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Archive for the month “March, 2013”

WWWBT 2 – Where the WWBT tells us about CF and some blue eyes

(…)

It’s not easy to get up after the one hundred beers from last night. Tomcat is more precise and more convincing than any alarm clock. And he’s persistent! I’d take him and lock him in the living room, but I have to wake up.

Breakfast exercises. Barely conscious, on an empty stomach, I have to do squats and burpees. That’s the rule in the Challenge. The videos which should explain us the moves are more concupiscent than fitness explanatory. Some of them, I admit. Or I’m still stuck in the last days delirious sexual outrage with young Mr. Rob. But I’m not gonna reminiscence about things that are even more revolting – for a shy, conservative, stubborn, 40 years old lady – than those read in 50 SHADES OF GREY. Oh, now that I remember. They shouldn’t sell these books to single ladies. Or they should put a warning, or make a bundle and sell it with a vibrator. Come on, marketing people, I bet you can come up with something!

So… reminiscence… Ok… Maybe a little…

He’s got blue eyes. Of course. Wonderful blue eyes that he keeps half close, as if he’s just waking up, or almost falling asleep, or ready to come… You never know. He moves slowly, hypnotizing, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. And he’s pretty much aware of it.

He starts by sending me pictures of him. In the bathroom, with just a towel around his waist, the mirror is steamy and the pic is a teaser, but I can still count the squares on his abs.

He’s literally a dream come true. He’s the most beautiful man who has ever told me he liked me. I mean, ok, I wasn’t born yesterday, of course it was a text, but who cares? For a couple of hours, I was the happiest woman alive.

What followed is wild and if someone is saving the streams on Skype, I hope they really enjoyed what they saw and won’t post it to some adult site or anything.

The morning routine is not bad. I wouldn’t say I enjoy it, but it gives me a boost of energy for the rest of the day that I’m very much appreciative of. Although, I can think of another morning routine…

He’s kneeling between her open legs. He’s gently sliding his palms under her buttocks, lifting her pelvis up and down… She’s feeling her core muscles contracting, as if doing sit ups…

Not very convincing. Regardless of the topic, I end up talking about burpees, oat bran, 1 mile running PB (personal best)… I dream of a 5 minute one when I grow up.

Maybe I should really hit that shower and go to the office. It’s late already.

(…)

I’m wearing a grey blouse, and my white bras is slightly visible, but in a decent manner, proper for a day in the office. The cleavage may be considered naughty, but I don’ t have time to analyze it too much, Dana is asking me to go to her desk. I drop the laptop and I head toward her desk, strutting in my brown boots.

She’s signaling me to approach her face, and she’s whispering secretively:

‘Honey, you’re nipples are showing.’

I burst into a noisy laughter – on the inside, of course, it’s a crazy party inside my head, Rob would be thrilled.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. I’m still decent for the office. Time to do some work.

WWWBT 1 – Meet the Woman With the Bloody Tomcat

1.

My friend, Lara, has been pushing me to write about my men. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not collecting men, I don’t work in the industry and, just for the record, I haven’t had sex in quite some time. Real one, I mean. The dream sex or the accidental Skype ones don’t count, right?

When you’re 40, not that ‘appetizing’ like the young, slim, glittering ladies wondering around in the open air – yes, they’re 20, what do they care?, pathologically shy, and sometimes blonder that one should ever be, the chances to find a decent guy in this city are … How should I put it to get the right image from the first shot? Like winning a Pulitzer price with a text like this. DITO.

‘Make it funny. Some sort of a Bridget Jones’ diary. Sex and the city. And don’t forget to give all the dirty details on the Skype adventure with the young Mr. Rob.’

‘Sex and the City? I’m not that good of a writer. Can I write instead about my trainings with Circuit Factory? They’re as sweaty and demanding like the real stuff, you know? I’m all worn out after a session.’

Lara looks at me and drinks from her beer. It’s a peaceful evening, and we’d gotten out to a small pub in a hotel nearby. To meet men. Socialize. Have some ridiculously expensive beers, watching two or three matches in the same time, having to scream to one another in order to hear us. And of course, the men were all watching the games too. It’s fun, though. Especially because she’s paying.

She’s going to the bathroom, and I’m all alone with my thoughts again. The guy on the right seems cute, as much as I can figure out by watching his nape. I check my phone, no message from Rob.

Rob is 31, he’s somewhere very far away from me, he’s got the most concupiscent blue eyes I’ve ever allowed to see me naked over Skype. And…

‘So, no more beer for a month?’

Yeah, tomorrow I start the challenge with Circuit Factory. It’s my third one, and I’m decided not to cheat anymore – meaning clean diet and no more sneaky glasses of wine before going to bed.

I’ve started this relationship sometime last year, in August. More seriously in November. And it’s been more rewarding than any of my latest relationships. Except for the one with my Tomcat.

He’s always there for me. Mostly because I don’t allow him to get out of the apartment. And not that he didn’t try to. Several times, actually. And I’m moody, and I leave him alone, and when I’m with him I mind my own business and even if he tries to beg for a little affection, I’m still very stingy and I rather read a book or waste my time on Facebook than pet him a little. Poor bastard!

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