Employed at last

Two years and nine months after I was laid off, I got another job. It's a good job. I really like it.

The job market heated up earlier this year, and I began to see suitable vacancies and was even headhunted a few times. Alas, after many interviews, nobody offered me a job. I assumed that it was prolly due to my age, although a couple of companies came across as so regimented/unpleasant that I doubt I would have accepted a position anyway.

During this time, I decided to attempt some networking even though I don't like it. This time I got lucky.

Someone who had worked at my previous employer was now head of Marketing at a newish lender, based in California. They were small but growing, and best of all, they didn't take themselves too seriously. After a single interview, she sent me an offer the next day, and I took it. Three days later a stack of computer equipment arrived at the front door (I'm working remotely - I have no plans to relocate), and two days after that, my job officially began. It was late July, so I've been working for over a month.

Even the job hours work for a slacker like me. Since almost everyone else is on Pacific time, I don't log in until 9:30 am, and work until 6:30 pm. The only drawback is that I can't cycle on weekdays, but I decided to set up an indoor trainer fairly soon.

While I initially entertained the thought of finding an apartment -  my aunt actually believes that President Biden symbolizes the end of the world, and watches Faux News nonstop - the prices stopped me. This neck of the woods became awfully popular after the rise of the COVID-related home office. Some apartments were charging almost as much as California landlords.

There's not much else to tell for now. A proper salary - more than what my previous employer paid - frees one to start thinking of stuff like vacations and even buying a place. So I've been doing a lot of this. 

"Nature hath her fill of mirth, and the senses are filled with delights."

The month of May is beautiful here in Tennessee, and my gardening efforts are paying off.

Considering that I have not been able to add new clients to my business, my thoughts have often been with my relationship with Reed*. At times, so has my body.

Two days ago, his job sent him a mere 50 miles from my home for a single night. I was able to improve my mode of dress as I have finally begun to achieve some measureable weight loss. After his initial greetings, he kissed me deeply, and then said something that took me aback: "You are so beautiful and complicated. I can't stop thinking about you."

I looked at him closely and felt a chill, as either I saw a crush, or a man who is falling in love.

I don't remember how I responded.

Later that evening, he played two opera arias that astounded me, as they are two of my favorites. One - Nessun Dorma from the opera Turandot - is common, but the other isn't. I jokingly accused him of breaking into my Pandora or Amazon Music accounts, but couldn't keep from wondering why he chose what he chose, especially as he admits he knows nothing of opera.

The next day, I viewed my Co-Star astrology app on my phone. Although I never took astrology seriously, and am not sure I do now, the last weeks of Co-Star messages have rung eerily true. 

Here's what it said:

"Everything is going well, so you lock your heart in a safe. Why is it so hard for you to trust?"

* See The Usual Suspects.

Sublime punishment

Readers may already be aware of my unapologetic preferences for married men, especially during times when I'm feeling emotionally unavailable, and not knowing where I'll be in a year. Like now.

Two months ago, I re-activated the infamous Ashley Madison app. After about a week of visiting the site, I saw no one interesting and forgot about my active profile. But a week later, I received a message from someone named Reed outside my area; someone 200 miles away.

It turned out that Reed visited my area on business one week out of each month, and was looking for someone like me. He was literate, tall, built like a linebacker, former military (now physicist), wore glasses and had all of his hair, which had already turned a beautiful shade of silver. He was 11 years younger than I.

My years of waiting to meet shared chemistry post-Cub* finally ended. After our eventual meeting and dinner, the situation escalated quickly. It was very much to our mutual satisfaction. Reed had noticed my one online photo with featured me fully-dressed, but wearing a small but noticeable pair of leather cuffs. He had brought his own, related "supplies" just in case.

He not only shared my unorthodox interests; he understood the psychological background. In other words, he understood that if a woman has a taste for submissiveness, it doesn't follow that she has low self-esteem, an unhappy childhood, or anything along that line. He never suggested anything along that line; instead, he eventually admitted he was fascinated by me, and considered me highly intelligent.

The one hiccup in this setup shouldn't be problematic to me, but in some ways, it is. Seems that Reed is married to a woman who is also a "top" and is fine with our relationship. He admitted that she liked hearing his descriptions of our evenings together, and would like to eventually meet me (I demurred).

Sometimes I think I would manage better if I were The Other Woman.

* See The Usual Suspects.

The return of The Cub

The year 2021 has been mostly pleasant for me.

I still enjoy the scenery that is Eastern Tennessee, I've kept up my exercise regimen, and I have suddenly begun to hear from companies that may want to hire me for full-time work. As much as I enjoy my current slugabed existence, I really need to bump up my income.

In addition, I finally wrote the email that brought my on-off communications with Cincinnati* to a final close. I had kept falling into the trap of believing his promises of a future weekend together, even after he forgot (or pretended to forget) them over and over.

Last month, I wrote Cincinnati, quoting a few of his promises to meet soon.  I said that I needed a real-time relationship, even if the real-time bits were few and far between, and that he did not share this need.

In addition, I suggested that our occasional passionate chats were no more than self-abuse fodder for him. I did this for two reasons: I suspect it's true, and it would be something he would never forgive.

He did eventually respond, although he offered no explanation for his inactions. He politely wished me well. But there's been one interesting action: instead of promptly blocking/unfriending me from Instagram and Strava, he simply went quiet.

But on to the return of The Cub, aka Darren*. We had spent some particularly delightful times together in 2016. If readers will pardon my bluntness, it was some of the best sex I'd ever had.

Darren lived/lives in Houston, but came to my then-neck of the woods on a regular basis until his project was completed. But we had always kept in touch, shared the occasional photo, and sometimes admitted to missing one another. Until last weekend.

Last week he said he would be traveling to Tennessee to watch a nephew's last college baseball game. He offered to spend a night in Memphis if I would like to see him, and of course I did.

While we both had put on some COVID lockdown weight, he was every bit as blue-eyed and attractive as I had found him some years ago. I managed to be a total airhead, from pouring a soda in my lap during my drive to Memphis to locking my keys in my truck. I have never locked keys in a vehicle, ever.

We had dinner and retired to his room, and although I felt somewhat unsure of myself at first, it was enjoyable a tryst as it could be (I had shown up without certain outfits I knew The Cub preferred, since they were still in my Texas house).

Morning arrived. We kissed goodbye, he hugged me, and he was gone.

Here's where things get a bit strange: For the last two days I've felt sad about our meeting, and I'm not entirely sure why. We still shared an attraction to each other - didn't we?

At first I thought that perhaps I was jealous that he had two beautiful and prize-winning children, while my miscarriages and other factors had prevented my having children of my own. But then I thought that his life was far from perfect, and I enjoyed freedoms that he could never indulge. I had felt a bit sorry for him when he described his current, hated job. So I decided this wasn't the cause of my sadness.

The only reason I can fathom is my realization that my chances of another evening with The Cub are very small. His reasons for last week's trip won't re-appear, and even if a new job takes me elsewhere, it won't be in the same state. I still hate Texas summers with a passion.

But perhaps I'm being pessimistic. After all, my life has had more pleasant surprises than unpleasant ones. 

* See The Usual Suspects.

a guide to forking with Instagram scammers

Although I generally stay busy with work and cycling in these covid-limited days, sometimes I enjoy toying with the nonstop parade of romance scammers who approach me on Instagram. When I say enjoy, I enjoy pretending I've fallen for their spiel.

Their approach is always the same: they are in the military or work on an oil rig, they are widowed, they saw my photo on Instagram and want to get to know me better. Some cut to the chase and insist I am beautiful. 

Although I've yet to come across a scammer who wasn't easily picked out by a goofy name - and a Google or Yandex image search busts 90% of them - I still play innocent at first. Of course, everything I tell them about me is a bald-faced lie, including that I recently inherited the family fortune. When I allude to my faux riches, this gives most of them a particular hard-on for me and they crank up their efforts to woo me.

Depending on the amount of fun I'm having, I'll lead them on for days or even a week or two. This isn't always possible, as they often try to connect with another Instagrammer who also recognizes the scam, but prefers to report them instead of fucking with them.

I may eventually give my scamming Lothario my email (I keep an untraceable one for this purpose; it's changed frequently) to extend my fun, especially if we've reached the point where they want to send me some $$ and need my bank details. Or, if they need to move cash quickly and want my help. These jerkwads are dreadfully unimaginative when it comes to theft.

Another ploy is to make up ridiculous and non-existent activities. These amuse my friends the most (I'll sometimes do screen grabs of these to share). My favorite: when asked what my hobbies are, I always reel off some boring ones, but insert something nonsensical. For example, I've told many a romancer that I loved photography, country music and turnip racing, and ask if they've ever attended a turnip race. A few say that they have.

Alas, all of my Instagram romances must end when I get bored with it. Although I sometimes tell them I find them unattractive and could never have sex with them - they seem to be genuinely shocked by this - I usually tear them a new one for assuming women are stupid enough to fall for their juvenile scam. Lastly, I send filthy memes that tell them to eff off. Some lose it and call me names, some just disappear. 

For anyone who finds this pursuit a waste of time: remember, the more scammers' time I waste, the less time they have to find a gullible victim. And I hope they're paying for wifi by the hour.