Heather, Escort Girl

My Heather. Nordic appearance, pale skin, green eyes, and high cheekbones. Elite escort girl, tall, perfectly toned, blonde, and expensive.  She has two great qualities that make her stand out in the love-for-money-world. She keeps her mouth shut and has a sparklingly beached smile. She is extremely popular among busy guys, since she knows the value of being quiet. She always keeps own opinion to herself.
Committed to exercising, she always has the six-pack abs and the well-defined round Brazilian butt. I have a ton of respect for girls like her who can tolerate pain and boredom associated with routine muscles building. I do not see her much recently since her new boyfriend is opening a bunch of new offices in Tokyo, and she is with him out of the country almost all the time.
Last time we met was right before Christmas, she returned to the US for a couple of days to run errands and meet a couple of very wealthy clients.  – I can introduce them to you if we like, Vixen, – she was rational and direct. I was struggling financially, and she sincerely wanted to help
–          No thank you, this is not what I am looking for. 
–          You need someone who will resolve your problems, – Heather persistently tried to hook me up with someone financially capable of moving me into a gated community with golf fields and water fountains.
–          How can someone resolve my problems? If he did not create them, he can’t do much about them.
–          Well, – Heather set her espresso aside and looked at me shrewdly, – you do not seem to take care of yourself very well. You create problems that follow you.
–          The mind creates problems, the only thing that we can do is to tame it, I do not need a man in my bed for it.
–          Yeah, Greg told me you have those ideas that we do not exist, and the mind generates our personalities; sounds like you need to rest more or change your job. You are getting crazy
–          Heather, – I was stumbling over her cold down-to-earth rationality. I knew she cared, I loved her for it, but it was impossible to get through her personality and have her understand. The world of Botox injections, beauty salons, and Jimmy Choo shoes was way too far from what I was trying to say, – I am glad Greg told you about our conversation. At least he did not forget
–          And he also told me how you kicked him out of the hotel room at 2 am.
–          We argued, he got pissed
–          He said you were naked and had your both hands on his cock, you had him go down on you, and then you froze and asked him to leave
–          Yep, I just turned off and wanted to go to sleep
–          Good girl, I am proud of you, – Heather’s hearty laughter brightened my day. – You sure you do not want me to introduce you to Rick? He is a psychiatrist, very established, Greg and his Emy say you will make a good couple.   
–          Fuck Greg, fuck Emy, I will deal with my problems by myself
–          No you won’t,  – she stopped laughing, glanced around, and lowered her voice. I felt the smell of Chanelle perfume, as she leaned over the table – You are desperate, Vixen. You are in the dead-end relationships with the shithead who fucks you when he is bored with his wife. You distanced yourself from Jim, you are getting estranged from me. You do not let us love you. I will help though.
–          Sounds like helping me is making you feel better about yourself, friend, – I was deeply touched. I wanted to give her a hug and fall into tears.
–          I will make sure Rick will get in touch with you soon, – she was in a hurry, her taxi was waiting to take her to the airport; she was returning to Tokyo. I was staying here with my present and past demons. She sincerely thought she would resolve my issues. I knew she was wrong, but I was happy that she cared.     

Jim, Dominance and Submission, the Safe Word

I literally hated Jim’s Quid-Pro-Quo attitude. My timid “let’s be friends” crashed into his “I can’t be there for your without intimacy, it is not fair to me” . It was a bargain, the ongoing business project under the “get-more-give-nothing” slogan. One day I got tired of feeling angry, sad, and offended, since it was a mere waste of energy. He neither listened, nor understood. His “I want my lover back” was the only response to my attempts to explain why it will never happen.

I got quiet. He tried to get into my mind – I did not care. I am predictably pedestrian, but he never got that since he never listened.
          I want you, let’s start over again
          Leave me alone
          You are always busy for me
          Please leave me alone
 –          What do you want? Arrangement? How much? Talk to me….
I threw my head back and burst into laughter.  Something happened. Something flipped the switch in his head, and he turned into a stranger. The stranger grabbed my wrist, dragged me into the bedroom, and threw me on the bed. Our eyes met as he was forcing my legs apart. Glassy look, he was numb and freezingly callous. His unresponsiveness to my repetitive fuck-you-fuck-you-fuck-you was scary. I felt the sharp pain in my fractured knee and tried to release the leg from his body weight. All in vain, he was way too heavy. The pushed to the side panties cut into my skin adding to the absurdity of the situation.  My attempts to slap and bite were mixed with ongoing laughing and crying. I kept whispering I hate you, and I knew he did not care.
          You are a witch, –  he finally let me go.
           Get out, – The stranger turned into the Jim I knew; warm confidence, persistent dominance, and the buy-low-sell-high philosophy. I was no longer scared, just tired from the overall insanity.
          Why? We were just playing.
          You are nuts, – I adjusted the skirt and reached out for the hair brush. Shaking hands, trembling lips, still sobbing.  
          You told me you wanted it rough. I was trying to make you happy. You should have said the safe word. I would have stopped…
          Get out.
The next day Heather came to see me. She brought apples and Ibuprofen. Jim had pulled my hair too hard.  
          I do not want to see him any more
          He is a nice guy, Vixen, – I started crying, she handed me a tissue, – he has common sense, you should stay with him
          No, – I was thinking about Greg, his talented introversion, firm dick, and quiet psychopathy. I missed him. I wanted him back into my life.   
          Forget about Greg, eat.
 I loved Heather, she was a good friend. The apples were sweet, Ibuprofen numbed the pain. I smiled, I felt better.

Greg and I. We Do Not Exist

          You gotta give me the proof I do not exist, – Greg was persistent, I was surprised he was interested, very interested, sincerely involved  

          You are way into evidence, my dear. Research question, hypothesis, data evaluation, hypothesis testing, and blah-blah-blah. It would be easier for us to communicate if you were not that fixated with your academia. If you could just perform your surgeries…   
          Your academic personality limits your perceptions to the logic of correlation, causation, and the facts to support arguments.  Your mind denies the reality beyond that. You sincerely believe that everyone lives within the same proposition-and-evidence matrix.
          But I need evidence.
          What if you had no idea what evidence means? What if you were not taught to live your life within the trap of cause and effect? What if you had no idea what logic means?
          And what would happen than, Vixen?
          There would NOT be anyone here that would ask to explain inexplicable. Your mind created scholarly Greg who thinks, feels, and acts based on how you were trained to behave. What and who you think you are is just a fiction, an illusion, a fantasy.     
          What should I do?
          Now your mind is offering another illusion, the illusion that you should do something about it.
          So… you think everything is the product of our mind?

I nodded. It was getting late, I was getting tired

          If so, who am I?
          Like I said, there is NO I or you. We do not exist.  
          Damn, Vixen

The evening was warm, the air was redolent of jasmine, our discussion was weird, being with him was habitually magical. He was an illusion, a creation of my mind. He did not really exist, and I did not care. I did not exist, and I did not care either. My mind kept throwing at me a bunch of expectations from our date, I could not turn my brain off and focus on the present moment. But it did not bother me. The created illusion of the little and vulnerable Vixen in love with Greg seemed real, so fucking real; but I knew it was another mind game. And I observed, curiously observed and experienced the Friday darkness, Greg’s skepticism and aggressive horniness, my obsession with him and pain. I had no expectations from either Greg or myself, I was just an observer that evening, the observer of the Vixen in love and the Greg in his career.     

Greg and I. Nothing Really Matters

I keep rewinding our conversation with Gregthat Friday evening. The man of my dreams, the vegan restaurant, the downtown hectic of dark Saint Pete, butterflies in my stomach from our eye contact, and the elbows on the wobbly outdoor table.   

          Let’s assume you are right, once we peel off all the layers of our personalities, we disappear. What is the point of living than?
          There is no point. Life is meaningless, Greg.
          And everything we see is the illusion, created by our mind…
          Interesting. It does not seem to bother you at all…
          It cannot bother me since there is no such thing as myself.
          Vixen, according to your theory, our mind creates ourselves.
          Our mind creates a myriad of personalities based on societal programming; each personality identifies itself as MYSELF.
          But I am who I am, I have certain principles that define me as the real true self.
          I bet we would not even have this conversation if you had a toothache. The suffering personality would not focus on existentialism, honesty, and dating your Vixen. The world would shrink to the necessity to take Tylenol ASAP. Your real true self with your certain principles that your mind previously generated would not exist.

He had that weird look on his face, the mixture of disbelief and sincere interest. I gave him a smile and continued. – Dealing with the non-existence is easy, stop associating yourself with your mind, and you will sense that nothing really matters.

          Not even my feelings for you? – he leaned towards me. I felt dizzy, happily light-headed.
          Your mind created myself, Greg. You want to see me in love with you, and you get that.
          I like the illusion. Let’s fuck.
          The non-existent-you wants to fuck the non-existent-me, how does it sound?
          I do not care
          BINGO, – I was ready to jump with excitement, –  Did you get what you’ve just said? It does not matter to you…
          You are crazy, Vixen, but you make me hard, this is what really matters.   
          It only matters to one of million personalities that your mind keeps devising. If I push your buttons, and the erection is lost, another personality will pop up, the one that won’t be horny.
          You are REALLY crazy, shut up and let’s go, – it was easy and pleasurable to give in. I stood up and quietly followed him to his car.

We argued that night, he left angry, and disappeared for several months. I proceeded with my life accepting the fact that nothing really matters.  

Female Magnet, Perfect Lover

Our relationship was weird. James was the live copy of incubus, yes, yes, the mythological creature that takes advantage of half-asleep half-awake women.

          You remind me of Fuseli’s demon in “Nightmare”, – I just came back to Florida and was proudly sharing my impressions from the Detroit Institute of Arts. The comparison did not offend him, quite the opposite, he seemed to be flattered.
          Tell me about this…. um… you said, incubus?
          Yep, the lusty little ugly dude, who crawls into women’s bedrooms and has his way with them while they are in sleep paralysis.  
          I like it. Please go on.
          He is old, hairy, ugly-looking, has horns, claws, and oftentimes goat feet. He puts his victim in a trance, so she can’t cry out for help. And of course, he has a big cock.
          Wow, Vixen. I really like it. Is it bigger than Jim’s?
          Shut up, – it was funny, he was funny, it felt surprisingly easy to be myself around him
          Tell me, where is Jim when this incubus comes over?
          Actually, I am speaking about the old myth
          And what about your Greg? Does he put him to sleep as well?
          Please stop it, – hearing his name still caused pain, lots of pain
          Can I be your incubus tonight?
          You will always be my friend.

Strangely enough, I happened to like him, the touch of his short fat fingers was literary hypnotic. I still do not fully understand how I ended up being with him. He certainly did not match any of my criteria. Neither a sugar daddy, nor a young macho; he had no means or desire to put me in a town home with a boat dock and nearby sushi bars. And he was not fit and exotic enough for a girl’s night out; so I could not brag about having the best-looking boyfriend. He had the asset though that made him the real magnet for young and high-quality women. Kind personality and perfect cock – great length, a lot of girth, and the knowledge how to use the tool to make me happy; the qualities I would never exchange for a gated community with tennis courts and waterfront restaurants. I could break into tears and laughter, lick guacamole off my fingers, watch stupid reality shows, or draw elves and dragons. He was never judgmental, and he knew how to fuck. And he was selfless, lovingly selfless and generously giving. No wonder why women fall for him.

          I am lonely, so lonely, honey. I will end up dying by myself or paying sugar babies for a blowjob.
          Bullshit. You have more women than anyone else in this damn hospital
          Am I your incubus?
          First, you may google more about who he is

The thought of being in relations with him scared me. I knew he had feelings for me, I knew, with time, I will destroy him. I will step over and proceed to someone established enough to take care of my bills and to comply with my mom’s ideal son-in-law standards. I did not want to cause him pain and break his heart. He was the most selfless person I ever met. I cared, I truly cared.

          We gotta break up
          Or we can take one day at a time, it is all up to you, – the other reason for me to fall for him. He gave me freedom. He never claimed myself as the property, which was unusually sexy. He called himself kinky, but he was normal. Wonderfully normal. I knew it would not work between us, but I decided to follow his advice and take one day at a time.