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Meeting Maxi Pt. 04: The Final Chapter

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It’s difficult, no…it’s damned near impossible for me to describe the sense of despair and loneliness I felt after Maxi dumped me and fled to Cleveland. In fact, I don’t think that those who have never experienced that profound type of loss could ever really understand it, even if there were words to describe it. For as much as I was sickened by Maxi’s behavior before she gave me the “heave-ho,” I still loved her. Here’s the best way I can explain it to you…one word…void. There was a part of me that was empty, plain and simple. So, let me tell you how I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and went on with my life.

Many guys in this situation often compensate for their loss with risky behavior that end up leading to even bigger problems. Unfortunately, things like alcoholism, drug addition, and other things all too often result from a bad breakup or tragic and sudden loss. Then depression and problems that are far worse ensue. I vowed that this would not happen to me. I would carry the loss with me, sure. But I had to figure out a way to move on. I had to put this void that I felt in a box, so to speak, and put it in my emotional closet. Dr. DeRosa helped me with that. Being in my mid-forties, I had too much life to live and too many things to accomplish. So, I set my sights on two things: my career and physical fitness. Honestly, at that point, I couldn’t ever see myself in any type of committed relationship with the opposite sex. I had been burned twice, and was afraid that it would happen again.

How did I cope? It wasn’t easy. And I must admit that shortly after Maxi moved out of my life, I did engage in some risky behavior. As you read this, I think you will empathize with me, though, that the behavior can at least be partially excused given the emotional pain I was feeling. You see, even though the woman in my life was gone, my testosterone level would now and again rear its head and demand that I satiate my sexual needs and desires. Again, I was not looking for any kind of a relationship, not even one-night stands or short-term sexual couplings. I just couldn’t deal emotionally with a commitment that would last even hours or days. So, I descended into the world of prostitution.

It started out innocently enough. Every week or so I would visit our local rub-and-tug massage parlor and get a handjob, or what has become known in common parlance as a “happy ending.” I became a regular. In fact, the girls there actually looked forward to my visits each week. They told me that I was not like their other clients. I was, they said, a “regular guy.” They enjoyed the big tips I left for them, even though they never performed any “extra” services for me. After my weekly rubdowns, I would actually stay behind and talk to the girls who weren’t busy. We would order take-out and all sit around talking about stuff. Whose kid was sick, whose ex-husband refused to pay child support. That kind of thing. It was just a diversion for me. I’ve always been told that I’m a nice guy. The girls used to ask me why, unlike their other customers, I never requested a blowjob, or a good fucking once in a while. There were all very willing and actually competed with each other. I actually heard them remark on one occasion that they had bets on who the first one of them would be to fuck me. They didn’t understand my pain, and I never shared my story with them. Given the business they were in, they just didn’t understand the emotions that swirled around me concerning intimacy. At that time, I just couldn’t engage in the intimacy of sex with a woman, even if she were a prostitute. It would have reminded me too much of Maxi. It is ironic that I was hanging out with prostitutes. Perhaps it was my way of trying to understand Maxi’s world.

I had my favorites at the massage place, and I did enjoy how the girls made me feel. One girl, Betty, who was young enough to be my daughter, was particularly attentive to me. Her handjobs were extra special. She had this way of placing her hands on my cock and manipulating them so well, it actually felt like I was in her pussy. She always finished me off with what she called a “prayer.” This was a pretty simple but very effective maneuver of putting her hands together as if she were praying, with my cock in the middle. It brought me off nicely every time. But it got to a point where it reminded me too much of Maxi’s incredible handjob that I described in an earlier installment. Plus, this young girl, a kid really, started doing some weird shit and getting a little too close, wanting more of a relationship with me. The girls all told me that she really wanted to be the one to fuck me. In my last massage with her, when I turned over on my back, she took the sash off of her robe, which, of course, exposed her breasts. The kid, though very young, did have an amazing set of tits, the type that sloped down and hung a little and then at the bottom, curved back up, culminating in perky, stiff, deep pink nipples. While I was on my back, she took the sash from her robe and looped it around the base of my cock and balls together so that both were Sivas Escort tied up in one loop. So, it wasn’t exactly like a cock ring, more like a “cock and ball ring,” for lack of a better way to describe it. She then slid the rest of the sash under my back and then up around to my abdomen, tying it off there tightly in a knot. It wasn’t really uncomfortable, just a little weird. My cock was so constricted, it felt like a steel rod. She then put on this special lube – and that’s what really freaked me out. Without my knowing it, she applied this stuff that can delay a guy from cumming, making your cock numb. Within seconds I felt as if my dentist had given me a shot of Novocaine right in my cock. And then she got a vibrator and started rubbing it up and down the back of my shaft. I didn’t really object to it at the time because it felt kind of kinky. While she was rubbing the vibrator up and down the back of my shaft, with her other hand she palmed the head of my cock and just kept rubbing it in a circular fashion. It wasn’t really doing much because I couldn’t feel a damned thing. In about a half hour the sensation in my cock started returning. I think she knew how long the delaying cream would last, because right around that time she loosened the sash and set my cock free. She fisted my cock with one hand, and with her other hand she teased my asshole. Soon the pace got faster and I felt the beginnings of a spasm at the base of my cock. To say I ejaculated would be a gross overstatement. It was the weakest orgasm I’ve ever had, with a couple of drops of spunk just dribbling out. What a let down. When she was finished, she asked if we could repeat our massage session in front of her boyfriend because that would really turn her on. No way was that going to happen. I just wasn’t into it. So, that was the end of my excursions to the massage parlor. My balls were sore for two days. I worried that I would never cum normally again. But I’m thinking that all of the girls missed me.

I started looking for other ways to gratify myself sexually. At some point, I did want to go beyond mere handjobs, especially after my last experience, to see if I could be intimate with a woman again. That led me into the world of high-priced escorts. I think subconsciously, when I went down that road, I was trying to understand again a little better the secret life that Maxi led. Well, the good news is that the masseuse with the delaying cream didn’t do any permanent damage. I found that out soon enough with my first escort. The bad news is, I didn’t get the sexual gratification from them that I was chasing after. After about a dozen encounters with these high-priced ladies of the evening, and after spending a few thousand dollars, I realized I was wasting my money. Whether you’re spending a thousand on an escort or a hundred on a streetwalker, it’s basically the same thing. The lack of intimacy and genuine feeling, sex with a prostitute is about the same as masturbation. I would have been better off saving the money and fucking my pillow…same thing. I realized, again with Dr. DeRosa’s help, that I wasn’t going to find Maxi in an anonymous hookup with a beautiful call girl, or a dozen call girls. It was time to face reality and move on.

And move on I did. If I was focused on my job and exercise before, I was laser-focused now. I did two things I thought I would never do but always wanted to do: ran a marathon (and finished with a good time) and wrote a book. Now, don’t get the wrong idea about the book. It wasn’t a tell-all on how I coped with the loss of love and all that mushy stuff. I wasn’t about to share my life with the world. And I don’t think anyone would have wanted to read about it anyway. It was a business book about my employee relations experiences in Human Resources that I had been contemplating for a long time. Along with the book came a promotion at my job. Things were looking up. But, despite my successes, I had no love in my life, and Maxi was never far from my thoughts. Sleeping was the toughest part. I would lie down in bed, completely exhausted from working out, but sleep would not come easy. My demons would come out and bring me visions of Maxi. She came to me in my mind just as I had described in Part 1…the cutoff shorts, tight top which accentuated her heavy breasts, hair done up in a bun, and thong sandals on her perfectly pedicured feet. Several nights a week I would jerk myself off to sleep thinking of the day she gave me my first massage. Other nights, I was just overcome with exhaustion and eventually just drifted off to sleep. I accepted that this would go on for a long time. And even with my successes in my professional life, I still wasn’t able to have a normal relationship with a woman. Maxi spoiled me for all other females. But there was a change in me. The bitterness left me and I was somehow able to move on.

As it turns out, it was my book that eventually played a key part in getting my life totally back again. My publisher thought it would be a good idea to hold a series of speaking events for six of their most popular Sivas Escort Bayan business authors. I was pleasantly surprised that I was chosen as one of the six authors. Over a one week period in mid-July we went on a tour of several eastern cities in which the book could use a bit more publicity. Each author gave a 30-minute talk about their book. After all six of us spoke, we had a book signing. Well, one of the cities we toured was – you guessed it – Cleveland. This was our last stop on the speaking tour. It was on a Friday afternoon in July. Following the tour, I was going to drive home and take a few day off.

I approached this engagement with a mix of nervous trepidation and excitement. This was where Maxi lived, or at least that was where she fled to when she left me. Would I run into her on the street? What would I say to her? Would I ignore her? All these irrational questions buzzed in my mind as I drove into the city towards my hotel downtown. Of course, these were ridiculous questions. What were the chances that I would actually run into Maxi in a fairly large city like Cleveland? Slim to none. I thought about hiring a private investigator to find her. But then, what would I do if I did find her? After all, she chose to leave me? No, I would respect her wishes to leave her alone. I loved her too much to do otherwise.

My speaking event in Cleveland couldn’t have gone better. Since I had done this same presentation five times before, I had my routine really nailed down. Afterward, my publisher and the other authors told me that I really rocked the house with my H.R. stories and the way I described all of the characters from each story. Since I was the last author to speak, we went directly to the book signing tables. Each of us had a table, and the attendees lined up to get their copies of our book signed. I was in a great mood. I couldn’t believe that I was actually being paid to do this. I never thought this would ever happen to me. I was definitely riding a positive wave. There were so many people lined up in front of my table, it made the lines at the tables of the other authors look paltry. People were coming up so quickly to my table that I didn’t even have time to look up and greet them. I took their book, asked their name, signed it, handed it back, and went on to the next one. After about 15 minutes, someone handed me their book and said, “Mr. Lambusta, it’s Maxine. I just wanted you to know that your presentation was totally awesome and I love your book. I’m really proud of you.”

Without looking up, I started to say, “Max…??” in a questioning tone. I stopped before I could finish her name, and I looked up. “Maxi?” I asked, not believing that she was really standing in front of me. She had on a dark blue business suit and white blouse, her makeup flawlessly done, and her chestnut brown hair hung loosely down to her shoulders.. But all I could really see where her almond brown eyes. I immediately had the sensation of cotton in my mouth and couldn’t get any words out. Finally, I composed myself and said “Maxi. A blast from the past. You look fabulous. But…why are you here?” I’m sure I sounded like a nervous teenage. My mouth was so dry, I’m not sure how I got the words out.

“Well, it’s a long story. But the short version is that I’m now working in H.R. and my boss thought it would be a good idea for me to read your book and attend your event.”

At that point I noticed that Maxi was with someone…a guy. He had his arm draped around her shoulder, obviously sending me a message that Maxi was his and that he was protecting his property. He was a good-looking guy…tall and slim with sandy blond hair. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Maxi said. “This is Bill, my boss.”

He never took his arm from Maxi’s shoulder, and never shook my hand. My attention shifted back to Maxi. She handed me her book and asked me to sign it for her. As she handed me the book with her right hand, I noticed her beautiful fingers, perfectly manicured with red polish, just as I had remembered them every night for the last twelve months. I also noticed something else: on the ring finger of her left hand there was a silver band. It didn’t look like a typical wedding band. With her thumb, she fiddled with the back of the ring, which I couldn’t really see all that well. It was obvious she was trying to hide it from me. When the light hit her hand just right, I found out why she was doing her best to keep me from seeing it. It was pretty clear that it was an engagement ring, no doubt given to her by the guy she was with. It was turned around so as to conceal the diamond. My heart broke again, but I managed to keep it together. It had to be obvious that my expression and demeanor changed at this point.

I took the book from Maxi and without giving it much thought, I wrote, “Maxi…He is a lucky guy. Know that I will love you forever. Best of luck to you both…Vinny.”

At that point the publisher’s representative at my table gently told me we had to move this along, as there were still quite a few of my admirers waiting to Escort Sivas get their books signed. I looked up at Maxi, and said, “Good luck Maxi. It was great seeing you.” I watched Maxi and her boyfriend turn and walk away. After a few steps, she stopped for a second and turned around. She looked incredibly sad. It was only for an instant, but I wonder if she saw the tears starting to form in my eyes. Of course, the rest of the event was just a blur. I was right back where I was one year ago when she left me the first time. All I could say to myself was, “Here we go again.”

At the author’s dinner in the hotel lobby that evening, I excused myself early, feigning a headache. I went up to my room and decided I needed to call it a night. The next morning, I would leave Cleveland and Maxi forever. I did rationalize that there was one good thing that came out of this. Now I knew that Maxi was really gone for good, into the arms of someone else. And then my cell phone rang.

The caller ID came up as “Maxi,” which told me that she never changed her cell number. I let it go into voice mail, but she didn’t leave a message. Five minutes later she called again. Again, I didn’t pick up, and again no voice mail. On the third call, I did pick up.

“Hello Maxi,” I said after I picked up the call.

“Hi Vinny. Listen, I really need to speak with you and was wondering if we could meet for a drink tonight. I know it’s a bit late but I thought this might be a good time, now that your speaking tour is done and you are probably heading home tomorrow.”

“Maxi, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It was obvious to me this afternoon that you’ve moved on with your life and that you’re not interested in resuming a relationship with me. Look…I noticed the ring. You were so clumsy trying to hid it, I couldn’t help but notice. I had already felt that you moved on, not hearing from you for nearly a year. But today, when I saw the ring, it sealed the deal. So, I can’t imagine what we have to talk about. You know how I felt about you when you left me. You must have had some idea how much it would hurt to see you. Frankly, it was cruel of you to stop by my table with your fiance. So, let’s just go our separate ways. Nothing good could come from spending any more time with you. I know you’ve made up your mind about me.”

The urgency and angry tone of my voice told Maxi that I was about to hang up the call. She said, “Wait, you really don’t have the full story. There’s so much I want to tell you.”

“Maxi, nothing you can tell me is going to take away the hurt. And the longer I stay on the phone, the more it’s gonna hurt me afterward. You need to go. Go have your life. I have to figure out a way to forget about you. Thanks to today, it’ll take a long time for me to get the image of you with another guy out of my head. Thank you for that!”

And with that, I hung up. It was cruel, and it sucked, but seeing that ring caused my heart to break a second time. I was done. Now I was really ready to move on. I even had a decent night’s sleep that night, knowing completely where I stood, and that the ring on her finger confirmed it. The mystery of Maxi was over.

I got up about 5 a.m. the next morning, did my workout in the hotel gym, showered, changed and headed out to load up my truck. I figured I’d grab breakfast on the road, as I had a 6 hour drive back home to Pennsylvania. As I walked through the parking lot, I noticed Maxi leaning against the back of my truck, obviously waiting for me. My knees buckled a bit when I saw her, and I knew that I was setting myself up for another round of heartache, feeling like I was going to get dumped a third time. The weak knees were only part of it. My bitterness melted away as I drank in her beauty. Maxi was dressed in a short denim skirt, a tight pink blouse, her hair pulled back severely in a pony tail, and she had on those thong sandals…those damn sandals, holding her beautiful feet that I have been dreaming about for months. Her legs had the hint of a tan. God, she was such a hot MILF and I loved her so much, to look at her actually hurt. She was the personification of the word MILF. She had it all…perfectly shaped slender legs with just the right amount of dimple on each knee, wide hips with just enough of a curve, a really hot tight ass, and tits that made you drool. But what always got to me were the almond brown Latina eyes and her chestnut colored hair.

When I was about 10 feet away, I stopped and looked at her. I asked her in a tone that betrayed my anger, my jealous, and my emotions, “Aw Maxi. What is it you want from me? I know you can see how this is fucking killing me. And every time I see you or speak with you, it hurts me more. You need to leave. Please go. Please.”

I approached the truck and she stepped aside while I piled my bags in the back. I headed to the front and opened the driver’s side door determined to start the truck and drive out of there, when I heard her say in a rather demonstrative way, “Vinny Lambusta! I know that you are a good-hearted man. I know that you will give me at least five minutes to give you an explanation. Can’t you just give me that much. If, after you hear what I have to tell you, you still want to go, I will understand, and I promise never to contact you again. But damn it, Vinny, would you please give me five goddamned minutes?”

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