2004-06-23 @ 11:32 p.m.
|You know you’re in sex-brain mode when you’re lying on your couch at three in the afternoon, talking to your mother, who is 76 years old, about the Mile High Club. She used to be a stewardess back in the 1950’s, ya see, and she had first hand knowledge about stuff like this. That is, in fact, how she snagged my father. He was the Captain, and she was a fledgling stewardess, and she soon became his First Mate (cue music)...and they lived unhappily ever after.
I may grouse about my mom but she has absolutely no qualms about talking about sex, even at 76. She is the queen of sexual innuendo, flirts with handsome young waiters (she’d put a tip in their pants in they’d let her), had four husbands, had a fling with a married man (see, its genetic) she found on the internet (she was 73 years old when she flew to Arkansas for a weekend of brazen sex with a much younger man she met in “Out of Order” a video game, which might also describe her weekend in Arkansas). And just this weekend when I was talking about living at the nanny house I intimated that I may need curtains on my bedroom windows....
And she chimes in “BECAUSE YOU SLEEP IN THE NUDE?”
Christ, mom, can you hold it down? Of course my totally pristine image with my mom has been steadily deteriorating in recent months. In December I actually said the word masturbate in the same breath as wittykitty and there were no tsk, tsk’s, but more like, “That’s my girl. A chip off the old block...the girl does have a sex drive!” (oy, if you only knew)
So we were talking about the Mile High Club (which had curiously segued off the subject of Bill Clinton) and she told me about this charter flight she had in the mid-fifties with some very special passengers. Singers from Birdland. Now if you don’t know what Birdland is, and I don’t know exactly myself without looking it up on Google, but it was a very famous jazz club in New York. All the big names played there. Sarah Vaughan. Count Basie. Billy Ecstine. Jerry Southern. And they were touring around the country and they had chartered a plane and my mom happened to be a stewardess on it. I guess she was with them for several days on several legs of the trip.
But on part of the trip, there was a very bumpy patch of weather and as the sole stewardess on this small chartered plane, she had to go around and check to make sure everyone was sitting down and strapped in. Well, suddenly she realized that she couldn’t find two of the passengers...Sarah Vaughan and Billy Ecstine.
My oh my, where could they be? The plane is so tiny...
So she went and knocked on the door of one of the two tiny bathrooms, and the door swung open and let’s just say Billy and Sarah were in the midst of applying for membership in the Mile High Club. My mom said something like “Oops”, and then hurriedly supplied standard procedures for bumpy (ahem) rides, but they ended staying in the bathroom for the entire duration of the storm.
My mom did end up with a $50 tip at the end of the flight and a souvenir book from Birdland autographed by all the performers. I still have the book. My mom wants it back to show her piano bar buddies, but she’s very forgetful and I’m afraid she’ll leave it on the table and its very valuable with autographs from the likes of Count Basie and that sassy vixen Vaughan who signed it Vocally Yours.
So today was my group with “A”. Unfortunately he had to cancel my regular appointment, because of a court appearance, and then he’s going on vacation for two weeks, so I’ll be on my own for a good three weeks. So watch out East Coast. Lock your doors. Hide your handsome young sons. Wittykitty will be on the loose. And it really couldn’t have happened at a worst time. I have so much on my plate right now. The nanny thing. The Married Guy wifie going out of town thing. My raging hormonal thing. I’m a freakin’ mess. But shrinks need R&R too. No denying that. And “A” does so much for people.
But since I’m lucky enough to have a group, I decided to make an effort to talk to people in group, before and after. Talked to Paul about Michael Moore and an upcoming fundraiser in town for his new film. Talked to “C” because she looked a little down. “MB” too. Talked to the hottie Tom afterwards briefly. He is the brother of Greg, the nanny guy. Again he seems really nervous around me. Not sure why. He told me he had given Greg a really good report about me. Told him that was nice and also told him his brother seemed a little hyper. Hope he didn’t take that wrong.
I then headed for a massage with Married Guy. Hadn’t seen him for a week. Always miss him, even though I had called him on Father’s Day. He is an awesome Dad, and I just wanted to acknowledge that. I usually get him a Father’s Day card every year, but I slipped up this year. No funds. Oh well. At least I called.
But it was a most excellent if not succulent massage. He did the old tried and true things and then some new, if not (cough) thrilling things. He was pushing the envelope though. Not that I’m complaining. I’m a horny middle aged woman in need of attention. And when he’s rubbing my ass in a most forceful and pleasing manner...who’s complaining? Now if only he were naked, and I could reciprocate, then it would be kismet. At least for a couple of minutes.
But also as he was working on my ass and making slightly risque jokes, I was thinking of those mallets you tenderize meat with. You know how you can put a piece of meat on a counter and then beat on it, and I was thinking of this as a metaphor. He was getting me all nice and malleable for when wifie leaves next week.
And he was so nice today. (grin...that was meant as an ironic grin, by the way). As soon as I walked out of the massage room he had his receptionist make another appointment for another hour massage next week. Usually we only do one every 2-3 weeks, because it takes time for me to “earn” them. So we’re going to meet for a graphics job first. I guess that will pay for my massage in essence, because that’s how it works.
Men are such scalliwags, aren’t they? But us women let them be. It’s as simple as that. We Let Them Be. Yes, some of them do love us, do respect us, do honor us, but when it comes right down to it, its all about getting our meat tenderized.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty