Yesterday, before I went to physical therapy,
I was thinking about Paul Newman.
“He’s SO gentle,” I thought to myself
for the last time EVER.
No one has ever been so soft to my injured parts.
“Maybe all this time I just needed someone to
massage me with warm lube be gentle with me,” I thought.
When I arrived at PT, Paul Newman sent me to The Sex Room.
It was my second time having a session in The Sex Room.
I call it The Sex Room because one entire (long) wall is covered with floor to ceiling mirrors.
There are always hand prints on the mirrors in odd sex-like places.
I’m pretty sure every employee at physical therapy has sneaked into The Sex Room (multiple times) to have wild kinky, upside down, mirror-reflected, sex.
(They also have a big BED out in “the common area” of PT. I’ll save my thoughts about THAT for another day.)
Anyway, I said, “Oh I get The Sex Room again?”
Paul Newman just nodded.
(He’s already used to how my brain works and I don’t think it even fazes him. Also? I bet every PT employee secretly calls it The Sex Room too.)
As usual, Paul Newman started off tenderly poking around. (???)
Our conversation was pretty animated because Paul Newman’s long-time best friend was also at PT yesterday.
(I’ll call Paul Newman’s best friend Sundance.)
Paul Newman told me lots of stories about his teen years with Sundance, and the trouble they got in together.
Listening to his (and later, Sundance’s) stories made me realize two things:
• For the most part, I’ve led a very “good girl” life. Well, at least compared to the females Paul Newman has hung out with. (I’m sure he thought they were
great good girls too …. but!)
• Paul Newman likes to distract me with entertaining stories when he’s doing unspeakable things to me. (They’re unspeakable because I don’t really know what it is he’s doing, so I’m not qualified to speak of them.) At one point, I’m pretty sure his finger went in one side of my body and out the other. That sounds like a lot more fun than it was.
Also, in case I couldn’t figure it out, Paul Newman announced he’s done being nice.
I had already realized we were in a new stage of our relationship.
I realized it just moments before when he twisted my arm behind my head (into some type of pretzel configuration), and then stomped up and down on it.
All of this commotion was followed by me looking him in the eye and saying, “Fuck!”
I misspoke, of course.
What I meant to say was, “FUCK, what did you just do to my arm???“
In any case, Paul Newman is learning to speak “Twenty Four” and I think he understood what I meant, perfectly.
He promptly informed me of the following:
• It’s okay for me to swear. (Holy shit that’s good news!)
• He “has to” do unspeakable things to me.
• My arm bone (humerus?) isn’t where it’s supposed to be so, of course, it doesn’t fit in my shoulder socket. (Or something like that ….) Do shoulders have sockets? Just add “boner” to the list of everything that’s wrong with the upper right quadrant of my body.
• The honeymoon is over.
P.S. To Paul Newman – If you’re reading this today, I DO appreciate you greatly. (!!!!) I really do!