Home, Sweet, Home - Part One - Georgia

I miss the smell of a woman. That perfect combination of shampoo and body wash. I miss the feel of a woman’s skin. Soft, like silk around the shoulders, pressing your lips against them for a gentle kiss. I miss the passion of love-making. The uncontrollable animal urge that takes over you. Intense, amorous bodies so hot it raises the temperature of the room. The blazing desire coursing through you till the end. I miss laying in bed, post coitus, bedroom window open, the magnesium moonlight shimmering off a woman’s body. My finger tips tenderly running across her tummy area around the bellybutton.

Damn. I need to have sex. Not relationship sex, just passionate, hot, one-night-stand kind of sex. Actually, just anything with a pulse seems pretty good right about now. It’s rough since I’ve been with the same woman for 10 years and never really had to go out and work for sex. I mean, I had to work but it was just like... go take out the trash for a quick rub & tug or something simple like that. Welcome to married life. Ain’t it sexy? I’m not trying to be a male misogynistic pig but we all (men & women) have needs that have to be tended to, am I right?

Recently I went home to visit my parents and some old friends back on the East Coast. I’d love to sit here and tell you about these amazing two women that I met and fell in love with each of them in their respective state, one being in Georgia and the other in Kentucky, but I’m sorry to say, that kind of stuff just doesn’t happen. Well, if it does happen, it just doesn’t happen to ME.

I arrive in Georgia and immediately call the one friend I know in the state. Because I grew up in Kentucky, all my friends are there, luckily I had one friend from college who just so happen to move to Hotlanta after graduation. We’ll called her Georgia. Six months into my marriage, my wife and I separated (I told you it was rocky from the start), during that time I moved in with my friend Georgia. She was a great roommie, funny, extremely fun to drink with, and best of all she was hot. Still is. She’s Brazilian. Enough said. My friends would constantly ask if I had hooked up with her yet. I tried to explain that Georgia was like a sister to me. They said “Well you’re from Kentucky, they bang their sisters there! So get to it!” She and I were too good of friends, we both knew we didn’t want to ruin that. Not to say we didn’t have a few drunken makeout sessions, but that was as far as we let it go.

Georgia takes me out with a couple of her friends to a local bar near her house. Not a bad place, but it’s not exactly hopping with beautiful, southern Bells like I had hoped. No worries, I could just flirt with Georgia all night and be satisfied. However she has a boyfriend now and while he wasn’t there, it still didn’t feel right flirting with her. She apologizes for the lame bar and says we can go somewhere else. I try and play it off telling her that I’m just there to catch up with her so it didn’t matter what the scene was like. I forgot this girl knows me better than I know myself, she sees through my bullshit.

So we head out, searching for a new bar. We end up at what appears to be an abandoned building. Walking through the one door in the center of the wall, we move down a set of wooden steps that shake as if they’re going to collapse at any second. Once reaching the end of the staircase, the room really opens up. The club looked like a massive unfinished basement in someone’s parents house. And I mean this in a good way! It was sick! (yes I’m using the word “sick” as in “cool”) They had different graffiti art all over the walls that would rival any museum across the globe. The bar was lit up from underneath and the dance floor was crowded with an insane amount of hot bodies grinding and sliding all over each other. We moved to the bar and grabbed drinks. From there, we watched the dancers slowly make a circle around a few professional break-dancers. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any better, I see a girl on the dance floor who looks exactly like Starbuck from the tv series “Battle Star Galactica” (the new one, not the old one where Starbuck was a dude). Being a huge fan of the show, I of course had an insane crush on Starbuck.

One of Georgia’s friends is a guy I’m going to call Mr. Smooth. This guy was a retired professional at The Game. He was once a great player who will become legend, but has since retired due to getting engaged. I turn to Mr. Smooth for advice. He says to go dance. I haven’t had nearly enough drinks for that. Mr. Smooth tries to explain to me that girls want attention wether good or embarrassing, even if I can’t dance I should just overdue it so she’ll think I’m being funny. I’m not buying it, why would a girl want to dance with an idiot? He grabs the fedora off my head and says to “watch and learn, young padawan.” He pushes the breakdancers aside and pulls off some kind of ridiculous move where he drops back onto one hand while throwing several bar napkins into the air, as they rain down like confetti, he spins on his back but it doesn’t really work. He keeps trying ridiculous moves for another few minutes, then gets to his feet with the roaring cheer of the crowd. He was right. It had worked. Immediately, girls from all over are walking up to dance with him, but he’s retired so he tells them he needs a drink after all that “work” on the dance floor. He comes back and tells me to give it a “shot,” but I explain I need more actual alcoholic “shots” first. Mr. Smooth says next time I go to a bar to be sure and not forget my balls at home.
Starbuck moves over to the bar, ordering a drink. Mr. Smooth comes up with Plan B. He’s going to go talk to Starbuck and bring her over to me. Earlier, we had seen Starbuck smoking by the bar (yes, in Atlanta you can still smoke inside some bars), so Mr. Smooth goes up and asks for a light. He doesn’t wait for her to light his smoke, instead he takes the lighter from her hand and does it himself, then he hangs on to the lighter. They exchange a few words that I can’t hear before she eventually, and obviously, asks for her lighter back. He returns it, they exchange a few words, and she walks away. Mr. Smooth returns explaining her boyfriend is one of the muscle-bound meat heads in the group of Jersey Shore wanna-bes that reside in the corner of the room. I ask him about the lighter and he explains that he never lets a girl light his cigarette, if a girl lights his smoke then she can immediately walk away after. Mr. Smooth always takes the lighter and lights his cigarettes himself, then he can hang on to the lighter for a few extra seconds to get a conversation started. If the girl happens to say she doesn’t have a light you simply say “That’s okay, I don’t smoke, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” This guy is like butter: F@ckin’ Smooth. He also tells me I need to get new shoes. I had heard this before from The Count, apparently women look at a guy’s shoes? This seems so odd to me, I don’t think I’ve EVER noticed wether a woman was hearing heels or converse before. Who the hell looks at feet? I tend to look, well you know, at their FACE! Weird, right?

I leave the bar with Georgia, her friends, and some new found advice from a retired professional, Mr. Smooth. All in all, it didn’t turn out like I had hoped, but it was still a fun night.

Now I just need to find some new shoes...

...to be continued in “Part 2 - Kentucky”