The Pleasure of Agape (A Greek term)

Insomnia induced love of learning and quest for knowledge sent me to my computer at 4am. I needed to know the history of my alma mater, the Bronx High School of Science, specifically what of inventions made by alumni of the school. So if one cannot sleep, getting such information will certainly suffice to this task…

But seriously, I feel like this decision to attend, post admission offer, in April 1978, when I was but 13 years old at the time, to enter in 10th grade, because of having skipped 8th grade, in a special NYC program of that era, I was given the biggest opportunity of my so called life, to date at that time. I was given the door to a better life, right then. I was thrilled! Of course then, some folks started to look at me like I wasn’t a lightweight, because one must beat 30,000 other test takers for a slot, a seat at a grand table, which puts you on a trajectory of who you are, and where you are going in life.

Even some boys whom I was interested in looked at me differently, because I had made it in. Did this mean I was going to get my heart’s desire then? It was good news that the ratio of that era was 57% male, 43% female. And I knew how to dance too! We had practiced at the Mosholu Montefiore Community Center recreation room. I was developing confidence too, in the romantic arena, having been an early bloomer. I had a virtual harem of men! I can recall that many boys were feeling their libidos as high school went on; some teachers as well! Even though my own experience in that regard was sedate, and I knew quite assiduously not to be romantic too much with any boy in my own class of 1981. Boys were going to brag afterward: other girls had intimated, and then reputation was going to ruin.

And so, when someone in particular caught my fancy, I recalled my warning, most strongly, to not let it go too far, on a date. Yes, boyfriends, year after year, but quite sedate…limited sexual activity. However much one wanted otherwise. The Bronx Science crowd was verboten. Men already out at college might be safer, even though I was under age, for them, by virtue of statutory rape laws. If they were under 18 though, and so was I, well, I was an early bloomer, and not as clear cut. I was quite ready, and in love at the time. And so, it happened.

The early years stayed with us a lifetime, as I am now 55 years old! Writing my memoirs in prose, short forms, as our attention spans have shortened by virtue of using cell phones and computer/tablet screens too much, so I write little snippets of my life, when the urge strikes. Even today, I manage to surprise my dear cohort, my sisters as friends, my brothers as both lovers and friends, because what to make of the limited activity of youth?? Was it lovemaking? Or was it just a tease? In any case, never enough, not then, not now. The shadows of those years remain, with an asterisk, what if?

What if the particular boy then, the one I fancied, had been an actual full length lover? Well, of course, the silent voice says that that would have wound up as an experiment, just a course to see what it was like, and then inevitable breakup. We were going to different colleges, far apart geographically. And the chemistry might have screamed yes, but clearly that would not be enough, not then. We were going places, academically, and professionally, in life.

And then, looking back, isn’t it better actually to have a life friend, whom you truly love, in a holy way, without the taint of early sex, well, not much, anyway…and the answer is yes. To have had sex all the way then would have meant the friendship would have had no chance to flourish, and then we would have gone our own ways. And another boy turned man who was a lover, just once, he stayed around too, but we have to put the brakes on, every time. And so it goes, this life tale. The boys know who they were, and are. And I am most blessed to call them both friends, now and always! Even with that past. We accept our life journeys, wherever they lead us.

It is our destiny to be singing “WE Go Together!” From beloved Grease, movie, 1978….aged just 14 that year. Unreal this life. I am still grateful, even if my birthday prayer is the same every single year, and still unmet. But my friends are worth EVERYTHING! I love them all, with everything I have and more! God bless them all with long, healthy lives filled with love!

And there was a Dr. Gluck substitute teacher, who reminds me of a ducky these days…I wonder why that is, how the brain twists tendrils of memories, to such forms. And the boy turned man, he went on another path also, not as a ducky….but he inhabits my dreams. What say you, my dear comrades?? Is there such a thing as fate, in love?


50 Shades of Submission, Male

Ok, setting a scene here: I need a submissive man to come to me. Someone who likes to be dominated, a la studs and black leather, stilettos and fishnet stockings, with props. He should wear only a pair of Speedos, and be prepared to be bound and walked like the dog he is, to me. I will castigate him, pet him, let him lick me if he does well in his role, that he has requested that I fulfill, for him, because he is a very important businessman, who if the truth came out, would be thrown out of the corporate boardroom, and summarily dismissed with his Golden Parachute. He wants to be humiliated. This gets his rocks off. I like to accommodate men. Give them their most secret fantasies. Tell no one, because the silence is intoxicating, that only he and I know. He knows of what I speak, and in his mind’s eye, there is cashmere, silk sheets, pillows piled high, to get certain rewards, after the scene. My breasts are always a source of arousal for him, he loves them boundlessly…And even though I am plus size, that really doesn’t matter, because we are on the same wavelength, and I give him what he dares not voice to anyone else. I have him by the balls, you see, in a sex toy store, he likes to be bound, but then released, and when release comes, it is beyond sweet. We do a dance before meeting too, which is also calculated to increase susceptibility to orgasm. In fact, it’s all I can do to him to keep him in check, but I have my moves too, and am a grand master of this game.


Yes, we are well matched. Even if the outward lady here is sickly sweet, demure, proper, but in the arena of love, quite the Panther. He will become my slave, happily aroused, sated, in a lather of froth, going on and on, over the years…because no one who tastes this sundae ever forgets, or is able to put it in the past. I am addictive. You have been warned.

Oh, you thought this was real life scenario? Don’t you guys know that I am a writer, and my blog is my therapy? It works too, to drain the swamp of desire. But a few readers know of what I speak here, their names die on my lips. “Perchance to dream…”- W. Shakespeare, Hamlet. Have at it, boys and girls: dreams can come true, with the right person.

Cruising Lover

At 47th-50th St, up against a pillar on the platform, my lover presses me, obliviously

to the multitudes of commuters all round. He knows I like the pressure and the PDA,

though this goes further than that. His hands are in my long hair, luxurious blonde locks,

as he kisses me, yes, even tongue kissing, with his hips against mine, so we are shrouded in a raincoat, but I feel him, and it’s hot, really hot, because I know people are watching us, and thinking how disgusting, because we are in our 50’s now, not 20 somethings that people would just walk away, and think crazy horny kids…

Because I was that girl on the platform that you saw, aged 25, doing the same thing, but then it was almost acceptable, or even ignored, because people know 20 somethings are just very hot for sex, and that’s kind of universal, unless you have had a major trauma.

But it’s even better now, because mid 50’s, it’s definitely NOT acceptable. You should know better, that people can’t stand the concept of their parents doing the nasty. But we do, and we do it way better, because it’s a rarity, to find someone on your wavelength

And we have had lots of practice, and we know what we like, and we’re better listeners, and we aim to please our lover, because he’s liking the forbidden aspect too. You have to catch them in the availability window: between spouses, or else you are verboten, whorish, vixen, who dangles concert tickets between lusciously heavy breasts, upthrusted in half laced blue midnight bra, showing nipples proudly, for his hungry gaze and more….

And his wildest dreams are laid out, planned, plotted, both in secret and in public, because now unencumbered by marital ties, he is free, and so am I, happily free, and drinking wine or whisky, choose your poison, dancing, living, loving, endlessly, screaming when the time comes, both of us, YES!!!! For we were made to be one, and so we are, finally…

And he throws me in the suite in the bed, on the European cruise, and we are so well suited, so hungry, so endlessly creative, that there isn’t enough time left in this life to do all I want to do with him, there, in the bed, in the soaking tub, jacuzzi jets, naked, almond oil, bubbles, thick towels, not needed for long, continued in the king bed, kisses, oh thousands of kisses, on his lips, his mounds, his very body, hunting around the needle point, where his desire is concentrated, and I know more, of erogenous zones, than he even imagines, but he can lead me too, if he wants, if he likes what he sees and hears, my moans, involuntary…

Because my mouth is not the only thing that expresses love. You can hear it if you listen carefully, in the closed compartment aboard the cruise ship, at sea, just him and me, and ecstasy….never ending, but for breaks of food, because we know after orgasm, we are in fact hungry, like a wolf. And I will give him everything he has ever wanted, but no former lover would dare. for I am woman, and you can hear me ROAR! Yes, quite loudly.

He will die from me, but happily. There is no turning back, once we get on that ship, beginning at Rockefeller Center, NYC. And I won’t kill him with kindness, but instead lust, fulfilled a thousand ways to Sunday!

Underlying Truths, Unvoiced

Lives of quiet desperation, indeed!

Who knows what makes us tick?

Certainly the omnipotent Creator, known as God to most of us

But what about our spouses, lovers, friends, children, parents?

Do any of them have the complete picture, stolen from furtive looks, whispers under covers, secrets revealed, lies unfurled from contradictions we tell ourselves and others?


No, no being in the flesh knows our totality.

So who was there when you thought you were alone, about to pass gas,

in your desk chair, naked, but instead shot loose bowel movement?

No one knows this, until they enter your inner sanctum and spot the permanently stained memory foam desk chair, albeit cleaned up, still ruined…and the chair is $325, so you grapple with will anyone ever see it, and shine the light on a dark alley…


Or the middle-aged workaholic, who cares for all around her, patients, clients, family, but fails to set limits on any of them, thus wearing herself to a wizened nub of a  chewed Tootsie roll lollipop, with long since nothing edible left.

Forgetting the maxim that the caregiver can give nothing when she herself is not cared for, or about. To love is also to discipline those around us. When you don’t value yourself, no one else will either.


Or the secret lover of our dreams, who we keep locked up under the floorboards, or in a hidden closet? Fodder for gossip, he is! Chuckling, far away, unreal, because unraveled, like the shit spot on the desk chair. Only small glimpses afforded publicly.

He is a friend who sends flowers and chocolate and perhaps one single long stem red rose, which lasts for eternity in memory…

Indicating present desire and mystery. She knows if one man is pursuant, others will take a second look.

Secrets are nectar on a hot summer day, sliding down the throat of the parched but still beautiful red rose, who thirsts for her lover. But even he doesn’t get all  of her, because no one should hold the entire set of keys. Keep them guessing, because when everything is known, it is time to die.

Call Me By Your Name, as Allegory

A teenage love story, book to movie, nominated for several Oscars now, just “read” via audiobook, and astounding. How to describe a book that moved you to tears, even though the leads are gay, and the second man is a twenty-something, Oliver, and Elio is the household son, aged 17. So my first reservation is whether an adult and a 17 year old is considered child abuse, but my own inclination is no, it isn’t, being that I know what I was up to when I was 17 myself, at college then. On the edge of adulthood, taking responsibility for self.


Elio is awakened to those intense emotional urges, and doubts, when Oliver comes to his house one summer in Lombardy, Italy, working for Elio’s father, who is a college professor. It is sublime to listen to the narrator, who describes the scenes they frequent, the activities they enjoy, even the preparations of food by the servants in the house. You feel like you are there, in high summer heat, soaking in the countryside…ahhh! Such a setting for young love, and so true to form, with other friends, confusion, flirting, pulling back, saying little, doing even less, then signals shift, and dreams are fulfilled, and the joy of that experience is just searing, taking me back to my own youth as well.


Who can recall the first kiss, the first flirtation, the first touch, and the second, the third? The swims at the beach, far out in the calm waters, in my case, Long Island Sound, Orchard Beach, the Bronx. Or Jones Beach, Long Island…Young lovers, with run arounds of the parents, as they are protective of their daughters especially…Yes, I remember, keenly. Beach clubs even, private places that only allow people in, by membership. Private beaches too.


Elio and Oliver hit me with their love, even though gay love is different, but in its nature, not so different, from the emotions I felt with young men, back then. You had to hide both, and be extraordinarily careful, in what and when you did anything. It was suspect to engage in such things when 17 years old. Yes, I remember, fondly. Men who were there, and still are friends today. But the memories are long ago, and far away, and the doors are closed to those early experiences, for me. We have all moved on, as Oliver has too, by the end of the audiobook. But Elio only has his memories, as I do as well.


And I don’t accept my fate, and never will! Such love should be shared with someone! I am however working on it, however it may be too late, being that this writer is soon 54 years old, far removed from the 17 year old I was. But that girl is still within, spewing hot lava, as a volcano, ready to pounce! Watch out, the burn is still very much there. At least now someone shares my affection, BUT he is far away, and with an unusual kind of job, so it is still solitary lady, with lava flowing, as an allegory anyway….

Surfing Romance

This Valentine’s approaching, he asked for my address

To announce that I was not an e-pen pal merely.

Neither meeting nor even speaking since October 1st,

Over a Star Trek Convention we met in Parsippany NJ.

Three days in a lounge, of 8 of us, paying to be there.

An exclusive experience, meeting each other and the stars,

In 10 minute intervals, glimpse into secret realities.

Then emails, Christmas cards, phone exchanges, numbers only.

No calls. Invitation to another convention, but neither NJ nor Las Vegas, a small one.

Offering admission and air fare. Wow, surprising!

But still unreal, as intangible, and no convention listed online.

But Valentine’s! Something real, indicating I had moved

from a  lady met to a friend to a Valentine.


Does he dream of me? When did I become his object of desire? All we did was chat, in

writing mostly. Eleven years my senior, but smart, authoritative, retired military, and on

television even, once annually, with the POTUS. And he’s mysterious. All pluses.

Hopeful, gratified, but also non-plussed. Riding the wave, no more, no less.

Accept the gift, with thanks. See where it goes, as if there’s plenty of time,

with a teen-ager’s view of life. No pressure, no expectations.


I am a surfer on Waikiki Beach and he is the beautiful koa wood beneath my feet,

supporting me, to shore. Homeward bound, he carries me.


Without his support, I would have been swallowed by the wave. But instead, I rode him

confidently, aware that something fundamental inside of me had changed.

And the sunset, as a metaphor for our beginning, it too was unique and beautiful.

The Bucket List Hero

Air as mellifluous flowing honey gliding between fingers

Sweetens the mood and the partners’ cartilaginous appendages.

Masseuse relaxes his muscles, lights the candle, applies cinnamon butter oil

on spa table for two. Couples massage suite with shower,

Jacuzzi and two and a half hours reserved time

Because it was on her bucket list: Couples massage (sex after?)

Ardently desired wishes take on a life of their own, he has found.

The Bucket List is Top Secret, known to few, but of supreme importance,

because the time is short. Murderous supremacists, Nazis, collaborators in government and NGO’s all conspire to annihilate us, one by one.

Platitudes in the media, an endless litany of funerals, of those taken too soon, of good people, innocent, biking, listening to a concert, going to school, church services, Walmart, movie theaters.

Literally everyplace is a soft target with the barrel of an AR 15 staring us down….


So this soul writes poetry as an act of rebellion against the inevitable.

I will not live, but my words will.

And in the meantime, hell yeah, there’s going to be some hollering going on, beneath the covers!

They will wonder what it feels like to be held by such a fragrant, long stemmed red rose blooming in the right conditions for him, who deserves to be The Bucket List Hero.

And the two shall never be the same, anon…

For the Woman is the Sphinx, with a riddle

And he is Oedipus, successful in his answer.

As such, he regains his life and lost love

Because to be without her was in fact death to him.

The two were one soul and united, they flew into the ethereal skies,

Entwined as lovers.