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A taste of Chapter One
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A taste of Chapter One Beginning of June 2012 I was suddenly gripped by an incredible urge to pair bond. Maybe it had something to do with my turning 40 three weeks before. All I knew is that the past twelve years of celibacy now seemed needless and the thought of never having sex again filled me with an irrevocable sadness. I needed sex in the worst way imaginable and the auto-satisfaction simply was not working anymore. I had certainly never expected to battle nymphomania in my forties. I was having incredible baby pangs. My biological clock was ticking. I would have loved to have had another had I found a worthy father. I needed some testosterone in my life and badly. The men who had pursued me during my celibacy were consummate losers, they made me firmly believe that there were worse things than being single. I can think of three of them that did nothing to tempt me from my solitude. Taylor down the street was a terrible alcoholic and chain smoker. He was 13 years my senior, worked for the power plant as a machinist and he was looking for me to take care of him. He grilled me on my financials, shared his financials and worked hard to try and get me to move in. He had been cuckolded by his wife and as a result (since our thoughts and emotions dictate our health) manifested testicular cancer. He called himself a steer and had to rub a testosterone gel on his skin daily. He bemoaned the fact that his morning wood was inconsistent and regretted not trying other options to save his "Balls," prior to the surgery. When I walked into Taylor's home, the whole place permeated grief. It felt as if the very walls in his house would start to weep. Everything about him and around him overflowed with self pity. The one time he took me out for supper, he absolutely terrified me with his driving on the way home, he must have been drinking before supper and what he drank with his meal must have put him over the limit, because he terrified me with his driving. I vowed to myself to NEVER get in a car with him EVER AGAIN. He wanted to retire early and move us out to small town Saskatchewan where he could set up a machine shop. Needless to say I graciously declined his offers. Matthew was the other persistent male I had met through my Realfood business as a customer. He was a few years younger than me and had been raised on a Hutterite Colony. Now the Hutterite boys have not been taught how to treat women in the outside world and often end up going back to the colony to marry. Doesn’t help that they only have a grade eight education either. What they lack in wit and charm they try to make up for in alcohol content and that is a pattern of behaviour that is never successful, well not for very long. He would come to pick up his order, but stay for hours to talk. He would text me at 3:00 am drunk asking for sex. I would call him up the next day and give him hell for disturbing my sleep and remind him that I never answer my phone after 10:00pm (saves me from having useless conversations with the drunk and high). Sometimes the way he talked to me, how he came so close to me…felt like he wanted to ram himself down every orifice that I owned. This kind of energy was a huge turn off for me, it was invasive. Matthew had his problems, he battled an alcohol addiction, anger issues, jealousy and depression. All problems that I could do without and I had no inclination to hold his hand as he lashed out against his demons for fear of being the one who received the lashes. He was the type of man who would punish others for loving him. Raymond was 15 years my junior and was a Realfood customer of mine. He was an energetic drain. He did not know how to generate his own energies, so he took them from others. He was bi-polar, creative, but erratic and completely unpredictable. He had those scary eyes, like a wild animal that had been cornered. His thoughts assaulted him quicker than he could process. My mother was always afraid that he would force himself on me, and he would on occasion be so brazen as to out right ask me for sex, face to face. I always declined, some things were simply not worth the trouble. I tried very hard to help Raymond, but I have found the mentally ill beyond my nutritional help, they never have the where with all to follow a dietary regime with enough discipline to make improvements. He would order and not show up because he ended up on the psyche ward, or he would not be able to pay and often owed me money. He did not realize that he had to take care of me, so that I could take care of him. I had to let go of him as a customer because I could no longer afford him. None of these suitors were in any form presentable, and in so many ways far from the type of man I needed. I needed someone like myself, someone who had done the work physically, intellectually and spiritually. I had no need for a fixer upper, I already had a house to renovate. Changing a man was too much work, too much resistance, and I was not about to love these boys in their sorry states. There had to be healthy, better quality men out there? Internet dating was the seemingly next logical choice. I was not meeting good men organically in my everyday life. Mr. Right certainly had yet to reveal himself. Another motivating factor was my mother, and I sure did not want to end up like her. She had been single for over thirty years and untouched since she divorced my father. Whenever my mother spoke about her sex life, it was in tones of extreme dissatisfaction, too infrequent, too brief. How could it be anything else when my father was a closet homosexual and his wife and family were really a cover for the lifestyle he truly wanted to live. Growing up I remember the week ends where my father would disappear to drink and frequent the gay bars causing a lot of tension between my parents, and especially anger from my mother. I was going to figure out how to have a very satisfying sex life. I had joined eHarmony, but they only had four local men, the rest were from the United States. Long distance relationships never work. So I joined Plenty of Fish, popularly known as POF, a free dating website with lots of local people. I wrote a simple profile four paragraphs long writing about topics recommended on the website and downloaded my picture at 7:00 pm on a Saturday night. Men are obviously visually stimulated. I had seven suitors in ten minutes and a dozen by midnight. My first night of POF online dating was rather strange and overwhelming for me. A middle-eastern looking, 34 year old male from Calgary, very handsome, emailed me in a very unctuous and supplicating tone, praising my strength, my beauty and the intensity of my eyes. He then offered himself as my personal slave. I have NEVER had that happen to me before. I thought that it must have been some formative relationship that would have turned him into a submissive. I was curious, so I emailed him back “What was your relationship like with your mother?” At that point he blocked me from any further communication. I guess I hit a nerve. I laughed so hard that I had a coughing fit. The whole thing was just so surreal. The next gentleman that I talked to, and I use the term “Gentleman,” loosely, was a transplanted Irishman, new to Edmonton, only 28 years old and a video games designer. He seemed to think that I was a 1-900 number. His conversation quickly turned into him thrusting himself inside me with little to no mental masturbation. I blocked him from any further communication. I went to bed soon after that incident and felt as if in opening a POF account I had just torn open a huge negative energy portal into my life. No sleep at all for Kim that night. I could almost see the negative energy thought forms swirling about my bed, they looked like dirty black rags caught in a clockwise spinning motion above me. When I woke up the next morning, I rewrote my profile adding another five paragraphs, on top of the numbered section that I had filled out the night before. My thinking was that the universe can only give you what you are specifically asking for. I learned very quickly that first week on POF that I had to learn to use my settings. I blocked all of the 20 something crowd, they were all so ill behaved, and not serious at all. I blocked those who were only looking for “Intimate Encounters,” smoked and did drugs. I blocked all of those age 49 and older as well because I figured that there was no way that they could keep up and I was not interested in adult diapers and pushing around a wheelchair. What I was noticing is DAMN, I looked good for my age, I looked 8-10 years younger than my chronological age. The men on POF obviously had not taken care of themselves like I had taken care of myself. Certain aspects of my profile evolved and changed as my ideas evolved and changed as well. I had a rodeo star from Drayton Valley try to convince me to become his girlfriend. He lived in a trailer on rented land, asking me to plant a garden for him in early June. The conversation was going well. He liked it when I told stories about my teaching escapades. It sounded like he needed to learn things the hard way, but he insisted that he only needed to learn those lessons once. “Rod,” or “Roderick” as he was known had a Hero Complex, he liked to rescue and was the type of person who would insert himself into the middle of a fight as a peace keeper, truly a dangerous occupation. He had lived in Texas for five years, and all of his earnings exclusively came from the rodeo. The next part of the conversation had my tongue in knots, as I figured out how to respond, an awkward silence ensued. He explained how he performed as a rodeo clown, rode broncos and did bull fighting. He laughed as he described his previous girlfriends’ reactions as they watched him in the arena. He invited me to come and see him at the Delburne Rodeo. I politely declined. A day later I was lying in bed doing my morning meditation and visualizations. I thought about loving Roderick, being a part of him, and weaving him into the fabric of my life, and it was good, but then I imagined him leaving me and climbing into the arena to bull fight and the reaction was immediate and visceral. My stomach knotted up, my heart felt heavy and then I felt as if I was going to throw up. There would be no way that I could live with that constant stress. I asked my rodeo frequenting neighbours, and his aunt, who also happened to be a neighbour of mine about Rod’s character. They all said that he was a good guy, a real stand up fellow. I did give one attempt to convince him to leave the rodeo, but the rodeo is his true mistress and lover, she signs all of his paycheques, she feeds his Hero Complex and provides him with the constant adulation of the crowd. KRP |
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5/15/2017 10:04 am |
Great start to the story! I too write and collect erotica for fun (never profit). You have the beginnings of a great romance here. I look forward to reading more. If you are on Senior Sizzle and enjoy reading erotica as well, stop by my blog, Into The Woods (erotic tales) It's a collection of the sexual misadventures of some guy named Jimmy lol... (Shhhh... some of the stories are true... don't tell anyone! ) Jimmy B.  My blog JimmyB7474 is called Into The Woods (erotica) entertaining stories about a guy named Jimmy. Enjoy.
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que historia, hasta me acorde del libro de "maquin de follar" de Charles Bukowski, buena historia, que siga que siga
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4/2/2018 11:02 am |
It's an interesting start to the story, but it comes across as sad and discouraging. I think you need to inject something positive into the narrative to compel the reader along into thinking that things will somehow work out (assuming that it did). Otherwise, I can't help but think that you are a magnet for losers. Or maybe you give to much time to men that don't deserve it. Probably the latter. It sounds like the guys in this story need to work on themselves before attempting dating again. That's a human fault, trying to find happiness outside of yourself, whether it's from a partner, a profession or a hobby. I've been reading and watching (youtube lectures) a great deal of Jordan Peterson and love his take on 'beta' males, like you've described. His advice is perfect... grow the hell up and make something of yourself.
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