They will be implemented.
They are what you will like. They are what you will want. They are what you need.
You will smile. You will cum. Repeatedly.
Cassandra and I live many hundreds of miles apart, so the opportunity to actually be with one another is a luxury that will not happen often. Like most long distance love affairs today, we try to fill the hole with emails, phone calls, pictures and most often texting. We text back and forth constantly. Yet with busy lives, even these modern communication methods, though they work very well, can be hard to fit in.
This is such a week. Cassandra has an incredible amount of stuff to get done this week, and constant texting with Marty is just not on. And our phone call this morning didn’t happen (my issue). I am one who likes to communicate a lot. This was something Cassandra really wasn’t used to when we initially started to become close. But now she is as dependent on it as I am.
I have this 9 second video she did for me a few months ago. It’s in black and white. It’s a close up of her stunningly beautiful face, and then she mouths the words “I love you”, while staring straight into the camera. Then her big, round eyes slowly close and open. The vid finishes with her 1,000 watt smile for me. So in the absence of a high degree of direct communication this week, her little video is on almost constant replay. I’m just waiting for the part of the drive where it’s stored to send me a text message … C’mon Man, how many times are you gonna replay this? Really! You’re wearing me out!
The one good part is that it gives me time to reflect. On what she means to me. It reminded me of this old song I like.
This is the conclusion of the posts on Cassandra’s first visit. If you are a new reader or have forgotten, you can review what has happened here: Sea Waves ; Sea Waves [II]; Sea Waves [III]; Sea Waves [IV]; Sea Waves [V]; Sea Waves [VI]
We headed to the airport after a visit of almost three days. We sped along the highway quickly. Traffic was sparse.
We were very comfortable together, as if nothing had ever changed from all the time we had known each other. But the truth was, so much had changed. For each of us going into this first time together, we had made sure our expectations had been kept in check. We had never met. While we knew we were incredibly close, we also were under no illusions. Our closeness was all virtual, with telephone calls thrown in to heat up the mix. Over our 21 months of contact we had had squabbles. Some had lasted months. But even in the midst of those travails, something always remained. Something was always there. We always would come back. Why? I don’t think either of us knew (or know) why. We just did. We had to. It was never an option not to.
As we drove we talked. We touched. Touching had been so much a part of what we had shared these past three days. So much a part of what we had needed from the other. To be touched and held. So much a part of what bonded us.
There was no sadness attached to the visit’s ending. Quite the contrary. We both were on stratospheric highs. A high induced by the presence of the other. No imminent flight departure could negatively impact that oneness we felt. There would be no Distance that would keep our hearts separated. There was no Other Time.
We arrived at the airport with time to spare. Deciding to sit in my car in the parking garage, we bathed in the emotion that enveloped us. At one time she had sought out a new lover because of her need for passion. She had never connected me to that feeling. I had never understood why not. Now she admitted oh how blind she had been. She had never felt the passion more.
Prior to her coming, there had been trepidation about the sex. There would probably be none. If there were any, there would not be much and it likely would not be that great. I reminded her of a comment she had made while we were on the phone one evening last autumn. A text had just come in from one of her former lovers. The lover where the pure sex had been the greatest of her life. The text had set her mind awhirl, and she quite directly told me in that call to not ever think, should we one day get together, that the sex between us could ever approach what she had had with this man. At the time, that had dramatically saddened me. Cassandra is a highly sexual woman. Sex would always play a heavy role in any relationship with her. I wasn’t sure what to think. What to say. What to do. In the end I decided it could not be a competition; I would have to be myself and trust that would be enough. It was. It is. Cassandra had never been so sexually satisfied. Been so passionate. Been so sensual.
As we sat we knew we would be together a long, long time. A couple. One for the other. Committed. For as long as the waves rolled in.
Today I was fantasizing about the past. Long ago. When I was a very young man.
I was living in a village in the mountains on a Greek island. It was all the wonderful things you are probably imagining as you read this. Tranquil, simple, wholesome, full of generosity, pleasure filled.
I learned simplicity. At least once a week I would head out into the further up hills with the village blacksmith to graze. We would hike and he would show me wild plants that were edible. And delicious. And we’d drink from a raging stream.
I would often wander with my friends up the way to pay a visit to the village winemaker. His wife would feed us with delicious meats and desserts while our bottles and flasks were being filled by her husband. The rest of the afternoon and evening were filled with revelry.
I also learned fear. I often rode into the major town down the mountain on the back of a young German’s BMW motorcycle. He was adorned with helmet and leathers. I was in my cut-offs and tee. He rode fast. Very fast. Along narrow, winding mountain roads where my knees were just above the pavement as we bent into the turns. I was very afraid to ride with him. But I did. I feared the loss of face much, much more.
This German lad was a few years older than I was. But he would have been an artist’s model of an Aryan god. Tall, strong and solid, blond, blue-eyed, all the young Greek women in the village would stop, stare, and hold their breath whenever he walked by. Yet he was intimidated by women. He had absolutely no confidence around them. None. I was in total amazement at this. Watching him, I learned a lot. About interacting with women. What not to do. That looks and physical presence were much less important than one would imagine.
I had to leave the village twice to attend to a very ill friend. I did go back, however, for a visit 5 years later. For many reasons, nothing seemed the same. My blacksmith friend was then working in Germany. So though I was there, I really couldn’t go back.
But today I did.
I’m not a huge complainer, but sometimes events conspire to make me lose it. Right now I have a real big ugly eye on for women with NPD. Do you know what NPD is? Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Yes, I know there are plenty of male narcissists out there. But I’m not attracted to males. And this blog was not created to discuss my relationships with men.
I maybe jumping the gun here, because I’m no shrink. Not even a psychologist. But two women I have recently met are so far off the beam, that my alarm bells have been ringing non stop.
Now don’t get me wrong here. I realize we are all narcissists to some degree. But that’s the point isn’t it? The degree! These two women are ten alarmers! I even like some narcissistic tendencies in my women. I find it quite sexy. Cassandra is a prime example. She understands she’s gorgeous. She knows she has a brain to match any top scientist. And more charm than anybody I can think of. And I won’t even mention all her … ahem … talents either. So when she feels she needs to use them, she has no hesitation in doing so. And she knows they will have great affect. She’s narcissistic enough to have no doubt of the assets she has. But she has quite a bit of subtlety in her approach.
About two months ago at a multi-day function I was attending, a woman became attached to our group. Not that I minded an extra good looking woman as part of our entourage. Heck no! But it didn’t take long for me to be almost sickened by her displays of “me-me-me-me”. Over 4 days she barely, and I mean BARELY, said a word … unless the topic was her or her children! Then the flood of “I”s, and “me”s was non ceasing. So after the first day of exposure to this, I completely shut down any interaction with this woman. I was polite. But I was curt, and in the end, I completely shunned her. As many of you may know, I’m not exactly a spring chicken, so encountering a mature woman so dramatically off the scale is a bit … weird. And unpleasant. And at my age and stage in life, I don’t do “unpleasant”. Hence, the shun.
But it aroused my curiosity. Here’s a bit from Wikipedia on NPD
Narcissistic Personality Disorder is characterized by an over-inflated sense of self-importance, as well as dramatic, emotional behavior that is in the same category as antisocial and borderline personality disorders.
A bit vague to be sure. But some other lines, again from Wikipedia, so reminded me of another woman I have recently encountered.
Symptoms of this disorder, as defined by the DSM-IV-TR, include:
- Expects to be recognized as superior and special, without superior accomplishments
- Expects constant attention, admiration and positive reinforcement from others
- Envies others and believes others envy him/her
- Is preoccupied with thoughts and fantasies of great success, enormous attractiveness, power, intelligence
- Lacks the ability to empathize with the feelings or desires of others
- Is arrogant in attitudes and behavior
- Has expectations of special treatment that are unrealistic
These symptoms so remind me of another woman I have recently encountered, I just can’t ignore. She’s supposedly mature. And bright. And so NPD. And unpleasant.
Nope. Marty doesn’t do unpleasant.
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