(Continued from part 1)
Down the hall I spot a couple more arrivals. Bella from Houston is a young Brazilian lady who tried on Nettie’s mega-tall shoes and seemed embarrassed about getting her MBA in accounting. Mr. Self Destruct came in looking like Errol Flynn with a hard-on and a spark of philanthropy in his eye. Gabriel the Web Master didn’t need to look like a movie star. He was a movie star. And then….
Megan Riley. Have you ever met Megan Riley? It’s only a first impression but I think we’d be the best of compadres. She has that Mary Louise Parker sadness and smile. Her eyes have seen a few things and her laugh is rich & hearty like homemade soup. If you’re lucky enough to hear Mary Riley laugh…well…I don’t know what.
I wanna go on a tour of the Dead Poets’ Graveyards with Megan Riley. She’s wry and made of Earth. So Gorgeous.
Nettie’s new apartment is roomier but she’s kept the same mattress. (The only time Freedom Fighter and I will engage in a knife-fight-rumble is when Nettie decides to throw out that mattress.) Her new place has more room for art and books. And the books are telling. She has a student’s copy of “Moll Flanders” (not a stuffy showy-bound version) and she’s got the Riverside Complete Works of Shakespeare (not the cheap Beaver Dam Publishing version with the shitty notes.)
What a warm and generous hostess our Michelle is. Throughout the evening she put Mardi Gras beads on me, gave everyone an outlet plate she had painted, gave me a cool baseball cap hand-painted by her tattoo artist, then she flashed her breasts at me. (I realized a minute later that the tit thing was because of the Mardi Gras beads but I was too distracted at the time to think it through.)
I left with the firm knowledge that I needed a better paying job so I can put them all in the same hotel suite for a weekend and keep them naked the entire time. Especially Stumpy.
Until then, I am myself in their eyes. Without an ounce of bullshit.
I know that Mr. Self Destruct will ask, so I’ll pose the question myself:
“So which one did you go home with in your nasty head, Jockeypants?”
Well. It began with Anya and me alone for a long while. That was great. And then there were two: Anya and my Nettie. But whose hand is this? Oh! Hello Brooke! That’s must be Kylie with that dildo back there. And Anya has moved from sucking to sitting on my mouth and as she bobs about I can see Lauren riding cowgirl with those eyes and that smile. Deeper please Kylie. Thanks for the finger-sucking, Nettie. Megan, stop laughing at us and get your smile in here. Bella is doing something frisky to Brooke and not a single lady went for my nipples until the very end. Brooke and Lauren met on Oskar and Nettie took Abe solo. I inadvertently inhaled Anya into my lungs. She’s safe but it’ll be awhile before anyone sees her.
The thing about those Mardi Gras beads that Nettie gave me was they had her perfume on them. So I kept them on. Even after I got undressed for bed.
I recognize embarrassing positions that I get myself into every day. Whatever it is: tripping over the curb or saying “cello” instead of “hello”…whatever. I see myself doing this shit and roll my eyes and think, “Please God, don’t take me now. I don’t want my roommate to find me blue and naked except for Nettie’s Mardi Gras beads around my face with a fist full of Astroglide. Don’t take me now Oh Lord with my sin upon me.”
That’s the report from the field. I’ll leave the amazing faces of Twain’s all night diner now. The only sexy look I’ve gotten tonight was from a cop who I think was thinking about a ham-scramble when his gaze landed on me.
But Lauren twinkled at me tonight. Megan laughed at something I said. And Nettie kissed me because she is my friend. It doesn’t take much to get me though the week in grand fashion, does it?
Love,
Jockeypants
Date: July 17th, 2004 Time: It’s fxcking’ dark out.
I’m writing this from a booth at the sophisticated Twain’s all night diner in the Valley where the hash-browns and gravy are nirvana but only if you order them after 1am.
I like it at Twain’s because in order to be hired there you have to have the most amazing face in the world. Also: in Twain’s, at 2am or 3, someone always looks me in the eye as if I’m the sexiest guy living. It stops my heart when it happens. Usually the woman has been lost in the eyes of the actual guy she’s drinking coffee with and her gaze drifts and lands on me. So it’s secondary affection at best but I take what I can get in this world.
I went to a party this evening. You ever go to a party where you know only one person and even that person is gonna need your nametag clearly visible? I thought it was gonna be a party like that. Everyone at this gathering had the unique distinction of being either a provider or a man who respects providers.
So this is Nettie’s 2nd annual TER party. Frankly, I was expecting NetMichelle juggling frozen pizzas trying to single-handedly entertain 10 bloated old southern gentlemen who looked like Colonel Saunders. But it wasn’t like that.
I arrived to my Nettie. She had just moved from the little space down the hall to this bigger space. Her bleached locks have been cropped (but not so much that you don’t have something to grab on to during oral sex.) She was wearing a mini skirty kinda Venice Beach casual-chic thing. Once during the evening she reached over from a sitting position to grab a beer and either she wasn’t wearing any panties or they had worked their way, irretrievably, into Nina Simone never to be seen again.
She gave me a hug and said, “It’s nice to meet you”. Well that’s an awkward opening statement considering I slept with her a month ago. I should’ve anticipated her not recognizing me right away but I forgot. Totally my fault. I shoulda taken off the cap and been ready to blurt out “Hi, I’m Jockeypants, we met about a month ago at your vagina.” She told me to come in and introduce myself to the gang and I did. “I’m Jockeypants” and the three other guys shook my hand. She made out a nametag for me and as she put it on she gently said, “It’s so good to see you again!” officially negating the “nice to meet you”-thing, which I accepted with relief and a special understanding of this remarkable woman: Michelle’s my friend because of who I am in my head, not my rather ordinary mortal coil. She’s literally spent more time with the “actual-me”, reading my stuff off the computer, than with the “physical-me” in our one session. She knows me better than some that call me friend and she likes me more too. It’s actually the same relationship that you, the person reading this, has with me. Believe me, I’m prettier on the page. But it’s a Cyrano thing. I’ll sure as shit be Cyrano if Nettie’s my Roxane. And when I can afford it I get to be Christian de Neuvillette too! Nice set up, actually. (Until I can afford the repeat visits I’m doomed to the mists of the memory.)
It was sweetly shocking to me, in a related issue, how similar all the gentlemen at the party looked to me. They were actually quite similar in style and build and were all pretty cool dudes. How so many guys can have the exact same look of kindness in their eyes has to be the result of something. We should get Jane Goodall in here to conduct a survey. Maybe the U.S. Post Office should use Nettie’s screening process over the shoot-‘em-up test they give now. I promised to make us all sound erudite and good looking so here it goes:
A manly burly fellow looking like Pierce Brosdan in casual wear introduced himself as “FreedomFighter”. His delightful enthusiasm and frank wit made me like him immediately. Quiet in the alcove was CAGuy69 who looked like Walker Texas Ranger, tough, handsome and ready to kick the shit out of evildoers. I met Stumpy who is Harrison Ford’s body double and was a kind, mild fellow with wisdom hanging off him like mistletoe. Stumpy is obviously catnip for the ladies. I looked more like Roy Clark from “Hee Haw” but that was more of an unfortunate wardrobe choice than anything else. What makes a party like this exciting is twofold: First, that even though everyone is talking about the usual shit and has the usual calm demeanor we all know for certain that we’ve all had jungle sex recently and will again soon; And maybe with each other. Secondly, that the odds are much higher at a party like this that someone gets in to putting handcuffs on you and spanking your bottom with a box of pasta.
Freedom was on his cell guiding a woman into a parking location. CAGuy and I talked with Nettie while Stumpy nibbled on a Dorito, admiring the beach at night.
I asked Nettie if I could see the new color that had been added to her tattoo and she said it was a “scratch and sniff” piece of art. (I did. Nice smell.) Then the lady that Freedom had been guiding came up. Anya. She could’ve been Nettie’s sister. Down to Earth. No bull shit. Funny. Seemed preoccupied. She needed to leave early for a date but she stuck in my head for her no nonsense class and brains. I wanted to be the date she was headed too. (She’s got a review on TER and nice photos on her site.) So it’s Anya and Nettie and the boys. Just when you thought this was gonna turn into a two girl pizza juggling affair the re-enforcements arrived.
Brooke Butler (newly located in Long Beach from Atlanta) came in with Kylie of San Diego. Kylie and I had introduced ourselves in the chat lounge just a few days prior so we recognized each other’s names. What a sweet Anglophile she is. She has a tight sexy bod and a flirty California girl tone with hair that continually looks like she’s in the act of a massive sexual encounter.
Brooke was dressed to kill in a form fitting casual Lucy Carmichael dress. She was like a sleek Magnolia blossom, full, sensuous and warm with every black hair in place and those eyes of lightness. She showed me a photo of her sweet boy. He’s seven and drop dead cute. Nettie wanted to bed the boy when he got older and Brooke gave her a dirty look. But then Brooke pulled up her dress and bent over to show us her new tattoo on the small of her back. Ooops. No panties. Okay. I wanna date Brooke too. And Kylie.
Then I talked with Lauren who lives near Nettie in Venice Beach. Lauren was…. Ummm…she was…how can I?…. (Okay. I’m hot for Lauren. Fine. I said it in front of God and everyone.) She’s got that whole Scandinavian Goddess via Texas thing going. She’s a diver and who knows what other forms of exercise she partakes in to look so foxy. She had twinkle and intelligence and a way with words (I particularly enjoyed watching her face brighten when she said the words: “Pee Wee Herman”.) I must find her website as soon as I get to a computer again. (I did, I finally found the right Lauren.)
(continued in next thread...part 2)
-- Modified on 7/19/2004 2:19:48 PM
(Continued from part 1)
Down the hall I spot a couple more arrivals. Bella from Houston is a young Brazilian lady who tried on Nettie’s mega-tall shoes and seemed embarrassed about getting her MBA in accounting. Mr. Self Destruct came in looking like Errol Flynn with a hard-on and a spark of philanthropy in his eye. Gabriel the Web Master didn’t need to look like a movie star. He was a movie star. And then….
Megan Riley. Have you ever met Megan Riley? It’s only a first impression but I think we’d be the best of compadres. She has that Mary Louise Parker sadness and smile. Her eyes have seen a few things and her laugh is rich & hearty like homemade soup. If you’re lucky enough to hear Mary Riley laugh…well…I don’t know what.
I wanna go on a tour of the Dead Poets’ Graveyards with Megan Riley. She’s wry and made of Earth. So Gorgeous.
Nettie’s new apartment is roomier but she’s kept the same mattress. (The only time Freedom Fighter and I will engage in a knife-fight-rumble is when Nettie decides to throw out that mattress.) Her new place has more room for art and books. And the books are telling. She has a student’s copy of “Moll Flanders” (not a stuffy showy-bound version) and she’s got the Riverside Complete Works of Shakespeare (not the cheap Beaver Dam Publishing version with the shitty notes.)
What a warm and generous hostess our Michelle is. Throughout the evening she put Mardi Gras beads on me, gave everyone an outlet plate she had painted, gave me a cool baseball cap hand-painted by her tattoo artist, then she flashed her breasts at me. (I realized a minute later that the tit thing was because of the Mardi Gras beads but I was too distracted at the time to think it through.)
I left with the firm knowledge that I needed a better paying job so I can put them all in the same hotel suite for a weekend and keep them naked the entire time. Especially Stumpy.
Until then, I am myself in their eyes. Without an ounce of bullshit.
I know that Mr. Self Destruct will ask, so I’ll pose the question myself:
“So which one did you go home with in your nasty head, Jockeypants?”
Well. It began with Anya and me alone for a long while. That was great. And then there were two: Anya and my Nettie. But whose hand is this? Oh! Hello Brooke! That’s must be Kylie with that dildo back there. And Anya has moved from sucking to sitting on my mouth and as she bobs about I can see Lauren riding cowgirl with those eyes and that smile. Deeper please Kylie. Thanks for the finger-sucking, Nettie. Megan, stop laughing at us and get your smile in here. Bella is doing something frisky to Brooke and not a single lady went for my nipples until the very end. Brooke and Lauren met on Oskar and Nettie took Abe solo. I inadvertently inhaled Anya into my lungs. She’s safe but it’ll be awhile before anyone sees her.
The thing about those Mardi Gras beads that Nettie gave me was they had her perfume on them. So I kept them on. Even after I got undressed for bed.
I recognize embarrassing positions that I get myself into every day. Whatever it is: tripping over the curb or saying “cello” instead of “hello”…whatever. I see myself doing this shit and roll my eyes and think, “Please God, don’t take me now. I don’t want my roommate to find me blue and naked except for Nettie’s Mardi Gras beads around my face with a fist full of Astroglide. Don’t take me now Oh Lord with my sin upon me.”
That’s the report from the field. I’ll leave the amazing faces of Twain’s all night diner now. The only sexy look I’ve gotten tonight was from a cop who I think was thinking about a ham-scramble when his gaze landed on me.
But Lauren twinkled at me tonight. Megan laughed at something I said. And Nettie kissed me because she is my friend. It doesn’t take much to get me though the week in grand fashion, does it?
Love,
Jockeypants
What a crew!...and of course, another outstanding field report.
At times during my reading, I felt like I was there.
It reinforces what I already know...that TER has alot of great people.Parties like those can only mean that fun was had by all.
Cheers!
your writing is exactly what works best on this board. so candid, frank, and insightful -- and even courageous about your thoughts and feelings. it's obvious that you gain every good thing that this hobby has to offer, and i so appreciate your sharing it.
my own interest in the hobby began when i realized, at a fairly late date, that i really had not explored sexual experience. i really didn't know what i could give to a woman, or get, or even what i wanted. which is not to say i was inexperienced in the various abbreviations -- but you shouldn't claim to be an aeronautical engineer just because you fly Southwest to phoenix every other thursday. one thing is certain: this is a school where learning can be fun. and another thing: incredible as it seems, there is no failing grade!
thanks again to JP for this and all his great messages.
Are you insinuating something, JP? :P
Besides, it would have been impossible not to have (to quote you) a "chubby" with the ladies assembled there. From Anya, who I met all too briefly, to my dear Brooke Butler, she of the charming laugh, amusing anecdote (I hear the story about the lady from the southern finishing school the next day, Naughty B...lol!) and wonderful flashing light in the sea of cleavage, to the teasing, tantalizing ray of sunshine that is my fellow San Diegan, Miss Kylie(with her smiling eyes full of mischief , to the three ladies that I came with...the class act and big heart that is Lauren of Houston (looking good in her pinstripe jacket, skirt and blouse...with plent of space to display her lovely assets), the dark and softly feminine nymph-like beauty that is Bella (also of Houston, whose outfit I can't seem to remember because it fit so well on her that I kept feeling like she was standing among us naked...must have been my mind wishing!), and the intense fire that is my one-of-a-kind red lady, Miss Megan Riley (who looked absolutely charming in a soft, flowing dress)...I was in heaven. I will always chuckle at my little moment walking up to Michelle's building with these three lovelies in tow and me in my black jacket and pants, feeling like Bosley fronting Charlie's Angels through the alleys of Venice... talk about a Kodak moment!
However, there was no one more special that night than our lovely hostess, whose beautiful eyes, feminine voice, intelligent conversation, girlish enthusiasm, and sincere hospitality warmed m heart in a way that makes me understand just how special this lady is, and why everyone who comes in contact with her is inevitably affected by her special charm and personality. Michelle, you are everything I have known you to be in our exchanges these past few months, and much more. My eventual meeting with you, my dear, will be like the finding the holy grail. I will remember your eyes and the endless depth behind them every day until then.
To the guys that were lucky enough to be there with me...JP, Freedom RIDER (lol), Stumpy, CaGuy, and a couple of others that were "tagless" (I am HORRIBLE with names until I see them written down...sorry, guys)...it doesn't get much better than that, eh...at least with clothes on!
It was my humble honor to have met all of the fine gentlemen and lovely ladies who attended.
I look forward to the next one!
xoxo
B
fork as we share a plate.
Wait...you people didn't click on this box cause you thought I was gonna say "eat them off your ass" did you? You people are terrible! I cannot believe you thought that! Ya bunch of hobos!
Brooke and I are human beings who happen to enjoy potatos occasionally. Now that we've met I'm hoping it won't be too terribly long before we are covered in gravy.
(Oops. Did I say that out loud? I'm a hobo. I'm a loser-hobo.)
On that note...how bout a cheer for Mr. Potatoe head.
Cheers!
I may have my own special gravy you can lick off my ass. Not sure how well it goes with hash browns actually. I tend to think it goes better with toast.. kind of like sweet jelly. *wink*
If truth be known biscuits and gravy are the best. However, a proper girl wouldn't fuss about such a thing.
xoxo
B
Cheers!
I still don't know what scrapple is,,,
The only thing I can add to what my friends Jockeypants and MrSelfDestruct have said is that our beloved "Netty" succeded in putting together the most relaxed and friendly get together one could hope for. Everyone was very much themselves and at ease. Pretenses and "airs" were left at the door and a wonderful cross-section of our community had the chance to simply laugh and be genuine with each other.
To others elsewhere in our vast community I hope you have someone as special as NetMichelle to host such a gathering of warm comradarie. To those of you here in SoCal who had invites and missed the party you can kick yourself hard and long for it was truly Epic.
FR.