I am seeking someone that I do not have to do or be anything. Are there people left like that. That one should sit with me beside a grassy knoll and cool mountain stream and be of good spirit to induce me into an almost slumber that poetry might fill my head and peace wash thru the chambers of my heart. That he might become tolerant of my stubborn moods and love me beyond my ignorance and rise above the momentary tide of temper or turn of misfortune. That there would be a hand in my own, as I climb this rugged terrain of lifes craggy and thorny holds, knowing should I fall, that I could feel the surity of that one person in all the world who would care. And knowing this, I am a little more whole in a world torn asunder. I should love that being with all I am. I believe the marriage of spirit between a man and a woman to be sacred. I have never found this and sustained it in my life. Love is the social form of blowfish. Bon Apetite, My Love. The Japanese, cannot get enuf of it. What makes me unique, a suggestion from this wondrous forum ~ ah yes, music, I could die in it, I spend all day listening to everything from Russian, Gypsy and offshore radio to French cinema, I guess that makes me an eclectic. . . Movies, dry and foreign, thanks, the history channel, Books, I sleeps with 'em. (But then that does not make me datable. According to my son, I am dull as dirt. I am a counselor, a welder and sculptor, and have many curious interests and hobbies which might be done in the ocean, the forest, a small town, a kitchen, and oh yes, the boudoir. My specialty. (out of practice) I am datable again. Anyone who enjoys the tantric arts must tantalize me with their exquisite tales. . . of afar. Aspirations? To stop chasin' my tail and be still for a few minutes.
I would wear a white trench coat, with my hair, like God meant hair to be, when he made hair. Wavy and long and flowing into the white, with a halo surrounding me as I approached you. You are meeting me at an address you did not know but it turns out to be an eclectic little Japanese restaurant. I walk slow and purposeful as you take in the whole picture of me. A woman, with a body made in heaven. You could almost see right thru the Armani coat that I am not wearing anything at all and I flaunt my long sexy legs as I approach you. I click my black heels against the floor for affect and feel a confidence in my swagger and I smile and half smile that says, "Oh my, you must be. . . " I extend my hand. Pulsing just a little inside. My goodness. I wonder, if you have tried, the stuffed, blowfish. I hear it is wonderful. Your mouth drops a bit. I like that very much. Should I? Well maybe just a little one. . .