It woke me up, the dream. I, or he, only had a week to live. They carried him out—what was left of him—his upper body, no arms, a head, a chest, that was it. Although my gaze was not direct, I was there. “Don’t look.” Was this how I avoided life? I didn’t look?
He willed himself to be alive. We will ourselves until . . . a crash, a dream, an awakening.

Where had I been? In the dream I had been at a pleasant gathering, but rather strange. Then a form in pink, myself no doubt as a young girl, came through. From behind a half-closed door, a view of a military figure saying: “Don’t come here”. But in the next moment of the dream I was there, in shock. I tried to separate myself, as my dream told me, from my life of habits.

The day before, I’d been thinking about Sydney Pollock, director of “Out of Africa," and of his many other great films. He died at 73. Why did people die at the end of a career? Did he will, “only a week left”? Was he being adored only for his past? Was his life no longer as magnificent as it had been? Could he continue to fill his own shoes? Had he emptied out to that inner voice, the task master that goads us, “not good enough, not good enough”? Is that how we die? With empty expectations? Emptied lives. Without a deliberate mind, the power does run out. Do I take it with me? Do I come back? How? When?

Starting over again seems so arduous. Young people, most, are so uninteresting. Today, I have a sculpted life, through much hard work and desire, the inner changes I have gone through . . . and continue to go through are arduous and rocky, satisfying and beautiful—and still they leave me wanting. To become anything, we must want, and have those dreams. The ride into eternity is where we all are, in – one – state or another.

What I had been really thinking about was R. J. in Connecticut, who had e-mailed:

“Are you a Dancer?” I asked the gorgeous, long-legged, classy lady shopping at the health food store? She turned to me and smiled: “I've danced,” she said. We started talking, and the conversation went so well that before she was ready to leave, she handed me a piece of paper with her name and her phone number. Then she walked out and got into a limo. “Do you know who that was?” my friend said to me. “No,” I said, “but it certainly was a pleasure meeting her.”

As time went on, I got to know this beautiful woman, and the biggest turn on of all was that she was as sensual and sexy, as she was tall and gorgeous.
She was not boring or average in bed like many beautiful women. From 1—10, she was a 10. She was a natural, an orgasmic delight.

My favorite turn on with her was when we were supposed to meet at my place
one afternoon and take my motorcycle down to the Museum of Modern Art to catch the Modern Jazz Quartet. The buzzer rang, and she walked down the hall, and before we even got inside, she opened my belt, pulled down my zipper, and proceeded to give me some slow, sensual, wonderful oral sex. My door was still open, we were still out in the hall. Wow, this is wild. Someone could come in the building any second, I though. But that did not rattle her. She had other things on her mind. Soon we were on my king-sized bed, safe and alone, and I remember how wonderful it was to feel her orgasms beneath me as we sensually blended together. Later when we were done, she said "There now, isn't it nice to have sex first, and then go out? Now we don't have the pressure or have to think about it all night long.” I knew I had fulfilled her, and that is a great feeling to have.

Later that night we went to P. J. Clarks for something to eat, She had taken her motorcycle helmet off outside and put on a tall cowboy hat. Between the hat, and the boots she was wearing, she seemed 10 feet tall, and when we walked in, all the men in the place spun around to see this towering beauty. I knew that all of them were thinking. "What a lucky guy. What does he have that I don't have?” Boy, if they only knew. If they only knew what a special gem and woman she really is.

If I were to meet her today, I would probably pick her up and carry her to the nearest bed, slowly take her clothes off, and give her the most sensual oral sex that she can remember and then proceed to make love to her in various positions for a very long time. When she had reached her maximum orgasms, I’d get up and say, “There now, isn't it better to have no pressure, and to get that out of the way? Now come over here and sit on the couch and tell me what you have been doing the past 20 yrs. or so, I've missed ya, Baby. And guess what? I still look for someone special every time I go to the health food store, but there will never
be another one like you.
Love You- In All The Right Places,
R. J.

It had been several months for me, since I’d enjoyed the pleasure of a man. A long time, by anyone’s standards. Very long. I’ve missed it. How beautiful that R. J. carries his desires into the present. I think the dream I had tells me to be much less strict with myself. For some time lately I have been a victim of my own inner, self-styled guru and her quest for improvement. Joy awaits all of us.
There is more happiness, there is.
Rejoin the dance. Let go, let life.