It’s time to come clean. I cannot carry the burden of guilt any longer. I’ve been unfaithful. I’ve strayed. I’ve taken up with another. How long has this been going on; you ask? About three months, is my sheepish reply. Three months of pure unadulterated bliss! This is by no means the first time. This has happened to me before. I just can’t help myself. I’m insatiable. I remember the first time I saw her. I had to stop. I stared. I couldn’t control the urges inside me. It wouldn’t hurt to just flirt, would it? So we talked. We agreed to an “arrangement” whereby we would give it a go and see what evolves. My judgment was in question. Isn’t she high maintenance; friends in the know would ask? Aren’t they all; was my pitiable reply?
The first time I took her out I was smitten. Who am I kidding? Heck, I was smitten the first time I laid eyes on her. The first time I took her out I was beyond smitten, I was hooked. I was totally committed to a relationship without knowing what effect it would have on either of our lives, our futures or even if there was a future for us together. Oh, there had most certainly been others and I have always been the kind of guy that keeps his options open. Let’s see now, looking back, there is the English patient (or two), the odd Italian (we all know about those, don’t we?), and a Canadian, who was pretty much just like all the Americans, except somehow more polite. Go figure. Oh, and let’s not forget the plain Jane Aussie. I've "experienced" assorted Brits, a few Germans and even a lotus-eater from the land of the rising sun (that last one sounds a bit naughty, eh?). That’s the great thing about the jobs I’ve had and the places I grew up. I have been exposed to many nationalities and customs. I can pick from many different cultures and adapt to assorted “points of view” so to speak. I feel as at home lifting a pint ‘o bitter as I do savoring a fine Chianti or quaffing a fine Bohemian bier. The world is my oyster.
“She,” is yet another German. Aren’t they a bit stiff; I’m asked? Isn’t there a certain amount of regimentation and discipline involved in dealing with a Teutonic mistress? Well, some of us excel in those types of relationships, just look at Max Mosley. But a Prussian wench she is not and she doesn’t need to use a whip to get me to do her bidding. Hardly cloistered, she is well looked after and lovingly cared for and she responds quite well to my advances. In fact, I think she needs me as much as I need her. Alas, she is no spring chicken. She has a few miles on her, been down the road a few times and certainly carries her share of baggage, but then don’t we all at this stage of life? I mean I didn’t just roll of the turnip truck myself, by evidence of not just the visible scars from previous “relationships,” but the emotional ones as well. Yes, I carry the emotions from all the ones that came before. I’m no sociopath, but I do have pride and I try to keep the disappointments, the losses and at times the sheer frustrations that resulted from previous liaisons from poisoning this one. Not that they were all bad, or even any of them. By far and wide they were all special in their own way, but all good things must come to and end, so we parted and we moved on to another and another and another until such time as the one I present you with here.
Most recently, very recently, there was some flirtation with an Italian from up north. She could have been “the one.” In fact, Rinita’s “father” was more than a little miffed when I failed to consummate the relationship. You would have thought by his reaction that I left his most cherished "possession" standing at the alter. I must assure you, my intentions were purely honorable. I had all-purpose of following through; that is until I found her, the perfect match.
Who is this paramour; you ask? Her legacy is of course all German, well Bavarian actually, but she was born in the good old US of A. One might say she is a Southern Belle; however, she is unlike any Southern Belle that has come before. No, she is true to her heritage. Teutonic through and through and I love her for it. I love the crispness of her figure and way she handles every curve I throw at her. I enjoy the certainness of her response and the way she is “put together” so-to-speak. We understand each other, or at least I understand her as much as the male species is capable of understanding such an exquisite creature. My mind races with anticipation for the next time we are together, when we can again become one.
So there it is my friends. You may weep for me or you may curse me. You can sigh with disgust and tell each other “I told you so,” or you can laugh with distain and banish me from your tribe, but what’s done is done and I have full intention of carrying on and enjoying this affiliation with my Merlot Red 2003 BMW Z4 3.0i for as long as it may last. OK, so it’s not an Alfa Romeo, but it is a sports car and I’m a sports car guy so, for now anyway, I may not be a “laid-back-pasta-eater,” more like an “uptight-schnitzel-devourer,” but what the heck. The Alfa Romeo party is by no means over; however, so never say never. I hear rumor of a boatload of new Italian beauties will be arriving sometime in 2011. It will just be about time to replace the Honda by then. Remember, I am nothing if not “insatiable.”
Ciao for now, or should I say Aufedersein!