About Marty

On this planet part of the time

And Life Goes On

I texted her to ask about a city she recently visited. I will be there shortly.

Almost immediately she texted back. I was surprised. It usually is not so quick.

She answered my questions, and we had a brief chat about my upcoming trip. And then about some other relatively unimportant things. A chat just like any other chat “friends” would have.

It hurt.

“You ok?” I asked. It had been some time since we have communicated.

“Yes. I’m good. Just busy. It was so nice to hear from you today” she wrote.

“I miss you, Marty. xx”

I could only stare at the words. Wistfully. Heart in throat. Bleeding.

“I miss you every day” I typed.

There was no need for her to know about the tears that were suddenly welling in my eyes.

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The Feist

She is tall. Her hair is dark, just above shoulder length. Blue-gray eyes.

Lithe and leggy. Small breasted.

Very firm ass. I’ve watched it move around closely. She has a highly understated sensuality. The way she grabs her hair to make a pony tail …

She’s also used to being in charge. I can tell. But for some reason, she is quick to back off that with me. Needless to say, I’m hooked. Well not yet, actually. More like the bait is out and I’m circling it.

And she has an uncanny resemblance to the singer Feist.

I wonder if she can sing …

 

 

Helen’s Intrigue

I am beginning the process of getting to know Helen. Just the beginning.

She’s cute. And younger than me, of course. That’s the way things tend to go.

I’m much more interested in chemistry than age“, she says.

Her submissiveness intrigues me.

Let’s be honest  … it draws me like a magnet.

I send her instructions for tasks to amuse me. She diligently complies.

Helen lives about 2 hours from my village.

We need to arrange a meeting.

Let’s Meet Helen

A new woman is meandering her way through the back alleys of my world. And I do mean meandering. Not a head-long rush which is so typical of my life … but popping in, and popping out.

I won’t go into how I came upon her. She’s not exactly my usual type. But she is interesting. A bit of a free spirit. Smart and a tantalizing figure. And very submissive.

There might be something here.

A La Prochaine

We run you and I.

We run to stay ahead.

Something is always chasing us.

Our past.

Our shadows.

We think we have it all under control, because this is what we do; we’re professional runners-from-our-past after all.

And then, when we’re comfortably way out ahead, we’re ambushed from out of nowhere.

We’re caught!

Adieu my Lovely. I’ll miss you. Focus on the important.

I know you will.

I know your will.

A la prochaine

A Closet Reordering

Over the past couple of days I have been cleaning out my closet. That would be the one between my ears.

It’s difficult to believe that it was almost a year ago that I wrote about Amy, a girlfriend from my high school days. You can find the background on Amy and our meeting last year here, 2nd here, 3rd here, 4th here, and 5th here .

I had a meal and drink with her last week as she was in town again for a conference. We have kept in touch since her last visit, emailing and texting on a regular basis. We are getting to know each other again.

I had very mixed emotions after we met last year. This is a woman I had not seen nor heard from in many decades. A woman I had fantasized about all that time … though admittedly not so much in the past several years. Nonetheless I had had a tender spot in my heart that was always activated even at the mention of her name.

I sort of confused myself. I suspect I could have gone up to her room last year after our drink and something would have happened. I didn’t. I begged off to be sure it didn’t or wouldn’t happen. Why was that? I didn’t want anything to happen, and that definitely bewildered me.

Was I afraid that she would reject me?

No, I don’t think so. The vibes were positive.

Was it because I had this deeply imagined fantasy and didn’t want to risk the chance of reality ruining it?

Maybe.

Had I and/or my thoughts of Amy changed?

Possibly.

And so we met again.

Dare I say, it felt like old times. In the sense that there were no nerves, I felt no pressure. We caught up a bit and chatted about recent dealings with common friends, and what she had on her plate profession-wise. I mostly listened. It was still easy for me to get caught up in the magic of her flashing, deep green eyes. The lilt in her voice.

But that was all. There was no lust for her. Not last year. Not now. The wont had disappeared. And won’t be resurrected.

That long-gripping ghost has finally ceased to haunt me. The mental closet holding my deepest emotional treasures and memories has released one long resident spirit. I have one less obsession.

And let’s be honest. It was an obsession. I can be obsessive. I need to wrap my head around this.

And yes, Amy and I will stay in touch.

 

 

Brickworks

It was a tense time in Egypt. But then, when hasn’t it been? Anwar Sadat ruled with a velvet fist and things seemed secure, though every bridge and important building was guarded by the military or heavily armed national police. The Brotherhood was deemed a constant threat, along with other more militant religious groups, plus a fear that radical Palestinians could mount attacks. In fact, it would not be many years before Sadat was assassinated by one of those groups of militants.

I was interested, of course, intently so, at the history I knew was unfolding around me. I couldn’t know though the details, or the lasting impact these times would have.

I made my way upriver from Cairo, primarily by train in 3rd class, getting off wherever the urge beckoned. My adventuresome spirit returned for a short interval and I made sure to stay only in minus 2-star hotels. I remember writing  Kate from one of those hotels. We had been together the last time I had visited the Arab world, and I spilled out to her what I was seeing, mixing in those thoughts with the adventures we had had. I reveled in the sights, the culture, the way the Nile was the basis for all.

It was not that far north of Aswan that I ran into Michel and Andy. They were a gay couple, but obviously, given the times and the location, they were circumspect about it. Michel was a Lebanese architect, and Andy was an American psychologist. Apparently they had met at the Sorbonne, and had been together 5 or 6 years when I met them.

Led by Michel, they were intent on improving the life of Egyptians through better use of traditional building methods for houses. This meant improving mud brick construction. That was their dream anyway. When I met them they were erecting several significant sized structures, using manual labor, and only mud bricks. They were working on methods to improve cupolas, and each of their buildings would feature several.

Nearby was the “brick works” … the flat area where the actual mud bricks were made by hand, then left to bake in the 130+ degree F sun. Michel described the process to me. He emphasized how the mud had to be mixed with straw and some camel dung to make sure the bricks were strong and would hold together and last.

I was carried back to these memories a few days ago. It struck me that it’s really only strands of the common and mundane, mixed with little pieces of shit that are what keeps it all together.

Cryptic Logrolling

I’ve thought about things a lot. Rolled it over in my mind a thousand, hell! maybe a million times. Like a lumberjack rolling on a log on the river. Trying to stay on top. How I got it wrong. So so wrong.

How I underestimated. Always the greatest danger, isn’t it?

I thought I knew you pretty well.  The mental abuse. The uncaring. The need for loving and respect. The craving for sexual variety. Being appreciated as a highly sensual being.

Oh I got that right for sure. Aced that target.

I was pretty good there balancing on that log. No matter how fast it rolled. For a while. You certainly were good at keeping me off balance. Testing me the whole time. And I thought I was testing you!

What I didn’t pay enough attention to was your comfort level with stability. And loyalty. And being true and “good”. I never thought those aspects would overrule everything else.

The water was pretty damned cold when I fell off and hit it.

Btw, I could be doing better.

The Full Measure

A coach I had once called me his super mortal.  That was a long, long time ago, but strangely enough, my current coach called me the same thing the other day. I’m not, of course. Gawd, I am eminently mortal.   But it does serve to remind me of things.

Mostly it reminds me how intense I can be. When I focus, there are no limits. I am unstoppable. Over my business career, almost every job or posting I have had has taken two people to adequately replace me. I left one summer job when I was in college, and in fact, it took three people to do my job. I’m pretty proud of that. When I was in high school and working part-time, I remember the facility’s assistant manager talking to the manager, not knowing I was within earshot, saying I was the best part-timer he had ever seen.

In business, I was the go-to guy to get things done. I was always in charge of the impossible projects. They sent people from around the world to sit at my feet and learn how.

tumblr_mzj1bn5jmp1qlwx41o1_5001But no one said ever “Wow, look how he gets things done by doing it with half measures.”

But that strength is, wouldn’t you know it, one of my greatest weaknesses. I’m unstoppable. While I’m generally pretty casual and a laid back kind of guy, once I am focused, you definitely get the full measure. And my full measure can be just plain too much for many. It’s overwhelming. It scares them. They worry over my expectations.

Sometimes women fear they won’t measure up over the longer term. When that happens, I miss out. And I hate missing out!

There’s got to be a better way.