Random Rim Jobs

The summer following my second year of law school I returned to Bangkok.  The school year had gone by pretty quickly, mostly because I had been planning for the summer.  Planning for the summer included taking a Thai-language course via an adult education community program in San Francisco.

I had wanted to return to Thailand over my winter break.  I had met plenty of people the prior summer that I would have had a good time, and probably some work.  My plans to return in the winter did not involve my husband, however.  By the fall the Ex had moved up to San Francisco from LA and got a job.  Also, we couldn’t afford for both of us to go.  If I had gone over winter the Ex and I surely would have broken up – seven years before we finally did.

It was some time in the fall that the Ex found a picture of the guy I’d spent all my time with the two weeks after he left.  This was back before most anyone had digital cameras.  I had borrowed a friend’s 35mm camera and had taken a lot of photos over the summer.  The friend ended up dying; I still have the camera.

The Ex found the picture and got all sorts of angry and hurt.  He tore up the picture (which was foreshadowing of what he’d do to pictures of him and me after he caught me cheating seven years in the future) and scratched out the guy’s face in the negative.  You see, kids, cameras used to have film, from which negatives would be developed and prints would be made.

I found out that he found the damming evidence when I came home from one of my Tuesday night Thai-language courses.  He was upset and stayed, just a block away near the Great American Music Hall, with Jesús.  [Really, if you've not yet read "Smooth as Silk," about my first summer in Bangkok, you might be a little confused as to the cast of characters.  Go read it, it's pretty good.]

I remember feeling sorry he was hurt for seeing the photo, and feeling angry that he’d destroyed the photo of a guy with whom I’d had a lot of fun.  I also remember feeling like he was making a big deal out of little; I had come home to him, hadn’t I?  I could certainly love him and fuck other people, only I didn’t know it myself, and didn’t have either the self-awareness or the balls to tell him that.

After a few days of debauchery with Jesús the Ex came home.  In order to get him to do so I had to promise not to go to Bangkok over winter break and to start therapy.  I’m sure if “sex addiction” existed at the time I would have been accused of having one.  If he only knew ….

Throughout the school year I had to assure the Ex that I would not cheat on him again if I returned to Thailand in the summer.

During the school year I sent a number of letters of inquiry to law firms in Bangkok that had international business practices and that wanted to cater to English-speaking clients.  Technically non-Thais cannot practice law in Thailand.  However, since the Thai definition of “practicing law” is very narrow – arguing a case in court in Thai – it mattered little that I was not yet a lawyer in the United States, as I could never be a lawyer in Thailand.  That I was American was a major boon.

A few firms were interested, but I finally settled on a small firm with a practice in Bangkok and Paris.  The major reason I chose the firm was because the job came with an apartment.  We had stayed very inexpensively at a shitty hotel the previous summer, but I liked the idea of having a kitchen of my own and not having to worry about nosy hotel personnel.

For my birthday in 2001, the Ex gave me a Coach umbrella.  He knew how the summer rains in Bangkok were, and had seen what can happen to an ass in the rain.  [If I've not yet told the story of the Bangkok rain's effect on my ass, I will.]  But it was (and is; I still have it) a full-sized umbrella, which wasn’t very practical for traveling.  A friend drove me and the umbrella to the airport.  At the curb I realized how unwieldy the umbrella was and I asked her to return it to the Ex for safe keeping.

I was off to work in Bangkok while the Ex worked in San Francisco.

[To be continued, for sure.]

I swear.  True story.

4:25 A.M.

Beth called me at something like 2:30 and now I can’t sleep.  So I smoked some pot.  Henry didn’t call me all day.  Whenever he says maybe about something or even just asks I always take it to mean a lot more than it is.  You would think I would learn but not I’m totally stupid.  He usually calls me every day though.  I know the reason I get hopeful – he calls when I think he won’t and at odd times sometimes.  It’s like when he wants to talk to me, he calls me – simple, to the point, easy one (good) dimensional.  I’m just used to the games – the first one to call is the “weak one.”  He’s so simple.  I don’t mean simple-minded though.  For some reason, in my mind I’m thinking that this could  bad by being boring.  But it’s so good.  Girls – including myself – play too many games.  Henry said that girls are so dramatic and make a big deal out of everything.  So I asked him if I do that and he said no.  Though I could have and he was just being nice by saying no so I pushed it and he still said no really I don’t.  Yea.  That was his way of complimenting me.  I had to coerce it out of him.  I think this is how most boys are – you just have to read into what they do say to take it to mean exactly what they don’t say.  I want to by lying on my bed naked with just my butt covered while I’m on my stomach and he comes from behind and runs his hands up my waist and kisses the small of my back.  And then moves slowly up my back to my neck and my mouth.  And I love to kiss his soft gentle mouth.  While his hands are just touching my waist and m y back as I start to pull over to face him and the blanket is still between us and his hands are still around me and his mouth is still on mine.  And I want so much to be close to him to smell him to feel his heat at my chest closer and he is so warm and then I move up above him and put my arms on his shoulders and my knees above his hips and shift over on top of him.  Then I kiss him, kiss him (curse him for not shaving) kiss his neck unbutton his shirt feel his chest through his clothes then kiss it and take the shirt off of him.  Then kiss and nibble his arms and shoulders.  [Thought – what if he has a lot of pimples and hair?  What will I do differently what will I do the same?]  And his mouth is so soft and warm and wet.  It tastes so wonderful like a man, like Henry.  Then I lay down.

It’s five in the fucking morning.  Why didn’t Henry call.  I’m past thinking I did something wrong in our last conversation ’cause if I did something wrong I would’ve done it already before that conversation.  People are going to work – sure is early.  I want to start shaving my thighs again for the season.  Basically so I can touch them myself.  But it would be nice to hear a compliment from someone (Henry) as to how soft they are.  Oh well.  I can just remember the way his hands felt – he would be gentle and then press harder (I think).  We were talking about sexiness in guys and what makes that way and I almost told him that the way he moved and acted – so cool – made him sexy but I didn’t cause I didn’t want to embarrass myself.  Fuck – it’s getting light I have to get up soon.  Nightie night.

[Continued from "Christopher (Rhymes with) Spammer, Part 1."]

If I hadn’t already figured it out, the message which contained this was an indicator of the largest proportions:  “Do you have a problem taking charge. I mean, I’m not submissive, but would prefer if you had the ‘date’ planned out for us. There’s not much I would object to.”  Me thinks thou doth protest too much.  Yes, he was submissive; no, he didn’t want to have to worry about taking charge.

I took charge.  I told him what we would do on our date.  His true colors truly shined then.  He suddenly forgot how to use his brain.  In general, subs are a needy bunch.  I don’t have the patience nor the inclination to tell someone, step by excruciatingly detailed step, how to do anything.  He asked if he should take BART.  Take it or drive, not my concern.  I told him that if we got along we’d go to the Hot Tubs.  He told me he thought they were dirty.  He asked if a hotel room wouldn’t be better.  He asked how much hotel rooms cost.  He hadn’t seen me, so he didn’t know I look nothing like a fucking San Francisco tourism board.  Though he was emailing me, he had forgotten how to use the internet to check on hotel prices, etc.

He then wanted to see photos of me.  I referred him to the various places all over the internet where my photos can be found.  He still had trouble finding my photos because he had forgotten how to use the internet.

The night before our planned date he emailed saying he wouldn’t be able to make it, but that that night was free.  Too bad.  I had scheduled him for the next day, not that night.  A full two weeks later he contacted me again.  More than once he sent me emails titled “Tomorrow?”  No, not tomorrow; I plan ahead.

Finally, one night worked for both of us.  I told him where and when … and he flaked.

Between early February and mid-April he repeatedly contacted me asking if I was available that night or the night following.  I repeatedly told him that if he wanted to meet me he had to plan ahead.  When we did make a date, he flaked, again.

This guy’s pattern – which was probably helped with some liquid courage – was to email me saying how much he wanted to meet me right now, and then to flake when it came time to actually meet.  This happened even after I gave him my address and told him to just show up with booze in hand.  He was scared of “getting jumped” on BART because he would have alcohol on him.  Uh, they have these things that not only conceal the identity of what you’re carrying, but also make carrying much easier than holding a bottle of booze aloft.  His excuse that night?  His mother had unexpectedly stopped by.  Sexy!

Lest you, dear readers, think that I don’t give a guy a chance – or, in this case several chances – I again scheduled to meet him.  He texted whining about traffic.  I told him where to be.  I waited on the corner in front of the bar.  I texted.  I left.  I texted again, asking if he was that rude.  His response was that he didn’t see the point in walking up to me, saying, “You’re not my type,” and leaving.

And I agree, there wouldn’t be a point in doing that.  But how about saying hello?  How about sitting and talking over a drink?  Seems pretty silly to not even say hello after over three months of email wooing and several failed attempts at meeting.  This kind of bullshit is why I only meet someone for the first time in my neighborhood.

His tweet following our non-meeting:  “I’m such a dick! Don’t think it would have worked out. My bad”

Worked out?!  Meeting over a drink only doesn’t work out if the drinks are shitty, or spilled, or in some other way unable to be consumed.

I’m not so naive to not know he was referring to sex.  He saw me – if he saw me, and I have my doubts – and decided that he couldn’t have lowered his standards to a chubby/curvy woman of average height.  A woman who doesn’t wear high heels on a regular basis.  A woman who doesn’t wear shimmery lotion.  A woman whose scent choices are not sold at Victoria’s Secret.  A woman who is not a stripper.

I have nothing against strippers.  I’m not one.  I couldn’t be one for the reasons above.  Also, I’m too old.  Strippers, er, exotic dancers, work hard at being unattainable fantasies for their clients.  They’re tall and thin and wear heels and smell girlie.  And they’re off-limits.

Silly me, I was all average and attainable to this guy.  He didn’t know what the fuck to do.  If I liked the guy I would have fucked him, and I think he knew that.  Strippers, on the other hand, are not putting out for this guy.  Instead, he goes to strip clubs when he’s horny and fantasizes about the women who are way out of his league.  Because they’re doing their jobs well, he feels like he has a chance; he has a glimmer of hope that a woman as hot as a stripper will sit on his face and generally take charge in bed.

Only it doesn’t happen because he’s too afraid.  The ones who will actually fuck him aren’t hot enough for him, and the ones who are hot enough for him won’t actually fuck him.  Poor guy, he’s doomed to be unfulfilled and ashamed.  Fantasies are never the same as reality, that’s why they’re fantasies.  I should have known when he had a T-Shirt Hell t-shirt logo as his Twitter photo.

I’m not tall and thin?  You won’t be able to see shit when your face is being used as a seat so don’t worry your simple little brain with that one.

One of his tweets:  “Why do I want to try fisting someone so bad? Damn, I need a dirty whore, QUICK!!!”  He’s not willing to pay, he’s not willing to “settle” for less than his physical ideal.  He doesn’t need a dirty whore, he needs his mommy.

I swear.  True story.

9:17PM

I got very burnt today at Laura Lee’s house so now I hurt a lot.  I want to write a book based on my bad dream.  Henry came to see me at work yesterday.  I don’t think it was too successful ’cause we just sat in the back room.  I should have been at info. working – it just would’ve been better.  But I can’t dwell on the past.  He likes me, that should be enough.  He probably doesn’t even notice the geeky things I do anyway.  I’m all red – and it’s not from embarrassment.  Oh well.  I want to have sex – soon.  I guess I’ll just have to wait.  There was a loud, excuse me, is a domestic quarrel

[Continued from "You Call That Advice? (Part 6)."]

John’s blog, which is trying blatantly to whip up excitement for a book that doesn’t exist, as well as garner clients who want his style of “marriage coaching,” had a post offering advice to single women regarding sex.  The gist, of course, is to not have sex until the man makes a commitment.  He even offered some scripture and advised single women to place the scripture in their online dating profiles.  [PUKE!]  He thinks that men can offer good advice on sex and love to women and doesn’t understand why there are no nationally syndicated male advice columnists.

By the time I read that I was irritated beyond compare.  I wrote a comment to the post.  I said he was ignorant and said that Dan Savage, a male (and man), has an advice column, Savage Love, that is nationally syndicated.  The following is what transpired.

_______________

From: John
To: shazamsf@sbcglobal.net
Sent: Sun, April 4, 2010 10:24:48 PM
Subject: Shaming statements

We have transcended the dialogue phase and now you have devolved into judging and name calling.  It is always the same when I engage in dialogue with liberals.  They ALWAYS devolve into name calling.

You profess freedom of speech but you don’t want to allow it for conservatives.

I have had enough, don’t contact me again.  You have made it quite clear your opinion of me, I don’t have to put up  with continued verbal abuse.

John

_______________

Subject: Re: Shaming statements
To: John
Date: Monday, April 5, 2010, 6:49 AM

John,

You are the one who hadn’t heard of dialogue other than from Catholics, dear.  I have not called you names.

Once again you make assumptions.  You don’t know that I’m a liberal, and you certainly don’t know that I don’t believe that the First Amendment should apply to everyone in the United States.

And, by the way, since you have never heard me speak, you have most certainly not be subjected to “verbal” abuse.

Frankly, I’m a tad confused as to what happened between my last response, that indicated I’d write more later, and this latest email of yours, which was a full three emails since then.  You seem to be a bit irrational.

Sincerely,

Suzanne White Montiel
_______________

From: John
To: S M
Sent: Mon, April 5, 2010 7:05:27 AM
Subject: Re: Shaming statements

You made the comment on my blog that I am “so ignorant.”  It was insulting and demeaning.  Your tone throughout has been condescending and that you come across as a teacher who is trying to reach a recalcitrant student.  You have made continuous shaming statements, have not recognized any worth for what I do.  You ignored a previous comment praising my article about Sexual advice for single women by a woman.  I played along with you just waiting for the name calling that invariably comes when dealing with liberals.  You embrace liberal ideas which is your right to do and then criticize me for being conservative.  I knew as soon as I gave you my blog address that you would go on there and find fault with my articles.  You did not surprise me.  Then you lectured me about clinical terms for female anatomy.  I was studying medical text books on OB Gyn when I was 14.

For the record I have a genius IQ and am extremely widely read.  I got a BA with a double major, attended grad school for Clinical Psych and attended nursing school as well.  I was on winning debate teams in school and understand logic quite well. I have won awards in public speaking.  I have excelled at everything that I have attempted.

We are both in the helping professions, we just are at opposites sides.  I have made continuous statements that people are free to accept or reject my advice, but you continue to try and educate me and bring me into your fold of liberal ideas.  I played along until you started making insulting statements for which I am free to reject and do.

If you really want to help, how about lobbying insurance companies to stop limiting psych help to one hour once a week.  If they want to place a total cap on services, that is one thing, but to tell clinicians how they can offer services and limit them to one hour once a week, it contributes to overall failure of services.

As a clinician, you are ethically enjoined to treat people with unconditional positive regard, something that you have totally ignored with me.  You come across as extremely arrogant and condescending.  I choose to rid poisonous people from my life.

John
_______________

John,

Ignorance isn’t stupidity, but those who mistake the two are defensive nonetheless.  When making statements such as, “The problem is, is that there are no nationally published male advice columnists” then you open yourself up to criticism.  I have the same problem with that statement that I have with much of your advice, that you state things definitively that are simply not true.  There is at least one nationally syndicated male advice columnist, and his name is Dan Savage.  When you state patent untruths you appear to be ignorant and uneducated.

One of the other things that makes you appear uneducated is your blanket statements about men, women, liberals, etc.  Furthermore, the fact that you majored in “Bible” makes it clear that your “education” took place at what was/is probably an unaccredited institution, the name of which you have neither told me nor publicized anywhere on the internet as far as I can tell.  (See that, that was a qualifying clause, rather than a definitive statement.  That allows for the possibility that I am wrong, because unlike you, I know I’m not always right.)

Having looked at anatomy books as a teenager hardly makes you knowledgeable about female genitalia.  For example, did you know that within the last forty years there have been discoveries regarding the wonder that is the clitoris?  It’s not just that little thing “at the top of the vagina.”

That you feel the need to tout your “successes” and your intelligence quotient just shows your insecurity regarding your views.  I’m sure you think that if you “prove” that you’re smart that somehow your opinions, no matter how lame and unsupported they are, have more value.  Not true.  Notice I’ve not bothered to outline my credentials?  That’s because I actually write well, with actual facts to support my statements.

I don’t criticize you for being conservative, I criticize you for being dogmatic and unyielding.  I criticize you for being inflexible and not open to the possibility that there are points of view other than your own.  I criticize you as a white man of privilege who simply cannot comprehend that there are experiences to which you are not privy, pregnancy being just one of them.

Other than the ignorance it spews, your blog is also not well written.  You claim to be a writer, so write correctly.

I have never tried to get you to think like me; I, obviously incorrectly, thought that you might be interested in a viewpoint other than your own.

Why you’ve pulled insurance companies’ policies out of the air I’m not quite sure.  It is becoming increasingly clear that an intelligent and pointed discussion with you is impossible.

And once again you’ve made an assumption based on the silly things going on inside your head.  I am not, and never claimed to be, a clinician.

Sadly, you’ve reinforced my admittedly ignorant view of people in those middle states.  Please stay in Indiana.  Advise the hicks there with your lame and repetitive Bible-based doctrine.

Happy to be poison to idiots,

Suzanne White Montiel
_______________

And so ends the saga. I thank John for the material, even if he doesn’t know it.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "You Call That Advice? (Part 5)."]

John was nice enough to provide me with a link to his blog, which has various pieces that espouse his philosophy that married women are starving their husbands of sex by fucking them once a week or less, and that men should be better in bed so that their wives want to fuck them more often.  He claims he can teach men how to be better lovers … in just 800 words.  Here are some tidbits:

Kiss and stroke down her belly past her vagina and do all the way down her thighs and calves. Come back the other side all the way back to her vagina. Remember her panties are still on. Put your mouth over her vagina and blow hot breath through her panties over her clitoris. Then insert a finger inside the leg band of her panties and stroke all around without touching her pussy. It will drive her wild.

…

Start licking between her labia up an down. When you get to the top of her vagina , you give her clitoris a quick lick and go back to licking between her pussy lips. Then insert your tongue inside of her pussy. Stroke it in and out.

…

You can gentle pull back the hood of her clitoris and directly lick the clitoris directly. You can then suck the clitoris between your lips and begin to suck on it like a woman performing fellatio on a man. The clitoris will actually become hard like a male penis and achieve an erection. You can give her an orgasm by givi.ng her clitoris a blow job.

…

Finally there is one more thing that you can do for fantastic foreplay. After having given your honey numerous orgasms, she will be begging you to take her. You can give her a real thrill. Hook your hand in the waist band of those panties and give one hard rip and literally rip her panties off. This will simultaneously scare her and excite her. Every woman has a secret rape fantasy. She does not really want to be raped but she wants to be taken forcefully and roughly by a self confident man. The key to using this fantasy, is that you want to make sure that she is highly aroused.

He then goes into a sales pitch for his book, which does not yet exist.  Perhaps he’s having trouble finding a publisher as book publishers want to publish books by people who can write.  This guy can’t write his way out of a vagina.

Telling men, whom he characterizes as clueless about pleasing their wives, that every woman has a secret rape fantasy is downright dangerous.  Also, many women would be pretty pissed off if their panties were getting torn up all the time.  But the image of men with pursed lips trying to suck on clits like tiny little cocks is hilarious.

I posted a comment to his post with a link to the Wikipedia page on “vulva” and said it would serve the readers better if he used proper names for anatomy if he wants to actually teach them accurately.  While I didn’t tell him this, considering the likelihood that he knows anything about San Francisco geography, saying the clitoris is at the top of the vagina is like saying the Golden Gate Bridge is inside the Broadway Tunnel.  (Trust me, that’s funny.)  I may have been snarky.  I was probably snarky.  I had been dealing with the idiot all day and continued to be astounded at his stupidity. He did not post my comment but did email this to me:

I know the clinical terms for female anatomy.  I went to nursing school and took anatomy and physiology.

I was speaking to a predominantly male audience and chose to use the slang terms to make the article more readable.  I am trying to reach men and convince them not to be so self centered in bed.

You are vehement that women are comfortable with casual sex with no strings attached.  I have never met such a woman.  Ultimately she quickly becomes frustrated.  It is part of the unisex movement foisted upon us by the feminists. Women try and take on male characteristics.  Are there exceptions to this rule, I am willing to admit there might be, but the vast majority of women are not happy with this level of sexuality.  I try to speak to the majority rather than worrying about the exceptions.

You are frankly the first woman who has taken offense at my suggesting holding out for a committed relationship before engaging in sex.

Best wishes
John

This John guy is funny and doesn’t even know it.  He has never met a woman who is comfortable with casual sex because in his world a woman’s sexuality is a means to an end, getting a commitment and fidelity out of a man.  I’m sure he’s met many women who are comfortable with casual sex, but his attitude and judgment prevent them from coming out of the slut closet to him.  And to say that a woman who is comfortable with casual sex is taking on “male” characteristics is Victorian-era bullshit that hurts both men and women.  Men want sex all the time and women need to be in a relationship to have satisfying sex; anything other than that messes with his very antiquated ideas of sex, gender, and sexuality.  And if I’m the first woman to take offense to “holding out” it’s only because I have the time to bother to tell him that sex can be just sex.

[To be continued.  Just one more.]

I swear.  True story.

I actually feel kind of relieved.  I can see myself a lot more comfortable around – being more “friendly” and a lot less nervous.  ‘Cause not I know he does like me.  I’m still sort of confused – What is he afraid of?  Hmm, I wonder.  But all this will be good for me too – I get to learn date etiquette.  Aren’t parents supposed to teach you these things?  Well, I get to teach myself and I’ll be sure to give my kids lessons.  I guess the only thing I have trouble with is remembering to say thank you.  And the trouble I have with people spending money on me.  Just called Mom – she said just to say thank you.  But I don’t want to end up like her – manipulating people into buying stuff for me.