Your Sillies and Restless Legs

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Yosemite Sam & Sex, Me and Scorpio III

Dears,
While reviewing your comments, I uncovered some rage from Mr. Roy Dahlin. Seems he was a tad upset to be linked to my Doggydoodoo post when he instead researched Sonny Bono.
   Roy Dahlin For crying out loud, how the Hell does "Sonny Bono" turn up "waaahhh Donald Trump racist?" I am sick of Google hamfisting whiny brainless liberal BS into literally every damn search. Scooby Doo, John Wayne, and Yosemite Sam do not mean "waaaahhh republicans are racist Donald Trump racist teabaggers racist ted cruz racist waaaaaahhhh." There's more from Roy, including sweet details regarding bodily injury all liberal minded folks are due. Don't worry, his page reads "This is the end." And I certainly responded to Roy in my usual caring manner (see last comment here). What I really don't understand though . . .Yosemite Sam? With that loud proud orange facial hair and skin, a fetish for frenzied shooting at the -Hello!- Gray-White-mixed-hybrid-who's-thus-clearly-an-immigrant rabbit? Yosemite's NOT a racist? Poor Roy. He ain't the brightest twit in the hamfisted pig's punch. Is he?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Now, back to me and Scorpio

   I processed Scorpio’s words: "It feels so right." Feels so right. So right. It did. I caved.
   "D’you wanna go to my bedroom?"
   "Yeah." Thank goodness he answered correctly.
    Scorpio carried me to my bed, clothes lost along the way somehow, or were already lost. I don’t remember.
   "Sorry, the mattress is weird and lumpy," I explained, as if he was listening. "I’m in-between beds, getting a new frame. I thought it’d help us take things slow -" Kissing, stroking, and deep breathing ensued. "It’s awkward I know . . . " He worked at the goal. I rambled. "Sorry… mm, mmm." Scorpio made an attempt. Sh*t! It didn’t work. Why must I attract all the men in the world with penile incompetence? I’m so damn frustra-- Wait, I spoke, er thought, too soon. He’s in. Oh, oh, oh my, this is good. Really, really, who knew it could be so good? "Oh my God, Oh God, Oh my God." 
   The neighbors likely thought I’d just become Born Again. Again. And again. Again. Suffice it to say, especially for a man in his fifties, Scorpio greatly impressed and pleased me over and over that night. And again. Maybe I just needed a man with loads of speed in his system. The guy’s fast with relentless stamina. He was also generous, gentle, and in control. I couldn’t believe it.
   While I didn’t stop to set up the cameras, dears, I did get this photo at another time shortly thereafter. 

    After several hours of ecstatic loving, Scorpio sat up on his knees and pressed his arms down his meaty thighs as if to soothe them. "The only thing about me," he said, "I have Restless Leg Syndrome."
   "I’m sorry." I sat up with him. "What can I do honey?" I gently stroked his arm.
   "Nah nothing, I just need to drink more water. When I get like this, it’s worse if you touch me."
   "Oh okay." I dropped my arm. "It’s alright. I mean, that’s lousy. I know a couple that sleeps separately because he has a bad case of it."
   "Yeah, I need a hard surface."
   Um, okay. I, well, gave Scorpio a sheet and blanket to sleep away from me and in the living room. Then I fell asleep alone on our first night "together," my first night with someone else, but alone, in two years. In a couple, at last. (?)
 To be continued.

Cleaverness & Scorpio Man and Me, II.

Dears, 
It's December, so I'm going to mix in year-end sillies with my Scorpio story. Remember the cleaver guy? This was his dating ad headline: *Insert cleaverness here*. I responded: Okay. *Ward, I think you were too hard on the Beaver last night.* 
 The "thrushworthy" fellow was also in that batch.

A few of your stellar responses: 

Just Keepin It Real, Folks! These dudes clearly did not get the memo that yesterday was the busiest day of the year for online dating. However, if you don't half to look no more, go with a caped crusader 'cause thrush is nasty, you might not wanna get down, and there was somethin' not quite right about those Cleavers.

Elsie Amata Reason #375: Are you sure it's not Norman Bates? "Coming, Mother!"
Alex J. Cavanaugh Like the last one, Robyn! Although you never want to be too hard on the beaver...

Birgit I think that Ward was looking for his gril friend but may have ended up with thrush

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Me and Mr. Scorpio, II~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Good morn." I texted the next day. "Possible to resched 4 tmrrw?" I wasn’t ready to have my life taken off-course, as if one day would make all the difference.

"Thats fine," he wrote.
                                                                     ----
    Scorpio drove towards a prime destination for hikers known as Upper Park in Chico’s glorious Bidwell Park. We gabbed like two besties who hadn’t seen each other in years, sweetened by a layer of I want you.
    "To tell you the truth," I rambled, "I don’t want to rush things. When things start too fast, they end too fast, and I don’t have good luck. I mean I have rotten luck with men and I self-sabotage by sharing too much and I get angry, really angry and emotional, when I'm hurt and you don’t mind if I write about you, do you? . . . "
   "No, that's what you do. When you cancelled yesterday, I thought 'What did I do wrong?' But then you checked in this morning, so it's all good. I had a big smile on my face since Friday night. People were like 'what's he so happy about?'. . ."
   Fresh Fall air enticed us, as we shut the car doors. We chose a popular and semi-rigorous trail. Hand in hand, Scorpio and I worked our way down steep slopes of dirt and scattered shrubbery. Eventually, we settled into a soft sandy patch of earth. Scorpio opened his backpack and pulled out a box of crackers, small block of cheese, salami, and a pocket knife. We munched slowly, taking it all in. The sparkly, cool water – run-off from the Sacramento River – was livened by mini-waterfalls.
    Interim kissing and gentle hugs landed amid his expressions of gratitude for having met me. I felt free and just plain 'ole happy. At the same time, yeah, what’s going to go wrong? Maybe nothing. Maybe he's a keeper. Right? And he's a good challenge. See, I’m a close-minded snob about education and job status (as if I, or anyone, has the right to be). Scorpio is neither a high level professional nor well educated. But he's bright and doesn't likely spell "college," "collage." Plus, he was a meth addict and terribly addicted years ago. I’m a good girl who never even touched a bubble gum cigarette.
   "So what about tattoos?" I asked. "Am I the only one without a tattoo or drug history in this town?"
    Yep. He confessed to having two, on the back of each shoulder. Kind of exciting; I’d never dated a tatted man before.
. . . Hours later, same day, on my cushy loveseat, he affectionately ran his fingers through wavy locks of hair along the side of my face. We kissed, and we kissed, and repeated the same.
   "I know we should take it slow," I said softly. "I mean, I was determined to."
   "It feels so right," he whispered.
    That near climactic movie screen moment arrived: Will she see his tattoos? Will she see anything else? Will she take photos for you?
to be continued.