One Sentimental Moment in Your Arms
It was twenty years ago, at a Halloween party—crazy circumstance brought me together with a tall blonde, several years my junior and drop-dead gorgeous. Her educated sarcasm and penetrating gaze made me sigh.
I've always had a weakness for Very Beautiful Women. The worst thing about that is that my own parameters about what constitutes Very Beautiful are rather strangely defined, compared to our cultural stereotypes.
But back to my story. I was in love. I was the first stranger she'd ever come out to. I was one of the first people who had unquestioningly accepted her sexuality. She became one of the closest friends I've ever had.
Twenty years. Damn. It doesn't seem like that long.
She slept in my bed that night, and many nights since. We kept each other up all night. It was some of the most incredible conversing I'd ever had. The girl gives great conversation, and we've done it a lot since then.
When she stayed over, she would sleep in my bed. To awaken her in the morning, I would massage her broad shoulders, strong hands, and long legs. These experiences inspired me to a new career.
Since that time, a lot of women have come out to me—oddly enough, a lot of them were ladies I'd rather fancied. I have such consistent taste that I've wondered if I could use it as a form of gaydar. At this point, I frequently suspect that any woman I am crushing on may have something in common with my gorgeous blonde friend.
One young woman at work: tall, strong, intensely smart and sarcastic—she also looked a lot like my former lover. Said former lover also once enjoyed a love affair with a married woman. Stop me if it's getting too weird.
And so it goes! C'est la vie, c'est l'amour or something like that. It is far better to have made a lifelong friend than just some freaky nights of passion. Of course, once in awhile, you find both (remember that former lover I mentioned...)
Twenty years. It really hasn't seemed so long. Happy twentieth anniversary, Suki.