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I love Cyndi, I really do. When we hooked up a good five years ago, I knew she was the one. One of the things that drew me to her was how driven she was. Cyndi always knew what she wanted and always had a plan in mind. She took her professional life VERY seriously. When I met her in our final years of university, Cyndi knew that she wanted to take her history degree and someday run a museum. At the time she scored an internship at the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art (MOCCA) here in Toronto. They kept her along when she graduated and gradually she worked her way through the ranks, politicked a little and eventually became Artistic Director & Curator.
But as great a victory it was for Cyndi, it was bittersweet at the same time if only for what it did to her. Her position as head honcho of the MOCCA demanded a lot out of her. She was constantly drawing up plans, delegating jobs, doing media stuff. Even at home I’d find her engaged in work related endeavours. Whenever I tried to pull her away she always protested and said something to the like “Not now, I have to get this done.” And that was the thing with Cyndi: her job seemed to be her life. Everything she did could somehow by traced to helping her out professionally. It was as if she was on a moving train 24/7 trying to reach some unknown destination. It wasn’t healthy. And it meant less attention for me.
One of the things Curator of the MOCCA came with was copious amounts of stress (obviously). And Cyndi was too proud and stubborn to admit that sometimes she wasn’t the best manager of it. At peak times it wasn’t uncommon for her to snap at me only to have her try to make it up to me later on. Moreover, it kept her up at night. A lot. Cyndi would go an entire week with at best 3 hours of sleep at night. It certainly wasn’t good for her during the day but Cyndi just bandaged her insomnia with copious amounts of caffeine pills. That was Cyndi. She just kept going as if nothing was wrong. She mustered through her daily routine as if she was fine.
Part of this schedule involved maintaining her physical appearance. You know how I said everything she did was tied to her job? Well, how she presented herself was especially related to this. She was extremely heavy on the dieting. No cheese. No butter. No mayo. No peanut butter. Nothing fried or artificially sweetened. The only meat she had was chicken and even then it was skinless and boiled. And to add, Cyndi had to make sure she hit the gym every day after work. And she got very defensive whenever I even said a word against this lifestyle. I recall an occasion one evening at the dinner table that exemplifies this. Cyndi and I were having our dinners. I say dinners because even though Cyndi had her habits, it didn’t stop me from eating from what I did. Usually we cooked our own dinners ourselves. So this one evening, I cooked myself a nice big steak and Cyndi had some plain white rice and some steamed vegetables. As sat in front of her staring at her quietly nibble on her food as I chowed down my slab of meat. I got tired of seeing her like this so I cut a piece and held it across the table to her. “Here.”
Cyndi looked up with a puzzled look. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, just eat the steak. You gotta eat something substantial. You can’t possibly be surviving on rice and veggies all day. Take the steak.”
You remember how Cyndi is a defensive person? “No, Alex. I won’t. Gosh, you always do this!”
Now I was angry. “Do what Cyndi?! Look out for you? Is THAT what I DO?!”
“Ugh, you STILL don’t get it! People expect things of me. I gotta look a certain way, be a certain way, I gotta be the example.”
I just sighed and retracted my fork. “Slow down there Ms Marvel. How bout looking out for number one first: you.”
“Alex. Look at me.” I did. Cyndi had come in from work and the gym so she was still dressed in her work suit: a nice brown one with a blue silk blouse. Cyndi had such sexy legs that it was a treat whenever she wore a skirt because it meant I could see them clad in sexy black pantyhose. One pro about her job was that I got to see her dressed all prim and proper all the time which was quite the turn on for me. It kind of excited me that I was dating this big shot powerful woman. It got me worked up even more when I got to undress her at night (in the few occasions she was in the mood that is). Her blonde hair was done up on top of her head. Cyndi had such a small frame. I don’t want to say she was skin and bones because that would offensive to millions upon billions of people, but I really wanted her to all least get a bit of meat on her. I had nothing to grab on to anymore. Her butt was firm sure, but that didn’t help me when I needed handles when we were intimate. Her breasts too had this small cute quality about them, but that really didn’t cut it for me. “Do I look unhealthy to you?”
I exploded. “Not now but you’re on your way to it for sure!” I looked at her and how unimpressed she was. I gazed in to her glassy blue eyes and felt remorse now. I dropped my tone and spoke more civilly. “I’m just looking out for you Cyn. That’s all.”
She just rolled her eyes kaçak iddaa and continued to be bitter. “Fine. Whatever.” And she left it at that and we didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. Of course, she bought me off with great sex and great dark chocolate when she came home the next day.
All this intensified whenever the museum put on elaborate events. In three months time, MOCCA was going to put on an artists’ festival. It was going to be a week long event which featured more and more young artists. It was gonna be a live block party. They did it every year and hundreds of thousands of people came out to it. It was a true expression of the cultural identity of Toronto. With all this said, it was a no brainer that this wasn’t going to be easy on Cyndi. While the museum did have an event coordinator, something as monumental as this had to have her seal of approval in everything because this was ultimately a promotion of the museum. Right off the bat Cyndi was engaged in speaking and interviewing artists for the showcase. It was nuisance for her to try and get in contact and meet and actually book these people. For whatever reason, artists seemed to be very stuck up and didn’t want their art compromised by being in a mainstream setting.
This didn’t fare well for Cyndi’s sleeping habits. With every day of those first couple of weeks, the hours of nightly slumber gradually decreased and it was apparent in her appearance in the daytime. She tired more easily. Her face lost its radiance. Her eyes sagged all the time. She was yawning. Most of all, she had no time for me. She’d come home and lock herself in her office, only coming out to eat one of her less than adequate meals. At night it was torture for me and her. She’d toss and turn for hours at a time; all the while I slept peacefully for the most part. Some nights I’d wake up and Cyndi would be crying into her pillow. This completely crushed me to see her like this. During the day, we exchanged little words. The few that we did was me nagging her to see a doctor about her insomnia. After constant bitching, she finally swallowed her pride and caved. She saw a physician with me who agreed that something needed to be done too. She prescribed her some Zolpidem, a sedative she’d take right before bed.
The results were instantaneous. First of all, she had finally gotten a good six hours rest, the first in a long time. Having the extra boost of energy in the daytime meant she had more time and effort for everything in her life. First, it allowed her to do a lot more with the gala now almost 2 months away. Sometimes she’d would come home and complain that her staff members were bitching about her and her constant fatigue, but now everything seemed very rosy. It also meant that she had cut the caffeine pills, which was another plus. In terms of my own interaction with her, she was a lot more happy and smiling. Her face had regained its colour so I could look at her without grimacing again. And she had a little bit more time to cuddle with me and the right attitude about it to boot. The only thing that remained the same about her was her diet. She continued on the intake of just bread and water. OK, it was actually more than bread and water but to me it might as well have been that. She remained adamant on keeping her slim form, which was too slim in my eyes.
While she ate seemingly next to nothing, I still kept on with eating whatever the hell I wanted. This I mentioned. I wasn’t afraid to indulge, but I kept it controlled. I wasn’t big or anything. But interestingly enough, my bits of my food would disappear unaccounted for. I’d store a bag of brownies in the cupboard and the next time I’d open it, I’d find a few missing. Same with chocolate chip cookies. Same with my quart of cookie dough ice cream. It even seemed like my deli meats and bacon was getting used up a whole lot faster than normal. Not knowing what the hell was going on, I naturally approached Cyndi first. When I asked her she crossed her arms and gave me the dirtiest look with the evilest eye I’ve seen out of her. She rather rudely questioned how I could possibly asked her such a question because we’ve been over it so many times. I tried reasoning that because I wasn’t touching them, someone else had to be munching on them and she was the first logical choice. I think I even said, “Maybe you’re getting hungry with what little you have during the day. I don’t blame you.” She took much offense to this and snapped on me for accusing her. I backtracked when she laid it on me while I was trying to avoid an escalated conflict with her. This latest episode led us back to our non-speaking ways.
I figured it out one night during one very strange encounter. I say night because it had to have been 3 am. I was doing my thing when I rolled over out of instinct to sleep near Cyndi. But when I did that, all I found was the rough imprint of her body in the mattress. She wasn’t here! I quickly rose out of bed and thought she might be using the bathroom. I checked and nothing. Now when I panic, I start thinking the worst. I thought maybe she was so fed up about me telling her to eat and accusing her lately that she kaçak bahis got up and just left me. Although there’s one way to confirm this. I ran from dresser to dresser and to closet to check if anything was missing. I sighed in relief. All there. Although her wardrobe was without one suit. I know because it’s one of my favourites on her and very easy for me to pick out when it was missing. The red on it was just too bold to miss.
Then from downstairs I heard a metallic clash. Like a bowl falling on the floor. It was coming from the kitchen. Again thinking the worst, I immediately thought burglar! What do I do? I threw on a robe first. I grabbed a long stick me and Cyndi kept in our room in such cases and vigilantly creeped down the stairs seeing that indeed the kitchen light was on. With my heart racing I stood beside the kitchen entrance. What would I do? I’ve never handled a burglar before! I peeked in the side and saw nothing. I heard rumblings so I knew someone was in there. I had to do something. I stood there against the wall trying to get composed mentally so I could do this. Clutching my weapon firmly in my grasp, I counted to 5 with the intention of storming in there and take my transgressor my surprise. Would it work? I don’t know. But I’m tried anyways.
I swiftly moved around the corner and ran in with the expectation that I would have a long tussle with this guy! Running in I stopped quickly by what I saw in front of me. It’s something I wouldn’t have pictured in a thousand years. Cyndi was sitting at our table eating. But it was how and what that had me with a clouded mind. First of all, she was in her red skirted business suit. Red blazer. White blouse. White nylons. White 2 inch heels. Now I loved her when she was donned this outfit and these colours, but this was weird if only for the next part. Cyndi had set up for herself a chocolate fondue. My chocolate fondue! I had no idea she knew how to do this! So now she was sitting down with her basket of fluffy bread and angel cake and a bowl of liquid chocolatey goodness. “Cyndi?” I tried to call out. Not even acknowledging me, she almost robotically stuck a piece of cake on the rod and dipped it into the soup. She pulled it out and the chocolate just dripped off the piece. She brought to her mouth and popped it in. In the process a few drops got on her shirt. Her mouth was stained with it as well. I walked right up to her. “Cyndi, what are you doing?” I genuinely asked because this did not make sense at all. I watched as she repeated the same action. Studying her face a noticed something. Her eyes. They were vacant. Glassy almost. I waved my hand in front of her. It was like she was in a trance. Like she was still asleep! I tried speaking to her again. “Cyndi, why are you eating?”
In between bites she gave me a slow and simple response. “Got….hungry…” I watched as she pushed a piece of delectable bread pushed passed her equally delectable lips that were covered with chocolate. Cyndi was really chowing the fondue down. And it showed by the mess she was making on her face and on her suit. I still couldn’t wrap my head around why fondue? After a slimming diet, why was she stuffing her face like this? I wasn’t complaining because it was good seeing her pack something else other than string beans in her mouth, but it still puzzled me. Same with the suit. She looked gorgeous right now! I really wanted to take her but probably shouldn’t if she really was asleep. I didn’t understand what was happening, but it aroused me very much. The more she ate, the more I loved it. Ah, the suit! This was too good! Gradually the pot of sauce was depleted and basket of bread and cake emptied. Cyndi just sat there for a moment semi-slouched with that hypnotic look in her eyes, staring seemingly into space. She was kind of a mess right now. Always so proper and neat, this was truly a far cry.
Cyndi then got up and again absent mindedly, put everything one by one in the sink. I just loved her hose and skirt and watched them the whole time. Then she walked out of the room and up the stairs. I followed close behind every step of the way. When she got to our room, she started undress. First taking of her jacket, then unbuttoning her dirty blouse, then pulling down her skirt, kicking off her heels, and then pulling down her white hose. Like a drone she stood there in lacy matching black bra and panties, still with chocolate. She then moved into her side of the bed and tucked herself in and passed out like nothing happened. Immediately I got a cloth and wiped the chocolate off her face. I didn’t want her to wake up like that because I still had things to figure out. For this same reason I gave her a peck on the lips before going back to the kitchen and cleaning up her mess. Then I came back up and put her suit somewhere she couldn’t find it so I could get it cleaned. If Cyndi inquired, I’d say I spilt something on it accidentally and I was taking care of it.
The next morning I had to test if Cyndi remembered anything. She came down into the kitchen in a black pinstripe blazer, a white knee illegal bahis length skirt, a black blouse with a couple buttons undone of course, and black heels. To die for. As she sat down and had her breakfast (a boiled egg and unsweetened black coffee), I went right into it.
“So…you sleep OK?”
Cyndi peeled her egg and let out a “Fine.” She said simply not even giving any full attention.
“So nothing out of the ordinary happened?” I was trying to be sly. I really wasn’t one for that though.
She took a gulp of her coffee. “Alex, what’s this about? You know I’ve been sleeping fine since I’ve been on the meds.” Yep, she was almost close to cluing in to my suspicious behaviour. Better cut it right now.
“I know, I know. Just checkin’ is all.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes later before Cyndi got up. “Well, gotta head of now. Closing off the last batch of artists.” She then grabbed her stomach and rubbed it. “Oooo, stomach is being weird today. Feels like I ate a meal right before bed last night! Well gotta go! Ciao!!”
At dinner that evening I tried to see if she’d become more suggestive to the idea of eating more dangerously. I fired myself some pork chops and like the time with the steak, I offered a piece to Cyndi. Cyndi rolled her eyes and went on one of her “You should know by now” rants, this time with a whole lot more profanity. OK, so that experiment didn’t work out so well.
That night I stayed up late before going to bed so I could be up for when Cyndi got up again. As I lied in bed, I wondered what she would do tonight. Or IF she would even do anything at all! I didn’t want this all to be a fluke, a random act. As I lay there studying her sleeping form and stroking her beautiful face, I anxiously awaited what she would wear tonight. And what she would eat. If you couldn’t guess it by now, I was very obsessed with her appearance.
Staying awake was a little bit of a feat. I felt like dosing so many times. I’d have to think of another way to do this for next time. I actually was napping when Cyndi finally got up. I looked at our clock. 2:39. Noted. She was already in the middle of pulling up her black hose. As I wiped my eyes and sat in bed trying to wake up, I groggily saw her stand up and pull it all the way up to her black panties. When she was all set, she ventured over to her closet. At this point I rose out of my position to follow her. This was the most intriguing part because I found it puzzling how she knew to pick out something even in her sleepy state. Cyndi fiddled with skirts first. Going through a number of them she settled with a light, knee length pink skirt. Then she picked out matching blouse and blazer, both pink. With great care she slipped on the skirt and buttoned up her shirt. I hovered closely behind as she did her thing. It was all so fascinating!
Then she stood in front of her vanity mirror and checked her appearance. It was a wonder how she was doing this considering her eyes were half opened and hardly a judge of what looked good. But nonetheless she fixed herself up and brushed her hair slightly. Just to try something I tried addressing. “Cyndi baby, why are you doing this?”
In a nearly inaudible, mumbly voice she replied, “Gotta look good, gotta be respected. Can’t be bad.” I laughed to myself because it was a true Cyndi thing to say. I stood behind her and looked at us in mirror. She was beautifying herself while I hovered behind her just taking in her scent. If this were a movie, I’d be labelled the obsessive, crazy stalker ready to pounce on the unsuspecting target of adoration. Cyndi then reached into her jewellery box and pulled out two little gold earrings and a pearl necklace. I was impressed: even while out of it she accessorized! To complete everything she threw on her blazer and not bothering to button it up she left the room.
Her descent down the stairs was slow and guided by her hand on her hand rail. It was for the best if only for I really feared her misstepping in instances like this because the results would be ugly. That’s why at this point I was concerned about this whole sleepwalking thing. What if she managed to hurt herself and I knew all along and hadn’t tried to prevent it? Should I take a chance and convince myself that’ll never happen?
All those thoughts were put on hold as soon as we hit the kitchen. Now I was excited! I got to see everything in action! “Ok Cyndi babe…what will you stuff yourself with today?” Of course, this was all to myself. I was having too much fun. She rummaged through one of our bottom cupboards and took out a pan. Hmm, good choice. So many options. Maybe some breakfast? Some bacon, sausage and eggs? Or maybe a burger and fries? That was always a solid choice. Cyndi poured some olive oil on the pan and spread it around. Then she went into the fridge. This was it. She bent over and scoured the bottom of it. I wasn’t able to see what she doing but the view of her was quite nice. I liked her ass but, as I might’ve mentioned, I felt there should be more there. If only she wore a few sizes bigger. Backing out of the fridge I saw she picked out a couple breasts of chicken! Fried chicken! Of course! “Good choice honey!” I commended her. Well, it wasn’t true fried chicken because we lacked a deep fryer but I had to give credit for improvisation. (Note to self: get a deep fryer).
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