Is the Joke on Me?

I get home one night after a great day at work to check my winks on a dating service.  I’m feeling really good, happy and want to see if the day can bring more smiles.

I see that I have a few winks.  I realize that I have winks from men with pictures of themselves on vacation in their swim suits, sucking in their 9-month pregnant bellies with a cocktail in hand.  Who are they fooling?  I can see that they are holding their breath so much they are turning blue.  They want to seem worldly and traveled, but all I see is that they need to do a couple extra or a couple extra thousand sit-ups!

All pictures have lovely sunsets or oceans in the background – but I can’t help but notice that the women they are with have been, not discreetly, taken out of the photo.   The men have ripped the photos in half with such vigor you can see the pain they have endured with the jagged edges or they took to the eraser tool in PhotoShop as if it were a knife and were continually stabbing the poor soul trying with all their might to make them disappear.

But within all this turmoil, I see one poor puppy honestly looking for his new found love.  I peruse his page and find out he’s a single guy of a couple years.  He owns his own construction company, no children, works hard and just wants to find a friend with the possibility of more.  He loves to travel; he’s Christian and somewhat good looking.   I wink back and soon we are exchanging emails and phone numbers.

The next night, I get ready for bed in comfortable flannel pajamas (Oh yeah, sexy flannel pajamas!  You haven’t heard of them?  Hmm . . . neither have I.), phone by the bed and remote in hand and Beverly Hills Housewives on the TV.  Once I’m settled, my phone rings.  I pick it up and take a gander.  Oh God, here we go.  I’ve got to get myself prepared to talk to another stranger.   

“Hello?”

“Cheetahort?  Hi this is Pot Head.” I find out later this is a good name for him.

We get along well and decide to meet.  Because he lives a considerable distance away we decide on a Chammps halfway between our two homes. 

“Now, Cheetahtort, I need to tell you something.  I don’t drink.”

Now, why doesn’t this guy drink?  Is he another alcoholic?  Is he another drug user?  Don’t be so pessimistic, Cheetahtort.

“Well, that’s fine, Pot Head, that doesn’t bother me.” 

“Don’t judge me that I don’t drink and I won’t judge you that you do, ” he says almost defensively.

Now, why would he say that?  Didn’t I just say it doesn’t bother me?  Is he already upset with me?  Are we having our first fight?

I stop to think, did I use my outside voice when I was wondering if he was an alcoholic?  Is he Edward Cullen and can read my thoughts?  Well, we all know there’s only one Edward.  I’ll give that last sentence some pause because it deserves it.  Back to the story . . . and I really don’t think I spoke those words out loud.  I’m pretty good at keeping my thoughts to myself at least in the beginning.

“OK . . . “  I say in return not really knowing how to reply and even wondering if I want to meet him after he said that.  The red flags have returned and my gut is saying let this one go.  But what fun would that be if I had stayed home?  If I had stayed home I wouldn’t be writing about it for your enjoyment. J

“It’s just whenever I say that I don’t drink; the women decide not to see me.  It makes me angry that a guy just can’t go out and not drink on a date.”

“Well, like I said before, that doesn’t bother me,”  I say knowing it obviously does, only because it usually means they have a horrible story to tell me.  If a guy just doesn’t like to drink and doesn’t have a horrible story to explain why, I don’t care.  But 99% of the time it comes with the baggage.

“Good, I will meet you there at 7 SHARP!”  He says with authority. 

Normally, I like a guy that takes control, but for some reason the hair on the back of my neck starts to rise.  Another red flag?

I make it to Chammps at 6:55 because I don’t want Mr. Pot Head upset.  I sit in the lobby waiting and waiting and waiting.

I make a call to Maddie. . .

“Why are all my dates late?”  I say when she answers the phone.

“He’s late?   Didn’t he say ‘SHARP’?”  She laughs knowing this one is going to make the blog.

“It’s now 7:15 and not even a phone call to say he’s late,”  I say all disgusted.  “I’m leaving at 7:30.”

“I don’t blame you.  I’ll stay on the phone with you until he shows.”

We laugh and imagine all the stories he will have for why he’s late or we imagine what this one looks like.  For instance, he’s busy trying to make himself look younger and it took longer than he though to trim his nose and ear hair.  He had to beg his parents to let him out because he was recently grounded for not taking out the trash.  His parole officer was calling at 7:05 to make sure he was staying in.  Or his wife was following him and he had to stop her and tell her to go back home where she belongs and that this is none of her business.

As we are laughing, a man walks in that looks just like the picture.  He stops in front of me, stares for a moment, points to the men’s room and runs in that direction without saying a word.

“Umm, Maddie.  He just walked in, took a look at me and walked into the men’s room without saying anything!”

“What?”

“Yeah – he looked right at me.  He knows it’s me!  But didn’t say anything!  What’s that all about?”

“Ooooo, this is going to be a good one!  Can’t wait to hear the story.  Call me when you are out of there!”

“Will do,” I say hanging up.

Pot Head walks out of the bathroom blowing his nose. 

“Hey.  Hi,” he says while still wiping his nose.

“Hi,” I say getting up but not wanting to shake his hand after seeing what he was doing, because that’s just gross.

I take a close look at this one.  He does look like his pictures – but he must be photogenic because he looks a lot better on-line. 

He’s tall and skinny like he hasn’t eaten in months.  He has Wrangler jeans with white tennis shoes on and a button down Izod shirt.

“Let’s go to the bar,” he says turning and not looking back to see if I’m following.

No - ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pot Head.’  -or- No, ‘I’m so very sorry for being late.’

I follow him into the bar, with shoulders hung low, wondering why oh why am I not just walking to my car? 

We belly up.

“I had to use the bathroom before I met you,” he says sitting down.

Still, no apologies.  This isn’t going to go well.

“I saw that.  I hope you are OK.  I thought we were meeting at 7 SHARP,”  I say in my most sarcastic voice. 

The bartender comes over.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a Mike’s Hard Lemonade.” He says dismissing or ignoring my question.

I look over to him in shock.  Didn’t he tell me on the phone that he doesn’t drink?  Didn’t he say ‘Don’t judge me that I don’t drink and I won’t judge you if you do?’ 

“Pot  Head?  Right?”  I say questioning if this is the right guy.  He looks like the right guy.  I remember another date where I was waiting for the guy show up.  As I was waiting I see a guy that resembles the pictures and think oh yeah that’s him and give him a big smile, start to stand and give him my hand to shake, only to find out I wasn’t right at all.  That guy gave me an awkward smile, walked past me to hug his girlfriend.  Yep, I felt stupid.

“Yeah, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he finally says.

The bartender is still looking at me for my drink order.

“Michelob Golden Draft Light, please.”  I say smiling at the bartender.  I need a drink to get through this. 

The look on the bartender’s face is priceless.  I’m sure he sees first dates all the time and I’m imagining him wanting to listen to our conversation more after seeing this awkward introduction.

I look back to Pot Head with my questioning face.

“What?” he says defensively.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” I say but that wasn’t the only question running through my head.  What man orders a Mike’s Hard Lemonade?  Seriously, isn’t that a girly drink?

“I don’t.”

“Ummmm – the last time I checked there was alcohol in a Mike’s Hard Lemonade,” I reply not caring how my tone sounded.

“Oh, there isn’t enough in one of those!  Come on!” he says rolling his eyes.

Oh good God, here we go.  But I’m not judging!

We get our drinks, get settled and start our awkward conversation.

I find out that he doesn’t actually own the construction company but his Dad does and his Dad hired him as the office manager.

“I have a secretary and my own office,” he says trying to impress me.

“She’s absolutely horrible, I need to fire her but my Dad won’t let me. “  That sentence has me spitting out my beer.  Ahh, poor little Pot Head, control freak doesn’t have control.

“What?” he says after seeing my reaction.  “I ask her to do things for me and she can never get them right!  I’m not a control freak or anything; I just like things done MY WAY.”

I have my game-face showing just wanting to get out of here.  I’ve stopped listening to him because I’m planning my getaway.

“I have to go to the men’s room.  Don’t leave!”  He says not in his authoritative voice, but more in a begging/submissive way.

“I’ll be here,” I say quietly, but thinking this might be my chance.

“Seriously – don’t leave!”

“Why do you think I’m going to leave?”  I say with my face all crinkled with question.

“I’ve been on dates where I go to use the restroom and I come back and they are gone.  Don’t do that!”

I’m laughing inside but say “I won’t, I promise.”  I wished I had the guts the other women had.

He leaves. 

The bartender gives me a look that screams, “Run!”  I really should, but I don’t.  I sit there and wait . . . and wait . . . and wait.  I wait so long that I think he’s actually left me and I’m sitting there like a fool.  After 15 minutes, I stand up to leave when he returns.  Damn!

What?  Did he have a bout with Montezuma’s Revenge?  What on earth could keep a guy that long?

I find out later.

“So, Cheetahtort, tell me a little bit about yourself.  What do you like to do?  What are your interests?

I start to answer him when he interrupts me. 

“I should tell you that I got into a bit of trouble recently.”

I stop mid-sentence.  O.K.  Here we go – the spilling of the guts and the horrific stories.  This is my favorite part with these kinds of dates.  Usually, by this time I know I don’t ever want to see the guy again, so I might as well enjoy the stories.  But I wonder . . . do these guys make up these stories to get out of bad dates?  If that’s the case – you don’t need to be so creative and so self-deprecating.  Just say goodbye.  But this guy delivers his story. 

“A year ago, I got into a car accident.  I had been drinking and wrapped my truck around a pole.  It was pretty bad.  I was in a coma for 12 days.  I’m still going through physical therapy.  This was my fourth drinking and driving offense.  That’s why I don’t drink anymore.  So I now live with my parents because of all the bills.  It’s not all that bad.  I have the entire basement to myself.” 

“So, you don’t drink anymore?”  I ask looking at his drink.

“Nope, now when I want to loosen up I just smoke pot.  I love smoking pot.  I’ve tried other drugs but pot is my drug of choice.  Love it.  Just love it!  Do you smoke? We could go back to my place and do a bit,” he asks like this is the question I’ve been waiting for all evening.

“Ummm . . . no.   I don’t smoke pot or do any drugs,” I answer in my disgusted voice.

He must not have heard the disgusted tone as he said, “No?  Really?  I think you’d like it!  We could have some fun!”

Was that what he was doing when he went to the men’s room?  Did he actually go out to his car to smoke a bowl or a one-hitter or whatever these pot heads call it?  Timing would be right. 

“As exciting as that all sounds . . . going back to your parent’s basement and getting high with you, I think I’ll pass.”

He looks at me disappointed and I’m not quite sure he heard or understood my insults. 

“I’ve got to be getting home.  Thank you for tonight.  It’s been real.”

“Already?  The night has just started.  I don’t want to say goodbye yet.  Please stay.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m tired and need to be at work in the morning,” I say trying my best to get out.

“Here, I’ll walk you out,” He says looking defeated.

Wonderful.

We walk out and he starts turning right and I turn left. 

“No, this way.  My truck is this way,” He says trying to take my hand.  

“Oh – well, then have a good night.”  I put my hands in my pockets and turn the other way.

“No, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s OK – I’m fine,” I say exasperated.

“Oh look at those two.” He points to a couple standing next to their cars making out.

“Looks like they had a good date,” he says looking at me like that’s how our night should end.

“Yeah – it does.  We didn’t.”  With that I said, “Goodnight,” and walked away.

The next day I’m at Bethany’s pool laying in the sun and reliving my horrible date story.  My phone rings.

I grab the phone to see Pot Head calling. 

Really? 

I wait to listen to his voicemail message and play it for the people lying in the sun with me. 

“Cheetahtort, Pot Head here.  Had a great time with you last night.  Can’t wait to see you again.”

We all have a great laugh at him.  I honestly thought it was all a horrible joke on my part to get out of a bad date.    

But, later that day, he called again. 

“Hey Cheetahtort – Pot Head here – I haven’t heard from you.  It would be nice if you would call back – we need to get together soon.”

I’m still not 100% sure this wasn’t all a joke or if someone can be that clueless.  Most likely he’s just in a pot smoke haze.

Dallas

This one is dedicated to my dear dear friend Dallas.  Your friendship mean so much.  I hope you enjoy this story.  I had a blast writing it.

Dallas

When I was younger, I worked at a company that managed the troubled savings and loans.  My title was the Credit Committee Secretary.  That meant I helped the asset managers with their proposals for managing the assets they were assigned.  This also meant that I would attend the Credit Committee meetings.  These meetings lasted all day, starting at 7 AM and ending late in the evening.  The length of these meetings was not the only horrible part of attending; the senior manager, (Dick) would criticize, berate, and shout at the young asset managers, rarely praising them.  Luckily, he liked me and for some reason I could do no wrong in his eyes.  I wouldn’t have lasted long if he treated me the same way. 

I had the awesome job of collecting the next victim to present their proposal.  Sometimes I felt like the grim reaper delivering these poor souls to their death.  I think they hid from me because they were so nervous and I would actually have to track them down; sometimes in a bathroom stall.  I don’t blame them as they knew for certain they would soon be losing their head.  It made for very long days.  Until Dallas.

Dick was so irritated and disgusted with the quality of work our local asset managers were producing that he sent for one of the top asset managers from the corporate office in Texas; someone he has worked with for a number of years and trusted completely.  Dallas.

He walked in one morning and the mood in the office changed. 

Dallas rolled up his sleeves and got to work right away.  He met with each asset manager, went through their current proposals with them and gave them direction. 

I had my eye on him.  He was tall with a nice body, good looking, brunette and the sexiest southern drawl and smile. 

I soon found out that he had his eye on me as well. 

During our long committee meetings he sat directly across from me.  When he wasn’t giving direction, his opinions or words of encouragement, he was smiling my way.   When I had to leave the room to either collect the next presenter or order our lunches, he would watch me.  This excited me.

I brought our lunches into the conference room as we had to work through lunch.  I got a brownie in my boxed lunch.

“Cheetahtort – you got a brownie?  Hmmmm  I should have asked for one of those.  Looks … delicious,” Dallas said with his dangerous smile.

“Would you like a bite?  I’m willing to share,” I say holding up the brownie to him but then get embarrassed as I see Dick look over to me, down to the brownie and then back to Dallas.

I instantly put the brownie down and shyly smile to Dick.  “I would have offered you some too – but you have your own,” I say and then smile back to Dallas.

Dallas sits back, smiles and shakes his head in amusement. 

A week later, Dick tells me Dallas is coming back into town.  I can’t hide my excitement but then realize its Dick telling me this and not a girlfriend of mine.  I restrain myself to answer with an “OK, what do you need for me to do?”

“He’s not coming alone, Bob is also joining him.  Set up their accommodations.  Dallas liked the Embassy Suites last time.  Thanks Cheetahtort.”  He walked away with a small smile on his face.  Even though Dick was a “Dick” to the asset managers, he always treated me with kindness and almost like a daughter.  I think he knows I’m interested and enjoys seeing me excited.

I quickly call to make arrangements for Dallas, oh and Bob too.  Then I’m off to shop for some cute outfits for the next week.

Wednesday morning arrives and I wear the cutest outfit I found on my last shopping trip, short black skirt, white tight shirt with black poka dots, black jacket and the hottest black high-heeled sandals.  Dick walks by my desk.

“Cheetahtort . . . , you look very nice today,” Dick says smiling, walking into his office.  He knows this outfit is for Dallas and is making fun of me!  Ah, who cares, let’s just hope Dallas likes it.

“I agree with Dick.  You do . . .  look very nice today,” Dallas says surprising me from behind.

“Aaaa!  You scared me!”  I say with a jump and putting my hand to my chest.

He instantly reaches out and grabs my arm.  “I’m so sorry Cheetahtort, I didn’t mean to scare you.  This is Bob.  Bob, Cheetahtort,” Dallas says introducing me.

I stand up to shake Bob’s hand but all I can think about is Dallas’ hand on my arm.

“Very nice to meet you, Cheetahtort.  I’ve heard very nice things about you,” says Bob shaking my hand.

Very nice things?  From who?  Dick or Dallas?

As the day goes on – I see Dallas helping out the asset managers and every once in a while smiling in my direction.  Later in the day, he comes up to my desk.

“So I hear a couple people are going to the Monte Carlo for drinks tonight.  Are you going?” Dallas asks me while bending over my desk.

“I don’t even know where that is,” I say back feeling like I should and I’m out of the loop. 

“Well, that makes three of us.  Bob and I are thinking of going.  Would you like to join us?”

“Um . . . . Yeah – I think I can do that,” I try to sound nonchalant.

“Why don’t you meet us at the hotel, they have a free happy hour.  We can start there and then head out to meet the rest,” Dallas says with his drawl.

I agree and am thanking God that I wore my hot outfit that can go from office to bar with just taking off a jacket.

I make it to the Embassy Suites and walk to the bar.  I see Dallas and Bob waiting for me.  I approach and the two of them stand.  I’ve never, ever experienced this . . .  true southern gentlemen. 

They both smile and say welcome.  I sit down and Dallas quickly calls over the waiter to order me a drink. 

I’m sitting next to Dallas and trying my best to be confident, but shaking in my new high heels.

Dallas sees this and puts a hand on my knee and whispers to me, “You’re fine.”

I take a deep breath, take a large gulp of my beer and start to enjoy the evening.

Bob is a kind and wonderful man.  The two of them have known each other for years.  You can tell there’s a true friendship there.  The two of them keep me in the conversation.  At one point I tell one of the Texans, Bob, that I’ve always wanted red cowboy boots.  Cowboy boots . . . . hmmmm. . .  I have a thing for them.

“I’m going to send you red cowboy boots Cheetahtort!  Mark my words, you’ll receive them soon,” says Bob.

“Shut up.  Don’t you dare!”  I say thinking he’s not serious. (He does and I absolutely loved them!)

We have a couple free cocktails at the hotel bar and then decide to go to the Monte Carlo to meet up with the others.

I drive.

I have two tall and sexy Texans in my Pontiac Sunbird.  Wow, this is embarrassing.  Poor Bob is shoved into the back and has barely enough room to breathe.

I can’t find my way to the Monte Carlo.  The Texans don’t seem to care.  We end up at Jose’s instead and have our own party.

We walk into the bar – and suddenly I have a hand in mine.  Dallas is taking a hold of me and not letting me go.  He doesn’t even seem to be bothered that Bob sees this.  I have a feeling that the two of them have talked earlier.

We grab a couple large beers; gather near the back of the bar as there is nowhere to sit.  I have Bob standing across from me and Dallas so close you’d think he was whispering in my ear.

Girls are walking by and Bob’s looking.  Dallas is not!  I like this.  Bob soon excuses himself to meet a pretty lady.  Dallas and I are left behind.  We don’t seem to mind.

“They sell T-shirts here.” Dallas says while putting an arm around me but looking over at the case of t-shirts they have to offer.

I look over to the T-shirts, but really don’t care as I feel his arm surround my back.  Who cares about t-shirts?

“I want to remember this evening.  I think I need a T-shirt.”  Dallas says grabbing my hand and walking over to the register.

“What size do you want?” says Dallas. 

“I’m not the one that wanted a T-shirt,” I say back, smiling that he wants to remember this evening.

“I’m buying you one,” he says with authority. 

We resume our positions against the wall.  As each person walks by we get closer.  We take advantage of each pass.

“I can get used to this.” Dallas says pushing me up against the wall once again.  His hands are above my head and his torso pressed against mine.

I know he isn’t doing this on purpose, but we are both enjoying it. I’m more than enjoying it.

I smile up to him and try my best to tease.  As my left hand is busy holding the giant beer I have, my right takes advantage of being free.  I start to touch his back and slowly move lower.  He moves closer even though there isn’t anyone pushing him.

We are so caught up in our closeness we don’t realize that we haven’t seen Bob in awhile.

“Well, look at the two of you.  Getting to know each other better?”  Bob says while smiling walking past us to the men’s room.

Dallas grabs him, says something low that I don’t catch.

“No problem Dallas, you and Cheetahtort have a good night.  I’ll just grab a cab – I don’t want to leave the pretty ladies I’ve met,” Bob says laughing. 

“Come with me,” Dallas says while taking my hand in his and we walk out the bar.

“We’re just going to leave him?”

He squeezes my hand and stops to look down to me.  “He’s fine, he’s enjoying himself, let’s get out of here.”  The smile on his face is contagious. 

Alright.

“Give me your keys, I’m driving.”

Alright.

We make it back to the hotel parking lot.

He puts the car in park.  We sit there quietly listening to the radio, both of us not sure what to do next.

“Can you come in?”

“To your hotel room?  Umm No.”

“No, we can go in for another drink.  We don’t need to go upstairs. No funny business Cheetahtort,” he says as we both get out of the car.

No funny business?  I actually believe him as he hasn’t even tried to kiss me yet.  He’s been the utmost gentleman throughout this entire evening.

I have to gather my senses.  I really shouldn’t go in but really want to.

He sees my trepidation.

He walks in my direction “I haven’t once made you feel uncomfortable.  I just like you and want to spend more time with you.  Again, no funny business.”

“Alright, but can I do this before we go inside?”

“What?”

I walk over to him and get on my tippy toes to give him a small kiss.

Our first kiss.

He seems to like it as he takes a hold of me, pulls me closer for more.

It gets a bit intense.

He breaks away.

“I want to be a gentleman here and you are making it very difficult.”

I pull him back to me.

“Ahhh . . . Cheetahtort,” he says before kissing me again.  We start to get carried away.

He slowly slides away from my lips and dips lower.

Yes.

We get caught up in the excitement.  We forget we are in a hotel parking lot. Until . . .

We hear the hoot’n and holler’n from the balconies above.   

“Cheethatort, we need to stop, we have fans.”

At that moment I felt something hit my head and so did Dallas.  We look to the ground to see what was sent our way.

“HAHA – lotion! Cheetahtort, they sent us lotion!”

Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed. 

We really put on a good show for them.  I hope they enjoyed it half as much as I did!

“Seriously, lotion?  Like we need it!” I say laughing trying to gather myself and maybe some clothes.

He grabs my hand; we both look up together and take a bow.

They cheer for us and we laugh back.  They finally walk back into their hotel room as they realize the show’s over. 

“I’m sorry about that.  I meant to be a gentleman but I lost myself.  My apologies.”

“No apologies needed.   I’m the one that started the show.” I say kissing him again wanting it to continue.

“No.  Stop Cheetahtort.  If we start again – I’m not going to be able to stop,” Dallas said stepping away.

I got shy and stepped away, not sure of what was happening.

“Trust me.  I would love for this to continue, but I like you and don’t want to ruin this evening.”

He pushes me to the driver’s side of the car.

“Please call me when you get home.  I want to know you are safe.”

I get in feeling rejected.  I put myself out there and he’s sending me home.  What did I do wrong?

“Drive safely and remember to call me when you get home.  I’ll see you in the morning at the office, Dallas says almost sounding like my father.

I put my tail between my legs and drove home slapping myself thinking I went too far.

I get up the next morning still upset with my behavior last night, but still kind of enjoying reliving parts of the evening.

I gather myself; try to look my best as I will see Dallas soon.

I get to my desk and notice a treat left on my chair.  Two of my favorite candy bars.  I get excited for this small gift Dallas left me.  Until I think about it.  How would Dallas know what my favorite candy bars are? 

Turns out the candy bars are from my co-worker, Greg that has a crush on me.

I walk into his office.  “Thank you for the candy bars.”

“You are so welcome!  I know you enjoy them.  I know you’ve been working hard and wanted to give you a smile.”

“Well, you did, thank you.  I love them.”

Dallas walks into the office 20 minutes later. 

“Cheetahtort, can I talk to you?”  Dallas says knowing the office is listening.

“Of course,” I say getting up from my chair.

We walk out to the elevator lobby acting like last night never happened.

Once we are around the corner, he grabs me, pulls me into his arms and says . . .

“I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.  I kept thinking of you.”

Yeah baby!

“Me too.”

He pulls me closer and we kiss.

At that moment, Greg walks around the corner.

“Floozy!”  He screams and walks to the men’s room.

“Did he just call me a floozy?”  I ask Dallas.

“I believe he did.  Wow.”

There’s a pause between the two of us then burst into laughter.  Well, I guess our little secret is out.

But, Floozy, Really?  I’ve never been called a floozy before.  Actually, I’ve never known anyone to be called that.  What time is that from?  The 1800s?  Seriously? 

I look up at Dallas with a quizzical look.

“I believe he’s just jealous that you are in my arms right now and not in his.” 

We straighten up and walk back into the office like nothing’s happened.

Later, Dallas and Bob have to leave and go back to Texas.

They say their goodbyes. 

He gives me a small wave and sad smile knowing we can’t do more than that with the office watching.

Hours later I get a call from a phone number I don’t recognize.

“BEY, this is Cheetahtort.”

“Cheetahtort!”

“Dallas?  I thought you left!  Where are you?”

“Over Houston.”

“What? . . Are you on the plane?”

“Yep, just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you and what a great time I had.”

Seriously?  I had a man calling me from a plane?  I was in heaven.

“You are too much!”

The next day, flowers were delivered.  The most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.  For me.   

They made the entire office smell wonderful.

The card read:  Until my next visit.

Dick walked by.  “Cheetahtort, flowers huh?”  He smiled, shaking his head like he knew too much and walked into his office.

Well, time to go to Church!

First, before we get started, I just want to give a shout out to my readers - especially to my friends and the readers from the 911 dispatch!  Sign up so I can talk with you!  I'm so happy you are reading.  I truly hope these stories are entertaining you between the stress of answering 911 calls.

Also, I need to clean up this blog and make it better looking.  I'm a beginner here - so if you have suggestions, please give.  I need all the help I can get!

So I promised you another story about Tiger.  Hold onto your Cowboy hat – cause here goes:

Well, tme to go to Church!

I really don’t remember giving Tiger my phone number, but I must have when I was under his spell as I received a call from him about a month after I first met him.

Turns out he wasn’t all that mad at me for leaving him at the bar.  He most likely doesn’t even remember the entire evening.  We were both partaking too much with what the bartender had to offer.   Tiger gets a little crazier than anyone I’ve met.  I’ll have more stories on how much he likes to indulge.   But for that evening, he just remembers the boat ride, dinner, dancing and of course the unforgettable make-out session we had in the side bar.

To be honest, I haven’t forgotten about it either.  It was that good.  A young man, with a firm (but short) body, jeans that were so tight you saw everything he had to offer,  . . .  a HUGE . . . belt buckle (what did you think I was going to say?) cowboy hat and boots.  (Oh yeah, the boots.  Boots always have me turned on.)  Bulging biceps, strong hands and of course soft lips that made me tingle.  Can you picture this guy on a romance novel cover? 

During the upcoming phone relationship we have he sent me a picture of him with no shirt on, bronze, broad chest, glistening with sweat, and flexing his muscles while roofing a house.  I almost got into a car accident when I received the picture.  PSA – Public Service Announcement:  Don’t text or receive hot pictures while driving!

I don’t think I’ll ever forget or want to forget our first make out session.  I’ll be in my assigned seat at the nursing home cafeteria yelling out my story as my table mates can’t hear as they chew their soft dinner.   They may have even turned off their hearing aids just so they don’t have to hear this story once again.  I don’t care – I’ll tell this story as loud as I can to whoever wants or doesn't want to hear just to relive my younger years.

“Hey there sexy lady, this is ahhh, ughmm . . . . . . . . . . Tiger.  How you doing?  I wanted to talk to you a little bit.  I was uhhh think’n  . . . . . .  about you . . . . . . . . . . . . .  and our ummm night together.  Ummmm yeah, . . . . . .  give me a call if I like, yeah,  I mean if you like.  HA HA!  OK. Talk to you later.”

Oh yeah, this is the little Tiger I know.  His words come out so slowly as if he’s just figuring out how to talk.  He’s as thick as two short planks.  I can’t believe he’s calling me.  I start to laugh but then get a small thrill run up my spine and want to call him back. 

What stops me?  Should I write a list? 

·         He’s 15 years younger than me

·         He’s 5’4”

·         He lives with his parents

·         He has a reputation in the neighborhood of being a rough kid, likes to get into bar fights and drinks too much

·         Dumber than an box of rocks – (but I do find out later he’s not as dumb as he gives off)

After you read this list you are probably wondering why I get a small thrill that he’s calling.  Should I remind you of the first description of him in paragraph 4?  Sometimes, I can be shallow and just want a good time.

The next call I receive from him is when I’m on a “Girls’ Weekend” up north.  I was stumbling out of the bar after consuming approximately four cherry bombs, thanks to Bella, and a number of beers.  We all pile into the car and my phone rings.

“Cheetahtort!  Your phone is ringing!  Here let me answer!” screams Bella as we are driving with all the windows down as some of us are smoking. 

“Yellow – this is Cheetahtort’s phone.  Who’s calling?”  Bella answers.

“Hey there sexy lady!”  Tiger drawls.

“Well, yes, I am a sexy lady, thank you – but this isn’t Cheetahtort, this is Bella.  Again, who’s calling?”

“I bet you are sexy.  HA HA!  Um, . . . yeah, I was looking for  . . .  Cheetahtort.  Did I get the wrong number?  If I can’t find her, should I call you again?”

“I’m only going to ask this one more time!  Who’s calling!?”

“Ahhh, yeah,  . . . right, I’m sorry, this is Tiger looking for a sexy lady, named Cheetahtort.”

Bella puts the phone to her chest and screams out in the small Nissan Sentra “Ahhh, Cheetahtort!  – who’s Tiger???  Girls, someone’s holding out on us!  Cheetahtort has a Tiger calling her!”

For about 45 seconds all you could hear in the car was cat calls!  Pun intended.  I thought only men acted like this.

“Ooooooo Cheetahtort has a MAN or should I say a BIG Cat calling her!”  Lauren says while trying her hardest not to run over a deer on our way home.

“A tiger.  Grrrrrrrr,  Roaaaaarrrrrrr,” says Maddie as she raises her hand up like claws.

“Hey kitten; you have a Tiger on the phone, that’s puuuurrrrfect!  One cat calling another cat!” says Coco.

Wow!  With friends like these who needs friends? 

As I’m laughing, I grab a hold of the phone.  “Yeah, Tiger, I’ll call you back,” and hang up.  I think I might have heard some laughing on the other end and a “wait” as I hit end.

“What the hell Cheetahtort?  Who the hell is Tiger?” someone yells, I’m not sure as I stare at my phone in awe. 

Maddie is quietly laughing in the back waiting to hear how I explain Tiger.

I explain the whole first “Tiger” meeting to them on our way home. 

They are all on pins and needles until the point I say ‘I drive away’.

“Cheetahtort – who cares if he’s young!  You need to get yourself a ‘Frank’”.  A Frank is a name of a great husband of a good friend of Maddie’s who happens to be a lot younger.

They all seem to agree, so I decide to call him back.  This starts our phone relationship.  Since he lives a good distance away, that’s all we have for quite a while.  Text messages, phone conversations and pictures.  Did I send pictures back?  Yes, but just one.   Curious?  Ask.  J 

I must confess there was one Saturday that Tiger called me early and said he’s in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee with him.  I give an excuse that I’m up at a friend’s house many miles away as I was too scared to see him.  When we were ending our conversation he says he was going to walk up to the coffee shop.  When I hang up I struggle to get some pants and a shirt on, get into my car and do a drive-by where he’s going to be walking. 

Sure enough I see my little Tiger strutting down the sidewalk with his tight jeans, cowboy boots, no cowboy hat, but a bit of a scruff on his chin. 

Damn . . . .  he’s sexy.

I wipe the drool off my chin and do a couple more drive-bys.  After my third drive-by, yes third, I take a real look at myself in the rear view mirror and decide I’m a scary stalker and go home.  Again, sometimes I get in my way.  Why didn’t I stop to pick him up and enjoy the afternoon with him?  Still to this day I can’t answer that.

He calls me later that night to tell me he saw a white car driving by a couple times and asking me if it was me checking him out.  This man has confidence and boy oh boy, was I busted!

After awhile of not seeing each other, our phone relationship ends . . . until . . . I go back to his small town of Siren for the 4^th of July.

Siren is a town where when you first enter the establishments, the girls look at you with the stink eye thinking ‘who are they and what are they doing in our bar?’  ‘They better not be interested in my man!’  It’s a place where the men have been with all the women and want fresh meat.  Everyone knows each others’ business and everyone just wants to drink, smoke and get laid. 

I like going there because overall, no one knows me and I can do what I want without having to explain anything to anybody.

This July 4^th weekend, we are all sitting by the lake and reminiscing with Carly, Maddie, and Bethany.  We are laughing at what happened last year.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I ran into him again this year?”  I say wishing it would happen.

“I think you will as I see him every once in awhile.  He has quite the reputation down here.”  says Carly.

I start to get excited for what the night might give.  I make sure to look the best I can.  I put on a cute short black skirt and a white tank, high heels and the hottest undergarments I have. 

You never know what might happen. . .

We get to town and go to the Legion right away for a couple of cocktails.  I love going out in this town as I feel it’s a vacation town, where everyone left their inhabitations at home.  Maddie, Bethany and I step out for a smoke and there are a lot of people making their way to Hungry Hippo. 

“Cheetahtort, isn’t that Tiger?”  asks Bethany as we watch a group of people walk by.

I look the direction Bethany is pointing and I don’t have to look too long to notice the tiny dude walking away from me with everything I want for the evening.

“Ooooo, you know it – that’s Tiger!”  I say getting some nervous energy.

I wanted to see him again, but all of a sudden I was nervous.  What if he looks at me and regrets our night?  What if he realizes how old I am?  What if he doesn’t even want to talk to me?

Who cares?  Right?  That’s what I go with, I just want to have fun with or without him.

We finish our drinks at the Legion and make our way to the Hungry Hippo to hear the band.

We grab a couple beers and/or red bulls and vodka and walk out to where the band is playing.  It’s packed with a full-range of people.  Young beautiful and not-so-beautiful people; older people that you wonder if they are up way past their bedtimes; the drunks;  the trailer park trash, the kids getting in on fake ID’s, and the normal, like me and my friends, of course J.

It doesn’t take but 3 seconds before Neal screams “TIGER!  GET OVER HERE – CHEETAHTORT HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU ALL NIGHT!” 

Thanks Neil, I think and shake my head in embarrassment.  I truly wanted to strangle him to brink of death, let him breathe just so I could do it again.

I run up to Neil “Shut up!”  I look at him so irritated! 

He laughs and says it again, maybe even louder, just to piss me off.

Tiger hears his name, looks over, sees me, smiles, puts his hand through his hair, and walks over to me.

It’s almost like he’s walking in slow motion; looking like he stepped out of a romance novel cover once again with the wind machine blowing his hair back. 

As he gets closer, his smile widens.  He’s finally by my side.  But Neal grabs him, pulls him away from me and starts telling Tiger that all Cheetahtort has on her mind is Tiger.  I wanted to slap him. Well, maybe more than that;  stab, strangle, suffocate and bury were also on my mind.

This doesn’t faze Tiger as he slowly steps away from Neal and walks back over to me.  He doesn’t say anything but smiles up to me. 

I smile back with my flushed face and thank God that it is dark out so he can’t see how embarrassed I am. 

“I’m so sorry about that,”  I say shyly smiling to him.

“Don’t worry, I remember how Neal is.  Don’t give it a second thought.”

He takes a gulp of his beer, swallows and says “I was . . . hoping I was going to see you tonight.”

“You were?”

“You bet – I was going to call you to ask if you were gonna come, but I thought maybe you forgot about me.”

“How could I forget Tiger?”

“HAHA – You’re right.  You know, I’m kind of a big deal,”  he says in his cocky funny way.

We talk for awhile, and then he excuses himself to see the friends he came with. 

Addison, a friend of mine that has a cabin down there, comes up to me with a devilish smile, “Cheetahtort, Tiger huh?  You gonna make out?”

“What?  I don’t know.  He left to talk with his friends,”  I say laughing.

She then introduces me to a couple of her neighbors.  They start to tell me they know his family.  They are a good family in the neighborhood, but he has quite the reputation.  While listening to them, I feel a warm strong hand on my arm.

I turn to see that Tiger is back with a beer for me.

Ahh, he’s back – but he also has a beer!  Bonus!

“Sorry about that.  I wanted to tell my friends that you actually showed up and that I was going to be with you,” Tiger says while handing me the beer.

I take a big gulp of the beer he brought.  I didn’t realize I needed that as much as I did.  I smiled down to him, give a small laugh and then get more nervous than I thought was possible. 

What did he mean he was going to be with me tonight?  I may have put my sexiest undergarments on – but was I really ready for this?  It’s been so long!  Did I really want this?  Yes – I think.  Could I really entertain him for the evening?  Yes – are you kidding me?   What are we going to talk about?  Maybe we don’t need to talk. . . Oooo, I like the sound of that.

Maddie and Bethany come over to say hi.  He’s so kind to them.  He remembers them from our first meeting.  They don’t stay too long as they can tell the two of us want to be alone in this crowded bar.

“I keep thinking about our kiss and how we didn’t get to finish,” he says confidently and rises on his toes to give me a kiss.

It was a sweet soft kiss like I remembered and I want more.  That shy woman from the time before was gone.  I want more.  I need more.  I deserve more.

“Tiger, let’s go over here.”  I say pulling him by the hand to a corner of the bar where there is a chair.  I needed to be on an equal level as him.  Bending over was going to get tiring.  There was only one chair – but we didn’t care.  I sat down.  He straddled me, held my face and started to continue where we left off a year before.  It was just as nice as and a little better than last time.  Why? Maybe because we both felt like we knew each other a little more. 

We are there for the rest of the evening.  I look over to my friends and they are pointing and laughing at me.  I find out later that they were all wondering where we went and were hysterical with laughter when they saw him on my lap.  I guess he looked like a little child in his Mom’s arms, but we weren’t doing what mother and son would do.

Maddie walked over to us.

“Hey guys, we are thinking we would go back to the cabin and sit around the bonfire.  What do you think?  Tiger, you can come with us if you’d like?

“Do you want to come back with us?” I ask.

Uh-huh,” was his only reply as he kisses my neck.  “I want to be with you.  I’m coming home with you this time.  Cheetahtort, I’m not letting you go.” 

“Tiger, I’m not promising anything!”

“Cheetahtort, I don’t care!  I just want to be with you!”  he says with authority.

Oh yeah – I like this! But knowing that he wanted more.  Hey, I’m not stupid.

“Maddie, do you have a condom?”  I say quietly to her so Tiger can’t hear.

“No!  I don’t!  What the hell?  Are you going to have sex tonight?”

“I don’t know, I just want to be careful, in case that happens,” I say not recognizing myself.

I run over to Bethany.  She doesn’t either but she is so surprised by my question that all I see is her dropped jaw.

I run over to Addison.  “Addison, do you happen to have a condom?”  I yelled this question as the band ended their song and went suddenly quiet.  I got so embarrassed especially when I realize the straight-laced neighbors that I just met might have heard me.

“HAHA!”  Addison laughs.  “Cheetahtort – for Tiger???”

“You bet!  It might happen!”  I say with all the confidence in the world – but really inside I’m scared to death.

“You go girl!  But I’m sorry – I don’t have one.  Go check out the bathroom!” Addison says while shaking her head and laughing at me.

I run to the ladies room.  You’d think at this type of bar they would have condoms!  You’d think they have a variety of condoms.  You know the ones with ticklers and stuff – but NO!

As I’m leaving the ladies room, I notice Tiger waiting for me. 

“Whatcha doing?”  he says while taking a hold of my hand.

“Looking for a condom, do you have one?”

“What?  I thought nothing was going to happen?” he says surprised but happy.

“I’m not promising anything; I just want to be prepared,”  I say trying to make him understand that this still could possibly not happen.  I don’t want to get his hopes up.

The poor guy, I’m giving him such mixed signals.  Yes! No! Maybe?

We slowly walk out of the bar because it’s so crowded and pass by his brothers and sisters.  I think I might have received a couple shocking looks from them.  They might have been thinking . . . What on earth?  How old is she?  What is she doing with him?  What is he doing with her?  There goes our Tiger making more mistakes. . .

I got a little self-conscious, looked over to Tiger and he was proudly walking me through the crowd, obviously not being concerned with all the looks, but maybe focusing on what might actually happen tonight.  He’s so confused.

His hand in mine and his confidence made me feel a little better and my head started to rise.

“Come on Cheetahtort and Tiger, we’re leaving!”  says Carly.

I’m relieved, as I know that Tiger is welcome in their home.

We pile into the truck and drive back to their cabin.  Tiger is holding my hand and trying to keep up with the badgering we are receiving that we are now together (for the night).  I notice that he doesn’t care.  He’s so laid back and this is like water off a duck’s back.  Again, this makes me feel better.

We get back to the cabin.  While the men gather the wood for the bonfire, the women are in the bathroom with me. 

“What are you doing Cheetahtort!?   Are you ready for this?  He’s HOT!  You haven’t done this for so long.  You know you don’t have to do this.  Are you sure?  Do you really want to?  He’s a nice guy.  You can say no.”  This is the barrage of questions and comments I get from the ladies.  

We go out to the beautiful bonfire that the men started. 

Maddie brought her Ipod and started to play some music.  We sat around the bonfire telling stories until, one by one, people started to drop out.

First it was Carly, then Bethany, then Maddie and finally, Neal.

We were alone.

We were sitting in opposite seats across the fire.

“Let’s take a look at Neal’s boat,” says Tiger.

“Sure,” I say as I get up and walk over to him.

He takes my hand and we walk onto the dock and into the boat.

We sit in the back of the boat and talk.  I say talk, but I’m really not sure that happened. 

We kissed, touched, kissed, smiled, laughed, played, got nervous, and STOPPED!

He might have had to pull up his pants for us to walk back to the bonfire.  I’m just saying.

We sit near the bonfire, but not close enough.  He grabs my hand and says, “Cheetahtort, come here.”

I get up and sit on his lap.

We sit there listening to Journey.  We soon find out that this is one of our favorite bands.  Who doesn’t love “Faithfully”?

The stars and moon are shining, the fire blazing, loons are calling and we are kissing. 

If this guy were my age, taller, not a drunk, stuck around . . .  (I’ll tell you more stories), didn’t live with his parents, this would have been the perfect night.  But, I put all these things out of my mind and enjoy.)

After hours of this, we knew we needed to go to bed and walked into the cabin.

Our bed (my bed) was the pull-out couch.  Maddie was in the other couch in the same room.  We tried to pull out the couch without waking her but were laughing like crazy.  Once the bed was out we jumped in.

We got under the covers, took off our clothes, got close, and . . . .

Well . . . I’ll let you decide what happened.  J  But remember I’m a good girl.  Good girl gone bad?  Or good girl staying the course?

I got up early and realized I had a little koala bear hugging me, his eucalyptus tree.  His legs and arms were surrounding me.  I raised my head and saw Maddie looking over and trying to hide her laugh.

“What is this?”  I ask laughing back to her and looking at this naked man holding me and not letting me go!

“I think you have a little man attached to you.”  she laughs and puts her hands behind her head, lying on the nearby couch.

“I’m so sorry if we woke you.  We had some trouble with the bed.”

“I didn’t hear a thing!  But I do see Tiger’s ass right now?”

“Oh I thank God you didn’t hear us but yes, isn’t his ass lovely?”

“Why?  Was there something to hear? And yeah I can say I don’t mind seeing that in the morning,” she says laughing and pulling the covers over her head.

“Nope,”  I say dismissing the entire conversation.

Tiger stirs, grabs tighter, brings me closer and says, “I don’t want to wake up.  I had a great dream.”

Maddie and I look at each other and burst into laughter. 

About a half hour later and maybe a couple feels later, we get ready to leave. 

Bethany agrees to drive Tiger home.

We grab something to drink.  I grab a Mt. Dew and guzzle it as I’m so dehydrated. 

I’m sitting in the back of the car with Tiger next to me and Maddie next to him.

Because I’ve had too many Red Bulls the night before and now a Mt. Dew my heart starts to go crazy.  I get nervous and put my head down as I can’t see anymore.  Tiger gets a bit nervous for me.

“What the hell Cheetahtort?  Are you OK?”

“Oh goodness, I’m fine.”  I say not completely sure I am.  This has been happening a little too much lately, where I lose my breath, my heart starts racing and I can’t see straight.  But I don’t want to freak anyone out so I say everything is fine.

He’s got a hold of my leg and rubbing it up and down and every once in a while taking a peek at me, wondering if I really am fine.

Overall, the conversation in the car is quiet.  We are all tired from the night before.

When we finally make it to Tiger’s house, Tiger squeezes my knee and slowly gets out of the back seat but not before he quickly sneaks in a small kiss.  I’m not sure anyone notices.

We watch him get out and walk to the front of the car, look around and then walk back to my window and says, “I could have sworn I left my truck here.  Where the hell is my truck?”

“What’d you do with your truck Tiger?” everyone asks in unison.

He shrugs, looks at me and says . . .   

“Well, time to go to Church!”