HOW TO BE A GOOD WIFE

Just last evening, I went to a new set that my co-workers have been screaming about for the past few weeks. 

I walked in and saw one of the sexiest women, I know personally, seated alone at one of the tables in need of my company.  I approached and asked if she was waiting for someone.  She told me "NO".  I went to the bar and bought a drink and came back and nuzzled up next to her.  We sat there for about 20 minutes enjoying the music, our drinks and some cigarettes.

First, A Few Words About Most Women My Age

I enjoy women my age, more than any other group of women.  I pursued these women relentlessly in my youth.  Now that they have slowed down a bit, it's easier to get their attention.  At this point in our journey, we tend to share common interest and we have a good understanding of sexuality, by virtue of extensive training in this area.

Since I've been single (part II), since my separation and subsequent divorce, I have had a few intense encounters with "mature women".  My experience has been that mature women know precisely what they want.  You never have to call them twice to come by the house and they prefer your house over theirs because most have nosy ass grown children, a few grandchildren and/or a husband.  These women take care of themselves and are not ashamed of their bodies.  The ones that don't take care of their bodies readily come to understand that; because you have an active interest in them, that you like their body enough for the both of you. 

Mature women have skills that you simply cannot teach a younger woman and are never shy about providing you with instruction should you be lacking in certain areas of expertise.

I have nothing against younger women.  God bless them, but they tend to use sex as a commodity.  Women are 40 or older before they allow sexuality to become an integral part of their femininity.

The Transition

Being sexy all your life can be a double edge sword.  My friend is not making a graceful transition from young hottie to human volcano.  Women who fight that transition often morph into Dragon Ladies; preying on the unaware like pedophiles at Chuckie Cheese on Saturday afternoon.

During last evening, I was forced to the conclusion that my friend, my future ex-wife, has become a Dragon Lady.

I have been pursuing this "woman of interest", for some months now.  We like each other a lot.  We are close in age.  We are predators.  We are well versed in matters sexual.

My friend is drop dead gorgeous.  She has a washboard stomach, legs up to her navel and an ass to write home about.  She has been fine, since the age of 12 or 13.  She has transitioned from nubile lolita, to ambitious young bride, to wounded ex-wife who vowed to neverletithappenagain!!!; to predator.

When we first met, she branded me a "playah".  I took her comment several ways: as an old school compliment, as an accusation and as an acknowledgement.  When she called me out, I knew that she too was a playah and had played the game longer and more successfully than I.  I took an 8 year hiatus as the bride of Dracula (but that's several other blogs!!).

By the time we had several conversations about who's the playah; I realized I had fallen for this woman.  I had encountered her 8-9 years ago, at a social function.  She was in her prime.  When she walked into the room, ALL eyes turned to her.  She was thicker than she is now and had on a strapless black knit dress that she had sprayed on before she came to the function.  I was married to Dracula at the time but she made me wish to be single.  I was transfixed.  She made all the other women in the room disappear.  That image of her sitting regally at the table by herself has stayed with me all these years.  We now work in the same building.  It now seems inevitable that we would hook up.  I just haven't been able to gain an advantage!

Dragoin Lady's modus operandi has not changed in all these years. After our 20 minutes of serenity, two men that I work with approached and invited themselves to our party.  I saw the joy of disruption on their faces.  One of these men told me last fall that I had "too many girlfriends" (!) and has decided to liberate this particular one from my stable.

Moments after their invasion, we were joined by two of her former co-workers; a man and a woman.  I knew the moment they sat down, that this man Poindexter Le Negro, was who Dragon Lady had been waiting for. 

Poindexter and I sparred in an effete gentrified manner.  I did not allow myself to be drawn in.  We were polite.  No dick slamming or pissing around the perimeter of the table.  I already knew the outcome of this evening.  Dragon Ladies take what they want through coercion.  The rest of the night had been scripted.  My Alpha Male endorphins were misfiring.  Plus, there was a plethora of playah hating going on around the table.  I had been equally unsuccessful at flirting with the ChakaKhan starter kit waitress.  Not one time did she rub her thick hirsuited hips against me, as she squeezed past nor was I able to entice her to bring me extra shots of the sponsored drink.  The comely wench that had come with Poindexter Le Negro was immersed in conversation with a 4th bloke that had decided to invade my turf.

The evening was dragging.  I was the only one at the table buying drinks.

Dragon Lady looked at her watch.  She decided it was time to take her bad ass home.  Ever the gentleman, I offered to walk her to her car.  Not tonight baby!  She promptly tapped Poindexter on the arm and suggested that it was time for him to leave.  They left.  I waited a few moments and then dragged my dejected tail home.  TV and a Jethro Bodine sized bowl of cereal were calling me home.

Three spoonfuls into my cereal, my cell phone rang.  It was the Dragon Lady.  She had been unable to take Poindexter Le Negro home and was calling for some damage control.  We have been at this dance for 7-8 months.  She enjoys jockin me in public.  In her mind, I'm always pounding my chest, dick in hand, upstaging the rest of her entourage.  She's told me this, in the past.  Based on feed back from her girlie men, she believes that I psychically pick on them, when we're in her presence.  I could not make this up.

Dragon Lady knows that in addition to being the Alpha progeny of an Alpha Male from the lower Eastside of Detroit, I am a sensitive artist.  To her merit, she enjoys my writing and supports my endeavors.  I will love her for eternity for this alone.  She called to coyly let me know that she had failed in her attempt to pull her former lover back into the fold.  She threw me a few coochie coupons.  She let me smell it.

I know that she will continue to try to get Poindexter Le Negro to come back home.  She kicked her last young stud to the curb for falling in love.  It's time for a replacement.  The thought of accepting me in her bed would be a consolation.  We are two years apart in age.  I would serve only to remind her that she is my peer. Her fragile ego will not allow her to concede having a middle aged lover, no matter how ferocious the love making.

Near the end of our conversation, she regurgitated her commercial about getting married.  She has talked to me endlessly about a (given) man that will come along and sweep her off her feet, buy her a new house, a new car  and some jewelry; marry her and live in conjugal bliss for eternity.  I dryly reminded her that that sort of commitment would require her to assume the posture of a woman that wants to be my wife!  I suggested that she would need to sublimate that inner playah and move to a position that is foreign and insecure.  I'm not sure she's ready to be there, no matter how often she talks about it.  And it seems to come up every other conversation.  In her heart of hearts, she longs to be a bride again.  Make it right.  We both had bad marriages.  Hers went south as the consequence of youth.  My marriage?  I was the bride of Dracula.  She sucked me dry and left me for undead but damn if I don't keep rising from my crypt!

As the former bride of Dracula, Dragon Lady and I would be good for each other.  We know the down and dirty side of love.  We know what to disregard and what to cling to.  It's just about staying focused.  She likes em young and I like anything with a pulse that can squeeze into a size 8 dress.

I knew when I started writing that she might read this piece.  This is a true story.  This is my version of events. After she gets over being mad at me, she might consider the advantages of being married to the Prince of Midtown, if she can manage to get over herself.

Mixed media sends mixed messages.  Today's woman can bring home the bacon, fry it up and wash the pan.  But y'all forget: everybody don't like pork. 

It would take very little for me to be happy at this juncture.  I simply need to be with a woman that believes it is possible.  Unfortunately, many of my peers have forgotten how to believe in being happy.  They only know about work and attending to the needs of grown ass children and brat assed grandchildren.

I will continue to pray to the God of broke down playah's for my salvation.

Please email me some suggestions.