She keeps the mystery. The tall girl. The long curls. Almost black, with the faintest hint of brown. She rubs her lotions away. I know she shouldn’t eat figs and does so anyway, but I don’t know what she looks like when she cries, if she does it in silence, or heaving, or screaming, if she hits things or not. I think she throws them. I don’t know what she sounds like when she has a cold. Still more like a blues singer in an underground club somewhere in New Orleans anno 1960? I don’t know the face she makes when she climaxes. Or her orgasmic sounds that fill you with bliss because you have been blessed to satisfy her. I don’t know which part of her body is ticklish. I don’t know how much space she needs in bed. I do know that I want to know all these things. I do know that my appetite for beauty is satisfied when my eyes are roaming feverishly, hungrily, from her thighs up to her hips and waist, her enticing breasts, her long arms, her neck, uniquely shaped nose, full lips, burning sun rise eyes, sculpted neck and shoulders. I do know the sound of her voice is the last thing I want to hear before falling asleep at night.  

When we meet she is silent and I wonder if she would rather be somewhere else. My affection for her is such that if she would indeed love to be somewhere else I wish that for her and I would go. When I feel her distance I don’t try to pull her in, I copy her distance, accepting her pace. I don’t want to steal from her what she is reluctant to give.  

She moves slowly and gracefully. I appreciate that she is not trying to impress me. It makes me feel more at home. And I don’t need to feel ashamed for any crude way she is trying to make an impression on me. She seems to just be, which is a gift. I don’t demand any presents from her, I am just grateful when she wants to share her presence with me. Am sure if macho guys would pain their brain long enough to read what I write about her, they would cringe, or protest or try to say something derogatory or snarky or at least dismissive. But life is too short to walk around a lake with anyone who does NOT blow you off your socks. If people can’t understand that, I must suspect that they have let their heart get snowed in and are being proud of their emotional decay, calling it maturity, when it is anything but, it’s entrenchment if you can’t be open to being blowing away by anyone anymore.  

I know I am happy when I am with her. I feel alive. I feel I belong there. Just to drink tea with her and to be able to look in those pain effacing, soothing eyes of her. Bigger than any I have seen. Emanating an energy that washes over me. Like a warm shower hits you after trudging around in the winter cold all day. Our bodies are designed to experience these sensations, but we don’t have these sensations with just everyone, or it wouldn’t mean anything. There are many wines, but looking back at a life time of drinking wine I am sure a wine connaisseur will be able to mention that one wine that stood out, that one wine that hit all the pleasure centers harder and more intensely than any other. That is she to me. For whatever reason her incomparable blend of traits, the totality of who she is, both her physical features, the experiences that have molded her into the personality she is and the – impossible to fully determine – spirit she was born with make me feel a calming, yet energizing sense of focus. Meeting her gives a sense of clarity. The odd thing is that I don’t expect anything. Am not trying to get in her pants this moment. Not yet. I am fine just sitting here with her.

When she is shocked that I don’t hug her when we say goodbye, it comes so suddenly and is so incongruent with her body language – she didn’t even bump into me while we were walking as though she was paralyzed and in a very pensive, contemplative mood – I am still not convinced how and for how long she wants to be hugged. If it’s up to me I would hug her till we fall asleep and even in my sleep I wouldn’t let her go. Hugging her is like drinking hot cocoa for the first. Life and humanity must be good if this can exist.