Fourth of July

See me, happily sailing away from the mess that was me and Scout. No questioning what went wrong, no glancing back over my shoulder to see what's what, no moment where I miss that part of my past. So, it was perfect that my first “date” post-Scout fell on Independence Day. Couldn’t have planned that shit out better, could I have? And, to add to the festivities, it was also Twink's birthday. Two excuses to go out and to bad things? How could I refuse?

So I called up Stalker. Don't worry, this one's the good kind of stalker: naughty messages, free beer and inappropriate comments that would drive your lover bonkers (if they were sane to begin with, that is). And you know what? My stalker's fucking hot. So I thought let's get stalked tonight.

Cut to the Dive Bar. We met up with Duck and Goose (who have been, sadly, not giving me much fun stuff for this here column by getting along too damn well) and helped Twink celebrate turning a year older. But have no fear, he is not a year wiser. In fact, he may be working backwards. Okay, that was kind of mean. We love Twink. He is... well, you know how some people can only be described in one word? And that one word is just their name? Yea, that's Twink.

Puma. There's another one word his name describes him type person was there. There he was, innocently flirting with someone's date (and honestly, had he realized this particular person was with someone, it still would have been innocent), when he realized his new buddy was taken. Kind of. You know that period between one night stand and possibility of more? That's where this person is (sorry, no cutesy nickname comes to mind... yet). And Puma, being drunk (okay, shit-housed plastered), he took the news with a less than calm reaction: he up and stormed out. And was heard from for the rest of the night. And while I do know what led up to this strange, booze-fueled outburst, I am not sharing. Don't like it? Too friggin' bad.

Don't you wish you were me?

Anyways, a couple of yum-yum-yummy drinks (JD Tennessee Honey is fraking good!), a horrid game of pool and some major drama from Puma, Stalker and I decided to keep the fun (and frisk) going at Duck and Goose's house. While they brought a barely coherent Twink home to a (possibly) re-sobered Cougar, Stalker and I headed straight for Duck and Goose's place. Calm down. Nothing happened... mostly, at least. Just a bit of the touch and grope. Clothing stayed on. At this point at least.

And before any could come off, Duck and Goose were home. Duck, as is his way, headed straight to bed, leaving Goose, Stalker and myself to find amusement on our own. And Goose being Goose, like two things best when drunk: cooking (she's Italian, she says) and showing off Evil Goose (yes, a real life feathered Goose – called evil due to her evil waddle of death and doom!). And seeing this was the first time Stalker was in her home, Evil Goose-time it was.

Ever seen two full grown peoples fawn over a ball of angry, honking, PTSD-inflicted feathers? Yes, the Evil One is a massacre survivor. She saw all of her Goose-family torn to shreds by an to date unknown assailant. Following this traumatic event, she lived in the basement fortwo years. Now, she lives on the second floor deck and even had a Canadian boyfriend last year. She's come so far...

Anyhow, after poultry play time was over, Goose (human not avian) decided food was in order and went full on Italian at two-thirty in the morning. And Stalker and I took advantage of the alone time.

Friendly tip: Always check the bathroom door for locks before removing pants when getting frisky in a house where the other awake person is drunk. Said drunk person will forget where you and your naughty-time partner are in the bathroom and attempt to enter. Oops.

A week later, Goose was still with the I'm sorry-ness. Its kind of funny at this point (mostly cause nothing was seen). Least she wasn't there Friday night/Saturday morning. Yea, we decided the next round would be at Stalker's home. And I have no problem telling you that that was some good surprise sex. Only I could consider sex a surprise when nudity was already occurring. I know, I have interesting ways. And Stalker was loving every single one of them.

No, we are not a WE. Still a ME and ME. And who knows, the whole WE-ness may never even become real. Right now, its just two people having a hell of a time sinning the shit out of each other. There's been no contact since that last sweaty-time meet and more-than-greet, but that's okay. Sex minus the dating is so much simpler. You get there, get off and get gone. No need for any of that oh baby love you miss you complications. Not that I would mind that, if that's where this leads. But honestly, right now, I'm good without it. After all, Scout totally screwed the pooch with the whole Its over cause my life is so fucked up message. On Facebook. Yea, sweet with the break ups, no? Stalker, on the other hand, is only concerned with screwing me.

What do you expect? I renewed my Whore-card.