Fuck Me, Daddy and Other Lessons (Part Two)

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Assume the postion, on all fours, say "Fuck me, Daddy," and Paul B. would come. It became the thing, the trigger for him to come. The good thing was I could end sex as quickly as I wanted. The bad thing was I could end sex as quickly as I wanted. It became boring.

(If you missed it, Part One is here.)

From that point on, that was his 'best sex ever' and it was added to our routine of daily weekday phone calls, weekly bouquets of flowers, and extravagant gifts. A diamond garnet necklace and ring set here, fancy dinners there; expensive designer dresses, and even checks left on my table when he left on Sundays. The first time he left a check I called him on his cell and asked him what the $700 was for. He just said, "For whatever you need."

He arrived on Saturday mornings, treated me like a queen by day, had me say "Fuck me, Daddy" by night, and on Sunday mornings he left me checks. Checks. Hundreds of dollars, sometimes thousands. Not that I had asked for them. Not that I really needed them. But I did cash them. Why not? He apparently didn't need or want the money.

I was bored.

Somewhere along the way I had exhausted his ability to talk books, politics or anything of substance to me. I was bored with the cheery but empty daily phone chats. I was bored with the routine of being the queen. Bored with him.

I tried to break up with him. First by pushing his limits.

One weekend he came to visit and he wanted to by a humidor. I pouted and whined that if he got a gift, I should get one too; he got me a several thousand dollar diamond tennis bracelet.

That didn't work, so I tried the old 'space' dealio. I told him on the phone not to come up that weekend, that I needed space. He said he was coming up anyway to visit his mom. He showed up at my apartment Saturday night and there I was, babysitting my niece. I didn't have the heart to be rude, especially in front of Carrie, so I let him enter.

Shortly after my niece went to sleep, my phone rang. It was Angel, my thought-to-be, but ill-fated-with-bad-timing, soulmate. We were like peas in a pod, Angel and I were. Punk-ass pals, on stand-by fuck-buddy status as needed, but always there for each other. Angel had lost a bet the week before ~ I had beat him at darts and now he said he was going to pay up and buy me the leather coat, per the bet. I turned to Paul B. who was busy on his computer, working, and said, "Hey, can you stay here while I run with Angel? He owes me a coat." Paul B. barely looked up and said, "Sure thing."

I left at 9 p.m., at the sound of Angel's truck horn. We went and got the coat, but a funny thing happend on the way back to my place. The truck took a turn and we ended up at the usual bar with the usual circle of friends, and began to drink. At mindnight I called Paul B. from the cell phone he had bought me.

"Hey, sorry, we got caught up..."

"Oh, what time is it? I fell asleep at the laptop."

"Midnight. Is Carrie OK?"

"Yeah, not a peep."

Silence.

"Well, do I need to come home?"

"No sense in that. If you're having fun, stay. Tell Angel hello for me."

"Will do," I said. And I hung up.

Angel just stood there, mouth agape, then shook his head. "You got some guy there watching Carrie?"

"Yup. And when he leaves tomorrow, I'll probably have a check for a grand too."

"Damn."

"Yeah," I said, "Damn."

I crept in at 4 a.m., with wet panties, smelling of sex, and tip-toed past a sleeping Paul B. on the couch to go to my bedroom. At 8 a.m. my sister showed up to get Carrie for church. (Yeah, some of my family does that. I'm fine with communing with god at events like I'd just had with Angel). Carrie gone, I went back to bed.

At one o'clock I got up and went to get a Diet Coke with my morning cigarette. No sign of Paul B. Except that check on the table.

I was right; it was for a grand.

 

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