Kay Too

I have to mention that if you are reading this post, you should first have read the original, Kay. Of course, in some ways these stories stand alone, but I'd think that it helps to have some background...that I really don't want to add here.

So let's start from where I left off, shall we? Over some time, I was having haircuts from Kay, the wife of the Youth Pastor of the church that I was attending in college. A decade older than I, she was pretty, warm, loving, and extremely musically talented. I loved to hear her laugh.

Do you really want me to recount all of her qualities?

I suppose that there is one (or two) more haircutting episode(s) that I could recount for you, simply because I suspect that you might be far less blind than I was. Of course, you also will have the benefit of looking through my eyes with the benefit of twenty-plus more years of experience.

There is no special place in my memory as to exactly how this particular encounter arrived. Shoot, I can't even remember if this was before, or after that little...fiasco that I recounted last time. It was simply a haircut, I was sitting in Kay's dining room, on a straight-backed chair next to the table. The set was a dark wood, walnut, if I recall correctly. It had been a fairly normal session, Kay moving about, trimming my hair. I do remember that she was wearing a pink (or coral) blouse, slightly ribbed, for reasons that will become obvious shortly. As normal, she and I were chatting, simply talking about various and sundry topics as the time passed.

Then Kay stepped in front of me, and told me that she needed to trim the hair at the top of my head. Trusting her completely, I really didn't think anything about it. Kay told me that she was going to have to reach to do it, and stepped between my knees. Carefully she placed my hands on her hips, and firmly instructed me to hold her tightly in place, or else she might slip and take off too much hair in one place, or nip an ear.

Thus warned, arms outstretched, I held Kay as she leaned forward to cut my hair. She wasn't tall, and I was on a moderately high seat, so it wasn't exactly easy. Especially as she leaned closer and closer, stretching to snip at locks further and further towards the back of my head. And suddenly, her weight full on my arms, I found myself with a closer and closer vista of that pink blouse.

I knew that I didn't dare let her slip, because I really valued my ears, and I was concentrating on holding her steady. Yet much to my utter dismay, soon I found that pink fabric touching my nose. Moments later, my whole face was pressed into the valley between her small, high breasts. Honestly, my nose was smushed so firmly into Kay's cleavage that I couldn't exhale through it. I was alarmed that this had come about, that I hadn't held her better, and completely terrified that Kay would notice just where my nose now was. I remember how, finally, I had to release a breath through my mouth...and I was utterly mortified that Kay might feel the heat through the fabric of her blouse.

Eventually she finished, and I recall being relieved that Kay somehow hadn't noticed where my face had just been. Did I mention that I was dense, or what?

One other small episode to relate, and I'm not going to recall whether it came at the end of this haircut, or another. If it were this one, I suppose that it would make perfect sense, but at the time, in my naiveté, I simply noted it as an anomaly.

We had wrapped up that day's trim, and I followed Kay into the kitchen. I'm sure that I was chattering aimlessly, as I pulled out my wallet, and didn't notice how distracted she was. However, when I proffered my usual bill, that Kay was usually quite happy to accept, she didn't respond at all. She simply stood there distracted, obviously lost in some world of her own. Suddenly awkward, I kept yammering about nothing, and finally settled for placing my money on the counter beside her. Hiding my sudden hesitance, I prepared to take my leave, just as Kay finally stirred from her distant reverie, almost as if suddenly taking notice of me.

I swear, I will always remember what she asked me next, a simple question. "Would you like to come into the living room for a while?" And when I immediately declined, for whatever reason...Kay asked again. This time, with a trace of what I might (far) later call urgency. Or...desperation.

I guess that I'm stupid. I had somewhere "important" that I had to be, somewhere downtown. Doubtless something stupid, like a doctor's appointment, or some other silly, inconsequential thing in the greater scheme of life. And I declined yet again, and made my good-byes. For even then, I still didn't understand...though I filed the moment away in the back of my mind, and pondered it as I pedaled away.

I feel stupid, for to this very day, I wonder what Kay wanted with me in that living room. A mystery that may well never be solved.

Yet...quite some time later, I received one more, one final piece of the puzzle.

Kay

I will wonder if this is going to be a very long post, for if I wish, it could really be quite involved. My friendship with "Kay" was a very, very long time ago. It was while I was in college, that I became friends with Kay and her husband, Paul. He was the Youth Pastor at the Church that I was attending, and she was the church pianist and organist.

In a time when cash was short, and she could use a few extra dollars herself, Kay offered to cut my hair in her home. As I mentioned a remarkably talented pianist, her main source of personal income was teaching piano in her home, so slipping me in between lessons wasn't a problem.

I suppose that I never really noticed that every time that Kay offered an appointment time, Paul wasn't around. When the kids were in school, he had flexible hours, and was generally into and out of the house, including having a weekday or two off. Yet Kay's and my time was uninterrupted, and we grew to a closer friendship than what might develop merely within the confines of a "Church" relationship. Undisturbed and alone, she and I had a wonderful time sharing thoughts and observations. Generally, Kay would greet me at the door to the dining room, I would turn a straight-back chair away from the table, and she would begin trimming away.

I should tell you a little bit more about Kay, what I remember about her. Some people might consider her living a fairy tale life. A Pastor's daughter, I'm sure that she grew up sheltered, innocent and naive...a topic that I'll post on later. Pretty and a woman of faith, she went off to a small Christian college, where she married an athletic star, and they went off to be missionaries, then Paul settled down to be a Youth Pastor.

About ten years older than me, Kay was lithe and bright. Very pretty, even cleanly beautiful, I looked at her femininity from a distance. After all, to me both "married" and a "faithful Christian woman" equated to "unavailable"...and in combination were utterly so. And besides, she was beautiful and attractive, so why should she be interested in a geek like me? Yet it was clear that Kay has a wonderful, musical soul, and I have always loved to hear her laugh.

If her life was a fairy tale, it began to be fractured somewhere along the line. For one thing, it quickly spread through the church that she and her husband found themselves unable to conceive. Frankly, I never asked just who the problem rested with. And then there was a not so subtle personality difference.

My friend "Samantha" once assured me that engineers were simply too logically and mathematically minded to be emotionally or romantically available to a woman (that's a paraphrase). She based that opinion on personal experience--and you'll read more about Sam before too long. And I have to wonder if Paul, a former jock, might not have quite fulfilled all of musically gifted Kay's more emotional needs. After all, I do recall him telling "funny" stories about some of the misadventures of his youth "before he was saved". Some of them were simply...cruel. And sometime I'll have to tell you about Paul's case of mistaken identity.

And that, generally is the environment that I found myself in, as best as I can describe it. I also think that Kay was just beginning to realize and embrace her femininity...after years of being "sheltered and naive", she was beginning to blossom. After all, some of the girls of the youth group that she was close to, who confided in her, were hardly innocent or naive (or especially "sheltered")...and I think that some of their more worldly knowledge (especially feminine fashions) was starting to soak in to Kay.

I do remember her first, dramatic foray into fashion. If I didn't mention it, this was a hugely conservative church. Girls or women were not to wear bikinis, and often a one piece suit was even covered with a tee (someday I'll write about chadors). Kay's swimsuit, soon to be mentioned, was a prime example of this...repressive misogyny.

And I'll remember the shock that rippled through the congregation the first time that Kay settled behind the organ attired in black. She had purchased a sheer, long sleeved black blouse, the kind that many women wear over a second, abbreviated blouse of some type...but Kay was wearing only a black bra beneath it. I know that she had tested the garment and matching black skirt out on a trip with the Youth Choir, to another congregation at a sister church in another town. For I remember hearing of Kay's consternation when it was time to get dressed for the service--and she couldn't find the black bra.

Somehow I came into this with Kay, and I almost think that I can see where it began. Aside from my haircuts, I was in the habit of dropping by to talk to Paul, help around the house and yard, or chat with Kay. One afternoon as I bicycled though their neighborhood, I decided to drop by to see if anyone was home. Imagine my surprise to find the door unlocked, but the house empty.

Curious, I circled the house, stepping into the moderately sheltered back yard. I was more than a little surprised to find Kay there, stretched out on a towel beneath the living room window. Peach skinned and blond, I had no idea that she sunbathed--though I had seen her swimming at the Bible camp pool several times.

And Kay was wearing her usual suit, the swimsuit appropriate for the wife of a youth pastor. I wish that I could do this...monstrosity justice. Certainly it was a one piece suit, but that's where all justice ends. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that it was the type of suit that you often see, err...overweight or overage women (or a very young girl) wear. Only...Kay was in her prime, a lithsome 5'3" or so. Yes, it even had a little "skirt"...and that was one of the kindest things that I can say about it. I suppose that it was "cute" in some small way...but really, it was a horrid mass of ruffles, all the way up to her throat. Honestly, I can't see why she bothered to wear it, because she wasn't really showing any extra skin to the sun that wouldn't have been revealed by shorts and a tank top.

Enough of my fixation with that silly swimsuit. Kay didn't seem dismayed to see me, so I settled down and chatted with her for a while, sitting with my back against the house. I really don't know what we talked about, but that suit was starting to bother me. It was all too familiar, and as I sat there right next to her, I realized just how much of her figure that it really muffled. I do remember that eventually, looking at her lying there, I told her that the swimsuit simply had far too many ruffles. Greatly daring, I even went so far as to tell Kay, in shy and utter confidence, that I was sure that she would look good in a bikini. She had a really nice figure.

In retrospect, I don't think that Kay was very...affirmed in her femininity. I am reasonably sure that her husband didn't spend a lot of time telling her just how beautiful, how special she was.

Somewhere, the haircut appointments changed subtly. I soon arrived to find Kay just a bit more...feminine each time. Once it was reasonably short shorts, a pink tee and those little ruffled footies that girls were wearing back then...and oh my yes, Kay most definitely had the legs for it. We simply had fun talking together, and I think that Kay enjoyed my simple appreciation.

Everything kind of came to a head one day (did I mention that I was clueless? Even after this I really didn't understand). I walked in for my appointment, and was surprised to find Paul home, spreading papers across the dining room table to do his income taxes. I began to wonder of something was up when Kay almost immediately suggested that the kitchen floor would be easier to vacuum hair from then the dining room. Then, having barely relocated, obviously discomfited, Kay quickly declared that the basement floor would be easier yet...and off we went yet again.

In the unease of the moment, I helped Kay gather up her equipment, finally noticing her attire. Being April, she was dressed in a pretty, lightly ruffled long sleeve blouse (either pink or rose, I don't remember which), and suddenly spectacular in white corduroys. You ladies out there, you know what those white corduroys could do for a woman...and after that horrible little swimsuit, this was my first intimation that Kay had a really great backside.

Yet I digress (and there's another story there). Frankly, I was looking for a little privacy to talk with Kay on some of the personal issues that we sometimes discussed. Yet no sooner had Kay and I settled into the basement rec room, when Paul appeared, lugging his income tax documents down to spread across the ping-pong table, commenting that there was more room to spread out there. Even as dense as I was, I could feel the tension in the room, as silence stretched. And it only got worse.

For as Kay began trimming my hair, slowly working around and through my (then) thick brown hair, Paul spoke. And a part of me shriveled inside. "That's an awfully nice blouse to be cutting hair in," he observed. "Why don't you go upstairs and change?"

I was suddenly horrified, but Kay quietly sat down her scissors, and walked over to the stairs. My back was to them, but I could hear her marching up the carpeted steps. And moments stretched into hours in the silence of Paul and I alone.

Finally I heard her steps descending, as still quiet, Kay returned. She had changed into a pale blue, utilitarian blouse. Silently she picked up the shears, and I cringed to here Paul speak again, quite diffidently. "Aren't those awfully nice pants to be cutting hair in, too?"

Without a word of protest or comment, again Kay set down the scissors, and I heard her walk away, march firmly up the stairs. Again, utter silence ensued, until finally I heard her footsteps returning down the cushioned stairs. She had slipped into a pair of plain blue jeans almost the precise shade of her shirt, and I have to admit that despite how the blue complemented her eyes, where Kay had moments before been dazzling, she was now quite subdued

I didn't understand. All that I really knew was the pain that I felt inside...for her. No woman should be treated like that--for any reason.

The silence lingered, hung heavily like some miasma throughout the rest of the cut. However, when Kay finally worked her way around to trim my bangs, on the far side of me from Paul, I silently breathed the few words that I knew that I needed to. "I thought that you looked incredible."

Oddly enough (or perhaps not), when the haircut was completed, we returned upstairs and I paid Kay, and slipped out the door. Still in silence. I left, head down, trying to decipher, to grasp, to understand exactly what had just happened there. When I was about halfway down the block from their house, I heard a noise behind me...and looked back to see Paul's car pulling away from the house. Another puzzling piece. I suppose that I should have turned around and gone back.

I am going to tell you the absolute truth, right here. For more than twenty years, I've remembered that day vividly, borne the pain of how Kay was treated, and how she must still (another story) be treated. I ache inside simply to think of it...

I suppose that my only other cogent reaction to that controlling behavior, all of these years later, is that it would have served Paul right if Kay had returned back downstairs braless. Now, that's just a silly thought. Honestly, if or when I ever have another haircut from her, I know exactly what I'm going to say.

Just for accuracy's sake, this was over twenty years ago--and I don't recall whether the blouse or the pants were the first decried, and forced to go. I don't know that it really mattered--another case where "it was the thought that counts".

I suppose that there are one or two more (highly relevant) stories about Kay that I could add, right up until the final, startling, revealing moment. I guess that'll wait for another post...

...a can of worms

Hey, I think this is where I mention that if you are easily offended, don't read on. I know that at a dinner party you aren't supposed to talk about politics or religion, and most people usually toss "sex" in there too. So, what happens if you start talking about "sex" and "religion"...like, in combination?

Let me start out by saying that I consider myself a Christian, and a fairly conservative one at that. Now, don't go tossing your own labels around, this is just who I see myself as being. Feel free to disagree--isn't this a great country? But the fact remains that I consider myself a "born again" Christian, i.e. that I asked Jesus to save me from my sins. And frankly, that's my belief, and you can have whatever of your own that you desire, it's none of my business.

I suppose that I should soft pedal any description of my faith by pointing out that this is how I was raised. Indeed, today my faith hasn't really changed--it remains bedrock, a fundamental part of who I am. And yet my practice is somewhat more...relaxed. Don't call me "spiritual", but I tend to spend my time looking more deeply into what God might wish of us than most people might. I tend not to be terribly...shallow.

And yet, in that context, I find myself horribly conflicted in my personal sexuality. No, I'm not gay (or judgemental). But it's the resolution of my sexuality with my Christianity that bothers me. No, that's not quite right. Largely, what bothers me, is other people's resolution of their sexuality with their Christianity. Lots of people absolutely repress their sexuality (on the surface), and portray themselves as pure and celibate, even asexual. Not only is this often a lie and hypocrytical, it's simply not God's will for those that He loves...and I only see the tangle growing deeper and more complex.

I suppose, if you'll be kind enough to keep an open mind, that I'll post a number of stories. Certainly, for discretion, the details will be changed, but at least some of the relevant facts will remain. Not all of these stories are about fundamental Christians, one possible tale might even involve a sweet Muslim girl (please don't declare jihad on me!) that I once knew...and boy, was she fun!

I suppose that I should tell you a little more about myself. If I have to, I'd admit that I've broken the cusp of middle age...if I didn't, how would I really have a lifetime of experiences to draw upon. I'm tall, about 6'3", with brown hair (what remains of it) and clear blue eyes. Reasonably fit, though at the moment I'm working to get back on the horse. Women have told me that I'm attractive, and though some times they have reflected physical attributes (evidently "tall is good") like "bedroom eyes", generally the focus is on aspects of my personality.

Gosh, I hate to toot my own horn...but words like "playful", "thoughtful", "perceptive" get rolled around a lot...and of course there are others. "Gentle" and "strong" are two others...and how do they coexist? Can you explain that to me? And hopefully, as you read this, you might give me "intelligent" as well. I'll leave that one...and others...completely up to you.

One girlfriend once told me that she didn't understand why there wasn't a long line of women fighting for my attention. Well, in the course of my life, perhaps there is some explanation for that. And I suppose, as a sort of autotherapy, that's exactly what this blog is about. And if you don't know me, if you're not a friend that I have invited to read this, than I hope to high heaven that you don't figure out who I am. Because then you might figure out exactly who some of the women are...and I am largely trying to protect their identities. Does that make sense to you?

Still, there are obvious things that I am going to write about. The sexuality of "good women" in general, and "good Christian women" specifically. Such is and has been a mystery to me, something that has haunted me for the majority of my life...and it is time to put this here, in keeping with the process of letting it go. And if somehow my words touch a few people, help them to reach out and grasp their own feelings, so much the better. And if you have any answers for me...I thank you, now and in advance.

Don't seek any rhyme or reason in these posts..especially those of you who may be looking for yourself. Once upon a time I had written most of these out, now I'll rewrite them, recrafting the stories into something new and subtly different, perhaps merely for the simple pleasure of reliving those long ago days. If I could, would I do it all over again? You betcha. Would I do anything different this time around? That really is a good question, isn't it?

I suppose that I should tell you something else about myself. I am working to be a writer, a novelist, a screenwriter. I write fiction, and I've been told that I am good at it. Yet something always seems to get in the way. I am gambling that part of it is my preoccupation with the mysteries of the past...and in creating this blog, I am hoping to lay some of those mysteries to rest. And no, I don't really think that I want to weave any of these sories into any of my more formal manuscripts. That's why I'm giving it to you whole hog, as it were, right here.

And...if you happen to be one of the women, the people of whom I eventually write...will you dare to correspond with me? I will say please. Or will my memories of those places, those times, merely frighten you further away? In either case, I cast my memories to the winds...

Opening Up...

This is me, and I'm just crazy. I've been walking around with this stuff in me, this confusion, for a very long time. What's what? Maybe you can help me sort it all out. Read what I write, and decide for yourself what is truth and what is fiction. Or, of course, if you happen to be one of the people (perhaps) mentioned in my stories...feel free to drop me a note, and tell me your own memories, your perceptions.

And who...or what, should I write about first? Hey, I think this is gonna be interesting.