Sun To Moon
Continuation of Cougar in The Hunt Part 6
The gravitational pull of the moon in the high desert is not only a phenomenal force, but also has a wider reach and greater affect our collective equilibrium. I love to watch the bats in the bluish grey black twilight though fewer turn out when the moon is full. The instincts of bats and other wildlife is a special kind of wisdom.
The Sunday that marked a week after I had met Mr. Man was a full moon. The day before when I invited him over was the day I opted to jump off the cliff I had been standing on the edge of, departing from the graceful moral code that governs my consciousness. This bizarre moon must have contributed to the gravitational pull Mr. Man caught me in and the events that set my world askew. My physical body took over knowing that all I had to do was say the word and in quick response he would jump to his feet, then dive into my body like an oasis in the middle of a 100-mile radius in the driest season of the high desert.
Sometimes I wish I did not have such an obsession that insist that I analyse everything that I do and torture myself by insisting on being so accountable for my actions. In truth, my actions don’t always make sense, but I can make the choice to avoid the torture often results from misguided choices. Often my actions suggest that I love to tango around the fire, yet somehow avoid the precautions that would prevent me from even minor burns. On the other hand, I need to spare myself from labeling my choices misguided. By some means, the most liberating conclusion is knowing that I can never implicitly trust myself. There are also time when I know I can’t trust myself in any way or to any degree.
February of this particular year held a special significance. January had been an emotional upheaval. I went mad on many levels and I paid the price with my sanity. Christella has often called our collective attention to “weird energy in the air,” as she is even more sensitive to that which can’t be seen. During January, she repeated this sentiment often. My birthday happens to occur in January and without fail I can count on my family to rise to the occasion and provide an escape.
This break from my own independent life can take on many forms from distracting me with family sanity and making me appreciate my autonomy to my sister doting over me and my niece just being herself which in itself is a cure. I tried to host party with my friends and even posted it on Facebook with not a single RSVP and nothing but groans from the 3 of my fab4 that I can always count on to be there for me when I discussed celebrating at our New Year’s Eve show. My family also did not accommodate a birthday celebration as my sister was suffering the flu.
The monumental pain, paramount to my mental state, was subtle the out-of-nowhere-reappearance, on the internet, of Mr. Wonderful, though Facebook pages were still gone. His cruelty towards me and my complete lack of compassion or acknowledgement of my pain of losing him, left me so hurt, I was making regular trips to the local crisis center. A wonderful, very young, local musician created an event for January birthdays that provided a beautiful entry back to stability. The entire evening was the magical wonder typical of Joshua Tree. Galaxy loved the music and the energy of the event and as always everyone loved him.
While Febuary represented a fresh start and a celebration of friendship and community, I was still shocked, grieving, and heart broken over Mr. Wonderful.
Mr. Man seated himself on my pointless ornamental ranch style fence, as I took a moment to catch up with my neighbor, who happened to notice him and pointed him out suspiciously. This was a reminder of how obvious it was that he was out of place at my house and in my presence. The casual observer could easily see me as a mature single woman home owner and cast him as an invasive intruder from the damage to his car to his lack of a clean shave or haircut. Mr. Man and I had no more in common then a bird and a fish, yet by a bizarre turn in the cosmic wheel, we were drawn to one another and able to communicate around the vast generation gaps in a unique manner. Mr. Man and I had no more in common then a bird and a fish, yet we’re drawn to one another and able to communicate around the gaps in a unique manner. I had about as much use for him as a fish would a bicycle, but something made me want him near me. Whatever was transpiring and all mutual desires would have to look misshapen to anyone on the outside.
As I walked up to him I noticed his prosthetic leg in the light of the afternoon sun, the metallic subtly glistening. I had not asked him
what had happened that he was missing a leg, just as I hadn’t asked about his half arm and half hand. On this bright sunny afternoon, his deformities were more obvious than in the darkness under which we met.
He stood up, in his own unique crooked manner, as I approached him and I tugged his blanket jacket gently as I invited him to see my backyard. The cruel light of day, stood as a beacon as the sky was clear, no clouds to block even a single ray of sun. Every ray of sun would illuminate everything it touched. His high school looking youth was not only out in the open, it was
highlighted by the rays of the sun. His skin had not a single crevice other than subtle evidence of clearing acne, blinding me with the full reality of his youth. I wondered if this same sun, in all her glory, was illuminating the lines in my face in the same blinding manner. There was not a translucent cloak of night creating a magical effect in unison with the pastels and sparkles in my eye makeup, bringing forward a distracting touch of gold in my hazel eyes. As it happened, I was fully raw and exposed, no makeup and full sun exposing every reality before his pensive green eyes.
As I gave him the tour of my back yard I kept my eyes wide open to the visual image of him in the bright sun, standing on one leg against the backdrop of my yard art and equally youthful native plant revival. He stood on the downslope of the edge of my backyard as I stood just above him making me as tall as my high heels had the night I met him. (on level ground, he was still around 5’3” to my 5’7.” Behind him several baby desert willows standing only a few inches tall, either propagated by me or by volunteer seeds. The desert willow I had planted around two years prior was about his height. Other juveniles included my sharp prickly cat’s claw acacia, started from seed, probably as tall as tall as his chest, that had several years ahead before it fills out into a bushel and even more years before forming into a tree. The California buckwheat that I started from seed doubling in size every six months producing flowers was still not a full bushel, but still a drastically larger than the sprout from the tiny seed that volunteered.
Everything in my yard was juvenile and not fully developed. Native plants meant to require almost no water are not yet established
enough to go too long without water and many young trees need a special deep watering system. This fragile young man, with body parts not fully developed, was standing in my yard that began as nothing but dirt and weeds.
The backdrop behind this young man was my yard filled with plant life, also not fully developed, delicate, and in need of special care. More than anything his youth was surreal in the path of the luminous rays of the sun, yet at the same time we were alone in my home with the world on the outside. The inappropriate nature of being intimate with a man of consenting age, yet still too young, was not the only concern I had in my mind. The night we met he had fallen for me so quick and intense. He was swept away and came on so strong. I was not taking this pending encounter seriously or looking to him for a long-term relationship, so I felt obligated to be clear about this before he became too invested. Like my native revival garden, I saw him as fragile, emotionally and physically and my most abiding principle is not committing any action that would harm another person. After my home garden tour, I brought him
into the back room where in preparation for our visit I put pillows and a bean bag chair set up with my television and “The Graduate” cued. He made himself comfortable which included removing his prosthetic. As he slipped his metallic appendage off I touch his half thigh where it was connected with the prosthetic and said, “what happened here?” He told me about his birth defect, which gave me the full picture of his unusual anatomy, not fully developed in utero. His amputated leg had not fully developed in utero thus he had no bones or muscle mass. His mother was confronted with the decision to have it amputated or have him grow up in a wheelchair. He remarked that he was grateful for her decision. As he spoke of his birth defect, I found myself deep in intense thoughts about his
mother relating to her, reminding me that although I was in intimate social proximity with her son, she was the one close to my age and sharing my stage of life. I thought of what it must have been like to make an obvious, yet invasive decision about her infant son. I would have done exactly as she, though it would not have been easy to put my delicate baby through an amputation procedure, inevitably involving anesthesia. While thinking of his mother, I was also looking into his eyes, hearing his words, and a warm response towards him. I was enjoying Mr. Man as a person way beyond what I expected. My only expectation involved an energetic, long-lasting sexual experience distinguished by his youth and especially by his unusual anatomy. Incidentally, as we settled into the comfort of my designated movie watching activity he mentioned, as casual as a comment on the weather, that he was moving to San Diego the following Thursday. His explanation was simply that San Diego offered more employment options than our High Desert. In my relief of being free of any long-term expectation from him, I ignored the fact that suddenly there was an obvious inconsistency with all the devoted promises he made to me, the night we met and even the day before. None of these overtures promising to weed my yard, clean my home, help me repair my sink, and replace my water heater among others, were even feasible given that he was leaving in a matter of days. The fleeting quality of being in the early 20s stage of life was beginning to unearth my own memories. He leaned into the support of the bean bag placing his designated pillow under his head. What was odd was that he did not position himself close enough to touch me, despite his triumph of having me alone, in such close and even sexually suggestive proximity. The story of his disfigured body and his presence in general was adding warmth back inside my body, reversing the tremendous effort I had made to be stone cold. My body was softened with my heart, keeping a brisk, but steady, pace. I pressed play….
The exciting, suspense, getting hot Cougar In the Hunt Part 8
As a woman over 40, pushing 50, I have created this blog for the purposed of using my writing skills to create something especially meaningful to women. The best show of appreciation, since this blog is brand new, is feedback, sharing my site with others, and a donation of any amount in that order. Even a small donation, will go a long way to support my gourmet coffee habit