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Blue Moon Cafe

I call this femininity lost and regained on a sunday cafe blue moon.

...there was one particular time in my life when I had been celibate for at least 3 years. My style then as it has remained, is that if I cannot have all the stars, I don't want a piece of the sky. I kept myself occupied with friends, parental responsibilities and work. On occasion I would begin to wonder if I had reached that neutered form that you see on the faces of some people whose eyes look out at everything the same, if you know what I mean. The expression is congenial and pleasant but no particular interest eminates, I call them neuters.

One weekend my mother and I went away together to a charming inn by the river in an area past New Hope. We had a serene and comfortable time there, sherry by the fireplace after art exhibits, featherbeds that left our body impressions when we arose to have tea and croissants in the atrium, and pheasant and squash dinners while we watched the snowflakes settle on the pumpkins in the garden.

As the weekend was coming to a close, we had just a Sunday afternoon left. We packed our satchels and drove across a small bridge to Lambertville, choosing brunch at the Blue Moon.

I had pretty well come to an acceptance of my deal, when a tall and rugged lumberjack type guy appeared in the doorway. I watched as he crossed the room and chose a table.

In conversing with my mother, my eyes kept wandering back to him, his height... his strong hands...muscled arms... his shoulders .... chest, his thick light hair

tumbling down his forehead and past his ears with the slightest of curl. I know my mother noticed the difference in my posture as I was begining to confuse her tea with mine, Œcause moms don't miss a trick. It's not about what labels we put on each other. I never spoke to this man, but if I had the chance, it wouldn't have mattered what he called himself to me. As much as I wanted to devour his face, if he would have met my glance, I would have lowered my eyes... he was masculinity personified and needed no qualifier, no title, no toys, and he touched and awakened my essence to the very core of me as a feminine being....and I remember him still

I call this femininity lost

and regained

on a sunday afternoon cafe blue moon

and then there are the guys, I didn't wanta leave you out.... you walk into a room or cross a street and you see her, hear her laugh and you know you want her. If you met on the computer, you eventually hear her voice, it's intelligence and reflections, it's innocense. Maybe you get to see her picture and when it comes, you feel you knew her forever. It doesn't matter what she calls herself, for if you are truly fated, she will be what you want, what you need, it couldn't be any other way, trust me.

I realize we have to identify ourselves as one thing or the other, on the computer, but there are so many things that have to click before you eventually sleep with someone, least for me there are, it just seems silly.... and often the only thing you're left with is what you started with.... you both like the same kind of erotica..... maybe. Who cares?

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