The Begging after the Talk

Hello, my droogies. You’re getting a lot of attention lately, but you deserve it.

It’s also REALLY cold outside.

So, two days after ‘The Talk,’ comes the call, the “why don’t you want to see me anymore,” and, of course, the “you make me feel like I’m just being discarded.”

A little inside baseball for you, I was raised in large part by a stay-at-home mom who was also a drunken artist, totally self-absorbed and who REALLY got off on turning people against each other. So, for example, if my sister or I got a grade, then it was IMMEDIATELY reason for ol’ mom to look at the other of us and say, “See how much better your sibling is than you.”

When your teachers do this, it makes you competitive. When your parents do this, it makes you hate everyone else, because they are all a source of degradation. It also gives you a predatory desire to sniff out and exploit weakness, because their weakness becomes your strength by the rules of the way the game is played.

And, of course, mom clapped her hands and congratulated every vulgar act as proof that she ‘was doing a good job as a parent.’

Fast forward, the future, and the Sugar Baby who claims to just want to spend time with me, even if it’s late at night, just for a little while, just to stay in my life.

And there is honestly two parts of me that go to war. The one is soft-hearted, the one who wants to rescue every puppy in the pound, that forgives and understands every transgression and moves forward over and over again across the same rocky ground, looking for the seeds he planted.

The other says, “Wow, I could get this chick to do ANYTHING.” If you’ve ever met the guy who likes to see women together not because it’s a rush to him, but because it’s humiliating to them, or who loves to REALLY ram his cock up her ass to make sure she’s crapping blood for a week, you’ve met the guy whose mother did a number on him, and let me tell you it’s a lot more common than you think. The 70’s and 80’s parents were the 60’s imbeciles who learned to self-medicate, hallucinate and pat themselves on the backs for all of their parents’ hard work, and a good portion of them were really BAD parents for those reasons.

Not all, but a lot. And comes a point when you look at mom and dad, who whispered ‘little secrets’ about each others’ affairs and each others’ transgressions behind each others’ backs, and you have to say, “That’s not going to be,” or you get to end up like them.

So between these two little advisors, one-per-shoulder, I told the usual guy-lie of “I’m REALLY swamped with work, I don’t think I’ll even be able to see you this month.”

To which she offers to wait until next month, if we can get the relationship back.

Which is weakness, which rings all sorts of bells, which says both, “She loves you,” and “You’re the best whale she ever landed.” Thirty days with this chick cost me over $3,000 in cash, tires and furniture, and a whole week of that was her being sick.

In general, when I’m counting the money, it’s a sign to me that I don’t have feelings for the girl. You’re talking to the guy who dropped $2k on a Bowflex Tread Climber just because. In fact I’m really focused now on getting everything paid off earlier than I have to (this was the past year of the new house, the new F150 Laredo 4WD with the off-road package, the new tractor and the Little Treasure announcing that she’s marrying the walking tool). So if I don’t have her come to me with her hand out, then I’m missing nothing.

To be honest, I’m expecting her to want me to cover the cost of towing and fixing her god mother’s car, to the tune of, “Well, I paid to fix it, and now there’s no food in the house, so you’re REALLY giving me the money.” That will simply piss me off.

So, I played the passive-aggressive. “Yes, wait a month and call me if you want.” Call me, and tell me you need like $1,500 or the loan shark you had to go to will sell your daughter to an Arab sheik. Call me, and tell me that you’ve been eating Ramen for breakfast and dinner while your mom lives in your house rent-free and smokes pot that you pay for. Call me, and tell me your car’s been in a wreck because your god mother has been borrowing it, and couldn’t out run the cops and avoid a DUI.

Who knows – maybe I’ll be in such a mood from work, I’ll get to see you and some other chick spank each other or use a double-ended dildo. Wouldn’t THAT be a nice blog post?

You know, my droogies, the more time I spend in the Sugar Bowl, the more I appreciate the companionship of my dog.

Yours always,



3 thoughts on “The Begging after the Talk

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