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mcgrew's Journal: -- One door closes, another door opens 1

Journal by mcgrew

Tammy called with an unreasonable "request", we argued, and broke up. Pretty dumb breaking up with your boyfriend three days before your birthday; I'd already made her a card and baked a cake. I guess the encounter with Erin (which, as I noted in the previous journal, was completely innocent) bolstered my confidence, because I walked down to Scooter's for a beer and met yet another lady. A lady a little like Erin, with less money and more class. We hit it off really well.

I shall call her "Ms Lady" because like Erin, she's going through a divorce, and... well... it didn't turn out so innocently as with Erin. We wound up at my house watching The Blues Brothers, one thing led to another, and well, is it adultery if the papers have been filed? Unlike Erin, her divorce finalization is immenent. "Wow," she said, "you're really hung!"

More likely her husband had a tiny little dick. I was reminded of the scene from Wagons East where the ladies are talking to the hooker. "My husband said the largest penis on record was three inches, is that true?" That's probably the closest I'll ever come to having sex with a virgin -- sticking it in farther than anybody else has.

She picked me up Friday night and took me to a nicer bar than Scooter's. Scooters is no dive, and certainly classier than Felber's, with a classier clientelle, except younger. Ms Lady is fifty and kind of stuck out there, and as I'm eight years older than her I stick out there like a sore thumb. The bar we went to is downtown, close to the old Capitol building, and we wound up sitting on the Old Capitol square "watching the wierdos". I didn't mention that all I had to do to watch a wierdo was to look in the mirror.

A horse drawn carraige pulled up, and we went on a carriage ride. She almost fell off getting on; we were having great fun, laughing our asses off. She wrote a check for the twenty five dollar fare. When the ride was done we sat back down looking for more wierdos.

There was a young black couple on an adjacent bench, and when two policewomen walked up, the man left hurredly. "I bet it's drugs", she said. No sooner had the policewomen left than a policeman came up, riffed through some books outside the bookstore there, trying unsucessfully to look casual, until some more cops came up and took the woman with them.

"Well," I replied, "either drugs or she's a hooker and that was her pimp." It was probably both; she was rail-thin, and that usually means meth or crack.

We laughed a bit more, and I don't remember what I said that was so funny but it must have been hysterical, because she suddenly exclaimed "I have to pee!" and rushed to the nearest establishment to find a restroom.

She didn't make it. I'd made her laugh so hard she peed her pants! We wnet back to my house so I could loan her a pair of jeans. "Hey!" she exclaimed, "we wear the same size pants!" She wound up spending the night in my bed. "Don't you have to get home?" I asked. "What's your husband going to say?"

"Fuck that dickhead," she replied, and we had more sex.

The next morning I woke up with my customary woodie, and we did it again. She confided to me that she hadn't been touched in years, and had been sleeping alone. Hilariously, Lucy Furr (Tami) texted me trying to make me jealous, still trying to get back into my life. "There's nothing like sex in the morning to start the day right!" Richard must have a tiny dick as well, as I couldn't fit the whole thing in Tami's rediculously small vagina.

I made breakfast, and she went home for a while, and I went to Felber's, having almost overdosed on classiness. The rednecks and construction workers were a relief. They were having a live band that night, and I wanted to go, but there's no way I'd get Ms Lady into a redneck bar in the ghetto.

She came back saying she wanted to take me to a biker bar near her house, so I thought "Great!"

It wasn't the kind of "biker bar" I'm used to. Rather than Outlaws and Angels on stripped hogs, it was yuppies on full dressers. Only they were less polite than the kind of bikers I've known. Talk about culture clash... we had pork tenderloin sandwiches at the "biker bar". "This is almost as good as Top Cats", I told her.

"You go to Top Cat's? That's one of my favorite restaraunts!"

"It's my second favorite. D'Arcy's is my favorite."

I'm taking her to D'Arcy's Wednesday. We went to another bar that afternoon, and I was glad she was driving, since I don't like going to bars farther from my house than I can stagger home from. They were having live rock bands there, the bar wasn't so upper class and neither were the people, and I had a really good time. We went back to my house, and she got out of bed and went home around midnight.

Sunday I was awakened by the front door banging -- she'd brought fixings for breakfast! She cooked breakfast, we ate, and watched another movie, and she went back home for a while. That evening she took me to Saputos, another higher class restarant downtown that I never go to. The lasania was delicious.

So was her vagina. I don't think she'd ever experienced that before. Shit, going out with this lady is going to kill me! But damn, I feel young...

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-- One door closes, another door opens

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