Dear Penthouse Forum;
(Originally posted 7/27/2018. A rare requested re-post.)
I have read Penthouse Forum for years and for years I have seen people write “I can’t believe this happened to me” but I am writing to tell you a story that actually happened to me but I can’t believe it happened to me.
Forgive me if it takes a while to get good.
I had dated her a few times and we seemed to get along well. She was an actress, the lead in the big play in town, so I was always wary of her abilities to pretend to be someone else or say something sincerely. I guess you can never trust a woman but in the case of an actress I imagined that it went double.
I went to see her play last night. She got me front row seats and I made a point to try to watch her expressions as closely as possible to see if I could get an insight into when she was acting and when she was being herself.
The make-up made it hard. I guess those happy/sad masks that represent theater could just as easily be layers of lip gloss, cheek blush and eye liner. A mask is a mask.
The play went well and she seemed in a great mood backstage. After she was able to slip away from her admirers we grabbed a bite to eat and I walked her to the front door of her house.
She invited me in.
A four-alarm fire burst out in my pants.
She gave me a glass of water and said she needed to go upstairs and change. I almost had to pour the water down the front of my khakis.
Moments later I heard the stairs creak as she started down them. I casually looked up to check out what she was wearing.
She descended the stairs in a cropped brown jacket and high-waisted black skinny jeans. She looked great but not particularly comfortable. She plopped down on the couch next to me and started flipping through channels to find something to watch.
I had the feeling it was about to get good.
It wasn’t. Not yet anyway.
After a few minutes of trying to find a comfy position on the couch in her tight jeans she stood up and excused herself again.
I heard her moving around in the bedroom above me and eventually the stairs once-again creaked their tell-tale creak announcing her imminent arrival.
This time she floated down in a delightful pink and purple boho dress. The floating took her almost to the bottom of the stairs before she turned and floated back up with a short “This is too floaty.”
More minutes passed and I realized that my pants no longer needed the fire department. I sunk into the couch and started to watch an episode of Community that I rather liked.
I looked up briefly to see her start down the stairs again in a striking floral long-sleeved midi and white boots, only making it a quarter of the way down before wordlessly pivoting and disappearing back upstairs.
The episode of Community ended and another one began. I went to the refrigerator and got myself a soda and, after some rummaging through her cabinets, found a bag of chips to snack on. A television commercial in the other room was blurting out “Until you’re twenty you have the face you were born with, and after that you have the face you deserve.” Before I could return to the living room I heard the stairs creak for a few seconds, stop and then start creaking in the reverse direction. I felt bad that I had missed an outfit.
But plenty more were to come.
I saw a white shirtdress over printed trousers and a matching neck scarf, a yellow plaid jacket over vintage denim pants and a crème-hued sweater and skirt combo.
Finally she made it all the way down the stairs and returned to the couch in an airy maxi skirt and a graphic tee. I don’t have to tell you she was worth the wait. She looked amazing.
I don’t want to disappoint the readers but nothing sexual happened. She wouldn’t remove her make-up and I didn’t want to kiss a girl I didn’t know.
If you know what I mean.
I sincerely couldn’t believe it happened to me.
The good part?
Out of nowhere I remembered a quote from poet David Whyte;
“Love may be sanctified and ennobled by its commitment to the unconditional horizon of perfection, but what makes love real in the human world seems to be our moving, struggling conversation with that wanted horizon rather than any possibility of arrival.”
Well Hung Up On Someone