Fuck Me, Daddy and Other Lessons (Part One)
How one relationship prepared me for being a whore.
I met Paul B. at a block party ~ on the very block where DeeDee and Kat both used to live. (Ahh, the Good Old Days of Bramble.) The block party had started as one family's graduation party, for a daughter going to 8th grade, and as this mom (we'll call her Bonnie) was of the sort we Unholy liked, she invited the whole block along with family.
Bonnie and her family were warm ~ a bit wild and 'rowdy' as we kids used to say ~ but truly some of the kindest people you ever could meet. We three girls would often spend time with Bonnie because she was one rockin' good time. If you ever wanted to dance in the rain, Bonnie was your girl. But I digress.
So Bonnie, Kat, DeeDeee and I all sat 'round, drinking beer & wine coolers on this lovely June evening, when a very tall man awkwardly approached us. His name was Paul B. (and he must be called Paul B. because he had to use his full name, last and first, whenever introducing himself, answering his phone, etc.).
Paul B. was Bonnie's cousin. Nearly a foot taller than I and of Irish decent he was fair skinned and had a head of red hair with a shock of white at the front. (At 35 he was only 5 years older than I, but had that premature grey going on.) He lived in Chicago, made $100,000 a year (working corporate training sessions for software all over the US, so it was rather part time work), and was rather intelligent, if a bit well, socially retarded. As Gracie is an open, tolerant, talkative sort, Paul B. planted himself, mesmerized, in the chair next to her and only left to fetch her more wine coolers.
Full of wine coolers, and not being an idiot, I spend the night at DeeDee's house. Yup, with Paul B. No sex, mind you. Heavy petting, kissing, and he was good enough to have me grind myself to happiness on his thigh; but he didn't even get a bare tit. We both crashed on the floor at DeeDee's and by morning Paul was my puppy dog.
He left that afternoon and then began the daily phone calls and plans to visit the next weekend. Two days after I met him, Hawaiian flowers were delivered to my home with a note about seeing me that weekend. I flirted shamelessly, but assured him while he was welcome to stay at my place, he would not get into my panties.
That Saturday he arrived mid-morning and said let's go shopping. A stop at the bookstore where we talked endlessly about literature in the cafe, then we went up the road to a strip mall. I was having a glorious time, so I didn't really notice the destination until he was opening the glass door with the big diamond on the front ~ a jewelry store. My first thought was that he needed to buy a gift for his mom. Bonnie's Aunt Diana (and therefore mine too) had a birthday the next week. I watched him look at pins and pendants, proffered my opinions, and then he asked me my favorite stone. "Tanzanite," I replied quickly. (I was, and still am, enamored with the periwinkle stone.) We looked at the display case of Tanzanite while the saleswoman wrapped up a pair of earrings for Aunt Diana. Time killing, or so I thought, but next I knew, another sales person was placing a ring on my finger. Not just any ring, but a $2,000+ ring. (And this is mid 90's prices, kids.) It was stunning.
Paul B. says, "Stick with me, four weeks, and I'll get that ring for you."
I just laughed.
The saleswoman came back with Aunt Diana's earrings, and Paul B. says, "I'll pay half now, and I'll be back in 4 weeks to pay it off and pick it up." I was so stunned I didn't say anything.
On the way out the door he says, "Baby, I'm so sure of us, I'm getting you that ring." His playful, almost cocky attitude surprised me for a man who was normally so unsure of himself with me. So I teased him. "You know, a ring like that, maybe we should have got bridal magazines at the bookstore." "Let's see if we make the ring first," was his calm reply.
We went out to eat next and he began talking about 'us' in such a fashion that I ended up blurting something like, "So sure you're gonna see me again? It's not like the ring's on my finger yet, you know..." He laughed, but you know what? Right after we ate, we went back to the jewelry story and he paid the ring off and put it on my finger. (I still have it.)
I was so shocked, I didn't know what to say. I suppose you could say I just beamed stupidly.
After that, we continued to have a good time. Night at the movies and all the typical date stuff. He spend the night at my home, but never made a move past a little good night kiss. I figured he was just now realizing how freaked I was at what he had done, so he wasn't going to push anything. He left the next morning.
Daily phone calls during the week, more flowers, and promises of another visit the next weekend.
He arrived mid-morning again. We shopped again (but nothing so extravagant). No sex and he left on Sunday. Repeat a week of phone calls, flowers and promises. Oh, and copies of Bride Magazine mysteriously arrived at the house. Aunt Diana was thrilled.
The third visit I had an art show and Paul B. helped all day with setup, sales, bringing me food, and take down. That night I put out. He left on Sunday after we had dinner at Aunt Diana's house. Followed by a week of calls and flowers ~ and phone sex too.
The next weekend, I went to visit him in Chicago. A deluxe apartment in the sky (Jefferson would have been proud), complete with valet, concierge and doorman. This time, I was the one leaving on Sunday.
During that week I was hit with some money issues and Paul B. quickly proffered his credit card and paid my juried art show fees. His visit that weekend we went to the local mall and I helped him buy some suits for work, and went to pick up some jewelry I was having sized. (With the addition of the new Tanzanite ring, I had another ring made smaller to fit on a different finger.)
I produced my repair slip and the lady scuttled off to find my ring. When she returned, she had me check the work, then turned to Paul B. and asked him for the payment. Feeling guilty over his generosity for paying my show fees, I quickly tossed my credit card on the counter and said it was my bill, I'd pay it. She was a bit embarrassed and said, "Oh, we just always assume dads will pay for their daughter's jewelry," then turned to the register to run my card. Paul B. and I look at each other and just about died trying not to laugh.
The whole afternoon I called him 'Daddy.'
That night in bed, he asked me to call him 'Daddy.' I did. The next time we had sex, it was doggy style, and he asked me to say, "Fuck me, Daddy." And I did.
And that's when it started to go downhill for me.