Dear readers, please let me gush about David.

He’s 6’3″, 220 lbs; broad shoulders like a century old oak; a waist which shows his love of food; powerful thighs of a dancer; buttocks that you can hold or caress.

David’s smile is beguiling; his eyes dance and dart; his hands are calm and cool in mine.

He knows he’s in charge of our relationship. Which makes me swoon.

The past two nights I’ve dined in the restaurant where he works as a server. On each night I’ve asked him to select my meals including the wine. He knows me so well: knows that I start with an IPA; followed by white and/or red wines; and I finish with a port.

He purposefully works with the chef to present me with smaller portions. We both see dining as a very sensual affair; very tactile; warm and crunchy and smooth and liquid. When we dine together it’s as though we’re making love.

I love David. I wanted you to know that.

Sweet dreams, David.

 

Jumping in love and jumping in a sizzling fry pan are synonymous.

Last night I had a crying jag on the front steps of my hotel. The bar manager saw, sat next to me, excused herself, then went inside and texted my BF.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied.

“No one sits on the front steps and cries,” he answered, “especially not someone like you.”

Like me.

What on earth does that even me? Like me.

I’ve realized that I’m a ghost. I appear in people’s lives when I’m needed and disappear when I’m not. I’m an empty vessel with no agenda. I don’t remember yesterday’s and I can’t envision tomorrow’s. All I have is today.

When men and women look at me they see what they want to see. I might say to my BF that I think he’s attractive. He then sees his attractiveness in me. You see, if we’re open to the disappearance of our egos, we simply mirror the others around us.

But this is not the same as losing yourself in someone. Being lost is always frightening, whether in a forest or someone’s heart. Being lost means being in darkness.

When you’re mirroring someone you’re reflecting their beauty and grace. And sometimes that radiation sizzles.

So my BF and I have decided to turn down the flame, to remove our lust from the burner, to cool off. A mirror reflects a tremendous degree of heat back to the flame. And that’s when things get scary.

Nakedness is truthfulness.

When I write I write rawness. I’ve gotten used to being exposed. I’m used to standing naked on the internet. It’s part of my job.

But I’ve made a horrible assumption: I’ve assumed that the men in my life would be equally comfortable standing naked next to me on this blog.

But they’re not.

Exposure can kill relationships faster, so much faster than privacy. Men that are wooing me always want to know what I’ve written. Now I hesitate to give them my blog address because they’ll read everything about me; they’ll read about Marc and Jean-Baptiste and Luciano and Pup; and then they disappear.

I guess the world’s not ready for my nakedness.

I don’t want to expose my loves or my lovers. I’m dating a new man of whom I’ve referenced on my blog. But my exposure now threatens his exposure.

And I’m sorry readers, this one is too precious to share with you.

 

Fame is assigned.

I am am not famous. I am popular. I’m popular because I work at being popular. I work social media cultivating friends. I work dating sites cultivating lovers. I work clubs cultivating conversations.

Humility is a Grace I’ve been blessed to receive. I practice humility on a daily basis. I sit outside of my hotel enjoying cigars and meet a swath of humanity. People sit down and talk with me. I’m so moved and inspired by the intimate stories they share.

Human nature begs us to listen. So many people simply want to express themselves to others, but others are simply too busy with their own stories.

What if we gave our undivided attention to someone, anyone, that crossed our paths haphazardly for just a few minutes? What would our world look like if our attention would be on others and not on ourselves?

Our world would transform itself into a caring place. Not only for humanity, but for the earth itself. Genuine humanity thrives when we listen.

Please, please listen to someone today. I promise that your life will be more fulfilled than it ever could be if you simply listen to yourself.

I’ve always said that love bumps into you.

David. Ah, David.

Here’s how David and I didn’t meet.

I was stood up and David was dumped at the same bar and on the same night. David, a tall and lanky 34 year old, a handsome man with an infectious smile, deep, deep chocolate eyes, a frame that’s delicate for his height, a former dancer, professional trained at NYU, and the first man that caresses the orchids he arranges, also works as a server at a swanky restaurant attached to my hotel in Charlotte. David and his date were sitting fifteen feet behind me on the night Pup stood me up.

I left the bar that night quite drunk and minutes later David’s date dumped him for a hookup. Veronica, a server I’d befriended went to David and asked why he was upset. She then said that she met me, a world-traveler, a writer, who got stood up. David asked her if I was that guy he saw from behind?

Yesterday, after my morning cigar I went into the bar for a beer and this tall, handsome buck came to me. I was mesmerized. Deep eyes which swallowed me; a smile that drew my laughter; a tall frame I could lean against.

Sigh.

Last night David met me for drinks after his shift. When I’m pursuing a man I have ten hands. And last night I found them on his thighs, his hands, his arms.

We closed the bar and David walked me to my room. In the elevator I asked if I could kiss him?

“Nope,” he said, “we can wait.”

“David,” I said, “you are worth waiting for.”