Cee is relatively new to me. Not long ago, when an unnamed woman had to take a break from stretching, just before my back started giving me problems and my stretching routine became physical therapy, she introduced me to her friend, Cee, to take/hold her place while she was gone.
Having now spent a fair amount of time with both women, it’s hard to imagine them as friends. The unnamed woman presents as the overwhelmingly confident, strikingly beautiful supermodel type familiar to any urban dweller. She radiates an off-putting cockiness, arrogance, self-certainty that is, to my mind, not all that attractive. This contrasts with her face and body, which are stunning, almost impossibly beautiful. She’s filled with opinions which, although politically progressive, are actually quite conservative. Cee is beautiful. But. She’s not a supermodel. (She’s much hotter than a supermodel. Supermodels are sterile and cold. Cee is warm, inviting, sexy, sweet. Her confidence isn’t off-putting.)
We began meeting a couple of months ago, not too often as our schedules didn’t line up well – maybe once or twice a week. She presents as a grown-up, unlike many women with whom I’ve stretched over the years. She has a job, responsibility, even employees. She has shoulder-length, wavy (but sometimes straight), dirty blonde hair, and a smile so infectious and bright it just begs for cliches. She’s friendly, warm, open and curious. Funny, smart, interesting, and fun.
Our conversations have been unfailingly interesting. I tell her stories, share my thoughts, and she’s a happy, hungry interlocutor, making me feel good with her interest, and with her own opinions and stories.
Recently, Cee mentioned she was going to be passing through my town. Our conversations hadn’t (haven’t) been particularly sexually explicit or flirty. While I’ve objectified her in my way, praising her beautiful, pendulous breasts, dramatic curves, round, full ass, pretty eyes, bright smile, my praise has been gentle, soft. I haven’t even begun to probe the interpersonal sexual terrain that might lie between us. I didn’t presume to imagine there was, there even might be, such terrain.
When she told me she was passing through, I mentioned, I think for the first time, that I write a blog, that I lead a dissolute life. Cee’s eyes widened with excitement. She dialed up my blog, read about the upcoming Sapphic Soiree, and wanted in.
Who am I to say no to such unvarnished enthusiasm?
And so it was ordained: Cee would join us as number six.
