When I meet someone or look at their picture the first thing I notice is their eyes. A person says so much through the eyes without even knowing it. I can see so much in the way a person looks at me or another, I can see what they are really thinking when their mouth moves with falsified truth.
The eyes are truly the windows of the soul and that is one reason I wear sunglasses. No one needs to know what is going on inside me and besides, they would either disapprove or be totally dazzled. “C” has beautiful eyes and I can see what he has on his back burner all the time.
He is something else because he keeps coming back even though I tell him not to. We have finally agreed to disagree regarding gifts, he likes buying and I think he likes that I don’t take them as well. It’s as if he is deliberately punishing himself, men lol I will never fully understand them.
The one thing I do know about men is they are all little boys deep inside and of course they all like blow jobs. I dated a guy from Italy, I mean right off the boat. The gaudy gold bracelets and necklaces and rings, he always left his shirt unbuttoned half way down so the girls could see he was related to big foot.
He drove a thunderbird and he had horns added so when he came to pick me up it sounded like a damn symphony of cars outside honking like fools. He loved to buy me jewelry and we would go to Canada to pick up fresh snails and a blue and white box of candy. He loved to go to the club but he was so possessive he had to go. He was constantly touching me and kissing me in public which really bothers me.
I do not like to make out with a bunch of people watching me, that is of course unless I am involved in a massive orgy, ya every Monday and Thursday, lol. He was a nice guy but lousy in between the sheets and I hated all the hair he left in my bed. It’s one of those things that turns me off, like a sink full of hair and whiskers.
When I finally put him back in the sea I had to move in the middle of the night so he couldn’t find me. He would call me crying and begging me to work things out with him. It wasn’t there no matter what he said or did, the feelings just weren’t there and I couldn’t force them.
He just wasn’t for me, too short, too hairy, too jealous, hell I think he was just too much Italian for me, no he was just to controlling.