A Note after a First Date

Photos are from Flickr.com and are not photos of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

July 25, 2006

Hi Honey,

Of course I will see you again.  I’ve been thinking much about seeing you and what that means to me.

I am having second thoughts about Labor Day weekend.  Why waste time and money on two almost-children?  But then I think how gorgeous and sexy they are, of their fire and spirit, and think I should go.  They are definitely fun, wild dancers!  I just don’t know!

Roxanne, the dancer I was with last night, asked me stop over tonight for a few minutes.  It really is a loving relationship, and I do really care about these two girls.  But I need a real relationship.  Tonight Roxanne said she didn’t know what she would do without me.  She does make me feel good.

I hope that you will change in my mind, on our next date, to a real woman instead of perfection itself.  It is tough to handle the emotions involved when one thinks the other is so wonderful.

Perhaps it is dysfunctional on my part to like you so much so quickly.  Any dysfunctions you may or may not have are not important to me.  I don’t see them and value you very highly.

Although we will soon be together again, and I hope you will give me the honor, I am worried about the emotional pull on me.

I am enchanted by your looks.  The sex, for me, was the best of my life.  Most of all, we talked in a manner that allowed me to feel as if I really knew you.  I really connected, and that was overwhelming.

There may be other great looking girls.  There may be great sex elsewhere.  But I truly doubt that I can find another woman with your intelligence, spirit, ability to connect, and education combined in a package with fantastic looks and great sex.

Do not worry about my emotions.  This is all making me stronger and better at finding the right woman.  You yourself are too powerful and perhaps you know it.  If you pretended, it could really, really hurt.

The emotions on your face during sex are very powerful.  It could easily be mistaken for a real connection.  I probably am just too inexperienced.

A man who had never married was asked at a very old age if he had ever found his dream woman.  He said he had.

Asked why he did not marry her, he responded that she was still looking for her dream man.

Mike

Little Sailor Girl

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself. 

August 7, 2006

The Light fills the room.  It is a silvery light, falling softly on her ever so soft body.  It loves her, it bathes her, it caresses her.

Her body is the body of a woman, a real woman, ever so slender, ever so toned.

The Light loves her French manicure and her small hands, her ever so delicate and feminine hands which get lost in a man’s grip.

Her tiny wrist flows to the muscles in her forearm, then to her triceps, a medley of flowing curves formed by toned muscles.

Her curves continue to her small, delicate upper body, and then are overwhelmed by the splendor of her 32 D’s, wonderfully large curves dominating a body whose very essence is curve upon curve. 

She is the essence of Womanhood.

The night’s silvery Light loves her form.  In the darkness, her milky skin glows in the loving Light.  She is a perfect womanly form of curves, rising and falling, of toned muscles catching the soft light, the curves of her exercised and well-formed tush falling to her tiny waist, then arising to grasp her full breasts.  She is a vision of soft, rolling mountains in the distance, mountains formed by the Earth, mountains bathed in an entrancing and hazy glow.  She is of the Earth Itself.

At night, asleep, instead of the huge eyes which dominate her look, the Light presents slender eyebrows, eyelids reflecting the silvery glow, eyelids alive with her long dark eyelashes.  In the soft Light, her full lips are a shapely form framed by the perfection of her milky skin.

A friend’s large hand rests on her small belly.  Her chest and stomach rise and fall with her magnificent breasts, allowing her friend’s hand to feel the breath enter her, to feel her lifeforce, to feel a connection with her being, a connection to the part of her body that will be the source of her children.  She is Birth.  She is Life Itself.

She is the Little Sailor Girl, an American Sailor Girl, a Little Girl who, in just one short week, is off to War, to one of those hot spots where Americans are fighting and dying, to where fierce American battle groups are roaming the seas, flying sorties over enemy installations, ferrying Marines into battle, supporting those Marines in battle.

She, like tens of thousands of others, is an unsung American hero answering the call to duty.

She will be terribly missed.

May God protect her, her battle group, and all of our fighting men and women everywhere.

Smoke From a Distant Fire

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself. 

August 8, 2006

She tells her mother not of a new friend, not of a new boyfriend, but of a new “love interest”.

She talks of having given up hope of finding a man with whom she could connect a year ago, when she broke up with the love of her life, a Navy Officer.  But something is different now.  She has met someone new! 

Yet the fire within her still smoulders for that Officer.

In the suite with her new friend in Las Vegas in early August, the trip a gift before her departure, she insists that her new friend dresses in her plain view.  She loves to watch him dress.

In the middle of the night, she awakens to be told of her wonderful beauty, her immense sexuality, the intensity of her passion, and the depths of her capacity for emotional connection.  Her friend wonders aloud if his life is to be condemned to the bliss of a happy relationship, to Sunday mornings filled with the aroma of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, the New York Times, and warm bear claws filled with sugary ground nuts.  To her loud laugh, he asks if he is to be condemned to a life of functional happiness!

But functional happiness eludes.

What of the love of her life, the Navy Officer, the man once hoped to be the father of her children?

She is with him now.

She has flown to a distant state to attempt to repair that once intense relationship.  The mission is urgent, for this is the last time they can meet for quite awhile.

Her new friend cannot bear to think of the details of the visit with that Officer.

If she is successful in repairing the relationship with the Officer, her new friend will not see her again.  She will be back with the Officer, full of Hope, full of bliss and reveries about their future together.  She will imagine the features of their offspring and think of the proof of their love made manifest by these children.

If the relationship is not repaired, she will return to her new friend for one night of closeness before she leaves for duty overseas.

Did she mean it when she said that her new friend should have encouraged her to stay home and NOT meet the Officer? 

Is her new friend correct in wanting her to resolve any emotional issues before undertaking a long-term relationship with him?  Will she even want a long-term relationship knowing that her new friend does not want additional children, even though he does have fantasies of coming home to her and their kids?

Is she the best thing that her new friend has ever met? 

Will she see him again?

The Look of the Little Sailor Girl

 Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

August 9, 2006

As I hand her a “SPAM” tee-shirt to wear while wandering the house, she asks if this is the same tee-shirt Maggie wore.

I assure her that it isn’t.  It is brand new with tags and is the reverse in color.  For the Little Sailor Girl, the shirt is primarily “Navy” in color, of course, with the word “SPAM” in bright yellow.

She did love reading the “Maggie” stories, and I do believe her reading the stories brought us closer together.

In the evening, sipping a glass of Bacardi Limon’ on the rocks, she sits at my dining room table.  The black marble top of the center island in the kitchen and the black marble counters provide a clean, sparkling background to the view of this sparkling woman.  The wall of glass to my right reveals expansive lawns and beautiful trees, connecting the same view of this beautiful creature to what is green, natural, and living.

Sitting, clad only in the “SPAM” tee-shirt, she brings her knees to her chest and pulls her legs under the shirt.  That little shirt is able to cover this wonderful woman!

With her makeup worn off, her hair pulled back, and dressed minimally, she is revealed without benefit of human contrivances.

And she is breathtakingly beautiful!

Her huge brown eyes dominate her look.  Her small nose is perfect, as are her full lips.  Her skin is clear and healthy.  Her face is wonderfully formed and wonderfully shaped.  She looks much younger than her years, and she is in fact young.

We talk of the gods, the universe, and evolution.  We wonder if the universe is good or just.  We wonder if some force directs her life and the lives of others.  We wonder.

Throughout the talk, I am captivated by her entrancing eyes, so full of softness.  Just being with her brings a man full contentment!  Can life be so perfect that some incredibly lucky guy can have this object of perfection in his life on a regular basis?  I truly doubt it.  Life cannot be so blessed.

I wonder about the nature of happiness.  Is it simply the presence of a beautiful and very sexy woman with a spirit that connects with a man’s soul, with the intelligence to understand her man’s faults and the heart to love him even more?

She tires, and wants to go to the bedroom to snuggle.  My joy is tempered by knowing that she will soon be gone on her tour of duty.  Life cannot be this beautiful very long at all.

Tonight I wonder how her trip to that distant state is going. 

I do miss her.

Loving the Little Sailor Girl

 Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

August 10, 2006

 My hands on her sides, I love the feel of the curves from her little tush to her small waist……so incredibly soft!

I love looking at her while  she sleeps, reveling at the perfection of form of her little finger,  noting that her forearm is about the length of my open hand, and feeling that my hand can almost encircle her slender thigh.  Damn, I love her body.

I love her huge smile when I say that she was met on the website “Wild Sailor Girls in Port”, in the teenaged section, lying about her age.  But it was okay, as I was also lying about my age. 

She assures me that the two thousand Marines aboard her ship must respect rank, and may not hit on her.  Asked if the Marines have officers, she answers with a huge smile.  I love her smile!

And what of the scores of men who will meet her and yearn to love her over the many months away on distant seas?  Will she remember her new friend?

I love her penetrating questions, as she peels back layer upon layer of the person whom I present myself to be.  Finally, at my unmasked core, without any emotional protections safeguarding me from her knowing me as I really am,  I find that she loves me even more.  All my secrets are not only safe with her, but have brought us closer together.

I love protecting her.  I love encircling her with my arms.  I love her struggle for perfection of beauty and her not knowing that she has already achieved it.  I love her surface strength and I love her below-the-surface vulnerability.  I love knowing that she needs someone to take care of her.  I love that she looks to me for strength and guidance. 

I love her.

Soon, very soon, within hours, I will know about the distant fire.  Has the smouldering turned into a fierce flame, its heat overwhelming a nearer fire? 

Or have the hot coals burnt out, smothered by a year of inattention?  Is the once-warm hearth now just a smokey memory of a love that once was, but is no longer? 

Soon,  soon,  the answer!!! 

One Last Night of Closeness

 

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

August 11, 2006

Our final night together prior to her departure on her tour of duty failed to materialize. It is difficult to put into words the intense and painful emotions generated by our lack of being together one more time.

Things needed to be said.

Feelings needed to be expressed.

I needed to look at her all night.

I needed to feel her body against mine, gently breathing.

We needed to talk of the course of our relationship.

About fifteen years ago, during the first Gulf War, the Manchester Guardian of England ran a photo of a Baghdad man, about age 50 with a Western handsomeness, who had endured intense American bombing. The man had a blank stare, a shocked look, the look of a man who had stared into the abyss. The intensity of the emotions that had run through his body had left him unable to feel or react. He was numb.

I am that man.

Emotional Closeness and Physical Intimacy

 

 Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

August 12, 2006

After our first date, I encouraged the Little Sailor Girl to contact the once love-of-her-life, a Navy Officer not spoken to in the last year.  She still yearned for him.  She once dreamed that he would be the father of her children.

 

Neither one of us knew that she would soon be sent overseas for duty or that her visit to him would be just before her departure.

I did not know that I was to fall in love with her.

Does the physical intimacy just shared by her with that Officer build a strong emotional closeness between the two?

I think it does.Does that same intimacy with that Officer build a wall between her new friend and her?I think it does.Does her failure to show for one last night of closeness with her new friend in Chicago scream the state of their relationship?Yes, I’m afraid that it does.

May the gods of War protect her and may the gods of Beauty ensure that she never changes.  The Little Sailor Girl is off to War tomorrow.

I will miss her deeply.  I will miss the relationship that I had hoped for but had never existed.  Perhaps the most painful feeling in life is the lack of Hope.

Smooth Sailing, Little Sailor Girl!

  

A Soul Departs

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself.

August 14, 2006

The Little Sailor Girl and I visited Phyllis in Las Vegas last week, knowing full well that this would be the last time I would see Phyllis. Her body was racked with cancer. I had been called in to say goodbye.

Phyllis had lost much weight. She slept most of the day and night aided by morphine. Phyllis had become a member of the family through close contact over 33 years. She was not related by blood or by marriage, but by love.

As I pulled up a chair and placed it near her bed so I could hold her hand, Phyllis mistakenly thought I asked how she was. She replied “Fine”. I roared with laughter at the response, and then she gave up a big laugh herself. No reason for pretenses right now.

Being divorced only a couple of years after a long marriage, the family had never met any of my girlfriends. Phyllis asked to meet the Little Sailor Girl.

Even for the dying, there is something uplifting about Youth and Beauty. Phyllis was enamoured with the softness of the Little Sailor Girl’s eyes and her sweetness. In the face of Death, the Fertility, the Life Force, of an exquisite young woman does bring comfort to the dying……and to the living!

The Little Sailor Girl reminds me of the character Gerasim in Tolstoy’s “The Death of Ivan Ilych”. Both are watching a person with whom they have no connection die. Both have immense compassion for and empathy with fellow human beings. Both are fully human and react to the dying in an authentic manner. My Little Sailor Girl brought a moment of joy to a dying woman.

I did not tell the Little Sailor Girl that, on my last visit to Phyllis, Phyllis asked to see her. Phyllis fell asleep before I could bring my Sailor Girl in. I feel badly that Phyllis was deprived of this last bit of joy.

As I took final leave of Phyllis, she said that she hoped she would see me again. The only response I could make was the falling of my tears onto her face as I kissed her goodbye.

Phyllis passed away today in Las Vegas at the age of 78. May the gods be with her.

After hearing of Phyllis’ passing, I am cruising today behind a turbo-bodied 911 from the mid-80’s. These are cars for men, not women.

The Porsche Club cars often have competition clutches requiring strong leg muscles. The steering requires upper body strength to turn wide tires without power assist. The shifter requires a brief hesitation at neutral before catching the next gear and charging forward. The cars are noisy with chain tensioners and have minimal creature comforts. But, dammit, these cars are real machines!

The cars are dripping with male hormones in stark contrast to Death in Las Vegas today.

Death causes one to think of Life.

Perhaps it is time to return to the intense competition of the track and the ferocity of racing Porsches with screaming engines in perfect complement to the earth-shaking power of the monster Corvettes.

Perhaps it is time to ship the bike to Australia for a couple of years. I need to circle Australia. I need to make long journeys into the outback.

It is always time to continue with formal reading at the University of Chicago.

Death challenges us to renew Life.

Missing the Little Sailor Girl

 

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of the Little Sailor Girl herself. 

August 27, 2006

I miss her lightning-quick understanding when I reveal a vulnerability and her soft, yet strong effort to build me up.

I miss looking at her and looking at her and looking at her.

I miss the silvery night light falling on her form, curve giving way to curve, beautiful skin on fresh, soft, white linens.  She is the Essence of Womanhood.

I miss looking at her angelic face all night, the light reflecting off her pretty closed eyes, her full lips outlined against her clear complexion, my hand on her belly feeling her breathe.

There was something about watching her breathe and feeling her breathe.  It was a connection to her lifeforce, to her essense, to the Eternal.

I miss the incredible beauty of her face when her eyes well up with tears.  There is nothing more beautiful!

I miss her outlandish dedication to long eyelashes, and the hours spent on their maintenance.

I miss her showing up in high heels for a long walk down the strip in Las Vegas.  High heels, honey?

I miss her attention to being a full female partner, whether it being time to hold her or to talk to her.

I do miss her.

2nd Letter to the Little Sailor Girl

Photo is from Flickr.com

August 27, 2006

You probably saw the MSNBC report. The news is all over your Ship, I’m sure.

In case you missed it, the rolling of a ship at sea damages the secretions down there. Intimacy at sea or even while in port, or on land, causes major damage in that heavenly area. Abstinence is the ONLY safe way to live.

On the other hand, your partner on land at home, waiting for your return, must have non-stop sex in order to build-up his secretions which will then build up yours when you return.

What a shock, honey! I’ll do my best to keep my part of the bargain!