Power and Mike.

What is power?
For a long time it meant a meaningless combination of sounds: P-O-W-E-R. Something that males are addicted to playing Whose-Dick-Is-Bigger games throughout their lives. A drug the society hooks you on making you participate in never-ending rat racing.  I used to look at others with the mixed feeling of condescending sympathy and relief. I felt sorry for their constantly desperate attempts to win in societal competitions and was blessed that I do not have to emulate.
After my personal experience with power I changed my opinion. It happened when I ended up homeless and pregnant with Greg’s baby. I was shocked and frozen spending days at work, evenings in the library, and nights in a stinky shelter surrounded by trashy people who stole my food and blahed over the government cell phones preventing me from sleeping. It was freezingly cold there, and, devoid of iron, I kept trying to adjust the AC to at least 75F until a junkie complained to the shelter attendant. I got yelled at, and they locked the temperature at 65F making me constantly shiver under the blanket.
I spent my entire free time in the library trying to focus on my doctorate. Looking for a place to move in was another headache, since my budget was too tight to cover the first and the last payment and the security deposit.
It was the time I lost count of days. Work, school, library, realtor, shelter. And cold, Greg’s baby made me freeze all the time.  And one day I met Mike. It was Friday night. I went to an old car show to take a break from everything and look at nicely dressed people. He gave me a smile, and I laughed in return. He was very approachable, and I was numb, dizzy, and freezing.
3 months pregnant, 85 pounds, and no insurance and desire to see a doctor. At that time, the last thing I wanted was letting medical idiots invade my privacy through ultrasounds, blood-work, and ridiculous recommendations to poison my unborn baby with dead bodies of slaughtered animals and infused with antibiotics dairy.   
On one of our dates he asked me for a blowjob. I slowly shifted my eyes from the platter of carrot rolls to his face and said “No”. I craved badly for carrots with raw nori and was happy that Mike took me to a vegan place and paid for it.  
          You will get allowances babe.
          No Mike.
          Aren’t you interested in how much?
          How much?
          How much do you want?
          It does not matter since I am not doing it. Can you order another platter of carrot rolls, by the way? – Of course he did not know I was pregnant. I was skinny to a fault and very pale. Obviously, he had a crush on anorexic girls.
          Just say Yes, and I will buy you whatever you want.  – He was a nicely looking guy, good perfume, refined manners, ironed shirt. But the taste of his cum was not something I wanted at that time.
          I am not doing it Mike. Sorry.  – Stress and pregnancy blocked everything, I literary felt nothing. No anger or frustration, just the craving for carrots and nori.
          I will pay you 400
I almost choked on my roll. Mike had that innocently pacific look on his face as if he were offering a scoop of ice-cream
 –          Are you kidding?
          Well, you need money my dear, you are in trouble, just trying to help – His blue eyes were deep and very warm, a white shirt, refined manners. – Wanna receive it without condom and cum in your mouth and …
I put the chopsticks aside. My appetite was entirely spoiled, but my mood jumped from zero to hundred. For the first time in my life I felt I was powerful. Homeless, pregnant, penniless, and lonely I had the luxury of saying No to the offer that exceeded my annual salary. Looking into Mike’s eyes, I felt he was losing and I was winning. I did have a dick, and my dick was much bigger than his. I was in power to build my life beyond the required package for a young and decent soon-to-be-mom lady: a house, a lawn, and someone with an average-sized cock and irregular erection to pay for the golf and boat lifestyle. The feeling of freedom from the societal slavery was strong and amazing. My collar was off, my leash was torn.
He went on talking and talking about my horrible job, problems with housing, and his sincerely willingness to help. The more rational he sounded, the funnier our dialogue seemed to me.
Abuse in my marriage escalated when I got pregnant, I had to run away. Who knows; maybe my ex felt the baby is not his. He kicked me out of his insurance as soon as I left. Greg did not answer the phone. His secretary told me he was in Argentina until the end of the month. The whole situation was ridiculously unreal, and the grand finale of meeting that horny jerk seemed funny to me. I sensed Mike’s change of attitude, he could not bend me over, I had the dick, it was much bigger and firmer. 
He got respectful. I asked him for another portion of carrot rolls to go and for a couple of warm blankets.
          Do you need anything else, babe?
          Yes, Buddha.
          I will put him under the pillow, he will help me find serenity and fall asleep in this stinky place
          You’ll get it.
He silently followed me to my car with the box of the carrot rolls, put it on the passenger seat, and asked if I was still willing to see him again. I gave him my business card and drove away. Dating someone weaker than I am was not on my agenda.
It was the turning point. I knew things would get better. The next day I got approved for Medicaid and scheduled to check on Greg’s baby. Two days later Mike mailed me some cash, it was enough to take care of the required payments and move into my own place. A week after I received a phone call from Greg’s office. He was back and willing to help with food and doctor visits. He was excited that I finally had my own apartment where he could see me whenever he wanted.
My inner power was with me, I felt it, experienced it, and it was fun.


I have no idea why Greg is jealous. How do I explain my Jewish guy that the last thing a girl wants in this life is someone’s cock in her tiny depilated pussy. How can I make him grasp that beauty salons, luxury massage, fitness, quality scrubs and creams, and soft silk linen are much more preferable for us than a sweaty and hairy someone who reeks of a medium-rare steak and social drinking. Yikes.    
The scope of girl’s interests lies beyond guys’ porno fantasies. But Greg does not believe me and continues throwing accusations that I sleep around.
Greg can’t stand people. He smells their shit and cancer at work and brings to me the stress of dealing with stupidity. I do not blame him. I would not be able to cut people’s bodies and clean their filth. Greg hates it too, he literary can tell how stinky his patients’ thoughts are by their smell. He keeps telling me that the body is the reflection of the soul, and he is stuck saving the body damaged by the ugly mind.
And Greg seriously thinks that I am cheating on him with one of those who are unwilling to relinquish anger and resentment, constipate, and stink hiding their foul smells behind perfume, money, and life experience. LOL
Being pathologically greedy, Greg does not understand that some guys are capable of giving since they like to see me smiling. I love presents, I receive them with sincere happiness, and they love making me happy.
Mike’s BMW was the financial relief, I sold it and finally had the leaking roof fixed and changed old tiling in the bathroom. The fact that I know how to provide for myself without wasting my health at work does not necessarily mean I cheat.
But Greg does not understand. He left the bruises on my throat that night, crushed my furniture, and disappeared. Like a spoiled little kid, he gets furious when his toys are taken away. He is very possessive. And this is something I love, his power to say yes to my no, his excessive control over my life, and his strength. He is much stronger, and I can’t resist. Awesome feeling.
My morning has started with his come-back rudeness “I want to pin your down and pump you full of my cum. Can we meet today?”   
I texted my usual “No” and smiled.
How can I possibly cheat on such a rare animal!   

Greg’s Wife. Breakfast meeting

The second time I ran into Greg’s wife was during the breakfast conference aimed at the trauma-informed care. She represented her company, I showed up since I was hungry and wanted to see my good friend who was supposed to educate on domestic violence after fruit and coffee.
Emy immediately recognized me and approached our table.

         I know you, you have a funny name. What was it a bunny or a squirrel?
          Neither.  I had no desire to respond to her sarcasm, it was too early, and I was not fully awake yet anyways
My one-word feedback and the serene eye-contact without smiling made her nervous.
          I was just trying to be funny, did not mean to offend you, what was your name again?    
 –          Vixen
          Now I remember. You play the piano and have a kid
Another long and meaningful eye-contact. Yes, my sweet overweight lady. I have a child, Greg’s, your sons’ brother, but you do not need to know, really, it will save you a visit to your psychoanalyst.
          Yes, Emy.
          And you remember my name, how nice of you. I do not see any piano here though
          There is one in the lobby but I am not playing today
          Why are you here than, are you a psychiatrist?
Well I act like one every time your hubby comes into my life throwing tantrums at 1 am. I help him cope with his work, family stress, and absence of sex life so he can come to you relieved and ready for a daily portion of drama. Actually, I am a family counselor who has been saving your marriage for a while.
           No, I am not
          What do you do for living? 

She was still standing at our table, and my friend was put off by the way she presented herself.

          Would you like to have a seat? You are standing, we are sitting – not good, – There was a slight surprise on her face, she obviously did not expect me to be nice to her.
          Thank you, Vixen. I really wanted to know more about you, people talk about you, they talk a lot, I was just curious …
She used good perfume and had a perfect manicure. Her wedding ring did not trigger any emotions, I literary felt nothing when I saw it: neither jealousy, nor sadness. She wears a ring, I am required to wear his presents, necklaces that he regularly brings me from business trips: same collar, same leash, 
 same slavery. He owns me, he is in my heart and between my legs. 
          Really? And what do people say? – I was curious. I do not interact, I am not a people-person, prefer horses. Animals make much more sense than most humans. 
          People say you always get invitations to the events that none of us have access to
          Really? Which ones?
          The recent VIP party in Cheretto… My company was unable to get membership there, we have been on the wait list for years. And people saw you there. I saw you on our front cover not that long ago and recognized the face. Just interested who you are, Vixen. Everyone, actually is. 

I laughed loudly and felt quiet and surprised glances towards our table. My friend gave me a disapproving look – after all, it was a trauma-related event for therapists, psychologists, and social workers.  It was the time to go, being around serious people who claim they help others but are  unable to stop eating junk food and take care of their skin and bodies is not something that I can tolerate for a long time.

Vibrating IPhone. A text from Greg: “Do u want to get fucked? I want you to be my little slut”.What an idiot. How can Emy live with a guy like this?

          It was a pleasure to see you both, but I gotta go. – I smiled to Emy and thanked my friend for the invitation. Anyways, breakfast pineapples were yummy.   
          We need to get together, Vixen. Would you like to meet for lunch?  – Emy hurriedly opened her handbag searching for her business card
          Sure, you gave me your number in Ritz, remember? I will give you a call, and we’ll meet in Cheretto if you like. They will let you in if you are with me, and you will buy me lunch, deal?
          You are so sweet, my dear, you are…  Mentioning Cheretto got Emy from zero to hundred, she was happy, she seemed to change her attitudes about me in seconds. And I was leaving, I was in a hurry, I wanted to see Greg, I was happy that he is still the part of my life.

Recent lunch with Joe

Monthly lunch with Joe, my ever-lasting admirer. He found me five years ago in a park where I was drinking almond latter and chewing a chocolate cookie. He gave me his business card and invited to his lecture. I gave him a call, attended his class and since then he is my fan. The less interest I have in him, the more clingy he gets. He is sweet, loveable, PhDable, supportive, kind, gentle, and these qualities make him absolutely asexual. I use him as a convenience to pay my rent, to set up my fish tanks, to write letters of recommendations, to give me cash when I am broke, to wipe my tears every time Greg emotionally and physically destroys me, etc. As the reward, he is sometimes allowed to kiss my hands.
Joe admires – Greg fucks. 
Joe inquires about everything I do: job, school, piano playing… – Greg is only interested in the hairless pussy. 
Joe loves me with his heart – Greg loves me with his cock. 
Joe is as adhesive as a Jehovah witness – Greg could not care less. 
Joe is my temporary crutch – Greg is hypnotizing.
If Greg makes me pregnant again, Joe will be the perfect candidate to take care of the kid sincerely believing that he is the happy father. Briefly speaking, Joe is conventional, descent, and boring. A real fairy tale for a nice Christian girl who looks for traditional relations.
He tried to blame me for destroying his marriage, but since I let him politely know that I never asked for any sacrifice, he started begging for forgiveness. His divorce was finalized 2 weeks ago, and I am absolutely not thrilled. Prior to this, he was at least cautious, now his careless obsessiveness may put me in trouble since Greg keeps stressing that he will literary destroy my whole life if he finds out I date someone else. Actually, this makes Greg even more mesmerizing in my eyes. Unlike Joe he is very possessive.
Joe handed over a check to me at lunch.
Just a small gift for my little Vixen. Go and buy something for yourself.
I was slowly licking guacamole off my fingers. They make fantastic guacamole here; fresh hass avocadoes, a little bit of green garlic, and lemon, yummy! I definitely need to learn how prepare 
 something similar at home.
          Please take the money, I know you need it.  
Joe was as sweet as usually. I slowly moved my eyes from the fingers to the handed paper, smiled, looked at Joe, and forgave myself for being a callous bitch. Helping me out is the ritual for Joe that makes him feel wanted, needed, useful. Giving me something is thousand times more rewarding for him than for me since I know how to accept presents with sincere gratitude and a baby joy. His ego is entirely satisfied that he is helping a helpless single mom in this cruel world, and the feeling of being the powerful savior makes him happy.
I always accept help. I love myself way too much to go through redundant struggle of making extra money if there is an opportunity just to take what is offered.
Am I grateful to him for everything he does? Absolutely! But love cannot be born out of gratitude. Dependence and the strong feeling of indebtedness can, but love and affection cannot.
Greg’s midnight text messaging with feverish demands to come over to see him or at least send him dirty pictures never turn me off. Joe’s servility does, it is boring although beneficial.
I was gazing at Joe, imagining that I am with Greg. I smiled for Greg, and Joe was happy.

Greg again

I took it easy last night, was in bed eating strawberries and listening to Spanish guitar when I heard the ding-ding sound. It was him. Very busy, have a flight, fix me dinner, Juan is on the way.
I deleted the text and continued dissolving in Nouveau Flamenco when my Iphone started ringing. I silenced it and stretched.
It is almost midnight, I want honey and lemon juice over my strawberries, and the only open store nearby is Walmart. I would not risk going out after dark anyways since this area is not the safest. People sell and buy methadone in the parking lot, and this is actually the nicest thing that they do there. Good that Juan will be here shortly, I will send him shopping.
Juan is Greg’s new driver. Like everyone else who works for his majesty, the drivers normally have the expiration date similar to my coconut butter  – about 2 weeks. Greg pays well, and they literary run away. Sometimes they stink, sometimes they talk, Greg puts up with everything, but they are unable to withstand his constant yelling.
The phone kept vibrating, 10 missed calls and 7 voicemails. The only thing that I know about guys is that if one leaves, another one emerges, and if no one emerges, it is not a big deal. Nothing is actually a big deal in this life. I do not like being treated like his housekeeper, or his wife, or his nurse. After all, I am a human being on my day off.   
Juan knocked on my door 30 minutes later.
–          Estoy aqui para recoger la cena, presiosa.
–          Tell, Dr. W.,there is nothing to pick up, he can buy whatever he likes at the airport. – I sent him to Walmart with my grocery list, and he never came back. He was even worse than the previous driver. Tom smelled like a dead cat, but at least he was reliable.
Another text on my Iphone: Are you ok? Did Juan make it? Talk to me. I am worried now.
I turned off the phone and got dressed. I will drive to the store and get my honey with lemon. Putting him on hold. Reboot.