Chapter 19: Come Back

Monogamy? Okay for you if you prefer exclusiveness. Never use it, myself. Variety is the spice of life. The lust for and thrill of new conquest, searching for new and strange, is curiosity about what she looks like spread naked and how she feels different inside her. There is surprise and joy discovering how each new lady feels special. So of course I enjoy the first penetration of a new woman. Constantly I’m seeking new adventures, questing for the best feeling pussies. It’s not about keeping score or accumulating notches on my gun. One night stands are pretty raw deals but a first time is necessary for there to be repeats. Requires practice together to make the best sex. When I repeat sex with a woman, it’s being perfected, at least over the first four or five encounters. By then we know each other pretty well, the signals, what to expect, how to pleasure each other, and are quite comfortable together. It’s about adding exotics to my loosely assembled harem, my collection of affectionate uniquely sensational women. I want to keep what I already have and add to it. I don’t want to lose anyone but keep all of them, revisit and enjoy them again often and cultivate our emotional relationships. The more women the merrier. They don’t have to be beautiful or young for me to recruit and appreciate them. Pleasant personality is more important than good looking. Most important is they feel really good on my cock. A strict requirement is no jealousy. They accept I’m not monogamous. I am faithful though. I don’t abandon them for or exchange in favor of another, or trade up, no such nonsense. I attend to the women I already have, so they don’t think I’ve lost interest.

Why am I so vigorously defending my philandering social life style?

Because my heart is not a finite pie and love isn’t a zero sum game. If I love someone more it does not reduce loving someone else to being loved less. Loving multiple women, doesn’t divide my heart into diminished miserly little pieces. Love is added value. The more I love, the more love I have. The pie expands. There is plenty of love for all my ladies, and for others not yet met, and my future children. My heart’s capacity for love increases. When it overflows, it grows.

In that, it resembles a volcano.

Why this self-serving philosophizing? An effort to self heal, to ease and comfort my aching heart. Gail just informed me, she will never marry me, never be a wife to me, never bear my children. She can’t! Couldn’t. Won’t. She suggests I find someone else to play the pivotal role in those dreams. Also announced, when her boat has been refurbished, she intends to sail away. Forever? She claims she wants to return someday, knows she will miss Dalisay and myself, but refuses to make promises. Such promises at partings as, to keep in touch, write, phone, visit, return, are the most often broken promises. So she only promises this. We can hope. If we live long enough, we will see what the future brings. Life is rife with possibilities. Really?

My hopes are dashed!

Not true. Not all my hopes are dashed, just my hopes with Gail are turned to ashes. Dalisay, Gail, and I and the pups were cleaning Gail’s boat when the conversation took this unhappy turn. Remind me, not to let the pups lick my face for a few days. It’s wonderful Gail managed to convince Dalisay to use in the diffuser, only a few drops of oil instead of a spoonful. With the aromatic scent of orange, working inside Gail’s boat to clean up the sick, wasn’t horribly unpleasant as long as we kept the conversation pleasant.

Now I’m feeling nauseated watching the pups go after it, and have an overwhelming urge to leave. Dalisay is crying for both of us.

I paddle to town, arriving just in time to become involved in a riot. Homeless squatters, tent camping in the town’s central park across from city hall, are being forcibly evicted. Buses await loading for the purpose of removing the unwelcome people well beyond the city limits. It’s a screaming bedlam of frantically breaking camp, hurriedly packing up, resisting boarding the bus, and resisting arrest. Occasional flurries of grimy fists versus police truncheons erupts. The fire department threatens with fire hoses. Maybe I’m interpreting wrong and the fire hoses are intended for washing away all traces of them, after they’re removed? One bus containing the most vocal, most verbally abusive, and the violent ones, has already departed. The women and a few children remaining, are being separated. The kids are being escorted away by social workers. More fighting, more arrests. Mom’s trying desperately, even violently, to hang onto their children. It’s a sad scene. These combative moms are now the priority to board the next bus, and without their possessions.

Speaking to a bus driver, waiting in the rear to be one of the last loaded, I asked where were the people being relocated to? The fighters and rebellious are being sent temporarily to the county prison farm. There they will be psychologically observed and assessed as whether they’re sane, dangers to themselves or others. The cleared will be released in small groups over the following days. All those not arrested will be transported and discharged at a crossroads some twenty miles away.