I thought I glimpsed Elwell through the door out to the hotel lobby, so I stepped out and, yes, it was her. To her credit, she recognized me with my werewolf mask on and we embraced. She had new contacts and her eyes seemed extra wide, usually she seems a bit sleepy and/or cunning but her eyes were big. She was trying for something -- a fairy? -- with only lacy floral pasties on her breasts. When we got off the elevator I got off the mask and she was sweet, she was all concerned because it seemed to her I was burning up under that thing. We got a room, cash for an hour, and before anything I slipped her an extra hundred or so towards her godson, whose cute picture appears on her website. Elwell, a godmother!? Interesting spiritual guidance to be given, to say the least. I saw her more as another kind of godmother -- pinstripes, jacket with red carnation, dark shirt with white tie, fedora, murmuring things like "Then your enemies will become my enemies -- and then they will fear you." Anyhow, being the old-fashioned kind of godmother could always use a little money.
I begin to wonder if I should wrap all this up someday. Heidi is going, and it looks to me like Columbia will do fine if she ever leaves the club. Could Lourdes and I intensify? Perhaps. I wonder this because I keep getting the feeling Elwell could wander out of my life. It's the whole boyfriend thing, and that's what I meant by James Bond. Whether it's Claudine Auger in "Thunderball" or Talisa Soto in "Licence to Kill," the man keeps meeting damsels in less-than-healthy relationships. I've dubbed Elwell Rihanna Saldana, since she reminds me a bit of both Zoe and the singer, and Rihanna has driven me nuts singing such strong songs and yet putting up with the abuse in her personal life. Elwell's been choked, she's had a gun to her head -- and still for all that a love bond endures. Somehow I find myself in the role of a most unpriestly confessor. I hold her face and she says "I never cry" but she does a little anyway. Would that I could be her getaway car. But it sounds like she already has a very nice-sounding fellow secretly on the side, so perhaps someday she'll have better luck with him.
The upshot of all this is that she's concerned for me and want to have me checked out, because she learned her BF was with skanky types and she wants to be sure I haven't caught anything, so I've got to get on that this month, because I'd like to see her again after Thanksgiving, just in time for her birthday. Of course, this all begs how SHE'S doing. Yet she drove me nicely crazy again, fishing me out of my pants and working me with lotion, and she asked that I bring condoms next time. That in itself is wild, since before I met her I was rigorous about condoms, ever since the Seventies, even before we first learned of AIDS, but these last two years I've gotten lax.
The real hell of it is that here I'm turning fifty, and by this point in my life it ought to be possible for me to be the intercessor, the one who can get her out. As it is, I'm simply surviving. We're all simply surviving. But we find our pleasures where we can.
And with that -- that's all till December.