Second Life - Part Four

Yes, I know. My story is a bit wooden. Pardon the pun. I’ve tried to take as much emotion out of it, and it looks like I may have succeeded.  I keep hearing the Universe “tell your story with love” – “let love be in your heart” –

Uh huh, cause that’s what they were thinking of. Whoever it was, that decided I would be their fall girl. "We want you to die … with love."

Anyhoo, back to the story.

I met up with Parker the next day, to get some answers. I brought my girlfriends with and we browsed the Saturday Market for a while, dragging Parker with us. I kept trying to ask questions, but he was pretty good at dodging them.  He told me he was a cop.

“Ooh, like a ‘Marshall?’”

Parker smiled. Marshall was what I suspected his avatar name was in Second Life.  But he didn’t admit to anything. Other than he was “separated” from his wife, but still lived with her, the only thing I learned was that he liked to work out.

He carried his workout bag wherever he went.

It should have been a sign. 

He recommended a little bar over on Hawthorne, but before going, we browsed some retro shops and a head shop, that he called a “420.”

“Do you know what a 420 is?”

“No, what is it?”  (I swear to God I didn’t.)

He explained. 

So we get to the little bar, and the bartender comes over and we order.  Parker and the bartender nod at each other, so I asked Parker

“You guys know each other?”

“Yes, this is my beat.”

“Ah. Okay.”

Made sense.  I told him about my step-dad, and how he was a cop for 35 years before retiring.  I wanted to ask more, but not with my friends there.

About half way through our drinks, I start cozying up to Parker, and he nods toward the bathroom.  I shake my head, but he gets up anyway and heads out the back door.

I roll my eyes at my friends and then follow him out the back, where he and I have a full on snog fest for about three minutes, before I break away to get back to the table.

The girls were busy chatting with the bartender when I got back, and I take a couple more sips of my wine before I look back and see him entering the bathroom – waving me over.

By this time, I’m feeling AWESOME.  Seriously enamoured. So I go.

It was pretty hot and heavy. I’m only holding off on the details, because of how FUCKING PISSED OFF I GOT WHEN I SAW THE CAMERA IN HIS DUFFEL BAG.

I couldn’t believe it.  I felt like I was fucking 19 years old again.  I didn’t like it.

I pretty much clammed up the rest of the day, and the rest of the weekend. Wondering what had just happened.  I agreed to be his Facebook friend, but only to get more information.

His profile tagline: “Sometimes alcohol IS the answer” was all I needed to declare war.  On Second Life. On my husband.  On my job.  On my graduate program.

The first battle started when I got home.  With my husband.

I only say this with “Love” – of course.



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