Indian Summer

This has been the most beautiful fall in New York, since 2001, actually fall hasn’t quite begun yet. It’s magnifecent out.

Just saw A History of Violence with Viggio Mortenson. So glad I don’t review anymore. If I reviewed chick flicks I would have a vibrator rating system,and this would be on a par with Sea of Love, Body Heat and three James Spader films. Actually I would have to give it an extra half,that’s five and a half vibrators, though how you halve vibrators, anyway.

Would tell you to use your imagination but it was beyond mine,and I have a pretty vivid one when it comes to certain things.

My stance on blonde men, I realized, only applies to real life men. I dated a piano player, blonde and adorable who played in jazz clubs and hotel restaurant bars. Had a steady gig at a hotel near the UN,and actually made decent money.

He was nice. I have put a lot of thought into this because I’m not sure I totally understand this. Too many straight men read Courting for me to say something clever. Oh Gawd, I feel like I owe truth.

Nice and me, we came from different planets. Nice wasn’t clever, sardonic, sarcastic and witty plus an intangible that’s like a note in a subtle perfume that you can’t place. Only it’s the black note, the ginger,lemon rind or wassabi. I like the smell of horseradish; and wassabi sounds so familiar but exotic and very dangerous if too much is ingested.

Danger was the part that interested me.

I would break into a sweat only I could see or truly feel. My face would change into a hunter’s on the prowl.
**************************************************

People found Zachary endearing. They thought that I had found the perfect male. He had two albums out; he was talented, and handsome in that recovering hippie late 70 to mid 80 mode. I haven’t seen “My name is Earl,” but they have the same general look. Zachary was much better looking or so my friends who were around then think. Since it was the years I mentioned, he was hot. Or so I thought, and I thought that so rarely.

That he loved me was obvious; that he made me happy was also obvious, and true for a long while. I loved the discontent. Sex was something that I felt I had rediscovered or had only experienced with strangers. The day I met Zachary I had been on boyfriend prowl, Zachary felt like one night stand material; I immediately knew that my life was about to change forever.

He could be nice but he his edge knew no soft spots; he was unable to cushion his passsion and his rage. The raw edges drew me in, and made me want him more.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I made out with him everywhere in public. I hardly ever even walked arm-in-arm with a boy before; and I had been married and seriously proposed to two other times. It wasn’t that I was prim; I just hated public displays of affection.

Zachary made want sex in the strangest of places; pretty much everywhere. When I first met him he was driving a cab and sometimes I would go with him on Saturday nights. We…

If you see A History of Violence, you’ll understand why I I can’t get my mind off sex. I haven’t been able to write about Zachary lately as I no longer hate him. I have to work myself into that mindframe as I want this to be the way it was not sugar coated with the raw gingerand wassabi–no pickled ginger.

A History of Violence was flawed, but neither Lucia nor I cared. It was unique; it was sex from a woman’s wants.