And Life Goes On

I texted her to ask about a city she recently visited. I will be there shortly.

Almost immediately she texted back. I was surprised. It usually is not so quick.

She answered my questions, and we had a brief chat about my upcoming trip. And then about some other relatively unimportant things. A chat just like any other chat “friends” would have.

It hurt.

“You ok?” I asked. It had been some time since we have communicated.

“Yes. I’m good. Just busy. It was so nice to hear from you today” she wrote.

“I miss you, Marty. xx”

I could only stare at the words. Wistfully. Heart in throat. Bleeding.

“I miss you every day” I typed.

There was no need for her to know about the tears that were suddenly welling in my eyes.

Leaving Questions Unanswered

I don’t dream very often. At least not dreams I can remember. But the other night I did and it was very impactful.

I know what was the impetus. I was chatting with someone about thighs earlier in the evening. And you know I really love your thighs. But I’m jumping ahead here.

In the dream you got on all fours. Then turned to look back and gave me your smile to which I inevitably melt. But in the dream that’s not the way I want you. I want you closer. I need you closer. I crave you closer. I can’t live without you closer. I feel as if my existence depends on having you closer.

It’s the intimacy with you I lack. Intimacy is chemistry for me.

These days we have no communication. One by one you cut our channels. This is torture for me, as I am one who needs to communicate several times a day. Suddenly I am exiled to blankness. Nothingness.

Then mysteriously, you added one app with me. But with no warning, you cut that one, too. I am baffled. And hurt.

I kneel behind you. And pull you towards me. Your long, muscular thighs resting on my quads. Taut athletic muscle on taut athletic muscle. Your absolute perfect ass with its firm roundness rests above my crotch, my engorged erection climbing up the small of your back. I begin to feel you as I feel myself.

My hand reaches under and feels your slickness. My palm dampens your landing strip with your own moisture. Then three of my fingers slip inside you. I feel your sigh of pleasure and we begin to reconnect.

I have missed you terribly, the contact, being part of each other’s daily lives. You know I live for this daily rhythm. But my rhythm and routine have changed lately … saying goodbye to old friends and embarking on new challenges. And the progress has been mixed. And it’s been painful. Most everything is difficult these days.

As you rise slightly on your haunches I enter you. We gasp in unison at the sensation, you filled fully by my erection, our bodies finally attached. I move my hand along your firm belly, feeling the ropes of your hard abs. God I love your abs! My other hand reaches for your long, smooth throat and wraps it lovingly. At this moment you are again mine, totally.

Slowly, ever so slowly you inch up and down on me, barely any noticeable movement at all. But I feel you. I sense all your being through every cell in my body.

You just walked away. Convinced that it was the only way for you to carry on … to be a better you. A more devoted you. Even though you were going to surround yourself with all that gave you anguish and misery and brought you down to where I found you, broken. I had thought you were healing, that you would acknowledge it.  But perhaps that only refortified the strength of your convictions.

I know it’s only a dream, but I see you so clearly. Your beautiful mouth opens and your jaw juts just a fraction. Your visage in profile is stunning, a marble Michelangelo in flesh, the depth, the expression to your face mesmerizes. There is no sound … no, this dream is absolutely silent. Your orgasm comes in surging waves as I hold you tightly, passing through you to me, a crescendo that ignites the rocket I have sheathed in you . I, too, then silently climax into the mists of our engagement.

Then you are gone. I awake in a sweat. You have disappeared again.

Why this? Your leaving still unanswered.




I See The Ghosts

I do, at this time of year.

They used to come screaming at me, full force, like a redlining 911 headed right for me, whining down the autobahn.

Until I had the revelation.

Now the phantoms are better behaved. But they visit yet.

I remember you running back to the car through the woods, an apparition of beauty waving your panties above your head in glee and anticipation.

I can still hear the roar of snowmobiles while waking one morning, then the next being roused by motorcycles thundering past an open window.

The dark shadow of my unthinking, uncaring self that Christmas Eve continues to haunt me. My heart still half believes that was the beginning of the end.

The magical mirage that was Malaga will always stay with me. We were so happy.

The apartment high overlooking the water that would be our last.

Yes the demons are better behaved. They’re silent now. But so devious. This year they ambushed when I least expected, two weeks after the email.

It seems they will never tire of reminding me where I have been.


The Tortoise Time Catches A Chameleon

They were so young, of course. Barely into their 20s.

The buried pain. The deeply felt inability to ever trust completely again. The resentment. This is where it all began.

Naturally, he blamed himself. The inattention. His single minded focus. Never there. When he was, hiding behind the daily news. Sure, he told himself, it takes contributions from both to end a relationship. No one party can shoulder all the blame. Nice sentiment, but he never bought into it.

And he had thought he had fixed all that.

It’s pretty near impossible to literally live 24 hours a day for a year with someone, never more than 10 feet away, and then one day discover you never knew them at all, is it not? How can that happen?

From the Sahara’s sands, nearly dying together, the frights in Algeria, to that crumbling hotel in Istanbul. The freedom of the beaches in Crete, the lights in Paris, the museums of Florence. The canals in Stockholm. They had fully experienced together so many highs and anxious bottoms. Surely no two people had ever been closer. Knew one another better. An impossibility. He knew that in his young heart.

Until it all ended so suddenly.  He had had fears something was coming, but nothing like this.

Now so many years later, there were no more questions. He could see there were no commonalities. It had all been nothing but a spectacular mirage. That was bad. To realize the heart can be so masterly deceived.

But the enormous guilt and shame he had carried since that time vanished like melting mist in the warm morning sun. This was monumentally good. He finally could get some understanding. His soul … at last …  felt released.

He hung up the phone; no need for further words. He couldn’t think of anything more to say in any case.

I Heard a Story

Bella and I had some alone time a few days ago.  It was quiet. And nice.

She opened up a bit … something that is very rare for her to do.

Bella told me of a past love. From many years ago. A man she met while living for a time in New York. She fell heavily for him.

She followed him to the other side of the globe, it was that intense.

The time with him was magical, and she had made up her mind to stay and make her life with this man.

Then he told her it wasn’t to be. It wouldn’t work. This was not what he wanted.

Crushed, she returned home to start life anew.

The story greatly saddened me. I don’t understand how such a gentle, gracious, beautiful flower could not satisfy this man.

Some things I know I will never be able to comprehend. This is one.



The flowers were planted, all the bushes trimmed. The man stepped back for a moment as he would invariably do. He spent time thinking about each of the six.

As always, the man was overwhelmed. Thoughts, history, sadness, joys, tears, laughter. They all flicked through his mind, in rapid fire sequence like the riffling of a stiff new card deck by a Vegas dealer. These were all very strong people. He could never measure up to them, the man knew. He could be weak. And weakness was a sin. Particularly in their presence. Even here. They would forgive him, of course. They always had. But it was a pardon he never could accept.

He focused for a minute on the grand old man. Some are born patrician. The grand old man was certainly not cut from that cloth. A working man his whole life. Shaped by the trenches. The gas. And then the massive industrial accident that shocked a region. The grand old man knew he had cheated death more times than could be counted. It was precisely because of this that he cared only for and took pure pleasure in simple matters … the warmth of family, the long deep draw of a carefully crafted roll-your-own, an icy beer after a drudgery filled day on the factory floor, a weekend card game with his mates. He wasn’t a religious man to be sure; he had seen more horror in his early years than most have ever witnessed. The grand old man may have been on speaking terms with his Maker, but they weren’t the best of friends. He would begrudgingly forgive perhaps, but he would never forget the horror.

Wiry, often profane, though a friend to all, he would give no quarter. Especially when crossed. If you crossed him, you had better hope Hell was shortly in your future, for surely it was less painful than angering this man.

The child usually perched near the grand old man. The bond was there from the very beginning.

“Come here Sunshine” the grand old man softly called to the child. The tot climbed down from his mother’s knees and quickly covered the few paces to the old man’s easy chair. As the 2-year old watched, wide-eyed, the grand old man poured from his tea cup into his saucer.

“Oh, Dad, don’t give him your tea! He’s too young, he’s still a baby,” the Mother scolded.

“He’s fine,” the grand old man guffawed. “This one can handle anything you throw at him. He’s going to be as tough as nails. He’s one of us.  I know. You’ll see.”

But the Mother never did get to see. It wasn’t her fate.

Of all the tragedies he had witnessed, this was the one the grand old man could never forgive his Maker. There would be a reckoning for this. When the time came and he met his Maker, he hoped he still remembered how to use the bayonet.

“Listen, Sonny. You blow across the saucer like this, so it’s not too hot”.  The old man gently blew across the liquid laden saucer. “Understand?”

With both hands the child firmly grasped the filled saucer. He nodded and then he, too, in perfect imitation slowly breathed out across the rippling tea. Eagerly the child slurped it down, with gratitude and pride in the gift, being especially careful to spill nary a precious drop.

The grand old man smiled and chuckled at his grandson in approval.

Staring at the names and the dates chiseled into the granite, the man smiled, too. At that first memory, no less permanently etched than the letters and numerals in the stone. Forever a part of him.



But Why Would You Lie?

2471696451_81c9547574_o[1]It hurt me when I realized you now only think of me in shades of dark. How did that happen?

You always hated that I wouldn’t let you get away with your notorious double standard. I remember that time you lashed out, and told me I reminded you of your first. You knew that would sting.

I think you really expected I would play nice after that. Change completely for you. Did you really think my logical mind would ever leave the building just because you wished it to? At your convenience?

You liked to chide me because of my logic and analytics. Leave that all behind you lectured. But I can be guided by emotions and intuition, too. So much better than you acknowledge. And I let your emotion and intuition win out in October. Despite the pain it caused us. I never questioned the torrent of tears you shed. I was a rock of support.

Yes, you like your men weak. For a while.The ones you play with. Revel in the control. But the keepers are strong and question you. They don’t let you have your way all the time, like the spoiled girl you feel you ought to be.  They don’t let you always be right. You often just get  lazy with your choice in men. Perhaps it’s because you have had to overcome so much, you tend to reject any more struggle. Until you become bored.

You were never bored with me were you.

But why would you lie? You’ve never really done that before. When I obviously know the truth and my memory unflappable. Did the shock-hurt-regret suddenly overcome your innate ability to coyly fib,  twist and lead away from the truth? You immediately shut down. That only happens when you are extremely upset. And there is no call for that now. We’re way past that point.

She Has Emptiness

It’s breaking my heart. She is so sad right now. Withdrawing from the world. A world she loves and is so in touch with. With all the changes she has recently made and gone through, she should be floating on a blossom-fragrant zephyr. But she is not. Instead, the positive changes in her life have left her bereft. A void inside she cannot fill. A direction she has wanted for so long that leaves her empty. And I can’t seem to help her.

This hurts me, too.