heels with their clothes. I’m not saying it’s something to leave on every time she happens to have strapped a pair on, but I think we can all generally agree that heels are sexy. As a man, let me also tell you that having sex with a woman who is in varying degrees of undress but still wearing her heels is hot. Naked except for her heels? Hot. Still in that LBD and heels with her panties history? Hot. You get the picture.

The subject came up at the same party where I met Kay. The birthday cake was a Barbie, with the cake designed to look like a ball gown while an actual Barbie stood in the center. You have to understand that while the birthday person was a 35 year-old man, nobody thinks twice about these things when the room is full of actors. At some point Barbie was removed from the cake and, unsurprisingly, stripped naked. It was at this point at a table full of people I commented, “Well, at least she’s still wearing her heels.” This sparked a round of discussion, mostly from women who had never realized that a guy might like that. Well, I can’t really speak for any other guys, but I’ll tell you right now, this one does. If the heels are sexy enough, I would happily wait if she had to take them off to get her jeans off and put them back on afterward.

No, I don’t have a fetish. They’re just sexy, much like lingerie.

When the evening was dying out, the conversation was brought up again by one of the women who prides herself on her sexuality and had apparently been astounded by this revelation. I commented this time that it’s a lot like the fact that there are women out there who have no idea on which side of a garter belt to wear their panties. If you happen to be one of those women, the answer, my dear, is the outside. One generally assumes if you’re wearing a garter belt it’s because you intend someone to see it and are planning on having your clothing removed at some point. While I am certain this is not always the case, let us assume it is generally thus.

I think it’s a good fact for a woman planning on having sex to know. There’s a good chance a woman will wear a garter belt at least once in her life in such a situation. If not, well, more’s the pity. If I am with a woman who dresses up for me with such intentions, no matter what else I take off her or leave on, I am definitely leaving the garter belt and sundry on. At least for a while. What items find their way to the floor as the night wears on, so be it. But when the event commences, I want to slide her panties off without having to unclasp and reclasp the fastenings. It’s kind of a mood killer. However, if I have to slip them off her ankles and over her heels before I return to claiming her lips with a kiss that shows her just how much I appreciate her accessories, overall appearance, ‘fashion’ sense, and what all those things do to my brain, well, so much the better.

So there you have the two points I wanted to make. Ladies, consider leaving your heels on from time to time when you’re stripping away everything else. I’ll appreciate your good taste, even if whoever you do it for doesn’t. And when you slide on that garter set, put that sexy little piece on last, because of all the lingerie you have on tonight, that’s the only part that really needs to come off. . . and even then, maybe not all the time.

Enough said. Wish me luck with my lovely, dressed up date.

And a thousand words, goodnight.


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