As a characteristic of late July and August, inland areas of the our bone dry California landscape are vulnerable to wildfires creating an insurmountable scare. This year the wildfires were burning thousands of acres close enough to see in the air and breath. It was orange outside and breathing was painful on the lungs. I was terrified of the fire spreading to Joshua Tree or fires starting in Joshua Tree.
I was in a panic mode given the fire that had destroyed my entire life years before and was I felt terrified of losing my home. The fact that I was starting an intimate relationship with someone wonderful made me feel almost guilty. How could I feel such love with so much devastation closing in on everyone including the two of us?
In my natural surroundings my beautiful baby Flycatcher tweets were transitioning out of their nest. The previous year the
chicks had left the nest one morning by the time I went out to see them. This year, I saw them test their wings for a couple of days first, as they called out to each other. There was a ringleader sibling among the four babies whom the other three chicks looked to for guidance. They made baby-flights out of the nest, within the Joshua tree, testing their wings gradually, talking with each other with every hop and flap of their tiny wings. It was bittersweet to watch, given how the firefighters were struggling to contain all the fires so close to us. Tracking the daily lives of these chicks was having a beautiful cathartic effect on me. Over several days I watched the adult Flycatchers build the nest with the familiar high desert debris with Galaxy’s fur shedding and wool from my house. I knew the babies had hatched when I heard their chirps coming from the nest and after a few days their tiny beaks poking out of the nest awaiting their next meal. With each day more of the birds could be seen from below the nest and I had a wonderful view from the latter that I positioned for filming their daily growth and activities.
My baby hatchlings fledging drew me out of a depressive episode and renewed my faith and hope. This hatching and infancy directly correlated with Mr. Wonderful and my developing feelings for each other.
Mr. Wonderful showed his appreciation within moments of my daily photo and video posts of my growing tweets which made me feel like he was part of the whole cycle. He also revealed his incredible connection to wildlife which I would experience first hand in many of our quality moments together. Mr. Wonderful was always just a step behind all of my posts of photos of Galaxy and the horses from the rescue ranch. His love for animals would be clear, endearing, and a well-defined path to the depth of my heart. His love for Galaxy filled my heart with an inexplicable joy I had never experienced from a man.
A couple of days after my conversation with Mr. Wonderful where I had retracted my cautionary actions to cut short our courtship, I got up and had my coffee. As the coffee and the cocoa enhancement were taking effect throughout my entire my nervous system, I went outside to check on my baby birds who had been testing their wings out of the nest. The outside was literally orange from the effect of the wildfires that now seemed as if these blazes were growing and closing in on the community and threatening my house. Another shift in the natural world was the baby flycatchers extending their wings further out of the nest. On this bizarre morning they were still testing their wings outside the nest and exploring life just outside the tree. I found them perched in different places in the tree and resting on the fence. They communicated with each other as the ringleader made the first daring flight outside the tree as the other three watched and prepared to follow. I was worried about how the wildfires might affect them in this transition, even more than I feared for my house and Joshua Tree as a whole.
Later that afternoon, Mr. Wonderful engaged me in a Facebook dialogue where I expressed my fear and how bad the air quality was affecting me. I told him how scared I felt, to which he replied “no please, don’t be scared” He let me know that the air was significantly better at his place. He invited me over and told me to bring Galaxy. He told me how the house was unfinished in detail which I merely skimmed since all I wanted was to see him, be close to him, and feel his arms wrapped around me. His location could have been anywhere and still exactly where I wanted to be.
I was excited and scared at the same time as I packed several bags with Galaxy’s toys, frozen water bottles, herbs, veggies, and hay. Considering the level of passion between us, I prepared to spend the night, while wondering if things might be moving too fast.
I arrived with the duffel bag style animal carrier Patricia gifted to us over my shoulder with Galaxy comfortable leaning against the side of my waist. I expected a passionate embrace filled with eager relief that had been anticipating our arrival with an anxious excitement. I had extended my heart past the safe zone by agreeing to abandon all doubts surrendering body and soul to him. I was there in his kitchen prepared to stay in person and for real. Instead, he let me inside and immediately went to the sink and filled a large dog bowl with water. Clearly, it was Star, the Tree Man’s dog bowl, but I had assumed Star was with Mr. Treeman. I was perplexed and felt the passionate, flowing whirlwind in my body turning into a frustrated stone.
“Is Star here?”
“This is for Galaxy”
My heart was warmed and the passionate whirlwind was once again creating a hurricane throughout my entire body. His immediate thought was the welfare of my rabbit which took priority over his passion for me making my love for him that much more powerful.
My rabbit was also his second thought. After he put the water bowl down in front of him, he went to the fridge and brought out the carrots. Galaxy was on the floor exploring the new place we were visiting. Galaxy always makes himself comfortable when we visit outside our own house, which is unusual for rabbits. Galaxy has a curious sense of adventure and adjusts immediately to new environments which makes it easy to take him everywhere.
Mr. Wonderful got down on the floor on the floor rug with the carrots and with an affectionate tone called Galaxy over to him. Galaxy responded by following the sound of Mr. Wonderful’s sweet voice and the smell of the carrots. Mr. Wonderful was encouraging with the gentle quality rabbits respond to in a positive way. He hopped over to investigate the smell of the carrots and Mr. Wonderful was equally enthused to be hand feeding him.
Mr. Wonderful showed me around the beautiful property pointing out every species of bird’s nests. It was abundantly clear that he loved animals with the same passion always have felt. I knew Galaxy loved him and his efforts to connect with him cast a spell on me that was more exhilarating than I had felt in a very long time. Mr. Wonderful’s feelings towards Galaxy went beyond appreciation. He was treating him as part of my package, as if he is my son, welcoming him into his home and making sure he was happy, feed, and had plenty of water.
As Galaxy decided where his designated spot would be in the corner by the wood-burning stove next to the glass door where he could see outside with his sighted, intact eye, Mr. Wonderful and I sat together on the couch. He could also hear our voices so he could make himself comfortable. I had also noticed a box full of pine cones that I knew he would eventually discover and investigate.
I rested the small of my back on the couch arm and asked Mr. Wonderful if I could put my feet on his lap, of which he responded. “Of course you can” He rested his hands on my feet and intermittently stroked them with his thumb and fingers. My contentment and comfort was almost overwhelming. It was hard to believe that I was exactly where I wanted to be with the person I wanted to be with; the same person I had endured a five-year dry spell for the purpose of finding a man like him. The relief of sexual touch deprivation overwhelmed my senses, all but took my breath away and made my stomach churn. I was enveloped and wrapped tight in the euphoria and the exquisite pain of being in love.
My house rabbits have filled the void of love in my life and have protected me from compromising my standards in relationships. I never suffer the longing for relationships, good or bad, as long as I have my house rabbits. A whole new level was obtained being with Mr. Wonderful. He was embracing not only me, but also fully embracing the most precious creature in my life, my greatest love. I was no longer the woman with a rabbit, but without a man. Galaxy was loved by both of us and thus he was our rabbit instead of my rabbit.
I turned my stretched out body around so that my head was on Mr. Wonderful’s lap and propped my feet on the couch arm, as Mr. Wonderful made sounds of pleasure and placed a hand on my cheek and the other was stroking my hair. We continued to talk and his hand continued to explore the parts of my body that were within reach.
The continuing story of Temperance and the Devil will be available as a complete Ebook May 30th, 2017. Meanwhile the story of the Desert Diva and her Galaxy will continue bi-weekly! Stay tuned for pictorial How We Met TheJoey .
Mr. Man’s hand continued to explore my bare skin under my shirt and stroke the hair. My desire and pulse increased in
intensity with each stroke of his hand. As our bodies moved closer together, his unusual anatomy was more revealing. His chest, though tiny for a grown man, was rock solid especially at the shoulders. I could feel and see how his shoulders developed out of proportion with the rest of his body. His shoulders felt hard and solid like an avid bodybuilder but in a small package. This was intriguing and my mind wandered as I thought about how he spend a lifetime pulling himself up using his upper body; He had done this several times during our visit and I also observed this the night we met when he pulled himself up from the couch. Initially, when as head rested on his chest I noticed this anomaly which inspired me to work my way over his entire chest with my hand…..
The decision to invite Mr. Man to my house to see the Graduate with me, a film made decades before the “cougar” euphemism, was an affectionate way of warning him about sexual involvement with an older woman. My intentions and his responses to this activity were nothing like I expected. The process of sharing this entertainment media revealed many things about the person Mr. Man is and the circumstances of his childhood. It became crystal clear as we watched “the Graduate” that they way he grew up was nothing like my childhood. He was not able to relate personally to the LA upper class suburban lifestyle parodied and made surreal in this film where as it had always been relatable to my paradigm. In the midst of these differences being revealed, I observed how quick and unafraid he was to ask questions and seek explanations for societal norms before his birth or outside the experiences of his short life. This humility inspired an increasing respect for him and admiration for his courage. He was revealing his tremendous potential which complicated my clean, detached, and objective approach to this pending affair.
His willingness to learn and not appear more experienced than his age was a pleasant surprise. As I layed in the presence of such humility and courage, I didn’t mind stopping to explain words and concepts and give mini and micro-sociological history lessons. The significant women’s history lesson, pertinent to the film, was describing the sad position women lived by when the Graduate was produced and released. He gave me a puzzled look when I explained the phenomena; I was born into, known as the Mrs. Degree where women went to college to find husbands, not to earn degrees. My father worked hard at ensuring that my sister’s and I earned a college education. Our father constantly lectured us to avoid marrying too young and to first earn a college degree, procure our own income and security before seeking marriage. I realized, as we watched the pathetic unhappy Mrs. Robinson, how much this movie was a composite of all my father’s efforts that I was also exposed to frequently growing up, in my formative years, and into my young adulthood. Since Mr. Man was so so open to learning things outside of his reality, I made sure that he caught all the subtle nuances of the film not just the fictitious Mrs. Robinson’s character being representative of women going to college to find a husband, but also being forced to get married due to unplanned pregnancy. All events to follow this afternoon and evening, a tiny grain of sand in time, we shared would implode in a literary irony that even my long life was not prepared to endure.
Growing up watching The Graduate in multiple sittings, the main character was relatable to how I grew up and I had always taken this for granted. Mr. Man had a hard time understanding the suburban upper class post college homecoming. I had learned that Mr. Man had grown up under different circumstances with a single mother and upon his mother’s remarriage became a Marine brat. He told me in one of our earlier text conversations that his father died when he was very young, so he never knew him and his mother remained single until she married a Marine when he was 13, which is how he ended up in this area. I found out within the first 10 minutes of
meeting him that he had no further scholastic intentions and had made up his mind to seek a working class blue-collar high paying industrial type profession. Everyone I had ever known who chose this path spent the fair level of income on cheap bulk liquor, cigarettes and drugs. This will likely be his fate, but since he is only 21 the impact has not spoiled him yet.
As the movie played, and the plot progressed, I continued to explain the class and generations of the characters as they had been explained to me watching the graduate with family from the time I was a little girl to the formative years and into adulthood. At one point, I was worried that he might be bored, so I checked with him and his response surprised me. He actually said “I am really into this movie” In that moment I was impressed and felt warm towards him, but I had no idea that the source of his peaked interest in this film would end up leaving me the blinded fool, left out in the biting cold without a parka.
I was baffled as I had half expected our interaction to be awkward and that like Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin Braddock, we would end up having nothing to talk about or say to each other. I could not believe that I was relating to him far beyond my expectations and this only increased my desire and anticipation. We remained side by side, watching the movie, as he continued to keep his hands to himself. There were no subtle manipulative schemes to get closer to me physically. Mr. Man stay, the same guy with bold words of lustful desire for me, stayed put.
Out of the corner of my eye I looked at the side of his body angled away from me from the head down. On the bean bag chair the two of us made a triangle with our heads and the tip. When I blinked, my body felt the full sensation of his near presence, I could smell him, I was hearing and breath that touched my skin while circling through my body with every shift of his body or subtle movement.
His whole hand was on the same side, I was, as it happened, and I found myself reaching over and placing each finger in between each of his and as we moved our palms together, I rested my forearm on his and my elbow rested inside the bend of his arm. He shifted slightly and everything fit into place like a puzzle. Periodically, he stroked my hand, back and forth with his thumb.
My weak, injured hand was wrapped in his that was not deformed, yet I was not hurt by his grip as so often a man’s hand grip would unintentionally hurt me. With one eye I continued to watch the film and with the other I stared at his bronze skin either from the sun or a small percentage of a culture with a darker brown skin or both. He did not reek of nicotine as I had expected and his sweat was intoxicating to breathe. Mr. Man had not recognized the very young Dustin Hoffman in his first movie. It was the Dustin Hoffman before I was born, so for him the gap in years was wide. There was a commentary after the movie ended where Dustin Hoffman with longer hair and a few grey hairs speaking at which point Mr. Man did recognize him.
I turned the TV off with my toes and naturally found myself placing my head on his chest and nestling myself into his willing arms. His heartbeat pulsated through my right temple so strong that I it reverberated through my head and ears while also feeling his hand stroking my hair and neck. I thought about how his “normal” hand, the one not deformed by birth defect, must have the power of two hands from a lifetime of compensation. Several times I reached over to touch and stroke his deformed hand, working my fingers through every crevice, each finger not fully developed, the small birth defected palm with the sprout like fingers frozen in his time of early childhood jutting out the end of his half palm. His tiny fingers subtly grasp my fingers as they moved about exploring the entire oddity of this hand, not like any other hand on any other person, a beautiful shaped in all its deformity. I could even feel the lines on his palm, not fully developed, cut short by finger sprouts nearly as thick as the fingers of a grown man, but soft, short, and delicate like a toddler. With every movement of my fingers grazing his tiny fingers, my heart became warmer, as his heart pounded into my right temple faster and harder, while his other full hand crept down from my neck into my back and waist. His fingers slipped under my shirt and traveled across my waist. I became aware of the firm, elastic of my leggings wrapped around my waist, as his fingers butted against the edge like a refuge fighting the border, desperate to navigate a way past the barred entry and enter. It reminded me of all the times in my high school years when boys, full of determination, would run their hand across the elastic of my bra trying to find the hook, which was always up front in my control. I am sure he knew how to get past the waistband; perhaps he wanted to sneak his hand in without being obvious. The sun was setting in the outside world, bringing back the luminous quality of our respective physical features. If Mr. Man had not been there with my head on his chest and his fingers stroking the skin under my shirt, I may have been outside gazing at the moon and the wonder of the desert’s endless night sky.
The power of the night sky could be felt from inside and the luminous quality the moon coated the darkness illuminating the two of us in an intense embrace of pre-coital anticipation.
“This is nice…” He said with a tone that was relaxed, but also eager, as I continued to stroke his chest with one hand and unbutton my shirt with the other.
Cougar in the Hunt Part 9 and 10, too hot for a public blog, will be part of my Wisdom From the Galaxy Ebook! Submit a comment and your email for a discount! One random subscriber will receive Ebook FREE. Ebook will be available November 15th! Sneak Preview!
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!
As a woman over 40, pushing 50, 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.
For the purpose of reader engagement, and to greater fulfill the objectives of my blog, I will be posting relationship and animal inspired affirmations Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Affirmations will be original, written by me and quoted by others. Affirmations will link together with story posts that they apply Temperance & the Devil and Cougar In the Hunt, and upcoming serials. Best of all, I am hoping the comment section will allow for readers to add their own!!
Also, I am trying to develop a realistic and consistent flow of serial blog posts. I have been running into challenges with the emotional upheaval of the stories I am telling, (grief) so I need to slow down a little and begin injecting positives.
This blog is a labor of love, for women over 40 and most especially ANIMALS!
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….
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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