Shampoo 4: One Night of Passion

Or at least, that's what I was hoping it would be. This girl was dirty, boys and girls, and dirty in an almost desperate way that made me like her even less. But I was being polite, and thinking all the things women probably think about when they're fucking Ben Stein, only on a much smaller scale. It didn't really work, but she didn't seem to mind too much.

Then, some time in the wee hours of the morning (this girl was a sex camel like you wouldn't believe), she sort of rolled over, looked deep into my eyes, and said "this is just sex, right? No strings?"

Well, sheeyit. Normally I'm pretty happy about hearing this, because it pretty well mirrors what I want out of a relationship--but in this case, her earnestness in "communicating about our relationship" indicated that this was not going to be a one time thing. At least if she could help it.

I will just skip the rest of the evening, because it was something I'd just as soon forget, and I can't very well do that if I'm subject to be reminded about it in every time zone in the country...I won't talk about it, except to say I've never felt dirtier, less respectable, or less in charge of something.

Over the next couple of weeks, she dangled this plum of a landscape job in front of me like an expert, never too close or too far away, and always at those critical junctures where I looked like I might be developing enough self-respect to call the whole thing off. It was a tough time for me, especially since she was calling me quite frequently at work, and saying lewd things just to visualize me blushing.

See, I work in a fairly small office with the owner of this company, and we've been like this so long that many people can't tell us apart on the phone. Gail had no problems with this, but still, it was kind of...worrisome...to hear her whispering about how...well...um, what she was thinking about, while 10 feet away the owner of the company grunted and cursed about the antics of various employees.

But after a few more exceedingly strange liasons, which I will NOT recount in detail on the inter-net, nor anywhere else for that matter if I'm still sober enough to walk, we got a written OK to start the job. I had sold my first landscape design. And I felt like a whore.

This is when things began to get sticky (so to speak). I'd done the design, the proposal, and the horrible sexual things that make me think of centipedes...but my boss was the guy who scheduled the work. And we were exceedingly busy--so as you can imagine, I was within a very short time put in a very awkward situation.

Said situation is the direct result of my inability to say no to someone who is flattering me outrageously, granted. I should have stopped things before they had a chance to spiral out of control, or I should have done it at any point AFTER they spiraled out of control, since the fallout was going to be equal amounts of shit regardless...but I didn't. Frankly, I didn't realize I was being manipulated by the woman...in part because every time I had to see her, I'd take the precaution of getting absolutely trashed beforehand. This has the desired effect on rational women of disgust and ultimately withdrawal, but didn't seem to faze ol' Gail in the least.

After about 3 weeks of this madness, Gail called me (at work--I wouldn't answer my home phone anymore) and told me she wanted to have me at her place for the weekend. Her sons were gone, and she wanted me to "see how she lived." This, frankly, sounded like a terrible idea. I was just getting to the point where I didn't break out into a sweat when the though of her descending on me from some ambiguous point in space, and I wasn't too keen on having some firsthand experience with mama's pleasure palace, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Plus, she lived in Norman, and you all know that after Utah and Lawton OK, and parts of Detroit, Norman is my least favorite place to visit.

But once again, my liver got the best of me. I had told her NO, but she circled back around and wrangled another date at my place, but on a Saturday afternoon, when she knew I'd be good and drunk (and pliable, as you've already gathered).