lakota

WOMEN 71
A very special human being, a poet and social worker who had recently been honored for her work helping indonesian tsunami victims. We met online, and shared a wonderful correspondence for a month or so. Soul mate poetry-swapping kind of stuff. Her words were beautiful and bohemian and powerful, with a singular spiritual sexuality. She loved my writing too. We shared flirtatious calls. She'd been a dancer, until a parachuting accident. She had a young son with a learning disability (which she didn’t mention until we met...though it wouldn't have kept us from meeting). I visited her Brooklyn home, and she made a wonderful dinner. We watched a film, and she invited me to sleep over. I happily accepted, and we shared her small bed. Being good bohemians, we slept naked, sharing embraces that became sexual. I barely kept from penetrating her...i can remember how intoxicating it felt and looked, as my penis lay in the folds of her ebony vulva, a drop of semen indicating how close i'd come to ejaculating. It was amazing...but i knew i was rushing things, for me. The next day, i wrote to her that i'd felt a bit over my head with such quick intimacy, and requested that we take the sexual side of our relationship back to square one. I never heard from her again. I think i was also afraid i wasn’t who she needed at that moment, so i didn’t fight her silence. Did the reality of a young son in a house with no father figure get into my head? Yes. A few years later, in the anguish of loneliness, remembering how beautiful our one night was and how warm and comforting it was to share our spirits, i tried to contact her. The best i could find was a postal address that might or might not have been hers. I never heard back.