The Worst Guy She Ever Met was… Me!!

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We all like to think of ourselves as being good, kind, caring people. Well, at least I do. Very good. Very kind. Very caring. Even if we do anything that is less than good, or kind, or caring, we justify our conduct with what, to us, seems a valid excuse (I know I should have stopped to see if he was OK, but I was running late for my nail appointment…)

When it comes to my history with women I like to see myself as a consistently caring man. I have treated women as a human beings and not just as a sexual conquests. I listened to them, considered their needs, and went out of my way to accommodate those needs.  Yes, what a paragon of good, kind and caring masculinity I was!

Well, not always…

It was early spring of 1984. Her name was Norma (no it wasn’t, but I don’t remember  her real name). I answered her personal ad in a Knoxville newspaper. We met for drinks and neither of us were creeped out by the other. She was passably attractive, well educated and bright. We ended up dating two or three times. I was my usual good, kind & caring self. We passed the sex barrier successfully and continued seeing each other.

She was a third year law student, recently divorced, and in her late thirties or early forties. I believe she had one teenage child and worked at least part time. In other words she had a lot on her plate and I’m sure there was a lot of stress in her life. I was good, kind, caring and understanding. I was there for her. She could count on me. I was a rock.

At least for a while…

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She invited me to her home the last night I saw her. She had an indoor, heated pool. We ended up, after her kid was safely asleep,  up to our necks in the relatively warm water, naked and horny. We’d had a fair amount of wine and I was only semi-hard. It was a nicely erotic interlude. I took delight in stroking her large buoyant breasts and her warm, wet cunt (and enjoyed the way her fingers teased my bobbling dick and balls).

In between french kisses and submarine fondling, she said, “You don’t know how much you’ve come to mean to me.” She put her hands around my waist and her head on my shoulder. Her damp, tangled hair cooled my bare neck and shoulder. “It’s been really, really rough for me the last month trying to handle school, my job and all.”  So looked up at me, smiled and caressed my cheek. Her other hand drifting down to my cock. “I don’t I could have made it without you – thanks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She hugged me tightly, her lips pressing into mine. A few minutes later, dripping water, we staggered to her bedroom,  then awkwardly fucked on rumpled, damp sheets.

I didn’t see her again. I didn’t even call. My conduct was pretty shitty. I knew it – I was being a worthless, cruel jerk. I still didn’t call. As the next few days, then weeks, went by I knew there was utterly no excuse for my conduct. While I wasn’t in love with Norma, I liked her well enough and she had done nothing to merit my callousness. Ordinarily I would have continued seeing her. Even if I had decided not to see her again at least I think I would have called with an explanation: some good & kind & caring brushoff (its me, not you – you’re too good for me…)

Yes, of course, I had my good excuse: Lea, another woman I had been dating casually for several months. Lea was in her thirties, childless, and a redheaded yankee from Pittsburgh with piercing, smoky eyes. For quite awhile I had tried not think my growing feelings for her meant anything serious. This is just fun, I told myself, a hot dalliance, nothing more.

Yes, I was playing the field in an understanding way. I was honest about it. I didn’t lie to any of the women I was seeing about the others.

The same week I was being so alluringly good, etc. in Norma’s pool – and bed –  I realized I was madly, deeply – hopelessly – in love with Lea. I was a little shocked by the realization. What had started as what I thought would be but a brief affair had suddenly turned into much, much more. I loved her.   For the first time in years I had no interest in other women (what was wrong with me?)

The next year we married. Twenty-seven years later we are still together. Of course I have been a good and kind and caring husband.

I have a recurrent nightmare that goes like this: I have a new, promising case, the other side hires a female lawyer who looks faintly familiar to me when I meet her the morning of the initial hearing. Just before court she’ll look at me, her hands crossed over her ample breasts,then sneer, “You don’t remember, do you, you shit bastard?”  My mouth will drop open, I’ll stutter something stupid, then look at the ground. The hearing doesn’t go well. She beats me into the ground.

At least, to my credit, I feel like a bad, callous, unfeeling son of a bitch – for the rest of the day…

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swo81’s set Best of 2012

Flickr Group: WATER HAIR

All photos by swo81. Originals and my derivatives subject to this creative commons license

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