Kay Revisited

Oh Kay.

A month or two following the original series, I will toss this on. I really could not think of any way to work it into the narrative. So I guess it will stand alone.

One night, and this was way back in my college days, I was headed home, and decided to drop by Paul and Kay's house. It was around ten o'clock, which was a bit late, but there were plenty of lights on. Hesitant, I saw a gap in the curtains of the dining room window, and glanced through to see if anyone was about.

A quick scan showed both the dining room, and kitchen beyond to be deserted. But suddenly there was a flicker of movement, and I recoiled in surprise. And pondered a moment, carefully reconstructing what I had just seen.

It didn't take long, because I realized that what had caught my eye was Kay, dashing from the doorway of the living room, across the corner of the kitchen, and into the bathroom. The door to her bedroom was just beyond the living room doorway, so doubtless she had just scooted from her bedroom into the bathroom.

Naked.

All right, so I had a mostly side-to-backside view, since Kay was at best parallel to me, then facing away, and it was only for the space of a step or two. She was gone before I even realized what I had seen. All that really registered was an instant's view of her bare back. Well, and her legs and backside, too.

I suppose that I could have waited for Kay to come out of the bathroom, for I wouldn't anticipate her to suddenly have acquired clothing somewhere. Yet I suddenly realized that I had been standing there musing, under a streetlight at ten o'clock at night, for some time now. It was definitely time for me to be moving along.

And...this stolen moment certainly wasn't the way that I would have chosen to see her.

Beauty is something to be...given.

I am going to say this now, just in case "Kay" ever happens to read this...which, really is the only reason that I am writing this. I enjoy women. I can't help it, that's who I am. I have learned that the secret to a wonderful lover isn't a body, isn't great looks, it's whether she has a beautiful soul. A woman with a beautiful soul, who knows how to love, will make a wonderful, incredible lover.

And Christian women, women of faith, by definition, know how to love.

But I saw more of Kay that day than I had ever anticipated, even just that brief glimpse. I don't know whether her husband, any man, has ever complimented her as she deserves. And I know women, I savor women, I enjoy the graceful female form. And what I saw, even in that brief glance, was an absolutely beautiful ass. Perfect, I can't imagine seeing one any better anywhere else. It most definitely wasn't just the white cords that day.

I certainly didn't see the rest of her body, but I could easily be satisfied living the rest of my life, being able to look at a woman with a great rear end like that. I don't think that it would be much of a stretch to say that, beneath all of those long ago ruffles, Kay had a beautiful body.

And the really dumb thing, is that it isn't even her looks that make her so attractive. I could feel the melody, the music flowing from fingers, pouring from her soul. It was easy to tell that Kay would be a wonderful lover...

In all dimensions of the word.

Linda

If I were using real names here, there would be a plethora of 'Linda's, 'Lisa's and variants of 'Lori'. So I may as well use one of them here, in simple tribute to my longtime friend Linda. She is perhaps the one and only of my early college friends that I have managed to keep in touch with, and there is a deep and valued bond between the two of us.

I'll be the first to admit that, like my relationships with everyone, she and I have at times had our difficulties communicating. A situation which is largely related to my own difficulties and for which I must humbly apologize. I don't know how to describe Linda to you.

There was a moment, a few years ago, that she was meeting me one night for coffee. She parked up the street, and stood on the sidewalk waiting as I hastened toward her. I remember one instant, when I looked up and saw her silhouette, head slightly tilted, long blond hair falling across her shoulder, the lithe lines of her willowy figure. With a pang it struck me, just how beautiful she is, has always been, and how I had never managed to tell her so. There is so much of her beauty that I have never been able to share with her.

Linda belongs here because, like most of our little cliché in college, we all had grown up with strong religious backgrounds of one type or another. I'm not going to try to guess at her faith today, except that I am reasonably certain that, like me, it remains an essential part of her. And...Linda is also one of the most amazingly attractive women that I have ever met. She's an incredible lover waiting to happen--without the veneer of religious sexual repression hanging over her femininity.

Linda and I shared a moment, over twenty years ago in college, that I doubtless will ever remember far better than she. I'm not going to describe the circumstances, but one afternoon we found ourselves on my couch, her legs across my lap. With me giving her a gentle massage. Linda complains that her legs aren't nearly what they were at twenty, but now on the 'wrong side' of forty, they're still better than ninety percent of the women out there. That was, and remains, one of the most sensuous moments of my life.

Life has shifted for both of us, but Linda and I still keep in touch, and I'd like to think that both have been there for the other when needed--a bag of M&M's at the right moment goes a long way. Coffee and cribbage has been a tie, and she has been one of the few people that I have been able to confide in over the years. Both of us have made different choices in partners, but there are a few other things that I'll tell you about Linda, some of which I have recently shared with her.

I'll have to admit to you here, that there were a few times, when she and I went out for dinner as friends, that when we were sitting at a table, it was nearly impossible to keep from reaching over to touch her. At the end of the evening, when we said good night, not to lean over and taste those wonderful lips.

I know, because many years ago, on an occasion when I was leaving our college town and didn't expect to be back, as we said good-bye in her parking lot I asked Linda permission to kiss her. And to my surprise, she said yes.

It wasn't more than a quick brush of lips, but I'll always remember their sweetness.

Linda and I have always had an unspoken agreement not to risk our friendship, and we've always each known that the other is not what we're looking for in a long-term relationship. I have to admit that I have made a conscious effort not to flirt with her. Sometimes it hasn't been easy. But I think that of all the women that I've ever known in my life, if I were built for 'casual sex', that she is one of those whom I might most regret not having shared a special moment with.

Linda is an amazingly attractive, sexy and sensuous woman, and I might always regret not drinking more deeply of her passion. Those wonderful lips. Who knows, she might have found herself far more responsive than she ever guessed. Or at least...admitted.

To me or herself.

Diane

You won't read much about Diane here, but she must needs be acknowledged, for the size of the impact that she has had on my life.

You see, Diane doesn't belong here, despite her strong Christian background, because with her I actually had a healthy, open relationship. All right, as healthy as I was capable of being, and at times that was quite something. I have to say that I have loved Di as well as I have any woman, ever in my life...and with my shortcomings, I'm ashamed to admit that that is a sad thing to say.

Diane came into our relationship a very battered, drained and emotionally scarred woman. The damage went back to her teens, and ranged through an emotionally unavailable husband, widowhood, and a close male friend who did far more harm than he is ever capable of realizing. To say that she had difficulties with her femininity would be an understatement.

Yet still, she gave to me, and I to she, and both of us healed and grew. I needed what she had to give, and vice versa. Di was an amazingly beautiful, sensuous, passionate woman, and I enjoyed her a great deal. And she me...she told me how wonderful it was to play again.

Perhaps more about Diane...later.

Banana-Rama Beth

I'm sure that I have written that I have never had is a lot of luck with women my own age. I've dated women substantially older, or younger. Both seem to work out quite well. But it wasn’t until my ten year class reunion, as my twenties faded, that things seemed to click a little bit better.

And yes, Beth is the story, but there is a great deal of back story, for I think that Beth is more than a bit unique. And how do I tell you enough about her, without telling too much?

It wouldn’t be cheating to tell you that Beth was a bit of a wallflower in high school, though I knew her there. Indeed, she and I were part of a very small, very intimate Literature class that managed to keep us all entertained. My impression of Beth was that she was quietly religious, very conservative, and extremely aware of all of “the rules”. She was quiet enough, but not completely a wallflower. If she was voted the “most innocent” by our fellow seniors, she had to be noticed by someone.

And I have to admit that Beth had some quite noticeable assets, if I dare be so crass. In reconstructing my high school days, I have come to realize that high school girls are even more fixated on bust size than high school boys are. Now to tell the truth, I’m quite certain that there were a couple of girls in our class er, more fully endowed than Beth. As illustrated by those selfsame senior awards.

But to be honest, I would have had to say that Beth may well have had the best breasts in the class. I'll never be able to say that to her. Sheer size isn’t everything, and along with a couple of girls who were a bit taller (and, strangely, were best friends), Beth probably had the best figure in the class. She just, um, didn’t display it all that well. I said that she was religious, and conservative.

I ran into Beth once or twice in the years succeeding graduation, but I also moved away before too long. Then our class reunion rolled around, and it was a very interesting time.

I say interesting, for if Beth was a wallflower, that would have been a compliment for me. Mr. Invisible. But evidently maturity wrought some changes, and my head was dizzied as attractive women, who never had the time of day for me in high school, kept coming up to me and exclaiming, “Somebody told me that you were Jeff, and I just couldn’t believe it!”

Now, I have to say that I went home that summer weekend in the midst of an unrequited love. Suffering from at least the torn conscience of that relationship, and I have to admit that it was nice to be away. I don’t know if I will ever write about this ‘Lisa’. I have to admit that it was nice to be home—and catching some positive feedback along the way.

Still, when the music started I had touched bases with Beth, now a divorced single mom, during dinner; and it was only natural to ask her for a dance. Not too long before I had taken a Ballroom Dance class, and I was pleased to try out some of the Swing and other steps with Beth. And though rusty, she seemed satisfied, even enthusiastic, in following my lead.

After a couple of dances, I noticed her glancing over at her friend, ‘Chris’. I knew from dinner conversation that they worked together, and she seemed to be looking for encouragement or advice. All that I caught was a quick nod in return, and I suppose that I’ll always wonder what was going on. Still, I can remember more than once offering to get Beth a drink from the bar, and she declined, telling me that she didn’t drink. That, and what I recall to be a sleek blue dress that simply flowed about her. Beth told me that she had a twenty-two inch waist, that her exercise was from mowing--and it showed.

Still a few dances later, Beth and I were on the dance floor again, when the D.J. segued to a slow dance. And I felt Beth slowly become comfortable in my arms. I am going to admit right now just how good she felt…and just how torn my emotions were.

For on the one hand, and I have to say this first, I was completely aware that Beth was right where I wanted Lisa to be. Beth was the same height, the same general build, even the same hair color, and I had liked Lisa for quite a long while. So there was a strong pull just to savor Beth, as Lisa, in my arms.

Yet Beth had her own unmistakable and appealing attributes. For one thing, sitting talking during dinner, she was far more forthcoming than Lisa ever was. I still wasn’t getting a grip on the complexity that was Beth, but I was seeing glimpses of it. For one thing, she obviously had no clue just how attractive she was. And as she grew warmer, and closer to me, I began to feel more and more of that. Literally. For with Beth’s head on my chest, obviously she began to start feeling me.

I could feel Beth relaxing as she came closer and closer to me, throughout the slow dances. And I only wanted to draw her closer, because she felt so wonderful. Both physically, and feeling her openness, her wanting, her need. As if physically weren’t more than enough in the first place.

I can be very tactile, I suppose, and I was completely aware of those really nice breasts pressing more and more firmly into me. I say that Beth reminded me of Lisa, but Lisa certainly had absolutely nothing like this! The psychological aspect only made it tougher, let alone more complicated, and I felt myself responding.

Obviously Beth did as well, for she only seemed to hold me tighter, and before long those full, firm breasts were pancaked against my chest. My arousal only grew, and I was astonished—and pleased—to feel Beth’s hips and abdomen drawing even closer—her arms were quite linked around me. Clinging tightly, would be apt. I don’t think that a couple could dance any closer, it felt like she was practically riding me right there on the dance floor. No, I’m certainly not complaining.

I was torn by how much I wanted Beth because I wanted her to be Lisa…and how much I wanted Beth because she was Beth. In the end I decided that the only fair thing, fair to Beth, was simply to walk away. It was simply an issue of…integrity. I knew full well that I wanted her, and suspected that she wanted me, but I also knew full well that it hadn’t begun as simply "Beth". There was far too much “Lisa” mixed into my emotions—especially at the start.

And so, well before the end of the evening, I offered to walk Beth to her car. I don’t know that she ever understood, for I recall what happened as we stood there in the parking lot. I know that I gave her a quick peck on the lips, but I didn’t dare anything else. I remember how she looked at me, and quietly said, “I’ll do whatever you want to do.” Now, that certainly seemed like carte blanche to me, and I found myself hanging in indecision. Ah, that integrity. My torn conscience.

I know that Beth misinterpreted my hesitance, for she made an attempt to reach me. Perhaps she was concerned that as a divorced single mom, I was worried that she was promiscuous…but that wasn’t the case. She was too much of a sweetheart. Still, Beth broached the heart of her story (not to be repeated here), then she and I left the reunion for an all night restaurant, where we sat and talked until four AM. It was a moment of connection and understanding—and not the one that I might have wanted.

Which really doesn’t matter for anything. Except that I far rather would have gone back to her place, or found a nice hotel room, and spent those same hours feeling Beth in my arms. She was sexy, she was sweet, and I would never have that opportunity again. Lost forever. Good lord, how I simply wanted to slip that dress from her shoulders, and watch it fall to the floor...

She didn't know that she had a beautiful body, and I would never so much as see it, let alone being able to tell her so.

Perhaps rather than integrity, it was simply a matter of stupidity.

But who could have known that ‘Miss Innocent’, this sweet Christian girl, was such a beautiful, sensuous, passionate woman?

Certainly not me.

Andi

'Andi' was originally part of 'Silly Men', but gets a post all to herself. She more than deserves it.

In her sixties, it was still easy to see the vestiges of great good looks. I would say that once you got to know her, looked at her home and surroundings, it was even easier to see the beauty, the romance, the passion of her soul. It's amazing how many men don't know what to look for. She was quite down on her own appearance, but at the same time was proud of her daughter and granddaughter--which was almost laughable were it not so sad, because they both looked just like Andi. And they are beautiful, attractive women!

I know that Andi was divorced around forty, and she told me that the first thing that she did was go out and buy a leather jacket with a fur collar. That combination speaks broadly, of her innate passion, femininity and sensuality.

A retired school teacher, one night she and I sat for hours on her front porch in the dark, talking. She is a leader of her church, indeed I could hear in her voice the depth what it meant to her when she said that she was "born again".

Yet I also remember how one afternoon a group of us were joking about going to a strip bar, and someone told her that she would have to get up and dance. She laughed and said that she would, but that people would probably run away when she took off her clothes.

Later, when she and I stepped outside, I told her that I wouldn't have run away. An assertation not entirely noble. She laughed again, and I remember that she murmured something about "doing it before it's too late". But then Andi surprised me when she shot back that if she got up and danced, then I'd have to do so as well.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what she just said, I watched her withdraw back into herself...

So Andi and I sat into the night that summer eve talking, drinking Diet Pepsi. She had some mini-lights in her garden (another way to see the passion and romance of a woman's soul-just look at her garden), and a small fountain bubbling. It was quiet and peaceful, and she shared with me a secret that she thought she'd never tell anyone else.

I had asked her another...what was her secret fantasy. The secret that she did tell me, she said, was even more personal, and I'll hold that confidence completely. Yet what she refused to share with me was the secret, the nature of her passion, a clue to her honest sexuality, deepest sensuality.

I didn't prompt her, didn't push her, I was willing to allow Andi the time and space to open herself to me. Yet she didn't and perhaps there was a reason for that. It might simply have been too personal. Maybe she thought it was just too risqué, too..."kinky". Perhaps in some dimension she was attracted to me, and afraid to admit it, afraid of some subtle rejection.

Was it so hard for Andi to believe that she was an attractive, interesting, even sexy woman? What kind of damage did her husband, the other men in her life do to her?

And just how many women out there are similarly...disserviced?

Carol Epilogue

Of course, this story didn't end there. Nor, I have to admit, have I included all related portions, however distantly.

Like a cool August night.

The fact remains that eventually I sought out Carol. Awkwardly and clumsily though it may have been, I found myself completely unwilling to allow any more mysteries to remain untouched for the remainder of my life. And on a day when I set out to resolve three of them, a day when I was about to depart for another city, far away, I went looking for Carol.

I found her at work, at the company for whom we were both once employed. Funny, at last note she now only worked there occasionally, I presume for the pleasure of encountering old friends. But find her I did.

Carol was pleased to take some moments to talk with me, and I'm afraid that I stole far more than she could really spare. We talked for some time, there in the middle of a busy crowd, and I admit that I was determined to not let the moment pass. So determined, in fact, that allowing the course of the conversation to flow to various topics, I forced it along.

We spoke, and finally I explained to her the basis for my four months previously "Dutch" question. Not surprisingly, she didn't recall the comment, some dozen years later. Yet she also softly added that sometimes a naive person, who was raised away from overt sexuality, can sometimes innocently make suggestive comments unintentionally.

We spoke some more, and I wish that I could recall all that we talked about. Yet I do remember how it ended.

Someone behind me had been gesturing for Carol for some time, but still she had catered to my whims. Finally she started to rise, and desperately I found myself asking a forbidden question. And doing so badly. As well as baldly.

"Carol, all of those years ago, when we worked together...were you attracted to me?"

I needed to know the answer to that question--or one very like it. What I had intended was perhaps something more innocuous, less invasive, like, "Did you see me as an attractive guy?"

An entirely different issue. Merely a bit of reassurance for a guy who had had more than a few blows to his confidence.

Still, I will always remember Carol's reaction. I could see the query hit her, she completely froze in mid motion. The question was a jolt to her, for whatever of many possible reasons I cannot guess.

I watched, as she turned her eyes back to me, composure slip back into place. Her reply, when it came, was quiet, simple, honest, and straightforward. Apparently

"I had someone then."

With that, Carol strode off to where she was needed.

And I couldn't help but think...that's an odd way to say that she was already married.

Just another mystery from Carol.

And, even given Carol's completely plausible explanation, I still cannot come up with a completely innocent connotation for the original conundrum.

"Would you eat...me? "

Carol Conclusion

Emotions and senses awhirl, slowly I followed Carol out through the front door. She had swept on, saying her farewells. Several minutes later I was standing by the street, from a distance watching Carol say her good-byes. I was standing with our departing friend Samantha as she chatted with a helper.

Over behind the moving van I saw Carol step into one of the guys arms, one of her 'special guys' from one of her charity projects. Almost inevitably I watched, waited...and noted my unsurprise when that errant hand slid down to rub the small of his back in a slow circle. As the two men standing in the back of the van regarded the scene.

Certainly this wasn't nearly as lingering a hug as I had been gifted with, but that caress seemed inevitable. I still have to wonder. Does Carol simply not understand, comprehend just how sensual an act that is? That the small of the back is one of the major erogenous zones?

Really--am I stretching too much here? Expecting that a Christian woman, married for about fifteen years at this point, could understand (or, alternately, fail to grasp) a such fundamental piece of human sexuality?

Dutch Treat

Finally there was again a swarm about, and since there were more than enough guys loading the van, I stuck to my cleaning. Eventually Carol drifted on with the other women, and even had an impromptu "listening and prayer" session by the garage. I said that she was generous.

Still, five o'clock rolled around, and Carol had to set off. I could hear her say good-bye to one of the women cleaning in the kitchen, and I half expected her to step outside and up the drive. Still, I wasn't surprised when she swept into the living room, where I had just finished vacuuming the stairs--but I was that she had both arms outstretched for a hug.

Still, I wasn't one to quibble with acceptance, I enjoy a hug as well as the next person, and back to the stairs, let Carol settle into my arms.

I notice details, remember?

It's odd, almost like stop motion. First, Carol settled her full breasts carefully, almost gauging that they were halfway into my chest. Some women use their breasts as weapons when they hug, my first, fleeting impression was that Carol was taking care not to do this when she hugged me.

But then she had slipped into me, far shorter than my six-three, yet her arms were about me. And with wonder, I could feel the love, feel Carol flowing into me.

I'm not even beginning to do this justice...

She simply rested there, cheek on my chest, for long moments. Wonderingly, I looked at the three women on the other side of the screen door, back to this scene. Just as Carol's hand slipped along my spine to the small of my back, and gently traced a small circle.

Startled, as warmth rushed through me, I glanced down at Carol, nestled there in my arms...and was struck, for the first time, by how utterly beautiful her face was. I just gaped in amazement.

Eventually, Carol slipped free of my arms. Just as she turned to leave, to slip away through the door, I managed one, brief sentence.

"I wish that I had met you...before you were married."

A sliver of the truth, but the only one that I could give her.

I couldn't bring myself to say what I could have...because I couldn't even admit that to myself.

Carol kind of laughed, a startled, half-restrained chuckle, almost taken aback, almost as if she wanted to say something else. I couldn't really read it, but a moment later she was gone.

Carol Confirmed

Well, finally the opportunity arrived, and in an utterly bizarre manner. Her/my friend Samantha was moving, and though a strange conjunction of circumstances that I won't describe here, everyone departed for some time in the midst of moving. As much of the household possessions were on the lawn, I elected myself to remain and oversee their safety. It was a quiet, middle class neighborhood, but who knew what might happen?

If only I did.

After sitting about on the front step for a while, mindful of all that needed to be done, I set off to do some small amount of cleaning. Much of the furniture hadn't been moved in eighteen years, and I knew how to use a vacuum. I could do that, and still occasionally check the windows.

I proceeded in such a manner for a while, when on one glance out the window I noted a strange car in front of the neighbors house. With it's trunk open. Concerned, I shut off the vacuum and headed downstairs. Only to meet Carol, striding up the front walk, a delicate blossom drifting in a crystal bowl in her hand.

It turned out that she had mistaken the time, arriving some hours late, and quickly she and I set to a not quite monumental task. I was happy to have a woman for leadership, for though I was not unaccustomed to work, I was quite uncertain of the process of cleaning a house for departure. Amazingly, it turned out that vacuuming, and getting all of the ancient dustbunnies vanished, was a good step, meeting her approval.

So Carol and I fell to work in silent companionship. Yet at least on my part, it was a strained silence, for I was entirely aware of the strange conjunction of coincidences that led to Carol and I being alone, in an entire house, with absolutely no one else about. Undisturbed, and for what proved to be an extended period of time. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that He had arranged this opportunity. I had...more than a little experience of the "too many coincidences" that God could arrange, to bring circumstances to where he wanted them.

But...how to use it?

My mind strained through reams of subjects of which I could talk with Carol about...yet none seemed quite so significant that God should feel a need to intercede. Obviously He intended something special...and I had no idea what it was!

And Carol...only made things worse.

The two of us were working in the master bedroom. She was cleaning baseboards, while I maneuvered the Hoover. I almost think that the silence was getting a bit strained, when suddenly Carol made a suggestion. Over the drone of the vacuum I could only make out something about, "Do you want to...in the closet?", and I looked in her in disbelief. I glanced toward the walk-in closet, which was not liberally carpeted with eighteen years worth of dust, and I looked back at her.

"No, I think I'll go over the carpet out here once first," I replied. Both of us resumed our tasks.

Yet now to my strained confusion was now added, "Why did Carol want me to go into the closet?"

And...I swear that she said something about..."us".

The day proceeded, though the silence was even more strained. It wasn't as if Carol wasn't easy to talk to. I wanted to talk with her. I was also entirely aware of the great deal of cleaning yet to be done--Samantha was departing early the next morning. That had to be my frirst priority.

I did manage one small question, in the time allotted. Harboring some small doubt, after all of these years. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. Yet considering that particular combination of words, there was really only one way to know...

"Carol, I wanted to ask you something," I began. "I can't remember for sure, but I thought that you mentioned once that you were...Dutch?"

Carol seemed immediately pleased, even flattered that I had remembered something so personal about her, and immediately set off on a long explanation of her French and Dutch ancestry...

I am forced to admit that I didn't absorb large parts of it (I might even be wrong about the "French" portion), immediately dazed at the long delayed affirmation that I had not been deluding myself all of these years...

After another half hour or so, one of the neighbor's young sons stopped looking for his dad, who had departed with the rest of the crew. Carol, knowing the family, efficiently put him to work, and the window of opportunity waned.

And it was still some time before everyone else returned.

Carol-ized

Despite a couple of flickers over the years when I had a chance to speak with Carol on various levels, I didn't really have the opportunity to speak with her for an extended period, to any great depth. And I knew that I would like to, if only because of the "Danish".

I have to admit that there was a day or two, when we spoke for a while, when chance brought the two of us to work together at another locale. Both times it was curiosity into other issues, related to another women, that ended up being the topic. I really didn't consider Carol "available".

I know that the first time, partially prompted by her/my friend Samantha's comment on Carol's attitude toward's certain matters, I simply asked Carol what she thought. Far from not being willing to talk about "sex", or private matters, Carol and I chatted for some time. Of course it began with Carol's query of, "When you say 'sex', do you mean 'intimacy'? I found myself wondering exactly where Sam was seeing this reluctance.

Another time, curious because I was interested in a woman who might not be able to bear children, I asked Carol about her perspective. I knew that she was her husband's second wife, and he hadn't wanted any more children, leaving her without children of her own. I was curious as to her experience and perceptions, wondering how such a loss could affect a woman. To which she very kindly enlightened me, on a fairly personal subject. I always appreciated her thoughtful and considered response.

But, having the opportunity to speak in any depth, with any degree of privacy? Let alone about...interpersonal sexuality? That simply wasn't going to happen.

At least...not for several more years.

Carol, A Closer Look

That mystery lingered in my mind, for it was almost completely the antithesis of the image that Carol projected, the person that even her close friends saw her as being. So who was she, really?

A couple of years later, I was to see a bit more of Carol. I went to my friend's house, and Carol was helping her hang mini-blinds. I was...intrigued. For this was the first time I had seen Carol outside of work. Instead of clunky, ratty work shoes, she was wearing graceful white sneakers--and the show only got better from there.

I was somehow surprised to find that she had very nicely curved, toned legs, and with the shorts-tank outfit she was wearing she looked quite fetching. It certainly accentuated her figure. Trim waist, nice backside and strong shoulders. Great, fresh skin, too. The surprise was that Carol looked utterly feminine. The outfit only accented her athletic grace. Obviously, away from work, she took great care with her appearance.

Of course, with Samantha present, I didn't really have a chance to talk with Carol. The two women greeted me, but completed their task. Then Carol headed on to her next meeting while Sam and I prepared for a weekend trip.

Frankly, this was the first time that I really saw Carol as a woman, and a feminine, attractive woman at that. Desirable...somewhere in there she showed me an element that had been missing in the time that we had worked together. That distinct element of utter femininity. A grace that had been entirly lacking in her work attire.

Finally I admitted to myself that if Carol were single, I'd like to go out with her. Barely could I admit such a thing to myself..

And that is just another step in the parade.

Caroling

Here is a mystery that I really cannot let go of. It baffles and intrigues me, and I'll relate it to you, step by step, in hopes that you see something I cannot. Rather, make a leap that I cannot.

This story starts many years ago, with a then coworker whom I'll call 'Carol'. Carol was a friend of a friend, I had heard of her for years, and I was pleased to finally meet her. A few years older than me, I knew very well that she was a strong Christian, a woman of great faith and even deeper love. She had married for the first time just a couple of years before, on the cusp of middle age, though she looked much younger. Athletic and fit, what really showed through in Carol was her gentleness and love for other people. In many ways, Carol was a prototypical 'Christian's Christian'. She knew and understood what His Love is, and she poured it forth like an overflowing cup, touching all of those around her. Indeed, she seemed entirely pure, clean and innocent of any overt sexuality whatsoever.

Having heard a great many stories of Carol from my friend, I immediately labeled her as an "interesting person", and tended to look at her a bit more closely. I should mention straight off that I also classified Carol as entirely unavailable, falling into that "unavailable" category both by virtue of being a strong Christian, and by being "married". Double indemnity.

Being interested in her simply didn't enter my head.

Still, I was mildly amused watching her, because she was an interesting character. Carol took every opportunity to pour forth a bit of love, spread some oil on troubled waters. It was amazing to see her work, I could feel the goodness in her. Some of the people out there proseletyzing should look up "lifestyle evangelism". That was Carol. In every way. She was (and doubtless is) generous. She has a generous soul. It's simply who she is.

I also notice details, and some of them struck me wryly. So many little incongruencies. I mentioned that Carol was athletic, she had a sturdy and generous figure. No "willow" here. But firm, no "Rubenesque" either. Yet she was still graceful, as well. I meant the word "athletic". So it was a bit disconcerting to note how poorly her uniform pants fit, how awkward the shoes she wore to work were. Well, I suppose that they were comfortable.

I have to admit that I also notice more subtle things. Like, the fact that Carol was quite...full figured. Yet one day it really struck me, through the reasonably sheer back of her uniform blouse, just how slender her bra straps were. Hey, I said that I notice anomalies. It was especially puzzling that one or the other would go wildly awry on her shoulder occasionally. The jury suggested that Carol didn't need a whole lot of support.

But that's not the story of Carol, really. That happened on day as I was about to take break. At the time I had what probably was an annoying habit of simply devouring cream cheese Danishes at my lunch break. Not only that, but I'm sure that I verbally savored them as I prepared them, with a bit of butter in the microwave. Too much of a sensual delight--and I know that I conveyed that fact. This was certainly a habit that I would live to regret. But it was also one that provided one of the great mysteries of my life.

For this day, Carol and I were working alone. It wasn't busy, and when my turn came for break I know that I made some comment, with great enthusiasm, about relishing my daily Danish, and made off for the microwave. I had just slipped the plate into the oven to warm, when Carol strolled over, and I greeted her smiling, my mind happily on my delightful dish. For the moment.

I still remember the precise words that she said. Carol walked right up to me, clear blue eyes guilelessly meeting my own. Facing me, her body language was completely open.

"I'm not Danish, I'm Dutch. Would you eat me?"

Such simple statement. Capable of roiling a world.

To say that I was...confounded...would be an understatement. I can't recall the torrent of thoughts that rushed through my mind ("In a heartbeat!" among them), nor do I recall what lame, disjointed comment I mumbled in reply as the microwave chimed, and I walked dazedly away. I said that I didn't consider Carol available--not that I didn't find her attractive. But I didn't do more than look.

I sat there with a forgotten, congealing Danish before me, and tried to make sense of things. Carol had only been married two or three years, so it couldn't be a case of the "seven year itch", as they still were practically newlyweds. I tried to consider who else Carol might be...I had always seen her as entirely chaste. No off color jokes, no...nothing. My friend/her friend had even told me that she couldn't talk with Carol about sex...because Carol considered it such an entirely private issue.

Speaking of "anomalies"...

I was...befuddled. Obviously I had misunderstood Carol in manner. After an instant's disbelief, I had absolutely no doubt of the words that had come from her mouth. Therefore, there had to be some non-sexual, totally innocent connotation that she had intended, and I had simply misconstrued her words. So off to work I returned, and I didn't mention the incident again.

Yet it was not to be forgotten. For years I have tried to come up with a totally innocent connotation. And have not been able to. Not even marginally so. I consider myself to have a pretty good imagination, and am good with words and their meanings. Nothing. For the life of me.

Do you wanna try?

Please?

Of course, Carol, being a friend of a friend, would wander in and out of my life through the ensuing years, even until the very day on which that friend departed. Sometimes, wandering can be quite...emphatic.

Hardly Carolyn

Indecisive, we'll brush through a brief moment from a long time ago. I'd like to think that it's an illustrative anecdote of who women are, and what they might be. Especially Christian women, and what they might need--or desire. So here we go with the tale of Carolyn, a mere instant that I will wonder about always.

Carolyn gets a mention here, almost in passing. Yet I have to add her, just because it’s an anomaly of which I will never know the truth. A Christian woman, and a mysterious moment of revealed femininity and sexuality. Another anecdote that was a long time ago, however brief, when I was in my early twenties.

I have to admit that on the surface, Carolyn would hardly seem to belong here. A staunch and faithful Christian, she had a wonderful husband and a happy home and family. It was easy to see the love between all of them.

Then in her forties, I always felt that Carolyn could have passed as a sister to her daughter, Angela. Fit, and trim, with curly blond hair, Carolyn had been a college tennis player, and it still showed. It’s funny, her husband Al had been a small school hoops star—and you really couldn’t tell. He was one of those guys who let himself go—a little too much.

On the other hand, I remember walking past Carolyn as she stood at the kitchen counter, and thinking what a great backside she had.

Always vibrant, several times I had a chance to talk with her on a number of topics, and I always found her open and emphatic. I liked Carolyn, and trusted her with some of my more personal thoughts.

One example was when I was talking about my friend “Buck”. I loved the guy to death, he was my buddy, but some of his habits regarding his wife were at the least questionable. Mostly involving his faithfulness (or apparent lack thereof), and I would share some of my observations and suspicions with Carolyn. She would always be outraged that Buck was behaving so, and I would listen to her frustration about how wrong it was for him to act in such a way.

Well, one hot summer night,, after basketball Buck and I dropped by Carolyn’s house looking for her oldest son, Sammy. I knew there was some risk bringing Buck along, that he wouldn't be welcome, but I figured that Sam would be out the door in a flash. I really wasn’t concerned when Buck accompanied me to the door, for the odds of Carolyn answering were only about one in five. Or so I thought.

For Carolyn opened the door, expecting to see Sam. Evidently he had gone out, not telling her where. It was already well after dark, indeed it was pitch back, and she had no idea where he was. Which Carolyn quickly informed us of.

We quickly understood that Carolyn and Al had been inside watching TV, with the air conditioning turned well down—Al’s preference. To keep the cool air from escaping into the steamy night, Carolyn stepped out onto the broad front porch with us, flipping on the porch light before she closed the door. Evidently Al was completely engrossed in his program. Carolyn was dressed for the air conditioning, in heavy slippers, gray sweat pants and a long sleeved, white ribbed mock turtle that I assumed was a body suit. Obviously she had been “in” for the night.

I was mildly surprised that Carolyn didn’t seem to mind Buck’s presence at all, indeed, she seemed pleased to have an audience with whom to release some of her worries and frustrations about mildly miscreant Sam. While I might have had an idea where Sam was (he certainly wasn’t playing basketball), I definitely wasn’t going to distress Carolyn further. So Buck and I stood and chatted with Carolyn for a while, a good forty-five minutes. It turned out to be an interesting talk, and I was surprised that Buck actually had the presence of mind not to say anything to upset her further. So I thought, anyway.

It was a pleasant conversation, the three of us standing there under the porch light, the pitch black gloom of night a few feet away. Perhaps as the focal point of the conversation, Carolyn had simply stepped out between Buck and I, her five-seven between two guys towering well over six feet tall. As I said, it was a hot and steamy night, and both Buck and I were dressed for it, in gym shorts and tank tops. Carolyn wasn’t, in "keeping warm" apparel, which led to the discordance of my observation.

For we were standing there, just the three of us in a deserted neighborhood, conversing in the heat, when suddenly I noticed. Carolyn was still completely involved in the conversation, but her nipples were quite clearly standing hard through that white, ribbed blouse.

I have to say that I was a bit…taken aback.

All of these years later, I would like to say that Carolyn was merely chilly. But I can’t quite convince myself of that—she was dressed warmly, and had been outside on a balmy night for some time. I have to admit that I only know of two causes for such a reaction. So what was it, what had sparked her imagination?

I really don’t know. Was there an undercurrent rushing through the back of her mind of being so close to a “bad boy” like Buck? Did that awaken something within her? Was it just being between two tall, reasonably good looking, athletic young men? What was it that piqued her interest…and why? Did Carolyn simply have a wild, and vivid imagination? Did she have a secret passion waiting to be unlocked? This is a question that I would really like to have answered. I'd like to understand.

And I have to say...they were quite pretty, too.

Touching Base

All right, so I haven't posted for a few days. That doesn't mean that I have forgotten, I really am trying to decide which direction to go next. Continue with the general editions, or slip back into a specific thread, like "Sharon" or "Kay"? And do I continue, essentially chronologically, or jump into the future? Simply illustrate stages and growth, or offer up greater and lesser mysteries?

I suppose it isn't as if I haven't got a half dozen posts ready to slip into the stream. Perhaps a few need a bit of polishing, but that's simple enough. Really, I have to decide the flavor of the moment, and when you're like a kid in a candy store...

Christianity's "Dirty Little Secret"

In case you didn't know, this is an easy one.

What, really, is it that Christianity does to women of faith? Truly, on the one hand, it teaches women about "unconditional love", for that is what God gives us. For Protestants, at least. This is a trait that Christian woman value, perhaps more highly that any other, simply because of how the faith--and women--are structured. So they strive to emulate that quality, learn to love one another unconditionally. The faith encourages people, women especially, to learn to open their hearts completely.

I have no problem with that. I believe that it's a quality that all people should offer one another.

The problem comes when it is put into practice.

You see, churches by their nature offer fellowship to lonely people. Most Christian singles see churches as the best place to meet other singles, to have a chance to meet a life partner. This quickly becomes circular reasoning, so I don't think that I'm going to risk getting lost in it.

So, while Christian women may go to a church, or a Christian singles group looking for a partner, those same beliefs also disarm them from part of their femininity. After all, in a conservative Christian church, a woman isn't supposed to be remotely "sexy". So any woman with a healthy libido is supposed to simply hide it, suppress and repress her natural inclinations. Be a good girl.

Don't you dare step a foot into Victoria's Secret.

Bizarre, because our sexuality is part of us, something that God Himself gave to us.

As I mentioned, churches are great for fellowship, and many of these Christian women, who generally outnumber men, end up spending a great deal of time together. I can't claim to understand the loneliness of a woman, her desire for closeness. I can barely begin to describe the phenomena adequately. Yet when open hearted, unconditionally loving Christian women start spending a lot of time together, confiding in one another, sometimes things happen.

I know. I've spoken with more than one person who has had a ministry with women who struggle with what some refer to as "lesbian issues".

I don't think that this is quite apt. It might be more appropriate to say that these women are struggling on the edge of bisexuality, due to a lack of active interest from men. Somehow, all of that wonderful, open love that is opened within their hearts must be expressed, and emotional (let alone physical) intimacy is a temptation.

Just because you're a Christian doesn't mean that your libido turns off.

Hey, I admit that I am writing this as an outsider. Mainly, as a guy.

Though I have to admit to having heard stories. Just because, as mentioned elsewhere, I listen well.

Yet I have to admit being startled one day, when I was looking at Ty Teenie Beenies with a friend. 'Jean' was in her late thirties, athletic and active, but plain. A strong Christian, she didn't wear makeup, jewelry or perfume, and in years no one had known her to mention a boyfriend, let alone having a date. Some people considered her asexual, yet some also quietly mused about her female housemate. She was strongly a woman of faith, and a good friend described her as "sheltered, innocent and naive".

We were examining one particular model, Spinner the Spider, and I commented on the rich colors. "Wow, those are great colors".

"Yes, but who would I wear it for?"

Startled, no shocked, I glanced over at her, but she was focused completely on the plush creature in her hands. Obviously while I was seeing the rich blend of orange-gold and black, she was seeing the tiger-stripe pattern. And I could hear the simple frustration in her voice. Yet who would have ever thought that Jean would have envisioned herself in a sexy tiger-stripe something or other?

At least to me, tiger-stripes are blatantly sexual.

Hardly...naive.

Silly Men

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Still Stalling

Yes, I am. You see, the truth of the matter is, this blog isn't really for me.

On the one hand, it's for certain women out there, women that I have encountered through the course of my life. But really, it's for all Christian women, or more appropriately, for all women.

As a tribute for some, perhaps as a doorway to understanding for others.

Which you may well see as this blog develops. Very shortly.

Independence!

Hmmm...so, what else should I do for Independence Day? Declare my independence?

It's time for a momentary pause, as I ponder exactly where to go next with this thread. So I thought and considered (while I stall), and decided what I may as well tell you.

What's this really all about?

Hey, I suppose that there is really no reason to confuse you. Let's just say that I have had a number of odd incidents in my life that I have tended to label "anomalies" --that's a key phrase. And I suppose that they really are far more than that, I just haven't wanted to admit it. And to me, they are signs that not only am I unhappy, but so were (and quite likely are) each of the respective people involved.

And I know some of this far too well. I suppose that I'm moderately empathetic, I feel people's pain too well, and too often. Sometimes I allow their pain to dictate my own actions, seriously to my own detriment. Yet really, who and what am I writing about?

I suppose that it all begins a very long time ago. I can tell you that there was Kay, the pianist and church organist who offered me something special...and I can't see what it was that she needed from me. But of course, it didn't really begin with her, because while I was raised in a conservative Church and family, there was always something different about me. I was chaste, innocent and naive...and yet I wasn't.

At the same time that I was struggling to get girls my age interested in my gawkiness, well nigh to seventeen before I got my first kiss. Two years before that awkward event I had a grown woman, 'Elaine' (perhaps written later)...well, let's just say that she decided to display her interest incontrovertably. Some people might consider this fantasy or even bragging, but by the time I was eighteen, well before 'Kay', two mature, attractive, married women had already made serious passes at me. And the stupid thing? I was almost entirely oblivious to their interest--and I hadn't even managed to go parking with a girl yet! So Kay, a beautiful and gentle artist, is entirely her own story. And the one that I chose to begin with.

Don't get me wrong, I like women. I've dated women as much as twenty-five years older than me, and fifteen years younger. I simply enjoy being with women, on every level. I savor them at every opportunity. No that I have taken that many opportunities--as 'Sharon' should have told you.

Perhaps the most important is 'Veronica', a beautiful, intelligent lady who was the first woman with whom I was intimate with to any degree. Somewhat older than I, she took great joy in our relationship. Trust me, I did as well. I have to admit that it hurt me to know that she could be so dramatically sensuous and passionate with me at night...then be so torn by guilt at Church the next morning. And she, most certainly, is all her own story.

I'll also have to mention 'Constance', whose deep and powerful romance and passion I glimpsed beyond a conservative exterior, and 'Pam', a tomboy who was a wealth and breadth of surprises. And who knows what other surprises may emerge...

Then there is the fact that I listen well, that people open up and talk with me about things they wouldn't dream of telling anyone else. More on that...before too long.

The big question, of course, is how do Christianity and sexuality really fit together, when placed in a practical perspective? I have a feeling that's a big question for a lot of people. It has been for me--all too often.

So many ghosts...it's time for a little resolution.

Happy Independence Day!

Finally Sharon

So, what is the truth of Sharon?

That summer I was to work at the Bible Camp, one final time. The Youth Pastor from Sharon’s Church was there, a new guy, and we struck up an acquaintance. On the basketball court one day, I asked him if he knew Sharon. He thought for a moment, and then placed her. And told me of her.

Evidently Sharon had come home from college that summer, and wanted to be married right away. The senior Pastor, upon knowing how briefly the two had known one another, declined and suggested that they wait. That is the last of Sharon’s story, and I heard no more.

Strange. I try to avoid real names here, to protect those once involved. I see nothing here to protect, aside from my own one-time naiveté. That said...Sharon Kay Potter. Perhaps one day she'll Google her maiden name...however many "Sharon Potters" there are out there.

Hey, Sharon, the bear was from me!

Funny, I could see her sensual, romantic and passionate nature, and I wonder how her life has gone. Did she get married? Did the marriage last? Years later I will add, was she impatient because she was pregnant? I guess I’ll never know. A few years ago, I wrote to Sharon’s parents, asking how she was. I requested that they either write back, or forward my letter to Sharon.

I heard nothing.

What did I feel about Sharon? In some innocent way, I suppose that she was my first love, however unconsummated or naïve. I looked her, and later I recognize that I would have liked to see what might have developed with her. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything.

Yet all of these years later, like everything else, it hardly matters, does it?

Sharon, Embracing Cyrano

Of course, neither the semester nor my life as I knew it ended with that particular Valentine's Day.

Occasionally I saw Sharon around and about, as on Sundays we ate in the same dorm cafeteria. I remember one Sunday morning I saw her in a dress, just having returned from Church. Perhaps the one time in my life I saw Sharon in a dress and heels. Oddly, both of her ankles were taped underneath her pantyhose. Always feeling herself clumsy, she had a woeful tale for me in a similar vein.

And one more mention before the grand finale.

One day I went over to the Commons of one of the other dorm complexes to study, a newer building away from either Sharon’s or my own. There was a girl studying next to me, and when we both chanced to stretch in a study break at the same moment, I struck up a conversation.

Amazingly enough, it turned out that this was Sharon’s roommate, whom I don’t recall having previously met. More than a bit resentful, she told me that she was only studying there for one reason. Apparently she had been banished from her room by Sharon and her boyfriend, so that they could have “privacy”. I could hear the quotation marks in her voice. I know what she thought they were doing, but my mind didn’t want to approach that.

I tried one last time. Silly me. Sharon’s birthday fell in finals week. Eager for one last chance, knowing that I had missed opportunities, and determined to play my own Cyrano, I went shopping. If I could coach Mike, I could choose the right things for Sharon myself—and I remembered that trip to Cedar Rapids. I found a wonderful card, and selected a cute, sweet and cuddly stuffed bear. And not a cheap one.

I paid for the bear to be packaged, just so that it was perfect. Heart in my throat, on Sharon’s birthday I set off for her dorm.

I was a bit disconcerted when I arrived to find her room swarming with women. Dazedly I gathered that they were decorating for Sharon’s twenty-first birthday. I stepped past a couple of girls intent on the confection that the door was becoming, and into a madhouse. Eventually I gathered that Sharon was out, and not expected back for a while. Numbly, through the din I handed across the package and the card, and worked my way back to the door. And headed home.

And waited.

I didn’t hear from Sharon. I knew when she was supposed to finish finals and leave, before me, and I fussed about it. Finally my Dad picked me up for the long drive home, and I fussed some more.

And finally I realized it. My...tactical error.

Anticipating seeing Sharon, though I hadn’t called first, I had expected to hand her the card and wrapped box. My signature was on the card, but I had no note with the box. The card and package weren’t attached. Clearly, in that chaos, I could see what had happened. The girl had absently turned, and put the two items into the pile. Eventually, Sharon had worked her way through her gifts. Read my card, perhaps smiled. Opened the package with the bear, smiled again…and wondered who it was from. Wondered what unthinking dunderhead of a sweetheart had given her such a nice gift—without a note. And then moved on to the next package.

That's how things work sometimes. For me, anyway.

Sharon does have an epilogue, of course.