There are a few women who frequent the bar who don’t care purses. When they don’t they toss their keys on the bar.
My dive bar isn’t a classy place far from it, but the booze is cheap and there is a certain atmosphere that I enjoy when I’m there. There are times when I order a Henry’s Hard Soda or a Barefoot Spritzer and I will ask for a glass of ice.
I’ve always wanted to be sitting in a upscale bar and hear someone order a drink on the rocks.
I hear “you want a glass with ice?”
“Yes Please.” And it makes the booze go down quicker and smoother. I have switched back to my old stand-by drink Malibu Rum and pineapple juice. The ice makes it taste so good, refreshing and it goes down quickly. I also love drinking Coconut Mules that’s loaded with tons of ice in the brass mug and its so cold and delicious.
I like sitting on the bar stool with my drink full of ice and a straw so I can nervously stir my drink while waiting on my friends.
While at my favorite watering hole, a friend of mine was there sporting his normal “man bun.” I had always been envious of his long wavy locks and I have always had a thing for men with long hair. However, this young man is too young for me to ever think about in only other way.
I asked him if I could take his photo for this challenge.
He seemed very unsure of himself and is a very sensitive young man.
I tried to get him to relax, but the more I spoke to him the more he became nervous. I really like this photo. I haven’t heard his opinion yet, hope he likes it.
I have always loved flesh between my teeth.
His smooth creamy skin (or sometimes anyone’s for that matter) calls to me in such a way that I can’t resist or stop myself.
Especially, when I’m on top of a lover, seeing their midriff exposed and if I am working my way down their body to satisfy both our needs for oral gratification I tend to bite. I was kissing him, nibbling on his nipples. I bit one too hard and he cried out, but the sadist side of me became more excited. I started biting his stomach, but accidentally bit the spot where he had a surgical procedure done. I felt bad, because I know the skin can be more sensitive in those areas, so I moved on.
I worked my way over to his ribs, where the flesh can easily be bitten and pulled. I started biting as I normally do, but he started to tease me about something unimportant. I began to bite harder, pulling at his skin, twisting it between my teeth, pushing my tongue against the tender section of flesh between my teeth. My mind drifted into dark fantasy thoughts of tearing the flesh from his body, tasting his blood on my lips. I became even more aroused. If Mr. Sam had moaned in pleasure or even cried out, those sounds would have pushed me in an orgasm. When my hips move, when the need to relieve the “itch” between my legs becomes so intense that I would have mounted his cock or sat on his face. But Mr. Sam never cried out in pain, he never pulled away from my mouth like most people would. He didn’t tell me to stop, at once. He laid there perfectly still, which concerned me yet I didn’t care about the reason. If this is trust then I admire and adore him even more.
Sometimes I wish there was an “emergency exit” door on my life, during those situations when its awkward, uncomfortable or when I know that my behavior will have consequences. Last night was a perfect night for an emergency exit door. Some times I look for the exit door in my relationships. If I can’t find out I’ll make one or cause the other person to push me out of the door.
I guess I look for the exit when my emotions get too much for me. When I feel that I am losing or when I don’t want to deal with the issues at hand. Isn’t it easier just to walk out of that exit door than to have to look at those issues at hand?
Being a borderline, my emotions are up & down and back & forth. My hand on the exit door handle, threatening to leave the person whom I wish most to connect with. The fear of being smothered mixed with the fear of losing my autonomy pushes me to the door every time. There were a few times that I walked out of the exit door of someone’s life, stood on the other side of the door frantically pulling on the handle attempting to re-enter from the emergency exit. Its impossible and can’t be done. I stand there completely alone, empty and wanting to feel something. Anything to remove the pain of my stupid mistake. Never meaning to hurt the one I love, but I did. Now I’m hurting as well. Now wtf?!
If you happen to fall in love with a Borderline, please know that it’s not you, its them. You need rules. You need to always be communicating with them and breaking everything down so that they understand as if they were a child, but never ever sound condescending. This will push them quicker than ice cream melting on a 90 degree summer day.
Here I stand looking at the emergency exit door. Just looking at it. Considering all my options. I’m not ready to walk through the door just yet.
It’s free pizza night at my dive bar. The last time I was there was on last week. I went there to see my best friend shoot darts because her team was playing at my bar. I had stayed away for Lent. Yes, I’m no longer a practicing Catholic, but I thought it would be a good excuse to remove myself from the drama of a dive bar.
A lot has changed since I’ve been away for those few weeks. Bartenders getting fired, new bartenders suck and probably wont be there long. The drunks want their drinks fast and not have to wait 10 minutes for a beer. The jukebox is no longer connected to the internet because the bartender who made sure the bill was paid is no longer working there and now everything is kind of upside down.
THE BEST THING A DRUNKARD CAN DO IS BUY A ROUND OF DRINKS FOR A CROWED BAR
There is no more restaurant style pizza, but wings and frozen pizza. WHA?! Frozen pizza?! I guess drunks will eat anything if its free and there is booze involved. I’m not one for chicken wings, so I continued to drink my pineapple juice and Malibu Rum. I sipped my cocktail while listening to some of the female regulars go on about each other while each one of them took turns going to the LR. One conversation got only ugly when two of the women were arguing about having to take another one of them home. There were a few “fuck you’s” exchanged and I thought to myself “this is the reason I don’t have female friends.” I would have told both of them to fuck off, not to feel obligated that I have to take one of them home.
I wrote about the dive bar once before, but I didn’t go into detail about the patrons, the drunks. They are like an extended dysfunctional family. Everyone knows everyone, they all are related by some way or they grew up with each other, but John Doe can’t just walk in and sit down to have a drink. The bar is so far off the main path its difficult just to find the door.
Sometimes, the atmosphere is dark and cold. Other times its filled with crazy drama and other times it’s filled with the drunkest of men. When glasses fall and break to spilling someone else’s drink, the drunks are made to clean up their messes.
ALWAYS TOAST BEFORE DOING A SHOT
As the evening processes and the drunker every one becomes, more drinks are bought, shots and toasts are made. Since Mr. Sam & I have been “together” the regulars now embrace him as one of their own which makes me happy. I am ashamed to admit that I wanted to have Mr. Sam replace Charlie and those good times. Yet on the other hand I am glad I have Mr. Sam there with me, because it’s now once again that the alcohol flows again like milk in the land of milk and honey.
THE BAR CLOCK MOVES FROM 10 O’CLOCK TO LAST CALL IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE
I used to shoot darts back in the 90’s. I used to watch Charlie play a few years ago, he had used my darts and destroyed them. I need to get some new ones, but I don’t play that often so its now on the top of my list. However, there are a few guys there that are hardcore. I always tell myself that I am only staying for a few drinks, one or two. Regrettably it never turns out the way, I always end up staying too long. I end up trying to fit in my desires in to a short amount of time when I should have cut my drinking & socializing time down instead. I’ll never learn, but the practice is fun & exciting.
I appreciate “the artist” allowing me to use him for photos. I tried to take photos of the canvas but the texture of the canvas reflects and you can see the grooves in it.
He’s been hard at work with his recent painting. He is self-taught and always learning about his craft. He has sold a few of his prints in a Chicago gallery. He does have a dark side to his art, but don’t most artists have a tortured soul?
I’m pretty sure he didn’t mind being used by me at all. He is a really close friend, it would crush me if he disappeared from my life. I hope that never happens. I hope he will always be around in my life.
C is for Canvas.
I edited a previous boob day photo for today.
I’m still recovering from being so sick, sleeping most days. I can’t believe that I missed most of this month. Can I get a do over?!