Back to the Beach

It's been about 10 years since I went to the beach to actually get in the water. So when the Band Teacher told me to go with her, I was a bit apprehensive. I mean, I'd have to get mostly naked in public. I haven't been naked in public since my stint as a stunt flasher. But the chance to ogle mostly naked women won out.

This is the view of the ocean from where we were sitting. It's at Poipu, Kauai.


You can't see the palm trees and pavilions behind us.

Once on the beach, I immediately began to warm up with some beers.


And I started to look for female butts. Sorry the picture quality is so poor. I have a crappy cell phone.




Lucky the BT is so cool. She said her cell phone camera was better than mine, so she tried to take some pics for me. She has lousy tastes though.


Beached whale?

Screw this. I'll just take a pic of the BT and post that up instead.


"Oh no. Don't post that pic on your blog. It makes me look fat," said the BT.

WHAT? where the hell is the fat? In your toes?

During this time, Riley was out on his lunch date. I had been egging him on all day yesterday, saying when I see his date, I'm going to hit on her soooo bad. I only did that so he would get off his ass and initiate a date with the poor girl. As proof that the girl did survive initial contact with the entity known as Riley, he sent me this pic. Of course, it could be a man in a wig.


After the beach, the BT and I headed off to a bar and grill for lunch. It's the same one where I hit on a waitress a couple of weeks ago. This time I didn't hit on any waitresses. A friend told me I shouldn't hit on the rest since they do share stories, and I would become famous.

Instead, I called over my waitress and said, "can I get your opinion on something?"

"Sure," she replied.

"My friend sent me this pic of his date. Does she look thirty-# to you?" I showed her the pic on my phone.

"No. Wait. No. She doesn't look thirty-#."

"That's what I thought. Hey, can I take a picture of you?"

"Well, I usually don't like how I look in photos, but ok," she said as she corrected her posture.

"Actually, let's take a picture together." I handed my phone to the BT.



She's right. She was way more attractive in person. The backlighting hurt the pic. And you can't see how great her legs looked. She said she was a runner. I believe her.

The BT said we should do this again next week. If I do, I'm buying a better camera.

I Should Not Be Allowed Near Women

Been a while since I wrote something. I actually had a busy October, but I promised not to write about it. So you guys will have to be satisfied with November. For November, I seem to be having weird interactions with women.

This is what happened when the Band Teacher and I went out to lunch one day:

We were seated and a nice caucasian waitress came over to take our order. After she left, I said, "she looks like she works out."

When the waitress came back with our drinks, I asked if she works out.

"I surf and swim a lot. I haven't been to a gym since I moved here though. But I love the beaches around here. I'm from San Diego, but the ocean around here is just so much better. Is it my large shoulders? Back in school, the guys used to ask me to flex. Do they look weird?"

"Not at all. In fact, I think you look very attractive."

After she thanked me, she went back to work. I talked to the BT about body language and how it's fun to see all these couples here and try to figure out what's going on. Then I said that if someone was watching us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. I was looking at every single attractive female in the place while my "girl" took it casually. The BT said that if they paid attention to her body language, they should know we weren't a couple. I told her she was wrong. Then I pointed out how the hostess wanted to seat us side by side.

I then noticed the waitress had her back to us while she fiddled with those computerized drink terminal thingies. She had nicely shaped legs, but the BT refused to look when I told her to.

When the waitress came over with our food, I spoke again.

"I never got your name."

"Oops. I'm sorry. It's C*****. We're supposed to introduce ourselves when we first greet the customers. . . [she spoke too fast at this point]."

Lunch took some time to finish. I had a really big cheese burger and the BT had a fish taco. I told her to be ready because I was going to make a fool of myself. C***** came back with our bill.

"Hey C*****, what do you think of this? I'm a 35 year old teacher. I love mountain biking and riding motorcycles. Any of that sound interesting?"

"Yeah! I love motorcycles."

"How about movies? You interested in movies?"

"Oh, I do love going to the movies, but I have a boyfriend."

"Might not be a good idea then."

"Yeah. But um, aren't you with, um. . . your wife. . . girlfriend?"

The BT piped up, "oh no. I'm just the sister he never knew he had nor wanted."

"Oh, you two are just friends," C***** asked.

I replied, "yup. But the funny thing is we were just talking about how people would mistake us for a couple."

C***** finished with, "you know what? Thanks. You really made my day."

"No problem. In fact, I really enjoyed looking at you." [wtf was I saying? I need to stop drinking beer during lunch.]

Later that day, on my bike ride:

There's this one female security guard for the hotel where we ride our bikes. I saw she was working today, so I was determined to talk to her before I left.

I pulled up to the guard booth, and she waved. I stopped, took off my sunglasses, and said, "you know, I see you here often, but I've never introduced myself. My name is Squiggy."

She stood up and came closer to shake my hand. "My name is C*****."

"Hi C*****. So how does a girl like you become a security guard?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I keep trying to tell them to hire more women so I'm not the only one."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure how you'll take this. I was going to say that you were the most attractive security guard around here, but since you're the only female one. . ."

C***** smiles.

"Well, I guess I should let you get back to work. It does look rather boring though sitting here all night. Maybe I should sneak in some beers?"

"I'm allergic to beer."

I look stunned.

"So what do you do when you go out?"

"I hardly go out anymore. I usually stay home. When I did go out drinking, I would drink hards."

"You usually stay home? How old are you?"

"21"

"Twenty one??? And you don't go out drinking?"

"I used to drink a lot in high school," C***** smiles.

"Ah, I got it. It's no fun now that you're legal, huh. Well maybe I can take you out for drinks one night. I'll see you around."

"Yup. You will since you've seen me often before."

She later declined my offer a couple days later to get drunk.

This happened during the work week:

Girl Student: Mr. Squiggy, Miss [cute Science Teacher] told me to ask you something.

Me: Um, kay. . .

Girl: I'll tell you after class. (40 minutes later) Miss Science Teacher told me to tell you to buy a ticket to my hula performance.

Me: Huh? Why?

Girl: She bought one, but she doesn't want to go alone.

Me: So she told you to ask me?

Girl: Yeah.

Me: Um, kay. . . how much is a ticket?

Girl: $20 for the dinner too.

Me: Twenty bucks???

Girl: Yeah. Miss Science Teacher bought the $20 one.

Me: Great. OK. Meet me during lunch. I'll go get my money.

Email to Science Teacher: You're going to drive for this.


After mountain biking:

In the afternoon, while we were loading up our bikes, a rental car pulled up to the lookout. Out popped some old fogie and a tall, attractive blonde. We made some small talk about things to see around there. She, her mom I guess, her grandpa, and a hot sister were out for the day touring. They came on a cruise ship. The tall blonde looked good, and she was doing stretches in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to flirt with her. I guess I R-tard.

After jogging that afternoon with a girl:

The girl adjusted her sanitary napkin in front of me. I also matter-of-factly pointed out her nipples were showing. To which she replied that it's natural since she was wearing a sports bra and she was active. Then she started to poke at her nipple while I watched.

"Um, let's get going before something else besides your nipples gets hard."

The BT and I went to a bar:

There was another attractive waitress, go figure. However, she was dressed differently from the other waitresses. Of course, me being me, I had to ask. She explain that she worked behind the bar, and was also a food runner. She also explained that her uniform matched the guys, but of course, the one she wore was a more feminine style. I agree.

While the BT was settling the tab, I kept watching that attractive waitress. She was stocking some drinks behind the bar, and whenever she bent over, her top would lift a little and expose her lower back. I thought it looked great. No muffin top, no tramp stamp, no blemishes. Nothing but smooth skin. (The BT later asked how I was able to determine that in the poorly lit conditions. I hate her for ruining my dreams.) I decided I had to say something to the attractive brunette.

I took my chance when she walked past me. "Excuse me." She stopped. I reached out my hand, and she put hers into mine. I got to look at her close up for the first time that night. She was very pretty. However, several hours of mountain biking, including a crash, a 2 mile walk/jog, a couple of hours wrenching on a motorcycle, and alcohol, all conspired to give me the equivalent of a first grade reading level.

"Yes," she asked as I held her hand.

"You remind me of a Gilmore Girl." DOH!

To the old saleslady in a jewelry store:

"Can I get a fiance to go with this wedding band?"

In Macy's when a 5'8" blonde walked past me:

"Careful sir," warned a saleslady.

"Thud," said my foot as a kicked a shoe display really hard.

"Sorry. I was just looking at the pretty tall girl."

In a different store, helping my friend find a gift for his girlfriend:

Friend and I: Hi H****. (She was a friend's wife)

Me: Hey H****. If you were a girl. . .

Friend: What do you mean, "if?"

Me continuing unabated: What would you do if you got a stuffed animal as a gift? You'd probably just put it on a shelf or something, right?

H****: Yeah, probably.

Me: But what if someone special gave you a cute blanket. Or maybe a cute pillow. Wouldn't you love to get that?

H****: Oh yes!

(I threw in that last one more for discussion. Would women prefer something like a blanket or pillow to a stuffed animal?)

My Birthday Suit

"Hey, what are you doing," The Band teacher asked.

"I was just getting my things together to go riding," I replied.

"You want to get lunch first?"

"Hmmm. Well, Satoshi said he was going to ride later in the day, so I guess... sure."

I threw on a t-shirt and shorts and headed to the BT's house. From there, we took her car to lunch since her car is cooler. My car is a Yaris. It's frugal and sensible. Not sexy. She has a TC. It's aggressive with attitude. Also, if we take her car, it's like I have a chauffeur.

The BT said she was craving a Loco Moco. That's an over-easy egg on a hamburger patty, on rice, smothered with brown gravy. So we headed to a popular motel diner. I ate a saimin. That's Hawaii-style ramen. She paid for lunch since she was the one to ask me out. (See The Blonde? The one that asks the other out pays. Normal, eh?)

After we finished eating, The BT wanted to do something else. She missed my birthday the week before, and wanted to do something special to make it up to me. I didn't have any objections. My other option was to hang out with two other people who possess penises. We hopped into the BTmobile and moseyed on out.

The BT brought me to a small, private room where she had me take off my clothes. She was totally in charge of the situation. She was domineering and imperious. She broke me like a wild horse. I had no choice but to obey her every command.

"Take this one. Put this on. Take that off. Put that in. Pull it out."

But even though she was the boss, she was still caring and made sure I was ok.

"How does that feel? Do you like that? Is that nice? You like what you see?"

We did this for about 7 or 8 rounds. By the time we were done, I was broke. I was spent. I was a changed man.

When we started, I looked like this:










Now I look like this:



We went clothes shopping.

God Said Squiggy Can't Be Happy

A couple of weeks ago, the Band Teacher introduced me to one of her friends. We'll call her the Pharmacist. I found her to be rather cute and intelligent. However, me being me, I didn't make any advances.

Of course, you need to remember that every woman I found myself attracted to has some serious issue. Two girls turned out to be lesbians. Another turned out to be really a guy.

Anyway, the Band Teacher and I went to the movies last night. I was hoping the Pharmacist would come, but seeing as we were going to the last show, it was a long shot. Throughout the evening, while shopping and eating, I kept bringing up the Pharmacist. This kind of grated the Band Teacher's nerves. She was like, "just go over to her work place and ask her to lunch. Some girls actually like the spontaneity."

BTW, this is making me excited:


So after about 10 hours of convincing, I decided I would ask the Pharmacist to lunch. I got up this morning, stoked my courage, and drove to the mall. I went in to the pharmacy.

Me: Hi, is **** working?

Helen, my brother's co-worker's wife: No, not yet. She works the evening shift today.

Me: Figures. I was going to ask her to lunch.

God: (chuckles)

Helen: Oh, that's nice! She should be in soon. Why don't you come back and ask?

I go off to another store to buy shoes for my trip. I return to the pharmacy about 40 minutes later. Lucky me, I see the Pharmacist working at the window, so I don't have to announce my intentions to everyone working.

So I chatted with the Pharmacist for a bit. I made her laugh a few times. Then I took the leap.

Me: I came by here earlier looking for you. I wanted to ask you to lunch.

Pharmacist: Oh. I just got in about a half hour ago. I don't get a break for about 4 hours. (The clock in the store reads 11:55)

Me: So what is that, like 5? (wtf? All of a sudden I can't do math.)

Pharmacist: About 3:45-4:00. I'll call you. You have a cellphone?

Me: Yeah. My number is ***-****.

Pharmacist: OK. I'll give you a call.

God: (mutter mutter)

Given I had time to kill, I figured I would do more shopping, and also go to lunch with my brother. Of course, I only ate a wee bit. I had to buy some shorts since I only have two everyday shorts and I don't think running shorts would look good in Connecticut. I also planned on buying a new bike seat, and a Green Day CD that the Band Teacher was looking for.

Right after I picked out a pair of shorts, my phone rang.

Pharmacist: Hey, my co-worker can't come in today, so I need to take my lunch early before the others finish work. I'm just going to grab something here. Sorry.

God: Haha! Take that, ya fukker! (pumping fist in the air)

Then the sky blackened and the clouds opened. Torrents of rain came crashing down. Squiggy knelt on the ground, soaking wet, with outstretched arms reaching for the heavens screaming, "Why?!? Wwwwhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!?"

Something like that.

Youth in Asia: Socks and Thongs

The Band Teacher came over for a final visit. She's heading back to Arizona for the next semester of college. She stopped by to chat for a bit and to say goodbye.

In case you forgot, this is the Band Teacher's very fit and very firm body:



When she got here, we started chatting outside. I usually don't feel comfortable with people in my room. I have sweaty mountain bike and motorcycle gear in my closet. If the trade winds blow just right, my room smells like a gym.

I showed her the brand new tires on my bike. She came with me when I ordered them, so I figured I may as well point them out. I also explained that I had a bit more scrubbing of the tires to do to kill off the chicken strips.



"I don't know. I would feel more comfortable being enclosed," she said. "I'm not sure what the thrill is about."

"You never straddled a throbbing V-Twin before?"

"I've never owned one before."

That's when I started staring at her inseam. Of course it was to check her leg length. No, really. I wasn't ogling... much.

Her crotch came up about the height of my crotch, so I told her she should try sitting on my bike. She did so cautiously since she hadn't sat on a motorcycle before. I ran back and forth to both sides of the bike to get her into the proper position and to make sure she didn't scratch herself on my new rearsets. Those things have sharp edges meant to dig into boots.



While behind her, I noticed the top part of her jeans was a bit open. I couldn't resist a peek.

"Hey, I can see inside your pants."

"HEY! I'm wearing a thong you know."

"Really?" And I peeked again. I was playing around though. I didn't really try to look at her thong. I told her that too since I didn't want to be TOO crass.



The Band Teacher hopped off the bike. I hopped on right after her. Although our genitalia are located around the same altitude, it was easier for me to get my feet on the ground. Part of the reason could be her weight. She's only 113 pounds compared to my 200. Troll flesh is made of depleted uranium. Her body could only compress the suspension and seat cushion half as much as the orc.

Another reason was her position on the seat. She sat toward the back of the seat. I sat balls on tank, and I pointed it out to her. Not so much my balls, but the fact that the seat is lower nearer to the tank lets me get my feet down. I told her that her brass balls probably got in the way and she agreed and said she would shift them to the left next time.



Next we played with my dog. The Band Teacher first met my dog when he was about 8 weeks old. He's about 10 months old now and about 50 pounds big.

"He seems happy to see me."

"How do you know?"

"Because... he... is."

"He has a boner?"

"Yeah."



I can't blame the dog. If young women gave me that much attention, I would be sporting wood 24/7.

I played with the dog a bit and he slobbered all over my hands. He has this weird thing where he needs to lick things or put things in his mouth. He doesn't bite my hands. He just coats them with saliva.

"Smell my finger," as I stuck my hand under the Band Teacher's nose. "BTW, you always wear thongs?" I know for a fact I have never seen panty lines on the Band Teacher before.

"Almost always. When it's that time, I don't."

"That time? Oh! That's right, you use pads." I once had to help her shop for pads and depilatory creams. I still don't know why these feminine hygiene products come in strawberry and cream scents. Do women expect someone to eat... oh. Never mind.

"Yeah. I can't use tampons. My vaginal muscles are so well trained that I can tie the string into a bow and eject the tampon 20 feet all while I sleep." (She didn't say this. This is what my male brain heard.)



"I don't believe you without video. Did you try ping pong balls yet?"

Then I took her for a ride in the Yaris.



This car is a total chick magnet. They can't get enough of the spacious interior. The well thought out ergonomics. The energy conserving 1.5 liter four banger. The sensible styling. Bland, yet tasteful.

While in the car, I bemoaned the fact that I lack actors to help me make YouTube videos. I'm as ugly as dog poop, so if I am ever going to make videos, I need human-looking people. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who both looks good and is willing to help. The Band Teacher said that Hawaii people aren't great actors. She does have a point. Everyone I know either sucks on screen or is too embarrassed to be of use. But then I remembered Mikey Inouye.

Mike Inouye has a very popular video blog on YouTube. I've watched several of his videos and he cracks me up. What makes it even better is that he collaborated with Abbegirl to make a few. Abbe is a pretty blonde.



"There you go with the blondes again. Are you into blondes?"

"I don't think I have a preference. The other day when I was passing the Shrimp Station," I point over my shoulder even though the Shrimp Station is seven miles away, "I saw a pretty black girl. I swear I couldn't stop looking. She was hot."

"Hey, that's cool that you don't care about race."

"Yeah. I think my only real criteria is that the girl has a vagina."



When we got back to my house it was time for the Band Teacher to leave. She wasn't sure if she would be able to return during the summer or if she would have to wait until next winter to come visit.

"The next time I come back, I'll show you another thong."



Me:



*********************

On December 29, I had to say goodbye to a dear companion. We had first met nearly 14 years ago. Back then I was really into rollerblading. It was through rollerblading that we met. Even after I stopped skating and moved on to other activities like diving and drag racing, my companion remained close by. Then when I started riding my motorcycle, my companion came with me on most of my rides.

However, because of age and a hard life, my companion no longer had any strength left. He couldn't stay up and he couldn't support me. I had no choice but to give my companion a dignified end.

Goodbye, socks. I will miss you.

Survivor: Hawaii

The Band Teacher paid me a visit today, and I survived first contact.

"Hey, I'm going to come up to your house now. I'm like 20 seconds away."

"OK, I was just about to pee, so wait for me."

When I got out of the bathroom, the Band Teacher was already here. She just finished working out at the gym down the street. We hadn't had a chance to sit down and chat since May, so it was mostly just catching up.

We went over the usual topics: How was our school doing. How was college. What are her plans after college. Etc, etc.



Now for you female readers, I'll let you in on a secret. The average male couldn't care less about how you did in college or your future plans. It's a ruse. A smokescreen. We know a woman's favorite topic is herself, so we offer the easy bait. The real reason we ask, or feign interest, is so that you don't see what we're really concentrating on.



The Band Teacher was wearing a black baby-tee kind of top while she worked out. I think it picked up a bunch of lint from her towel. There was enough lint to throw me into an OCD fit. I was just about to get up to grab some tape to remove the lint when she started laughing. Luckily I stopped before I did a weird impression of a grooming monkey.



However, it was then that I notice a strand of her hair had come to rest just above her left boob. I instinctively reached out to grab it... the hair... when I caught myself.

"I don't think I want to be grabbing your boob."

*thinks*

"No wait. I do want to be grabbing your boob."

So with the dexterity of the Gray Mouser, I removed the strand of hair without contacting a supple breast. Not sure if I should cheer or jeer on that one.

"There. Just like Pick-Up-Sticks."



Then we shot the shit a bit more. She looked at the dog, but didn't give him a boner. Then the topic went to needles.



This girl, who was always cocksure, fears needles. I told her she was lucky she wasn't me when she was growing up. Besides being an ugly toad, I had to get regular injections for every conceivable medical condition known to man.

She explained how bad it was when she had to get her cavities checked out... in her mouth. Such a statement by itself isn't too funny. However, she thought that I was thinking dirty thoughts, and quickly added in the "in my mouth," part after she noticed the double entendre. She then tried to explain it away by saying how the English language screwed up with the word "cavity."



Me, I was wondering why she was trying to explain the obvious. Of course cavities are found in the mouth. Where do you think you find them? Up your ass?

I also discovered an interesting scientific fact. I would have never learned this is the Band Teacher did not stand upwind from me.

I had ridden my motorcycle earlier in the day while wearing full leathers. I also got caught in the rain while riding. I came home and cleaned and oiled my leathers. I was sweaty. I smelled like carrion. (not really, but hyperbole for effect)



The Band Teacher was working out on cardio and lifting weights for two hours. She did not shower, nor changed her clothes before visiting me. Yet, she smelled good. It may be an oddity of science that would require a team of researchers with millions of dollars in grants to figure this out, but the Band Teacher's sweat smelled like April freshness. Strange.

Then it was time for her to leave. She had things to do, like shower, and I had to head out for a bicycle ride.

One thing I cannot figure out about women: why do they insist on playing with dead spiders?