Three Men And A Big Baby---Diary Of A Baby Boomer Sex Addict
Without Prejudice
I guess I should be grateful at my age to have any men at all. But I have three. And I am buggered if I can decide what to do with any of them. If I was sensible I would write down all their pros and cons, as directed by the top psychologists, but to be frank, ( and none of them are named Frank ) I might as well just leave it up to the Big Baby male of the Family, King Nicholas, the muscled up cat, who is not fat, just BIG.
He's male, loved by everyone and runs to me if I am in need. I figure I could trust his decision on other males in my life. If he likes them, big tick and vice versa. Better than my own flawed decision making, which is a long way from perfect, given past history.
When Nicky is in a grand mood which is mainly in my place, the unit, he rolls backwards on the rug, leaps, purrs, head butts me and yowls for food. I ignore him mostly as I know he gets fed in the family house. He thinks I don't know this but I have caught him too many times eating in the kitchen while ignoring me as if he has never seen me before while he remains stolidly eating, keeping a baleful eye on the other cats of the family house.
My name is Janet Bee, I am old enough to know better, divorced once, (once more than is necessary as any one can tell you who has been through the horrors of a divorce), once engaged for ten years and once lived with someone for five years. I am gradually working my way down to nothing to do with males but we are all human and me more than most. I have always been addicted to having a crush or being in love. I was most in love with the fiancé as he was 12 years younger than me and intelligent, funny, witty and a dynamo in bed.
I live in a shoebox. A unit that is 8 metres by 5 metres or 400 sq feet in the old measurements. I make jokes about the old lady that lived in a shoe but my numerous pairs of shoes I keep stored as storage is always an issue in a " tiny house". I have a copious backyard that I tend to with a new found enthusiasm for nature, apart from any flying buzzing or crawling things that get in my hair or adhere to my skin.
The front of the block contains a decent sized family brick home, with one a half bathrooms, four bedrooms, a quantity of kids, my Grandkids, a barely sane daughter, the Mother of eight, M.O.E. She is blessed with seven boys, and finally, finally, a little girl. Not all the boys live at home anymore. Four have moved out, ( Thank you, Jesus ) and have jobs and cars and girlfriends and kids. I say Thank You Jesus but I cried when the oldest two left, but not the two youngest. They reappear from time to time and we catch up as if they have never left.
I helped to raise the oldest five and now help with the three youngest, 8, 6 and 3. I call them the Klingons but basically adore them and know that the are my raison d'etre. The 6 year old sat up in bed the other night and said,
" Why do people die "
M.O.E. Replied, " Everyone dies sweetie. "
He replied broken hearted,
" I don't want Nanny to die "
He was especially attentive to me the following day until I told him to stop and then taught him how to peel hard boiled eggs and cook an omelette. I had reason to attend to two 16 year old " Milleniums " the week before and was shocked that they knew nothing about life. No cooking skills to speak of, no jobs, no school, no money, nada, zip, zilch. They had never had to call a cab, babysit a child, clean a house, earn a living or speak for themselves on the phone. I blame the parents.
Cruz, who is 6 will never be allowed to be like that. He is taught by me every day something new. He can hammer a nail, weed a bed, serve guests, set a table, dig a hole, cut up a tomato without slicing his fingers open and charm a crowd just as I showed him. Manners and good naturedness go a long
way in this day and age and he has both in abundance.
Back to Men.
It's a hard task but someone has to do it.
I decided I would write down the pros and cons of each one, just to get it set into my brain, it won't help but hell at this stage I need all the help I can get.
I shall start with the youngest, he's 39. Male A.
Tall, strong, spiritual, sweet. Deep voice, fabulous abs, intelligent, loves all music, including my choices, loves his big wog crazy family, loves a gossip, a smoke, one drink that will last all night, pizza, hot with Chili Pizza. Doesn't work. He used to work full time in removals but these days says he works part time for cash as he is one the dreaded disability pension recipients which to a wog boy is like Manna from heaven.
He resides with his Mum, a widow, who is hardly ever there and he pays her 200 big ones a week. He keeps an eye on the house for his Mother as his younger brother lives in the back in a bungalow with his girlfriend. He, the younger, pays the Mother $300 a week for him and the " missus ", although they are not married. The younger sibling deals all sorts out of the bungalow and makes about 3 grand a week. Much better than the little he was making as a tradie.
Him and the " missus" fight and argue a lot, even out in the driveway and street. So much so that the neighbours have called The Jacks, on the pair but nothing seems to slow their mad, irritable, irritating mad gallop to nowhere. The younger brother has no teeth, nor kids. Just as well in one way and
bloody awful in the other. He's only 18 months younger than Big Bro but they are as different as chalk and cheese.
A.
Is 6'2", works out, is placid and easy going
The younger brother is short, toothless and blessed with a hair trigger temper which is probably the result of being on a pharmaceutical labs size list of substances.
To be continued..........
I guess I should be grateful at my age to have any men at all. But I have three. And I am buggered if I can decide what to do with any of them. If I was sensible I would write down all their pros and cons, as directed by the top psychologists, but to be frank, ( and none of them are named Frank ) I might as well just leave it up to the Big Baby male of the Family, King Nicholas, the muscled up cat, who is not fat, just BIG.
He's male, loved by everyone and runs to me if I am in need. I figure I could trust his decision on other males in my life. If he likes them, big tick and vice versa. Better than my own flawed decision making, which is a long way from perfect, given past history.
When Nicky is in a grand mood which is mainly in my place, the unit, he rolls backwards on the rug, leaps, purrs, head butts me and yowls for food. I ignore him mostly as I know he gets fed in the family house. He thinks I don't know this but I have caught him too many times eating in the kitchen while ignoring me as if he has never seen me before while he remains stolidly eating, keeping a baleful eye on the other cats of the family house.
My name is Janet Bee, I am old enough to know better, divorced once, (once more than is necessary as any one can tell you who has been through the horrors of a divorce), once engaged for ten years and once lived with someone for five years. I am gradually working my way down to nothing to do with males but we are all human and me more than most. I have always been addicted to having a crush or being in love. I was most in love with the fiancé as he was 12 years younger than me and intelligent, funny, witty and a dynamo in bed.
I live in a shoebox. A unit that is 8 metres by 5 metres or 400 sq feet in the old measurements. I make jokes about the old lady that lived in a shoe but my numerous pairs of shoes I keep stored as storage is always an issue in a " tiny house". I have a copious backyard that I tend to with a new found enthusiasm for nature, apart from any flying buzzing or crawling things that get in my hair or adhere to my skin.
The front of the block contains a decent sized family brick home, with one a half bathrooms, four bedrooms, a quantity of kids, my Grandkids, a barely sane daughter, the Mother of eight, M.O.E. She is blessed with seven boys, and finally, finally, a little girl. Not all the boys live at home anymore. Four have moved out, ( Thank you, Jesus ) and have jobs and cars and girlfriends and kids. I say Thank You Jesus but I cried when the oldest two left, but not the two youngest. They reappear from time to time and we catch up as if they have never left.
I helped to raise the oldest five and now help with the three youngest, 8, 6 and 3. I call them the Klingons but basically adore them and know that the are my raison d'etre. The 6 year old sat up in bed the other night and said,
" Why do people die "
M.O.E. Replied, " Everyone dies sweetie. "
He replied broken hearted,
" I don't want Nanny to die "
He was especially attentive to me the following day until I told him to stop and then taught him how to peel hard boiled eggs and cook an omelette. I had reason to attend to two 16 year old " Milleniums " the week before and was shocked that they knew nothing about life. No cooking skills to speak of, no jobs, no school, no money, nada, zip, zilch. They had never had to call a cab, babysit a child, clean a house, earn a living or speak for themselves on the phone. I blame the parents.
Cruz, who is 6 will never be allowed to be like that. He is taught by me every day something new. He can hammer a nail, weed a bed, serve guests, set a table, dig a hole, cut up a tomato without slicing his fingers open and charm a crowd just as I showed him. Manners and good naturedness go a long
way in this day and age and he has both in abundance.
Back to Men.
It's a hard task but someone has to do it.
I decided I would write down the pros and cons of each one, just to get it set into my brain, it won't help but hell at this stage I need all the help I can get.
I shall start with the youngest, he's 39. Male A.
Tall, strong, spiritual, sweet. Deep voice, fabulous abs, intelligent, loves all music, including my choices, loves his big wog crazy family, loves a gossip, a smoke, one drink that will last all night, pizza, hot with Chili Pizza. Doesn't work. He used to work full time in removals but these days says he works part time for cash as he is one the dreaded disability pension recipients which to a wog boy is like Manna from heaven.
He resides with his Mum, a widow, who is hardly ever there and he pays her 200 big ones a week. He keeps an eye on the house for his Mother as his younger brother lives in the back in a bungalow with his girlfriend. He, the younger, pays the Mother $300 a week for him and the " missus ", although they are not married. The younger sibling deals all sorts out of the bungalow and makes about 3 grand a week. Much better than the little he was making as a tradie.
Him and the " missus" fight and argue a lot, even out in the driveway and street. So much so that the neighbours have called The Jacks, on the pair but nothing seems to slow their mad, irritable, irritating mad gallop to nowhere. The younger brother has no teeth, nor kids. Just as well in one way and
bloody awful in the other. He's only 18 months younger than Big Bro but they are as different as chalk and cheese.
A.
Is 6'2", works out, is placid and easy going
The younger brother is short, toothless and blessed with a hair trigger temper which is probably the result of being on a pharmaceutical labs size list of substances.
To be continued..........
