101 ~ STRIPPER FIRE GIRL

Somehow it felt like cheating.  It was cheating.  I was in the closing bell of my relationship with Girl 94, Bat Girl.  We were fighting.  She was crying.  Long stretches would pass with neither one of us talking to each other.  I was visiting DC and Baltimore to work on things with a client.  I had given up on the idea of finding lasting love.  After all, if things with Bat Girl could go wrong, why even try?

So it is no excuse, but somehow I was just numb and tired.  Stripper Fire Girl came onto the scene via email.  She had written my author fan site and said she loved my books.

Not very many women could say that they'd ever made it through one of my novels.  The books tended to be complex and technical, and women liked the characters arguing about their relationships, but when details of nuclear weapons came up, girls would fade out.

So was it a good sign or ill that this woman liked my stuff?

When I met her, I noticed the short hair and something around her eyes that just made me think she was a lesbian.  She had been a stripper, but now she was a firefighter and weight lifter.  She was 35, probably too young for me (I was in my late 40s when I first shook her hand).  Her body was certainly a work of art, but I couldn't get into her face.

 

She was good in bed and willing to do anything, but there was just something about her that bothered me, left me restless.  Perhaps it was phone conversations with her were boring, even when we talked about sexual things.  Perhaps it was her ready-made affection for me -- she seemed to like me, even love me, before she'd spent any time with me.  Or perhaps it was the distance, or those lesbian looks.  As I'dhad trouble with lesbians in the past, perhaps I simply didn't trust her.

Or it was the distance.  I had no intention of making the New Jersey to DC run all that often, and waiting for her to get up to my town when I needed sex wouldn't work.

 

I probably only saw her three times, had full on sex with her each time, and if I called her today, years later, she would cheerfully come over, tell me she has a serious boyfriend, knit her brows in internal conflict, then drop her clothes to the floor and fuck me one last time.  And every time after that it would be the same.

I might have been getting cynical, but it just seemed like sex with some women felt like masturbation.

I was remote emotionally, I'll admit.  At this point, I would just say that it had to be the low level craziness of negotiating an end to the relationship with Bat Girl.

But I did not go on from Stripper Fire Girl, Girl 101, with any hope at all.

 

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