Home

Yeah, I'm home. I have a strong sense of place. This is the thirteenth home of my adult life. The longest stay in any one place was nine years. The longest of any of the last six was four years and that was the place before this which was the first place I ever thought of as mine. The other three places I lived alone were apartments and they were stopovers only. Post divorce and angst ridden for the most part. The last apartment was five years ago and it was pathetic and I was only there eight months. The apartment before that, before my one year reconciliation with X2 and return to one of the thirteen abodes referenced above, was not so bad. It was after I came off a year on the road with no home at all. Hotels and my Dad's on weekends. I still had a sense of place even when there was no place. I lived around a bunch of old people and I was the one who got hauled out in an ambulance in the middle of the night. Go figure. I had a rotary kitchen wall phone with a 50 foot cord there. Who needs cordless. I had never logged onto a computer until I was given a laptop at work and I'd bring it home on the weekends and surf porn. This was only 7 years ago.

My last home was the first I had owned myself. I made all the choices and when I changed jobs I had the money to make the choices I wanted. Not conspicuous consumption, just stuff I wanted. I chose carefully. Everyone was surprised I had an eye for it. I blended new stuff with all of the family stuff I had been the keeper of for years. Stuff I stored and moved. Stuff my parents didn't want to move to Vegas. It worked.....with the new stuff. And I bought a few old things and they worked too. My daughters teased me about coming out of the closet. The women who came to my place were always surprised although I'm not sure what they expected. At some point you have to outgrow the bachelor pad stereotype and have a place with your stamp on it.

It's really not that hard. Good materials, wood, leather, glass, silk. The colors I have around
aren't flashy. If you were around then you remember the remodeling debacle when I moved in here putting the granite countertops and wood floors in. Those two changes alone made the place. A 40 dollar pedestal sink and a really nice beveled oval bistro mirror and some porcelin fixtures make the tiny half bath kinda nice. Nice lamps and fixtures and some framed photos and prints and there ya go.

Home.

Mine.

I'm selfish now, I do things my way. I often wonder what it would be like to do this with someone. I've done it before so I suppose I could do it again. Although, those places weren't really me. This is.

But you know, for the right person, there isn't much I wouldn't do.

Be kind of cool though if she said she loved it and just moved her stuff in. At least it doesn't have another woman's touch which I know can be a source of discontent.

And I'd let her make changes of course. As long as it wasn't early american or cows or ducks. And we have to keep the comforter and not replace it with something flowery or ruffley. A bed you can tumble on without thinking, fuck, we have to take this crap off first. A bed you can fuck on as well as in. Pillows I can lay under her without worrying about the fabric getting mussed. I like mussing. She can even pick the sheets as long as they have about a thousand thread count and she's not worried about thrashing about on them or keeping them unmussed.

There is no mussing allowed at my Dad's.

It's nice to be home where I can muss the fuck what I want.

I very much believe that which is done up should come undone.

Like when you put your hair up and I undo whatever it is that you use to hold it up.

I talked about bedding and moving a woman in with me in the same post.

Macho sexist post to follow.